The Broken Shore

by Catriona King

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll call you as soon as I do.” He wrapped up briskly. “Let me know what the hippies have to say and in the meantime let’s get Mulvenna back in.”

  “Andy’s on it now.” Liam paused and Craig knew he was glancing at his watch. “See you in a couple of hours. Save the interview until I arrive.”

  Craig laughed knowing that Liam had visions of popcorn and a ringside seat while they cracked two murders thirty years apart.

  “I’ll do that. See you there.”

  He clicked off the phone and stared at the outline of Limavady police station up ahead. He could be there in less than five minutes, but it would be the start of a long discussion that would end up in bed. He shook his head guiltily remembering Julia’s tears, then threw his car into a U-turn and headed back the way he’d come. His personal life would have to wait. If Liam was right about Mulvenna it wouldn’t be waiting for very long.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Annette stared through the glass at the slumped shape of Ross Devlin. He looked pathetic but she had no sympathy for him. He was a stalker and he’d been going to rape Lucia, there was no doubt about that. They’d found the throwaway phone in his briefcase and Davy would trace the other calls soon; it was an open and shut case.

  She smiled at the bandage on his head. Lucia had got away without a scratch and a man six inches bigger than her had had to have stitches in his head. Lucia Craig, one - Ross Devlin, nil.

  He would be convicted; there was no doubt of that. The question was how to stop Craig finding out and getting distracted while he had a murder to solve. The even bigger question was how to stop him blowing his stack.

  She shrugged. It wasn’t her case it was sex-crimes now. Davy would hand the work they’d done over, Lucia would give her statement and they’d get a date for court. If she could keep Jack Harris quiet for a few days they could worry about Craig then.

  She turned towards the back of the viewing room and gave Jack her best winning smile. He shook his head.

  “I’m not lying to him, Annette.”

  Annette adopted her best wheedling voice. “You don’t have to lie, Jack. Just say nothing.”

  He looked sceptical. “What’ll I do if he asks?”

  “He won’t ask. Trust me. Lucia came directly to me, Marc doesn’t know about any of it. He won’t ask.”

  “I don’t…”

  She interrupted softly. “I do. I’ll do you a favour another time, I promise. Please.”

  Jack gave a small smile. He liked Craig but Annette was right. Craig loved his sister and if he knew what had happened he’d get distracted from an important case. He nodded once, conceding the logic.

  “OK then. But only if he doesn’t ask.”

  Annette smiled and nodded, then she turned back to the glass and cast a last look at their perp before heading back to the C.C.U..

  ***

  John stared at the D.N.A. result in front of him and rubbed the back of his neck. It was curious, no question about it, but they had what they had and science didn’t lie. He turned towards Des Marsham, Head of Forensic Science and watched as he scratched his head, bemused. He took a gulp of coffee and John watched it disappear into his beard, wondering just how much bushier it was going to get.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  Des sighed and shook his head before he spoke. “Zero point one percent margin of error is hard to argue with, John, but I can run it again if you like.”

  John shook his head as well. “No. I’m sure you’re right, I’m just trying to work out how it fits with Marc’s case.”

  “Sorry to say but I think that’s his problem. Much as I know you’re dying to solve it first.” He grinned. “You’re a frustrated cop, Winter.”

  “Frustrated detective, and you’re right. I always wanted to be Sherlock Holmes as a kid, solving the puzzle with my trusty Dr Watson at my side.” He laughed. “Except I ended up as Watson and Marc got to be Sherlock instead.”

  Des smiled, deep in thought. “Well then, how about we try to crack this one? Just for a laugh? We’ll give Marc the D.N.A. results but do a bit of sleuthing on the side ourselves. Eh? First one to reach the answer wins a pint at The James.”

  John stared at him for a moment then extended his hand to shake. Let’s see if he could be Sherlock just this once, although his money was still on Craig.

  ***

  Jonno Mulvenna made himself comfortable in the interview room and folded his arms in preparation for the hours of questioning he knew were about to start. Craig gazed though the two-way mirror at the man he was certain was innocent, trying to muster up some enthusiasm for the fight. He had to ask the questions and try to break Mulvenna down, but he didn’t hold out much hope. This was a man who’d been on hunger-strike for months when he was interned in ‘71, defying every effort to make him eat. He’d stonewalled every question until eventually they’d had to let him go without charge. Despite all his crimes his only successful conviction was for Veronica Jarvis’ murder; the one crime Craig was sure he hadn’t done.

