Cold in the Soul

by Derek Fee

  ‘I have a terrible feeling that Roger has been the victim of foul play.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll have one of my colleagues check the hospitals tomorrow. My boss has told me to keep away from the investigation and leave it up to Missing Persons. So, I must keep him in the dark about this and that might lead to trouble down the line.’

  ‘I understand that I’m putting you in a difficult position, but I’m really concerned for Roger.’

  ‘We’ll check the hospitals then we’ll see.’

  ‘What about Vincent? I’m concerned for him as well.’

  ‘Vincent can wait. Let’s see if we can find Whyte first.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Contrary to popular belief, police forces are not thrilled when one of their officers kills a successful hitman in a shoot-out. That was why Wilson, Duane and Moira were occupying adjoining interview rooms in Strandtown Police Station. The van driver had been taken to Musgrave Street and a forensic team was examining the warehouse. The PSNI’s Manual of Policy, Procedure and Guidance on Conflict Management sets out in Chapter 9 the rules with respect to police use of firearms. Wilson knew well that officers were not permitted to roam around with an issued weapon like the Glock, shooting it off at will. As a senior and long-serving officer, he knew the regulations by heart. He realised there would now be an investigation into the shooting, and the Police Ombudsman’s Office would carry it out. He was relieved that it wouldn’t be an internal investigation because that might involve DCC Jennings and the outcome might not be as impartial as he would wish. The major issue in his favour was that he hadn’t dealt the cards but was instead reacting to a threat to his person. That issue was covered in the manual and the fact he was an intended murder victim would help his case. What might not be so favourable was that someone might easily deduce that he had lured the potential murderer to the warehouse intending to have a shoot-out. The presence of Duane on the upper floor would lend credence to that theory. However, he knew they would send Duane on his way to Dublin post-haste, and his whole involvement in what happened in the warehouse would be erased. You couldn’t have a Garda detective involved in a shoot-out in Belfast. What about Moira? She was carrying a gun but hadn’t fired it. If she explained that she was following her boss and came upon the murderer and his quartermaster by accident, she might skate with a reprimand for having the weapon on her person. That left him. He would be the man at the investigation’s centre and he would have to get his story straight and stick to it.

  The door to the room opened and Chief Superintendent Stuart Upton entered, carrying two plastic cups.

  ‘Where do they get the water from?’ Upton put the two cups down quickly on the table. ‘You’d need special gloves to carry those cups, they have my hands burned off.’

  Wilson had met Upton on a management course and liked him. He was a big, bluff, no-nonsense copper. He looked into the cup and saw milky tea. ‘I hope it’s better than the slop in Tennent Street.’

  Upton sat down across from him. ‘Fat chance of that. Give it time to cool though.’ He stared into Wilson’s eyes. ‘You’ll be keeping the lights burning late at HQ this evening. I’ve had a call from your chief super. I’ve never heard that level of concern from a superior for a subordinate. What the hell sort of effect do you have on these women? Whatever it is, bottle it and sell it. Davis has the reputation of being a ballbreaker, except with you.’

  Wilson tested the tea. It was hot and slop. He’d already called Reid and given her a potted version of the event. He hadn’t been able to work out whether she was relieved or not, given the tirade she’d launched at him, but he knew she’d be worrying about him. ‘How long will I be here?’

  ‘Until they tell me that you can go.’ Upton sipped his tea. ‘They have to work out whether you created a shit-storm, or whether it’s something they can spin positively. I can just imagine the lads over in the media centre trying to write the press release.’

  ‘It was a good shoot-out. They’ll find out he shot first and he had a bloody AK-47.’

  ‘Not my business. I’m not supposed to question you. That comes later. In fact, nobody is supposed to talk to you about what happened until someone at HQ works out what did happen first, if you know what I mean.’

  Wilson nodded. A story was being constructed.

  ‘I’m here as a colleague to have a cup of tea with you, but if you’d care to tell me a story while we enjoy our tea then I’m up for listening.’

  Wilson started his story at the point where he heard that someone had concluded a contract for his assassination and continued to the shoot-out in the warehouse.

  Upton listened attentively. ‘Hell of a story. You’re bloody lucky to have come out of that one alive. I won’t ask how you got yourself into the situation where someone wants you dead. You must have pissed them off rightly. Maybe they’ll have another go?’

  ‘I don’t think so. What’s happening with Duane and my sergeant?’

