by Derek Fee
He told her about his visit to the Kingspan Stadium and being photographed by McDevitt’s colleague.
‘You’re playing a dangerous game, Ian.’ Her drink arrived and she took a sip. ‘You may have bested Jennings this time, but someday you’re going to put your foot in a trap and it’ll snap shut.’
‘Until then.’ He toasted her and finished his drink. ‘I’m parked outside so that’s my lot, and I’ve got work in the morning. What do you say to an Indian takeaway and a nice bottle of something?’
She downed her drink in one swallow. ‘Lead on, Macduff.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Coleville House, the country home of Sir Philip Lattimer, is situated just outside the town of Ballymoney in County Antrim. It had taken Rodgers and Jackson an hour and twenty minutes to drive there from Castlereagh.
‘Who is responsible for this disaster?’ Lattimer looked from Rodgers to Jackson and back again. His white face had been getting progressively whiter as they told their story. Jackie Carlisle was in his grave and the coroner had already given a verdict of death by suicide. It was a sleeping dog that should definitely be allowed to lie. There was no way that they could allow some peasant of a detective constable to resurrect him. Lattimer rubbed his palms on his trousers and found that he was sweating profusely. Why the hell had these two idiots come to him with this problem?
‘It was a clean operation,’ Jackson intoned. It was becoming his mantra because it exonerated him.
‘It doesn’t really matter who is responsible,’ Rodgers said. ‘What’s important now is what we’re going to do about it. That’s why we’ve come to see you.’
Lattimer brushed his hand across the short goatee beard he had recently grown. It gave the impression that he was considering the alternatives when in effect he was stalling for time. He was in his element in a board meeting when there was a show of hands and he could row along with the members who had already read the documents they were considering. He looked at the men in front of him. They were men of action and as far as he was concerned they might as well have been aliens from another planet. If he told them to kill this detective constable fellow, they would just ramble off and kill him without considering the consequences. But he was sufficiently alarmed by the information to know that something needed to be done. ‘We need more information.’ He was delighted that he had come up with a strategy that sounded reasonable but also delayed a decision. ‘This Davidson fellow may be acting alone.’ He turned to Rodgers. ‘You said so yourself. If that turns out to be the case, we have several alternatives. Have you discussed the situation with DCC Jennings? He should be aware of an official investigation.’
‘Of course I’ve discussed it with the DCC and the investigation is unofficial. The Carlisle business is spiralling out of control and we need a decision soon.’
Lattimer was beginning to feel uncomfortable. ‘Yes, we’ll have a decision soon.’ But someone else would have to make it. He needed to get rid of these two imbeciles and place a call to Antibes. Helen would know what to do. She always did.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Wilson was sitting on his couch cradling a whiskey. Reid sat close beside him. It was a clear night and the lights of the city were spread out in front of them. He should have been in celebratory mood but he wasn’t. Tomorrow he might have another murder case to investigate, a case that would throw a shadow over the PSNI. If his suspicions about the identity of the men who murdered Payne proved correct, there would be a mountain of heat from the press, the public and the politicians. But handling the heat is Baird’s job. Somewhere there is a piece of evidence that will put Payne’s, and possibly Royce’s, killers behind bars. He just needed to locate it.
‘Happy to be back at work?’ Reid asked.
Wilson sipped his whiskey. ‘I was getting used to my life as a free agent.’
‘You could decide to say goodbye to the PSNI. Think about it, you could visit Rathlin Island every day or spend your leisure time watching your precious westerns.’
‘How did you know I was watching westerns?’
‘You left your copy of the Wild Bunch in the DVD player.’
‘You may get your wish yet. Jennings won’t quit until I’m out of the PSNI.’
‘If he succeeds, can we run away to Venice Beach? Or maybe we should just pre-empt him and go now.’
‘Sounds idyllic.’
‘We can make it happen if you want it. I can accept the job at UCLA.’
He saw the excitement in her eyes. ‘You really want to do this don’t you?’
