Drake nodded mournfully. “My wife’s death. That’s what you want to ask about.”
“And her life, Mister Drake. I’m sorry to go over painful ground, but I’d like to ask about your breakup.”
He saw Drake flinch, then just as quickly the pain disappeared.
“It still hurts you?”
The civil-servant was expressionless. “The death made me remember all the good times I had in the marriage.”
Craig frowned, something felt off. He decided to try something, knowing that his next words would sound brutal; but he wanted to see their effect.
“That all ended when your ex-wife met Bryony Leyton.”
The emphasis was subtle but there, but if he’d hoped to bait the civil-servant into a reaction he’d been wrong.
Drake’s response was calm.
“She made my wife happy.”
Craig wasn’t done. “Had there been other affairs in your marriage?”
This time Drake’s reaction surprised him. “I was never unfaithful!”
Craig moved to the edge of his seat. “And your ex-wife? Had she had other affairs? With other women? Perhaps even with men?”
He felt Liam tense up beside him and willed him not to say a word. It worked. There was silence until the train lover responded in a cold voice.
“I don’t know. Bryony was the only person I found out about. I thought I was happily married.”
“Found out? Were you suspicious that there’d been others?”
Craig’s run of luck ended abruptly as Drake jumped to his feet in a surprising show of energy. The civil-servant’s demeanour had turned distinctly frosty.
“It’s time for you to leave now. If you want to speak to me again go through my solicitors.”
Then they were at the front door and back out in the street. Liam was shocked to see Craig smiling on the way back to the car.
“What was all that about? I’m surprised he didn’t thump you! I bloody would have for that crack about other men!”
Craig nodded and climbed into the passenger seat. “So would I, that’s what was so interesting. He got emotional when I mentioned the breakup, but not Bryony Leyton, as if she was incidental in the whole thing. And he got agitated when he thought I’d implied that he’d been unfaithful but not his ex-wife. Her infidelity just made him go cold. Did you notice how all the way through he said ‘I’? I thought I was happily married, not we were happily married. And how he always referred to my wife, never my ex-wife and never by her name. He couldn’t even say Maria’s death, he said the death.” He shook his head. “It’s as if he was the only person in the marriage; it was his breakup, the end of his marriage, his fidelity that mattered.”
Liam thought for a moment and then nodded, understanding. “Like she was just an accessory…You know, I read something about people behaving like that. It’s called narciss-something.”
Craig banged the dash-board with his palm. “Narcissistic personality disorder! Liam, you’re a genius! Nothing in the world matters as much as the narcissist, and everyone else is only relevant for the part they play in their life.”
The DCI gave a whistle. “That would make it bloody easy for him not to see his victims as real people, and not have any sympathy for them.”
Craig thought for a moment. “If I recall correctly NPD ranges from mild or severe. Some of the features are self-importance, an excessive need for admiration, a sense of invincibility and a lack of understanding of other people.”
Liam chuckled. “Drake only understands trains. But grand as this all sounds, boss, it’s all just theory, we haven’t a single shred of evidence to link Drake to the Vics. And what about Torrance’s description? He said his attacker was weight trained. Does Rowan Drake look ripped to you?”
“That jumper could have been covering anything, Liam, and he fits on the age and voice parameters.”
Undeterred, Craig nodded him to drive while he pulled out his phone to do an internet search, reading the results aloud.
“Individuals with NPD can display arrogance, grandiosity and a sense of superiority, and actively seek to establish abusive power and control over others.”
He scrolled quickly through the pages until he’d found what he wanted. “Bingo! Malignant narcissism can include sadistic and paranoid features, such as ruthlessness, brutality and a lack of remorse, and sufferers can be vengeful, seek social isolation and can be either homicidal or suicidal.”
“Not the sort you’d fancy a pint with then.”
Craig didn’t respond, he was too busy making a call. He caught Andy at home, apparently just about to cook himself a meal.
