And two, the main reason, Evie’s baby daughter Ella. She was the spitting image of her mother and he wasn’t going to make the same mess of things with her that he’d made with Evie. He’d done nothing even slightly hinky for months, not even dealing a bit of blow, so what did the Pigs want him for?
Craig smiled to himself, watching Tommy through the glass. He’d be happy to lock him up but it looked as if the old lag had really seen the light. And that light came in the shape of a two-month-old baby girl whom he adored. He shrugged. Everyone had their reason to be good in this world. Just then the large figure behind Craig stepped forward, peering intently through the mirror. Craig gave him a second to look and then asked the question.
“Well, Reggie. Are you certain you’re right? Is he really clean?”
The slow Donegal drawl that emerged from Reggie Boyd’s mouth reverberated softly around the small viewing room. He was a fiftyish country man who was as tall as Liam. But where Liam could give a fog-horn competition, Reggie’s soft lilt always drew people close, as if he had a secret that was worth hearing. He headed up the uniform section on the Demesne estate, and if anyone knew Tommy Hill’s habits he did.
“It’s true, sir. He’s been as good as gold since April, not a word out of place. Even pushes the baby round the Demesne in a pram.”
Craig raised an eyebrow at the image. “How does that go down with the local hard men?”
“I don’t think Tommy gives a monkey’s, to put it crudely. Some of the young lads tried to wind him up the first few times, but Tommy faced them down. Whatever he said to them, they ran away with their tails between their legs.”
Craig nodded. Tommy was scarier than any of the youngsters nowadays could ever be. His exploits during the Troubles had earned him a twenty-year stretch in the Maze prison, and ‘urban hero’ status amongst his paramilitary pals. He’d served ten of the twenty before being granted release under the Good Friday Agreement, despite widespread disapproval. He understood the feeling. Tommy had shot four people dead on their way home from a wedding. He knew how he’d feel if someone who’d killed a member of his family went free.
Since his release Tommy’d repackaged himself as a community worker, except that the Drugs and Fraud Squads knew very different. Craig nodded ruefully.
“He still has his reputation on the street then?”
“Aye, he does that. Once a killer always a killer.”
“Nicky spoke to Evie’s step-dad, Geoffrey Kerr. He’s a Reverend of the same denomination as the church the girl was found in, but he’s not high-up. He couldn’t throw any light on the skeleton keys.”
Reggie stroked his chin slowly and Craig knew he’d thought of something.
“What is it, Reggie?”
“Well, I know this is cynical and, at the risk of sounding like Liam, any chance the step-dad wants Tommy off the scene and framed him?”
Craig startled - it hadn’t even occurred to him that Geoffrey Kerr might be involved, although it probably should have. He considered the idea for a moment and then shook his head, dismissing it.
“No, I don’t think so. He’s a good man and he’s being kind to Tommy, if only for Evie’s sake. Besides, no D.N.A. but Tommy’s and McCrae’s showed up at the scene.”
Reggie shrugged. It had been a long shot.
“When do his crew get out of Maghaberry, Reg?”
“Not for a while yet. Gerdy will be out in three months, but Coyler and McCrae are banged up until the end of next year.”
“So there’s no way McCrae’s D.N.A. got onto our victim through direct contact.”
Reggie shook his head lugubriously. “None. Much as I’d dearly love to pin another few years on him, he couldn’t have done it.”
Craig turned away from the mirror and sat down heavily at the back of the small room, raking his hair in exasperation. “Do you have any idea who could have accessed McCrae and Hill’s D.N.A.?”
“Blood?”
“Yes. There was no semen, although she’d definitely been raped.”
“Then I suggest you go through the court samples, sir. You could be looking at anyone from the lab or hospital, the evidence officer, court staff, judiciary. Basically anyone who might take a bribe.”
Craig glanced up quickly. Bribes; he hadn’t thought of that. It was an approach that someone with money might take, rather than get their own hands dirty stealing the samples. He thought for a moment and then shook his head. His gut told him it wasn’t the way to go.
