by Derek Fee
O’Neill’s face burst into a beatific smile. For three months she had been waiting for Browne, Davidson or Graham to sidle over to her and ask for her help. Despite Wilson giving her work, she had waited for that moment when she would finally feel like one of the team and it had just arrived. ‘What can I do, Harry?’
She should smile more often, Graham thought, it suits her face. ‘I’m not completely on board with the boss’s approach to finding the child’s name. I was wondering whether I might start with our own people.’
‘That’s not a bad idea. In most cases of reported abuse a PSNI detective accompanies the social worker in the investigation. But for every case of reported abuse there are eight cases that are not reported. I’m afraid that you’ll have to hope that your child was actually reported to us. Given that your child has badly healed fractures, there’s a better than even chance his abuse may not have been reported.’
Graham would have preferred if she didn’t keep referring to the boy as ‘your child’. He had never once struck any of his own children, although he had been perilously close on several occasions. He could imagine a slap on the legs as a punishment but someone had beaten this boy to death. ‘So, where do we start?’
She turned to her computer and her fingers flashed over the keys. ‘Let’s look at the reports. Then we can exclude the girls and all the boys over six to be safe.’
Graham was a late entrant into the computer generation and he watched with envy as she worked the keys.
Minutes later she had located the necessary information. ‘There are ten reports in the Belfast area of significant parental abuse on boys younger than six in the past two years. We can reduce that number if you have any idea of the area of the city that the boy might have lived in.’
Graham shook his head. ‘Print off all ten cases. I presume the investigating officer is mentioned in each one.’
‘Absolutely.’ O’Neill hit a few more keys and the printer beside her desk started to spew out paper. She collected the sheets and passed them to him. ‘Want any help with ringing around?’
Graham took the sheets of paper and stood up. He smiled. ‘No, thanks, I think I can manage on my own from this point. But I may be back. Thanks for your help.’
She returned his smile. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Wilson received the call from upstairs at noon. Chief Superintendent Davis required his presence immediately. As he put down the phone, he looked out into the squad room. He didn’t like the urgency of the call. Everyone was busy at their desks, and he wondered whether one of them had leaked the existence of the Carlisle investigation to HQ. He’d had moles in his team before. There was too much on at the moment to be worrying whether one of his team was undermining him. He stood up slowly from his seat. He needed yet another kick in the balls like he needed a hole in the head. There were plenty of people in Castlereagh who would like to see him toss it all in, but that wasn’t about to happen. He was resigned to the fact that one day he would screw up mightily and that would be the end of him. There would be cheering in a section of the stands in Castlereagh then, but that was in the future.
Wilson was apprehensive as he knocked on the door of Davis’s office. As soon as he entered the room he saw that Davis wasn’t alone. There were two visitors seated on the couch in the private area of the office. Davis was sitting on an easy chair facing them. One of them was instantly recognisable, Jack Duane was sipping what looked like coffee from one of Davis’s good china cups. Wilson recognised the second man as Superintendent William Grigg, the personal dogsbody of Assistant Chief Constable Nicholson. Wilson had never had dealings with Grigg, but he’d heard enough rumours to know that he was on some kind of thin ice and that there was an expectation in certain quarters that he might fall through.
‘Ian, please join us.’ Davis pointed at the tray on the coffee table. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘No, thanks.’ Wilson took the seat beside Davis and studied the two men facing them. While Grigg looked like he had just bitten into a particularly rancid lemon, Duane was smiling and there was a twinkle in his eyes.
Davis turned to Wilson. ‘I don’t think that you know Superintendent Grigg from ACC Nicholson’s office.’
Wilson looked at Grigg and tried to get the measure of the man. He was of average height and dressed in full PSNI uniform. Seated beside the bulk of Duane he looked like a pygmy or an errant schoolboy. He had a full head of fair hair on top of a pallid face that was neither attractive nor ugly. He was the quintessential grey-man, a perfect specimen to climb the greasy career pole of the PSNI. ‘No, I don’t think we’ve met,’ Wilson said after a moment’s delay.
Davis turned to Grigg. ‘William, this is Detective Superintendent Wilson.’
Grigg’s thin lips parted in what was probably meant to be a smile. ‘The famous Ian Wilson, it’s a pleasure to finally meet the great rugby legend. I’ve heard so much about you.’ The diction was clipped and the Northern Irish accent modulated.
I’ll bet you have, Wilson thought, and none of it good. He had noted the use of Grigg’s first name by his boss. She was learning the rules of the game and beginning to play by them. It wouldn’t be too long after all before she would be occupying that chair that was being prepared for her in Castlereagh.
Davis smiled at Duane. ‘And, of course, there’s no need for introductions between you and DCI Duane. You worked closely together on that Evans business.’
Wilson nodded. ‘Jack,’ he said simply.
‘Good to see you again, Ian.’
