Chapter Thirteen
The court clerk hovered respectfully behind the Judge, waiting for him to acknowledge his presence. After a few minutes of waiting he was rewarded by James Dawson inclining his head backwards, indicating that he should approach. “Your Honour, there’s an urgent call for you in your rooms.”
Dawson turned sharply to face the elderly man. “You know better than to interrupt the court when it’s sitting. Who is it anyway?”
The clerk coughed, chastened. “It’s a Mr Timothy Morgan, M’Lord. I do apologise. I wouldn’t have interrupted had he not said it was urgent.”
Dawson waved him back with a gesture of irritation and then stood abruptly. “I must apologise to the court.” He hammered hard with his small gavel, signalling that proceedings would adjourn. “The court will rise for twenty minutes.”
He left hurriedly as the clerk sang out, pulling off his wig and running his hand irascibly through his hair. What in God’s name did Morgan want? He already knew the club was convening that evening.
He grabbed the phone rudely from his secretary’s hand and shooed her out the door, winding himself up for a rant. “What the hell do you mean, phoning me when we’re in session?”
“The police have Bryce.”
The words fell flatly on the air. Dawson gasped as if he’d been punched in the gut. When he regained his composure Morgan was still talking.
“They brought me in on some pathetic excuse of burglars casing my house then asked me about the house in Marrion. Someone saw me there on Sunday night!”
“Who?”
“No idea. Probably the police watching Bryce.”
Dawson shook his head then realised he was on the phone and had to vocalise his disagreement. “No, she’d have known if she was under surveillance. Trust me; it’s pretty damn obvious when you are.”
“Who then?”
Dawson thought for a moment, searching for the answer. He found it quickly. “The tart that didn’t turn up. She must have seen you and known who you were.”
Morgan’s mind raced quickly through the faces of every twenty-something female that he knew, but it was hopeless. He met thousands of patients each year and a myriad of medical students, sixty percent of them female. He’d never be able to narrow it down. Unless…
“I see hundreds of girls each year and there’s no way I can pinpoint the one who might have sold herself as a whore. If I saw her photo that would be a different case. I always remember faces.”
“Didn’t Bryce take pictures of them?”
“Yes. Remember, that’s how we selected the best. She must keep them in her house or office. We need to find out who this girl is and shut her up.”
“OK, leave it with me. I know someone who can get the photos and make it look like a burglary.”
The door knocked once, signalling that the adjournment was coming to an end. Dawson pushed his wig down hard on his head and ended the call, returning to his high moral position of sitting in judgement of others.
***
3.30pm
Sylvia Bryce sat in the interview room flatly denying that she knew Timothy Morgan, even when they showed her the video of her earlier reaction. She insisted that he couldn’t possibly have been the man who’d assaulted her earlier in the day, and pointed to the fairy-tale sketch of a bearded twenty-something she’d created earlier at Stranmillis Road. Jake McLean had joined them and was watching from the other side of the wall. Craig knew he must be shaking his head at her lies.
The fact that she lived next door to a house where a murder had occurred two days before was purely coincidental. Yes, wasn’t it awful, Inspector? And in such a nice street too. She hadn’t know the gentleman of course, a lie that Craig tested by showing her a photograph of Paul Ripley in life. He watched as the small crease between her eyebrows deepened for a few seconds, and then smoothed out almost instantly. A ‘tell’ that lasted just long enough to tell him she was lying. She’d known Paul Ripley all right and he would prove it.
How had she managed to afford her new home and offices in Cornmarket? She’d been very fortunate - an old friend had left her some money in his will. She had a lot of old friends, you know. She willingly confirmed that some of them had been intimate, without confirming her past profession. Craig fervently hoped that Davy could unpick her finances and find something that linked her house’s ownership to the building next door.
She denied all knowledge of Britt Ackerman, but Hannah had already identified her from a photograph. They were certain of Bryce’s connection to Britt but they needed more evidence to prove it.
Craig tried every tactic to make her talk. Charm and tea, cajoling and pleading, and finally, threatening her with withholding evidence. Both on the assault and on unnamed other cases that they were investigating.
But she didn’t even flinch when Liam charged her with obstruction of justice and had her locked up in Wharf House for the night, pending a remand hearing the next day. There was no doubt that she was up to her neck in all of this, but how exactly? Warrants to search her house, office and finances would give them the answers.
***
“What do you think of this one?”
Julia held up a jumper that even she knew wouldn’t suit Craig, but she and Natalie had been shopping for hours and they’d both reached the point of apathy.
Natalie raised an eyebrow sceptically and lifted her handbag, turning determinedly towards the lift.
“I’m off to the nearest wine-bar unless you think of something better than that. If you were married he’d have legitimate grounds for divorce right there.”
“Well, you come up with a better idea then. We’ve only been dating six months and even then it’s only every weekend.” It dawned on her how little she knew about Craig. She’d spent a total of six weeks with him! Something started to niggle at her, then Natalie interrupted.
“Use your imagination, woman. What sort of things does he like doing? When he’s not working that is.” A rueful expression crossed her face as she acknowledged that none of them had much of a life outside their jobs.
