“Let’s just say, just for the sake of an argument, that you were in her shoes. Would you do what you’re asking her to do, Marc?”
Craig stared at him coolly then shook his head. “Julia’s asked me the same question, and to be honest, no, I wouldn’t. Even if my parents weren’t here and getting older, which is one of the main reasons I moved back, I couldn’t move to live with her in Limavady and be a kept man.”
John gawped at him and then laughed. “Wow! Kept man! Way-to-go for the un-reconstructed male. Macho Craig or what.”
Craig stared at him sceptically. “Be honest, John. Would you? Really? If Natalie worked in Limavady and said ‘I can earn enough for both of us, come and live with me and I’ll take care of you until you can get a job here’, which may be never?”
John went to say yes, then thought for a moment and slowly shook his head. He was as bad a case as Craig. They said nothing for a moment then Craig spoke.
“Are we chauvinists?”
John nodded. “Yes, maybe. I don’t know. Is it personal pride that won’t let us live off someone else? Or is it specifically women we won’t live off, in which case it’s chauvinism?” He rubbed his forehead as if it would help him make more sense, then he smiled. “I’ll tell you what, I’m bloody glad Julia and Natalie can’t hear this conversation, or we’d be dead men.”
Craig laughed, then he thought of something that made him laugh again. “We could ask advice from an enlightened man.”
“Do you know any?”
“How about Liam?”
They laughed so hard that the man at the next table smiled. His wife joined in. If she’d known what they were laughing about she might not done.
***
P.C. Aine Bailey scratched her neck and frowned. That made twenty-two passers-by she’d stopped and not one of them had known Lissy Trainor, never mind seen her on the Sunday before she’d died. She glanced at her watch and then at her list again. All the shopkeepers had been interviewed twice, except the man at the bookshop and he was nowhere to be found. Some of them had said they’d known Lissy since she was little and everyone was sad, but no-one could remember her calling in that day. No-one except Jenna Farrelly remembered her speaking to anyone at all.
She shrugged and put her notebook in her pocket, taking of her hat and pushing back her hair. Time for a cup of tea. As she entered the nearest coffee shop and radioed Ian Flood to join her there, she didn’t see the tall man watching her from the beach. She stirred her tea and bit into a donut, staring through the window into space, when thirty degrees further to her right would have brought her eye to eye with her prey. The man smiled to himself and shook his head, renewing his earlier vow. The cops had one more day to expose the guilty one, then he would give them a clue they really wouldn’t like.
***
Craig lifted a brochure at the door of the gallery and flicked through it while he waited for Jake. He didn’t have long to wait. Five minutes later a sports car pulled up and he watched through the plate-glass window as Jake kissed the driver’s cheek and climbed out. Craig smiled as the car drove away. Gone were the days when gay police officers didn’t tell. He was glad of it; he didn’t care about anyone’s private life, just as long as they did their job.
He nodded as Jake approached and made up his mind to ask his advice about one of his theories on the case.
“Hello, sir.” He glanced quickly at his watch. “Am I late?”
Craig shook his head. “I was early. Do you mind if I ask? Was that your partner?”
Jake blushed. “Yes. That’s Aaron. We’ve been together since Uni.”
“You should have introduced us. Next time?”
Jake nodded, pleased, then Craig turned the discussion back to the case. He outlined a number of theories, including his theory that Jonno Mulvenna had been framed by someone he’d been having a relationship with in 1983, female or male.
“Would you like me to tell you if I think he’s gay, sir?”
Craig shook his head. “I can probably tell myself, thanks, although your opinion would be a help. But it’s more the whole theory that he was framed by an ex-partner I’d welcome your opinion on. You studied his case at Uni, so if you could try to engage him in conversation and suss him out about the Jarvis case and his road to Damascus conversion to being artist, it would be useful. He doesn’t know you, so he might give you something in casual conversation.”
Jake nodded. “Happy to try. I’d better not stand too long with you then or he’ll know I’m a cop.”
