Dead Rat

by Derek Fee

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Wilson was hit by a wave of nostalgia as he walked up the stairs at the back of the Grand Stand at the Kingspan Stadium. There was a buzz of excitement from the supporters of the two schools contesting the semi-final. His father had been part of that excitement when he had made his first appearance for his college in a School’s Cup semi-final. He came out from the darkness of the stairs and the green swathe of the playing pitch appeared in front of him. It had changed greatly since the day he had first walked out on its luscious turf. It was a measure of the advances rugby had made in the professional era. Wilson had played on mucky grounds that the young men about to play in front of him would scorn. He made his way slowly to his seat in the centre of the stand. The two teams were already out on the pitch doing their warm up exercises. He seldom attended rugby matches these days. It wasn’t because he had fallen out of love with the game – that would never happen, it was because it left him with a feeling of melancholy that something he loved so much had been ripped away from him before he was ready to let it go. The melancholy was akin to the way he felt about his father’s suicide, and the way he felt about the lost years without his mother. He settled himself into his seat and looked at the programme. Baird’s son was playing at outside centre for Campbell College, one of the big names in Ulster junior rugby. He received several looks and nods from some of the other spectators. He was rather embarrassed to be remembered as the great who had his career cut short because of his own stupidity.

  He tried to shake the gloomy feeling off. He wasn’t the only person whose career was ended by injury. His thoughts immediately turned to Reid. Knowing her and being part of her life more than made up for everything he’d lost. And now there was a distinct possibility that he might lose her too. There was movement to his left and he saw Baird arriving and being greeted by some notables. The chief constable was wearing a fur-lined sheepskin coat and was sporting a Campbell College scarf. Within minutes of Baird’s arrival the game was underway and Wilson’s concentration was directed to the playing surface. Twenty minutes into the game, Wilson noticed movement to his left and turned to see Baird making his way towards the rear of the stand and heading down the stairs. Wilson stood and moved to his side, descending the stairs closest to him. The two men met underneath the stand.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Baird asked.

  Wilson gave a quick run-through on the Royce murder and the connection with Payne’s death three years previously. ‘I don’t have all the proof to hand, but I think Payne was murdered because he was exposing corruption in the Drugs Squad. Royce was the patsy who closed down the Professional Services investigation, but Pratley and Wallace never considered that Royce would later find God and need to atone for Payne’s death.’

  Baird looked round to see if anyone was listening. ‘What an almighty fucking mess. If you’re right, this is going to cause one hell of a stink. The politicians will have a fucking field day.’

  ‘Like I said, I don’t have all the proof to hand.’

  ‘Don’t wind me up. If there’s a possibility that you’re wrong, tell me now.’

  ‘It’s possible, but I don’t think I’m wrong.’

  ‘Then we’re screwed. What do you need from me?’

  ‘First off, access to the Professional Services investigation into the Drugs Squad.’

  ‘You’re assuming that you’re going to be cleared on the leaking of information allegation.’

  ‘I didn’t do it, and I think DS Russell will confirm that.’

  ‘Professional Services investigations are confidential.’

  ‘I need to see the corruption allegation.’

  ‘I’ll arrange it. What else?’

  ‘We keep this on a need to know basis until it breaks.’

  ‘Meaning keep DCC Jennings out of the loop. I don’t like creating unofficial channels.’

  ‘It’s a delicate situation.’

  There was a pause. ‘Okay, you have my approval to bypass the DCC. Anything else?’

  ‘Not for the moment.’

  ‘You’re about to drop me into the middle of a shit storm.’

  ‘I remember when you were appointed you said you wanted to run a clean ship. You’ll be making good on that promise by cleaning out the Drugs Squad.’

  ‘I’m not so sure, but that’s another day’s work. I also have a request.’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘The guy from the sponsors saw you upstairs. He’s going to ask you to join the reception after the game, you’ll accept. You’ve still got a lot of fans in the rugby community.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘He’ll approach you at half-time. And I want an autograph on the programme for my son.’

