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

by Catriona King

  “OK. Those calls were from Jake and Davy. Before I tell you what they said I want to run a scenario past you. We have two deaths of suspected drug-dealers, one of whom, Adrian Cooke, was also an addict. Yes?”

  A series of nods went round the group. Liam interjected. “That reminds me of a joke; a junkie, a priest and…”

  Craig cut him off. “Save it for later. OK, both Cooke and Rudd were manually strangled by a man with large hands. Through a process of elimination we narrowed the possibles to three; Ferdy Myers, a fifty-something porter and ex-squaddie with psychiatric issues who hated Rudd and Cooke, Brian Kirk, an ex-army doctor, and Caleb Pitt, an eighty-four-year-old veteran with a grip I can testify to as herculean. We also have a witness who identified a squeaking noise that the archive has as rubber on polymer, which could be shoes, a trolley or even a wheelchair, and a mint scent. Everyone with me so far?”

  Liam folded his arms, miffed that his joke had been interrupted, and Des and John sipped their coffee. By the look of Des it was all that was keeping him awake; having small children took its toll. Craig took their silence as agreement and carried on.

  “OK, we now know that all three had some knowledge of their involvement with drugs. Kirk knew about Cooke from his girlfriend, Hazel Gormley. Pitt…”

  Liam jerked upright. “Here, when did we confirm Pitt knew?”

  “Ten minutes ago. That’s what Jake was calling about. They’ve confirmed that Pitt definitely knew what Rudd and Cooke were up to.”

  Liam was put out. He’d arrested Myers and he wanted him to stay that way. He muttered sulkily. “Pitt’s in a wheelchair…he couldn’t…”

  “That’s a good point and I’ll come back to it. The second call I got was from Davy. He had quite a bit of news. Caleb Pitt lived in New York, London, Glasgow and Edinburgh before he settled here in 2005. There are unsolved murders of drug-dealers in every one. He didn’t find any hospital deaths that matched ours because none of the dealers were hospital workers except for here.”

  Liam’s eyes widened and Des leaned forward so quickly his coffee spilled down his jeans. He ignored the spreading stain.

  “Were there any prints, Marc?”

  Craig smiled and nodded. “In some of the cases, yes. Davy’s sending them to you now. If you can match any of them with the print we got from Pitt this morning then we’ll be closer to solving them.”

  Des shook his head ruefully. “That print won’t stand up in court. It was a dodgy lift and you know it.”

  Craig nodded. “I know that. It’s just a stop-gap until we get a warrant, or the US army comes through. Did it match the one on Cooke’s watch?”

  “Yes, but that could have got there innocently. I’ll run the others and keep it off the books, then I’ll run them again when I get a legitimate set.”

  John shook his head. “If you nail Pitt for the unsolved murders against the print Marc lifted it’ll ruin any chance of conviction. Fruit of the poison tree.”

  Craig smiled. “I know that. Charging him will have to wait till we get a good set of prints. I’m just mentioning it now as part of a scenario.”

  John waved him on.

  “OK, so let’s say that Caleb Pitt was an officer in the US Army during Vietnam and he saw what happened there. The young men addicted by drug-dealers who never recovered. It could have planted the seed of hating dealers.”

  Liam was feeling less grudging now that he’d learned about the other deaths. “OK.”

  “Pitt loses a son in combat and arrives back in the States after an unpopular war, but at least his other son Joshua is still alive. Then his life falls apart. His wife dies and Joshua turns out to be a Heroin addict and dies from an overdose. Pitt’s got nothing left; no wife, no kids and retired from the military.”

  Liam played devil’s advocate. “He could have re-enlisted.”

  “He wasn’t going to re-up when he hated the military after the war! He joined an oil company. But what did he do with all his anger?”

  Des answered for everyone. “He killed the dealer in New York who he believed killed his son. That’s what I’d do.”

  Craig nodded. “That would be my bet. God only knows how many more dealers Pitt killed in New York, then he moved to the UK and did the same.”

  John interrupted. “Aren’t we forgetting something here? Pitt’s been a partial amputee for years.”