He was certain that more than one man was involved here, from the roughness of the sex and access to churches, case-files and blood. But, for some reason that he couldn’t quite pin down, he knew they would keep things tight and do their own dirty work. Bribing third parties to steal samples risked more people finding out and whoever this was liked to be in control. The girl’s injuries were proof of that.
No, whoever had done this wouldn’t want too many people knowing. Which meant they’d stolen McCrae and Hill’s blood themselves. But at which point in the chain of evidence? He answered his own question. The lab.
Evie’s case had closed seven weeks before. So unless they’d been planning to murder the girl for that whole time, they’d taken the blood spontaneously. They’d killed her and needed a quick way to cover it up. They must have accessed the samples in the past few days, so they could only have been taken from the lab.
He stood up quickly and motioned Reggie to lead the way, entering the interview room behind him. Tommy was dunking his way through his third digestive as they entered. He didn’t look up, completely ignoring their entrance, and Craig knew he would handle it as he did all interviews. No-commenting his way through to the end. Unless they set the context early.
They remained standing gazing down at the smaller man’s shaven head.
“Hello, Mr Hill.” Silence. Craig shrugged, too used to the game to get annoyed. “Thank you for coming in to help us.”
Tommy focused on his biscuit, waiting for ‘with our enquiries’ to follow. When it didn’t he squinted up curiously.
“Help you? What with? I’ve done nothin’ and Reggie here knows it.” He gestured casually towards the well-worn sergeant, in a manner that said he didn’t actually hate him. It was as close as Tommy would get to being pleasant to a ‘Pig’.
“That’s why I said help us, Mr Hill. We’re not accusing you of anything. We need your assistance to solve a crime.”
Tommy lurched across the desk angrily. “I’m no fuckin’ snitch Craig. I’ll tell you nothing.”
He lounged back in his chair, smirking unpleasantly. “Whatever they’ve done, good luck to them.”
Craig stared down at him, his face showing none of the contempt that he felt, and certain that his next words would wipe the smile off Hill’s face. “They murdered a girl of around twenty years old.”
Hill’s head jerked back as if he’d been hit and he glared at Craig with hatred in his eyes. “You bastard, you know’d that would get me because of our Evie. You’re a liar.”
Reggie shook his head slowly. “No, Tommy. He’s not. The girl was found early on Saturday morning.”
A quick look of sadness crossed Hill’s face and Craig knew he was thinking of his daughter. He hated himself for what he said next, but they needed Hill’s help.
“She was raped, several times. Then they killed her.”
Hill flew to his feet in anger, curling his small fist. Reggie squinted at him quickly, but he needn’t have worried, the fist only came down on the room’s Formica table.
“Fuckers and bastards. Evie was only a child.” He scowled accusingly at Craig. “You killed Barron way too quick, Craig. You robbed me. I’d have made him die for days. Bastard.”
Craig had given the order to shoot Evie’s killer Stephen Barron, to disable him, but it had resulted in his death. It was always a risk. It had been too quick a death for the families of his victims, especially Tommy Hill.
He leaned in, facing Hill. “Whoever killed the girl
tried to frame you and Rory McCrae, Tommy. They left your blood at the scene.”
Hill froze mid-tirade and stared first at Craig and then at Reggie for confirmation. On the older man’s nod he sat down again heavily, staring straight ahead. Craig pressed his advantage.
“They got both of your D.N.A.s and left them at the scene, as if you’d raped and murdered her Tommy. We can rule out McCrae because he’s in Maghaberry, but you…”
Hill’s eyes widened and for a moment Craig saw genuine horror in them, followed by an almost pleading look. The vulnerability was short-lived, replaced by more anger.
“I didn’t do this Craig and you know it. And if I find the fucker who framed me I’ll cut his balls off.” He realised what he’d said and smiled disconcertingly. “I’ve never touched a woman who didn’t ask me to. And as far as I’m concerned rapists should be put up against a wall and shot. But cutting off their balls would be good for a start.”
