All they could make out was a faint silvery glint that had to be chrome from the bike, moving forward slowly as it entered the clearing via the rough track that Andy had described. A tall, broad-backed shape climbed off it; definitely male, but young male or old? A few seconds more and they had their answer as the moon’s rays illuminated a man’s face.
Craig inhaled sharply. It was Niall Canavan, and everything about his movements said that he was in charge of whatever was going on. The assessment was confirmed a short time later, when more shapes entered the clearing and Canavan beckoned them across, telling Craig exactly what was going to happen next.
It was time to signal the others to approach, so he nodded Liam to send two silent texts, his eyes still fixed on Niall Canavan. Miranda Hunter read her message and motioned only her police officers slowly forward as agreed, the other searchers remaining at the perimeter.
Moving as quietly as they could the officers closed in on all sides, halting thirty feet out from the clearing to wait again, just as Andy and Kyle did as they had been texted and shifted their position to the clearing’s end of the track.
Miranda smiled to herself as she waited, recalling the anxious young voice that had been patched through to her just minutes before. The teenager that they had spent all day searching for, Joey Parfitt, bringing them up-to-date, even before Craig and Liam knew, that a long-haired man was being held captive by a group of boys.
The policemen had the information now and they watched through the trees as Dermot Canavan was dragged to the centre of the clearing and shoved hard to his knees on the ground, and then as the deer heads were brought over from the bike and Niall Canavan stepped forward to join his boys.
The detectives glanced at each other, astonished. They’d speculated that one or both of the brothers had been involved in the killings, but not that one would so obviously have hated the other. OK, so Dermot might have been delinquent when he was younger, but Niall had constantly bailed him out, and all the information that they’d had said that the brothers were close. So why were they turning on each other now?
But now wasn’t the time for an analysis of sibling rivalry. Niall Canavan was going to kill his younger brother very soon unless they stopped him. Suddenly Dermot’s pleading voice cut through the night air and Craig listened to his words.
“Why are you doing this, Niall? I already told you Ellie and I were leaving. You don’t need to do this, I don’t want the money or the land. You can have everything, I promise…”
As the words tailed off Craig watched Niall Canavan’s angry expression change to loathing, and the detective knew that he would never be moved by words. But still hopeful, Dermot tried again.
“You don’t need to kill me like you did the boys. We’re brothers, Niall, I love you. Why, just tell me why you’re doing this? Please tell me why.”
They had their answer as to which Canavan had led the killings and Craig could feel Liam readying to intervene. He shook his head hard. Not yet. They needed to hear more. He was rewarded a few seconds later when Niall finally broke his silence, but not before he had signalled for the boys to don the heads.
As they made to encircle their prey the way Craig knew they’d done at least twice before, Niall stepped into the centre beside his sibling. To both detectives’ surprise there were tears in his eyes, and in his voice.
“I loved you, Dermot. Since you were a baby I’ve loved you. And I protected you against everything.” He grew angry again. “Against Father, against his sick friends, against the punches and abuse.” As his anger grew to fury his voice rose to a shout. “I PROTECTED YOU! I TOOK IT ALL SO THAT YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO! AND WHAT DO YOU DO? YOU LEAVE ME!”
Tears flowed down the businessman’s cheeks as he lifted a hand and swept it around the circle.
“But these are my boys now and they’ll never leave me for some…” His voice swooped into a shout again, “SOME STUPID WHORE.” He pushed his face close to his brother’s. “A stupid whore who’ll never care for you like I did. You could have had a hundred women, used them and left them like I did, but I never let one come between us.” His voice fell. “I never did.” Then he dropped his head and his words became a wail. “I never did.”
After a moment gazing at the ground he stepped back again, and the circle widened to allow him in, then he lifted his head almost defiantly, his eyes dry now.
“So now you have to pay, Dermot. Now you have to suffer.”
It was then that Craig realised there were no stones. They weren’t going to crush Dermot Canavan like they’d done the others, they were going to kill him fast!
