Torture can take many forms: white light, sleep deprivation, water boarding and the like, all of them illegal, unfortunately so in Liam’s book. But Craig had found a way to torture Rowan Drake perfectly legally, with the Chinese Water Torture drip, drip, dripping of repetitive questions rendered in an excruciatingly slow monotone.
Rowan Drake had been so desperate to get to the farmhouse at his allotted time that he’d made a run for it in front of a bunch of cops, and as the day moved on and he got further and further from twelve o’clock and completing the final, time-sensitive piece of his yearlong puzzle, the tension building up inside him was greater than anything any tormenter could apply.
All Craig had to do was force Drake to sit and watch his deadline slipping further and further away, whilst simultaneously pressuring him by outlining each detail of his eleven murders in a lethargic voice.
Liam leaned forward slightly on the table and stared into Rowan Drake’s dead grey eyes, watching amused as the civil-servant glanced from the clock to the door and back again to Craig’s soundtrack, until he looked as if he would burst. Craig was enjoying the game as well, although praying that Drake’s solicitor didn’t call for a break. But even if he did they would restart from a more advanced state of pressure and he would simply turn the screws again.
Liam wasn’t sure quite what prompted the sudden explosion, the energy that propelled Rowan Drake to his feet, thrusting his chair back so forcefully that it toppled on to the vinyl floor, and then shoving his solicitor aside in his bid for freedom. Had the table not been fixed to deter the station’s more energetic patrons from hurling it across the room, then Liam was quite sure it would have upended too, such was the force that the civil-servant employed in his dash to escape.
Within seconds the cops were on their feet and Drake was in Craig’s arm lock, his face thrust close to his prisoner’s, hissing, “Do you want to be back in your cell?”
He watched as Drake swiftly did the calculation; the sooner his questioning was over the sooner he could be bailed, then he would head for the M2 and his farmhouse to finish off Sarah Reilly. Part of Craig was tempted to let him run, and perhaps he would when Drake was wound up some more, but for now he nodded Liam to cuff their prisoner to the table and set him back down on his chair.
He called for a five-minute break to let Drake confer with his brief and the detectives met John back in the staff room.
“Well, Doc? What do you think?”
The pathologist answered with a chuckle. “I think I’m very glad that Marc isn’t my enemy.” He turned to Craig. “You’ve got an evil streak; did you know that?”
Liam replied before Craig could. “Aye, he’s a hard bastard when he needs to be. Mind you, I’ve never seen you enjoy it as much as that, boss.”
Craig shrugged, not sure whether he was being insulted or complimented, either way it wasn’t a part of his personality that he particularly admired.
Liam continued cheerfully.
“So, what next? You blew the lid off Drake’s pressure cooker once. I take it you’re planning to do it again?”
Craig considered for a moment. They had a build-up of circumstantial evidence against Rowan Drake: his physical proximity during his ex-wife’s final phone call, the dump locations amongst their holiday snaps, and twenty-five years of marriage on the day that Maria Drake had met her end. Plus, Drake had given a false alibi for her abduction and had been present in court every day of the Granger case. But it was still just circumstantial, and a really good brief might get him off. They needed a DNA match, an ID, and/or a confession from Drake to make him feel confident...
Before he could carry the thought further John spoke again.
“You were right, although of course it’ll take a formal psychiatric assessment.”
“He’s definitely got NPD?”
“Malignant narcissism I’d say. It’s an extreme form that includes paranoid features such as fearlessness and a lack of guilt. It can make sufferers calculating, callous, jealous and vengeful.”
Liam chuckled. “Sounds like some of our politicians.”
Craig corrected him. “Most.”
John gave them a weak smile and then continued. “But if you’re hoping that Drake will be stupid enough to boast about how clever he’s been, I would give up. Some narcissists would; they love boasting, it goes with their grandiosity, but I can’t see Drake falling into that group.”
Craig nodded. He was right; a straight confession was off. It made him retreat into his thoughts again, until after a moment he smiled.
