The History Suite (#9 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series)

by Catriona King

  The doctor gazed at Craig’s badge and then at both men with a puzzled look on his face.

  “What about?”

  Craig saw nothing in his body language that said he was about to run and nothing that screamed guilty. Cooke just looked genuinely puzzled.

  Craig waved him to an armchair and sat opposite. “Do you know a nurse called Eleanor Rudd?”

  Cooke glanced from Craig’s face to Liam’s and back again, then he did something that surprised them both; he laughed. Too loudly. A host of questions raced through Craig’s mind. What sort of laugh was it? Sarcastic? False? Deflecting? Probably. It was also a laugh that said ‘You’re kidding, aren’t you? Of course I know her. Why do you ask?’

  And what about the body language that accompanied it? Fight or flight? Was Cooke about to bolt for the door? No, he was lounging back in his chair as if he didn’t have a care in the world. A mite too careless to be genuine but in that second Craig knew they didn’t have a murderer in their sights, a liar yes but not a killer. Adrian Cooke might have known Ellie Rudd and be up to his neck in drugs, but he wasn’t responsible for killing her, he would bet his badge on it.

  Craig’s slight shake of the head made Liam’s heart sink; Adrian Cooke wasn’t their perp. They were going to ask questions anyway so Craig continued, pushing past the doctor’s surprise.

  “Where were you last Thursday, Dr Cooke?”

  “On leave. Hill-walking in the Mournes. Why?”

  The first lie and not a blink – he was good. Liam’s eyebrows shot up. Hannah Donard had said Cooke had come to the linen room when she’d screamed, now he was saying he’d been up a mountain that day! Craig ignored Liam’s expression and continued smoothly.

  “Did you have a phone with you?”

  Liam snorted at the question. What the heck was the boss playing at? Everyone carried a phone. But Cooke confounded him by shaking his head.

  “No, sorry. The guide had one but I deliberately left mine at home. I get bleeped and called all day at work; it’s lovely to have some peace now and then.”

  Another lie. No-one went anywhere without their mobile, even if they kept it turned off. Cooke was lying to put them off checking its GPS. Craig had already guessed he was going to say it so he continued smoothly, phrasing his next question to elicit a yes or no.

  “Did you have a companion on the walk?”

  Cooke nodded. “Yes, my girlfriend Abigail. She introduced me to hill-walking months ago. It’s great fun.”

  Too much information, a sure sign of someone covering their ass.

  “Where is she now?”

  Cooke shrugged. “At work. Look, can I ask why you want to know all this?”

  Craig shook his head. “Not yet. What is Abigail’s full name and what does she do?”

  “Abigail McIvor and she’s a solicitor.”

  Liam sighed loudly, earning a sharp glance from Cooke. A bloody lawyer; that was all they needed. Craig nodded Liam to check out the name and he slipped out of the room while Craig carried on.

  “When did you leave for your trip and when did you return?”

  “We went on Wednesday morning and returned last night.”

  More lies.

  Cooke folded his arms defiantly, stretching his white coat tight across his chest. “I refuse to answer more questions unless you tell me what this is about.”

  Craig shook his head. “In a moment. And if you don’t want to answer them here we can always go to the station. I have a patrol car waiting outside.”

  Cooke unfolded his arms hastily and shook his head. “No, no. It’s not a problem. Carry on.”

  “Did you see a news bulletin or read a newspaper while you were away?”

  “Yes to the first and no to the second. I never read papers, they print nothing but crap. I saw the BBC News in the hotel at night.”

  “Then you’d have seen that a young woman was found dead.”

  Cooke narrowed his eyes, in a show of remembering. “In a hospital, wasn’t it?” As he said the words the expression on his face changed to one of exaggerated shock. “You’re not saying…? No, it can’t be. It can’t!”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head as if it would make the knowledge disappear. But you can’t un-know something; once it’s there it’s there. Cooke’s eyes re-opened and he gasped out the words.

  “Ellie? It was Ellie?”