He signalled Liam to send his final text and took out his gun. As the uniformed officers edged forward from their thirty feet boundary the detectives on both sides of the clearing stepped in. Andy and Kyle stealthily at first, covering the teenagers’ backs, but Liam and Craig face on, almost announcing their presence, their eyes never leaving Niall Canavan’s hand.
Craig was surprised a few seconds later when it wasn’t Niall who raised a weapon but the blond boy at his side, but when he thought about it afterwards it made sense. Perhaps Niall couldn’t have committed fratricide, but the teenager who was to be his new little brother could.
As Max Legge stepped forward to claim his inheritance the detectives advanced towards the clearing’s centre, backed by the ring of uniformed police behind them at its edge, ready to stop the adolescents who had immediately turned to run.
Craig pointed his Glock at the teenager, hoping to God that the boy wouldn’t make him pull the trigger.
“Put the gun down, Max.”
A flicker of shock ran across the youth’s face. How did they know his name? But the boy didn’t drop his gun and he didn’t try to flee.
Craig repeated his words with more threat. “Put the gun down, Max. I will shoot you.”
He saw the teenager glance from side to side and then behind him, his threat assessment exactly what his own would have been. Whether Max would really have taken the shot or not, Niall Canavan’s next action changed the dynamic for them all.
Moving faster than any of them would have credited he sprinted across the clearing towards his younger brother, producing a machete from beneath his jacket as he did. Before anyone could intercept him, he’d unsheathed it and moved behind Dermot, gripping both of his brother’s arms behind his back in a lock and with the blade pressed up hard against his throat, producing a rivulet of bright red blood.
“Come any closer and I’ll kill him!”
Dermot’s panicked gaze said that he fully believed what his brother had said, and Craig could see him calculating whether to beg or fight just as he was assessing some options of his own. He fixed his eyes firmly on Dermot’s and shook his head slightly; shorthand for ‘don’t try anything, just stay perfectly still’. As he did that Craig’s wider gaze was taking in everyone’s positions in the clearing: the teenagers, formerly so brash, were now off to his left being disarmed, their bravado draining away with almost indecent haste. Max, still armed, stood ahead of him, fifty degrees to his right, but a subtle shift in Liam’s position signalled that he was now covering that threat and Max was aware of it.
That left three other armed men in the clearing: Andy, Kyle and him. Andy and Kyle moved to stand several feet behind Niall Canavan, and his glances said he was aware of them, but, bound by the sodding ‘good guys’ rules they couldn’t just shoot the businessman in the back. And he wasn’t being big headed about it, but he was definitely the best shot of the three, so if either of the others had even tried to wing Niall’s knife arm it would probably have resulted in him losing his head, and he would really prefer to have both Canavans fit for trial.
That left Craig with two options: either let Niall take his brother from the forest at knifepoint, which would undoubtedly result in Dermot’s death, or attempt to disable his knife hand himself. There was a third option of course, he could just say sod it to taking them both alive and blow Niall Canavan away where he s
tood, but as tempted as he was by the idea of killing a child murderer, putting him in prison for life had a nicer ring.
During the time that Craig had been reviewing his options his gaze had shifted from Dermot’s to Niall’s faces and back again several times, often enough that each brother knew when to expect his next staring session and how long it would last. They appeared to be getting almost comfortable with the game, which was exactly what the detective was banking on. Now all he needed was a few seconds’ confusion to throw Niall off his guard.
Craig got it a moment later when he deliberately altered the rhythm of his gazing, to move quickly from Dermot to Niall and then far too quickly back to Dermot again, feigning surprise as he did so, as if the younger brother had suddenly done something untoward that only he, standing in front of him, could see.
In a slip that anyone could have made but would cost him dearly, Niall Canavan angled his body around slightly to look at his brother, certain that he would find some trickery there like Dermot plotting his escape. It was the oldest trick in the book and the brilliant businessman had fallen for it!
