The Dogs in the Street

by J M Dalgliesh

  “He’s nearly fifteen, Karen. Show me a parent who thinks their child is making the right choices.”

  “Not like this, Nate. He’s out all hours with who knows what type of people. Last night, he didn’t get home until gone three-”

  “He’s a teenager, Karen. It’s the weekend-”

  “He’s not old enough to be out until that time. You’d never stand for it! It’s not only that, Nate, he’s not paying attention at school,” her tone softened a little. “Next year, he’ll begin the run up to his exams-”

  “Alright, calm down. I said I’ll speak with him and I will. Let’s leave it for tonight, he can stay here and I’ll bring him back in the morning.” There was a moment of silence. He could hear her breathing on the line. Knowing Karen, she would want Sean back immediately but only out of concern, not to score points. That wasn’t her style.

  “Okay. To be on time for his football coaching, he needs to leave here at quarter-past eight,” she advised. “You’ll take care of him?” Caslin knew she was worried and that manifested itself into the question rather than hinting at his level of competence. He didn’t take it personally.

  “Of course, I will. How’s Lizzie?” he asked after their daughter. She laughed, it was genuine and reminded him of happier times.

  “She went to bed, having told me to lighten up and that Sean would be back, when he was ready.”

  “Did she?” Caslin asked, breaking into a laugh of his own. “Eleven, going on forty.”

  “Isn’t she,” Karen agreed. “Thanks, Nathaniel. I’m glad you are there for him.”

  “Goodnight, Karen.”

  “Is she still angry?” a voice came from behind. Caslin put the phone down onto the countertop and turned to see Sean, standing in the doorway. His son emitted all the attitude that teenage angst could muster, borne either from fatigue or embarrassment. Caslin couldn’t tell which.

  “I think, perhaps, I should leave you to it,” Reece offered. Caslin nodded. “I’ll see myself out. Catch up with you later.” Turning to Sean, he inclined his head, receiving a half-smile in return.

  “She’s worried about you,” Caslin replied once they were alone. Filling the kettle with water, he set it to boil, “Do you want something to drink? Squash or maybe a bottle of coke, I think there’s one in the fridge.”

  “Anything else?” Sean asked nonchalantly.

  “Tea, coffee?”

  “I’ll have a beer, if you’re offering?”

  “Not a chance, sunshine,” Caslin replied with a grin.

  “Worth a try.”

  “What’s going on with you, son? A year ago, you were well on course with your studies but now…you’re skipping school, battling your mother at every opportunity and hanging around with-”

  “You’re starting to sound like her,” Sean said with disdain, rolling his eyes.

  “Maybe, not a bad thing. Your mother moved you up here to get you away from the people you were mixing with, in London. Now you’re taking up with similar-”

  “Come on, Dad,” Sean argued. “We moved up here so she could offload me, onto you.” Caslin drew breath as the kettle boiled. Taking two mugs out of the cupboard, he set them down and turned to face his son.

  “Put your mother’s motivations aside, for a moment because you may have a point, I don’t know. Regardless, you’re making life unnecessarily hard on yourself, let alone those around you.”

  “It’s my life-”

  “And we’re your parents. Like it or not, we’re responsible for you and…we care. Have you taken a look at yourself recently?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sean replied curtly.

  “Rings under your eyes, your pupils are dilated,” Caslin indicated. “What else are you taking?”

  “Nothing,” Sean said defiantly, looking away and shaking his head.

  “Don’t lie to me, Son. People lie to me every day. I’m used to it. You stink of weed. What else, amphetamines?” Sean didn’t answer and refused to meet his father’s gaze. “You know you can talk to me, don’t you? Whatever it is, I’ll listen.”

  Sean looked up, locking eyes, “Can I come and live with you?” Caslin was caught off guard. His expression conveying precisely the wrong response. “Thanks a lot, Dad. Nice to know you care,” Sean snapped, turning his back and stalking off, into the living room. Caslin followed.

  “It’s not that I don’t want you here, it’s…” he floundered as words failed him.

  “It’s what?” Sean asked, sinking onto the sofa.