  ‘He’s not a bad wee player. He’ll need to bulk up a bit.’

  ‘I’ll pass the message along.’ Baird turned and headed for the stairs. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said over his shoulder.

  Wilson watched him leave. His old boss told him that he could trust Baird. He hoped to God that Spence was right.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  DS Russell and DS Kane had spent the morning drafting their report on the investigation into the allegation that Wilson had leaked confidential information to the IRA. They had concluded that there was no evidence to support the allegation. They’d had a final meeting with Davis, and Russell had booked herself on the evening flight to Edinburgh. The final act of the investigation was possibly the most difficult, the presentation of the conclusions to the DCC.

  Jennings and Nicholson were already present in the office when Russell and Kane entered. After a round of introductions, Russell went through the details of the investigation, starting with the interview with Wilson. She presented the results of the forensic examination of Wilson’s computer and her examination of the murder book. Wilson’s notebook had been examined and they had established the timeline of his actions during the days preceding the death of Armstrong. His phone logs had been examined and were cleared.

  Jennings had anticipated the result, so he remained calm throughout the presentation. He cast the odd glance at Nicholson and had seen the idiot nodding along in agreement. Although he was mad as hell at Wilson escaping yet again, he would have to admit that it was a very comprehensive presentation. Given the lack of any real evidence of Wilson actually sitting down with someone from the IRA, his plan was up shit-creek. However, a more compliant investigator might have been a help. He had no option but to be gracious. ‘An excellent piece of work,’ he said as soon as Russell had finished. ‘I will pass my congratulations and thanks to your superiors.’

  ‘I would like to recognise DS Kane’s contribution,’ Russell said.

  ‘It will be noted on her file.’

  Russell packed up her documents and shoved her files into her briefcase. The man sitting opposite her had tried to fit up one of his own officers. She had no idea why, but she was glad that she had been a part of making sure that it didn’t happen. She expelled a long breath as she and Kane walked to the lift. ‘Sometimes I hate this job.’

  ‘It’s a crap job,’ Kane said, smiling. ‘But someone has to do it. Being detested by the majority of your colleagues isn’t exactly the recipe for happiness at work. Mind you, nobody asked the officers we investigate to break the rules – they did that all on their own.’

  ‘I joined the police because I wanted to make a difference. But after twenty years of misogyny and finding that a large proportion of my colleagues are no better than the criminals they’re supposed to be putting away, a lot of my enthusiasm has waned. That man in there made my skin crawl. I’m actually pleased to have thwarted his plan.’

  Kane pushed the button summoning the lift. ‘I think Wilson got lucky this time. Next time Jennings will be more attentive as to who the investigator is.’ The lift arrived and they entered. ‘You have a few hours before you have to catch the plane and I think we’ve earned a drink.’

  ‘That’s an excellent idea.’

  CHAPTER SI
XTY-ONE

  Bobby Rodgers, Simon Jackson and DC Leslie were in conference in Rodgers’ office. Leslie had reported on Davidson’s visit to the Merchant, and the effect of the news on Rodgers and Jackson was clear to see. They looked to be on the point of crapping themselves.

  ‘The rotten old shite,’ Jackson said. ‘I didn’t think he had it in him.’

  Rodgers turned to Leslie. ‘Good job. Now I need to talk to Simon alone.

  Leslie stood and left the room.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Rodgers said.

  ‘The first thing is we don’t panic,’ Jackson said. ‘He knows who bought a phone and he has a statement from a neighbour that a guy outside Carlisle’s house looks like me. So what?’

  ‘But is that all he knows? And is that all Wilson knows?’

  ‘Let’s assume that Davidson is running a private project.’

  ‘No, let’s not assume that,’ Rodgers cut in. ‘Let’s assume the worst-case scenario. Let’s assume that Wilson knows what Davidson knows. We need to find out exactly what real evidence he has.’