The moment’s lapse moved Niall’s shoulder and upper arm directly into Craig’s eyeline and gave him the disabling shot. A double tap and the detective had shot out the ulnar nerve at Canavan’s inner elbow, paralysing his grip and making the machete fall from his hand. Forcing through the pain Niall swooped down and grabbed for the knife with his other hand, only to find that his brother had already slipped from his grasp and kicked it away before he could get a grip.
Before the siblings’ positions could be reversed Kyle and Andy cuffed them both, leaving Liam to say, “nice shot”, his eyes still locked on the now surrendering Max.
The teenager had seen his boss and troops being handcuffed and knew that there was no way to escape, so he had grudgingly dropped his gun to the ground and raised his hands, leaving Joey Parfitt, watching from his hidey hole at the end of the mud track, to give a quiet cheer of, “well done, Harry”, for his friend sticking to his word.
It was a short trek back to Liam’s car with Dermot and Niall’s heir apparent, to convene at Castlederg Station, while Niall himself was carted off to the local emergency department to get patched up.
The machete travelled with Craig; he wanted Des to test it urgently for DNA to see if it was the same knife that had severed the deer heads.
****
Dublin Airport Hotel. Thursday. 4 a.m.
Ellie Rawlings gazed sadly at her three children and then continued packing their small bags, knowing that in ten minutes time their taxi to the terminal would arrive and the chances of Dermot appearing by then were getting less and less. Perhaps he’d just gone straight to the airport and would meet them in the departure lounge?
Ninety minutes later she had her answer, when they were climbing the airplane steps with Dermot still nowhere to be seen, altering her hope for his departure to a different one, that he was safe. Surely Niall wouldn’t have hurt him for leaving? Even he could understand love. But even as the young mother thought it she knew that it wasn’t true; Niall was severely damaged, otherwise he could never have done the things that he had.
She adjusted her two elder children’s seat belts and sat down with her baby on her lap, biting back her tears. They had to be her priority now; Dermot would join them when he could. She focused on the aircrew doing their pre-flight checks, forcing the caveat, if he’s still alive, from her mind.
Ellie had no idea that her lover was safe, yes, but locked in a police cell, and that it might be years before he would see her or his daughter again. She also had no idea how lucky it was that she’d taken the first flight out that morning, before Davy’s information had finally been passed to the airport’s security staff, its delay courtesy of an official’s inefficient work. Another hour or two and Eleanor Rawlings wouldn’t have escaped. She would have gone to prison and her children to foster care, perhaps even to be preyed upon someday by people like the Canavan brothers and her.
****
The C.C.U. Thursday. 8.30 a.m.
“Aye, well, all’s well that ends well.”
Craig commented without looking up from his newspaper. “Shakespeare or Fortune Cookie?”
Liam shook his head. “Neither. My Aunt Kathleen. She had loads of expressions like that. Like this one – ‘You’re talking like a penny-book full of pictures’. That means you’re talking rubbish.”
Definitely not Shakespeare that time.
“Or my favourite – ‘You must have been vaccinated with a gramophone needle’. That means you talk too much.”
“I’m guessing you heard that one a lot.”
While Liam was working out whether he’d just been insulted Craig folded up his Belfast Chronicle, which thankfully had nipped its child murderer story in the bud. He set it down on his desk with a sigh.
“It hasn’t all ended well though, has it? Ellie Rawlings has disappeared to who knows where, and it looks like Dermot will never give her up.”
Liam shrugged.
“Aye, well, everything’s relative, isn’t it. Personally, I think we did pretty damn brilliantly. We’ve matched Canavan’s knife to the decapitation marks on the heads, although his old man must have killed the first five. Joey Parfitt’s safe and Aunt Josie’s offered to have him for holidays and weekends. We saved a whole county from irradiation. Niall’s going down for murder and his wee brother for drug dealing and kidnapping, and the lost boys will soon be back home.”
Craig made a face. “Those that actually have homes. I can’t help feeling that we’ve just broken up the only family that some of them had ever known.”
The D.C.I. scoffed at him. “So? What? You think we should have left them in the lodge to carry on with their mischief? Some of those wee bastards killed people, remember, and we won’t even know how many until the ground radar’s finished its search.”
