by Derek Fee
‘What the fuck are you up to?’
The question shouted behind her back startled her. She closed the file and turned around to see McIver standing behind her. ‘What?’ she said.
‘You’re fucking watching me,’ McIver shouted. His eyes were wide and glassy and there were streaks of red running up his neck and into his face. ‘Every time I look up, I see your beady little Fenian eyes staring at me.’
‘You’ve got it wrong, Ronald. Sometimes I look up just to get a break from reading.’ She looked at his hands and saw that they were balled into fists. He looked like he was about to explode.
‘Don’t you fucking Ronald me, you Fenian bitch. Ever since you arrived here you, and Wilson have been getting it on. That’s why you made it to detective sergeant while better men had to watch. You’re his little sneak. Watching what everyone does and reporting back,’ spittle flew out of his mouth.
Moira stood. ‘That’s quite enough, DC McIver. One more word and I’m going to put you on a charge.’ She tried to put as much steel in her voice as she could but was aware of a quiver.
‘Fuck you and your fucking charge. You stop watching me or you’ll be sorry.’
They both turned as the door into the squad room opened and Harry Graham entered. He quickly assessed the situation and moved sharply to Moira’s side. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘Fucking Fenian bitch has been watching me,’ McIver wiped spittle from his mouth. ‘You’re all watching me, but she’s the worst.’
‘Take it easy, Ronald,’ Graham moved Moira back behind him and faced McIver. ‘You’re coming apart at the seams. Look at yourself. You look like shit. I bet you haven’t slept properly in days. You need help. This job eats people up. That’s why we top the divorce league and our kids get to disown us when we’re older because we were never there. Nobody’s watching you. It’s just your imagination.’
‘You’re one of them, you fuck,’ McIver shouted. ‘Protecting the Fenian bitch. Fuck you all,’ he turned and stormed out of the squad room.
‘You all right?’ Graham turned and looked at Moira. He could see the tears welled up in her eyes.
‘Yes,’ she shivered. ‘That was unexpected. For a minute there I thought I was going to be hit but I was prepared to hit back. McIver’s gone. He’s completely unravelled. The man’s a basket case.’
‘Don’t be too harsh on him,’ he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back into her chair. He went to his desk and pulled a bottle of water from a six-pack on the ground and brought it to her. ‘Drink this.’
Moira opened the bottle and tilted it to her mouth. She realised that her lips were completely dry. She was shaking. If McIver’s condition was what this job did to you, she wondered whether it was really what she wanted. She took another deep drink from the water bottle and then offered it back.
‘Keep it. As soon as the Boss get’s back we have to inform him. The decision is his but I think we may have seen the last of Ronald for a while. The shrink will have a field day on him. You sure you’re ok?’
‘Thanks Harry, it’s appreciated.’
He tipped his forelock. ‘All part of the service, Sergeant.’
CHAPTER 57
‘What was he about to let slip?’ Sammy Rice sat in an easy chair in the front room of his house in Ballygomartin Road. One of McIlroy’s men stood in front of him.
‘This gobshite peeler was askin’ questions about who Ivan was meetin’,’ the man said. ‘And the fool of a barman let slip that Ivan had been talkin’ to some guy he marked as a peeler in the Black Bear a day or so before he was topped. The guy askin’ the questions got a bit excited about that. I tipped the barman to keep his big gob shut.’
‘Where’s the barman now?’ Rice asked.
‘He’s still at the Bear. He doesn’t finish his shift until five.’
‘Pick him up and bring him here.’
‘And if he doesn’t want to come.’
Rice smiled. ‘He’ll come.’ He sat back in his chair. A Peeler. He remembered telling McIlroy to buy someone on Wilson’s team. That must have been the guy. Could it possibly be that the peeler had offed Ivan? No, nobody killed the goose that laid the golden egg and Ivan would have already passed one golden egg, across. However, it did answer the big question. His men had beaten every bush in West and East Belfast for a lead on whoever had offed Ivan. He’d been sure that McGreary had been behind the killing, but he was slowly changing his mind. They had given Davie Best a fair old beating but so far there had been no retaliation. McGreary had gone to ground. Who the hell had Ivan tapped on Wilson’s team? He had no idea. He left it up to Ivan. He pulled out his mobile and searched through his contacts. He pressed the green button and waited. The phone at the other end rang out.
‘I’m busy,’ the man at the other end said.
‘How many people on Wilson’s team?’ Rice asked.
‘Five.’
‘How many men?’
‘Four.’
‘I need their photographs by fax yesterday. You have the number.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘No, just do it. Urgent.’
The line went dead.
Wilson rubbed at his temples. He didn’t need additional aggravation. Moira and Harry sat across the desk from him.
