“NO! I didn’t touch them, either of them. I wouldn’t. I’ve never raised a hand to a woman.”
“Then why let yourself be banged-up for Veronica Jarvis’ death?”
“I deserved it.”
“No, that’s not enough. If you’d wanted to atone for your crimes you could have given money to the poor. Who were you protecting? Wasson? Was he a friend?”
The next sound they heard was Mulvenna’s hysterical laugh. “A friend? He was scum. I would have killed him myself if I’d had a chance. He used his police protection like a shield to do whatever he liked.”
“Police? Wasn’t he MI5’s man?”
The words were out before Mulvenna could stop himself. “He was run by the local plods and they wanted him free to inform. They covered his ass on Jarvis and however many other women he raped.”
“And why were you their patsy of choice? Eh? You’re really telling me that after two years out of the game raising money in the States you suddenly came to mind? You did it, you killed Jarvis and you’re too much of a coward to own up.”
“NO! I didn’t lay a hand on her. I was framed because they wanted me gone before people found out.”
“Found out what? What were they covering up?”
“Plenty. Things that could ruin careers.”
Liam froze in his seat, afraid to breathe in case he ruined Craig’s flow. Mulvenna had been framed by the police in ‘83. Set-up to take the fall for Ronni Jarvis’ death so that Declan Wasson could keep selling information on the IRA. That much he understood. He even understood a peeler framing Mulvenna; he’d killed enough of them for everyone to be happy with that. There wouldn’t have been many questions asked, especially if Mulvenna had been willing to go quietly. But now he was saying that he wasn’t framed for the deaths of police, but because someone in the police was covering something up! No way. In the time he’s taken to think it Craig had the question asked.
“Who?”
Mulvenna froze and stared into space for a second then he gazed at both of them, fixing Craig’s eyes with a fevered look. It was on the tip of his tongue to give them a name and Craig willed him to say the words. He hadn’t killed Veronica Jarvis or Lissy Trainor but he’d been willing to stay quiet and carry the label of rapist and murderer of women, knowing what would happen to him in prison for those crimes. For whom? Someone he loved? It had to be. A lover; it was what he’d thought all along. He corrected himself. For someone he’d loved unrequitedly. There was no other explanation. If they’d loved him back then they could never have watched him get put away.
Mulvenna opened his mouth to speak again but no sound came out. After a moment he shook his head. It was a stalemate and they needed to break it. Craig thought for a moment then brought out the sketch of the man Liam’s witness had seen and placed it in front of him. Mulvenna shot him a questioning look.
“That looks like me!”
He scanned the sketch reading the statement underneath then he nodded, realising why his alibi for Sunday had been so important.
“I wasn’t there.” He watched Craig’s reaction and then smiled. “But you already know it wasn’t me. So who was it, lads? Do I have a look-alike?” He laughed. “Two Jonno Mulvennas, just what Northern Ireland needs.”
Craig watched him, wondering if he knew how close he was to the truth. But he wasn’t telling him about the D.N.A., he was keeping that little ace up his sleeve.
“What can you tell us about your family?”
Mulvenna shook his head slowly. “Tut, tut, Superintendent Craig. I told you I wouldn’t drag anyone else into this. I’ll tell you this much, there’s no-one in my family that looks like me. Now, take me back to my cell now or call me a brief. Your choice.”
His mouth snapped shut and Craig knew that they’d lost their chance. If someone Mulvenna had loved had framed him in 1983 he’d protected them then and he was going to keep on protecting them now. Craig slumped back in his seat and raked his hair. There was nothing they could do to make him give them a name. They would have to solve this some other way. He nodded to Liam to take Mulvenna back to the cell and sat alone with his thoughts.
Someone related to Mulvenna had killed Lissy in revenge for him being framed by the police in a case her mother led. They’d keep digging away at his family tree, but unless he gave them a pointer they’d have to D.N.A. test his whole family and hope they got a match.
