The Broken Shore

by Catriona King

  “Lucia?”

  Lucia was Craig’s younger sister by almost eleven years and they’d met many times at post-case drinks and family ‘do’s. They hadn’t spoken for months, not since the Britt Ackerman case had wrapped up. The quiet voice answered ‘yes’, confirming Annette’s guess. It was Lucia. She spoke in a nervous almost-whisper as if she was afraid that someone else might hear and Annette heard something in her voice that she’d never heard before. Fear.

  She shook her head. It couldn’t be. Lucia was absolutely fearless, fighting for every underdog in the world. She was paid to do it nine to five in her work with a charity, but practically every weekend was spent marching for another good cause, much to the amusement of the uniforms and Craig’s red face. She remembered the time she’d had to be cut off the gates of Stormont and smiled, recalling his shocked look. He’d been purple with embarrassment but beneath it they could see his unmistakable pride.

  “Annette, I…”

  Annette heard the fear again. It was clearer this time. She stopped being plain Mrs McElroy, out shopping on a Saturday afternoon, and became an Inspector again, taking control.

  “Where are you? I’ll come to you.”

  Twenty minutes later she was clear about the reason that Lucia had called, and even more clear why she hadn’t dialled her big brother’s phone.

  ***

  “Marc, where are you?”

  Craig stared at his mobile wondering what Julia meant. “What do you mean? I’m at work.”

  “But I called the office ten minutes ago and there’s no-one there.”

  John watched as a look of horror suddenly covered his friend’s face. He mouthed ‘what’s up?’ and watched as Craig drew his finger across his throat, mimicking a knife. The look on his face said he was in deep shit.

  “Where are you, pet?”

  Julia gazed around Craig’s living room then stirred the pot on the cooker again.

  “I’m in your flat. I’m cooking dinner and I just wanted to know what time you’ll be home.” She paused and sighed. “I met with the Chief Constable today and I need to tell you what he said.”

  Craig didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He’d got so carried away with the case that he’d completely forgotten she was coming to Belfast that weekend. He could either tell the truth and be hanged for it, or drive home now and let Andy down. He chose the job.

  John could hear Julia yelling from ten feet away as Craig left the bar quickly to continue the call. Five minutes later he returned, looking the worse for wear. He grabbed at his beer, downed it in one then ordered another. John said nothing, just waited until the storm had passed then shot him a questioning look.

  Craig shook his head. “Don’t ask, John. Suffice to say I’ll be in the bad books from now until Christmas. Let’s change the subject.”

  John did as he was told, grateful they weren’t going to have a deep and meaningful talk. They could both do without it. He took a drink and brightened his tone, even though the subject matter didn’t fit.

  “You know Melanie Trainor?”

  Craig nodded vaguely. “Not well, but maybe as well as anyone ever does.”

  John raised his eyebrows and waved him on.

  “I worked a case with her on a case three years ago. She was a Superintendent then and headed for the top.”

  “And now she’s there. From Superintendent to ACC in three years. There’s hope for you yet.”

  Craig shook his head, disagreeing. “She won’t be happy until she’s the Chief. Don’t get me wrong, that’s not a bad thing. Ambition’s fine, but…”

  “But?”

  “Well let’s just say Andy nailed it when he said she could cause a fight in an empty room.”

  John laughed loudly. He hadn’t heard the Derry expression in years. Craig was still talking.

  “She’s aggressive. With suspects, people under her, with life probably. That’s not the sort of person I would choose to run the force.”

  “Any reason why she’s that way?”

  Craig shrugged. “I suppose it can’t have been easy fighting her way through a man’s world. The old boys’ network is pretty dense.”

  “So are most of the old boys. But you think there’s more to it?”

  “I’m not sure, but sometimes it was as if she thought she was being chased. Like she was somehow waiting to be found out and told to leave.”

  John nodded. “Imposter Syndrome. Waiting to be tapped on the shoulder and told that you don’t deserve to be here. It’s pretty common in people who lead the vanguard, and let’s face it; she’s one of the first female ACCs here.”