“I didn’t think you ate anything but chocolate, Andy. Anyway, you can order a pizza on me when you get back to the ranch. We’ll meet you there. Get Ash, Deidre and Aidan back in to help as well.”
Liam pictured his own dinner heading into the bin, and it was pork-chops’ night too. But he knew there was no point expecting sympathy from Craig, not if they were approaching the end game.
Craig’s next words confirmed it.
“We now have a prime suspect, Liam. Rowan Drake. Your train-spotter’s life is about to be pulled apart. Drop me at the office and then get down to High Street. Release Bellner but ask Vice to keep an eye on him, and then show Sarah Reilly Drake’s photo in an array and see if she can pick him out. She and Torrance will need to do a voice ID later too.”
“You don’t want me to show the array to Torrance?”
“No. He didn’t see his attacker’s face, and I don’t want some smartass prosecutor citing ID contamination to get Drake off.”
“OK. What’ll you be doing meantime?”
“Trying to tie the dumpsite locations to Rowan Drake’s life somehow. There has to be something there.”
Liam decided to play Devil’s advocate. “And if there isn’t?”
He heard Craig’s jaw crack as he clenched it.
“He’s our man, Liam. I can feel it. If only we could get some of his DNA to compare to John’s swabs…”
Liam pulled on to Victoria Street and headed swiftly through town; blissfully there was no traffic at this time of night.
“I’ll post uniforms outside his house.”
“Make them obvious. I want Drake under pressure.”
“If he even goes to the shops for milk we’ll know, and he’ll know that we do. You’ve McEwan going to the farmhouse?”
“From six a.m., just in case it’s not Drake and our perp moves early.” Craig shot his deputy a look. “The killer needs to complete his little theatre by twelve tomorrow to fit, so if it is Drake and he gets there trying to kill Reilly, McEwan will get him. And if it’s Drake and he can’t get there because of us, then his frustration might make him slip up and make a mistake.”
He sighed, knowing it was a long shot. “My guess is Drake suspects we’re on to him now, but that we’re thin on evidence or he’d have been lifted already, so he might just have enough self-control not to put a foot wrong.”
“You mean he’d just leave Reilly at the farmhouse to die?”
“Why not? He did it before.”
Liam shook his head.
“Nah… if he’s the obsessive bastard we think he is, that would drive him mad.”
Craig gave a cold smile. “That’s what I’m banking on. I want him stressed out of his mind so he slips up, either by some action or what he says when we arrest him tomorrow.”
Liam pulled into Pilot Street and parked outside the C.C.U., turning to face his boss. “Arrest him for what? Sleeping with his trains?” He winced at the image. “Is that illegal? If not, then it should be.”
Craig climbed out and leaned back in through the window. “I’m banking that we’ll find something tonight to at least bring him in for questioning. Then it will be up to us.”
****
Sunday, December 10th, 8.30 a.m.
When Nicky arrived at the squad-room and headed for the kitchen to fill the percolator, she screamed as the carpet at her feet sudde
nly appeared to move. She’d already raced through rats, cockroaches and burglars when the moving fabric identified itself as Ash. He squinted up at her from beneath a blanket.
“What time is it?”
The PA fell against the nearest desk with a gasp. “Oh my God, you scared the life out of me!” She whacked him hard with her dishcloth from relief.
“Ow, that’s sore!”
The analyst clambered to the vertical, rubbing at a carpet burn on one cheek. If he’d been expecting sympathy from Nicky, then he was about to be disappointed. She stared at his dishevelment, aghast.
“Did you sleep here?”
He gazed hopefully at the percolator as she answered her own question.
“This place smells disgusting! Like pizza, beer and sweat.”
She was startled again when Liam’s deep voice boomed out from beneath his desk.
“Eau de Locker Room.”
One by one, moving lethargically, like extras from The Walking Dead, people started to appear in front of her. By the end the secretary had counted six of them, including Craig.
“Have you been here all night working, sir?”
