The D.I. shuddered and pushed the thought away, turning to something lighter, something that she could actually control; she had her yearly review with Craig just after Christmas and she fully intended to speak to him about no longer being expected to act as the office nag and bore.
Chapter Four
The C.C.U.
Andy left it until after they’d left the labs and were back at the C.C.U., taking the lift up to the Drugs Squad, before he began the revelations on his love life again, quickly warming to his theme.
“OK, so... a Hand and Glove party is a dating party where the woman carries a glove and the man is given a plastic hand that fits it, then you walk around trying the hand in all the gloves until you find your match. We all wear blindfolds as well.”
Ryan wasn’t sure he fancied the sound of it. “And you don’t get to see anyone beforehand?”
“Nope. That’s the fun bit. You have to find each other in the dark and then keep trying until you find your match.”
Aidan gave the critique that he thought the concept deserved. “So basically you’re paying someone a fortune so you can have a grope in the dark.”
The lift doors opened before Andy could object as loudly as he’d wanted to, so instead he was forced to show his annoyance with a hissed, “We don’t grope!”
His defence became more petulant. “There’s music and a wine reception afterwards, and, and I think it’ll be a good laugh.”
Aidan shot him a pitying look and pushed at the Drug Squad’s doors
“Whatever floats your boat, mate, but I prefer to see who I’m going to date. Anyway, how much did the organisers rip you off for?”
Andy rolled his eyes. “It isn’t a rip off. They do all the questionnaires and checks that other dating sites do before they pair you up, but this just makes for a more fun way to meet. It’s like... an ice-breaker. Yes, that’s it.”
Ryan had been persuaded and was nodding now. “I think it’s a good idea. The game will heighten the tension between you and that always works with romance. If you read historical literature there were lots of courtship rituals in the past.”
Andy’s eyes lit up. He’d studied French and Greek Literature at university and he sensed a kindred soul.
“You like literature?”
“Love it. I’ve made one of my rooms in Strangford into a library and I collect medieval literature. Mainly Dante and Chaucer. I only get down there some weekends now, but you should come and take a look.”
Seeing that he was about to become a third wheel Aidan scanned the open-plan squad-room for someone that he knew, and his eyes fell on the young officer that they were there to meet; Detective Sergeant Karl Rimmins, the living, breathing embodiment of vampire chic, if the living part wasn’t a contradiction.
Rimmins was a picture of expensive dissolution, clothed head-to-toe in black of different materials: suede, denim and leather; the only thing he seemed to have given a swerve to was lace. His uber-slim frame, slicked-back hair and pale skin combined to give him a permanently drugged-up appearance without the drugs that was a definite asset on the street.
Aidan scanned the D.S. top to toe as he greeted him.
“You look more like a pimp every time I see you, Karl.”
The drug officer’s reply came in soft middle-class tones that contrasted oddly with his looks.
“And you look more like a banana, sir. Any more tan and you’ll be taken to hospital for jaundice.”
The exchange of insults resulted in both of their faces creasing into grins.
“It’s good to see you, Karl. You know why we’re here?”
The sergeant nodded and gestured towards an office that occupied the mirror space Craig’s did on the tenth floor.
“The boss is out but he said we could use his room.”
Before he led the way he glanced quizzically at the other two men, who were now discussing Edgar Allen Poe. Aidan took the hint.
“These reprobates are D.C.I. Andy Angel, and D.S. Ryan Hendron who joined us recently from Strangford.”
Andy smiled in response. “Karl and I already know each other.”
Ryan didn’t so he reached over and shook hands. Intros over Aidan nodded everyone inside the office where they took their seats and waited for the Drugs sergeant to speak.
“OK, so, the current picture on drugs. There’s been an increase in five types in Northern Ireland over the past couple of years. One, street heroin, mostly dealt through the County Lines scheme.”
Ryan nodded. “The squad had a case dealing with that in the spring. Some lost boys down in Killeter Forest.”
“I know. I was involved. OK, number two is street cocaine, that’s crack mainly, really nasty stuff. It’s on the up and we’ve got a screed of new addicts emerging. The third type is suburban cocaine.”
The Murder D.S. frowned quizzically. “You mean it’s only being dealt out in the suburbs?”
Rimmins shook his head. “Nope. I mean the suburbs are where it’s being consumed. Middle-class folk fancying a line of snow after their dinner party, so they literally phone the order to a dealer and it’s couriered to them like a takeaway. Snortaway we call it.”
Aidan sniggered. “That makes my Friday night pizza sound very dull.”
“Mine too. But joking aside, no matter how genteel the customers it isn’t a victimless crime. Some poor kid in South America’s being beaten around the head by a gang to produce the stuff and another one’s risking their life swallowing condoms full of it to bring it here.”
Suitably chastened Aidan nodded the Drugs sergeant on.
“OK, four is the psychoactive substances, NPS like Spice. They’re still out there in force, just underground since they went illegal. And number five cover medications, either real and prescribed but not being taken by the person they were prescribed for because they sold them on or they were stolen, or the counterfeit versions flooding in from across the world, especially Eastern Europe and China right now.”
