Crossing The Line

by Catriona King

  They were interrupted suddenly by a crackling on Craig’s radio, ten minutes before the due time for Bellner to call back. The detective answered it, covering his mobile as he did.

  “What do you want, Bellner?”

  “I want that bloody noise stopped!”

  “It’s down in High Street and it’s not up to me. The public order team’s in control of what their officers do.”

  The Lithuanian wasn’t impressed. “Have it stopped by the time I call back or I’ll kill two of your men instead of one.”

  As the radio crackled off, Craig returned to his call. “Time to go, Davy. Remember, wait for my signal for the gas.”

  He jumped down from the vehicle and signalled everyone to take up position, leading his team of detectives cautiously up the stairs to their own.

  Inside the room Andy White and Bill McEwan had heard the sirens starting and guessed that things were about to kick off, so they hurried to complete their own plan. They’d managed to communicate Craig’s most likely rescue strategy to the other hostages via a series of directed glances and facial expressions that their captors were ill-positioned to see, and they were all primed to go at the first hiss of CS Gas entering the room.

  As soon as the final pipe was in position Craig gave the signal for the gas, and as Andy heard the first soft hiss, every officer but the injured one dropped to the office floor in unison, making the guns at their temples slide up and off their skulls and taking their captors completely by surprise, a surprise that was compounded by the sudden fog in the room.

  Andy ripped off his jacket, wrapped it around his head and crawled in the direction of the injured officer, using his shirt to shield the now unconscious man’s nose and mouth. Suddenly a shot fired off, the loud thud that followed telling the D.C.S. that it had only hit a wall, but heavily accented yells of, “Shoot the bastards” started, thankfully soon to be drowned out by repeated hefty bangs and the sound of wood splintering, followed by the heavy clatter of boots pounding the room’s parquet floor.

  “ARMED POLICE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!”

  Whether the gangsters did or not Andy wouldn’t find out until afterwards, as the coarse hacking of his coughs soon drowned out every other sound. He found himself and his companion being dragged swiftly along the floor, into the lift and down to an ambulance and was aware of nothing more until a large freckled face was thrust into his own.

  “Not dead then, Derry Boy?”

  Annette rolled her eyes at the words, then she realised that Andy couldn’t tell who she was and pulled her gasmask off.

  “Leave him alone, Liam, or I’ll spray CS Gas in your face and see how you like it.”

  The D.C.I. snorted. “Ach, I was only asking how he was.”

  It was a typically bluff Irish way of expressing compassion and Andy had understood it very well, answering with a thumbs-up and a wheeze.

  Liam turned back to where Craig was surveying the chaos of emergency vehicles, discarded police tape and coughing men in the now snow-tipped street, the light fall that had been tumbling down for the previous hour getting heavy and adding to the mess. Still, it wouldn’t be for long and at least they’d got all their officers out alive, with even Andy’s injured companion having only minor wounds.

  The D.C.I. scanned the area, puzzled. “Where’s Bellner?”

  “On his way to High Street, we can interview him tomorrow. To be honest I don’t trust myself tonight. That reminds me.” He called over to Annette, “Did they lift the pilot?”

  “Five minutes ago.”

  Liam added cheerfully. “And boy, did he ever get a shock.” He gave a noisy chortle. “Mind you, two armed cops jumping into my cockpit would make me lose my lunch too.”

  Craig laughed at the vivid description.

  “OK, High Street’s full so send him up to Stranmillis with Bellner’s men. Aidan and Andy can have at them tomorrow.” He gestured back at the casino, its white edifice beginning to look dingy against the pristine snow. “We’ll have to keep the place sealed off until we’re sure the gas has cleared and the CSIs can do their thing.”

  Suddenly Des Marsham appeared, looking thrilled. “That was brilliant! And you guys get to do that every day!”

  Craig gave a dry laugh. “Not every day, thank goodness.”