Craig cut through his reverie. “Where were you from Thursday to Saturday early morning, Tommy?”
Hill thought for a moment and then started reeling off a schedule of baby-minding, shopping and Friday night pub, where tens of people had seen him. It would be easy to check.
Craig nodded, confident that he hadn’t done it. Now he needed his help.
“Can you think of anyone in the past three months who has shown an unhealthy interest in your daughter’s case? Asked about the details with too much interest, or even bought too many copies of the Chronicle? Is there anyone that you’ve really hacked off in the past? Someone who thinks you got off on something that you shouldn’t? Anything at all?”
He stared at the hard man in front of them.
“Someone tried to frame you, Tommy. And, while their choice of you and McCrae could have been random, I wouldn’t bet on it. So rack your brains and see what you can come up with, and then give your statement to Sergeant Boyd.”
He turned to leave and then turned back. “Believe it or don’t believe it Tommy, but I’m glad you’re keeping your nose clean. I’m sure it’s what Evie would have wanted.” Then he left the room quickly before Hill could turn his kind words into an insult.
***
The flashing blue lights of police cars lit up Wellesley Avenue, attracting the attention of students living nearby, and the glances of curious motorists driving through. Uniformed officers wandered back and forth through the red front door, into the warm flat. They ducked their heads down as they entered, careful only to walk on the metal pathway provided by the C.S.I.s.
To one side a dark-haired W.P.C. sat taking notes as Hannah reluctantly talked. Fiona’s fierce gaze reminding her that withholding anything could mean that Britt was never found.
“You last saw her on Wednesday?” The girls nodded in unison and Fiona answered.
“We had coffee at Maggie Mays café, opposite Methody.”
“What time did she leave?”
They glanced at each other for confirmation. “About three-forty. She said that she had a lecture.”
“Would she have walked to it?”
Hannah nodded. “Yes, we all do. It’s easy to walk everywhere on campus.”
Fiona leaned forward, interjecting. “But she has a car, her father’s very generous. He bought her the flat too.”
The W.P.C. scanned the room curiously. She’d thought that that the décor was nicer than the average student digs. The wide-screen television in the corner should have alerted her that this was no poor student scraping by.
“Is her family wealthy then?”
The two girls glanced at each other hesitantly, but there was no way of hiding things anymore. It would all have to come out.
Hannah spoke first. “Very wealthy. Her...her father’s the Swedish Ambassador to Northern Ireland.”
The W.P.C’s eyes opened wide, knowing this had implications way above her pay grade. She stood up quickly and scanned the room, her eyes lighting on a photograph of a smiling girl with a tall man in a ski-suit. He had his arms wrapped protectively around her, in a way universal to fathers.
She looked at the nearest C.S.I., indicating the picture with her eyes. He lifted it on her nod. The girl in the picture was small and pretty and the man gazed at her as if she was his world. The constable’s heart sank at the thought someone was about to destroy it for him. She gloved up and held the photograph out by the edges, for Hannah to see.
“Is this your friend?”
Hannah nodded sadly. “Yes. And that’s her dad. Bjorn. He’s really nice.” A single tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away unconsciously. It was joined immediately by more and Fiona reached over and took her hand, as the officer gave her a hankie.
“I need to speak to my senior officer, girls. Please stay here for a moment.”
She retired to the hall for a minute and the crackling of her radio told them that someone up the chain was being informed. They would be coming to join them very soon.
***
Sylvia leaned back on her pale leather sofa, worried. She fingered her cat’s fur, running her hands rhythmically through its coat as she thought. The girl had got her in trouble by not turning up for her appointment. They’d made her try every card, phone and address that she’d given her, but all of them had drawn a blank. Clever girl.
