The call was answered in a few seconds and the DCI laid out his case, ending with, “I want to go up there and take a look, chief.”
Craig’s “No” was instant, but before Aidan could argue he added, “Not without us. Davy, you go back to the office and help Andy. We need anything that links the dumpsites to a possible perp ASAP. Aidan, drop him back and then join us at the labs. We’ll go to the farmhouse in one car. And make sure you wear your vest and weapon. This could get rough.”
****
The Police Traffic Division.
Inspector Gabriel, Gabe, Ronson was in his office when Ryan Hendron burst in unannounced, and both men were momentarily taken aback; Ronson by the fact that the man in front of him was a stranger, although by virtue of the fact he’d got this far into the building he had to assume that he was a cop; and Hendron by the fact he’d never seen such a tidy desk in his life and it freaked him out. Either the traffic cop never did any work, or he’d taken the C.C.’s memo about the paperless office literally.
If Ryan Hendron had known the man in front of him he would have known that Gabe Ronson had an absolute, ‘right or wrong’ approach to life. There were no grey areas in the inspector’s universe; he was fastidious in everything that he did, and firmly of the belief that all unruliness in life could be controlled.
An unknown man entering his office unheralded was an infraction of that control, as was, he was about to discover, the reason that had brought him there. Hendron saw the traffic inspector’s unspoken questions and answered the first by thrusting out his hand.
“DS Hendron, temporarily working with DCS Craig. We have a car that we need you to find.”
Gabe Ronson gave a sharp intake of breath, mostly at the mention of Craig’s name but also at the unknown level of cleanliness of the other man’s extended hand. Politeness forced him to at least swipe it hastily, which he did, then he sat well back in his reclining chair and reached surreptitiously for a baby wipe.
“Why is DCS Craig interested in this car?”
Hendron grabbed a chair and sat down with the back facing his host and his legs akimbo, making Ronson wince at his lack of decorum; the man behaved like he was in a wild west saloon. If the Strangford sergeant had noticed the twitch he didn’t comment, too engrossed in his case to give a damn.
“It’s involved in a kidnapping.” He pulled a print-out from his pocket; it showed the SUV driving away from the development’s gates. “We’ve got a clear Reg and we know it’s a racing green SUV registered to a company.” He slid the paper across the desk. “It was heading up the M3 the last time it was seen, so we need you to check back on your cameras and track it to wherever it went. OK?”
As Ronson tossed up whether to drag his heels or not, Hendron added. “You’re to report directly to the DCS, and he’s not in a good mood.”
It was the prod that the traffic controller needed; the last time he’d fallen under Craig’s radar the detective’s woman had been in an accident and he’d brought several tons of pressure to bear. He could do without a repeat of that, so, with as much speed as dignity allowed Ronson walked to the door, beckoning his visitor to follow. They entered a room with wall to wall screens, simultaneously displaying the whole of Northern Ireland’s dubious driving skills to a red-eyed team.
Ronson raised a manicured finger and pointed to a far corner. “That’s the M3. The screens either side show where it branches off to the M2 and M5.”
He gestured to a young woman who wore a captive expression usually associated with prisoners of war.
“This is Detective Constable Li, she has just joined us. Anything you need to know, please ask her.”
The subtext of ‘and don’t bother me again’ was silent but still deafening. As Ronson turned to leave, the DS stopped him.
“Judge McClelland.”
Ronson frowned. “What about him? He was found dead in May.”
“Anything particularly exciting about him when he was alive?”
Ronson narrowed his eyes, searching for sarcasm in the question but not finding any. He’d liked John McClelland; he’d been a quiet academic with no hobbies but golf, as befitted a member of the judiciary, and he certainly hadn’t deserved his death.
He imparted the information and left, this time verbalising that he was far too important for Hendron to bother him again.
****
The Labs. Dissection Room One.
Mike Augustus was confused. “Tell me what we’re looking for again.”
John Winter jerked a thumb at the files lying on the bench and moved towards one of the three victims that had just been brought up from the morgue. “Read the files.”
He nodded down at the bodies lying side by side in front of them. “Joseph Loughry, Rick Jarvis and Maria Drake. Marc wants us to look at them again. There was a fourth but unfortunately she’d been cremated.”
Mike flicked through the pages of the first file, still wondering what he was looking for.
“Why these three out of all of them?”
John didn’t like to shrug in the presence of the deceased, it was just one of his things; the gesture seemed disrespectful somehow, no gravitas, like a lazy way of saying either ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I don’t care’, and the latter had no place in a world where they sought truth for the dead.
But he allowed himself a small shrug now, accompanying it with a confused look. The display made Mike gawp.
“You really don’t have any idea?”
“None, and Marc didn’t elaborate. To be honest I think he’s just playing a hunch.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
He’d never yet known one of Craig’s hunches to be wrong. The junior pathologist moved to one of the tables and drew back the sheet, waiting for his boss to do the same.
“Right, the two first deceased are Richard Jarvis, aged seventeen, and…”
“Joseph Loughry, aged sixty. Occupation bar owner.”