  His lack of enthusiasm had been increased by the call he’d had from John ten minutes before. The hair under Lissy Trainor’s fingernail had given them her murderer’s D.N.A., but instead of him being excited by the story it told, he was more frustrated than before. The D.N.A. was a match to Mulvenna’s, but not exact. A familial match. Someone related to him had committed the crime. They already knew he had no male cousins or brothers that looked like him, and that he had no kids. Maybe there were some other relatives who had been working with Mulvenna?

  Perhaps it was a female relative? He shook his head as he thought about it. John didn’t have the D.N.A.’s sex yet, that required more advanced tests, but a woman wouldn’t have had the strength to strangle Lissy, no matter how angry they were at Melanie Trainor for putting Mulvenna away.

  And why now, after all these years? Lissy’s liaison with James O’Carolan seemed a much likelier cause for her death. Re-opening the Jarvis case would have rattled a lot of cages.

  Except that D.N.A. didn’t lie. The hair said Lissy had been in contact with a relative of Mulvenna’s and they had to follow that trail wherever it led. Just then his phone rang, shattering the room’s quiet. It was Liam.

  “Shoot, Liam. What have you found?”

  “God, it’s weird up here, I feel like I’ve dropped down the rabbit hole and gone back fifty years.”

  Craig laughed, imagining Liam surrounded by people dressed in cheesecloth and batik. He was still moaning.

  “It’s a commune, I swear it is, boss. They hold weekends for people who want to get away and navel stare.”

  “And art courses.”

  “Aye, those too.” It was said grudgingly, as if art and navel staring were closely linked. Liam’s idea of art was a free print from the local garage framed on the wall.

  “And?”

  “Aye well, they’re adamant that Mulvenna didn’t leave here all weekend. I’ve checked the activity rota and he’d signed up for every class he could find. Sketching, oils, pottery.”

  “But he could have slipped out?”

  Liam’s grudging tone was replaced by one of thwarted gloom. “Much as it pains me to say it, it’s unlikely, boss. They took pictures in pretty much every class and he’s there front and centre in them all. And in the bar at night. Here, there’s one thing that might interest you.”

  “What?”

  “He met a woman. She was with him in the bar photos, holding hands as bold as brass. Her name is Helga, works here as a tutor here, oil painting and the like. I’m interviewing her next.”

  “Good.” Craig thought for a moment. “How far is the venue from Portstewart?”

  “It’s this side of Ballymena, on the outskirts. Shortest distance is twenty-five miles so if he’d been fast it might only have taken him forty minutes there and back. It’s doable.”

  Craig interrupted. “And if he’d gone cross country he could have shaved off another five miles.” />
  “How could..?”

  “On a motorbike. He has a BMW HP4.”

  “Fast as they come. I didn’t even think about a bike.”

  “I still don’t think he did it but have the C.S.I.s check the tyres for soil matches. And find out exactly what he was doing between seven and nine that Sunday night. The time your witness saw Lissy talking to the man on the parade.”

  Liam thought back through his interviews and realised he hadn’t asked. He grabbed at the pile of photos. They were arranged in order of time and he found one that matched. There was no doubt, when Jenna Farrelly said she’d seen Mulvenna standing on the prom talking to Lissy, he’d been in a lecture on Grecian Urns surrounded by the rest of his class. Craig heard him swearing before the words reached the air.

  “Aw, shit. He’s here, listening to some nerd talk about Greek pots. It wasn’t Mulvenna that she saw.”

  Craig smiled, pleased instead of annoyed. That meant neither O’Carolan nor Mulvenna had been the man Lissy had talked to on the seafront. And the hair they’d found on Lissy’s body said Mulvenna hadn’t been her killer. But someone had and they were related to Jonno Mulvenna in some way.