  “Look around. This place is small. I only have the one bedroom-”

  “So, I’ll sleep here, on the sofa.”

  “I’m not in most of the time. My job keeps me out all hours, you know that.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “What about your mother…and your sister, for that matter? She only wants what’s best for you.”

  Sean shot daggers in his direction, “You know she’s drinking?”

  Caslin took a seat opposite, in the armchair, “Most of us have a drink-”

  “No, I mean proper drinking. Like…” he let the thought tail off. Caslin looked down at the floor.

  “Like I used to?” he asked, glancing up. Sean nodded. Caslin sighed, “Alright. We’re not going to solve anything tonight. Tell you what, you get your head down in my room and I’ll take the sofa. We can talk about it some more, in the morning.”

  Sean stood up and made to leave. Caslin caught his son by the arm as he passed, drawing him in. They hugged tightly, Sean putting his head into his father’s chest. The moment was over in seconds and they separated without another word. The bedroom door closed and Caslin’s eyes strayed to a lonely bottle of scotch, sitting high upon a shelf, alongside the fireplace. Shaking his head, he returned to the kitchen. Of all things, that certainly wouldn’t help.

  Chapter 11

  Awoken by the sound of a ringing mobile, Caslin rolled off the sofa and began rooting through his jacket. Answering before the voicemail kicked in, he found it was Hunter.

  “Sir, Dr Lawton has been in touch. He has an image for us.”

  “Fantastic,” Caslin stated, blinking at the daylight, streaming through the sash windows. “What time is it?”

  “Half eight, Sir. Did I wake you?”

  Caslin muttered something incomprehensible, getting his bearings, “No, don’t worry. I’ll meet you at the university in thirty minutes.”

  He hung up on the call, his thoughts turning to the time. Cursing, he took the shirt off that he’d slept in and called out, “Sean! We’re running late.”

  There had been no reply by the time he reached the bedroom. Knocking didn’t bring a response either and he pushed the door open. The bed was empty and there was no sign of his son. Dropping his head, he swore. At that moment, his phone beeped. Glancing at it, he read a text message from Karen, “thx for getting Sean back. He’s off to training x.”

  Feeling guilty and relieved, in equal measure, he put his phone away and hurried to his wardrobe. Dressing in a clean shirt, he grabbed his jacket and headed out. The short car journey across town, took a little over twenty minutes, Sunday morning traffic was a delight compared with any other day. Meeting Hunter in the university car park, she scanned his appearance when he got out of the car, throwing a couple of breath mints into his mouth as he did so.

  “Rough night?” she asked.

  “How can you tell?” Caslin replied, with no attempt to conceal the sarcasm. She fell into step alongside him. “Sorry I missed the briefing. How did it go?”

  “Terry’s working through the finances. We’ve got a forensic accountant on board, so results should come quicker.”

  “Excellent. How did Scenes of Crime get on with running back over Coughlan’s room at the Lord Percy?”

  “Nothing new. Whoever broke in, was a ghost. It’s like they were never there. Without the cut in the glass and the broken slates, we wouldn’t have known.”

  Caslin was annoy
ed by that, “What did you get on Paraic Nelson?”

  “He’s well known to our colleagues in the PSNI, Sir,” she said with confidence.

  “He’s got form?”

  “Nothing that’s stuck, in recent years,” Hunter offered. “He has strong links to Republican paramilitaries, dating back to the troubles. He was interned in the seventies and did a three year stretch for fraud, eighty to eighty-three.”

  “What about now? Is he still in the loop?”

  “No, not anymore. By all accounts, his ties were cut back in the mid-nineties and he was disavowed by the leadership in ‘98.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “The file doesn’t have that information. It all gets a little sketchy around 1996 and there’s nothing beyond ‘98. Presumably, he was no longer considered a person of interest but I’ve put a call in to the locals and I’m waiting to hear back. It’s strange, though.”

  “It is that,” Caslin agreed. “What about Hardy, how is she getting on with Foley?”