‘He was totally out of control, Boss,’ Graham said.
‘I’ve got the picture,’ Wilson looked at Moira. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m pissed off with myself that he managed to shake me up, but otherwise I’m ok.’
‘We’ve all seen him disintegrate over the past week or so,’ Graham interjected. ‘He’s essentially a good copper but something has flipped a switch in his brain, and he’s lost it. You’ve got to get him some help and when he’s better, I doubt he’ll be able to come back to this part of the job. They’ll find him something in records.’
‘He hasn’t been right for a long time,’ Wilson said. ‘I blame myself for holding on. I should have arranged for him to move on some time ago, but I didn’t want to break up the team.’
‘It’s like football, Boss,’ Graham said. ‘You have to freshen up the team every now and then. That means that some new people are added, and some others have to leave.’
‘Where is he now?’ Wilson asked.
‘He left here mumbling to himself,’ Moira said.
‘Probably in a pub somewhere lashing back as much booze as he can handle,’ Graham said.
‘We need to get his warrant card and his Glock. We don’t need a repeat of the Worthington affair.’
‘I don’t think we’re there, Boss,’ Graham said. ‘Mary’s heading downhill fast. He wouldn’t leave her like that.’
‘Tomorrow morning we collect the warrant card and the gun. I’ll get on to Human Resources and arrange for some counselling and a change of job. I’ll also try to fill the gap, but my guess is that I’ll be told to do more with less.’
‘One more thing, Boss,’ Moira said. ‘Every now and again I’ve seen Ronald open his desk drawer and look inside. Then he closes it carefully and locks it. Maybe we should have a look inside before he gets back.’
‘I don’t like it, Boss,’ Graham said. ‘So far, Ronald’s behaved a bit whacko but he hasn’t done anything that deserves us prying into his personal affairs. It sets a bad precedent if people feel that their privacy can be invaded at a whim.’
‘I don’t considered threatening the DS to be a whim,’ Wilson said.
‘Look, Boss,’ Moira said. ‘Ronald knew that you, and me were watching him. Yet five or six times a day he pulled that drawer out and looked inside. Then he had that spaced out look before closing it up again. Call me nosey but I really think we should take a look. It could help sort things out.’
‘Harry has a point though,’ Wilson had a lot of respect for Moira’s intuition. He was beginning to think that maybe she was on to something. However, Harry’s point was valid. McIver had done nothing wrong aside from threatening his sergeant. He
had abrogated his role as team leader by failing to make a decision on McIver. He was now in a position where he could compound that bad decision by doing nothing. ‘Let’s take a look.’ He pulled a set of lock picks from his desk drawer. ‘If there’s nothing we just leave things as they were. Harry, I want you along on this thing just to make sure it goes according to the book.’
They left the office together and went to McIver’s desk. There was paper strewn over the top, and it was plain to see that little work had been done. Wilson fidgeted with the picks until he found one that would fit the lock. He manoeuvred the picks, and the lock clicked in a matter of moments. He put a pick on the edge of the drawer and slowly pulled it open. Three faces moved directly over the drawer containing mostly office rubbish; pens, post-its, a box of staples. Six eyes fell on the roll of notes bound with a rubber band sitting in the back of the drawer.
‘Evidence bag,’ Wilson said simply.
Graham went to his desk and pulled out a roll of evidence bags. He tore one off the top.
Wilson took the evidence bag and using a pencil lifted the roll of bank notes through the centre and carefully placed it in the bag.
‘I don’t like this, Boss,’ Graham said. ‘This could be his savings, and we’re making more of this than we should.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Wilson sealed the bag and handed it to Graham. ‘If there’s a simple explanation, I’ll readily accept it.’ He wasn’t about to mention his earlier conversation with Eric, but he was connecting the dots in his mind. What if McIver was the police officer that McIlroy had met in the pub and what if the roll of notes was some form of payoff? That was already a lot of ‘what ifs’. He was running a little ahead but there were questions that McIver was going to have to answer. ‘Put the bag away for the moment.’ A bell was ringing in his head, and he was wondering whether he should answer it. There was a good chance that Ronald McIver was rotten. Proving it wouldn’t be his job. The arseholes from Professional Services would be rubbing their hands together for a chance to blacken one of his team. He would have to do this by the book. First, he would have to talk to McIver. If he couldn’t explain the money, he would have to hand him over to Professional Services. That was the protocol. If that was all there was, why was the bell in his head still ringing.
