“How long were the heads at Appside after you first saw them there, Des?”
“Grace said they arrived here about five last night, so that makes it about fifty-six hours there in total after they were collected from the clearing. The rise in radioactivity during that time was immense.”
“The hour we spent at Appside must explain why Liam’s, my and your initial readings were raised. That building is toxic.”
“Yep.”
It was clear that the Appside facility was in trouble, and they’d already informed the MoD of what they’d found the night before, and got the additional information from Kyle’s snout. But Raymond O’Boyle’s moderately elevated count said that the heads had also been slightly radioactive at the clearing on Sunday, even before they’d been taken to Appside, so where had they first become contaminated?
Des read his mind, answering the question as they entered the mortuary. “I exposed a lab rat to the deer for half-an-hour this morning. That’s about as long as O’Boyle was exposed on Sunday.”
“And?”
“The rat’s levels were twenty times his in the same length of time. Toxic exposure.”
While they thought about what the information meant Liam made sympathetic noises about the rat. Craig thought he was being sarcastic until he heard him say, “I had a pet rat when I was a kid and I was very fond of him.”
“That explains so much about your relationship with Tommy Hill.”
Tommy Hill was an ex-paramilitary snout of Liam’s who fed him information in exchange for cash, and the similarity between his personality and a rat’s was so striking that Craig wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.
“Ha, ha, very witty.”
As they stood looking into the safe room at the deer heads Craig had more questions for the scientist.
“So, they were slightly radioactive when the vet handled them at the clearing, but nowhere nearly as radioactive as they are now?”
“Right.”
“And whatever contaminated them wasn’t in the clearing or on the boy’s body.”
“Correct.”
“OK, so, the only place the heads went after the clearing was Appside, so that’s obviously where they got the increased radiation levels.”
Des nodded. “I agree, especially as Kyle’s friend found radiation in the soil around the building.”
Liam thought that he’d mourned Ratty for long enough, so he joined in. “Did you get his soil readings then?”
The scientist nodded. “First thing this morning. The chemicals are just by-products and pretty harmless, but the radiation levels were almost as high as the ones we’re getting from the heads.”
Almost.
“How close?”
“Ninety-five percent. The heads are reading five percent higher than Appside’s soil, which is a proxy for the building’s likely interior levels.”
The answer gave Craig clarity on something, but he deferred telling the others about it for a moment, gesturing through the viewing window instead.
“Are they about to start singing or something?”
Des gave him a sceptical look. “No.”
“OK, so then we won’t be missing anything if we go upstairs to talk. It’s bloody freezing down here.”
He led the way without waiting for an answer, pressing the lift button for the pathology floor instead of his own.
“I’d like pathology’s input as well, if that’s OK?”
Des shrugged. “Suits me. John has better coffee than me anyway.”
A few minutes later five men, including Mike, were crammed into John Winter’s small office, occupying every available surface and cradling hot drinks. Craig sat up straight in a sign that he was about to start.
“Mind if I kick off, John?”
“Knock yourself out. I’m waiting for some records anyway.”
“Our old case?”
The pathologist nodded. “I’ll be able to tell you if we need an exhumation order after Des and I have reviewed them.”
Craig set his third coffee of the morning to one side and began to speak. “OK, the deer heads. By a process of readings and elimination, we can say that they were much more radioactive when they were delivered here last night than they were when they were first found with the boy on Sunday. And we know that the only place they were in the interim was Appside.”
John looked puzzled, so Liam mouthed, “the facility.”
Craig elaborated. “Appside is a British-Irish government facility researching God knows what nasties, and they’re very twitchy about it being viewed by strangers, as the signs around the forest and our visit from the NCA yesterday showed. Kyle took it upon himself to have some soil and water samples gathered-”
Des cut in. “Which I’ll be examining in further detail later.”
“Yes. Good. But in the meantime, we already know the radiation readings from outside the building, and the heads downstairs are reading five percent higher.”
Mike adjusted his position on top of John’s small chest of drawers before asking a question, with the weariness of a man who had spent the night before sleeping on the couch.
“OK, so we know the heads were kept at the facility for just under two-and-a-half days. If the place has as high readings internally as it does externally, then that could explain them being so radioactive now and the slight difference could just be down to time exposure.”
Craig shook his head. “Yes and no. Their time at Appside would explain the increase in radioactivity that we’re reading now, but it wouldn’t explain the baseline levels they already had when they were found with the boy on Sunday, which we can be sure of because the local vet, who only handled them there, had a higher reading than anyone else but Des and us. We got ours from spending time inside Appside, with or without handling the heads, but the vet could only have got his from handling the heads at the clearing.”
John’s mouth fell open as he saw where Craig was heading. “You’re saying that was the heads second time at the facility! The first time was before they were set around the boy in the clearing.”