  Craig shook his head. “His leg was only amputated in 2004, just before he moved to Northern Ireland. He didn’t lose it in the war, he lost it from diabetes.”

  Liam leaned an elbow on John’s desk, knocking a file onto the floor. John lifted it with a sigh.

  “Here, boss. Why did Pitt come to Northern Ireland anyway?”

  “It showed up on Davy’s background checks. Pitt’s father’s family were Planters who settled in Fermanagh and then emigrated to the States in the 19th Century.”

  Des smiled. “He returned to his roots.”

  “Something like that. He has a UK passport from his mother’s side and the UK’s not a bad place to spend your old age, whatever we might say about it.”

  He topped-up the coffees before restarting.

  “OK. Unlikely as it sounds let’s say we have a drug-dealer hating serial killer who has retired to a long-stay ward in Belfast. By the way, the other murders were committed with a variety of implements: guns, knives, ropes, hands, pretty much anything you can name. The M.O. differed but the victimology was consistent.”

  John urged Craig on. It was after ten and Natalie had cooked. She wouldn’t be happy if her once a month offering ended up in the bin.

  “OK, quickly. So Pitt retires to Reilly Suite and probably from murder altogether, then he’s faced with two drug-dealers on his ward. Health professionals who are supposed to help people, not sell them poison. What does he do?”

  Des obliged with the answer. “He decides to kill them. But that still leaves us with the same problem, Marc. How? How the hell does a man that age in a wheelchair kill two healthy twenty somethings?”

  “Well first of all, forget that he’s eighty. Caleb Pitt has the strength of a forty-year-old. Trust me; I have the sore neck to prove it.” He pushed past John’s looming question and carried on. “Secondly, we’ve been thinking of this as the killer using only his hands as a weapon, but what if he used something else as well?” He turned to Des. “That’s why I asked you to bring those books. John, can you lay the photos of the bruising on Rudd and Cooke on the desk.”

  John obliged and the three men stared at Craig quizzically.

  “OK. There were bruises on the back of Cooke’s knees and Rudd’s thighs that were at exactly the same height from the floor. Which was?”

  “685 millimetres exactly.”

  “There were also round bruises on Cooke’s back and I’ll come back to those. When Jake called me to confirm that Caleb Pitt definitely knew about the drug-dealing I asked him to check something out.”

  John’s hunger was suddenly replaced by frustration. “For God’s sake spit it out. What did he find?”

  Craig lifted his mobile and showed them the text. There were three numbers on the screen: 915, 760 and 685. Des asked first.

  “What are those?”

  “Wheelchair measurements. Floor to handle, floor to armrest and…”

  John finished the sentence. “Floor to lap tray. And I bet it extends.”

  Craig nodded. Caleb Pitt’s wheelchair was standard hospital issue and the stainless steel lap tray he set things on was exactly 685 millimetres from the ground and adjustable. Its maximum extension reached beyond Pitt’s feet.

  “He’s also confirmed that Pitt keeps a metal cane in a slot across the back of his chair.”

  Liam’s jaw dropped and Des flicked eagerly through the books he’d brought. He reached a page and turned it towards the group. It showed the bruising left by trollies, wheelchairs and other mobile edges on the human body; they matched the bruising on Adrian Cook and Eleanor Rudd’s legs. He flicked to another page th
at showed bruising from rods and canes. One of the canes matched the other bruises on Cooke.

  “I’ll tell you what else matches – Pitt’s armrest’s height and shape would fit the dent on the linen room door. He must have bashed it when he went in.”

  John and Liam crowded round to look at the books while Craig rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. After a minute’s discussion he waved them down.

  “My guess is that Pitt came up behind Rudd and Cooke and drove into the back of their legs using his protruding steel tray as a weapon; he rammed them hard if the bruising’s anything to go by. As they lost their balance and fell backwards on top of him he grabbed them around the neck and strangled them. The cane marks on Cooke were probably because he was harder to subdue. Rudd had no other bruises, although her hands show that she fought him hard.”

