Crossing The Line

by Catriona King

  The scientist’s voice cut across his thoughts.

  “Yes. Diazepam, but not as we know it. First, the kudos for finding these little beauties goes to Marc and Liam. They were hidden inside a vent in Smyth’s cell.”

  Liam gave a wave for both of them.

  “But analysis shows that the tablet actually contained three substances. The two combined in the outer coating were diazepam as Aidan said, but it had been cut with an equal volume of bicarbonate of soda. One possible reason why Smyth didn’t cry out was, as someone has already mentioned, because he might have been sedated very quickly. This fits with the fact that there were fifty milligrams of diazepam in each of the tablets that I checked.”

  Craig’s eyebrows shot up. “Fifty! That could have killed him on its own.”

  John shook his head. “Unlikely. Smyth was an addict remember, so he’d probably developed some tolerance. His PM blood levels were actually much higher than that, which is to be expected if diazepam was his usual fix because its half-life is forty-eight hours. The tablets you found would have sent him to sleep for quite a while but it wouldn’t have killed him. But the sedative effect would have kept him very quiet as he asphyxiated so whoever made these tabs planned ahead.”

  “Clever buggers.”

  Des picked things up again.

  “OK, so Smyth would have swallowed the tablet hoping to get high or calm. He may or may not have expected such a high concentration of benzo to have been in it, for all we know he might have got high on that level before, but he definitely didn’t expect what else was inside.”

  At that he produced the glass bottle of acid from his pocket and set it down on a desk, then he passed Davy a memory stick of his own.

  “If you could, Davy.”

  A few seconds later his first slide appeared, showing a single blue tab enlarged many times. Des removed an identical one from the bag.

  “This is what the tablet looked like when Derek Smyth put it in his mouth.” He handed it to Mary, seated directly in front of him. “Take a look and then pass it on, please.”

  As she did that he nodded for slide number two, which showed the tablet cut in half. “OK, as you look at the tablet coming around, examine its side and you’ll see that there’s a seam running all-”

  Craig interrupted. “Heat sealed?”

  “Exactly. Moulded in two halves using special equipment and then heat-sealed together.” He turned back to the screen and slide number three appeared. “Here’s the inside of each half. You can see that there’s a hemispherical dip in both.”

  Liam squinted at the screen. He was going to need glasses soon, and when he got them he was determined that they were going to look cool. Light responsive and with retro frames like the ones worn by Michael Caine as his hero Agent Harry Palmer in The Ipcress File, and woe betide anyone who took the Mick.

  “Is that rubber thing inside important?”

  Des smiled. “It’s vital.”

  He waited for a moment until the tablet arrived at Craig and then nodded for slide number four which showed the rubbery hemispheres separated from their blue overcoat and sitting side by side.

  “OK, these small rubbery looking hemispheres contained a liquid when I cut them open. It’s obviously a poison but I’m still trying to narrow down which one.” He glanced at Craig. “I should have the answer for you sometime tomorrow, but...”

  He tapped the LED screen hard, making Craig wince. He’d had to buy a new one when Ash had got overexcited and fallen into it a month before and he really didn’t want to have to raid his budget again.

  “Sorry, Des, but could you not touch the screen, please.” He stared pointedly at the junior analyst. “We’ve just had to buy a new one.”

  The scientist stepped back apologetically. “Sorry, yes, I was getting a bit carried away. But in my defence, this is thrilling stuff.”

  The others exchanged a look that said if this was what thrilled him then he really needed more spice in his life.

  “These hemispheres aren’t rubber, they’re gelatine. It’s used in cooking so designed to break down in stomach acid, in this case to release the poison inside. If you hadn’t found the tablets then we would probably never have known how the poison had got into Smyth. Look.”

  At that he removed another bag from his pocket and unscrewed the lid of the glass bottle.

  “Inside this bag are two gelatine halves like those I found inside every tablet I cut open. I’ve drained off the poison liquid that was inside them for safety.”He beckoned them all to gather round. “Now watch what happens when I drop the gelatine into this bottle of stomach acid.”