  Hunter shook her head, “Nothing out of the ordinary. He’s stuck to the same routine, religiously. No pun intended. The man doesn’t socialise with anyone nor has he had any visitors. His house is rented and I checked with the networks, he doesn’t have a broadband connection. Are you sure we’re not trying to see something that just isn’t there?”

  “How so?”

  “The connection to Foley, I mean. What if he’s not involved?”

  Caslin stopped, turning to face her, “She was asking about him, specifically. Why else would she visit him?”

  “Spiritual guidance?” Hunter suggested. Caslin responded with a dismissive gesture and they set off again, mounting the steps up to the entrance of the building. “He is a priest, Sir.”

  “If she hadn’t spoken to my source about him, I might agree,” Caslin said, holding the door open for Hunter. “Let’s not forget, Coughlan was drawn here for a reason and if not Foley, then who or why? Tell Hardy not to get complacent. Make no mistake, he’s pegged to this somehow. I want the surveillance team operating in pairs from now on. We’ve got Coughlan looking at Nelson and it’s also possible someone else is following Coughlan’s investigation, independent of whoever killed her. If either of them end up at Foley’s door, I want us prepared for it.”

  “Resources are stretched,” Hunter stated, although her demeanour indicated agreement.

  “Hang the resources. We’ll draft some more uniform if needs be. I’ll clear it with Broadfoot, later. We’re a DCI down, so there’s money left in the budget,” Caslin said, mounting the steps towards the Physics Department.

  “He asked after you, this morning.”

  “Broadfoot was in on a Sunday morning? That’s a first. What did you say?”

  “That you were on your way here.”

  “Thanks,” Caslin replied. The last he needed was intrusive scrutiny, from the Chief Superintendent. Taking the lift to the third floor, Caslin stopped as they walked out onto the landing. He had the stirrings of a headache, no doubt a hangover, and he took a moment to steady himself.

  “Sir?” Hunter asked, having realised he was no longer beside her. He waved away her concerns and caught up. Approaching Dr Lawton’s office, he took several deep breaths to try and clear his head. The professor noted their arrival and beckoned them in, negating the need to knock. He was so excited to share his results, that he’d barely offered them a seat before he was encouraging them around the desk to view his monitor. Within a couple of clicks, both detectives were assessing the image of their chief suspect.

  “I can hardly believe how well this has come out,” Lawton said, almost gleefully. “I had my doubts while working through it, yesterday.”

  “That’s a result,” Hunter stated. Although the resolution still wasn’t clear enough to match it to a photo identification, they had enough to be positive about. The figure was white, approximately thirty-five to forty years of age, with an athletic, muscular build. Caslin reached over and pointed at something on the upper part of the left arm.

  “Enlarge that for me, would you?” he said. Dr Lawton was happy to oblige and highlighted the area, enlarging it with a couple of clicks.

  “Looks like a tattoo,” Caslin stated openly. Although grainy, he could make out a semi-circle with five lines, spaced evenly, descending from it towards a point, where they intersected. Surrounding this were a dozen marks but they were less clear and the entire motif was encompassed by a dark-blue background, in the shape of a shield.

  “What do you think it is?” Hunter asked, straining her eyes to make out the detail. Caslin stepped back, folding his arms.

  “They’re stars, encircling a parachute,” he said softly.

  “That’s quite specific. Do you recognise it?” Hunter asked, glancing back at him. “It could be military. If you’re right?”

  “I’ve seen similar,” Caslin said quietly. “Dr Lawton, would you be kind enough to email this across or burn us a copy. Can you print off that still?” he asked, pointing at the monitor.

  “Certainly.”

  “Needless to say, please keep the details of this to yourself,” Caslin said firmly. The professor bobbed his head enthusiastically. Hunter glanced in his direction with a serious expression. Caslin took the printout and excused them from the office.

  The pleasant summer was a fading memory as September dragged them towards Autumn. Leaving the building and crossing the car park, Caslin scanned the grey clouds, rolling in from the west, bringing the very real prospect of rain at any moment.

  “Are you going to share?” Hunter asked him, as they approached her car. She was visibly frustrated. He hadn’t spoken a word since leaving Lawton’s office.