  John recovered from his shock enough to ask a question. “But how did he get Rudd into the linen room? He couldn’t have dragged her in there easily in a wheelchair.”

  “He didn’t need to drag her. He killed her inside the linen room. It’s huge; big enough to hold metal trollies, so a wheelchair could have entered and hidden easily. Pitt pulled out the linen trolley and then waited in the room till she arrived.”

  It was Des’ turn to interrupt. “But he couldn’t have known she was going in there that day.”

  Craig shrugged. “For all we know he’d waited there every day until he got her; it was just her misfortune that she chose that morning to give Cooke his drugs. It’s a big room full of laundry so Pitt could have concealed himself easily for hours. OK, so when Cooke left with his cocaine Pitt killed Rudd, left her where she fell and then wheeled himself back to Reilly. She wasn’t found for an hour. The whole thing confirmed to Pitt that Adrian Cooke was involved with drugs as well, if he’d needed confirmation, but Cooke’s actual death was opportunistic. Cooke called into Reilly that Monday evening to say hello and Pitt just saw his chance. He left Cooke where he dropped and I think he left the book behind to show that Cooke was involved in the dealing as well as being an addict.”

  “So the squeaking noise Jacobs heard was Pitt’s chair wheeling away? But what about the mint smell, boss? What was that?”

  Craig smiled at Liam’s last try at keeping Ferdy Myers in jail.

  “Pitt’s a heavy smoker; I noticed the nicotine stains on his hands this morning when we met. My guess is that when we search his room we’ll find menthol cigarettes or mouthwash.”

  Craig’s words hung in the air. When they searched it; they couldn’t go near Pitt until his prints were confirmed and linked with the deaths elsewhere. Des’ excited voice cut through Craig’s thoughts.

  “I can swab his wheelchair and cane for trace evidence…”

  Craig shook his head. “We can’t touch him until we legitimately confirm his prints. Strictly speaking we shouldn’t even be confining him to his room.” He sighed. “We’ll have to let him out and tail him.”

  Liam shrugged. “He won’t get far in a chair.”

  “He drives a car. He can get as far as he likes and we’re powerless to do a thing. Excuse me a minute, I need to make some calls. Liam, call High Street and have Myers released after the FME clears him. And let his community house know he’s fragile please so they can keep an eye.”

  He disappeared to the corridor leaving the others to talk amongst themselves. When he reappeared minutes later he had a resigned look on his face.

  “Davy’s still heard nothing from the US so I’ll have to get the C.C. onto it again. Carmen’s chasing a warrant for Pitt’s prints and the others are staying on the ward to keep an eye on him. I’ve called off the guard but Pitt’s still inside his room so I’m heading over there now.” He glanced at Liam. “You look wrecked. You should call it a night.”

  Liam shook his head. “I’ll come with you.”

  Craig was pleased to have him. He threw him the car keys; he had a call to the C.C. to make on the way.

  Chapter Sixteen

  St Mary’s Hospital.

  “Thanks for chasing that, sir. Until we get Pitt’s I.D. confirmed and match his prints to the cold cases we can’t bring him in.”

  Liam drove smoothly through the night-time streets, half-listening to Craig’s conversation with his other half wondering why the hell there were always roadworks on the M2. Did the Department of Environment not have enough to do with the annual round of snow without ruining his day? He pulled into Reilly’s car park and they began their fast walk to the ward. As they reached the back door they were surprised to see Annette standing there. She spoke before Craig could.

  “I’ve been thinking, sir.”

  Craig glanced pointedly at her hand. Her return glance begged him not to send her away so instead he answered. “Yes?”

  “Given that no-one noticed anyone near the linen room doesn’t that raise a question?”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, who’s practically invisible?”

  Craig smiled, knowing that she’d reached the conclusion of their whole day’s deductions on her own.

  “It was something we discussed once when I was a nurse; it started when a child had been abducted in a shopping centre. We asked who could have taken them and yet have no-one notice or object?”

  They chipped in one after another. “A mother.” “An authority figure.”

  Liam threw in a topical ten pence worth. “A priest or vicar?”