Julia looked blank for a moment and then clicked her fingers. “I’ve got it!” She grabbed their shopping bags and headed for the lift, leaving Natalie trailing in her wake.
“Where are you going now?”
“The cocktail bar at The Merchant. I’ll sort out his present when we get home.”
***
Dawson drew proceedings to an end for the day and hurried to his car, shadowed at a respectful distance by his detail. They preferred to stay as far as possible from him while still doing their job. He was an arrogant prick at the best of times, but his moods had been off the scale for the past few days.
He sat in the car-park for a moment, running quickly through the contacts in his phone, until he hit on the one he was looking for. It was answered in three rings and a gruff cockney voice on the other end greeted his withheld number warily.
“Hello. Who’s this?”
“It’s me.”
“Who’s ‘me’?”
“The man who can do you a lot of harm if you don’t play ball.”
There was silence for a moment and, when the man spoke again, his tone was deferential. “What can I help you with, Judge?”
“I need you to do a little job for me. Tonight.”
***
“Nicky, have we managed to get those warrants from Judge Standish yet?”
Nicky bit the end of her pen, stilling her quick retort. Craig had asked the same question five times in the past hour. But he’d had virtually no sleep since Friday and she’d be stressed too in those circumstances, so she repeated her earlier response patiently.
“We’re just waiting for them now, sir.” She glanced at the clock. Seven pm and they were all still in the office, but at least Davy’s and her day would end soon. Liam’s and Craig’s couldn’t.
“Sergeant McLean from Stranmillis will be leading the search of Bryce’s home, Nicky. Liam and I will take
her offices in town.” Craig raked his hands through his thick hair, thinking. “Do we have a slot for her remand hearing yet?”
Nicky smiled at him, adopting her best mothering tone. “Yes, sir. Three o’clock tomorrow.”
She scrutinised him and diagnosed caffeine deficiency, so she headed for the percolator. The phone rang and Davy answered it. It was ground floor reception informing them that a pizza had been delivered. Liam bounded across the floor racing Davy for the lift and Nicky laughed huskily. She smiled at Craig’s generosity and brewed him some fresh coffee, before he and Liam left for the hunt.
***
The large echoing hall was lit with a myriad of candles, their light flickering across its sleek stone walls. They cast shadows back and forth across the faces of the men. Some of them were already seated at the oblong oak table. Others took drinks from the serving staff’s trays. They were holding important conversations, in equally important tones.
Tim Morgan stood quietly in one corner, watching as the men circled each other warily. Ostensibly friends and members of the same club, but each of them aware that their wealth and status had been grasped over the heads of others. Always competing, always on guard. Ready to save themselves at any cost.
He thought that some of them were staring at him judgementally, as if his failure to kill Sylvia Bryce had brought them all to this. But it had been the churchman, one of the most revered of their number, who had threatened all of their safety. He had merely cleaned it up. But not perfectly, and that was clearly a worse crime in their eyes.
The wall opened suddenly and James Dawson marched in, like the Lord High Executioner in Gilbert and Sullivan’s Mikado. Morgan half-expected a coterie of footmen to follow, or a slave carrying a large feathered fan. But it was only him. He nodded and murmured to a few men in passing, making his way across to where Morgan stood.
Dawson lifted a drink and half-smiled at him conspiratorially. “It’s happening right now.” Morgan raised a questioning eyebrow and then nodded. All evidence of them knowing Britt Ackerman would soon be erased, and by tomorrow they would know the name of the girl who’d identified him in Marrion Park. After that her disappearance would be easy to arrange. Long before that bastard Craig was able to prove anything.
The room brightened slightly and a slim screen rose silently from the table’s end. A dark man standing by the door locked it, then banged hard on the floor with a staff, declaring the meeting open. Morgan smiled at the ornate ceremony, but one look at his companions faces said they were taking it deadly seriously. They took their places around the table, their position allocated by rank, and the room quieted, waiting for their Chair.
Morgan sat near the front with Dawson and noticed the policeman sitting opposite. He acknowledged them with a dry nod before turning back quickly to the screen. They sat in order of seniority - the policeman number two and Dawson three. The Cavalier sat at four and the young royal at five. He sat at number six and there was an empty space for Ripley at seven. The lower ranks arranged themselves further down. There were no women in the room. Woman had their place but it was never in a position of control.
The screen flashed quickly to life and the darkened shape of a man appeared, sitting well back into the shadows. He was mature, above sixty, although his exact age was impossible to tell. His hands were folded; the only clues to his life were his cufflinks, and a ring on his right hand wedding finger. Divorce in some countries and marriage in others. The room quieted without a murmur and he waited for a minute longer before speaking, exerting his absolute control.
“This meeting has been called because there is a problem.” A quiet murmur started, halted immediately by his silence. He resumed more sternly, his voice deep and sonorous. “One of our members, number seven, destroyed a valuable first edition. He has paid the ultimate price.”
