The youth preened himself. “Anyhow, then I said I was sorry, but brother or no brother we couldn’t give access to anyone’s possessions without a court order. He looked really pissed, and then all of a sudden he just took off.”
“Did he take the key with him?”
“No. Threw it on the desk when he walked.”
“But if the passkey had worked he could have reached room nineteen without anyone seeing.”
“Yeh, it was a bit of luck it failed, wasn’t it, but it happens a lot. They’re rubbish those plastic keys. We’re always having to reprogramme them. I went up and checked it in Mister Kincaid’s door afterwards and it didn’t work there either so the key must have been a dud, although it was definitely one of ours.”
The information made Andy frown. A dud or damaged by the quarry pool’s water? Had the man taken Stuart Kincaid’s key from his body after he’d killed him, or had he just got hold of a proforma from somewhere else? The whole episode didn’t say definitely that the man was Stuart Kincaid’s murderer but it certainly put him in the frame, so they needed to ID him. And officially, in case it was needed in court.
Suddenly the D.C.I. had what he knew was a ridiculously optimistic thought.
“I don’t suppose you kept the key?”
The young manager’s face fell. “No. Sorry.”
His boss interjected pointedly. “And neither did he report the episode to the police, although you would now, wouldn’t you, Tristan?”
It prompted a glum nod from the youth as Abernathy went on.
“Normal procedure in such an episode would be to call the police, give them any evidence, CCTV, the key and so on, but Mister Rodgers was still being trained so…”
Damn. They’d lost evidence because of inexperience.
Still, they had two people who could identify Kincaid’s possible killer now, and they had his luggage with whatever the man had been searching for presumably still inside. Andy decided he was going to have two companions on his trip back to Belfast.
****
Annette Eakin’s House. East Belfast.
Had Craig known what had been happening across town that morning he would have had to decide whether or not to try and stop it, and that would have put him between two rocks and a hard place and handed him a conundrum he couldn’t possibly have solved without putting someone’s nose out of joint.
Hearing about it ten minutes before his briefing from a laughing so hard that she could barely speak Katy, he chided himself for not having anticipated the situation, knowing all of the women involved and their personalities, in particular his mother, who all her life had been like a runaway train. Even when under the calming influence of Maureen Stevens his mother Mirella was impossible to control, something that his father had accepted soon after they’d married fifty years before. But he’d reckoned without Maureen Steven’s kind nature actually adding to the force of that eccentricity, which on this occasion it most definitely had.
Through her laughter Katy had explained that she’d casually mentioned to the pair that Annette was feeling depressed alone at home all day and also that she had a toddler daughter, Carrie, and they’d taken it as an invitation to kill several birds with one stone: cheer the inspector up, practice their grandmothering skills, and get a third opinion on what sort of place their own grown-up children, and more importantly their future grandchild, might one day call home.
So it was that Annette had trustingly answered her front door that morning, surprised to see Mirella and Maureen but merely thinking that Craig had told them of her situation and they’d come to offer tea and sympathy, only to find herself and her young daughter being propelled into respectable outfits and hustled into Maureen Stevens’ little red car, in what minus the affectionate laughter might have counted as a kidnapping.
The outing turned out to be less a pity party for Annette than a cheerful, ricocheting, road trip, where she and Carrie were chauffeured all over Belfast via numerous stops at coffee and toy shops, to view houses that ranged from chic magazine centrefolds, through overly sensible boxes that she couldn’t picture Craig living in ever, to the other extreme of homes that were so covered in mirrors, zebra print and ornaments that Liberace would have thought that they were too much, although her toddler’s cries of “Sparkly, sparkly” did result in several indulgent, “Ahh”s.
As an abstract concept the outing had car-crash written all over it, but as an experience it worked brilliantly, with the group ganging up in different combinations against the others to curtail their wildest instincts of gaudiness, boring common sense and romance, and end up with a shortlist of places for the newlyweds to view that had even been obligingly road-tested by a tearaway child.
But Craig wouldn’t learn of that success until much later, so to add to his worries about work he spent the rest of his day picturing the good, the bad, and the sensible creating chaos all over town.
****
The C.C.U.2.30 p.m.
The postponement of the team briefing until Andy arrived back from Rownton had allowed Ben Frampton and Arthur Norris to be squeezed for information again until their pips squeaked, although not with anything particularly juicy coming out, and for the squad’s more deskbound pursuits to be progressed as well. By the time the whole team was assembled, coffees in hand and a clean whiteboard standing alongside the previously annotated one it was almost two-thirty, and one hundred miles away there was a far less orderly scene playing out.
Róisín Casey’s ruminations the evening before had sparked an angry telephone conversation that had had at first two, then four and then seven people on the line in a conference call. It was a format that she used comfortably every day in a business context but this time she’d felt ganged up on.
She was in the doghouse and no amount of underlining was convincing the others that she hadn’t been the one to draw the cops’ attention to them; it had been the murder, and worse the careless disposal of Stuart Kincaid that had caused that. Nor had pointing out to them that she, as the more visible of the two of them currently in Ireland, was the one in the hot seat gained her any sympathy, so when the call ended the banker was left with the words, “Bloody well sort it out!” ringing in her ears. How she was supposed to do that was left entirely up to her, but do it she better had and Róisín knew it; her partners in this particular enterprise were people who sanctioned murder whenever necessary and they wouldn’t draw the line at killing one of their own.