Craig nodded emphatically. “Exactly. Those heads already had enough radioactivity on Sunday morning to contaminate the vet slightly on brief contact, so where did that initial radiation come from? Des has discovered that here’s a five percent difference between the radiation count on the heads and that found in the soil at Appside. That five percent has to be because of the initial radiation already on the heads when they were found. Now that might have come from somewhere completely different to Appside, but two radioactive sites in the same area? I don’t believe in coincidences like that.”
Liam frowned. “You’re saying someone at Appside knew about the heads before they arrived there on Sunday?”
“And had stored them there before, at some time in advance of Sunday’s ritual.” Craig added a rider. “But probably not immediately before it. The baseline radioactivity levels on O’Boyle weren’t high enough for that.”
John started reasoning aloud, ordering his thoughts as he did. “OK…so someone with access to Appside, whose name we don’t know yet but most likely someone who works there to enable them to get through security, stored the deer heads there sometime before the boy was killed. And then someone, probably the same person but we can’t be certain of that, took the heads to the murder scene, and also arranged for the heads to be returned to Appside after the boy was found. That tells us something.”
Craig nodded enthusiastically. “They’d probably been moved to another venue a while before they were eventually taken to the clearing on Saturday night/Sunday morning, to have lost so much of the Appside radiation, but otherwise you’re right. And it tells us that, one, someone at Appside knows more about our murder than they’re letting on, even if they didn’t kill the boy themselves, and two, the radiation levels in that facility are hazardous, and it needs to be shut down.”
He rose to his feet. “What did the MoD say when you notified them, Des?”
“It’s hard to tell with pencil necks like those, but it sounded like controlled panic to me.”
“Good, then hopefully they’ll have closed the place down by now. OK, John and Mike, the sooner we gather all those results together the better, and I’ll also need everything on our historical victim that you can find.”
He turned to Liam. “We’re going to see Niall Canavan. I’ll send Andy and Kyle to question the other one. Give Nicky a call and find out exactly where they are.” He pulled out his mobile. “And while you get on with that I’ll be giving Aidan some legwork to do. Jean Underwood needs to be questioned again.”
****
Drumquin Police Station. County Tyrone. 9 a.m.
Harry Johnston scowled at the cop standing in front of him, wondering how he’d ever got to be so thick. He would have asked him too if he hadn’t needed his help so much, but instead he bit his naturally acerbic tongue and tried hard to look like the kid that he still was.
“Tell me again how you got into Mister Dwyer’s vegetable patch, son? When you’d no right to be there, and you’re definitely not from around here?”
Well done, Thicko, how’d you work it out? Maybe it’s because I’m nat wearing clothes from a catalogue, an’ my hair isn’t cut like some Amish kid’s.
But that wasn’t what Harry actually said, instead he repeated what he’d told Bartholomew Dwyer the day before, when the farmer had caught his daughter on the blower to the cops, at his request.
“Like I told Mister Dwyer. My name’s Harry Johnston, an’ I’m from north Belfast. I was taken from Castle Court Shopping Centre an Monday an’ gat away from the people who took me, an’ that’s how I ended ap at the farm. I asked the girl there to call the police fer me. I asked fer yer help.”
It was a struggle to keep from adding, “dickhead”, at the end, but somehow, he managed it. Seeing no change in the uniformed man’s attitude Harry sat back in his uncomfortable chair, resigned. If the culchie cops didn’t believe him then maybe some Belfast peeler would, that’s if he ever managed to get home. He’d spent the night before in some place called Killen, after they’d made social services find him a bed, on condition that they brought him back in for questioning today.
After a minute of saying nothing the teenager’s determination kicked in again and he decided to try one last time, although still not holding out much hope of progress.
“Look, Officer. Thanks fer giving me a bed an’ all that, but I’d like to go home now. Aunt Josie will be worryin’.”
The constable turned to the social worker by Harry’s side. As social workers went, and Harry had met a lot of them in his short life, he had to admit that she’d been almost OK.
“You’ve spoken to his aunt?”
Julianne Regan nodded, with the tired but caring smile of a woman who’d seen far too much of the evil in the world and yet still managed to find the compassion to perform good works, although the effort had aged her well beyond her forty years. It was a thirst to help others also often found in volunteers, and when the social worker retired that’s exactly what she planned to do. Compassion fatigue didn’t compute for some people. Thankfully.
“Yes. She’s waiting for him at home, and she’s very grateful that we found him.” She cast a chastising but amused glance at her charge. “Apparently, Harry often leaves school without permission and he has disappeared before, but never this far afield.”
I was staying at my mate Billy’s, lady! It’s only next door!
The police officer spoke again.
“We could charge him with trespassing, but I’ve persuaded the farmer not to.”
Gee, thanks, mate. You’re a star.
He turned back to Harry with a stern look on his face.
“But if this ever happens again, young man…”
Yeh, like I’m going to take a train to Hicksville just so I can trek through some farmer’s field. Dream on.