“Mister Jarvis was a student, just about to leave school.” John paused for a moment, considering their next steps before speaking again. “Mike, this is our last chance of helping Marc’s investigation, and he really needs something from us with Sarah Reilly being taken again.”
Augustus nodded, knowing what he meant. “Right then, we’d better do three full post-mortems again, including all the tests.” He moved to the wall phone. “I’ll ask Des to come back in.”
****
Waterfoot. County Antrim. 7 p.m.
Craig scanned the map of the countryside around the farmhouse, and then the aerial photographs that Davy had sent through on his phone. They were looking at a single isolated stone building with only one access road, but no barns, tractors or animals to indicate that the location was a working farm.
He folded the map and passed it to Liam, handing Aidan Hughes his phone.
“Look at the photos and map together. There’s only one way in and out unless we go across the fields.”
Liam flicked a look out through the Audi’s window then another down at his shoes; thankfully it was a dry evening, so he wouldn’t lose yet another pair by sinking into mud.
“I’m game for going cross country if you two are. How close do you think we can park?”
Craig tapped the map on a spot around one mile from the house.
“We’ll wait until there’s dense darkness. That shouldn’t be long. Liam, post a patrol car at the access road, that way we’ll catch him if he tries to escape.”
While Liam made the call, Craig drove to the allotted spot and parked, then he leaned back over his seat towards Aidan Hughes.
“Everything’s leading us to this Caradine Trust, but so far I can’t link it to anything in our case. We need to nail down who those dumpsites were important to.”
Hughes nodded and then climbed out of the car to have a smoke and a think. When Liam had finished his call the other two joined him. Hughes stubbed out his cigarette and was about to light another when he had an idea.
“W
e know whoever’s behind this was in court throughout Collier’s case, yes?”
“OK, and?”
“That says they were either someone who cared about Amy Granger, but we’ve ruled out her family, or someone who cared about Collier, but no, it can’t be that because then why would they have killed him?”
Liam volunteered a thought. “Collier has two sons and they know he didn’t treat their mum well.”
Craig shook his head. “It’s not them. Dan Torrance was definite, the man we’re looking for is middle-aged.”
Aidan picked up his train of thought. “OK, so the other people who go to court every day in a case are reporters-”
Liam cut in again. “And we already know the main ones are either old and dead, or middle-aged but live in London-”
Craig stopped him. “Did Davy check out the second reporter’s movements? He could have flown back and forth, and a London address would be a good cover.” He saw Liam’s scepticism and gave a wry smile. “OK, so it’s grasping at straws, but humour me.”
Liam obliged by calling Davy to rush the checks and phone them back, then Craig waved Aidan on again. It was useful hearing him go over things.
“OK, so… if neither the reporters nor relatives pan out what does that leave us with?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Court employees! Which of those would be present in court every day?”
Liam obliged him with a list. “The judge, jurors, ushers, court officers, the two barristers, possibly referring solicitors if they were feeling nosey, the court stenographer-”
Craig cut him off with a sigh. “That’s a hell of a lot to check, but…”
Aidan nodded. “I agree, what else can we do?”
This time Craig made the call, to Ash. “Ash, get the original court transcripts and find out who was present in court every day of the Collier trial, then I want them all checked out for any connections to Amy Granger.” He had another thought. “And how quickly can you check them for connections to our eleven victims as well?”
Ash only took a second to answer. “Minutes, once I have the names. Leave it with me, chief.” The analyst was just about to cut off when he had another thought. “Oh, I meant to tell you. You remember the zone where the killer was most likely to live?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve narrowed it to north and east Belfast.”
He clicked off before Craig had a chance to say goodbye.
The detective stared up at the sky, thinking about what the information meant, until Liam prompted him with, “What next?”
Craig focused. “Right, check the car’s arrived at the access road. I have one last call to make and then we’ll go.”
It was to Ryan Hendron, who after a rocky start in traffic was almost enjoying himself with Mary Li, despite the grave nature of his task. The young Chinese constable had cheered up considerably after her boss had left, confiding in her companion that she was only working there until something better came up and then doing a perfect imitation of the rule-bound Ronson, dramatically imitating his panic when a coffee had upended on his trousers the week before.
It hadn’t impaired her work and they’d located the SUV minutes before, following it up the M2 to junction eleven and only losing when it had entered rural roads past Craigwarren.
“They headed towards Waterfoot, chief.”
The route could have led them to where they currently sat. Sarah Reilly might be inside the farmhouse.
“OK, good. Now, see if you can pick up the SUV going back on to the M2 later.”
That was if it wasn’t still sitting outside the farmhouse; their aerial photographs had been taken from satellites ten hours before, long before Sarah Reilly had been taken.
Hendron passed Craig across to the person who could help.
“Detective Constable Li here, sir. I understand your request, but tracking the SUV back on to the M2 at rush-hour would be almost impossible, because we can’t be sure they’ll take the same junction back on. They might even use backroads all the way. The best I can do is monitor the cameras at the M2 entering Belfast, but even then it’s a long shot.”
Craig liked her honesty.
“OK, thank you, Constable. Just do your best.”