But while the financier was working out how to ensure the police investigation hit a dead end, it was ramping up in Belfast. The squad had reached an impasse on Stuart Kincaid’s death unless they got some new information and Craig was praying that this briefing would give them that.
He cracked the clean whiteboard hard with his knuckles to say that they were starting, making several other people wince as he did it but seemingly hardened to the pain himself.
“OK. This briefing is important so give me everything you’ve got, but as tidily as possible, please. Let’s start with…” He gazed around and lit on Aidan, who was chewing energetically on a piece of nicotine gum. “Aidan and Ryan. You were together in Rownton and you interviewed Norris, so off you go.”
Seeing that the D.C.I. was going to choke if he tried to swallow his gum too fast Ryan rose to his feet, taking the marker that Craig was holding out.
“OK, to summarise yesterday and today. We interviewed half the village and they led us to the woman that you’ve all heard about, Rio Reynolds, who had been paid by a man, Arthur Norris, to lie to the newspapers and radio about the reason that a local man called Derek Morrow committed suicide.”
He scribbled up ‘Norris’ and ‘Morrow’ and went on.
“Derek Morrow was a local builder who also managed The West Mountain Quarry that was excavated between twenty-twelve and fifteen. His firm was involved in the excavation but also continues to manage the outbuildings to this day. Other than that they were building a new housing development at the edge of the vi
llage and did local odds and bobs.”
Craig held up a hand to stop him. “So definitely not as stressed with work as his suicide note would have had us believe.”
“Exactly. But even so, Arthur Norris or whoever he works for wanted no suggestion of work as the reason for Morrow’s suicide, hence manufacturing a romantic affair and getting Reynolds to lie about it.” He wrote ‘work - deflection?’ beside Morrow’s name.
“OK, so if Morrow’s work is something that someone’s trying to deflect us from, then what aspect of it and why?” He tapped on Norris’ name. “That brings us back to Arthur Norris, who paid the girl to lie, and who it turns out also had an involvement with the quarry, as the land agent for its purchase. Norris said he feared we were in Rownton because of some environmental pollution issue at the quarry and that Morrow’s reference to work would make us look deeper at that, so he was trying to divert from any discovery of the pollution with the girl’s story of an affair.”
Craig stopped him and turned to the others. “Theories, anyone?”
Liam’s came first and pithily. “Bollocks. No-one kills themselves over a bit of environmental whatsit. Anyway, surely any pollution wouldn’t have been Morrow’s fault? He was just a builder.”
Aidan had freed his mouth of gum and decided to play Devil’s Advocate. “But he was supposed to be caring for the quarry, so he might have thought he’d missed some pollutants and felt guilty, what with the local kids paddling about there.”
Craig raised an eyebrow. “You really think that? After interviewing Norris?”
“Nope. But I’m advancing a theory like you asked.”
Craig rolled his eyes. “Let’s limit it to sensible ones. OK, anyone else?”
Andy pictured the quarry. A deep grey canyon with a stagnant pool at its base; not somewhere he would fancy a swim but he hadn’t seen any signs of pollution there.
“Most of us have been to the quarry, me just today…” Mary’s jaw jutted out in a sulk at the mention of her cancelled road trip. “…and all right, I know pollution can be hidden, but did anyone notice any signs of it there? I know I didn’t.”
When the answer was a clear “No” Davy decided to contribute some facts to the debate.
“After Norris mentioned pollution I asked the divers to test some s…samples of water, and the first results say there’s nothing strange.”
Andy nodded, vindicated. “So… Morrow mentioned work in his note and I think that was deliberate, trying to point our attention to something-”
Liam cut in. “Why not just spell it out?”
“Because that might have been construed as him admitting to something and he had his family’s feelings to worry about.”
Craig retrieved his marker and wrote ‘Pointer’ on the board.
“OK. If Morrow wasn’t pointing us towards pollution but something else, perhaps something to do with his work at the quarry or perhaps linked to some other work he was involved in, then why was he telling us?”
He turned back to Aidan, regretting his earlier ‘sensible’ jibe and hoping that the D.C.I would ignore it.
He did.
“Guilt, that’s why. Morrow felt guilty about something he’d been up to and he was pointing us to it. I’m tempted to say that because he killed himself just after Stuart Kincaid’s body was found that he’d actually had something to do with Kincaid’s murder-”
“Murdered him you mean? He couldn’t have. Morrow was the same height as Kincaid; I saw his file.”
The D.C.I. shook his head. “No, Morrow didn’t actually kill Kincaid, but maybe he knew about it? Or felt that we were going to catch him for something else while we were in Rownton. He was definitely panicked by us being there. The pub landlord told me.”
Craig nodded. “Agreed. It might have been both. Morrow could have known something about Kincaid’s murder and also been up to something else, and us finding the body somehow risked blowing everything open.”
He was surprised by his deputy shaking his head.