‘You mean do I really want to say goodbye to this crap weather, hospital budget cuts, political stalemate, Brexit and xenophobia, and swap it for sunshine and a sparkling well-equipped new hospital? Yes I do, so I suppose I must be crazy.’
‘I thought you loved it here.’
‘I do. Or rather I did until I discovered that there was a life somewhere else.’
‘You’re ignoring the people living on the streets, the panhandling, the guys playing the imaginary pianos in the bus shelters, the drugs and the drive-bys.’
‘We’re supposed to be celebrating your escape from Jennings. This conversation is just depressing me.’
He held her tight. ‘I can’t abide the thought of losing you.’
‘You’re not losing me. Like I said, if we’re going, we’re going together.’
They sat holding each other in silence, staring out at the lights of the city. Maybe she was right, Wilson was thinking. Perhaps it was time he let someone else clean the sewer.
She looked up at him. Her eyes were glassy and sad. ‘I suppose I’ll see you in Laganside House tomorrow at ten o’clock.’
He nodded. ‘I’m not exactly happy that I’m trying to prove the organisation I work for is corrupt.’
‘It’s not the organisation, it’s some of the people in it.’
‘McDevitt has this snitch called Mouse. I met him and he shocked me when he said the PSNI is the largest firm in the city, bigger than Davie Best and all his friends. Now I can see what he was talking about.’
Reid could see that one of the pillars that supported Wilson’s ethic was being slowly eroded. There was a hell of a lot of schoolboy in Ian Wilson, and she loved him for it. Most people with the job he had would have become a dyed in the wool cynic, but he still thought the best of people.
‘There’s someone out there who calls himself ‘Mouse’?’
Wilson smiled. ‘Small guy, wears a balaclava.’
‘I’ve seen him at funerals walking with all the other mice. Then they shoot their guns in the air. Drink up that whiskey. It’s time for bed.’
Wilson drained his glass. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
On their return to Belfast Rodgers and Jackson had gone to the Stadium Bar on the Shankill Road. ‘Fucking tosser,’ Jackson said, not for the first time. He was now on his fourth pint of lager and whiskey chaser. ‘I hate when they kick the ball to touch and they have no skin in the game.’
‘They’re in charge,’ Rodgers said. He had two more years in the madhouse and then he was off to the villa he owned in Tenerife. Sunshine and golf for the rest of his life, and they could do whatever the fuck they wanted with the province of Ulster. He was sick of the Lattimers and their like with their big houses and their businesses and farms. They had nothing in common with the people on the ground. And they used men like him and Jackson to do their dirty work. Black Bob was sick of being used.
‘I have an idea,’ Jackson said.
‘Simon, I have great respect for you as an operative, but I get very worried when you start having ideas. You’re a sergeant because you’re good at following orders. We don’t pay you to think.’
Jackson was more than a little drunk, but he logged away his idea in case he forgot later. Rodgers was like the rest of the higher ranks, they thought they had a monopoly on brains. He’d show them.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Wilson got a larger than usual nod from the duty sergeant when h
e arrived at the station. ‘Good morning, Boss,’ the sergeant said. ‘Good to have you back. The lads were right happy with the result.’
The tape had been removed from Wilson’s office and he received a cheery wave from O’Neill as he made his way inside. Kate McCann used to call this office his womb. Strange he never thought about Kate these days. He was astonished at how easy it was to excise someone you once loved from your thoughts. Or maybe he was as venal as the rest of mankind. It wasn’t a thought that pleased him. He sat behind his desk and turned on his computer. He opened his email file and a flood of unopened messages appeared on the screen. Not today, he thought. He looked into the squad room and saw the team waiting.
‘Okay, your bad luck I’ve been exonerated. Let’s see what’s new,’ he said as he joined them at the whiteboard. ‘Okay, Harry, what have you got?’
‘We’re nowhere on Royce. I came across some interesting titbits on the shelter search but nothing related to Royce. The information phone line has gone silent.’
‘Whatever evidence Royce had is still around.’
‘Trust me, Boss, no house has ever been examined so thoroughly.’
