by Derek Fee
‘Nice to have met you, Moira. It was a rocky start, but I think we’ll get on like a house on fire.’
Moira glanced at DC Siobhan O’Neill, who was shuffling paper nervously. ‘Sorry about the inconvenience, sir, but I’m sure you understand.’
‘Of course I do, you have a good day now.’
As soon as Duane left, she nodded at Graham. ‘Fancy a coffee in the cafeteria, Harry?’
He recognised an order when he saw one and rose from his seat. ‘I’d love one.’
O’Neill watched them leave the squad room together. She hadn’t taken to Moira. Something about her was unsettling. Maybe it was the way she always seemed to watch and listen more than anyone else. She wondered whether Moira had copped her unease when Duane approached them. She trusted him to keep his mouth shut, if only to protect the boss.
Half a dozen other officers were seated in the cafeteria. ‘I’ll get the coffees,’ Moira said and nodded at a table well away from the others.
Graham sat down and Moira joined him with two steaming cups of coffee. ‘What’s with this Duane guy?’ she asked when they were settled.
‘He’s a cross between a copper and a spook from down south. He and the boss have gotten tight lately. I haven’t had anything to do with him and I’m happy enough for that.’ He felt Moira’s eyes boring into him. He’d forgotten how intense she was. He wondered if she was ever off the job. ‘I can tell you one thing, I wouldn’t like to meet him in a dark alley.’
‘They’ve worked some cases together?’
‘You know the boss, he keeps his cards close to his chest. I think they’ve teamed up on one or two investigations; they certainly worked together on the Aughnacloy business when that gang over there shot Jock McDevitt.’ He sipped his coffee.
Moira made a mental note to look up the recent cases. ‘Is there any reason O’Neill should feel uneasy around him?’
‘Not that I know of. You’re a woman, does he give off a bad vibe?’
‘I think he’d go after anything in a skirt, but he didn’t creep me out.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘Did you notice that the boss is wearing his gun?’
‘I saw him load it up yesterday.’
‘Anything I should know about?’
‘Not that I’m aware.’
‘Anything to do with Peter Davidson?’
‘I think so. The guy the boss thinks assaulted him has disappeared. We’ve put out a bulletin on him and launched a European arrest warrant.’
Moira sat back. She smelled trouble, but it was clearly something that Wilson wanted to keep to himself and possibly his new best buddy. She had only just met Duane, but if she were in trouble, she reckoned he’d be the man she’d want in her corner. She wanted to help Wilson but would not push herself forward. ‘How are the kids getting on?’
Graham sighed with relief. Nobody liked being the subject of a Moira McElvaney probing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Browne used his finger to remove the rheum from the corner of his eye. He’d woken at two-thirty in the morning and found it impossible to get back to sleep. That wasn’t the norm. He had the reputation of being able to sleep on a bed of nails. He’d lain awake wondering what was on his mind that refused to allow him to sleep. He finally decided that it had something to do with the conversation he’d had with Charles Heavey. Maybe he’d been too offhand in dismissing him. One friend going missing was possible. Two might be too much of a coincidence. It was worth checking out. Once he decided to act, he was able to get a couple of hours’ sleep. He then rose early and was at the station before any other member of the squad arrived. He looked up the file on Roger Whyte and saw it comprised only one item, the missing person’s report. The name of the officer investigating was included and as he had expected he was in Musgrave Street. He left a message at the desk that he had some business to transact outside.
Browne headed into town and picked up a coffee and a Danish pastry. He made his way to Donegall Quay, where he sat on a bench and enjoyed his breakfast in the bright sunshine. It was a beautiful morning and he had to force himself to get up and walk around the corner to Musgrave Street Station.
He showed his warrant card when checking in at the desk and asked for DC Stuart Ward. The CID squad room on the second floor was more than double the size of the Murder Squad room at Tennent Street. He asked for Ward and was pointed towards an overweight, bald, middle-aged man with the kind of moustache that had gone out in the seventies and never come back. Ward’s desk was in the corner of the room. He walked over and introduced himself. Ward tilted his chair back and emitted a loud fart. ‘What can I do for you?’
