by Derek Fee
One of the men took a smartphone from his pocket and handed it to Rice.
‘And no more rough stuff. If we have to top him, we will. ’
The Forensic Service of Northern Ireland is not a branch of the PSNI. It is an independent organization that works for the Police Service but also for clients, such as defence solicitors, who require forensic work to be carried out. The laboratory buildings are located on the Belfast Road just south of the town of Carrickfergus. Wilson took the M5 out of Belfast and drove alongside the Irish Sea. It was a pleasant journey with the slate grey waters of the sea on one side and the abundant foliage on the other. It was still possible to find countryside just a few miles from Belfast city. In twenty-five minutes, Wilson pulled into the short lane leading to the FSNI Lab. The double gates were festooned with signs – ALL VISITORS MUST SIGN IN – ALL VISITORS MUST REPORT TO THE MAIN OFFICE – RESTRICTED ACCESS. They were only short of putting up a sign for abandon hope all who enter here. Wilson flashed his warrant card and was admitted by a security guard who motioned him in the direction of the Main Office. Even a detective superintendent from the PSNI was required to sign in. Wilson was told to leave his car where it was. The receptionist phoned George Tunney, who said he would pick him up within five minutes.
Five minutes later a short rotund man wearing a white lab coat entered the Main Office and made straight for Wilson. ‘Superintendent Wilson I presume,’ Tunney’s eyes sparkled behind his thick spectacles.
‘George,’ Wilson said taking his outstretched hand. ‘You can call me Ian.’ Tunney gave him a Masonic handshake that Wilson didn’t return.
‘Please follow me,’ Tunney led him out of the Office and towards a series of large barn-like buildings and the rear of the complex. ‘Like I said on the phone,’
Tunney legs were short and Wilson had to adjust his pace downward to stay beside the scientist.
‘The pathologist, Professor Reid, asked us to perform a series of tests. They were quite simple tests really but I thought I should show you the results. It’s always better to see with one’s own eyes rather than read some report or other. Don’t you think?’
It was one of those subjects upon which Wilson didn’t have an opinion, so he didn’t bother giving one.
Tunney pushed open a door of one of the large buildings and led Wilson into a small lab at the rear. ‘I’ve done a simulation of the Lizzie Rice murder,’ Tunney began as they entered the lab. ‘From the photographs taken at the autopsy, I have created a three-dimensional representation of Elisabeth Rice’s head. He tapped on a computer keyboard, and Lizzie Rice’s head appeared on the screen. It was lifelike enough, and the injuries were very clearly represented. ‘Then I’ve used the additional photos to create a three-dimensional representation of her body.’ Some more tapping on the computer and Lizzie Rice stood on the screen. ‘The pathologist had identified a hammer as the murder weapon and from the indentations in the skull, I have definitely established that it was indeed a ball hammer.’ More tapping and a ball hammer appeared in the corner of the screen. ‘Now we try to fit the ball hammer to the injuries.’ The ball hammer moved and lined up with one of the indentations on Lizzie’s head. ‘Now, let’s assume that a hand is holding the hammer.’ More tapping and a hand and arm appeared holding the hammer. ‘Now, let’s add a body.’ A few keys were tapped, and a body gradually grew out of the arm. ‘You see where we’re going,’ Tunney turned and looked at Wilson who was staring at the screen.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Wilson asked.
‘It isn’t rocket science. It was quite a simple exercise.’
‘What height would you say the assailant was?’
Tunney tapped a few more keys, and the answer appeared on the screen.
‘Five foot two to five foot four,’ Wilson read off the screen. ‘So it was either a woman or a very short man.’
‘I did some calculations of the force exerted on the head by the ball hammer and extrapolated that data to give an idea of the strength of the person wielding the hammer. The calculations are a bit rough and ready, but my conclusion is that the person who murdered Lizzie Rice was certainly a woman.’ Tunney let out a chortling laugh. ‘Either, that or a fairly weak man.’