The truth of it made Craig frown. They had no way of proving which boys had been involved in the murders and which hadn’t, the closest that they could get was confirming who’d been present, from the prints inside the deer heads and the blond hair that Des had found, which he had proved belonged to Max Legge. There would be charges brought against him for pulling a gun at least, but beyond that, well, the prosecutors would have to decide whether being present at a murder scene was enough to send any of the teenagers away.
His preference would be therapy for the kids, some of whom Aidan had confirmed demonstrated the mindless obedience found in cult members, and to pin every dead body that they discovered on Niall Canavan. He was hopeful that the PPS would concur.
Craig’s expression turned grim. “I’ll feel a lot better once Davy gets our two victims ID-ed.”
“That’s if he can. There are an awful lot of missing kids to compare them to.”
The discussion was cut short by the office door opening and Nicky flouncing in.
Craig raised an eyebrow at the drama of her entrance, but the only thing he said was, “Yes?”
“They want both of you down at court today. Rowan Drake’s called you to testify out of sequence.”
Craig’s groan was even louder than his deputy’s.
“Damn! I was planning a quiet day to write up my report.”
The PA had no sympathy for him. “I plan quiet days all the time and you two mess them up.”
Craig waved her out before he said something rude, and then called after her.
“Tell the court we’ll be down after lunch, Nicky. And get everyone together for a briefing in ten, please. We-”
Just then Andy stuck his head around the office door. “Drama classes!”
Craig was shocked when Liam immediately blushed. His deputy was treading the boards on his nights off! An image of Laurel and Hardy sprang instantly sprang to mind.
Andy saw the blush too and practically did a jig in the doorway. “I knew it! I knew it!” He turned towards the main office and shouted, “THAT’S TEN QUID YOU OWE ME, HUGHES. IT’S DRAMA!”
<
br /> At the sight of Liam’s darkening expression he belted towards the exit with the deputy hurtling after him, leaving the remainder of Craig’s sentence, “-need to tie up some loose ends on the Canavans”, falling on thin air.
He suddenly realised that he had a loose end of his own to tidy too and lifted the phone to call Katy.
“Hi, pet. I forgot to tell you. Luce and Ken have got engaged, and Mum’s throwing a little celebration for them tomorrow night. Can you come?”
There was total silence, and for a moment he thought that she hadn’t heard. When the medic finally spoke, Craig once again failed to see the signs.
“I’m on duty.”
It was a stark statement; no “sorry”, or “I wish I could be there”.
The detective blundered on regardless, completely missing the undertone.
“Couldn’t you swop with someone? I’d really love you there.”
Would you, Marc? And if so why? So that I can celebrate someone else’s commitment with you, knowing as I did that you’re just thrilled that it will get your mother off your back.
That wasn’t what Katy said of course, her upbringing and personality combining to make it painful for her to be rude. Instead she just said, “I’ll try”, and then added, “I must go.”
Go and cry because of the way you’ve just broken the news of someone else’s engagement to me, Marc, with no insight into the fact that marriage is something that I might want myself. And then cry even harder because it would never occur to you to propose it, because you’re quite happy with the status quo that you’ve had for years.
As Craig left his office to begin the briefing he had absolutely no idea that his future happiness was hanging by a thread.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Craigs’ House. Holywood, County Down. Friday 11 p.m.
By eleven o’clock the engagement dinner had finished, and everyone was well on their way to getting merry on the magnum of champagne that Craig had brought. Lucia’s ring had been admired many times over, and her brother’s quip that, “doesn’t equality mean you should buy Ken a diamond too?” had been rewarded with the playful whack that he knew it had deserved. The mood was so upbeat that when Mirella began playing the piano and everyone started singing enthusiastically, accompanied by the howls of Murphy their Labrador, Craig was surprised to see his father beckon him into the garden. Perhaps he wanted to smoke a cigar? A rare indulgence since his heart attack five years before, and one that he would always have to conceal from his sharp-eyed wife.
The Running of the Deer Page 37
