Dead Rat

by Derek Fee

  ‘I’ll call on the way.’ Reid was dressing quickly.

  Reid got on the phone as soon as they were in the car. ‘He’s in surgery, which is already good news. It means that they’ve been through triage and they know what they have to do for him. The surgeon is one of the best heart men in the business.’

  Wilson was driving like a maniac through the empty streets. She put her hand on his arm. ‘There’s no point in hurrying, he’ll be in surgery for some hours yet.’

  ‘I should have known better,’ Wilson said, taking his foot a little off the accelerator. ‘I knew it was dangerous, but I had no idea that it would end like this.’

  ‘It’s not the end. He’s in good hands. And this isn’t the time to start beating yourself up.’

  When they arrived at the Royal, Wilson took Reid’s parking space and followed her directly to the surgical ward. It paid to have a senior consultant as a partner. ‘Sit here,’ Reid instructed him. ‘There’s nothing you can do. I’ll find out how he is.’

  Wilson sat in the waiting area. If anything happened to Davidson, somebody was going to pay the price. What the hell was happening to the world? Davidson had just a few months to go before retirement and something like this happens. It had to be related to the Carlisle investigation. He’d known that they were rattling a cage containing dangerous animals. So had Davidson, and he’d been scared.

  Reid returned and sat beside him. ‘They’re still in surgery and will be for the next few hours. Peter is pretty banged up. He had a compound fracture of the cheek, a couple of black eyes and some cracked ribs. It looks like someone was working him over when he had the heart attack. The surgeon is a top angioplasty man, they’re putting in a couple of stents so that shouldn’t be a problem. But it pretty much depends on what they find when they’re inside. It appears that the ambulance got there in the nick of time.’

  ‘Where the hell was he?’

  ‘In an abandoned house beside the Peace Wall.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’

  ‘There are ligature marks on his wrists. It looks like he was tied up while he was beaten.’

  ‘Fucking cowards.’

  ‘We need to go home and get some sleep. As soon as he’s out of surgery, they’re taking him to the recovery room and then ICU. You won’t be able to see him until tomorrow evening at the earliest.’

  ‘I’m staying here.’

  ‘I completely understand, but it’s not the right move. You need to be rested for tomorrow.’ She put her arm round him. He was like a big hurt teddy bear. ‘Peter’s in good hands.’

  ‘I’m going to get whoever did this.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTY

  ‘What a cluster fuck.’ Black Bob Rodgers had been roused from his bed just after one thirty by a babbling Leslie. It took a stiff brandy to get the full story out of the young man. ‘Why the hell didn’t you check with me?’

  ‘He told me you were onside.’

  ‘Well I bloody well wasn’t.’ Jackson had lost it big time. ‘How was Davidson when you left?’

  ‘He was alive but only just. If the first responders were any good, they’ll have managed to get him to hospital.’

  Rodgers wanted to check, but he knew the Royal probably wouldn’t give him the information without knowing who he was, and that piece of information was off the table. He wouldn’t like to be Jackson when Wilson found out, and Wilson was certainly going to find out. In the meantime, he had to find Jackson. Otherwise the whole Carlisle thing was going to unravel and that couldn’t be allowed to happen. ‘Where was Jackson when you last saw him?’

  ‘Heading out the front door.’ Leslie held out his glass for a refill. ‘I skipped out the back and climbed over a few gardens before heading over here.’

  He had to find Jackson before Wilson did. Otherwise they were all screwed. Rodgers was feeling his age. He’d been involved in a lot of bad shit during his time in Special Branch, but the Carlisle affair could put him away. He didn’t want to spend the cold night hunting Jackson. What he wanted to do was crawl back into a warm bed and cuddle up to his wife. ‘Wait here until I get dressed.’

  Jackson had slipped into a house two doors down from the one he had used for Davidson’s interrogation. He crouched in the front room and watched the ambulance arrive closely followed by a police car. He waited fifteen minutes before leaving his hiding place. He moved out onto the street, approached the police car and took out his warrant card. ‘What’s happening? I heard the traffic on the radio.’