Andy interjected. “What sorts of drugs? We know about Pangea, and we’ve just been told SOC had a big haul of cannabis at the end of November that they said it might be linked to Chinese Triads or the paramilitaries here.”
Karl whistled. “Did they indeed? I hadn’t heard about the Triad involvement. Anyway these are definitely meds, tabs. I heard Pregabalin, Xanax and Zopiclone mentioned.” Anti-anxiety medications and sleeping pills.
He turned to the others. “The secretary who called to say you were coming said your case was something to do with Armagh? Actually, before you answer that. Who was she, and where’s Nicky disappeared to?”
It was Aidan who answered. “She’s taking some time off with her kid.”
He didn’t volunteer that said kid was in recovery from his addiction to substance number four.
Ryan volunteered the answer to Karl’s first question. “We’ve had a death in Mahon Prison that we’re pretty sure wasn’t natural or suicide.”
The drugs officer raised an eyebrow at the location.
“OK, well, if you’re thinking that drugs could be involved in it then you’ll probably be talking NPS or meds. The drugs dogs in prisons make it almost impossible to keep anything else hidden now, but for some reason they can’t seem to detect those two as well, or at all sometimes.”
Ryan nodded. “So the inmates have caught on and switched habit to NPS or meds.”
“Criminals learn to adapt.”
Karl furrowed his youthful forehead in thought for a moment that went on too long, prompting Aidan to say, “You’ve heard something specific to prison drugs, haven’t you?”
He was disappointed when the D.S. gave a short shake of his head, but Andy was less so and he leaned towards Karl, extrapolating from his frown.
“Not prison specifically then, but you’ve heard something recent about meds or NPS that you think might be relevant.”
Karl raised his almost black eyes to meet the D.C.I.’s light ones.
“I can’t be held to th
is yet, sir. It’s only a rumour on the street.”
“Fair enough. Go on.”
The sergeant grimaced in a way that said he only half-believed the street-talk himself. “There are gangs involved.”
Aidan shrugged. “When aren’t there? The young thugs nowadays can’t even go to the bathroom by themselves. No independence.”
It was said almost nostalgically, in the way that old soldiers tell tales of their battles with a grudging admiration for the foes that they’d faced, in this case the retired paramilitaries on both sides of The Troubles who were now wearing suits, being chauffeured in fancy cars, and appearing on TV every other night. In truth, Aidan would have felt little joy if those enemies had suddenly reappeared to fight again, capable of acting independently though they might have been.
They were all surprised when Karl shook his head for a second time.
“Not so young and not new gangs. And they’re mostly dealing in meds.”
All of the Murder detectives’ eyes widened but Ryan was the first to verbalise his surprise.
“You mean our old paramilitaries are organising in counterfeit meds? Are you serious?”
“Deadly.” The drugs officer looked at the two D.C.I.s in turn. “You two were in Belfast when the Good Friday Agreement was signed, yes?”
The Good Friday Agreement was an international treaty signed in nineteen-ninety-eight which had brought an end to The Troubles in Northern Ireland and led to peace over the following twenty years.
There was a staggered response as the detectives recalled where they had been twenty years before. Twenty years during which Aidan had worked his way through Sex crimes, Vice and Murder; he smirked at the thought, it sounded pretty dire when he listed it like that. And twenty years in which, in addition to working in Fraud, Counterterrorism and Murder, Andy had worked his way through two marriages, produced one son, and ended up with a hell of a lot less disposable monthly income in his forties than he’d had when he was half that age.
But for both of them the most prominent thought was of where they’d been when they’d heard that the GFA had been voted through.
They say that everyone of John F. Kennedy’s generation can remember where they were when they heard the news of his assassination, well in Ireland the Good Friday Agreement left a similar mark. No-one had believed that peace would actually happen, and yet here they were twenty years on and it had largely survived.
Andy was the first to answer Karl’s question. “I was on my first honeymoon.”
Aidan snorted. “Now there’s a sentence you don’t hear too often.”
Ryan was curious. “Where were you when you heard, Aidan?”
The D.C.I. got a wistful look. “I was training for a body-building competition. Sadly I didn’t win.”
The thought stung him unexpectedly so he halted Ryan’s looming follow-up question by turning back to Karl.
“OK, so what’s the relevance of the GFA here?”
The drugs officer rested back in his absent boss’ chair as if he was going to tell them a story.
“OK, so the GFA put a lot of people out of the conflict business, mainly paramilitaries. Slowly at first, because no-one thought that it would last, but when it became obvious that the peace was going to hold and the guns got decommissioned, the old soldiers on both sides had to find real jobs.”
Ryan shook his head. “Point of order. The Loyalists haven’t decommissioned all their guns.”
As Karl nodded in agreement Aidan chivvied him impatiently.
“OK, so some of them got jobs as politicians, and?”
“And others became community workers.”
The words made Andy snort derisively. “AKA, ‘The Retired Terrorists Club’.”