  “Well, it beats standing in a lab, I’ll tell you that.”

  The detective raised an eyebrow sceptically. He’d heard such enthusiasm before from his analysts, but strangely it always seemed to evaporate at the thought of getting shot at all year round.

  “You could always join the police, Des.”

  The scientist backed away slightly. “Ah, well, now you see, Annie wouldn’t ...”

  The policemen smiled as his bravado evaporated in the face of reality and Craig turned to other things.

  “That reminds me. Liam, could you call the office and let Davy and Ash go home. And tell them I don’t want to see either of them until lunchtime tomorrow. It’s the least we owe them. They made the whole plan come toget-”

  He stopped abruptly and the blood drained from his face.

  “What’s the matter, boss? Gas got your tongue?”

  The question was answered by Craig muttering “Shit” and pulling out his phone, having just remembered that he’d promised to call the C.C. back with his plan before he went ahead!

  A moment later he was connected to the Flanagan house again and this time it was the man himself who picked up the phone.

  “Craig?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now, run the plan past me and tell me when you’re going ahead.”

  There was a lot of swallowing, hesitation and apologising before Craig managed to complete his reply, and a fair bit of grumpy disapproval from Sean Flanagan at being cut out of the loop before he saw the funny side of things. He did eventually; although Craig was left in no doubt that had the plan gone wrong and someone been killed his Christmas goose would have been well and truly cooked.

  Chapter Twelve

  Craig’s Office. Friday, 21st December 2018. 5 p.m.

  There had been a lot of tidying up to do and not many days left to do it in before Christmas, but the murder team had managed to get the preliminary interviews of Rory McCrae, Jerome Tomelty, Hugh Bellner and his men wrapped up in time to get them remanded for the holidays, ironically enough at Mahon Prison, something that had brought a glow to Craig’s heart. He could think of nothing better than Bellner and McCrae being locked-up in the very place where they had murdered two men, surrounded by inmates who had once called Filip Pojello and Derek Smyth their friends.

  When Sean Flanagan had stopped chastising him he’d actually been ecstatic about the operation’s outcomes. He should have been: murderers had been caught and a new drug combo had been stopped before it could get on to the streets, with forces across the world alerted to look out for anything similar. But the big boss was especially chuffed at what he saw as a successful D.C.S. collaboration that vindicated him setting up the scheme. Two Chief Superintendents working together had produced a new lead on drug importing from Europe for the Drugs, Customs and SOC teams to explore in the New Year, and, after suggesting blanket searches of all the prisons in the province, confirming that the unidentified numbers on Derek Smyth’s SIM did belong to burn phones located there, and examination of all the confiscated medications that George Royston had discovered at Mahon which had shown that the majority were counterfeits, they were developing a second lead on organised drug-dealing inside Northern Ireland’s prisons, not to mention delivering a sizable body blow to two criminal gangs.

  As far as Craig was concerned he was just happy that they’d solved their three murders, although as he stared at the pile of paperwork in front of him his heart sank, knowing that he’d be working over Christmas to get everything finished up. His thoughts were disturbed by the door opening and a strangely embarrassed looking Liam sticking his head in.

  “It’s time to open the new staff-room and go to the pub, bo
ss.”

  Craig sighed and gestured at the files stacked up on his desk. “I’ll come out for the opening, Liam, but you’ll have to go to The James without me. I’m backed up.”

  The vague embarrassment he thought he might have seen in his deputy became full-on red-faced shame and was joined by a desperate whine. “You have to come to the pub! I’ve ...” whatever he’d been about to say was suddenly swallowed in a loud gulp, making Craig’s normally mostly under control suspicious tendencies run amok.

  He beckoned his deputy into the room very deliberately and signalled him to shut the door, then he stood up and stared coolly into his eyes.

  “What have you done, Liam?”

  It brought a stream of bluster and denial that ran out of energy very quickly, so that when Craig asked the question again he got a muttered, “Party” in reply.