What if it wasn’t a relative of Mulvenna’s and the hair had been a plant? If an old lover of Mulvenna’s had been trying to cover things up they could have done it. And they could have been female or male, regardless of what Jake thought. But how the hell did they narrow it down? If it wasn’t a lover and just a good friend then that widened the pool even more. What if it was a relative, and one of Mulvenna’s family had joined the police under a different name and they were afraid of their secret coming out, so they framed him to get him out of the way? No, it was unlikely. Mulvenna hadn’t been gagged, just locked-up. He could have told anyone anything he’d wanted.
He thought again. Mulvenna was loyal to his family, he might have kept quiet to protect one of them. There had been Catholic officers back then, Liam was only one. Sean Flanagan was Catholic and he’d made it to Chief Constable. If they’d been related to Mulvenna they definitely wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know, not when he’d killed their colleagues. But why kill Lissy, unless they thought Melanie Trainor was going to expose them?
He was still thinking when Liam came back. He ran the confused idea past him. Liam rubbed his chin thoughtfully before he spoke.
“Aye. It’s possible. There weren’t that many Catholic officers back then, but the ones there were definitely wouldn’t have wanted it known they were related to a scrote like Mulvenna. They might have wanted him out of the way, right enough. I’ll have a dig around and see what I can find.”
Liam’s grapevine rivalled the windtalkers of World War Two. If it was out there then he’d find it.
“But what about the lover theory, boss? Have we abandoned that? And what would the link to the ACC be if Mulvenna had a relative on the force? Why kill Lissy?”
Craig shook his head. “I don’t know Liam. I’m just shooting in the dark. I haven’t abandoned the lover theory yet, but I’m not sure how to proceed there. I need to think about it.”
As Craig said the words a bizarre idea popped into his head. If Sean Flanagan was out of the way, Melanie Trainor would be next in line for the CC post. What if Flanagan had a secret she was about to expose? What if he was related to Mulvenna? People had killed for less. He shook his head, dismissing the idea as fantasy, then he realised Liam was speaking.
“You were right.”
“About what?”
Liam sniffed grudgingly. “You were right about Mulvenna not killing Ronni Jarvis, or Lissy. He didn’t do it.” He grinned. “If he didn’t cave in under your sarcasm it has to be true.”
A rueful expression crossed Craig’s face. “I’m not exactly proud of it, or of punching him.”
“Ah well, needs must. It was either his jaw or your neck and Nicky would have killed us both if you’d ended up dead.”
***
“How can one man have so many cousins and aunts? It’s like that movie with Steve Martin.”
“‘Cheaper by the Dozen’ you mean? I preferred the 1950’s original.”
Davy and Jake stared at Nicky as if she was Methuselah.
“I saw it on TV!”
Annette patted her on the shoulder in sympathy.
“It’s a sad day when being in your thirties makes you feel old, Nicky, but you’ve reached it. Time to start listening to rubbish music and dying your hair blue to pretend you’re young.”
She caught Davy winking at his partner in crime then realised they’d both been had. She pulled herself into an official pose and took back control.
“Right. If you’ve quite finished teasing Nicky, what have you found?”
Jake started reciting a long list of names
in a bored tone. He finally ended with “And Maria McCallion” and sat back with a sigh. Annette joined him. Jonno Mulvenna had fifteen living relatives whose D.N.A. might have resembled his. She looked at the list and divided them the easy way.
“OK. Jake, you take the men and I’ll take the women, but let’s see if we can narrow it a bit more before we waste our time. Davy, can you check if any of these have emigrated, are in prison or comatose, please. Otherwise they warrant a visit.”
Davy smiled and glanced out the window at the torrential November rain then settled back into his chair, smug that he didn’t have to venture into the cold. Maybe being an analyst had its upside. He eyed the packet of Rich Tea beside Nicky’s percolator and she took the hint, pressing the ever bubbling coffee onto boil while he typed in his search. In the time it took the coffee to perk and a tray of cups and biscuits to land on his desk, he’d finished. He pressed print and handed Annette and Jake each a new list.