Craig waved him on and turned back to his brochure. He flicked through the pages thoughtfully, wandering over to look at the paintings. They were good. Oils mostly, urban landscapes and people from afar. There were some charcoal portraits as well and one in particular caught his eye. It was a nude of a young woman in her twenties. She had long hair and wide apart eyes and she reminded him of someone he’d met. Before he could put a name to her his attention was caught by a woman standing in front of a landscape to his left. He gazed at the curve of her back and her long blonde hair then caught his breath. It was Camille! He looked more closely and shook his head. It wasn’t Camille. Camille was thousands of miles away in L.A. but he knew the woman, he was sure he did.
As he watched her she strolled towards a bronze in the corner and her profile came into view. Her nose was small and fine and her skin was a natural honeyed tan. Then she turned and he glimpsed her eyes, they were large and petrol blue, set wide apart in a heart-shaped face. It was Katy Stevens. She was a doctor who worked with Natalie at St Mary’s Healthcare Trust and he’d interviewed her in April about a case.
As the thoughts raced through Craig’s mind the woman turned towards the door and caught him staring. She stared back and they stood facing each other across the gallery. For a moment neither of them made a move. Craig had been attracted to her when they’d met but he’d been seeing Julia so he’d done nothing about it. Before he knew it he was standing in front of her. She spoke first.
“D.C.I. Craig. How nice to see you.”
She extended her hand and he took it, remembering its delicacy from before, but what his memories hadn’t done justice to were her eyes. They were huge and tilted slightly upwards and their colour was dark and light blue all at once. He could feel himself blushing and he saw she was starting to do the same. He stopped a passing waiter and lifted them both a glass of wine while he scrambled for the right words.
“Are you an art lover, Dr Stevens?”
She smiled. “Katy. And yes, I am.” She waved towards the wall. “Some of these are very good, aren’t they?”
“To be honest I’ve just arrived and …”
Realisation hit her and her blush deepened. He was on a case. She turned to go and Craig’s hand was on her arm to stop her before he realised what he’d done.
“Please don’t leave on my account. I’d love us to have a chat.”
She blushed again and he saw that he’d embarrassed her. Natalie had hinted that she’d found him attractive but he’d never really noticed it before. It pleased him and made him feel guilty as well. He thought of Julia and dropped his hand then indulged himself by convincing himself they could be friends.
“Look…I’m working tonight, but perhaps we could have coffee as friends sometime? It would be nice to catch up outside a station.” He saw the doubt on her face and leapt in. “That’s if you’d like to. Please don’t feel pressured.”
She smiled and he knew he was rambling. She nodded and pulled out her card, placing it in his hand, then she glanced quickly at her watch and said she had somewhere else to be. Craig was still staring at the card when Jake sidled up, tapping the side of his nose like he was a police snout.
“I’ve just been speaking to Mulvenna about his paintings. They aren’t half bad. I really like number twenty-three, Inishowen lighthouse In Donegal, but it’s out of my price range I’m afraid. Anyway, I mentioned I’d studied his case at Uni and he was happy to chat. Said he learned how to pain
t when he was inside and it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Mind you, he was quick to deny he killed her.”
Craig shot him a questioning look.
“Veronica Jarvis, he said he didn’t do it straight out, but that he deserved to be locked up anyway for the things he actually had done.” He sniffed, in an imitation of a seasoned detective. Craig was just waiting for him to say ‘stone me’ or ‘it’s a fair cop’ then they’d be back in an episode of Minder.
What Jake said next surprised him. “He’s definitely not gay, sir. I’m pretty good at spotting it and he’s not. If he was framed by a lover my money’s on some woman or a husband who found out. Or he could just have been framed by anyone who wanted him sent down.”
He could have been but Craig was sure he hadn’t. He nodded Jake to keep looking around and turned his attention back to the walls, returning to the charcoal of the girl and racking his brains. He’d definitely seen her before, but where? He couldn’t think so he folded back the page in the brochure and wandered over to Mulvenna to ask.