He paused as if in respect and Morgan laughed inwardly. He’d ordered Ripley’s death and now he was distancing himself by faking grief. The voice resumed.
“However, this edition had to be destroyed. It was too well-known. Its owners would have come to claim it, and others would have come looking. It was not number seven’s destruction of the item, but rather his method that has endangered our group.”
He turned his head towards the policeman, as if they were in the same room. “Numbers two and three are engaged in efforts to deal with the problem that has been created.” He stared in their direction and his next words carried open menace. “Be sure that you do it well, and before the 14th. I will not bring the buyers unless I am certain.”
Dawson swallowed and nodded yes. The 14th would be the biggest gathering they’d ever hosted. It was worth a billion pounds to them. There could be no mistakes.
The man turned back to the group and his voice lifted slightly. “Now, gentlemen. Let us review the first editions and plan the entertainment for the event. We have some truly illustrious guests coming.”
***
The search of Bryce’s office yielded exactly what they’d hoped for. Pictures of Britt Ackerman and Hannah Benner, plus at least one hundred other girls. The paperwork accompanying them was detailed and enlightening. The girls had been selected for their declared virginity, but not only for that.
“None of them have any living family, boss. Not one!”
Craig stared at the two photographs in his hand. “They said that they had no family, Liam. We know that Hannah and Britt lied about it, so who knows how many others did as well?”
“Why the hell would they do it? They all look like well-cared-for girls. What could have driven them to want money so much?” Liam shuddered, visualising his daughter’s face on one the sheets.
Craig shook his head sadly. “Who knows? But I’m not sure it’s a coincidence that Bryce moved to Belfast in 2010 – that’s the year the cap was raised on student tuition fees. University used to be free. Nowadays kids graduate with debts of thousands. Maybe some of the girls were desperate for money.”
“Surely to God they could get a job flipping burgers?”
“When they can earn thousands in one night?” Craig shook his head again. “Sylvia Bryce pandered to their greed.”
“The men behind her did anyway.”
Craig gestured at the files on the desk. “Get the men to box these up and ship them back to Davy. We need to identify these girls against any missing persons who didn’t come home. I’m going to check on the search up at Marrion Park, and see if we can get some extra bodies to help us. Sorting through this lot is going to take us days.”
Liam shook his head. “Sorry boss, McLean’s just phoned through. Someone got to the house before us. They cleaned the place out.”
Craig shook his head angrily. “Damn! If there were files in the house they could have Hannah’s I.D in them. We can’t take a chance with her safety. Get a protection detail over to her house now, Liam.”
“She’ll not like that. She mightn’t have told her family about her nocturnal activities.”
“Fudge it with a ‘material witness to a crime’ cover. I’ll call her and warn her they’re coming.” He stared at Liam grimly. “I think they’re cleaning up. And if they are, they’ll want Hannah out of the way for good.”
Chapter Fourteen
Wednesday 12th June 9am
Hannah woke up slowly and scanned the room, bewildered by her surroundings. Instead of her own warm bedroom, she was in an unfamiliar place with dull beige curtains and a paisley rug on the floor. She went to cry out but her voice was stilled by the sight of a smiling woman beside the bed. She had long red curls and a pale prettiness that made her look like an alabaster doll. It was an illusion shattered quickly when she smiled, spreading a host of unexpected freckles across her small, fine nose. It elevated her cool prettiness to a cherubic beauty.
For a moment Hannah thought she’d died and gone to a better place, until Julia’s high Anglo-Irish lilt broke through the air. Then she remembered. She was under police protection. And they’d thought it was safer for her
family if it happened away from home.
“Morning, Hannah. How are you feeling?”
Hannah struggled to sit up but tiredness made her slump back again. She wasn’t sure why she was so tired, but the three-hour shouting session with her mother yesterday probably hadn’t helped. She’d been relieved when they’d told her the armed protection would take place away from home. It would save her more earache.
A quick flash of guilt told her she was being bitchy and that it was her that had caused all of this. She’d brought a real risk of harm to her family’s door. She should be grateful they hadn’t disowned her, and that the police cared enough to make sure she was safe.
Julia watched the thoughts running quickly through the girl’s mind, her expression changing as each new penny dropped. She’d been glad when Marc had asked her to help. She was lonely with him working day and night, even with Natalie’s occasional company. And there was only so much shopping that a girl could do.
She walked over to the bed, handing Hannah a cup of hot tea and glanced at the end of the bed for permission to sit. Hannah waved her on lethargically. Julia chatted about neutral things, not sure how she would feel in such circumstances. It was hard enough being in danger when you were an innocent victim or a witness, but Hannah’s situation was tinged with ambiguity. Julia knew she was blaming herself for putting her family at risk. But to deny that she had done so would be a lie.
She smiled kindly at the girl. Her make-up free face looked young and innocent but that innocence had nearly been the death of her. And Julia knew that whatever Hannah did in the future, she would forever thank her lucky stars that she’d recognised the man in Marrion Park. Hopefully they’d catch the bastards, then other girls in the future would thank them too.
The Waiting Room (#4 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) Page 15