“We all have, so coffee would be great, thanks. Then could you arrange a briefing for ten o’clock and call the court number that Ash will give you. We need some information through before then.”
She nodded, gawping as the full glory that was early morning Liam staggered past her in search of tea.
Craig called after him. “Check on Drake, please, Liam, then everyone head for the showers. Breakfast at The James is on me. Nicky, could you ring Jack Harris and see how his two guests are as well, then set up a call with the C.C. for me at eleven. We should have finished the briefing by then. Thanks.”
Without waiting for her response, he went in search of a towel.
****
The C.C.U. 9.50 a.m.
“Are you sure he’s coming, Craig? Because I’ve better things for my men to do than hang around here.”
Bill McEwan mightn’t have spoken often but when he did he got straight to the point. Craig sipped at his coffee, trying not to sigh. It was a bright, crisp morning and Armed Response were sitting in a beautiful part of the country, yet their Commander made it sound like they were surviving on rations at the North Pole.
He forced himself to be polite.
“Yes, Bill. I’m sure the killer” of eleven people went unsaid “will try to get there for twelve. The only thing that will stop him will be if he’s physically incapable.”
His next phone call was to Ryan Hendron, who’d joined a second set of uniforms at the rear of Rowan Drake’s house.
“What’s happening there?”
Hendron took another look through his binoculars and smiled. “Drake’s in the kitchen, pacing like a caged animal. He looks pretty wound up, sir.”
Craig smiled. Drake was coming nicely to the boil. “Good. Keep a close eye on him. I’ll get back in touch after we brief.”
He ended the call and opened the door of his office, to be greeted by a group of people that divided neatly into two: those who had slept in their comfortable beds the night before, and those who’d spent three hours trying to on the squad-room floor. Not even a shower and an Ulster fry could redress that difference.
He fell into the latter group, but the hunt was giving him more energy than the others, so he rubbed his hands together enthusiastically.
“Right. Let’s get on with it. Liam, give me an update on Sarah Reilly’s photo ID.”
Liam was sitting beside a peering Annette, who was fascinated that his normally unseen stubble, which she’d expected to be sandy to match his hair, was in fact sprinkled heavily with grey. The DCI swatted her away like a fly before answering.
“Dodgy, I’m afraid, boss. She narrowed it to two possibles but couldn’t pick out Drake unequivocally.”
To his surprise Craig smiled. “Not to worry. When we get him here in the flesh and she and Torrance both hear him speak, we’ll get a different reply.” He turned towards Aidan and Andy, both of whom looked like they’d spent the night in a hedge. “OK, you two, for the benefit of the well-rested amongst us, update them on last night’s work.”
He helped himself to coffee while they did, cutting in again just before the end. “So, locations. Focusing on Rowan Drake, what did you find out?”
It was Andy who answered. “Three of the dumpsite locations have connections with him, but the others…” He shrugged. “It’s not definitive, chief.”
“Give me the three that are.”
“Templepatrick Park, Tyrella and Ballygally. They’re the places he met, romanced and married his wife.”
Liam was sceptical. “It’s thin, boss. Lots of people in Northern Ireland could say the same.”
It was true. In such a small country, the same so-called ‘romantic’ spots were chosen again and again. Craig’s cheerfulness faded slightly.
“You can’t prove the other locations are places he and Maria Drake visited? Or that Rowan Drake visited by himself?”
Aidan Hughes made a face. “Maybe if we searched his place, we’d find photo albums that showed them.”
“But we can’t do that until we’ve arrested him. I know.” Craig thought again. “Ash, what have we got on the court lists?”
The analyst winced apologetically. “Nothing yet, chief. They’re being difficult.”
Liam shot Craig a pleading glance. “Let me at them. I’ll give them difficult.”
For once Craig allowed him off the leash. “OK, get down there now, Liam, and take Annette with you. Annette, you drive, he needs to shave on the way. Tell them we’ll get a warrant for the list if we have to, Liam, and if there’s no joy get one signed by Judge Standish while you’re out.”