He ended the call and turned back to the others. “Right, the SUV headed in this direction, so I think Sarah Reilly is in that house. If our man’s in there as well he won’t give in without a fight, so vests and Glocks at the ready, please.”
Liam’s whine was predictable. “Ach, boss, the vest makes it hard to breathe.”
“Then you should requisition a bigger one. Put it on.”
The DCI tried again, hopefully. “I could put it on nearer the house.”
“And what if he has a rifle with a scope? No. Put it on now.”
Arguments exhausted, they followed Aidan’s phone GPS across land, until they were within sight of the farmhouse. There was no car outside, but Craig was still taking no chances.
“Liam, check the rear field. Aidan, I’ll take the far one, you look around here. We’ll meet back here in ten.”
Ten minutes later the answer was the same; the SUV was nowhere to be seen.
“OK, but he could still be inside, so we approach with stealth. No one speaks from now and extinguish all lights. That means all phones off.”
Liam thought Craig was secretly enjoying playing SAS; he knew that he certainly was. It reminded him of the good old days in the eighties and nineties, lying in fields and graveyards, watching for terrorists burying arms caches where they shouldn’t have, and then jumping out and laughing in their faces as they slapped on the cuffs. Happy days.
He was feeling less nostalgic five minutes later when he was crawling across the grass on his belly and spitting blades of it out of his mouth, but soon they were at the stone farmhouse, pressing themselves beneath a window on one wall.
Craig mouthed “back door” to Aidan and he disappeared around the corner, then he nodded Liam to give him a boost up so that he could see into the house. The window opened on to a small kitchen- sitting room with two doors, one that Aidan was currently crouched outside, and a second that led to the rest of the house. Craig nodded to descend again and reached into his jacket, pulling out a small tool kit. It earned him an admiring thumbs-up from Liam, who then produced one of his own.
In under a minute they’d levered open the window and Craig was inside. He opened the back door to allow the others access and they gathered in the small kitchen. Not a word was said as he pointed right and then left, and they cleared the ground-floor rooms systematically, meeting again at the bottom of the building’s narrow stairs.
A further five minutes showed that the top floor was empty too, but Craig still felt that there was someone in the house. He spoke for the first time in fifteen minutes, in a low whisper.
“That leaves the loft, and I think there’s a cellar as well. There was a trap door in the kitchen. They’ve tried to hide it beneath the freezer, but you can still see the edge. We’ll do the cellar first then the loft. Aidan, go and stand beneath the hatch in case anyone comes down. Weapons out.”
In the event there was no need to search the roof-space. As Liam slid back the freezer and Craig tentatively lifted the trap door, the only threat that faced them was a rat scurrying across the cellar’s stone floor, and behind it sat a terrified Sarah Reilly.
Craig raced down the steps, scanning the small space; it was empty apart from them. But if he’d thought they’d be able to free the GP easily he was mistaken.
Liam stared glumly at the medic’s thick steel chains. “They’re solid, boss. We’ll need bolt cutters or a blow torch to get through them.”
Craig nodded, sitting on the bottom step and gazing at the woman. “Is your attacker around?”
She shook her dark head vigorously. “He said he wouldn’t be back till just before twelve tomorrow. He was very specific.”
Twelve o’clock. They’d been right about the time.
“Good, that gives us a
while. We’ll soon have you out of those. Liam, call the local nick and get someone up here with cutting equipment. I’ll take a look in the loft, just in case there’s anything useful there.”
There wasn’t, so instead he reappeared with Aidan and a tray of tea. Sarah Reilly sipped the hot liquid gratefully and then surprised them all.
“I saw his face. He didn’t hide it this time, so he mustn’t care if I ID him-”
Before Liam could say ‘that’s because he thought you’d be dead before you could’, Craig cut in.
“Did you recognise him?”
Reilly shook her head. “No, I’d never seen him before. But I can describe him. He was middle-aged, tallish and very strong.” She posed like a circus strong man. “As if he worked out or took steroids even. He wasn’t handsome, but he wasn’t ugly either, just average. He was well groomed, I noticed that, with brown hair down just over his collar, and manicured nails.”
She could have been describing Hugh Bellner, except they knew it wasn’t him. Even if they’d had doubts about his whereabouts during the earlier killings, he’d been in High Street at the time she was abducted again.
“Any idea where he was from?”
Her reply was emphatic. “Yes. He had an educated accent, soft and polite, but it was definitely from east Belfast. My practice covers holidays for a GP there.”
It fitted with Ash’s zone. Reilly’s information was interesting, and she might be able to assist them with a sketch, but nothing would really help until they had a suspect to compare against.
Craig’s thoughts were cut short by the local police arriving and after the GP had been freed all four of them were driven back to his car. Liam drove the Audi back to Belfast as Craig listened to his calls: Ash - having problems getting the complete list of court attendees, shrouded as such things often were in judicial mystery; Ryan Hendron - completely striking out on the SUV’s return journey; and finally, John - saying “call me back” with definite excitement in his voice.
The Killing Year (The Craig Crime Series Book 17) Page 32