  “Party? You mean to open the staff-room?”

  Liam shook his head.

  “Christmas party then?”

  Either it was Craig’s imagination or his deputy was trying to back out of the room. “Stand still, Liam, and answer me.”

  It brought a ‘what the hell’ response that was much more typical of the man.

  “Ach, OK then. I thought, well me and the Docs thought actually, but mainly-”

  Craig could feel himself start to sweat, knowing immediately what the D.C.I. had done. “You’ve invited Katy to The James, haven’t you?”

  Nod.

  Craig was aghast. “So everyone will see we’re about to have a baby!”

  Liam leapt to his own defence. “And married too! She’s going to wear a paper ring, in case you’re worried she’d be embarrassed or something. We kept it respectable for you. And she’s not embarrassed, by the way, she was totally game for coming along.”

  Craig fell back into his chair, stunned and not knowing what to do first: thump his deputy, then John and then Des; ask Katy how she’d managed to have breakfast with him that morning and not give a single hint of the plan; or just throw his hands up in the air and be grateful that his deputy had more sense than he had and had taken the whole reveal dilemma out of his hands.

  After a shocked silence on his part, filled with gabbled rationalising from his D.C.I., Craig decided on number three, although two would definitely be queried at some point. He gave a defeated but not unhappy sigh that Liam interpreted as gratitude.

  “You see, I knew you’d be glad. I said so to the others. I said the boss’ll thank us for this, he’ll-”

  Craig suddenly found his voice. “Don’t push it. Glad isn’t the word I would use right now.”

  The D.C.I. grinned. “Ach, you say tomate-o, I say tomato. It’s all the same. You’re married, happy and you have a bairn on the way, sure what could be better? Especially when we all thought you’d end up a grumpy old sod sailing around the world alone.”

  Craig’s eyes widened at the insult but the door was opened before he could retort and Liam disappeared with a, “Come on, then.” He answered with a weak, “Five minutes, and could you send Annette in.”

  The shock he’d just had had given him the impetus to do something that he’d been putting off for days, mainly because he’d been busy trying to work out the ramifications of the situation and put in place a way of easing them. When Annette appeared at his office door, smiling, he almost decided not to say anything. But she had to know.

  “Close the door, please, Annette, and take a seat.”

  When the D.I. was sitting opposite him he began his task, meanderingly at first.

  “Excellent work this week.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I wish you’d think about going for D.C.I. again.”

  She smiled at him. “Once Carrie’s at nursery next year I will. I promise.”

  “Good. Good...” Craig could feel his gaze dropping to his desk from discomfort and fought hard to keep it focused on her. “Annette...” He swallowed noisily, making her eyes widen.

  “Am I in trouble, sir?”

  “What?” He suddenly realised how she’d interpreted his reticence and rushed to explain. “God, no, absolutely not. It’s just...” He gave a weary sigh and fell back in his seat. “Annette, Davy told me that Pete was in Mahon so I did some digging, and... well-”

  He stopped abruptly and reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a form and sliding it towards her.

  “He’s getting out for a week’s leave pass over Christmas in preparation for his release next year. “ He saw her begin to pale and rushed on. “And according to George Royston, Pete’s never been violent there, but, well, I want you to be safe.” He tapped the paper, not daring to look at her face again because of the pain he knew he would see there. “So, I called in a favour with the courts and all you have to do is complete this application for a restraining order and they’ll rush it through on Monday morning before he’s freed.”

  He raised his eyes to hers, which were brimming with tears now. “He may not approach you at all, Annette, but you need to be safe. It’s up to you, of course, but if you want this then we can organise it.”

  He reached a hand across the desk and placed it over her smaller one. “We’re all here for you, so just ask for whatever you need.”

  He could almost feel the energy seeping out of her but she managed a few quiet words. “I didn’t know he was getting a pass... I thought I would be safe until his sentence ended.”

