The Killing Year (The Craig Crime Series Book 17)

by Catriona King

  He heard the pathologist’s silent hesitation and along with it its rationale; John was reluctant to leave his wife and daughter alone. It was even more reason for them to talk.

  He pushed his agenda harder.

  “Just an hour or so at The James. What do you say?”

  If caving in had had a theme tune, then it would have been John’s grateful sigh.

  “OK, I’d like that. As long as I’m not too late home.”

  If Craig had believed the basis for the pathologist’s time limit was eagerness for his family’s company rather than concern, then he would have been a much happier man.

  ****

  Near Strangford Lough. County Down.

  Sarah supposed she should have guessed something was wrong when she’d arrived at the address near the surgery to find all the lights off, despite the darkness of the winter day, but years of carrying out home visits all over Northern Ireland had shown her that not everyone lived in the same way. The home visit had been in a poor area, and in her experience that often meant fuel poverty, so possibly the occupant, indeed any occupant with a small baby, might be conserving their electricity for something more important than lights.

  Undeterred, she had tapped on the blue front door and waited patiently for some sign of life. It had come in the most unexpected fashion, from behind and in the form of a blow. So vicious a blow that she didn’t see the gravel path come up to meet her, or feel herself being dragged swiftly into the van. Vicious enough to signal that the next thing the well-meaning medic might see would be her killer, and that they would be the last sight that she ever saw in life.

  ****

  The C.C.U. 4.45 p.m.

  “Where are the nicotine boys, then?”

  Liam had surveyed the squad-room and immediately spotted the two things out of place, or in this case, completely absent. Aidan Hughes and their secondee from Intelligence, DI Kyle Spence, were nowhere to be seen.

  Andy Angel answered the question with another. “Knowing their habits like you obviously do, where do you think they might be?”

  Liam scowled across the room at him, not in the mood for any cheek.

  “Don’t be insubordinate!”

  “That would be a neat trick, seeing as we’re both DCIs.”

  Davy Walsh decided to play on Liam’s side of the fence, not because he necessarily always agreed with him but because for once he happened to be right.

  “But Liam’s first among equals though, isn’t he? He’s the chief’s deputy and that makes him the most s…senior DCI”

  He dismissed the normally affable Andy’s glower with a shrug and then ducked to avoid Liam’s grateful slap on the back. Liam’s bonhomie had been known to cause injury.

  The first among equals quickly swopped his slap for a thumb jerked in the analyst’s direction.

  “What he said. I’m Boss Number Two, and that means you and your cheek can take themselves up to the roof on the double and bring the cig-smokers down.”

  Andy’s glanced plea for justice at the newly appeared Craig was met with a shake of the head.

  “Off you go, Andy, unless you’d rather staple some handouts for Nicky?”

  As the DCI strolled out of the squad-room as slowly as he could manage, attempting to salvage the remnants of his pride, Craig estimated they’d have at least five minutes to wait while the nicotine addicts eked out their final drags, so he was about to beckon Liam into his office when he was surprised to see him belting across the room.

  Not half as much as Ash Rahman, who was unceremoniously hauled to his feet to find Liam peering into his face.

  “Who are you, and what have you done with our junior analyst?”

  Ash’s reply was a confused splutter of “me”s and “I’m”s, prompting Craig to shout wearily across the floor.

  “PUT HIM DOWN, LIAM.”

  The DCI released his grip only slightly, but it was enough for the analyst to squeak out a more coherent, “It’s me. I’m me. Honestly.”

  It saw Liam drop him back into his seat with a snort of disgust.

  “Rubbish! You’re an imposter. Our Ash has multi-coloured hair and wears pantaloons.”

  No-one thought it sensible to correct his sartorial description to harem pants, à la MC Hammer, that nineties icon of style.

  Ash rubbed his shoulders far more than was necessary as he replied.

  “I’m trying a new look.”

  Liam scoffed at him. “What? Shop window dummy? And not a very exciting shop at that. Undertakers R Us?”

  He thrust his face forward again. This time the movement was accompanied by a loud sniffing through his not insubstantial nose.

  “There’s only one reason for a man ditching his true identity. I smell romance.”

  Davy caught his eye and nodded, a confiding nod that said he was already hot on the trail.

  By now Craig had had enough of the diversion and returned to his original plan, beckoning Liam into his office, but before they managed to enter Nicky stood up at her desk.

  “Can you all please stop shouting across the floor. It’s like a ship yard in here!”

  Craig turned to no-one in particular. “Nicky’s right. Everyone, walk over to see people in future, don’t shout.”

  The PA wasn’t sure if he had no insight that it was him she’d been getting at, or if he’d just chosen to ignore her, either way Craig was already in his room motioning Liam to a seat. He stood by the window, staring out at Belfast Lough.

  “Eleven deaths in a year, Liam, and the other teams hit a brick wall on the first nine. We’re missing something obvious.”

  The DCI responded with uncharacteristically carefully chosen words. “I don’t think the booze was forced down their throats. Not when they were awake anyway.”

  Craig nodded unenthusiastically.