‘Can you run this stuff off for me? I need a series of screen shots. Yesterday.’
‘They’ll be on your computer before you get back.’
‘I might have a job for you on another case.’
‘We’re here to serve. Where should we send the bill?’
‘Send it to PSNI usual address.’
‘I did this without a work order,’ Tunney said. ‘Next time make it official.’
‘You’ve met Professor Reid, I assume?’
‘Ah, yes,’ Tunney reddened.
CHAPTER 46
A woman, Wilson hadn’t thought of that possibility, and he could have kicked himself. He remembered Reid saying something about it but he couldn’t remember why he had excluded the possibility? Probably because women didn’t kill with a high degree of violence. Bashing in a victim’s head with a ball hammer was not a typical modus operandi for a woman. Wilson pulled in and stopped his car as soon as he got outside the gate of the FSNI complex. He took out his mobile phone and called Moira McElvaney. ‘Where are you?’ he asked when she replied.
‘On the way back to the office. The autopsy finished about fifteen minutes ago. Reid retrieved two bullets, both nine millimetre Parabellums. They’re a bit messed up, but I’ll get them over to forensic to see whether we have something on record. The injuries are classic. The first shot damaged the lung and chest wall causing a haemopneumothorax,’ she stumbled over the pronunciation. ‘He might have survived with immediate medical attention, but the second hit the heart and that was curtains for McIlroy.
‘If forensics find that the gun was used before we’ll at least have a lead.’
‘Is there anything else?’ she asked.
‘No I was hoping to catch you are the Mortuary. I’ll just have to call Reid.’
‘Careful,’ Moira said and closed the line.
Wilson sat back in the car and looked at his mobile. He scrolled through his contacts and chose Stephanie Reid. He pressed the green button and waited.
‘Reid,’ the voice was terse and agitated.
‘It’s Ian Wilson.’
‘It’s old scaredy-cat,’ she laughed. ‘Afraid to come to the autopsy, were we? Sent along our female Rottweiler instead. ‘
‘I had other business. That was a smart move of yours to ask FNSI to look at the height of the assailant. I’ve already kicked myself in the pants for missing that one.’
‘Modesty becomes you.’
‘It made me think about the McIlroy shooting. Have you looked at the angle of entry and exit of the bullets?’
‘I’ve marked it on a chart of the body.’
‘Anything unusual or should I make a request to FNSI?’
‘I didn’t note anything in particular. But if you are as thorough as your reputation, you’ll get FNSI to rig something up. They have all sorts of rubber dummies. It’s no big deal.’
‘Thanks for the advice. I’ll get on it. Scan the autopsy report and get it over to me.’
‘Already requested by Miss Rottweiler. I suppose it is Miss, since I reckon I’m not alone in having designs on your body.’
‘She’s very efficient. I’ve got to go.’
‘We make a good team, Ian. See you soon.’
Wilson didn’t know whether he should smile or frown so he did neither. Stephanie Reid was definitely becoming a distraction, and he didn’t need a distraction. He started the car and headed back to the Station.
‘I had to put him in there,’ the Desk Sergeant pointed at the ‘soft’ interview room as Wilson entered the station. ‘An agitated Jimmy McGreary in the entrance hall is not something the average citizen necessarily wants to see.’
‘Send me in a cup of coffee,’ Wilson said as he made his way to the interview room.
Jimm
y McGreary immediately terminated the mobile phone call he was making when Wilson entered the room. There was no point in telling him that the room was wired for sound and vision. Wilson would check the tape later.
‘Mr McGreary, what can I do for you?’ Wilson said as he sat down.
‘One of my boys has been lifted,’ McGreary said. ‘That wee bastard Rice thinks that I had something to do with McIlroy bein’ shot. Davie Best was lifted on his way home last night, and he hasn’t been seen since. If I don’t get Davie back in one piece,’ he let the sentence trail off.
‘The normal time period for reporting a missing person is twenty-four hours. At what time was Best last seen?’ Wilson asked.