  Craig shrugged again, conceding. “You’re probably right.”

  “But…”

  He laughed at John’s knowledge of him and his laughter was renewed by Liam and Andy wandering into the bar, already laughing about something else.

  “Share the joke, lads.”

  Liam shook his head. “Can’t. It’s far too rude for your sensitive ears. “He glanced quickly at Craig’s beer then beckoned the barman across.

  “Another round of whatever they’re having, a pint of bitter and…”

  He turned to Andy. He was perusing the cocktail menu, turning it over in his hand as if trying to make a choice. Liam grabbed it and pointed to the rudest name on the list. “And one of those for my young friend. He doesn’t get out much.”

  Andy blustered not to bother and added another order for beer, but not before the waitress had laughed at Liam’s joke and he was satisfied the evening’s banter had begun. Craig motioned them to a table in the corner of the bar.

  “OK, it’s a Saturday night and we’re stag, so we all know how this is going to go. But before we get too drunk to speak let’s get the business out of the way.”

  Liam raised his beer glass. “Here, here. There’s nothing like a realist to tell it like it is.”

  “John, do you want to start?”

  John turned at the sound of his name, dragging his eyes away from the pretty barmaid carrying drinks across the bar.

  “OK. Lissy Trainor definitely wasn’t raped. She was killed quickly by manual strangulation and there are signs that she struggled. Her finger nails were broken and there are scratch marks on her throat, my money’s on them matching where she tried to prise his fingers off. There was latex under her nails as well.”

  “He wore gloves.”

  John nodded. “Unless we’re very lucky her skin will be all we’ll find. There was very little blood, just around the scratches. The tide washed away everything else. The crime scene investigators collected everything they could find at the scene, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope.”

  “Did her parents come in today, Doc?”

  “Yes, and it was very odd. “ He turned to Craig. “Although it does fit with what you said earlier, about Melanie Trainor’s personality.”

  Liam leaned forward eagerly. He had a white ring of foam around his mouth and Craig was tempted to tell him. A quick glance from Andy said they’d have more craic if they left it alone.

  “What about her, boss?”

  Craig repeated his earlier comments and Andy nodded. “Tough lady and not adverse to a bit of bed-hopping if it helps her get her way, hey.”

  “Is that the voice of experience, Andy?”

  Andy threw Craig a wise-up look. “Nah, not my cup of tea. She’s good looking but scary as get-out. I don’t fancy having my performance appraised in bed.”

  Liam was about to drag the conversation down even further when John continued reporting about the Trainor’s viewing earlier that day.

  “The father was very cut up, really badly. But Mrs Trainor’s reaction was nothing like yesterday’s. She just stood and watched him without a tear.”

  “Maybe she wore herself out crying last night?”

  John shook his head. “She didn’t look as if she’d been crying that much, but that’s no indicator of grief, plenty of people just shut down and don’t say a word. It was the way t
hey interacted that surprised me most.”

  “How so, Doc?”

  “She just watched him cry. No attempt to comfort him, not crying with him, nothing. She just stood across the room and watched him break his heart.” He shrugged, dismissing his own report. “It probably means nothing. It takes all sorts.”

  “He’s an MLA, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, the Energy party, And independently wealthy too. His family own the Sandbank group of bars and hotels.”

  Liam let out a low whistle. “If I owned that lot you’d never get me out of them.”

  Craig smiled wryly at Liam’s nearly empty glass and beckoned the barmaid over to order another round.

  “Does anyone know any more about him?”

  Andy nodded and Crag smiled at him. Andy was a lightweight when it came to getting drunk and he could see the signs already. His tie was loosened halfway down his neck and his blue shirt had two buttons undone. It wouldn’t be long before he started singing. Craig had been out drinking with him before.

  “He’s an MLA for East Dungiven and the surrounds, and not bad one I have to say. My Mum likes him and she’s wild hard to please. Says he’s a nice man too, she often sees him in the town and he’ll stop and have a yarn. His daughter was usually with him. They were very close.”