  A moment later the hemispheres had dissolved to leave nothing behind but a fading stain.

  Craig was astonished at what it meant. “Someone must really have wanted Smyth dead to design a carrier system that sophisticated.”

  Des screwed the top back on the bottle, shaking his head. “That’s what we thought originally.” He turned to John. “But then we thought, what if the system hadn’t just been designed to kill Derek Smyth? What if whoever created it is planning a new generation of drugs. One liquid and one solid-“

  John joined in “One upper and one downer for instance, all in one tab. You could have a tranquillizer with a liquid amphetamine in the centre for instance-”

  Andy jumped in with, “Viagra and amyl nitrate would make a fortune in the sex trade.”

  John nodded eagerly. “That’s exactly what we said.”

  It sparked a shout-out that took several seconds to subside. When it had Craig turned to his ex-Vice D.C.I..

  “Did you ever hear about anything like this in Vice?”

  Aidan made a face. “I heard of tablets being sold in pairs once; one to bring you up and one to take you down, like what was just said. But I’ve never heard of them combined in one tab. If this hits the street it’ll be dynamite, even just for the novelty value.”

  Des nodded. “This could spark a whole new wave of drug use, Marc, if it hasn’t started somewhere else already. The uniqueness of it might attract new and younger users especially.”

  Craig nodded; he needed to speak to one of the other thirds of his D.C.S. team.

  “We need to dig further into this, Des. Could you both give me five minutes afterwards?”

  The scientists nodded, and then Craig gestured for John to pick up his report again, which he did with his two body templates, displayed on a slide side-by-side.

  “So, as I’m sure you all know by now I don’t like showing photographs of the deceased completely naked. It’s a matter of respect. Therefore I’ve marked Mister Smyth’s external irregularities on these templates. The red is for scars on his body and the blue for tattoos.”

  Liam gawped at the screen. “All those red ones are scars?”

  “Yes, and some came from life threatening wounds. In particular the ones over his spleen, liver and carotid. That last one would have killed him if it had been slightly to the left, and the ones on the abdomen over the spleen and liver were matched by healed lacerations on their surfaces that prove the blade went right through.”

  Craig considered the images in silence for a moment and then asked just what the medic had been going to tell them next.

  “Ages?”

  John gave a small smile. “Various. I’d say that our victim had been in fights many times in his life.” He tapped a mark on Smyth’s upper back. “That one is old and made by a bullet. It penetrated his lung. But if you’re asking could any of them have happened while Smyth was at Mahon, then the answer’s yes. The scar above his spleen was only a couple of years old.”

  Craig walked across to the screen and peered at the area around Smyth’s neck. “This carotid wound... it definitely didn’t happen in prison?”

  John shook his head. “No. The injury’s five or six years old, and Smyth had only been inside for four. It probably happened not long before he went in.”

  Annette had been sitting quietly but now she spoke up. “During his
court case maybe? He could have been out on bail and got it then.”

  “That’s just what I was thinking, Annette. Since you’ve said it, would you mind looking into the timeline on that for me?”

  “Will do.”

  He retook his seat as the pathologist went on.

  “I think you should look further into the prison medical information too, Marc. I was only sent an A4 summary. Ask for the GP and hospital records too. Those injuries would have required medical treatment when they happened.”

  A pleading look at Annette was answered by a resigned nod; if there was anything medical or health related in an investigation her nursing background ensured that she usually got it, and there was never any point in working to rule.

  John continued. “I’m looking into the health side of the counterfeit meds as well, so I’ll get back with anything that I find on that.” He pointed briskly to the templates again. “So the red marks were Smyth’s scars but the blue ones represent his tattoos.”

  Craig raised an eyebrow at the extent of the body art. Meanwhile, Liam was considering the likely pain suffered as the tattoos had been drawn, although as the man who’d owned them had been a scrote and was dead now anyway, there was no sympathy attached.