Liam nodded smugly. “There you go now. He’s just thought of a way forward.”
Craig had, but instead of saying what it was he responded with a request. “Liam, get me something that both Torrance and Reilly heard their captor say, please. For the voice ID.”
As the DCI headed for the cells, Craig turned back to John.
“Call Des for me, would you?”
“I can do, but it’ll be too early for a result.”
Craig was pragmatic. “An update then. Ask if he got a suitable hair or saliva sample. At least that would be hope.”
He helped himself to a coffee as he waited, realising that he hadn’t eaten since the night before, too stressed to eat breakfast with the others. But food would have to wait for a while longer; the hunger would keep him sharp and he needed an edge right now.
He was halfway through his drink when he got his first answer and draining it as one became two.
“Des says one of the hairs they found will work. He’s processing the DNA now. If it’s a match to Maria Drake’s vaginal sample, then we should know in about an hour.”
“Excellent. I owe him a pint.”
John chuckled. “I think he’ll need it. He says Grace keeps giving him pitying looks.”
Craig shot him a puzzled glance, but any explanation would have to wait, as Liam re-entered with a typed note in his hand.
“You typed that?”
Liam’s aversion to computers was only marginally less than his aversion to vegetarian food.
“Nah. Sandi did.”
John laughed. “Jack had better not hear of you giving his WPC work.”
Craig gestured at the paper. “And?”
Liam read aloud. “‘Why me?’ And then ‘It’s about justice. It’s nearly done but I’m not quite finished yet. There’s you and one other to finish off.’”
He handed the note to Craig and sat down. “It’s not ideal, boss. The killer said different things to each of them, so I couldn’t get them to agree on one set of words. Mind you, they both said they’d recognise his voice whatever he said.”
Craig nodded. “It’ll have to do. Ask Jack to set up the voice ID area and ask a few other men of a similar age to record the words as well. I noticed some of his troops milling around, and he can trawl the streets for some others. We’ll need a few.”
He headed for the door.
“Back to the interview, Marc?”
“Briefly, if I’m right. I’m going to offer Rowan Drake an exchange.”
Liam gawped at him.
“What kind of exchange? I thought you were going to keep the pressure up!”
Craig perched on the arm of a chair; it was only fair to explain his thinking.
“Look. Everything we have, the location photos, the twenty-five years, even Drake being in court, it’s all circumstantial. Strong circumstantial, yes, but it still mightn’t be enough to put him away. We need DNA, an ID, and preferably a confession-”
“Ach, he was halfway there. I could get him over the line.”
Craig nodded. “Probably, but if we exert any more pressure on him, and don’t get me wrong, I would love to pile it on and watch the bastard crack wide open, but then some defence psychiatrist would quote NPD, say that he was mentally ill and that we’d infringed his rights, and out would go the whole lot.”
Even John was annoyed with how sensible Craig was being; he’d been enjoying the show. Liam conceded grudg
ingly.
“Aye…well…I suppose so. But what do we have to offer him in exchange for a confession?”
“Not in exchange for a confession, in exchange for bailing him.”
The other men jumped to their feet in a chorus of, “You’ve got to be kidding!”
Craig shook his head calmly. “Not at all. Remember Drake’s a narcissist, he thinks he’s smarter than all of us, that’s what this whole game has been about. I’m banking that he either thinks we have nothing but suspicion, or he thinks we have at best a weak case-”
Liam cut in. “Aye, and he’s got a law degree so he would know, the git.”
“Yes, he’s clever as well as disturbed, but remember that also means he knows we can hold him for at least twenty-four hours under PACE, and that would take him into tomorrow, the eleventh of December. He’s already missed one important date, the eighth, because of Sarah Reilly’s escape in Strangford. I’m banking that he’ll do anything not to miss his final milestone on the tenth. He’ll do whatever it takes to get out of here today.”