  “Did they ever see the ACC out in town?”

  He made a face. “Nope. Too posh. Well, that’s what my Mum says and she’s always right. So she tells me anyway.”

  “OK. So ACC Trainor’s not exactly wife and mother of the year and we know she’s ambitious in the extreme.”

  Liam wiped his mouth and interjected. “I hear that she only married him for his contacts.”

  “And the money?”

  Liam shook his head. “Actually no. Everyone pretty much agrees she wants power more than anything else. And she’s a stickler for the rules, on the job and off it.”

  John smiled as the barmaid brought over their drinks and Craig raised an eyebrow as she flirted back. None of his business. John was a big boy.

  “Do you have an example, Liam?”

  “Just general things. Prissy about uniform – she put a mate of mine on complaint for wearing the wrong shirt one day. She goes to the opening of an envelope, always at church on Sundays, you know the craic.”

  Buttoned-up. It was hardly a crime in Northern Ireland, even if it ought to be.

  “It hardly fits with her promiscuity, does it?”

  Liam sniffed and looked at them meaningfully, as if his next words would be the wisest they’d ever heard.

  “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? It’s all about the front. She wants to look whiter than white because otherwise it might affect her career, but what happens behind closed doors…”

  Andy leaned in eagerly. “And she’s strategic, hey. She only sleeps with men who can help her career. They won’t talk because they’re in senior positions and they’d have something to lose as well if it came out. Everyone’s keeping up the front.”

  Liam nodded sagely and sipped at his beer. Craig gazed across the table at the two men, struggling to keep a straight face. They were like police Jedi, imparting wisdom to their Padawans. Andy was still on a roll.

  “Mind you, good on her, that’s what I say. Men have been doing it for years.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to feminism, hey.”

  Craig agreed with the conversation’s general gist. Melanie Trainor was all about status and power and she would do anything to gain it, and keep it. It explained the coolness John had witnessed between husband and wife. It was a status marriage, not a love one, at least not on her part.

  “OK, let me tell you what we’ve got on the case in ’83. Veronica Jarvis was found in exactly the same spot on the beach as Lissy Trainor. She was badly beaten, strangled and buried in the sand. Perhaps only up to her neck or perhaps completely and the tide washed the sand away. There was no apparent sexual assault, so in every way except the beating, Lissy Trainor’s murder is identical. A known IRA terrorist was charged and convicted for Veronica Jarvis’ murder. John, ‘Jonno’, Mulvenna. He went down for twenty years but because it was charged as a terrorist offence he was released after fifteen under the Good Friday Agreement.”

  Craig sipped at his beer and Liam leapt into the gap.

  “Was that why you asked about people being framed, boss? You think Mulvenna was?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Liam shook his head slowly and Craig knew he was on delicate ground. Liam had policed in Northern Ireland for almost thirty years, including during The Troubles, while the rest of them had been at university and working, either in Vice like Andy or like him, in London with The Met. Liam had buried scores of his colleagues and picked pieces of them off the ground after bombs. Mulvenna had probably killed some of them. Craig spoke quickly.

  “Let me say something here, straight out. Mulvenna is a killer and he deserved to be put away. He should have served a lot longer than he did. I have no sympathy for the man, and Liam, I know this is too close to home.”

  Liam face was reddening and his fist was clenched snow-white. Craig had never heard anger like it in his voice before.

  “Mulvenna blew up one of my mates. Shuggy Nolan. Young lad with a baby under two. the bastard ran the squad targeting police and army in Belfast, and his only regret was probably that he didn’t kill more of us. They should have hung him for the things he did.” He glared at Craig. “And now you’re trying to get him off. Well you can count me out.”