Eugene Standish was the most reasonable judge in the country, and he trusted that they would never ask for something unless it was essential.
“Just the threat of a warrant might be enough. Let me know.”
As the two detectives exited, Craig turned back to the group.
“What else do we know about Rowan Drake? Anyone?”
The responses were fast and varied. “He was born near Stormont” in east Belfast. “He’s divorced”. “He’s a train nerd”. “He’s a civil-servant.”
Craig turned to Davy on the last point.
“Civil-servant. What Department, Davy?”
“Energy. He’s a grade five there.”
“And before that?”
The analyst looked blank for a second then began to type.
“OK, while Davy’s doing that, what else do we know that might link to the case? We know the killer’s got an east Belfast accent, and lives north or east, both of those fit with Rowan Drake. We know all the dates link to the Granger-Collier case, we know the three days and injecting reflect Amy Granger’s stay in hospital, that the alcohol and external injuries link to-”
“Except Walter Gruber’s and Rick Jarvis’ cuts. That was struggle in both cases.”
“Thanks, Aidan. OK, and the superglue showed…remind me, Rhonda.”
“Eyes open meant they saw what was happening with Collier’s drinking but did nothing to stop it, eyes shut said they didn’t see but our perp blamed them for not stopping it just the same.”
Craig frowned suddenly. Why would a narcissist like Rowan Drake care enough to avenge Amy Granger’s killing? She’d been a stranger to him, and even if she hadn’t been he didn’t care about anyone but himself. He needed to ask the question, but before he could he needed to outline why he and Liam believed Drake had Narcissistic Personality Disorder.
He was just summing up what had happened at Drake’s home the night before when Davy suddenly punched the air.
“YES! I am a genius!”
The whole group started to laugh, making the analyst realise what he’d said. Craig covered his embarrassment quickly.
“No doubt about that, Davy, but what have you found?”
The computer scientist hid his blushes by disp
laying a chronological list on Nicky’s screen. Craig scanned it quickly, stopping at nineteen-ninety, the year that Rowan Drake, then a new entrant to the civil service, had worked not for the Energy Department but for the Law and Order Institute. Craig’s mouth opened in astonishment.
“He was seconded to the court service…of course…”
Davy had recovered enough from his embarrassment to commentate.
“Drake s…studied law at university so it was a natural job for him-”
Ash cut in excitedly. “He would have been in court during the Collier case!”
Craig shook his head slowly. “Might have been, we can’t be certain yet, court service workers can work in non-court roles too. But it certainly gives us the leverage to find out, so, Ash, call Liam and update him, please. And well done, Davy, his law degree could explain how Drake was so forensically aware as well.”
And so obsessed with legal matters, if John’s theory about their killer was correct.
“OK, does anyone have any more thoughts, given what I’ve just told you about the characteristics of NPD?”
Deidre Murray had been frowning, but now her slim face broke into a smile. “Envy and vengeance. They can be NPD features too, Guv. I’ve just looked it up online. Maybe Drake sat in court during the Granger trial and thought Jason Collier’s sentence was too lenient, maybe he even pictured what he would have done if it had been something to do with him. Taken revenge.”
“OK, but what else? Expand on that.”
The DCI thought for a moment. “So he took note of the people who testified, people who he thought could have stopped Collier before he killed.”
“And killed them in return years later? Yes, OK, let’s say that I agree with you. Why? Why did Drake care enough about that little girl to even notice? After all, he’s a narcissist. He’s the only thing that matters in his world.”
As Deidre was considering the question she turned to rifle through some notes on her desk. The opening prompted Kyle, who’d been virtually silent for days, to speak. “He didn’t.”
Craig turned towards him. “Go on.”
The Intelligence Officer shrugged, ignoring his ex-Director when she turned to stare.
The Killing Year (The Craig Crime Series Book 17) Page 34