John sat forward eagerly, joining in the hunt. “And he doesn’t know that you found Sarah Reilly at the farmhouse, so he’ll head straight for there to finish her off.”
Craig smiled.
Liam wrinkled his brow, thinking. “So… you’re planning to bail him and tail him to the house, and we can lift him again there, OK. But what does Drake give us in this exchange?”
“A voice sample. I’m betting he’s arrogant enough not to believe Dan Torrance can ID him from it. And he doesn’t know that we have Sarah, remember.”
“You’ll have to tell him, boss. Even that git has a legal right to know how many people are IDing his voice.”
Liam really hated citing the rules.
It was a good point, and it took Craig aback. He frowned, thinking things through hurriedly.
“OK, how’s this. We just get Torrance to ID it, so all we have to tell Drake is that one person will be IDing his sample. He’ll think it’s Torrance and that won’t surprise him, after all, Drake already knows he got free. Sarah can do her ID later, before we get to court, and I’ll get permission when she does.”
Liam nodded; it was slippery but legal.
John cut in. “OK, so…say Drake gives you the voice sample and Torrance IDs it, will you still release Drake on bail?”
Craig nodded. “Yes, a) because Torrance won’t be IDing it until we have the other male voices recorded and that will take a while yet, and b) because it suits me to. We need Drake to go to that farm. It will be proof that no judge can refute; far better than some confession that he’ll recant before we get to court.”
Liam smiled slyly. “Are you gonna get McEwan’s lads up to Waterfoot again?”
Craig nodded. “Why not? If it pisses Bill off I’m all for it. You organise that, Liam. I’ll get the team set up to tail Drake from different points along the route.”
John was the voice of reason. “This is all supposing Drake falls for your offer.”
“It’s always supposing that.”
****
3 p.m.
Rowan Drake was just as arrogant, delusional and desperate as Craig had predicted, and by three o’clock they had his voice sample recorded and he was out on bail. Jack held back on Dan Torrance IDing the sample until an hour later when he had the other recordings, and it was all done above board and in the presence of Drake’s solicitor, and yielded a definite ID.
But Craig had better things to do than arrest the civil-servant on an ID that some judge might throw out, so, as Rowan Drake was delivered back to his house in a squad car, and Ryan Hendron and Annette watched him leave again five minutes later, jumping into his sensible diesel and heading straight for the M2, Craig and Liam were already on their way to rendezvous with Bill McEwan at the farm.
McEwan was in pissed off mode, so Craig didn’t bother with his usual attempts at small talk when they arrived; he would rather listen in on the progress of his suspect than listen to his brain cells dying from McEwan’s grunts. Although, to be fair, he had made the man sit in a ditch for six hours and then stood him down, only to summon him back to that ditch the very same day. He’d be pissed off too.
Liam was on the radio to Annette, so Craig listened in. She was giving a running commentary on Drake’s progress.
“He’s on the M2, sir, just turning off at the A43 junction.”
Craig lifted his own radio. “Aidan, can you see him yet?”
The DCI yelled down the static-filled line. “Crap reception, chief, but yes. Deidre’s about to follow now.”
Craig turned to his deputy. “Liam, where are Andy and Kyle parked?”
“Martinstown. They should spot him soon.”
“OK, give them an update and tell them to be ready.”
He glanced at his watch. Drake was burning through the miles; at this pace he would be standing in front of them in less than thirty minutes, providing that his hunch was right.
Liam read his mind. “You’re worried he mightn’t be coming here.”
Craig shrugged.
Liam shook his head. “I wouldn’t. The further he goes, the more likely you look to be right. There’s not much beyond Glenariff Forest that warrants a day trip.”
Craig was indignant. He’d spent many happy hours sailing off the north coast when he’d been a boy.
“There’s Torr Head.”
Liam rolled his eyes. “You really do need a holiday.”
Before Craig could detail his planned skiing trip, his radio crackled and Andy’s voice came through.
“Drake’s just passed us, chief. We’ll tail him the final stretch.”