  ‘There’s only one way to do that: I’ll have to ask him.’

  ‘That will escalate matters considerably.’

  ‘It’s the only way. Either that or we sit tight and wait to see what happens. Maybe he can be talked to?’

  Rodgers was silent. He’d checked the records, Davidson would be out the door in a couple of months. If he was in the lead on the investigation and wasn’t passing what he had to Wilson, there was a chance he could be bought off. Davidson had two ex-wives who were bleeding him dry. Maybe a few thousand quid would be enough to get him off Jackson’s back. ‘I need to pass this upstairs.’

  ‘That might delay the inevitable.’

  ‘Davidson is a copper, we need to be a bit wary about extreme actions.’

  ‘Like you said before, it’s my funeral. But remember, if I go down, then you go down.’

  When they met later in the DCC’s office, Rodgers thought that Jennings looked like he felt. He wondered what new disaster had befallen his chief. So much so that he questioned whether it was advisable to broach the subject he had come to discuss. He opted to proceed. ‘We appear to have a problem.’

  Jennings had been examining a spot on his desk and he looked up into Rodgers’ face. He was not one to be gracious in defeat. As soon as he’d gotten rid of Russell, Kane and Nicholson he’d had a good old rant, which had culminated in him throwing his desk lamp against the wall. Chief Constable Baird was cutting his power with every day that passed. He had been surrounding himself with his own men and gradually freezing Jennings out. He had to drag his mind back to the possible reason for Rodgers’ visit. ‘You’re not the only one. Tell me.’

  ‘Davidson has been a busy boy over the past few days. He has a statement from a neighbour identifying Simon Jackson as the man he saw going into Jackie Carlisle’s house.’ Rodgers coughed. ‘And he’s identified the person who bought the mobile phone Jackson called afterwards. Somehow he got his hands on the phone and traced it to the concierge at the Merchant. They’d logged it.’

  ‘What!’ Jennings came to his feet and stared at Rodgers. ‘How the hell did he do that? Do you realise what this means?’

  ‘Of course I know what it means.’

  Jennings slumped back in his chair. ‘A flawless operation you said. We’re talking about Davidson here, not Sherlock Holmes. He’s managed to put Jackson at the scene of Carlisle’s death and he has a name for the owner of the phone Jackson called at the end of the operation. And of course the log from the Merchant. I wouldn’t call the operation flawless, would you?’

  ‘No. And I know the consequences.’

  ‘Where do we go from here?’

  ‘Put a stop to the investigation.’

  ‘What investigation? Officially there is no investigation. Wilson says that Davidson is working on the Royce case.’

  ‘I think they may have enough to bring Jackson in.’

  ‘Do you think Jackson will talk?’

  ‘I know he won’t. But they might have enough to bring other people in, people who are a lot more important than Jackson.’

  ‘They’d have to come through me before they could do that.’

  Rodgers hesitated. ‘Or they could go higher.’

  The hesitation and the remark struck Jennings to the core. There was a time when if a flea farted in a PSNI station, he got the smell. Now, even Rodgers could see the writing on the wall. A chill ran down his back. ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘If we can’t stop the investigation, we have to think of stopping the people.’

  Typical Special Branch solution, Jennings thought. PSNI officers must be in season, so many people want to cull them. He had read the Garda Síochána’s intelligence about the meeting in the south of France. He had a very good idea who the participants were and who the target might be. He supposed that he should pass on the intelligence to Wilson. After all, forewarned is forearmed. But he was willing to bet that Jack Duane had already done so. ‘I think it’s already under consideration.’

  ‘The sooner the better.’

  ‘You’re losing your touch, Bob.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Time was there’d be no screw-up on an operation like Carlisle.’

  ‘It was a good plan.’

  ‘So good that someone like Davidson could pick it apart. I hope that Jackson does keep his mouth shut when the time comes.’