  Craig nodded, his eyes on Cooke’s face as he did. What he read there was what he’d known he would read one minute through the door – Adrian Cooke hadn’t killed Eleanor Rudd but he was a Class A liar. He hadn’t been up the Mourne Mountains that day; he’d been exactly where Hannah Donard had said. But why lie, unless he thought it would stop them digging into his life? He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Liam re-entered the room waving Abigail McIvor’s confirmed I.D. They’d interview her to break Cooke’s alibi so the good doctor wasn’t off the hook.

  “Tell me about your relationship with Ms Rudd.”

  Cooke was shaking his head mournfully, vying for the best actor Oscar, so Craig repeated the question in a louder, sterner voice, shocking him back to earth.

  “We…we dated for a while.”

  “How long?”

  “Two years on and off.”

  “That’s more than a while, Dr Cooke. What made it on and off?”

  Cooke tightened his lips in the way novelists usually described as being ‘sealed’.

  “Silence isn’t an option. If you don’t want to speak ill of the dead, your sensibilities do you credit, but don’t worry, we already know a great deal about Nurse Rudd’s life. So I’ll ask you again, why was your relationship with Eleanor Rudd on and off?”

  Cooke dropped his head and mumbled. Liam moved closer and repeated his words.

  “He says there were other men, boss.”

  Craig leaned forward. “Who were they, Dr Cooke?”

  The cuckold shook his head and Craig suddenly barked, making him jerk upright.

  “This isn’t a bloody game! A woman’s dead and we’re trying to find her killer. Unless you want to be charged with obstructing a police investigation, answer the question.”

  Cooke shouted his next words. “I don’t know all their names.”

  “Then tell us the ones that you do.”

  Just then the staff-room door opened and a student entered. Cooke hid his face quickly as the girl stared at Liam and then at Craig. Liam steered her gently back out the door.

  “But I need to get to my locker.”

  “Room’s occupied, pet. Come back in an hour.”

  As the door closed, Craig urged Cooke on and he gabbled out two names. “Prof Taylor, they’ve been at it for ages.”

  Tim Taylor! No wonder he’d looked shocked when he’d found out Rudd was dead.

  Liam nodded. “That confirmed what the sister said.”

  Cooke was still talking.

  “And there was some guy she met in a bar – Joe or Joey I think. She didn’t tell me the rest.” A sour look crossed his face. “Her slut girlfriends will know, especially Hannah Donard; they used to go on the hunt all the time.”

  Interesting that Donard hadn’t mentioned that to Annette. Craig stood up, beckoning Cooke to do the same.

  “Come along, Dr Cooke.”

  Cooke’s face fell. “But I’ve told you everything I know. I had nothing to do with Ellie’s death!”

  Craig shook his head. “You probably didn’t, but you’ve just lied to the police.”

  Cooke went to object and Craig raised a hand to stop him. “Please don’t waste my time denying it. There’s also the small matter of your illegal drug use to discuss. The Drugs Squad will want a little chat.”

  ***

  John Winter’s Apartment. Lisburn Road. 12 p.m.

  Craig sipped at his extra strong coffee and gazed around John’s living room.

  “This looks…different.”

  He was used to having work conversations amongst the rose coloured walls and stainles
s steel instruments at John’s lab. Instead they were sitting in his once characterless bachelor pad, now a cushion and flower-filled nest courtesy of Natalie. There were ornaments on every surface where once dust had gathered happily undisturbed, and pictures of people Craig didn’t recognise dotted all around. The strange thing was that John seemed happy about it! In fact, he looked positively euphoric. John, who was rarely seen in anything less formal than a shirt and tie, was wearing a T-shirt and track-suit bottoms and wiggling his bare feet on a rug that Craig had never seen before. The dedicated pathologist, who’d once spent all weekend working in his lab, had only crawled out of bed ten minutes before!

  John took a gulp of coffee and grinned inanely, in a way that would have done Stan Laurel proud.

  “I know.” He waved a hand around the room. “Isn’t it great? Really homely.”

  Craig realised that if John actually liked Natalie’s floral kitsch he was probably beyond saving, so he said nothing, just smiled. After a short pause he restarted on the case.

  “Steroids. Run me through what they do to someone.”