Wilson looked at Duane and raised his eyebrows. Obviously their meeting in the Crown never happened. He sat back and waited.
‘We appear to have a problem.’ Davis put her cup down on the coffee table. ‘William, perhaps you or DCI Duane would be so kind as to outline what the problem is.’
Grigg straightened himself. ‘Thank you, Yvonne, I’ll give our point of view and I’m sure DCI Duane will give us the southern perspective.’
Wilson sighed at the use of Davis’s first name. Being a well-known cynic, he wasn’t generally invited to love-ins. He wondered what the hell he was doing there and whether he was part of the ‘problem’.
‘There has always been a significant level of smuggling across the border between the north and the south of the island,’ Grigg began. ‘Even before our common accession to the European Economic Community in 1973, smuggling was a way of life for many people whose land straddled the border. Most of that smuggling was based on the disparity of prices of certain goods between the north and the south. While all types of smuggling are illegal, the kind of smuggling undertaken at that time was pretty harmless and in many cases the police and the tax authorities took a fairly lenient approach. I should point out that this sort of smuggling was not very organised and was generally practised by people from the border area.’ He stopped and sipped his coffee. ‘With the advent of the European Union, the smuggling changed character and was more concentrated on moving animals from one jurisdiction to the other in order to gain advantage from EU farm payments.’
Wilson tried not to show signs of boredom. He didn’t need the history lesson and while smuggling was certainly an illegal activity, it was normally dealt with by CID operations.
Grigg was warming to his narrative. ‘After the Good Friday Peace Agreement, the local paramilitaries became involved in smuggling and consequently its nature changed again. These people weren’t interested in the small sums that were being made by traditional smugglers. They wanted big scores and began transhipping fake cigarettes, drugs and fake alcohol. They’re also active in animal rustling and operating illegal abattoirs. Paramilitaries on both sides of the religious divide are involved in the business. While we work to clamp down on smuggling, there is a balance of power between the gangs operated by former UVF members and those by current or former IRA members. But we’ve been receiving intelligence that the situation has changed lately. It appears that th
ese two factions have coalesced and are now working together. The former UVF members involved are hardline. A lot of them were members of the Ulster Defence Regiment and the old mid-Ulster murder gangs. The majority of the IRA members are either recent recruits and have never been involved in terrorism or older members who were involved in assassination attempts on UDR members. They make very unlikely bedfellows, having once been such deadly enemies. Together they form a formidable criminal enterprise whose existence is a threat to both Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland.’
There was silence in the room when he had finished. Grigg looked at Duane. ‘Anything you want to add, Detective Chief Inspector?’
Duane had been giving the impression that he was half-asleep during Grigg’s monologue. He suddenly roused himself like a bear coming out of hibernation. ‘We raided a fake alcohol-bottling plant in County Louth a couple of months ago and found more than a hundred and ten thousand bottle caps for various alcoholic drinks, along with counterfeit labels. We made a couple of arrests, but they appear to be low-level criminals and we’re having the devil’s own difficulty in prosecuting them. William neglected to mention the level of theft of farm machinery close to the border. The farmers are up in arms.’
Wilson was pleased to notice Grigg wince at Duane’s use of his first name.
‘I think it’s safe to say,’ Duane continued, ‘that both Dublin and Belfast look upon a criminal organisation composed of former terrorists from both camps as a kind of doomsday scenario. These people are accustomed to murder and assassination. Most of them should have been put away years ago but, because our politicians were so intent on reconciliation, they are still out there. And they are very dangerous indeed. They have the potential to make the Mafia look like a group of schoolboys.’ He slumped back on his seat and smiled at Davis.
Chief Superintendent Davis blushed. DCI Duane had a way of looking at a woman that was very intimidating and at the same time charming. She felt an almost irresistible urge to straighten her skirt. ‘Thank you, William, and DCI Duane, for that most useful briefing. Now that we know the background, perhaps we should get to the heart of the matter.’ She looked at Grigg.
He fished around in his briefcase and came up with a copy of the Chronicle and turned it to face Davis and Wilson. The headline screamed ‘SOMEONE MUST PAY’ over a picture of McDevitt lying in ICU with tubes protruding from every orifice.
‘Fuck that idiot Gibson,’ Wilson said under his breath but within Davis’s hearing. If it were up to him, he would roast the balls off Gibson and the uniform who was guarding the door over that photo. Although it was a good guess that the newspaper had paid off one of the medical staff. The Chronicle wasn’t happy that one of its employees had been shot and if he knew the editor, the front pages wouldn’t stop until someone in Castlereagh took note. His role in the proceedings was beginning to dawn on him. Still, he was going to allow Grigg his moment in the sun.