She smiled, pleased that she couldn’t find her. If she couldn’t, then they couldn’t. But she’d better hide herself well, because Belfast was a small place. If they saw her again they’d have her and take it out on her hide. She sent up a silent prayer that she would keep on running.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a single ding of the doorbell. She pushed the cat quickly to the floor and stood up, straightening her clothes and fixing on her best smile. It could be a member of the club and they didn’t like their women grumpy.
As she walked down the cream-walled hall she saw the dark silhouette of a man against the glass front door. His stance gave away his breeding as upper-middle-class. It was one of them. She hoped that it was the kindest one then remembered the police gathering at the house next door. He was dead. And the rest of them were cruel bastards.
She turned quickly, checking her makeup in the mirror and opened the door with a flourish, smiling and posing as if she’d won an award. Her pose was short-lived as a leather-gloved hand seized her neck, lifting her forcefully off her feet and pushing her backwards down the hall. The man kicked the front door closed behind him, glaring down at her with contempt.
“You silly bitch. You didn’t do your homework so we had to clean up your mess.”
Her face reddened as she struggled for breath and the man recognised the blue tinge on her lips as cyanosis. The next stage was death, and then she would pale completely. He watched the changes dispassionately. He found the body’s death changes fascinating, like performance art. But he needed her alive for a few more minutes to get information, so he loosened his grip reluctantly, dropping her hard on the floor.
She lay there for a minute, coughing, and he watched her gasp for breath desperately, just like she did everything in life. As her breath returned so did her defiance. Sylvia spat her next words at him, even though she knew exactly what he was capable of. She didn’t care what they did to her anymore; living like this was hell, so she might as well go there for real.
“It’s your fault, you sadistic prick. You and those other animals. If you behaved like normal men sex would be enough for you, especially with virgins. But no, you have to hurt them too. You’re filth, all of you. Sad privileged filth.”
The man swung his hand down rapidly, stopping its momentum an inch from her face. She recoiled and fell back on the floor, moving to avoid the blow that never came. His hand reached forward slowly, stroking her face as gently as she stroked her cat. Except that her strokes had never been that sinister.
Her eyes widened as she realised that if she pushed him, he could exceed the aggression that even she’d seen. Survival instinct kicked in and she smiled up at him quickly, composing he
r body language into the facsimile of subservience that she knew he needed.
The speed of his response was electric and he reached forward, pulling her to her feet and kissing her firmly on the mouth. She knew sex would follow unless she could talk fast.
“You asked me for virgins and I supplied them. I did my part.” Her words were firm but her tone was coy, as if she was totally under his control.
His cultured voice was calm. “Yes, you did. But you failed to check.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “Failed to check what?”
He smiled coldly. “That they had no family. Our requirements were very clear. Only virgins with no family to come looking for them.”
“I did my checks - none of my girls have family. I have them checked and followed for days. They have no families.”
She stared up at him, cold sweat dripping down her back as her mind ran rapidly through the last month’s girls. This must be about someone recent, they’d been happy with her work for years. He watched the confusion fly across her face, enjoying her fear. He could smell it and the scent excited him. He leaned forward and pressed hard against her, forcing her to feel his arousal.
Her mind was racing. It couldn’t be the girl who’d missed her appointment. She hadn’t even got that far. So who? He answered her silent question, smiling darkly.
“The blonde from last week.”
Inger; that was her name - pretty girl. But it couldn’t be her; she was an orphan from Norway. She’d had her followed to her flat in Wellesley Avenue. She lived there alone with a dog. It couldn’t be her. But the look in his eyes said that it was.
He nodded as realisation crossed her face, vacillating between explaining before he killed her, and letting her die in confusion. He decided to tell her, not from any kindness but because he enjoyed hearing himself speak.
“She was a virgin as you said, and very valuable. She would have fetched us a high price at auction. Then one of our members realised that she had family. He’d seen them in the newspaper. We might still have had some use for her, but he got carried away and damaged her. Badly.”
Her mind ran back to the weekend’s news. The girl found dead in LeRoy!
The Waiting Room (#4 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) Page 9