“S…seven of the names have gone, that leaves eight. Five men and three women.” He popped a biscuit into his mouth and continued to speak, much to Nicky’s look of disgust.
“Don’t you dare speak with your mouth full, Davy Walsh. You’re turning into Liam and one of him around here is quite enough.”
He blushed and took a quick gulp of tea, washing away the offending snack. Nicky nodded him to restart.
“S…sorry, Nicky. Anyhow. One of the women is eighty-four-years-old but the rest are between twenty and sixty; siblings, cousins or their kids. There’s nothing more I can do to shorten the list, s…sorry.”
“Thanks, Davy. Jake, give me one of the men’s names.”
She lifted a cup of coffee and then glanced at the time. “It’s five o’clock now. If Nicky gives us a location map we should be able to do a first sweep by seven.”
She drank her coffee quickly, watching as Jake picked at the letters on his mug. He set his cup down.
“Don’t you drink coffee?”
He shook his head. “Nope, it gives me a headache. I’m a tea man.”
Nicky looked at him as if he’d committed treason then shrugged, making a mental note to add more teabags to her shopping list. She handed them each a map and an address list and waved them off her floor.
***
Jake was halfway through his list when his mobile flashed with a message to ring base. He drew a line through the two names he’d just visited and lifted his phone, thinking. The two men he’d seen had clean alibis and what was more important neither of them looked anything like Jonno Mulvenna. They hadn’t been the man Jenna Farrelly had seen talking to Lissy that day. They’d check their D.N.A. to rule them out but he didn’t hold out much hope.
The phone was lifted in one ring and Nicky’s husky voice broke through.
“What can I do for you, Nicky?”
“You and Annette can forget the women on the list. Dr Winter’s come back with the D.N.A.’s sex. It’s male.”
Jake nodded. It made sense. Violent murder was usually a man’s game. The lack of defensive wounds on Lissy backed up a male attacker too. Lissy hadn’t been big but she would have put up more of a fight against a woman, but all they had to say that she’d struggled some scratches she’d made herself and the hair beneath her nail. Her assailant probably didn’t have a mark. Nicky was still talking.
“He said the hair was virgin, too.”
“Un-dyed? He’s sure?”
“Definite. You’re looking for a man with naturally dark hair.”
It didn’t rule anyone in or out and Jake said as much. Mulvenna could have worn a real hair wig to cover his grey and whoever the killer was they could have changed their hair colour since the attack. Nicky sniffed, huffing.
“I’m only passing on the message. Working it out is your bit. I’m going now, to phone Annette.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll do it, thanks. He smiled, mollifying her with his next words. “Thanks for the coffee earlier, Nicky, I’m sure it was very nice. It just gives me terrible migraines, that’s all.”
It was the right thing to say. He’d remembered Liam saying she got migraines and her immediate change of tone said he’d made a friend for life.
“Oh, they’re terrible, aren’t they? Do you think coffee makes them worse? Maybe I’d better cut it out and see. Thanks Jake, and thanks for telling Annette.”
He cut the call smiling and hit redial, waiting for Annette to pick up.
“Where are you?”
“On the Crumlin Road. Why?”
“Nicky’s phoned through. Dr Winter says the hair is definitely male and un-dyed. The natural colour is dark.”
“They could have dyed it since. We’ve no idea what colour they are now.”
“That’s what I said. And it’s definitely male, the D.N.A. says so. The hair was never grey so doesn’t that rule Mulvenna out?”
“No. He still has some naturally dark hairs, she might have just grabbed one of those. Or he could have worn a real-hair wig.”
She sighed and Jake knew she’d just wasted an hour visiting the women on her list. He offered a suggestion.
“That leaves us with three men to visit, Annette. Do you want to do them together? If one of them is our man it might be better for you not to question them alone.”
Annette smiled at his chivalry.
“Thanks, Jake. Who’s next on your list?”