  “I agree. John would never have missed signs of a struggle or violence. Some of the victims might have consumed it willingly, perhaps as part of a pre-murder seduction, but in the others, it must have been added when they were unconscious. It could have been trickled in and then splashed around.”

  Liam tipped his chair back against the wall absentmindedly, making Craig wince. Six-feet-six and God knows how many stone in weight would likely spell the piece of furniture’s demise. His fears were forgotten as soon as Liam spoke.

  “If some of them drank with the killer willingly, then that must mean they knew him, boss.”

  It was something the other teams had considered, but not something that had gained any traction. Perhaps with a fresh look it might.

  The DCI hadn’t finished.

  “But not many people would drink themselves incapable enough to let themselves be killed, and the killer couldn’t have had much of a physical advantage, not with the men anyway. Some of them were big.” He considered before continuing. “Maybe the alcohol’s just a symbol of something?”

  As Craig opened his mouth to answer the door knocked once and opened inwards, revealing an even paler than he’d looked that morning John Winter. Craig greeted his friend cheerfully, although the pathologist’s pallor made his heart sink.

  “John. Great to see you. I’d say come in but we’re just coming out.”

  He marched past him on to the floor and beckoned everyone to gather around. One minute later, coffees in hand and seats taken, even Andy and Kyle were managing to look interested.

  “OK, some of you will already know this, but we’ve had two new murders today. A forty-something man, yet to be IDed, and a fifty-something-”

  Davy cut him off. “Forty-nine. Judith Roper was forty-nine in May.”

  Craig was surprised; the newsreader had looked older than that in death. He turned towards the analyst.

  “It’s definitely Judith Roper then?”

  Davy gave a nod and handed him a sheet of information, just as Annette gasped.

  “The TV newsreader Judith Roper?”

  “Yes.” Craig’s response was clipped enough to deter further emotional display.
“I’ll come back to today’s two victims later, or rather Doctor Augustus will.”

  He nodded towards Mike, who was seated so close to Annette that any minute now she might be perching on his knee; her proud glance said that only the time and place were preventing it. Liam was just about to put two fingers down his throat in comment when Craig’s warning glance cut him off.

  “Thanks for coming, Mike, and John.” He added by way of explanation. “Both of our pathologists are here because it’s felt that today’s murders may relate to a number of earlier, unsolved cases in Counties Down and Antrim.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “And we’ve been tasked to take over the investigations from those teams.”

  He nipped the immediate questions in the bud by raising a hand.

  “The C.C. just told me an hour ago, and the other teams haven’t yet been informed that they’re off the cases, so I don’t want any word of this leaking until they have. Nicky, call all the DCIs and superintendents of the teams concerned to meet me here tomorrow morning at nine. If there are any objections tell them it’s a three-line-whip from headquarters.”

  He dragged a hand down his face, exhausted just picturing the gathering, and added. “Book a room off this floor, please, and make sure we have decent food and refreshments. Liam will join me, and we’ll record the whole thing. It’s likely to be bloody.”

  As the questions began again he shook his head. “All that need concern this squad is that we’ve now had eleven deaths since last December and we’re playing catch-up.”

  On his nod Nicky passed out some handouts, depositing the final one in his hand on her way back to her desk.

  “Nicky, display page one on the screen, please.”

  A couple of taps later and the front page of the handout appeared on the LED screen by the secretary’s desk.

  “OK, bear with me while I run through a few things that some of you may know already. On the screen is a table containing nine names. These are the victims of unsolved murders that have occurred in the province since December twenty-sixteen. Almost twelve months ago to the day. Some were investigated by murder teams in Antrim, the others by teams in Down. All are now being brought together under this squad.”

  People glanced between their handouts and the screen as he went on.

  “Until today, five men and four women, none of whom apparently knew each other or had even met, had been murdered. Today’s victims make that six and five. There were defensive wounds on the hands of some of the victims, but if any of them did manage to break their killer’s skin and get their DNA under their fingernails it wasn’t found. All of the victims’ hands had been scrubbed and bleached, so what does that tell us?”

  It was Ash who answered, one eye still watching for Liam’s renewed assault. “The killer’s forensically aware.”

  “Which means?”

  Rhonda jumped in eagerly. “Nothing. Anyone who’s watched a crime show on television would have known enough to do that.”

  Craig nodded glumly. “You’re both right. This killer knew how to cover their tracks, but the days of that giving us a clue to their profession or hobbies is long gone.” He sighed heavily and continued.

  “OK. The victims had different ages, professions and locations of death, although all of the deaths, including today’s, occurred in the east of Northern Ireland.” He paused, frowning. “That’s the first thing they have in common. Each victim was also found approximately three days after they’d disappeared, and there was foreign DNA found on each of them, but different each time, so highly unlikely to be our killer’s.”

  Annette signalled to interrupt.

  “Unless there are nine killers, sir?”

  “I’d say that’s a long shot, Annette, but time will tell. The point is that the DNA found on each victim definitely wasn’t their own, and none of the profiles are in the system. The labs are still looking into all that.”

  He sipped his cooling coffee before going on.

  “There was also no sign of sexual assault on any of the victims and not a single print or fibre was found at any of the scenes-”

  “A careful man, and he took his time.”