No-one argued with him.
“And a third group, the ones who’d probably never believed in their political cause on either side, went into crime, or rather they remained in crime, since most of them had only killed people in The Troubles when there was a financial profit in it for them. Anyway... today’s career choices for that bunch include pimping, diesel fraud....”
Fuel launderers evade taxes by removing the dye from red diesel, which is cheaper than regular diesel and is intended only for off-road agricultural use, and selling it to car drivers and petrol stations.
“... counterfeit DVDs, protection rackets-”
Andy finished the sentence for him. “And drugs. Yes, OK, but with all due respect...”
Ryan loved those words; they always preceded a polite version of, “You’re talking crap” or, “So what?”
In this case it was the latter.
“...we already know all of this, Karl. The old Republicans went into petrol stretching, protection and counterfeit DVDs in a big way, and the Loyalists focused on-”
Karl shook his head briskly, cutting him off. “That’s too simplistic, sir. Yes, the Republicans did all of those but tended to avoid pimping and drugs, and the Loyalists did both of those and protection as well, but with the Eastern European gangs moving in on the pimping and drugs side the usual tribal activity lines have got a little blurred.”
Aidan had been listening impatiently but now he was beginning to see the relevance to their case.
“Are you saying that those lines might get particularly blurred inside prison?”
Andy followed up. “So each side is beginning to work in all of those areas?”
Karl made a face that said he wasn’t sure. “There’s a limit to how much pimping, petrol and so on they could get involved with inside a nick, but drugs and counterfeit meds... well, I’m just telling you what I heard. We’re definitely hearing that the lines between activities and maybe even different gangs are getting blurred inside. Looking into it is something that you’ll have to do yourselves. What I can say is that the lines been mainly held outside prison and if anyone was to smudge them inside I don’t know how that might be viewed by their own side.”
Maybe even result in their death?
Aidan glanced at the others and then nodded and rose to his feet. “That’s been helpful, Karl, I’ll feed it back to the boss. Would you keep your ears to the ground for us?”
The D.S. opened the door to show them out. “Will do. I’ll bring anything that I find upstairs.”
As they were being walked to the exit Andy decided to make polite conversation; Karl had been dating the Murder Squad’s former constable, an Australian called Rhonda O’Neil, for a while, so he enquired how she was. The reply was an overly casual shrug that said it was a sore subject.
“I wouldn’t know. She went home to Sydney for a few weeks in the summer and decided not to come back.”
The D.C.I. searched frantically for more comfortable ground, thanking God when the lift arrived.
His parting attempt was, “Yes, well, our climate can be pretty hard to live with” as the doors parted and they got in, hoping that they would close again speedily to cover his embarrassment.
As they did there came a forlorn, “Obviously not as hard as me” that told everyone that being young didn’t make romance any easier to navigate at all.
****
The Labs.
John was just finishing off some sketches when Des entered his ground floor office, so he nodded him towards the coffee and said, “Pour two”, snatching a final few seconds at his task. When he was satisfied that he’d located all of Derek Smyth’s tattoos and marks anatomically accurately on his paper templates of the human body, he rose to place the sketch representing Smyth’s front on his scanner and then repeated the action with the one of the dead man’s rear view.
Des watched the process in silence, wondering why medics still did things such an old-fashioned way when computer art had been available for decades. He asked as much when the pathologist returned to his seat, causing a surprised John to pause for a moment to consider his technique.
Finally he shrugged, “I suppose it’s just traditional to use paper.” The explanation gained strength and momentum as he thought
some more. “When people come into emergency departments we mark where they’re injured on drawings. We do it for police statements as well, and ED docs write a lot of those.”
The forensic scientist was still unconvinced. “But Davy could easily create a 3D programme for you to draw on.” He gestured at a pile of twelve-by-twelve glossy photographs of the tattoos that were also sitting on the pathologist’s desk. “Then you could attach those digitally, labelled with the corresponding location.”
It was a good point, and definitely something that John knew he should look into; but he was a man of tradition and that had always made him slow to adopt new technology outside his work. It had taken him ten years to ditch his old flip-phone for a Smart one and he still wasn’t convinced that it was any better, and he was one of the few people that he knew who still insisted on having a telephone land-line at home, something that had made Natalie nickname him ‘Luddite’ but seemed to provide their daughter with hours of fun. 3D modelling of his dead patients would be a shock too far to his system; it would feel like abandoning visiting his favourite museum for a virtual online tour.
It was time to change the subject.
“To what do I owe this honour anyway, Des?”
He sipped his coffee as he waited for a reply, making a face when he realised that it was full of sugar.
“That’s disgusting!”
As he pushed his mug to one side the Head of Forensics grinned sheepishly.
“Sorry. I forgot you don’t take sugar and gave you the same four spoonfuls I do.”
“I’m surprised you have a tooth left in your head.”
A smug grin revealed that the forensic scientist most definitely did; large ones that matched the rest of him.
“In answer to your question, I’ve had a good look at Smyth’s blue tablets.”
Crossing The Line Page 10