  John stared into space as if he was flicking through some celestial formulary, searching for drugs beginning with ‘S’.

  “OK, steroids…” He halted abruptly and stared at Craig. “Why? You’re not thinking of taking them are you? I know you like to keep fit, but…”

  “Do I look that stupid? It’s part of the case. Eleanor Rudd’s ex has been taking them.”

  John nearly dropped his mug. “Weedy Taylor?”

  Craig shook his head. “Not Taylor. No, it’s Adrian Cooke, the foundation grade doctor on the ward.”

  John tutted. “Stupid bastard. Steroids have nasty side effects.”

  “That’s exactly what I need to know about.”

  John set down his mug and returned to his formulary, listing steroid’s effects as if he was reading them off a page. Craig had long ago stopped being surprised by his memory, but the staring into space and reciting was disturbing, even for him.

  “Aggression, genital atrophy, high blood pressure, baldness…”

  “Thank you, Rain Man. Do you know every drug’s side effects off by heart? Because that was strange, even for you.”

  John smiled serenely and lifted his coffee again. It was on the tip of Craig’s tongue to ask what was in it, but he knew John’s euphoria couldn’t be bought in tablet form. He had a severe dose of prolonged honeymoon and Craig hoped it lasted for years.

  “Cooke was using cocaine as well.”

  John shook his head. “Bad combination. Coke and Roid-rage is a nasty mix; he might have killed anyone who got in his way.”

  “He’s saying he had an alibi for the time of the killing.”

  “You’ll crack that, if it’s crackable.”

  Craig laughed. “Is that even a word?”

  “It’s one of Natalie’s.”

  Craig raised an eyebrow. “I take it the Miranda Taylor transgression was forgiven?”

  John nodded. “Natalie said she’d known for months.” He looked puzzled. “How do women know these things?” There wasn’t a short reply. “Anyway, my punishment for the omission is having her parents to dinner once a month. I like them so that’s OK.”

  He gave such a loved-up grin that Craig shook his head and stood up to leave. He smiled as John reclined on his old leather sofa surrounded by new cushions and throws.

  “You’re a lost cause.”

  John smiled. “I know. Isn’t it great? Honestly, Marc, you should try marriage, it’s brilliant.”

  “This from the man who’s been married all of ten weeks. Thanks, but I’ll leave it for another while.”

  “You might want to check what Katy thinks about that.”

  Craig froze instantly, knowing that conversations had been taking place behind his back. He loved Katy but marriage was a whole other deal. He intended to do it once or not at all and he wouldn’t be corralled into it by anyone. His next words were sharp and he knew it.

  “What has she been saying to Natalie?”

  John’s face fell and he jumped to his feet.

  “Nothing. It was only a joke. My joke. Natalie never even mentions you as a couple.”

  The look on Craig’s face said he wasn’t convinced. He turned to go and John grabbed his arm, staring him down.

  “Listen to me, Marc, Katy has said nothing. I don’t think she’s even sure how you feel about her.”

  It was Craig’s turn to be surprised. How could she not know how he felt? He’d told her, hadn’t he? In that moment he realised that he hadn’t. He’d never actually said ‘I love you’, in either English or Italian. Sure, he’d said romantic things, but all of them oblique and usually in bed. In Katy’s mind they probably didn’t count and he knew that. It was possibly why he’d only ever said them there.

  As John watched realisation dawn he determined to say nothing else. Craig was just stubborn enough to cut off his nose to spite his face, and cut himself off from Katy as he did. He changed the topic swiftly.

  “Cooke may have been reported to the General Medical Council for his drug use. Would you like me to check it out?”

  Craig nodded vaguely, his mind on other things. “Good idea. And Des might get onto you for help with his tox-screen.”

  “Fine. Keep me up to date on anything you need. Sorry that you had to come here instead of the lab. I slept late.”

  Craig nodded again and wandered towards the front door, his thoughts a mixture of romance and the case. He decided the case was a much safer bet.

  ***

  High Street Station. 1.20 p.m.

  “Is Cooke in a cell?”