Browne assumed the fart was a reflection of Ward’s contempt for a senior officer who was twenty years his junior. He tried not to breathe. If bottled, Ward’s farts would breach some UN convention or other. ‘You’re the officer responsible for looking into the disappearance of Roger Whyte. I was wondering how the investigation is going.’
Frown lines stood out on Ward’s fleshy face. ‘Where did you say you were from?’
‘The Murder Squad, Tennent Street.’
‘Has Whyte’s body been found?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Then why are you so interested in him?’
‘I have a friend who’s worried about him.’
Ward stroked his double chin. ‘What kind of friend?’
‘I don’t think that’s relevant.’
‘You have shirt-lifter personal friends?’
‘I have lots of personal friends. Has there been any advancement on the investigation into Whyte’s disappearance?’
‘There’s no advancement. A couple of uniforms dropped by his place, but there was no answer. They asked the neighbours. It seems Whyte led what they called an active social life. There were people dropping by and he liked to take long holidays from time to time. Those kind of people are often like that.’
‘What kind of people are they?’
‘Mr Whyte was a well-known homosexual. Maybe he went off to live in a gay commune in California. They do things like that.’
Browne was getting irate. He didn’t see much point in continuing. ‘What do you intend to do about his disappearance?’
‘Most of them turn up sooner or later.’ Ward turned back to his computer. ‘Tell your friend that he’ll probably arrive home unscathed one of these days.’
Browne stormed out before he said something unpleasant. On the way, he received some curious looks from the officers he passed.
Zero effort had been spent on finding out what had happened to Whyte. The poor man might have fallen off a bridge into the Lagan and nobody in the PSNI gave a damn. And that appeared to count double because he was gay.
As Browne returned to Tennent Street, he saw DCI Duane climbing into the rear of a white van. There was an empty seat beside the driver, but he knew Duane was more than an ordinary copper so he accepted it as strange rather than unusual.
He was glad to see that Wilson was alone in his office and O’Neill was the only other person present in the squad room. He knocked on Wilson’s door.
Wilson was removing his shoulder holster and thinking about what Duane had told him. He motioned Browne to enter and take a seat. ‘What’s the problem?’
Browne told him about his conversation with Heavey and his epiphany in the middle of the night, and about his visit to Musgrave Street and his encounter with Ward.
‘What did you expect?’ Wilson said. ‘Last year, the Police Ombudsman examined the PSNI’s response to missing people and declared it woeful. He examined six cases in detail and more than fifty serving officers were disciplined. Maybe your guy Ward was among them. They tend to wait until someone returns home, or a corpse is found.’
‘I got the impression that Whyte’s sexual orientation played a part in the decision to do nothing this time.’
‘I can see the lack of competence, and that’s already been established, but I think your paranoia might be showing now. Why should sexua
l orientation matter?’
‘Because many people in Northern Ireland still dismiss homosexuals as evil sodomites. At least, that’s what the clergy preach from the pulpits every Sunday.’
‘That may be so, but following up on a missing person isn’t any of our business and we have enough to be going on with at the moment. Keep an eye on it and if it becomes our business, we’ll deal with it then.’
‘Okay, boss.’ Browne stood up and went to the door. ‘But I have a strange feeling about this one. I’ve never woken up in the middle of the night like that before.’
‘Welcome to the club.’
CHAPTER NINE
Wilson reflected on his discussion with Duane. The fact that a contract killer was sitting in a car fifty yards away from the station convinced him that he was in mortal danger this time. He was already unable to sleep and had found himself searching every strange face he encountered. He rubbed his hands on his trousers. It was a fine summer’s morning but not yet warm enough to warrant the sweat on his palms. He’d stood up to murderers before; men who would have slit his throat as quick as look at him. And he had been scared witless. Anyone who said that they hadn’t felt fear when their life was threatened was a either a liar or a fool. There was a lot of life left in him and he didn’t want it taken away. He understood why Reid wanted to run, but that was just one option he was looking at right now.