One of the constables from the front desk entered and deposited a plastic cup containing a dark hot liquid vaguely resembling coffee in front of Wilson. He took one look at the contents and decided to forgo the pleasure.
‘As far as we can tell sometime around eleven o’clock last night.’
‘So technically he’s not a missing person until eleven o’clock to-night.’
McGreary leaned forward. ‘I’m not waiting for twenty-four hours. If we don’t do something now, he won’t just be missing at eleven o’clock tonight. He’ll be dead.’
‘And he wouldn’t just have wandered off? Maybe he met a friend on the way home, and they’re spending some time together.’
‘Aye, Davie a good lad, who always stays in touch. The smart money says that he’s been lifted.’
‘Have you spoken to Sammy Rice?’ Wilson asked.
‘Sammy’s gone to ground. He’s not answering his mobile, at least not the mobile number I have for him. I’ve put feelers out but so far nothing. It’s up to you now, Mr Wilson. You get to Sammy and tell him to let Davie go.’
‘So you have absolutely nothing to do with McIlroy’s death?’
‘Believe me or not. I have no interest in starting a turf war. I’ve seen what happened in this city when two groups go at each other. It just means wailing women and funerals. That kind of shite was for the mad dogs.’
‘McIlroy was autopsied this morning, and the pathologist pulled two nine millimetre Parabellums out of his chest. Those bullets were fired from the weapon of choice of the paramilitaries.’
‘I swear on my mother’s grave that I had nothing to do with Ivan’s death. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but that was just business. I’ll have a drink at his wake like everyone else.’
‘Then where should I look?’
McGreary sat back and thought. ‘I’m stumped,’ he said finally. ‘McIlroy was an experienced operator. He wasn’t the kind of guy who’d walk into a trap. My guess is that he knew the fellah who shot him, and he trusted him. Otherwise, he would never have been alone with him in that school.’
‘So we’re looking for someone McIlroy knew well and who he trusted. Why should someone like that want him dead?’
‘You’re the detective. Maybe it was Sammy who organized the hit. It’s no secret that Sammy’s been spendin’ more time in Spain than in Belfast. Maybe Ivan thought it was time he took over the reins. But this isn’t getting us any nearer to saving Davie’s skin.’
‘Sammy’s no fool. He knows if he harms Best, he’s declaring war, and I’m supposing that he doesn’t want a fight either. I’ll try to get to him and get your man back. I don’t suppose that there’ll be any recriminations.’
‘I understand where Sammy’s coming from. If Davie was found shot in some deserted spot, I might be reacting like Sammy. He wants to know what’s going down, and he thinks that Davie might have some of the answers. The problem is that he doesn’t.’
‘OK,’ Wilson said. ‘I’m on it.’
McGreary pushed himself out of the chair. ‘I’ll keep trying to get to Sammy.’
Let’s hope that we get to him before Davie Best is added to the list of corpses, Wilson thought.
CHAPTER 47
As soon as Wilson returned to his office, he arranged for FSNI to carry out an examination of the McIlroy shooting. He wanted to know, in particular, what height the shooter might be. There was no need for a return visit to Carrickfergus a simple report would suffice. He rushed off a report on his visit to FSNI and his conversation with McGreary. He had already added ‘shot by someone he trusted or knew’ and ‘why the deserted school?’ to the whiteboard containing the information on the McIlroy murder. He looked through the glass window and saw that only Moira and McIver were at their desks. His watch said eleven thirty, and he would expect the team to assemble at midday. He kept his gaze on the squad room until he caught Moira’s eye, and he motioned for her to join him.
‘That was one pissed off pathologist this morning,’ Moira laughed as she entered his office. ‘She must have spent an hour getting herself made up to knock your socks off, and then I turn up. Not a happy bunny as they say.’
‘I spoke to her on the phone.’
‘And she didn’t bite your head off?’
‘You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.’
‘Just make sure you don’t trip over that molehill.’