He was leaning against a white wall, a vision in all black. With his nape length greying hair and swarthy skin he looked just like an artist. No-one would have imagined that the hands that painted such beautiful things had killed sixteen men. Mulvenna stood upright and smiled as he approached and Craig gestured towards the crowd. “Good turn-out.”
Mulvenna nodded, obviously uncomfortable with the praise. “Half of them are friends and half are people who want to meet a murderer in the flesh. I’m under no illusions.”
Craig scrutinised his face, grudgingly admiring his honesty. Mulvenna wasn’t like a lot of killers, trying to deny it had ever happened, or even letting it fade into the past. It was there front and centre in everything he did. If there was such a thing as an honest criminal he thought he’d just met him. He was growing more convinced by the day that Mulvenna had had nothing to do with Lissy Trainor’s death.
“Can I ask you about one of your charcoal sketches?”
Mulvenna shrugged as if he didn’t care if anyone bought them, just as long as they were seen.
“Which one?”
Craig pointed to his brochure’s folded page.
“Ah, number twenty-one. ‘Girl being herself’. Do you like it?”
“Yes, very much. Who is she?”
“The clue’s in the title. She’s a girl who lied to everyone about everything and kept herself hidden. Except I got her to show me her true face the odd time. One of those times I sketched her.”
“Does she have a name? I think I’ve seen her before.”
Mulvenna shook his head. “She has a name but it’s not for sale. Neither is the charcoal I’m afraid. Sentimental value.” He turned away and then glanced back. “I hope you find your murderer, Superintendent Craig, but you won’t find anything here.”
As he walked away Craig beckoned Jake over and indicated the sketch.
“Find out about that sketch for me Jake. Date, where it was drawn, etc.” He walked towards it and peered into the subject’s eyes, racking his brains for a moment for her identity. He gave up and added another task to Jake’s list.
“Most importantly, I want you to find out who she is.”
Chapter Eighteen
Wednesday 8 a.m.
Craig stirred his espresso and waved Liam on with his update. Jenna Farrelly had seen Lissy talking to a man on the parade at seven-forty-five on Sunday night. Four days later she was found dead. It wasn’t a stretch to think the man might be connected, so ruling him out or in had to be high on their list of priorities. Darlene McKenna had mentioned a man as well. Perhaps they were one and the same.
Liam pushed the last corner of toast into his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of tea, then he started.
“Aye well, Mrs Farrelly was adamant Lissy was talking to a tall, dark-haired man.”
“Were they arguing or just talking?”
Liam shook his head. “Talking animatedly was all she’d say. But he didn’t touch her, if that’s what you mean. There was no sign of that.”
“Any joy identifying him on the door-to-doors?”
Liam shook his head again. “Nothing. My witness is coming in to do a sketch this morning then we’ll send the uniforms out again with it.”
“And you’re certain Conor Ryland’s not an option?”
“Definitely not. He was seen by six people up at the pier, just where he said he’d been. He waited there for Lissy from eight to after ten o’clock. Mary-Ann Eakin confirmed it.”
Craig raised a hand to halt him. “We’ll come back to her in a minute.” He turned to Andy. His shirt was just as blue as it always was, but its creases and his pallor were saying that hotel living and his hatred of ironing were taking their toll. He was picking half-heartedly at a piece of potato bread, until the sight of it flopping off his fork persuaded him it was time to give up.
“Tell Liam about your interview.”
Andy looked up surprised, unsure whether the question was directed at him. Liam clarified with a wave of his fork. “James O’Carolan. What did he say?”
Andy nodded then placed down his knife and fork, leaving Liam to give his potato bread a new home.
“Aye, well. O’Carolan was a thran one and no mistake. Fits the physical description your witness gave. Around thirty, tall with dark hair. But then that fits a quarter of the men in Northern Ireland, hey.” He looked pointedly at Craig. “Including Marc.”
Craig smiled. “Except for the thirty part.”
Tall with dark hair was a ubiquitous description for a witness, and worse than useless depending on which country you lived in. Andy was still talking.