  “I’m sorry,” Caslin replied, turning his back and leaning against the vehicle. “I was preoccupied. This isn’t making a lot of sense.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “The tattoo. You’re right, it is military,” he confirmed, staring out in the direction of the city. The sound of traffic from the ring road, carried to them.

  “You did recognise it, didn’t you?”

  Caslin chuckled, “One of my father’s more interesting obsessions, military insignia.”

  “Interesting, you say?” Hunter replied, grinning.

  “It’s on a par with model railways, in my opinion,” Caslin said with a wry smile. “When we were kids, he’d describe them to us, challenging my brother and I to name them, by expertise rather than their specific unit. We were children, after all. You remember the significant ones. The exciting ones. This is most likely, a contemporary incarnation of the one I remember.”

  “So? Spill it.”

  “It’s a Paratroopers” insignia.”

  “Not ours?” Hunter asked. Caslin shook his head, turning his gaze to her.

  “German,” Caslin said softly. “Elite, special forces, to be exact.”

  “You’re right. That doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Hunter said, sounding perplexed.

  “Let’s walk it through. We figure our guy is a professional. Have a look through the database, tie up what we know about him with any other intelligence. Perhaps he’s on the radar of the Organised Crime Unit already, as an enforcer, hitman or such like. Run it through Europol, as well. In the meantime, get this picture out,” Caslin indicated the print in his hand. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “What about the press?” Hunter asked.

  “No, not yet,” Caslin said thoughtfully. “I don’t want to spook him. He’s willing to take the risk of breaking back into a crime scene, so I don’t think he’ll take off, unless he thinks we’re onto him. Let’s not tip our hand. We can always go wide at a later time, if we need to.”

  “Understood,” Hunter said, unlocking her car. “What’s your next move?”

  Caslin drummed his fingers on the roof of the car, deep in thought, “Coughlan was digging around Paraic Nelson before she came to Foley. Someone else is doing likewise but no one’s talking about it.”

  “Do
we wait for this other person to arrive at the same conclusion as Coughlan did or shall we put some pressure on Foley?”

  “I don’t want to wait but without any detail, if we bring Foley in, we’ll just be fishing. I doubt it’ll get us anywhere.”

  “Then we need to go directly to where all this started.”

  “Nelson?” Caslin questioned with a flick of an eyebrow. Hunter nodded. She was right. Coughlan’s investigation in Northern Ireland had uncovered something which led her to ask questions across the border about Nelson which in turn, brought her to Foley. Hunter was right, whatever her relationship with the aging priest was, still remained to be seen. If he didn’t want to bring Foley in, there was only one course remaining open to them and that was to put Paraic Nelson under scrutiny.

  Chapter 12

  The water flowed steadily past. Mini-torrents formed as they clashed with his legs. He should be cold but there was no such feeling, no sensation at all. As usual, the whispers carrying from the riverbank, taunted him with words he couldn’t make out. The branches of the dense foliage swayed in the breeze, almost in synchrony with the current. A body drifted too close for comfort and Caslin shoved it away with as much force as he could muster. The faceless corpse turned its head to look at him as the pull of the water swept it away.

  Waking with a start, he sat bolt upright, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Dripping with perspiration, Caslin threw off the duvet and levered himself out of bed. Far more alert than would normally be the case, he made his way to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, he stepped in before the water had a chance to reach temperature, the cold snap felt refreshing. Placing his hands and forearms on the tiled wall in front of him, Caslin bowed his head, allowing the water to cascade down the back of his head and shoulders. Steadily, the water temperature increased and he remained in that position, trying in vain to decipher what his subconscious was communicating to him.

  Throwing on the first shirt he came to in his closet, Caslin left his apartment by way of the café next door to purchase a coffee and a breakfast roll. Both of which were long gone by the time he pulled into the parking area of Fulford Road. Entering through reception, Caslin acknowledged Linda’s customary smile with a wave. Punching in his code, he passed through and took the elevator up to CID. Entering the squad room, he skipped the formalities. Today was going to be where they’d make some headway. Repeatedly clapping his hands together, he addressed the team.