  But Craig knew exactly who Annette meant.

  “Someone that society sees as harmless, vulnerable and incapable of harm.”

  Annette nodded. “An elderly person…”

  Craig nodded Liam on to relieve Jake then he drew Annette to one side and brought her up to speed. Her mouth dropped open.

  “My God! The man in the wheelchair! I chatted to him days ago and never guessed.”

  “You couldn’t possibly have known. No-one could. It’s taken us this long to narrow it down and we still can’t touch him until we get everything confirmed.”

  Just then Liam re-emerged, looking far from amused.

  “Pitt’s got a gun, boss.”

  “What!”

  “Service weapon. One of the old ladies told Jake; Pitt showed it to her once. It might be decommissioned but…”

  Craig sped past him into the long-stay ward. The terrified stares that greeted him said the gun rumours had spread faster than a chant at a football match. He strode across to a stunned looking Hazel Gormley.

  “Start evacuating; I don’t care where to.”

  Before she could object he was at Caleb Pitt’s door where a uniformed officer was still hovering, contrary to orders. The P.C. saw the question in Craig’s eyes and rushed to defend himself.

  “I didn’t like to leave the ward without protection…”

  Craig nodded. “You did right.” He gestured at a group of pensioners. “Help the sister evacuate them through that door. Inspectors McElroy and Cullen are outside. Ken and Jake, help him, please.”

  As the group dwindled amidst muttered questions and objections, a macabre stillness descended over Reilly’s common room, deepening when Craig switched off the TV. Finally the ward was empty apart from Caleb Pitt, still firmly inside his room. As the last resident left Liam joined Craig, speaking in his best stage whisper.

  “The others are keeping everyone calm. What do you need from me?”

  Craig shook his head, thinking. He beckoned Liam into the sister’s office and took a seat.

  “Everyone’s safe and both exits are blocked. Now we wait.”

  Liam glance said he was about to object. “Until what? Pitt shoots a hole in the door! The last thing we need is a siege with an OAP; the press will set up a tent!”

  “We don’t have grounds to arrest Pitt on suspicion of the earlier killings until we get confirmation that his prints match. We also can’t lift him just because someone may or may not have seen a souvenir gun, and if we storm in there he could shoot one of us or himself. So what would you suggest, Rambo?”

&nb
sp; Liam laughed despite himself. Rambo was what Danni called him sometimes, although Craig couldn’t know that; their role-playing fantasies were no-one’s business but their own. Before he could answer Craig a voice came booming from Caleb Pitt’s room.

  “I know you’re out there, Craig. How many are with you?”

  Liam went to answer but Craig shook his head. If Pitt thought the ward was empty there was just a chance that he’d emerge. After a long pause Pitt repeated his question, frustration in his voice.

  “I’ve got a gun. It’s a M16 and it works, so forget anyone who told you it was a dud.”

  An M16 adapted for automatic fire had been the US’ weapon of choice in Vietnam, but how the hell had Cooke got it into the country? Even as Craig thought it he shrugged; fifty percent of the UK’s thousands of decommissioned weapons were capable of being reactivated, and Ireland had a lot of access routes if Pitt had wanted a gun brought in live.

  The silence took on a different edge. If Pitt had a live weapon they needed armed response. Craig decided to try something first. He broke his silence and yelled across the floor.

  “What do you hope to gain by this, Mr Pitt?”

  Pitt sounded surprised. “Gain? There’s nothing left to gain, boy. Is that Craig?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you know I’ve already lost everything I ever loved. Losing my life was something I’d expected to happen long before now.”

  Craig moved to the door of the small office and Liam hissed. “Get down. If you get your head blown off it’s me who’ll have to do the paperwork.”

  Craig gave a wry smile. He was no martyr; he’d calculated the arc that Pitt’s bullets could reach and they were well out of range.

  “Do you want to die, Mr Pitt? Is that it?”

  Silence.

  “Is this suicide by cop? We call in armed response and you fire, knowing you’ll end up with more holes in you than a sieve?”

  Pitt said nothing, confirming his guess. Craig’s next words held disgust.