“Yes and no. I agree Morrow didn’t murder Kincaid, boss, because if he’d been feeling guilty about something to do with that it would have been the easiest thing in the world to write ‘work stress because of the quarry’ and point us specifically to his involvement with the place. Instead he wrote ‘work stress’ in general knowing that no-one who knew him would believe it, not even his wife, and we would start to dig far deeper.”
“So you’re saying that Kincaid’s murder was the least of Morrow’s worries.”
The D.C.I. thought for a moment and then nodded. “Yeh, that’s exactly right. Morrow was feeling guilty about something that in his mind was worse than murder, and he thought that us turning up in town was going to blow it apart. I also think he pointed us to it after his death hoping that we would find out what it was and stop it, but killed himself because he couldn’t live with what would happen to him if we did.”
Craig furrowed his brow in thought and after a few seconds he nodded. “OK, I agree. Morrow could have been involved in something serious that we don’t know about yet.”
He wrote ‘Guilt – cause?’ on the board and glanced around the group expectantly for the next gem. He didn’t have to wait for long.
Davy clambered to his feet and reached for the marker.
“Right, so we got permission to examine Derek Morrow’s phone and computers and I’ve been w…working on those for a few hours. It w…wasn’t long enough to get through everything so I focused on his finances, and Morrow had…” he wrote a number on the board,“...four bank accounts.”
Liam snorted rudely. “So what? I do as well. Savings, current, post-office and an ISA, and Morrow would’ve needed a business account as well.”
The analyst gave him a cool look. “Can I finish?”
“Go on then. Dazzle us.”
The look became wry as Davy went on.
“We found four bank accounts and something else interesting. Three of Morrow’s bank accounts were a business account for his building firm, and a current account out of which he transferred money every month to a savings account. All of those were with the same bank and the shortcut to it was pinned on his computer, and accessible with a click and using the right passwords. Morrow listed them in the letter he left for his wife, s…so no mystery there at all.”
He perched on the edge of a desk and went on. “He wasn’t wealthy but he was earning a decent amount, so his firm was solvent and he and his family w…were living within their means. It’s Morrow’s fourth account that I’m still trying to crack.” He smiled triumphantly at Liam. “In the Cayman Islands. He didn’t leave a password for it. Or for this.”
He pressed a key on his smart-pad, displaying an icon on the LED screen.
“This icon was encrypted and placed in a hidden folder on Morrow’s laptop. I haven’t got past the encryption yet, it’s heavy duty, but I’ve identified it as belonging to a cryptocurrency site.”
He got just the uncomprehending looks that he’d expected from everyone but Ash and rolled his eyes in mock despair.
“Cryptocurrency? Yes? No? Doesn’t anyone but Ash know what I’m talking about?” He turned back to Liam. “Surely you do? You knowing so much about accounts, after all.”
Craig gave him a moment to make the D.C.I. feel deservedly uncomfortable before saying, “Move it along, please, Davy.”
The analyst did so with a smug grin. “OK, cryptocurrency is essentially cyber currency, so it exists in bytes of data rather than as coins or notes and all exchanges take place in the Ethernet. The best known version is Bitcoin, but this icon links to another firm.”
Andy perked up. “I’ve heard of Bitcoin. There’s something called a blockchain as well, isn’t there?”
“Yep. A blockchain is like an accountant’s ledger. Basically it’s a running record of the cryptocurrency transactions.”
Craig nodded. “OK, so Morrow’s icon led to one of these cryptocurrency sites? Couldn’t he just have been investing in it
?”
The analyst pulled a face. “Yes, but... OK, so it’s not out of the question for Morrow to have got on the cryptocurrency trail, especially years back when it was cheaper, but there are two weird things here. First, he had the icon hidden and heavily encrypted. Why? Second its log, I managed to get into that because its encryption was weaker, says that the site’s been accessed repeatedly over the past few weeks. S…Several times a day.”
“Which tells us?”
“Morrow must have been trading very heavily. Why else access it so often? And he must have been making the payments from his Cayman account because there’s no activity on his other accounts that fits.”
Craig noticed that Ash was looking puzzled.
“Ash? You have something for us?”
The computer expert’s mouth opened as if he was reaching for something, but as they watched it slipped from his grasp.
“Damn! There was something I read about crime linked with crypto recently, but I can’t remember it.” His slim face brightened with determination. “But don’t worry, I will.”
“OK. Then you and Davy work together on that and on unlocking Morrow’s Cayman account. They could be important.”
“We’ll need to take it slowly, chief, or we could w…wipe things.”
As Craig nodded he suddenly felt that the line of enquiry was going to prove very important although he honestly couldn’t have said why.
“OK, keep going with those, Davy, they could be the key to why Morrow really killed himself. Right, let’s tidy up Arthur Norris. Aidan and Ryan, bring us up to date.”
This time it was the D.C.I. who stood up. “OK, so we know the environmental pollution angles a crock now-”
“Norris might have believed it.”
“I’m pretty sure he did and does, Guv, but what I was going on to say was, I don’t think we’re going to get anything else useful from Norris except for maybe who employs him.”
The Depths Page 30