He had a good idea who was behind the plot. All the dots were in place and he had already joined them. The initial meeting with the hitman was held in the south of France and that’s where Helen McCann lives. Davidson had got them close to putting the cuffs on her. She would have felt the cold wind blowing around her ankles. Hiring a hitman was exactly the reaction he expected from McCann. She wasn’t the type who took prisoners. She had demonstrated her ruthlessness. The question was: what to do about it? He could take Reid’s advice and run with her to California. She would earn the big bucks and he would be the house-husband. He might not enjoy the lack of gainful employment, but at least he would be alive. The other option would be to stay and fight. He agreed with Duane that the fight option would end with someone in a body bag. He had a choice to make. Once the dice rolled, however, there would be no going back; the decision would create its own dynamic.
He’d never run from anything in his life. In both sport and career, he had jumped at every challenge. But that was when he was young and naive, and when he felt he was immortal. He thought about Reid. He wanted so much to spend the rest of his life with her. No one would blame him if he submitted his resignation and left Belfast. He wasn’t sure that the PSNI was something that he wanted to give up his life for. But if he ran, he would have to spend the rest of his life knowing that he hadn’t stood up when it counted. It was not a decision to make in haste. He saw that Moira had returned and that she was staring at him. He motioned her to come.
‘What’s up, boss?’
There was no point in bullshitting her. ‘We have a little situation at the moment.’ He saw the look on her face and knew that she was about to speak. ‘No, it’s nothing that you can help with. Something has come up on the investigation that Peter was handling. It nearly got him killed and I don’t want to involve you until I know that it’s safe.’
‘Boss, you know I look up to you a lot. We all do. But if you have a fault, it’s that you take on too much yourself. I saw the expressions earlier on your and Duane’s faces and both of you are strong individuals. So I know that something bad is going down.’
‘We’ll sort it out. If I need your help, I’ll ask.’ He needed to move away from his predicament. ‘How are things going on the review of the Helen’s Bay investigation?’
‘I went there yesterday evening and looked at the site. I was wondering why the killer chose that place to torch the car. Few people would have known about the turnoff onto Coastguard Avenue. Maybe he lived around there at some point in his life. There was no CCTV, but I learned that people sometimes fly drones in that area so maybe someone was out that day. It’s unlikely, but I’m contacting drone clubs in the area. Most of them have websites and if they agree to put up a post asking members whether they were in the area that day, we might get a strike.’
He looked at her with admiration. She was a wet week back in the job and already she had opened two new lines of inquiry. She might nail Best and Hills, but he wouldn’t count on it. ‘Keep it up. You’ll get him.’
Moira stood. ‘You are one of the most frustrating men I’ve ever met. You and that Duane character still live in the world where the guys would handle it. That might be a mistake.’
She left the office and he sat back in his chair. It was typical Moira. She was right. The organisation he joined prized machismo. Maybe it was time he and it evolved.
CHAPTER TEN
Moira settled herself at a table just inside the door of McHugh’s on Queen’s Square. She ordered a tonic water and had just been served when Stephanie Reid entered.
‘Sorry,’ Reid sat down and picked up a menu. ‘I’d hoped to get away a little earlier. It’s a busy day. I was a little surprised when you invited me to lunch. I guessed it was urgent though. We’ve been getting along well since your return from the US, but lunching together is ratcheting the relationship up to another level.’
They both laughed.
‘How are you settling in?’ Reid asked. The waitress arrived and she ordered a sparkling water.
‘Okay, I suppose. It’s not the same. A lot of the old crew are gone and so I’m trying to build a bond with the new recruits. But I’ll get there.’
There was a silence as they examined the lunch menu. The waitress returned with Reid’s drink and they both ordered the boxty and haddock.