Grigg replaced the paper in his briefcase. ‘Although we’re going to need confirmation from Mr McDevitt, it’s our working hypothesis that he and Mr Kielty blundered upon some kind of smuggling operation. True to form the response of the criminals was ruthless. We desperately need to put someone from this mob away. We feel that this is their first real mistake and we’re willing to use whatever resources we have to find the murderer and whatever accomplices he had.’
Wilson didn’t bother to correct the working hypothesis by mentioning that McDevitt didn’t usually blunder upon a crime. He was in that field because he knew that a crime was about to be committed.
Grigg continued, ‘That means that we have to find the murderer and any others that might have been in a conspiracy to murder.’ He looked directly at Wilson. ‘What’s the current situation with the investigation?’
‘I think you should ask the SIO that question,’ Wilson said.
‘I just did,’ Grigg said.
‘The SIO is DS Gibson from Armagh,’ Wilson said.
‘DS Gibson was the SIO,’ Grigg said. ‘The chief constable has issued an instruction that you are to take over the case. DS Gibson now works directly for you. What’s the state of the investigation?’
Wilson looked sideways at Davis and she nodded.
He started with the phone call from McDevitt and his visit to the field in Aughnacloy and then went on to discuss the situation at Craigavon Hospital. He gave a rundown on the interview with the Kielty family and didn’t hide the fact that he felt there had been something amiss in the small farmhouse. He explained that he had insisted with Gibson that he was only acting in an advisory capacity, but he felt that the whole approach of the former SIO had been amateurish. ‘The only thing that Gibson did properly was to follow my advice about setting up an incident room in Aughnacloy and putting a guard on McDevitt. He’s the only witness to the events at the murder site and if I were as ruthless as you say these guys are, I wouldn’t be inclined to let that witness live. If I have a choice, I’d prefer to dispense with Gibson and bring members of my own team.’
‘Gibson as a member of the investigating team is non-negotiable,’ Grigg said.
Wilson recognised a sop to Armagh when he saw it. He had just spent the morning organising his resources to cover the current cases and now he would have to make alternative arrangements. ‘I’ll bring Browne and O’Neill to Aughnacloy. What about uniforms?’
Grigg made a face. He didn’t like police officers being called uniforms. ‘The chief constable has designated this investigation as a top priority. Therefore, you will have the resources you think necessary to bring the investigation to a speedy conclusion.’
‘I haven’t seen the incident room yet so I may need additional hardware as well.’
‘Give me a list and I’ll see that you have everything you need,’ Grigg said.
Wilson looked at Duane.
Duane smiled. ‘Yes, Ian, you also get me. In an advisory capacity, of course.’
‘I was afraid of that,’ Wilson said. ‘I understand that McDevitt is awake. I should be able to interview him this evening and I’ll look in at the incident room and make a note of what we might need.’ He looked across at Davis. ‘Who do I report to?’
Davis frowned. ‘Dual reporting, Ian, you brief me every day and I pass any important information to William.’
‘Understood.’ Wilson looked around the table. ‘If there’s nothing else, I have to rejig the work schedule of my team.’
Grigg was instantly on his feet, closely followed by Davis. He ignored Wilson and Duane and Davis ushered him towards the door of the office.
Wilson stood up. ‘You play them close to your chest, Jack.’
Duane smiled broadly. ‘You know the way it works, Ian. My boss calls your boss, my commissioner calls your chief constable. You and I are the expendables. It’s going to be fun to work together again.’
Wilson started walked towards the door. ‘Sure, Jack, sure.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The squad room was empty when Wilson entered. He looked at his watch and realised that it was lunchtime. He checked his phone and found a message from Reid. It was simple: Call me. For some reason he was anxious to see her and the rumble in his stomach reminded him that he was hungry. It was time to kill two birds with one stone. They decided on Caffè Nero on Great Victoria Street. She was already seated at one of the wooden tables inside when he arrived and there was a coffee on the table in front of the empty seat.
‘I ordered you a pepper and salami panini,’ she said as soon as he was seated.
‘Exactly what I would have ordered.’ She still looked tired. It was evident that the hot bath and the bottle of Chardonnay hadn’t worked their magic on her. ‘I missed you last night.’
She slid her hand across the table and touched him. ‘I really needed to be alone.’ She couldn’t tell him why she was feeling the way she was because she didn’t really want to admit it to herself. It just seemed that a great black hole had opened up in front of her and she was on the edge
of a precipice. She had received an e-mail from her mother. The woman who had dumped her and her brother along with their father was coming to Belfast to see her, and she had been wondering why. She had seen her mother only sporadically since her departure to live with the man who became her second husband. In fact, they hadn’t spoken to each other for more than five years. She immediately sent a reply asking for the purpose of the visit but had received no response. She had to stop thinking that the reason for the visit was something cataclysmic but with her mother you could never be sure. She knew she should tell Wilson about her apprehension, but the woman was toxic and she didn’t need her screwing up the only relationship she cared about. ‘Have you found out who the young boy is yet?’