  Craig sat up straight, more sure now that he’d done the right thing. Forewarned was forearmed.

  “You are safe and you’ll continue to be, with or without this. You have Mike and your family around you and Pete knows that. He’ll stay away. You’ll never have to see him again if you don’t want to.”

  Seeing her confusion he stood up and walked around the desk, hunkering down beside her and speaking in a gentle voice.

  “Anything you need, Annette, day or night, you can call me. You know that, don’t you?”

  After a soft sniff she nodded.

  “Good. Now take the form and let me know on Sunday night what you’ve decided to do. It’s Christmas Eve on Monday but the courts are open until lunchtime and Judge Standish has promised he’ll be there to sign it, so we’ve plenty of time to get the order in place.” He eased open the door. “Now, you did all the hard work on the new staff-room so this is your party. Let’s cut the ribbon and head over to the pub.”

  ****

  Laganside. Saturday. 3 a.m.

  Hearing the ringing of a telephone when you’re asleep can be part of a dream or real, and the time taken to register the difference heavily influenced by how much alcohol you’ve drunk the night before, and Craig had had a skin full, just like the rest of his team. Not that he needed excuses to drink, but it was the end of a successful case and Christmas, and Grace had surprised everyone by turning up at The James in a cocktail dress and climbing onto the bar’s stage to demonstrate her ‘thing’; a gossip choir trained voice that would have done Aretha Franklin proud and made her the hostelry’s paid entertainment for the night.

  He’d also drunk because he’d had to break bad news to his inspector, of whom he was exceptionally fond, and because Liam’s invitation to Katy had revealed to the whole world what he’d still been half afraid to believe; that he wasn’t alone any more, and pretty soon his life would be even more full, this time of little hands and feet.

  Valid though all these explanations might have been none of them were helping Craig’s clarity, so it took a while for it to penetrate that the ringing in his ears was real, and definitely coming from his mobile phone. A considerate attempt not to wake his new wife by taking the phone out to the hall failed when he tripped on the way and slammed the door, but eventually the receiver made its way to the detective’s ear and to his shock his deputy was on the other end of the line.

  “Liam? What the hell? It must be after three...”

  He squinted at his wrist and then realised that his watch was still beside the bed. But time became irrelevant on Liam’s next wo
rds.

  “Pete McElroy’s dead, boss.”

  Craig sobered up fast.

  “What? How did that happen?”

  “The prison let him out three days early and...”

  Craig had stopped listening, already knowing what his next words were going to be. He cut across his deputy’s weary voice.

  “Annette shot him, didn’t she?”

  The D.C.I. gave an exhausted sigh. “Aye, she did. Mike woke up and found Pete standing over him in the bedroom. Annette must have thought he was going to attack because she just grabbed for her gun and shot. Reflex.”

  “Was Pete armed?”

  “No.”

  Damn. That opened a can of worms.

  Liam paused for a moment, breathing heavily down the line. “Her gun should have been secured at home.”

  Damn again. But it was easily done. Annette had probably arrived home so late that she’d fallen into bed and forgotten to put the weapon away.

  “And we’d all been drinking, boss. Annette as well.”

  Craig shook his head. “She wasn’t on duty so that’s irrelevant, Liam.” Except that some smart alec solicitor would try to say it wasn’t. “She was in her own home asleep and Pete broke in, in the middle of the night. There was every reason to think he was a threat.” He gave a heavy sigh. “OK, where’s Annette now?”

  “High Street. That’s where I’m calling from. She phoned it in straight away and the sergeant who went out knows me, so he called me and I brought her down. She’s in shock so the medical examiner’s with her.” He took a deep breath and then went on, “Mike called John and he and Des wanted to work the scene, but I told them they can’t, obviously, so a team from Antrim’s coming down.”

  Just then Katy appeared at the bedroom door and Craig beckoned her across, putting an arm around her shoulders as he went on.