  He was standing now, looming over them all, six-feet-six of pissed-off cop. John and Andy froze, watching the exchange. It would have been comical if it hadn’t been so sad. Craig shook his head tiredly and waved Liam back to his seat. He couldn’t imagine how he felt, he’d only lost one friend to a shooting, on the North End Road in Fulham, but Liam had lost one practically every week. Craig spoke so quietly that the others strained to hear.

  “Liam, I’m not trying to get him off. Be clear on that. But if Mulvenna did kill Ronni Jarvis then we have to interview him for this death as well. It’s too similar to be coincidence. If he did it then I’ll be happy to lock him up and throw away the key for killing Lissy, and every other death he caused. But if he didn’t…”

  The look on Liam’s face said that he suddenly understood. He finished Craig’s sentence for him. “Then there’s a murderer on the loose who’s killed two women thirty years apart, and he’ll kill again.”

  Craig nodded and updated them on what he’d found then he closed the case for the night and they tied on a well-earned drunk.

  Chapter Seven

  Lucia nursed her glass for so long that the ice inside it melted and her cold white wine became a lukewarm mess. Annette ordered her a fresh one then sat back in the booth in Ivory, the restaurant at the top of the House of Fraser, and waited for her to talk. After a few more minutes’ silence, Lucia reached into her pocket and withdrew a sheaf of papers, pushing them gently across the table.

  Annette started to read the top sheet. It was a print-out of a long text sent from someone called ‘Watchin’ U’. Her eyes widened as she read it and her mouth fell open when she reached the sexually explicit description at the bottom of the page. The author was unambiguous about what he’d like to do to Lucia, but coy about his identity. She glanced at Lucia, taking in her tawny hair and pretty oval face and thanked God that she’d always had average looks. Beauty was a double-edged sword.

  Lucia pointed at the page, speaking for the first time since they’d met. Her voice was a female version of Craig’s and Annette smiled at how alike they were.

  “I’ve been getting them for four weeks now. This is just a sample. The latest ones are much worse.”

  “Worse than this? Lucia, why didn’t you tell Marc?”

  She shook her head and Annette saw tears brightening her dark-blue eyes.

  “You know what he would have done, Annette. He’d have gone mad and then he’d have told the folks. The last thing they need after Dad’s heart attack is
to have to worry about me.” She gave a wet smile. “Besides, you don’t know Marc’s temper like I do. If he found the man who sent them he’d kill him with his bare hands.”

  Annette stared at her, her eyes widening in surprise. “Is this the same Marc Craig we’re talking about? Kind, rational and given to the occasional rant? Killing someone bare-handed?”

  Lucia’s face was solemn.

  “Annette, he may seem calm at work but he’s a typical Italian male behind it all. If someone hurts someone he loves …” She sipped at her wine then went on. “There was a man once, when I was about six and Marco was seventeen. I was playing in the front garden and he tried to open the gate lock. Marco was upstairs listening to music and Mum and Dad were out shopping in town.”

  She hesitated, as if what she was about to say was a betrayal somehow.

  “He got the gate open and came in. I didn’t know what to do so I started to cry and Marc heard the noise. He came running downstairs, just as the man picked me up and was starting to run away.”

  She stopped speaking, gazing into Annette’s eyes as if she was eliciting her promise not to repeat what she said next. Annette nodded.

  “Marco…he completely lost it. He pulled me out of the man’s arms and told me to go inside, but I didn’t, I hid behind the front door and watched. Marc started punching the man and he started to fight back but Marc was stronger and he won. He… he really hurt him Annette. There was blood everywhere. He broke his nose and arm and he was in hospital for a week. Dad took Marc to the police station and he was given a lecture, but when the circumstances were explained no charges were brought.”

  Lucia paused and Annette filled the gap with a question, on automatic pilot while she thought about what she’d said. “What about the man?” Lucia stared at her blankly. “Was he charged?”

  Lucia nodded. “Yes. It turned out he was a known sex-offender. They locked him up for years, although he’s probably out again now.” She looked pleadingly at Annette. “So do you see why I can’t tell Marc about these e-mails? If he lost his temper that way again it would ruin his career.