‘Cheers,’ Reid raised her glass.
Moira touched her glass to Reid’s.
‘What’s the subject?’ Reid asked.
Moira smiled. It was so like Reid to get to the point quickly. She hadn’t been too keen on her at the start. Wilson had been involved with Kate McCann when Moira joined the squad. Moira was a working-class girl and she was in awe of Kate, the Queen’s Council, who always wore beautiful clothes and had the bearing that the privileged wear so well. She’d seen Reid as a man-eater out to lure Wilson away from his intended partner. Maybe her response to Reid was driven by a desire to protect Wilson, or maybe there was a bit of jealousy in there. But that was back then and Kate McCann was history. Reid was a far better fit for Wilson than the aristocratic Kate. ‘Something is going on that the boss wants to keep me out of. I was wondering whether you’d tell me what it is.’
‘How do you know that I’m aware of what it is?’
‘You care for the boss and you’d be the first to notice if there was a problem.’
‘What if he wouldn’t like me to tell you what I know? Wouldn’t he have told you himself if he wanted you to know?’
The two dishes arrived.
‘He’s wearing a gun,’ Moira said. ‘So whatever the secret is, it’s dangerous. A guy called Jack Duane stopped by the office this morning. He gives off a dodgy vibe. He and the boss discussed something that looked super-serious. They probably don’t think so but maybe they need some help.’
‘You’re putting me in a difficult position.’ Reid picked at her food. You and I didn’t get off to a good start. And I’d be lying if I said that I was unhappy went you headed west with your boyfriend. But I know you care about Ian and that you’re totally loyal. And I also know that he wouldn’t appreciate me telling you something that he wouldn’t tell you himself.’
‘I was wrong about you and the boss and I’m happy to admit it. You’re good together. I don’t want you to break a confidence, but I think the boss is in danger and I want to help.’
‘Someone has taken out a contract on Ian’s life. A hitman has been employed and I feel that things are coming to a head.’
Moira’s fork stopped in mid-air. ‘You’re joking?’
‘I don’t joke where Ian’s life is concerned.’
Moira raised the fork to her mouth and chewed without tasting the food. ‘Does he have any idea who placed the contract?’
‘I think so. It has something to do with the investigation that Peter Davidson was working on.’
‘And how does Duane figure in all this?’
‘He was the first to get wind of the conspiracy. The hitman is someone that Dublin has an eye on because of his connection to a drugs gang. Jack passed the intelligence to PSNI Castlereagh but you know what that means.’
‘Jennings?’
Reid nodded. ‘I want Ian to resign. My mother died recently and left me a small house in Santa Monica. A hospital in Los Angeles has offered me a job. So we could leave tomorrow.’
Moira was still trying to assimilate the fact that Wilson’s life was in danger and now there was the possibility that he would simply resign and run away. ‘Maybe that won’t be enough.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you think they won’t follow him to the US? Someone wants the boss dead. He knows something that’s clearly a risk for someone important. Perhaps they won’t rest until he’s in the ground.’
‘Really? I assumed that once he was out of Northern Ireland, he would be safe. I can see that assumption might have been false.’ Reid closed her cutlery and abandoned her lunch. ‘Now you know, what do you intend to do?’
‘I don’t know, but I won’t sit on my hands.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Wilson spent the afternoon in the office trying to work out a plan that might have a chance of succeeding. Duane was sure that this Brennan guy would be into heavy weaponry. That meant something like an Uzi or an AK-47. He needed to choose a place where there were no civilians. If he had to die, he wasn’t about to take a bunch of innocents with him. That meant an enclosed area that he knew and where there was no chance of bystanders. He had considered a half-dozen potential sites, but they all failed on one or other of the criteria he had set. He took out a map of Belfast. There had to be somewhere. It came to him, the warehouse in East Belfast where Sammy Rice had met his end. It would be ironic if he were to meet his own end there. He called Duane.