  “OK. Come back, Liam. I’ve Mulvenna in the interview room but he can wait until you get here. Someone in his family killed Lissy and he must know who it is. Now he’s going to tell us.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Craig gazed through the glass, marvelling at Jonno Mulvenna’s calm. He was sitting with his eyes closed and his hands resting calmly on the table, looking for all the world like he was meditating. Maybe he was. After two hours of waiting he was giving no hint of impatience, much less showing signs that he was going to crack and confess all.

  With an ordinary criminal the calm might have meant innocence, but from a hardened campaigner like Mulvenna two hours was a walk in the park. It gave them no clue one way or another about his innocence or guilt. Liam had just arrived and he was standing behind him in the viewing room, fed-up and hungry after his wasted trip. Good. It would make him edgy, and Liam edgy in an interview room was an awesome sight, just as long as he could rein his temper in.

  Craig turned to Andy. He was sitting on a hard chair with his notebook by his side, ready to jot down any tics or tells that might give Mulvenna away. It was time. Craig led the way and yanked open the interview room door, hoping that the noise would make Mulvenna jump. He didn’t move, just kept up his meditative pose. The only thing missing was a drawn out ‘Omm....’

  They scraped their chairs back deliberately loudly waiting for a flicker of Mulvenna’s eyelids to give him away, knowing that it would be caught by Andy’s sharp eye. But there was nothing. The only movement in the room was theirs and the only sound the whirr of the station’s ancient heater in the corridor outside.

  Craig sat in silence for a moment matching Mulvenna’s stance, then he nodded Liam to press the tape and started to speak.

  “For the benefit of the tape. Present are Mr John Mulvenna of Mussenden Road, Chief Inspector Liam Cullen and Superintendent Marc Craig.”

  As soon as Craig opened his mouth Liam could hear that his heart wasn’t in it. Mulvenna heard it too. His eyes sprang open showing a blue so bright that Liam wondered if it was real. There’d been too much talk of lenses and wigs for him to believe anything anymore. Before Craig could ask his first question Mulvenna raised his hand palm out, halting anything that they might say. He started to speak before Liam could interject and Craig motioned to give him time. The more a suspect talked the more they gave away even though they thought they were in control.

  Liam smiled and folded his arms then sat back waiting for the suicide to commence. He glanced at Craig’s face. He was smiling as well, but not at the same thing. He thought Mulvenna was innocent and he was going to give him the chance to tell them why!

  Mulvenna stared at them each in turn before he spoke, in a respectful tone.

  “Superintendent Craig, Chief Inspector Cullen, I’m going to save you an awful lot of work.”

  Liam couldn’t stop himself. He leaned forward so quickly Craig thought he was going to hit the other man.

  “So you’re going to confess then, are you? Good stuff. Because we have you dead to rights.”

  Craig glared at him and Liam sat back and refolded his arms, barely subdued. Craig repeated his warning look then turned back to their guest.

  “Please carry on, Mr Mulvenna, but be aware that everything you say will be on tape.”

  “Of course, I’d expect nothing less. And I’m sure your colleague behind the glass is writing everything down as well.”

  He leaned back and took his hands off the table, folding his arms in an echo of Liam’s stance.

  “I was told you wanted to question me again about Lissy Trainor’s death, so feel free to ask me anything you like. But I’ll tell you now that I didn’t do it and I’ll tell you why. One, I’d never met the girl so what motive would I have had? Two, I was out of the area when she was killed and three, there is no way you can connect me to the crime, not through witnesses or forensic evidence.” He paused and smiled again. “But go ahead and ask me anything you’d like to ask and I promise I’ll answer you truthfully where I can.”

  “Where you can?”

  “Yes, where I can. I draw the line at dragging other people into this mess just to cover my own back.” He stared intently at Craig then glanced at Liam pointedly as he spoke. “I know you understand that, Mr Craig. I get the impression that you wouldn’t do it either.”

  Craig considered him carefully. Either he was telling the truth or he was a very clever man. Whichever it was he was attempting to divide Liam and him and it wasn’t going to get him very far.

  “Be very clear, Mr Mulvenna, your opinion of me is irrelevant, so don’t get clever. All that matters is that you tell us what you know.” Craig indicated the tape. “So go ahead. Speak.”