CHAPTER 58
Ronald McIver whistled as he crushed the sleeping tablets in the mortar and pestle. The Fenian bitch was on to him. He wondered whether she had told the Boss that she suspected him. He would have to deal with her. It was the only way that he could remain safe. He stared into the mortar at the white granulated powder. There were more than thirty Nambutal tables. He had been saving them for ages, but he couldn’t remember why. That should be enough although he wasn’t sure whether their potency had been reduced over time. He was having difficulty keeping his thoughts together. He wasn’t even sure as to why he was grinding the tablets. He remembered coming home from the station and letting Mary’s minder go. He’d spent sometime with Mary telling her about killing McIlroy and how the Fenian bitch was watching him. Mary had been bugger all use. He wanted her to advise him. She used to be the clever one. Now all he had was a stone wall. Something had snapped inside, and he needed someone to tell him what to do. The problem was that he didn’t feel like himself any more. He could hardly remember the person he’d been. It was like living inside a skin that he didn’t recognise. Then he remembered getting the idea about the tablets. It was time to clear up the mess he had created. But could he go through with it? He knew in his heart of hearts that Mary wouldn’t like to descend into the abyss that was facing her. His plan was formulated out of kindness. They’d seen her mother descent into that black hole. Twenty people sitting around in a circle, no one watching the television in the corner, incontinence pads, soft food, dribbling, nothingness. Mary had often told him that she would prefer to die than exist as a vegetable. He tipped the white granulated powder into a glass. He poured in the water and dissolved the granules slowly using a spoon to swirl the solution. He brought the glass into the living room. Mary was still in her chair staring into space. He put the glass on the table beside her and sat down facing her. He took her hand in his, but she didn’t respond to the squeeze he gave it. He started crying. They were together thirty years. For some reason, there were no children. Perhaps it was better that way. They’d had their ups and downs. There was nothing really to bind them except perhaps their fear of loneliness. He had his job in the RUC and then the PSNI. Mary took care of the house. He looked around the small room and wondered how she had amused herself during the day. It hadn’t been all cleaning and cooking. As far as he knew she didn’t have any friends. However, he was slowly realising that he knew very little about a woman he had spent half his life with. He dried his tears with the sleeve of his jacket. He picked up the glass and opened her mouth. He poured in the liquid looking for the signs of muscular activity in her throat as the solution went down. He thought he saw something in her eyes. Some flicker of life or perhaps fear, but it disappeared as quickly as it had materialized. He wondered if she knew what he was doing and whether she approved. It was all very well saying that you couldn’t live as a vegetable, but it was a different matter when the time came. He looked again into her eyes but saw no emotion. She swallowed the solution. He put the glass on the table and took her hand again. Within five minutes, her eyes began to flicker and then closed. She fell back in the chair and within minutes, she was fast asleep, her slack mouth pulling in gasps of air. He went into the kitchen and opened one of the drawers. He took out the roll of large plastic bags and pulled one off the roll. He replaced the roll in the drawer and started back for the living room.
Gerry Healy lit up a fag as soon as he exited the Black Bear. He had four hours off, and he was going to spend them in front of the TV with his feet up. He’d taped a film the previous evening, and he was looking forward to seeing it. He was about to head home when a black cab containing a couple of the heavies from the bar pulled up beside him.
‘Gerry,’ the guy known locally as ‘Big George’ hailed him from the passenger seat when the cab drew level. ‘How’re they hangin’?’
‘Ok,’ there was a catch in Healy’s voice. Being hailed on the street by two of Sammy Rice’s mob set his heart racing.
‘A man wants to meet ye,’ Big George said. ‘Hop in the back.’
‘Which man wants to meet me?’ Healy contemplated running. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that it would be futile. If they wanted him, they’d get him. It was best if he played along.
‘The man,’ Big George smiled. ‘No need to shit yer pants. We’re not takin’ you for a ride. You’ll be home in fifteen minutes with your fist around a cold one. Now hop the fuck in the back before you annoy me.’
Healy opened the back door, and the car moved off.
Ten minutes later, they stopped in front of the Ballygomartin house. Big George opened the back door and led Healy up the short drive. They knocked on the front door. A man of equal dimensions to Big George opened it. They two men nodded, and Healy was led into the living room. He immediately recognised Sammy Rice and felt an urgent need to pee.
‘Gerry Healy,’ Big George said by way of introduction.
‘Gerry,’ Rice didn’t bother to stand. ‘Nice of you to come round. Sit down,’ he pointed at a chair. ‘I only need a few minutes of your time and then the boys will drop you wherever you want to go.’ He took four sheets of paper from the table and handed them to Big George, who passed them to Healy. ‘You remember the Peeler who was talking with Ivan a few days ago?’
Healy nodded.
‘Look at the pictures and tell me if one of them was the man.’
Healy examined the four photos. He immediately recognised McIver as the man who had been talking with McIlroy.
Rice had been watching Healy closely and saw that he recognised one of the photos. ‘Give it to me.’
Healy handed over the photo.