  ‘Some poor bastard has been beaten senseless and managed to have a heart attack,’ one of the officers said.

  ‘Poor devil, is he going to make it?’

  ‘Touch and go apparently.’

  Just then paramedics hurriedly wheeled a stretcher out of the house and loaded it into an ambulance.

  Jackson caught one of them on the arm and showed his warrant card. ‘How is he?’

  ‘I hope that there’s a good surgeon on call,’ the paramedic said and rushed away.

  Jackson made his way back to the SUV and drove to his home in Mount Coole Park. He quickly filled a bag, picked up his passport and money and left immediately. Maybe he should have listened to Rodgers. But maybe he was going to jail anyway, so no real harm had been done. After all, he had just been following orders. And the people who had given him those orders had much more to lose than him. One thing was for sure, it was time to get out of Belfast, even if it was only until the heat went out of the situation.

  Rodgers and Leslie arrived in Mount Coole Park a half an hour after Jackson had left. They used a pick to open the door and confirmed that Jackson wasn’t there. Rodgers examined the house and concluded that Jackson had scarpered. There was evidence of a hasty exit. Where had he gone? It could be anywhere. He was a highly trained operative. He thought about putting an alert out for his car and then changed his mind. Jackson was in the wind. Wilson would have a hell of a job finding him, but that wouldn’t stop him looking into Carlisle’s death.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

  It was seven o’clock when Wilson climbed out of bed. Reid was already up and he could hear her talking on the phone in the living room. He’d had great difficulty getting back to sleep and had fallen into a disturbed slumber at around five o’clock. He kept seeing a battered Davidson lying on a floor alone.

  Reid was still on the phone when he entered the living room. She put her finger to her lips to shush him. ‘Thanks, Jeffrey, go home and get some sleep.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Out of recovery and settled in ICU. He’s still not out of the woods and he was extremely lucky. His heart stopped during the operation, but they got him back again.’

  ‘Thanks be to God. But the prognosis is good?’

  ‘The prognosis is that he’s in bad shape and the next twenty-four hours will be critical.’

  ‘When can I see him?’

  ‘He should be awake later this evening.’

  ‘We need to know what happened before we can start looking for the people who did this.’

  ‘You need to allow your emotions to calm down. Have a shower and I’ll prepare breakfast.’

  ‘How is he, Boss?’ the duty sergeant asked when Wilson entered the station. ‘The boys want to know.’

  ‘He’s on the flat of his back in ICU for the moment. The operation was a success, but he’s still considered critical. I’ll let you know more when I know.’ He went to the squad room and had just taken his seat when Davis called.

  ‘How is he?’ Davis asked.

  Wilson repeated the message he’d given the duty sergeant.

  ‘I’ll circulate an email and inform HQ. You and I need to discuss this.’

  ‘Later.’

  There was silence on the other end. ‘Okay, later.’

  Graham stood at the door. ‘What’s going on, Boss? It looks like Peter was targeted.’

  ‘That’s the way it looks. If it goes well today, we should be able to have a few words with him this eve
ning. Maybe he’ll be able to give us an idea of why.’

  ‘I’ll give Irene Carlisle a ring, she’ll be worried sick.’

  ‘What’s Irene Carlisle got to do with it?’

  ‘Peter has been having a thing with her for the past few months. He’s been trying to tell you, but every time he’s on the point of informing you something else comes up.’

  ‘He’s working on an investigation into her husband’s death.’

  ‘He knew their relationship was problematic, but I suppose he feels it’s his last chance.’

  Under the present circumstances, it was hard for Wilson to be angry with Davidson. He’d been the one to place a man about to retire in danger of his life. He hadn’t believed it would go this far, but there was always the chance. He would bet a month’s pay that Jackson was mixed up somewhere in the assault. He was the kind of bastard who would beat up a man twenty years his senior. ‘Okay, give Mrs Carlisle the news.’

  Browne and O’Neill were standing at the door.