“He was angry, hey. Hates the ACC.”
“It’s a challenge finding someone who likes her.”
“That seems to be a common theme in this case and it gives us lots of people with motive.” Craig raked a hand through his thick hair. “If every suspect has a motive to get back at her then we’ll just have to narrow it down on means and opportunity.”
“Aye well, anyway. O’Carolan’s done well for himself. Works for one the new IT firms based in Derry and seems to spend half his salary on clothes, hey. There’s nothing to tie him to Lissy’s death except his hatred for the ACC. He blames her on Wasson not being put away in ’83 and being free to attack his Mum in ’84. He didn’t try to hide his hatred.”
Craig shook his head. “My feeling’s that he’s not our man.”
Andy shot him a look that said he wasn’t so sure. Craig leaned forward urgently.
“What did you find out?”
“His alibi doesn’t check out.”
“For Lissy’s time of death?”
Andy nodded. “And for the whole time period from last weekend, hey.”
Liam swallowed his potato bread. “Where did he say he was?”
“In London, at a conference for work.”
“And?”
“He was booked on it all right. Anyone who’d been easily fooled would have seen the booking and that would have been that.”
Craig smiled. “But not Davy.”
Davy’s love of detection gave an added dimension to his work.
“What did he find?”
“Aye well, Davy didn’t stop at the conference and flight bookings, hey. He checked the passenger manifest and saw that O’Carolan never got on board the plane.”
Craig nodded. “Get O’Carolan back in and find out where he was. I want every minute accounted for from Sunday to Thursday. And get his picture to Liam’s witness, it might save her having to do a sketch if she can I.D. him from that. Anything else, Andy?”
“Just the rest of the rape cases, but we’re narrowing those down and ruling out the victims and their relatives slowly, hey. I reckon we’ll know what’s what by the end of the day.”
Craig turned to Liam. He ran quickly through the witness statement then got to his meeting with Mary-Ann Eakin, Lissy’s so-called friend. He let out a low whistle that made the o
ther breakfast diners stare.
“She’s a nasty wee girl and that’s basically the nicest thing I could say about her.”
He shrugged as he said it. There were nasty people everywhere so why should young women be immune? Except that underneath his bluff exterior Liam had a romantic streak. He put women on a pedestal as being much nicer than men and he was always disappointed when the fair sex proved him wrong.
Craig urged him on. “And?”
Liam sniffed. “Aye well, she wanted either Conor Ryland or Lissy and I haven’t managed to work out which one yet.”
Andy leaned forward, curious. “She’s a lesbian, hey?”
Liam shot him a look that said ‘don’t rush me’ and sat back. “Did I say that?”
He turned to Craig. “Did I?”
Craig waved him on.
“She’s jealous, either of Lissy’s family and money, or of her relationship with Ryland. Either because she wanted him or she wanted Lissy, and I’ve no way of knowing which it is.” He sniffed. “The answer’s irrelevant anyway. Either motive could have led to her killing Lissy. Either she wanted her out of the way to be with Ryland, or Lissy rejected her so she killed her because of that.”
Craig held up a hand halting Liam’s monologue. “How big is Mary-Ann Eakin?”
Liam thought for a moment. “Five-two, five-three tops.” He nodded. “Aye, I see your point. Lissy was five-feet-two but even if she’d been smaller Eakin wouldn’t have had the strength to strangle her and bury her on the beach.”
“And didn’t Ryland say she was stalking him all Sunday night?”
“Aye well, yes she was. But that was only until Ryland went home. She could have had a male accomplice who helped her kidnap Lissy. Lissy was killed using Morphine and Eakin could have injected it then her accomplice could have done the strangulation and burial bits.” His pleased expression soon changed to one of defeat. “Nah… that just brings us back to the man the witness saw and why would he have needed to work with Eakin at all?”
Mary-Ann Eakin was just a jealous little girl. Unless they found some connection between her and the man on the parade they were clutching at straws.
The Broken Shore Page 17