  Liam nodded vaguely, staring down at his paunch. He’d been reclining on a chair in the station’s staff-room since lunch and he’d had to let out his belt a notch. He wasn’t happy about middle-aged spread but giving up his grub would make him even less happy so he was stymied. Craig gave a wry smile.

  “It won’t shrink just because you stare at it, you know. If that worked the diet companies would go bust.”

  Liam nodded resignedly, glancing at Craig’s lean shape. “Do you think I should try those steroids, then? Would they get me back in shape?”

  “John says they make your genitals shrink.”

  Liam’s eyes widened. “What! I’m not having that. We might want another kid.”

  “You’ll be working until you’re a hundred if you have any more.” Craig sprang out of his seat athletically, just to annoy him. “Come on. It’s time to interview William Rudd. Who’s coming to see Cooke from Drugs?”

  Liam rose more sedately. “Karl Rimmins.”

  They smiled simultaneously, remembering Rimmins from a case eight months earlier when he’d led the drug side of an S&M murder case. He was a lean and edgy looking young sergeant, who in reality was about as edgy as his mother’s chicken soup.

  “What time is he arriving?”

  “Two o’clock. We might see him before he goes in.”

  Craig nodded. “Good. I’d like a word. John’s checking Cooke out with the GMC and Davy’s running him for any arrests.”

  Liam shook his head. “They’ll find nothing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Davy’s just called to say that Daddy is Patrick Cooke, the High Court Judge.”

  Of course! That was why the name Cooke had sounded familiar. But Patrick Cooke was one of the more honest judges in Belfast so he might not have helped his wayward son – they would soon find out. Craig motioned Liam towards the interview room where Jack was waiting with William Rudd. Ten minutes later the names were recited and Jack was ensconced on the other side of the glass.

  Craig considered the man in front of him. Billy Rudd was over fifty but still powerfully built and Craig imagined him scaring his wife and children half to death for years. Carmen had phoned twenty minutes before, updating him on the scars on Eddie Rudd’s arms, and John had already shown them Rudd’s signature all over his dead daughter’s back. Craig was certain they
’d find similar marks on his wife. The man was an animal, except animals only attacked for food or defence. Billy Rudd had done it for…what?

  Why had Rudd beaten his wife and children? Because he ruled his family with a rod of iron and it was his house, his rules? Because he was an arrogant, mindless bully like so many men of his ilk, who cited God’s word to justify whatever he did? Or was it even simpler than that, more basic? He beat them because he was bigger and sadistic and he enjoyed it. He could terrify them so he did. But had Rudd killed his daughter? It was unlikely. If he’d wanted to do it, home would have been a much more likely venue than the linen room of a hospital, but until they’d confirmed his movements that day, they couldn’t rule him out. Whatever the reason Billy Rudd had terrorised and beaten his family, he was facing two grown men now. Craig and Liam were his equals and both had zero tolerance with what he’d done.

  Craig stared into Rudd’s fat enveloped eyes so coldly that Liam could almost feel his hate. He’d just made up his mind that if Craig snapped and grabbed Rudd by the throat he wouldn’t stop him, when Craig began to recite the charges in a monotone.

  “William Mervyn Rudd, you are charged with assault and grievous bodily harm on Mrs Margie and Mr Edward Rudd of 10a Rilstone Close, Belfast. You will be arraigned tomorrow at Belfast Crown Court where we will be asking for bail to be denied. You are free to appoint your own counsel or counsel will be provided to you.” Craig stared calmly at Rudd. “Do you have anything to say regarding the charges I have just read to you?”

  Rudd spewed out a stream of expletives, most of which mentioned God’s will and the bible. He strained forward in his chair, his face red and bulging with rage.

  Liam sniffed. “That’ll be a no then.”

  On Craig’s nod they rose and he turned towards the mirror, signalling Jack to return Rudd to his cell. As they walked back to the staff-room, Liam spoke.

  “Here, that was a bit short and sweet, boss. What happened to interviewing him?”

  Craig shook his head. “I considered it, then I decided I didn’t want to be in the room with that scum any longer than I had to.”

  Liam gave a wry smile. “Didn’t want to, or couldn’t have held your temper if you did?”