  “I bet those hurt. Especially that one on his kneecap.”

  Andy, who was curious to see what the individual images were, decided to give the group the benefit of an article he’d read in The Chronicle the week before.

  “Apparently it can be an addiction getting tattoos. Tattooing causes pain so the body releases endorphins, basically your own heroin, to cope with it. This article I read said that people get addicted to that high, especially if they’re already addicted to drugs.”

  John nodded. “People who get tattoos and piercings can be addicts, but not-”

  He was cut off by a loud objection.

  “I’m not an addict!”

  All eyes turned to Mary, the only team member who had either tattoos or piercings, as far as they knew.

  John was about to say something mollifying but he was silenced again, this time by Ash, not the D.C.’s biggest fan, who gave his opinion of her veracity with a snort and, “Says you.”

  Ever the gentleman John jumped to Mary’s defence. “To be fair, sport causes the same release of endorphins so we could say the same about sportspeople.”

  When all eyes swivelled towards Aidan, Craig thought it was probably time to move the debate along, before someone added coffee drinkers to the list. Everyone already knew he was addicted to that.

  “OK, so Derek Smyth liked his tatts. Were any of them relevant, John, or were they all just ‘I love Mum’s?”

  “See for yourself.”

  Davy obliged by changing slide to display a series of tattooed acronyms that all spelt out one thing; Derek Smyth had been an extreme Ulster Loyalist with racist and fascist tendencies.

  “I can show you exactly where each tattoo was situated if you like, but I think you’ve probably got the picture.”

  Even Craig was gawping at the screen; he’d never seen so much hatred inked on one person. What surprised him most was, given the violent underworld that Derek Smyth had lived in, why hadn’t someone killed him long before?

  He voiced his thoughts.

  “How did he even reach middle-age? The man was a walking expletive.”

  The pathologist gestured at Des. “That’s what we thought, but it could explain why Smyth had so many old wounds. Cleverly there were no tattoos on his face, and only a few tiny ones on his hands, but he must have offended a fair few people every time he took a shower.”

  He tapped on a small SS symbol located between the thumb and first finger on Smyth’s left hand.

  “That one had faded very badly so my guess is it was done thirty or more years ago. It wasn’t a professional job so Smyth probably did it to himself.”

  Liam rolled his eyes. “Aw, bless. Wee Derek’s baby-steps into fascism. He probably did it with his compass when he was a school.”

  It might have been funny if the image hadn’t conjured such a chill.

  John nodded.

  “It could be that old. Actually, if you’d like I can look at the tattoos’ pigment density and put them in chronological order so you can see how his beliefs progressed.”

  Craig shook his head. “Save yourself the work. I think we can all see where on the political spectrum Mister Smyth lay.”

  “OK, just so on that...” On the medic’s nod Davy displayed his final slide, displaying a single tattoo. “This little beauty was on his left leg and I thought it might be something you’d like to follow up.”

  Craig groaned. A large black ‘UKUF’ covered the whole of Derek Smyth’s well muscled calf.

  “I’d say it was done around twenty years ago, judging by the ink, so Smyth may well have been an acquaintance of somebody that you and Liam know well.”

  Tommy Hill. Hill was a Loyalist paramilitary who’d murdered several Catholics during The Troubles, Northern Ireland’s thirty-year violent conflict. He had created and led UKUF for many years before retiring reluctantly to the country to be near his young grandchild, passing on the mantle of boss to his long-time deputy, Rory McCrae.

  Craig looked at his own deputy meaningfully. Hill had been Liam’s occasional informant for years, when it had suited the Loyalist. Their relationship was an oddly antagonistic yet paternal one, with the younger man, Liam, acting as the dad.

  The D.C.I. sighed meaningfully. “I feel a trip to Templepatrick coming on. The Costa Geriatrica without the sun.”

  “We’ll need to pay McCrae a visit too.”