  Mulvenna smiled and nodded, recognising a worthy foe. He started to speak.

  “I never met Lissy Trainor, which is a pity because she sounds like she was a nice girl. But I did encounter her mother in a previous life. She was a formidable lady and I imagine, no I know, that she’s made a lot of enemies through the years. People she put away and the people who loved them. It will be a big suspect pool but I can only suggest that you look there for your motive for killing her daughter, because you’re looking in the wrong place with me.”

  “Convince us.”

  Mulvenna shrugged. “Why should I? You already know that my alibi for the time of the girl’s death is airtight. There are forty people who can vouch for where I was. And if you have any physical evidence then it will have ruled me out. So tell me why I should convince you?”

  “Because you want to, that’s why you’re offering to talk.” Craig leaned forward, warming to his theme. “And because you don’t want to be labelled as a man who killed a young woman, any more than you wanted the label with Veronica Jarvis’ death.”

  He leaned back and his voice took on a sarcastic tone. Liam glanced at him, surprised. Sarcasm wasn’t high on Craig’s list of weapons, unless he was goading someone. Realisation hit him. That was exactly what he was doing. He was goading Mulvenna with the one thing he knew he cared about. His self-image. Mulvenna saw himself as chivalrous and romantic and Craig was going to chip that away until he got where he wanted to be.

  “You want us to believe that you never touched Veronica Jarvis and you were framed. You want us to believe that you accepted the frame-up because you’d killed so many other people and you deserved to do time. Do you really think we’re that gullible? Come off it! You’re scum Jonno, terrorist scum, scum that murdered countless people.” Craig paused, watching Mulvenna’s face. His calm façade was starting to crumble. Craig went in for the kill, his sarcasm thickening. “And you’re rapist scum. You raped Ronni Jarvis, the mother of three small boys, then strangled her with your bare hands. Then you did the same to Lissy Trainor to get revenge against her Mum, the woman who successfu
lly convicted you. You took a small, thin, frightened young girl and lured her somewhere. You terrified her, brutalised her, drugged and throttled her, then buried her on the same beach she’d played on as a child and stood back to watch her parents’ pain. She was no match for you, why didn’t you pick on someone your own size? But she couldn’t fight back and that’s what you like, isn’t it Jonno? That’s the sort of romantic hero you are.”

  Mulvenna moved so quickly that it shocked them both. He was over the table and on top of Craig before he had time to move. Craig’s chair toppled backwards and he hit the floor with a bang. Mulvenna straddled him, his hands around his throat, his eyes burning in his head as he tightened his grip. He wasn’t there for long. Craig brought his right fist up and cracked him hard on the chin, knocking him back onto the floor. Before Mulvenna could move Liam hauled him to his feet and cuffed him then threw him back roughly in his chair. He glowered down at him as Craig clambered to his feet rubbing his neck. He motioned Liam to take a seat and started again, his sarcasm ten times more brutal than before, but not for the reason Liam thought it was. He wasn’t angry at Mulvenna lashing out, it was exactly what he’d been trying to achieve. He was keeping the pressure on.

  “You like people to think you’re the romantic artist, chivalrous to the end, but that’s a crock of shit, isn’t it? It’s a myth you feed yourself so you can sleep at night. You’re a killer of defenceless women, Jonno. Mothers, daughters, wives, none of them are safe from you. Did you strangle Ronni Jarvis like you’ve just tried to strangle me? Did she struggle and beg and gasp while you ignored her tears? And what about Lissy? She must have been easy meat? Young and fresh; ready to be plucked. Did you rape them both, Jonno, then try to destroy the evidence? We have D.N.A., it’s hard to destroy that!”

  Liam shot Craig a look then realised his ploy. Lissy hadn’t been raped, that wasn’t the D.N.A. they’d got. He thought Mulvenna was innocent and he was trying to prove it. He glanced at their suspect and saw that Craig’s words were having the desired effect. Any hint of the romantic poet was gone and instead a snarling animal had taken his place. This was the man who’d killed more than a dozen policemen, but had he killed Ronni Jarvis and Lissy Trainor? Mulvenna’s blue eyes were bright against his reddening face and white spit was gathering in the corners of his mouth. He yelled across the room at Craig