“Mulvenna’s uncle. Fergal Muldoon. I’ll text you his address and meet you there.”
OK, let’s see if we can get through them today. It’ll give me a chance to update you about Lucia as well.”
***
Julia stared through the window of her office at the small car-park, wondering why she was digging in her heels. Limavady was pretty and the surrounding countryside had a lot to offer beauty-wise, but that wasn’t what was making her hang onto her job so hard. Not even her brother working as a doctor in the nearby South-West was playing a part. She only saw him once a week and she could easily commute from Belfast to do that, and her Mum was in England so if anything Belfast was closer for seeing her. So if it wasn’t her wanting to stay in Limavady what was stopping her from marrying Marc and moving in with him?
Was she really so wedded to the police that a year or so out until a vacancy came up would be such a chore? As soon as the question appeared she answered it, no. It wasn’t Limavady and it wasn’t the police, it was security. She needed to feel secure. She shook her head. No again. That simply wasn’t true. If security was what she needed then marrying Marc would give her that.
Perhaps she didn’t really love him? She smiled to herself. Yes, she did. It was the one thing she was sure of in this whole stupid thing. And yet she’d turned his proposal down. Why? Was it because she’d wanted a romantic proposal over dinner with him gazing into her eyes? NO. She wasn’t that childish. In the moment she had her answer. She knew why. It was because he’d only been prompted to ask her by having a problem to solve, and the solution had brought his chauvinism to the fore. Marry me, we’ll have a baby and you won’t need to worry your pretty little head about a career. He hadn’t said it in so many words, just in two; marry me.
He was perfect for her, almost perfect, in every way except… She frowned, knowing that a million women would have jumped down the phone and into his arms the moment he’d asked. But she hadn’t. Why, again? Was it his assumption that his career would come first? Yes. As soon as she thought it she knew it was only half true. It wasn’t just his job he was putting first, but his family. It was a good point, not a bad one. If he did it for them he would do it for her later in life. And yet…
There was something else. When you scratched away the layers of good son and caring man, she knew that deep down Marc believed his job mattered more than hers, and that was something she couldn’t have. Maybe he didn’t realise it consciously, but it was true and she couldn’t live with it.
Years of army macho-men had made her a feminist of the older school. Brittle and overreacting to imagined slights. She kne
w she did it, but she couldn’t stop herself. She knew it was wearing for the men who loved her. Her brother often said it was. But was she really being so unreasonable expecting full equality? It didn’t matter if she was. She was who she was, and how can you be anyone else?
She turned away from the window and sat down at her desk, knowing there was no solution within her grasp. She lifted her cigarettes from her handbag and lit one up, knowing she was breaking the law and the building’s rules. She didn’t care; it would help her think and she needed to do that now. She sucked hard on the slim stick until it glowed then inhaled deeply, feeling the nicotine hit her brain. She felt more relaxed immediately, although she doubted that it worked that quick, then she focused on the problem in hand.
If she challenged Marc to give up his job and live with her, he could legitimately cite his parent’s proximity as an excuse. It made even moving midway to live near Lough Neagh nonsense. Plus, they couldn’t live on her salary alone, whereas they could live on his. So how could she get to the truth and find out if he was just being practical, or if he really was a chauvinist? And why did it matter to her so much? Was her feminism more important than love?
The only way to find out would be if she was a Superintendent and lived in Belfast, then it would be a straight choice of which of them gave up their career. She smoked until her cigarette burnt down and tried to make sense of things. That was the only way it would be an even choice, but it wasn’t the life they had. She put her head in her hands and started to sob, defeated. There was no solution that was going to make them both happy.
***
Craig parked his Audi in the allocated space at Headquarters and pushed through the revolving door. When he’d called Sean Flanagan to give him an update he’d suggested it would be better face to face. He was right. Phone conversations were within Melanie Trainor’s or MI5’s reach, and the more suspects they ruled out the more it pointed towards MI5 and police involvement in ’83 coming home to roost.
The Broken Shore Page 23