  ‘He’s in ICU,’ Wilson said. ‘If it goes well today, he’ll be awake by this evening. It’s a crap break, but we have to keep going on both the Payne and Royce cases.’

  ‘Do you think it has something to do with Payne and Royce?’ Browne asked.

  ‘I doubt it. I think it probably has to do with Peter investigating Jackie Carlisle’s death.’ He stood up from his desk. ‘Rory, you mind the shop. There’s somewhere I have to be.’

  Tennent Street to Castlereagh is normally a twenty-minute drive. Wilson knocked five minutes off that despite the heavy morning traffic. He showed his warrant card at the entrance to Special Branch HQ and marched straight to Chief Superintendent Rodgers’ office.

  ‘You can’t go in, he’s in conference.’ The secretary in the outer office stood and tried to bar Wilson.

  He moved her away firmly but gently and entered the office. There was a young man sitting facing Rodgers. Wilson tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Get out.’

  Leslie looked at Rodgers, who nodded. He stood and left the room.

  Wilson stood facing the desk. ‘There’s a piece of your handiwork lying in ICU this morning. And it’s your bad luck that he happens to be one of my men.’

  ‘I’ve seen the email from CS Davis. I hope everything goes well for him.’

  ‘Where’s Jackson?’

  ‘I am your superior officer and you do not barge in here and speak to me like I’m something you found on the bottom of your shoe.’

  ‘You forget that I’ve dealt with Jackson before. I know his type and I know what he was up to. He doesn’t have the brains to act alone and that means that your dirty hands are in the business somewhere. Now, where is he?’

  Rodgers sat back in his seat and stared at Wilson. ‘I understand that you’re upset. I’ve had men in the hospital, and I’ve given more than one oration at Roselawn Cemetery. Sergeant Jackson had nothing to do with what happened to your friend, and until you have proof to the contrary I would ask you to desist with the unfounded allegations.’

  Wilson put his two hands on the desk and leaned forward until he was looking directly into Rodgers’ face. ‘Oh he had something to do with it all right. He had everything to do with it. If you don’t hand him over today, I’ll pull him out of here tomorrow by his rotten neck. You won’t be able to hide him away indefinitely.’

  Rodgers stood. ‘We’re done here. I’m making allowances for your fragile emotional state otherwise I would be bringing a charge. In any case, I’ll be taking it up with CS Davis and I don’t expect to see you barging into my office again.’

  There was a sound at the door and Wilson turned to see the young man who had earlier left the office accompanied by two uniformed officers. ‘I’ll be back.’ Wilson turned and pushed his way through the three men.

  Rodgers indicated that the two uniformed officers could leave.

  ‘I take it that was Ian Wilson,’ Leslie said when the door was closed.

  Rodgers nodded and retook his seat. ‘I don’t like having that bastard on my tail. Any word on Jackson?’

  Leslie shook his head.

  ‘Keep the enquiry low key but find out where the fucker is,’ Rodgers said. ‘When you find him don’t tell anyone else, just me.’ I want to kill him myself, he thought.

  Wilson was on his way back to the station when his mobile rang.

  ‘Remember that conversation we were going to have?’ Davis said. ‘Well we’re going to have it as soon as you get back to the station.’

  ‘Rodgers called?’

  ‘He certainly did.’

  ‘We don’t need the conversation. I already know the content.’

  ‘You’re denying me the pleasure of rebuking you?’

  ‘Isn’t that what you’re doing now?’

  ‘No, this isn’t even close. You are not to piss off your superior officers, do you get that?’

  ‘I get it.’

  ‘Then I won’t expect any more calls from irate chief superintendents?’

  There was silence on Wilson’s side.

  ‘This call doesn’t end until I get some reassurance,’ Davis said.

  ‘No more calls.’ Wilson was driving so he couldn’t cross his legs.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

  ‘How close is Wilson?’ Davie Best was enjoying a full Irish breakfast in a room at the Merchant Hotel.