“Stay well back. Those country roads will be deserted, and he can’t make you. It could blow the whole Op.”
“Will do.”
Ten minutes later Craig’s stress levels fell, as Rowan Drake’s Ford hove into view. The detective could sense the men around him eager to move, but he shook his head emphatically. He wanted Drake inside the house and preferably losing it before they all jumped out and yelled “Surprise”.
Drake obliged them quickly, screeching his car to a halt and leaping out, then kicking the farmhouse door open and racing inside. For a moment Craig could only hear the thud of his own heartbeat and the sharp intake of his breath, everything else was silence. Even the rustling of the trees was inaudible, as if someone had pressed the mute button on the whole world. And then it came; a screech so loud and tortured that it sounded like an animal being killed.
For a second Craig froze, picturing the worst scenario, Drake committing suicide. He dismissed the idea almost instantly; Rowan Drake was too arrogant to ever harm himself. Any moment now he would reappear, searching outside the house for his quarry, preparing to destroy Sarah Reilly and anyone who had aided her escape.
It was time to end it.
As predicted, Rowan Drake raced out through the farmhouse door and started prowling the environs frantically. Craig gave a moment for video surveillance to record the scene; to capture Drake’s contorted face and vicious screams of, “GET BACK HERE, BITCH. When he raced to his car boot for a weapon, yelling, “I’LL KILL YOU!”, Craig had seen enough.
He nodded to McEwan, and, as one, his officers rose from their hiding places to form an armed ring around their man. Craig signalled Liam to stand as well and together they strode towards their prisoner, watching as Rowan Drake’s muscled body tensed for flight and his gaze raked wildly across their ranks, searching for a gap to run through and finding none, then, finally, relinquishing all hope of escape and making a grab for Craig’s throat.
Liam had his excuse to be less than chivalrous, and he kicked their captive’s legs out from under him enthusiastically and screwed Drake’s face hard into the dirt. Craig gave the DCI a few seconds to make his point before grudgingly waving him off.
“That’ll do, Liam. Cuff him and put him in Commander McEwan’s Land Rover. We’ll search his boot for whatever weapon he was reaching for while they ta
ke him back to the ranch.”
It was an olive branch to the ARC, albeit a tiny one.
Chapter Nineteen
Monday, December 11th, 2017.
The rest was history. The boot of Drake’s Ford was a treasure trove of guns, knives, superglue and tape and the SUV was found in a lock-up registered to the Caradine Trust, a business eventually traced back to Drake as well. Sarah Reilly confirmed Dan Torrance’s voice ID, and matching Drake’s DNA to his ex-wife’s post-mortem swabs was the icing on the cake. Pretty soon all that would be left for the squad to do would be to draft the court reports.
Rowan Drake would have a psychiatric assessment of course, the first of many Craig was sure, half of which would attempt to say that he wasn’t responsible for his actions when they knew for certain that he was. But they could argue about everything in court, and that would be another week’s work many months away. For now, they were heading for the pub, and a very well-earned drink.
****
The James Bar. 9 p.m.
“So, you and Natalie are friends again?”
Craig was staring at his girlfriend through very misty beer goggles, which didn’t impair her attractiveness one bit.
“Hmmm…”
Katy made a face, which transformed into a smile that went nowhere near her eyes when Natalie and John came into view. She leaned up to kiss the pathologist warmly on the cheeks and gave Natalie a brittle “Hi” on the way past.
Her tone of voice cleared Craig’s vision immediately. Katy was a tolerant soul, but that tolerance could only be stretched so far, and it looked like Natalie was at the edge.
John and his wife seemed oblivious to the subtext the detective had just witnessed.
“So, you two are off skiing then?”
Katy smiled. “Yes, thank goodness. We leave on Friday.”
“Good job Marc wrapped up his case in time then.”
Before she could respond they were joined by Liam. He was jerking a thumb towards the bar’s far corner.
The Killing Year (The Craig Crime Series Book 17) Page 36