  He acknowledged Aidan’s comment with a nod.

  “Agreed, but I’d rather we didn’t assume that the killer was a man just yet. It’s likely but not definite. On that topic, an unusual feature of the deaths was that each body was left at an angle, more obviously in some than others, but from that fact, as several were large men, I think we can assume that the killer was physically strong-”

  Liam cut in. “So, it’s either a man or there was more than one perp.”

  Craig continued without a yes or no. “Each of the angles was different, each victim smelt strongly of alcohol and each victim had their eyes either held open or sealed shut with superglue.” He ignored the astonished faces and turned to John. “Sorry to put you on the spot, John, but you P.M.ed the first nine.”

  The pathologist shook his head, correcting him. “I didn’t, in fact. Renée Laird P.M.ed the ones in Antrim and Jimmy McEvoy took County Down.”

  “But you’re familiar with the cases?”

  “Enough. I can check anything I need to afterwards.”

  Craig gestured to the junior pathologist. “Mike’s brought all the files if you need to remind yourself of the details. OK, first, I need to ask you about the alcohol found in each case.”

  The Director of Pathology waved away his junior’s file-heavy hand.

  “Ask whatever you like.”

  It made Craig smile, despite the dark subject matter; John had an almost photographic memory, so he knew the pathologist could probably recite every blood measurement by heart.

  “OK. All of the victims were reported to smell strongly of alcohol, yes?”

  “MacDonald Red Label Whisky to be precise. Expensive stuff made in Scotland.”

  Davy scribbled a reminder to source the local stockists.

  “It’s my understanding that the whisky was both on and in the bodies? And wasn’t it also in the environs of where each victim was found?”

  John creased his forehead for a moment and then replied in a measured tone.

  “The first victim was in December of last year. Mrs Maria Drake, a fifty-four-year-old social worker, abducted at the carpark of her work in Antrim and found dead three days later in a park in Templepatrick, just a few miles from her home in Crumlin. Cause of death was respiratory failure secondary to alcohol poisoning. She had no injuries other than a cut on one palm, and there were no signs of sexual assault.”

  He took a sip of his drink before carrying on.

  “The second victim was Mrs Anne Morrison, a fifty-three-year-old shop assistant, found in a field near Kilwaughter, that’s near Larne in County Antrim, having gone missing from her home in the evening three days before-”

  Liam cut in. “Three days again.”

  “Mrs Morrison had suffered a single blow to the head which wasn’t severe enough to kill her, and she was also found fully clothed with no signs of sexual assault. In both victims the whisky was found both in their stomachs and on their clothing, and some amount had seeped into the soil by their sides, either scattered there deliberately or having dripped down off their clothes. Again, cause of death was listed as respiratory failure secondary to alcohol poisoning. Her tox-screen showed high levels of alcohol in her bloodstream, meaning that the whisky had definitely been administered to her before death-”

  Craig halted him. “Any sign that it had been forced into her mouth?”

  John shook his head briskly. “None. She had no signs of trauma to her mouth, tongue, teeth or throat. None of the victims had. I’d say the whisky was trickled in gently while she was unconscious, which means that our killer took their time.”

  Liam nodded. “Three days is plenty.”

  Craig was still on the killer’s MO. “Unconscious from what? The head injury?”

  “Sorry, no. I meant to say that both, in fact all of the first nine victims had low lev
els of benzodiazepines in their systems. Diazepam. Enough to sedate them, but certainly not enough to kill them. There were no other drugs found on any of their tox-screens.”

  Craig was getting confused. “The pathologist was certain the head injury didn’t kill Anne Morrison?”

  He knew it was a stupid question as soon as it was out. They would never have missed something so obvious.

  John made a face. “I know it’s a pretty unsatisfactory label, Marc, but respiratory failure was as accurate as either of the pathologists could get for all nine victims’ causes of death.”

  Craig knew he was about to repeat himself, but what the heck. “All nine died from respiratory failure due to alcohol poisoning?”

  “Alcohol poisoning was the suggestion, and excess alcohol certainly does depress breathing, but…” John’s expression said that he wasn’t happy with the idea either. “That’s why I said listed earlier. Although the blood alcohol levels were very high, I’m really not convinced that’s how they were killed. And before you ask, no, I don’t have a better suggestion yet.”

  Craig made a note to dig deeper on the point. “OK, what else do you have on Anne Morrison, John?”

  “Well, abducting her from her home suggests that the killer knew her family’s habits, namely, that both children were away at university and her husband often worked late-”

  He was straying into detective territory, so Liam interrupted, steering him back to the death. “What time was her body found?”

  “Eight o’clock at night, by the farmer who owned the field, but body temperature suggested that she had been dead for at least four hours. Time of death is listed as around four p.m. Her husband was notified at work-”

  Annette interrupted incredulously. “His wife had disappeared three days before and he’d decided to go to work? He can’t have cared much about her!”

  Craig reached out to Mike for the file, reading aloud. “Mister Morrison was severely distraught at his wife’s disappearance, and was advised to keep busy by his GP.” He closed the cover. “Looks like he needed to keep himself occupied. Plenty of people would.”