‘The coroner is going to review the verdict on Payne at ten o’clock in Laganside. By lunchtime we might have a new investigation and whatever evidence Royce had will be vital to it.’
‘I’d go and get it if I had a clue where it is,’ Graham said.
‘I know, Harry.’ Wilson turned to O’Neill. ‘Siobhan, anything from the CCTV?’
O’Neill pointed at a picture. ‘This is Royce two hundred metres away from O’Reilly’s car park at a quarter to twelve. And this is another vehicle passing the same point fifteen minutes later. It’s a Skoda, but the licence plate is false.’
‘Any shots of the driver?’ Wilson asked.
‘None clear,’ O’Neill said. ‘I’ve gone through the footage from cameras closer to the city centre, but I haven’t been able to pick the Skoda up.’
‘Keep at it. See if you can enhance the driver’s image. I need to be away. We’ll meet again this evening.’
Davidson followed him back to his office. ‘Boss, I think we need to put the evidence on the Carlisle case under lock and key.’
‘I’m inclined to agree. Take it downstairs and have it put in the evidence locker and make sure that it’s locked and we have the only keys. Only you and I can have access.’
‘I’m pretty much done, Boss.’
‘You’ve done a great job, Peter. Better than I could have expected. Find something to do around the office.’
‘Thanks, Boss.’
‘We’ll sort something out for you when we have the result of this morning’s enquiry. I’ve got to go.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
The inquest room at Laganside House was virtually empty when Wilson arrived. He sat at the rear and watched Reid at the front preparing her evidence with the aid of a slide projector. She noticed Wilson and made her way to him.
‘Who’s the guy with the sour face?’ Wilson asked, indicating a man standing guard over the projector.
‘The coroner’s officer, he’s not very pleased with this turn of events.’
‘Thinks he did a perfect job the first time round?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Are we going to win this one?’
‘It’ll be a close-run thing. They won’t want to admit that they made a mistake.’
‘We need it badly. I don’t think that we’ll be able to solve the Royce murder if we don’t link it to Payne.’ Wilson turned round when the door opened behind him.
George Pratley entered the room, stared at Wilson and then sat nearer the front and on the opposite side of the aisle.
Reid followed his progress. She turned to Wilson. ‘If looks could kill, you’d probably be dead.’
He didn’t bother to agree. The room was filling up with spectators. He noticed Agnes Bagnell arriving with a group he took to be relatives. Jock McDevitt arrived and took the seat beside Wilson.
The coroner’s officer coughed. ‘We’re about to begin.’ Reid squeezed Wilson’s hand and made her way to a table to the left of a raised dais at the front of the room.
McDevitt was carrying a copy of the Chronicle, which he opened and showed Wilson a two-column article headed ‘Senior detective cleared of unprofessional conduct’. ‘If that had gone the other way, you would have been front-page news.’
Wilson kept his gaze fixed on Pratley. The coroner arrived and opened the proceedings. He outlined the conclusion of the inquest that had already been held and the reason for the current session. Then he called on Reid to present her evidence.
Wilson knew Reid as his partner, and sometimes it was a shock to see her as the professional pathologist and university professor. She was cool and calm as she presented her opinion on the results of the post-mortem. She didn’t belittle the colleague who had given evidence at the original inquest but simply stated why she believed his conclusions were incorrect. Her presentation completed, she sat awaiting questions from the coroner.
‘I am loath to change the conclusions of the original inquest,’ the coroner said, ‘on what appears to be a question of professional difference. You make a compelling case but so did your colleague. You are asking me to adjudicate between the two of you.’
Reid knew it was a big ask for the coroner to revise his earlier decision. It was time to toss Ian into the ring. ‘Your honour, Detective Superintendent Ian Wilson is in the audience. I think he might be able to put forward the police perspective on the case.’
‘By all means let us here from the detective superintendent,’ the coroner said.