  It sickened Jennings that he was at the beck and call of the biggest criminal in Belfast. He watched Best shovelling a piece of poached egg and bacon into his mouth. The man was a neanderthal, but all he had to do was make a phone call and Jennings was obliged to come running. ‘He managed to get an open verdict on Payne from the coroner. That opens another front. Pratley swears that they didn’t leave any evidence at the farm.’

  ‘And you believe him?’ Best dabbed with a perfectly white napkin at a piece of egg yolk on his chin.

  Jennings thought for a moment. ‘I have no reason to disbelieve him. It’s been four years. Even if the place was covered with forensic evidence at the time it would have disappeared by now.’

  ‘So, we’re safe?’ Best forked some bacon into his mouth and chewed noisily.

  ‘Safety is an illusion.’

  ‘We’re not here for philosophical discussions. Are we safe?’

  ‘It depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On whether Royce really had evidence and whether it still exists. Pratley scoured the shithole he was staying in and found nothing. Wilson and Graham found nothing. Maybe Royce was bluffing.’

  ‘And if he wasn’t?’

  ‘Then we’re not safe.’

  Best pushed his breakfast plate away. ‘How can we make ourselves safe?’

  ‘Wallace knows nothing. All our dealings are with Pratley.’

  ‘So, Pratley is the key.’

  ‘No, waiting to see if Royce was lying is the key.’

  ‘Waiting won’t make us safe. Can we find the evidence?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Wilson is stumped and by extension so are we.’

  ‘I want Pratley somewhere I can put my hands on him. It’s time he took a holiday until the situation is clarified.’ He looked at Hills. ‘Pick him up and stow him somewhere safe, a cottage at the coast. Make sure he has some company.’

  ‘You need him to assure your shipment,’ Jennings said.

  Best smiled. ‘I brought the date forward. It arrived yesterday. Our arrangements are too lucrative to be disrupted by Pratley’s current problems. Eddie will arrange a nice holiday for him. There’ll be minimum disruption. What we’re trying to avoid is total disturbance.’

  Jennings would have to reassess Best. He stood up. ‘I need to get to the office. Please don’t call me to come here again.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Best said. ‘But no promises.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

  Wilson was back in his office when Reid called. ‘It’s looking good. I just talked to the matron in ICU and he’s responding well.’

  Wilson let out a
sigh, ‘That’s good.’

  ‘He’ll probably be awake sometime this evening, you can plan a visit. I’ll keep you informed. Everything is going to be all right.’

  ‘Thanks. I love you.’ He put down the phone. She was wrong. Everything wasn’t going to be all right. Wilson had the file on the Royce murder open in front of him and he was going through the pages when he came upon his report of the interview with Sharon Parnell, the ex-Mrs Royce. There was something in the exchange between them that bothered him. Then he saw it. He picked up his phone and called her. ‘It’s Detective Superintendent Wilson, Mrs Parnell, I’d like to talk with you again if that’s convenient.’

  ‘I thought that you might.’

  Fifteen minutes later, Wilson was standing at the door of the Parnell residence on Shore Road.

  ‘Come in.’ Sharon Parnell opened the door and stood aside.

  Wilson went directly into the living room. ‘Why were you expecting me to return?’

  ‘You’re not the type who gives up easily.’

  ‘You told me that you hadn’t seen your husband since you divorced him,’ Wilson said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That was true, but you’ve been in contact with him.’

  ‘A few times over the years.’

  ‘And more recently.’

  ‘Yes.’ She sat down.

  ‘You knew that he’d been on Rathlin?’

  ‘That Pearson character is a conman. Hugh was completely taken in by him.’

  ‘What did Hugh tell you the last time you spoke?’

  ‘That he’d found God, and God had told him that he had to put things right. He swallowed the Pearson crap hook, line and sinker.’

  ‘When you split, did he give you something for safe keeping?’

  She sighed. ‘You know, don’t you?’

  Wilson didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to say that. He nodded.

  ‘He called the day he died,’ she said. ‘He wanted the book and the mobile phone he’d left with me. It was his evidence against Pratley, Wallace and himself. He was ready to go to jail for what he’d done, the stupid fool.’