  Liam cheered up, rubbing his hands together. “Excellent news. A visit to a bookies and a chance to pull that wee fucker’s chain-”

  The outrage from Alice, who couldn’t help overhearing despite her tendency to hit her computer keys with a force that a pile driver would have envied, was instant and noisy. When Annette joined in, the ensuing jumble of, “Honestly, Liam!” and, “D.C.I. Cullen, really!” made Craig palm his face and the rest of the gathered group crack up.

  Liam’s response was to look puzzled.

  “What? That’s what McCrae is. A wee-” A sharp glance from Craig stopped him short. “A wee... not very nice man.” He rolled his eyes. “Ach, lighten up, you lot. I’m only calling it like it is!”

  Aidan was struggling to stop laughing, his shoulders still heaving as he spoke, “And if you can call a spade a JCB then all the better, eh?”

  Craig let the combination of laughter and horror run on for a moment and then raised a hand to quieten the room.

  “OK, Liam may not have put it delicately, and apologies for that, but he is right. Rory McCrae became UKUF’s boss on Tommy Hill’s retirement, and prior to that he’d been Hill’s right hand man for decades, committing a lot of very nasty crimes, so we’re not talking Mother Teresa here.” He turned to his deputy. “That being said, that word is not to be used in the squad-room again.”

  Although no-one would be dictating what was said in their cars, his office, the stairwells, the lift, the staff-room, which he intended to designate neutral ground, etcetera...or for that matter anywhere when Alice wasn’t around.

  Annette muttered, “There are a few other words I’d like to ban too, sir.”

  “Yes, well, I’m neither your mother nor the thought police so you can sort those out amongst yourselves.” He turned back to the scientists. “OK, John, Des, is that everything so far?”

  Des nodded, still smirking at Liam in a, “Well done, mate” way.

  “I should have the poison’s name for you tomorrow, and also Smyth’s stomach contents and the rest of his blood analysis, plus...” He removed another evidence bag from his coat. “Here’s the SIM, Davy. It’s definitely from a phone although it has some data allowance on it too, so with the right handset he could have accessed the net. There were no prints on it but Smyth’s own.” He passed the bag along the line, and in response the analyst ducked down behind his desk
and brought out the cardboard tube that Craig had given him earlier.

  “This is for you, Doctor Marsham. It’s a calendar the chief found in Smyth’s cell. Your lot had already dusted it for prints, and I’ve scanned it so that w...we can analyse the markings, but he said that you’d need it too.”

  Des took the cardboard tube, puzzled, but even in that state Liam spotted him immediately struggling not to use it to bop someone on the head. As a diversion the scientist turned back to Craig.

  “This is great of course, but what do I need it for, Marc?”

  Craig answer was to reach out a hand and retrieve the object, drawing out the chart which he spread out on the nearest desk, its corners anchored with books. He beckoned the others to gather around.

  “OK. Forget the positions of the stickers for a moment. We’re pretty sure that they’re significant in some way but Davy and Ash are already looking into that. But look here.” He swept a finger across the months from September. “Smyth removed one sticker in May and a bunch after September. If you look carefully you can see the glue that they left behind.”

  Cue almost a dozen people hunching down and angling their heads to the side. Craig left them to it and carried on.

  “We’re pretty sure that the stickers Smyth removed were because he didn’t want anyone looking back and correlating those dates with events that had happened either inside or outside Mahon, because that would have shown he’d had advance knowledge of them. But something else occurred to us as well-”

  Liam cut him off. “To be fair, boss, it occurred to you. You having a devious mind and all.”

  It was said so admiringly that it made Craig laugh.

  “Thanks, but it actually wasn’t an original thought. I saw similar stickers when I was at The Met, in the shape of cartoon characters. They were being peddled to kids at the school gates.”

  Liam’s eyes narrowed furiously. “Kids! They were selling cartoon stickers to kids? If I ever caught someone selling that crap to my-”

  A calm voice cut across his rant. It belonged to Ryan who was as confused as everyone there but Craig and Liam.