Thankfully the officer couldn’t read minds, and a winsome smile from Harry did its part in convincing him not to press charges, so eventually the middle-aged social worker rose to her feet and extended a hand to the P.C.
“Thank you for all your help, Constable Rourke. I’m sure Harry’s very grateful. I’ll take him home on the train now and he’ll report at Belfast North Police Station tomorrow morning.”
It’ll be a lot sooner than that, lady. As soon as I hit the smoke I’m callin’ the cops to get Joey some help.
It would make a change from running every time he saw them coming at least.
****
Laganside Courts. Belfast.
It was going to be a long trial, and a very public one, judging by the number of people in the public gallery. Some of them looked like they were on a day out, what with a man trying to hide the fact he was eating biscuits by bending down occasionally pretending to tie his shoes, and one old woman sitting knitting, like the Tricoteuse at the foot of the guillotine. Maggie had never seen those things happening before in court, but then that was probably because she’d been in the press pen with her back to the public gallery. Being a freelancer meant she got to sit amongst the real people and she could see and hear everything.
The first-time author dragged her eyes away from her neighbours and back to the judge. He was round-faced and jovial looking, also white-haired and probably over sixty, but then weren’t they all? The day she fancied someone on the bench she would know that she was getting old. But he looked like a very nice man, he reminded her of a favourite uncle that she’d had as a kid; it was an image that was reinforced a moment later when Eugene Standish glanced over at her and smiled.
The smile faded a moment later when the courtroom’s side door opened, and an officer appeared, leading in the man who would be in the dock all day. Or would he? Ever since she’d heard that Rowan Drake had sacked his defence counsel and was going to conduct his own case, Maggie had wondered how exactly things would be done. Would he leap down from the dock every time he needed to question witnesses? And what would happen if he needed to question himself; would that be an imagined duologue conducted where he stood?
The answer came a few minutes later when Drake called the usher to pass a note to the judge. Standish read it aloud in a warm voice that matched his amiable looks.
“The defendant has submitted a request to conduct his defence from the legal chairs. There is case law that I must consult before I make my ruling, therefore the court will be adjourned.”
And that was that. The usher called for the court to rise, the judge left, and Rowan Drake was led back down to the cells. Maggie had positioned herself behind the prosecution’s legal team and overheard the words, “Bugger. That means we’ll be out until after lunch.”
It left the public free to knit and eat with impunity, and the author wondering what she should do with her unexpected free time.
****
The Demesne Estate. East Belfast.
“What the hell happened with the boy?”
The man’s response was terse and the woman who’d just called him could hear that he was as angry as she was at events.
“He got away from them, the little shit. Straight over their heads and legged it down the road. They ran after him, but he was too fast.”
Ellie Rawlings swore beneath her breath and then dismissed the issue briskly.
“No-one will believe anything he says anyway. Remember, we picked him for his delinquent tendencies, so the cops won’t pay him any heed.”
She stared out of her kitchen window for a moment before speaking again. “Is everything ready for the new shipment?”
But the man couldn’t move on quite so easily and he worried the point again. “I’m going to check out the local stations to see if he went there.”
She cut him off with a loud “NO! No, you’re not. You asking questions at some copshop will just tell them that you knew him. Leave it. He can’t cause us any trouble. He never saw anyone except the boys, and he only saw them for a second, so he’d never r
ecognise them again.”
“But-”
“No buts.” She softened her voice to a wheedle, wary of overstepping the mark. She might be the brains, but he was the brawn, and although he’d never been violent in all the years they’d been together she’d been hit by partners too often in the past to want to risk another clout. “It’ll be fine, love, trust me. Now, when are you coming to see me? I miss you.”
She meant it. She loved him, although whether he would still love her when she told him her plans for leaving was a niggling doubt; he had stronger ties to Ireland than she had.
This was their biggest shipment ever, but she’d already made up her mind that it would be her last. Once she got her cut, she and her kids were quitting the Emerald Isle for somewhere warmer, and they would leave this whole dirty episode far behind. She dearly wanted him to come along as well, but if he wouldn’t then she was still leaving, and his baby with her, no matter what anyone said.
****
The M1 Motorway West. 10 a.m.
Craig was in the passenger seat on the way back to Tyrone for their interview with Niall Canavan, trying to ignore the sound of his new gearbox being raked as he spoke on the phone.
“Aidan, before you go to see Prof Underwood, did Davy get anything more on where that call to collect the deer heads came from?”
He imagined he could hear the D.C.I. shaking his head, although it was difficult to make out anything over the sound of Liam’s crunching as he shifted gear and the sound of gum being chomped.
“Davy said he’s sorry, but the call dead-ended.”
Craig frowned. “Which means what?”
“Beats me. He said something about it being bounced off towers all over the British Isles. I heard him mention the Isle of Man.”
The Running of the Deer Page 22