‘That’s not why I wanted to talk to you. I want you to keep an eye on Ronald.’
‘The guy has just recently moved to another planet,’ she said. ‘He opens his desk drawer, looks in it and then closes it twenty times a day. If you look at him, he breaks out in a sweat, and he’s developed this far away look. What’s going on?’
‘Trouble at home. His wife has early dementia, and I think it’s beginning to get to him. He looks like shit. I think that he may be unravelling. I suggested that he look for help for Mary, but I’m beginning to think he’s the one that needs to see a shrink.’
‘We need all hands on deck right now. What do you want me to do?’
‘Just keep an eye out. If he starts to go off the wall, we might have to look for a replacement.’
‘Good luck with that.’
Ronald McIver’s ears were burning. He watched the Boss and the DS talking in the Boss’ office, and he was certain sure that he was the subject of their conversation. McElvaney was a dead giveaway. She had glanced twice into the squad room where he was the only occupant. He knew how important it was to remain normal in this situation. But since killing McIlroy his emotions were all over the place. In the twenty years that he’d been a police officer he’d never had occasion to draw his gun, never mind shoot another human being. He had qualified on the shooting range every year in order to continue to hold a personal weapon, but he never imagined that he would have reason to use it. He’d heard it said that you are never the same after killing, and they were right as far as he was concerned. If he’d killed in the line of duty, his weapon would have been confiscated, and he would be having a dozen sessions with a shrink. He still had his gun, and the sessions with the shrink were out of the question. His only possibility of staying out of jail was talking to nobody about McIlroy. But the guilt was eating him up inside. He’d joined the Murder Squad to catch people who had done what he had done. The knowledge that he was as bad as some of the bastards he put away ate at him. The Boss and his pal were on to him. It wasn’t possible, but he didn’t like the way they looked at him. Behaving off beam would only raise suspicion. But he always had Mary’s condition to fall back on. A tear crept out of the corner of his eye, and he quickly wiped it away.
The team were all assembled for the midday briefing. Wilson noticed that Cummerford had taken up her usual position at the rear of the room. The tone of her articles on the Rice and Morison killings was measured, and she hadn’t descended into too much speculation. Also it was clear that she wasn’t using a lot of the information she was picking up at the internal briefings, and that she was sticking to the line being put out by the PSNI Press Office. So, all in all, she wasn’t the impediment to the investigation that Wilson assumed she would be. Wilson stood in front of the whiteboards where amendments had already been made following his visit to FSNI and Moira’s attendance at the autopsy. ‘So,’ he started. ‘We
now have a vital piece of new information. The killer of Lizzie Rice and Nancy Morison was most probably a woman. That changes the direction of the investigation.’ He pointed to a copy of the photograph of the Shankill Branch of the UVF appended to the whiteboard. ‘We need to find all these women, now. One of them may be the killer or the killer may be after the whole group. Peter will be talking to Joan Boyle, the woman we’ve identified from the photo this afternoon, and it’s important that we get information on the activities of the group but also on the whereabouts of the other women. Eric, anything further on the car that lifted Nancy Morison?’
Eric Taylor moved forward and stuck a photo on the whiteboard. ‘This is the best enhancement we can get of the person driving the car. It’s about as useful as a midget in a basketball game in terms of identification. We can’t even tell for sure whether it’s a man or a woman. The hood of the fleece is covering most of the head. My guess is that this person was very well prepared for the abduction.’
‘What about the traffic cameras?’ Wilson asked.
Taylor took another photo from a file and stuck it on the board. ‘This is the best shot of the interior of the car taken by a traffic camera. It has been enhanced. You’ll note that the passenger is clearly identifiable as Nancy Morison, but you’ll also notice that the driver’s face is a blur. The best guess I can get from the traffic guys is that there was some kind of privacy tape put in strips across the driver’s side which allowed the driver to see out through the gaps but which blurred the image for the camera. We’re dealing with someone who’s pretty smart here.’
Wilson looked at Moira. ‘Anything on the background check?’