  ‘That could be the case for a lot of us.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Wilson was the star attraction at the Danske Bank reception held in the hospitality area of the stadium. It only went to prove that old legends never really die. He always assumed that when he was compelled to retire that he would fade from people’s memories, but that wasn’t proving to be the case. He was never seduced by the backslapping that went with fame. He played the game because he loved it and not for any other reason. It was the way his father had brought him up. Still, he had promised Baird to attend. He told his rugby stories and signed whatever pieces of paper were pushed under his nose. It was a performance. The real Ian Wilson wasn’t the crocked former player, he was the copper who went to work every day with other coppers. Baird gave him a nod, which he took to mean that he had satisfied the needs of the sponsors and he could start a strategic withdrawal. Outside the stadium, he took a deep breath. He remembered why he didn’t go to games any more.

  He was moving in the direction of his car when his phone rang. It was Davis transmitting the result of Russell’s investigation. He was in the clear, for the moment anyway, and she expected him back at work the following day. Jennings had already sent over his warrant card and she would return his weapon. It was another victory against Jennings and his cronies at HQ. But it would be a short-lived one. Soon Jennings would be back with another attack and perhaps he wouldn’t win that battle. Jennings could sustain losses, but he couldn’t. One loss and he would be looking for a new job. It was all about power, and Jennings had the power.

  His phone rang again and this time it was Reid. The coroner had found a slot the following day and would reopen the inquest on Payne. She would be the only witness in what would be a curtailed session. The outcome wasn’t certain, but she was going to give it her best shot. He couldn’t ask for more. He told her about his escape from Jennings’ clutches and she whooped with joy. They needed to celebrate and there was only one place to do that. He drove into town and found a parking place on Hope Street. McDevitt was sitting in his snug when he pushed in the door.

  ‘Back in the land of the living,’ McDevitt said. ‘That can mean only one thing, otherwise you’d be hiding your face in your apartment. It won’t exactly make the front page but a nice little article inside.’

  ‘You’re like one of those bloodsucking creatures that cling to people and won’t let go.’ He pushed the bell to call the barman.

  ‘I can see that you’re in celebratory mood and who better to celebrate with than your bes
t friend? Mine’s a pint. I’ve never been fond of champagne.’

  ‘For the nine hundredth time, you are not my best friend. And I’m going to have a word with the management about letting you into my snug.’ Wilson ordered two pints of Guinness and sat down.’

  ‘Our sports reporter saw you at the School’s Cup game. Finally coming out of hibernation?’

  ‘I was at a loose end and thought I’d see if there was any talent on the horizon.’

  McDevitt took out his phone and showed Wilson a picture of Baird and him under the stand.

  Fucking mobile phones, Wilson thought, nowhere is safe.

  McDevitt laughed. ‘The press is everywhere.’

  ‘Busybodies are everywhere.’

  The barman delivered the drinks and Wilson paid.

  ‘Private conference with the big boss, I’m intrigued.’ McDevitt touched his glass to Wilson’s and drank.

  ‘And you’ll have to stay that way.’

  ‘No scoop today then?’

  ‘Be in the coroner’s court tomorrow morning.’

  ‘That’s a scoop.’

  ‘It will be.’

  Reid pushed in the door and frowned when she saw McDevitt.

  ‘We’re celebrating,’ McDevitt said.

  She looked at Wilson.

  ‘He was here already.’ He pushed the bell and ordered for Reid.

  McDevitt picked up his drink. ‘I know when I’m not wanted.’ He turned to Wilson. ‘The photo has been deleted.’

  ‘You don’t have to go,’ Reid said.

  ‘It’s okay.’ McDevitt stood. ‘We’ve already had our little chat, and there’s a guy at the bar I want to have a word with.’ He left the snug.

  ‘I didn’t mean to force him out,’ Reid said.

  ‘You didn’t force him out. He’s becoming sensitive in his old age. He knows that occasionally we need to be alone.’

  ‘What photo was he talking about?’