Wilson rose from his seat and made his way to the front. ‘Thank you, your honour, for giving me the opportunity to testify. I have been to the farm in Ballyward and I have examined the scene. I have also spoken to Mr Payne’s aunt. It is my opinion that the death was made to look like an accident. It would have been appropriate for a police investigation to be launched at the time, but the findings of the initial post-mortem were never challenged. Of course, the investigation I have made has been a cursory one and I believe a new verdict would permit us to instigate a proper enquiry.’
The coroner put down his pen and looked round the room. ‘Thank you, superintendent, as you can imagine it is very painful for me to revisit an inquest at which I presided, and I cannot say that I am happy to alter a conclusion already arrived at. I will not give a verdict of unlawful killing on the evidence presented here today. What I will do, in the interests of justice and closure for the relatives, is issue an open verdict. This inquest is closed.’
Wilson turned quickly to look at Pratley, who was already out of his seat and moving towards the exit.
‘Got what you wanted?’ McDevitt asked. ‘You’re a right shit-stirrer.’
‘That boy was dumped into a slurry tank, and someone kept his head under until he drowned. You’re damn right I’m a shit-stirrer and I’ll continue until we put the bastards that did it away.’ He looked to the front of the room where Reid was putting her papers into her briefcase. He didn’t notice Agnes Bagnell moving towards him.
‘Can I shake your hand, superintendent?’ she said.
Wilson shook with her.
‘Poor Colin didn’t deserve to die by drowning in pig shit,’ she said.
‘We’re going to put that right,’ Wilson said.
‘I know you are.’ There were tears in her eyes.
McDevitt picked up his messenger bag. ‘It’s always interesting watching you work. When you have the scoop, you know where to come.’
‘Satisfied?’ Reid linked his arm as they left the court.
‘It was the best we could have got. Aside from the marks on his back, we have no real evidence to justify a verdict of unlawful killing. But I don’t doubt we’ll be back here again.’
‘You’re a sucker for punishment.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
When he entered the squad room, Wilson walked directly to O
’Neill’s desk. ‘A new case for the whiteboard, DC Colin Payne. Get his photo on the board and any photos taken in Ballyward at the scene of his death. There’s a post-mortem report on its way from Professor Reid. I’ll send you the report of the coroner’s original inquest and anything else I think appropriate. I want everything you can dig up on the death.’
‘On it, Boss,’ O’Neill nodded towards his office. ‘You have a visitor. I told her to wait in reception but that wasn’t acceptable. She’s only been here ten minutes or so.’
Wilson looked through the glass surround of his office and smiled. He walked over and entered the office. ‘I should have guessed.’
DS Lucy Kane stood up. ‘Good afternoon, sir.’
‘I don’t like ‘sir’, you can call me Boss the same as everyone else. I thought we were done. What’s the story?’ Wilson flopped into his chair. ‘Take a seat.’
‘I’m simply following orders, Boss.’ Kane sat facing him. ‘My superintendent got an instruction from HQ that you are to have all the material collected on the investigation into the corruption in the Drugs Squad.’ She nodded at a Xerox box on the floor. ‘Apparently, there is to be a joint operation between the Murder Squad and Professional Services. Since this has never happened before, we’re in uncharted waters.’
‘There has to be a first time for everything. I’ve just come from the Coroner’s Court. They reviewed the Payne inquest and the verdict has been changed to an open verdict. That gives us the green light to investigate the death. So our little bit of subterfuge worked.’
‘What little bit of subterfuge?’
‘The cutting from the newspaper you sent me.’
‘I sent no cutting, Boss. That would be unethical.’
‘Have it your way. Do I take it that you’ve been seconded for the duration?’
‘I understand that there’s a document to that effect on your email.’
‘We’ve been working on the Royce murder without too much success, but I have a feeling that Royce’s demise has its genesis in Payne’s murder. We crack one, we crack them both. I want to turn the emphasis of the investigation onto Payne. I’ve just asked DC O’Neill to make up a whiteboard. Maybe you could assist her by adding the elements of the corruption investigation. You’ll give the team a briefing on your investigation at five o’clock this evening. There’s a spare desk in the squad room, it’s yours.