  ‘We’re going to pack your sergeant off home as soon as she’s made and signed a statement. She’s had a bit of help from her federation representative.’

  ‘What about Duane?’

  Upton shook his head. ‘Don’t know any Duane. Apparently, there was a guy in the warehouse though when the shoot-out started.’ He looked at his watch. ‘But he was released five minutes ago.’

  ‘So, I’m here alone.’

  ‘Until Media Affairs comes up with a statement. I understand the chief constable will be wanting a word when he’s free. I don’t know whether that will be here or at HQ. You’re a lucky man, Ian, in lots of ways. You’ve a few enemies but a lot of friends.’

  ‘Thanks, Stuart. Could you try to pressure them at HQ? My partner is waiting at home and eager to give me hell.’

  Upton went to the door and opened it. ‘She has that reputation.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The door didn’t open again for more than an hour. When it did, the man who entered was Chief Constable Norman Baird, dressed in full uniform. He took off his cap and put it on the table before sitting down. Wilson stood and Baird waved him back to his seat.

  ‘No formalities,’ Baird said. ‘Are you a student of history?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘There was a famous Irish general in the French Army called Marshal McMahon. Louis the fourteenth was reviewing his Irish troops and he turned to McMahon and said, “My Irish troops give me more trouble than the rest of the French Army.” McMahon is supposed to have replied, “The enemy has the same complaint.” You no doubt understand the link. You give me more trouble than all my senior officers, but I reckon the criminals might have the same complaint. Having said that, I’m getting a little tired of having to save your bacon.’

  ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘I don’t believe a word of it. And don’t put on an innocent face, it doesn’t become you. The DCC is having an orgasm at HQ because he believes you’ve really done it this time. All the same, I bet you have a way of slipping the noose. And it’ll have something to do with that pal of yours from Dublin. I have half an hour, so no bullshit, just tell me the real story.’

  Wilson began. ‘DCI Jack Duane of the Garda Special Branch received information that someone had put out a contract on the life of a PSNI officer and, following your own logic, he reckoned it might be me.’ Wilson continued for the next twenty-five minutes describing exactly what had happened and leaving nothing out.

  ‘What did you do to justify such attention? Anything to do with your run-in with Pratley and the Drugs Squad?’

  ‘It isn’t Best’s style. He wouldn’t shit on his own doorstep. I have my suspicions, sir, but I’d like to keep them to myself for the moment.’

  ‘What if they try again?’

  ‘I can’t say for certain, but I think they’ll reflect on what happened today and decide that it’s better to avoid a replay, for the moment at least.’

  ‘But you can’t guarantee it.’

  ‘No, I can’t guarante
e it.’

  ‘And it’s something I shouldn’t know about.’

  Wilson nodded.

  Baird took out a folded sheet of A4 paper from his pocket and handed it to Wilson. ‘That’s the statement we intend to put out. Too many people know about the shooting to deny that it ever happened.’

  Wilson read the statement. It was a typical Media Affairs production. A senior police officer had been the subject of an assassination attempt in Belfast. Shots were exchanged and the assassin fled. The theory was that a dissident republican group was responsible for the attack. Wilson handed the paper back. ‘That should do it. What about my sergeant?’

  ‘She was never there. By the way, she’s waiting outside the station. I’ve also had several calls from Chief Superintendent Davis. There are many people who envy the loyalty you engender in your colleagues. As for Duane, he should be back in Dublin by now, where his bosses are waiting to give him a rocket up the arse. The deceased has been packed up and will be found dead somewhere outside Dublin tomorrow. It’s handy they’re having a drugs war down there at the moment. He’ll be just another casualty. So the whole mess is being cleaned up and that only leaves your date with the Police Ombudsman’s Office. You can’t avoid it and I’m sure you can handle it.’ He stood up and picked up his hat. ‘I’m late for a dinner engagement, but I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. You’re free to leave.’

  ‘What about the DCC?’

  ‘Pity, he’ll have to get over it. For some people, orgasms are all too short. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.’

  They went to the door together. ‘Is that son of yours bulking up?’ Wilson said.

  ‘He’s in the gym every day.’

  Wilson saw Moira’s jalopy sitting by the kerb. He walked over, opened the passenger door and sat in ‘Take me back to my car. It should be still parked outside the warehouse.’

  The starting motor ground, the gears squealed and the car jolted forward.

  ‘What am I to do with you?’ he said as soon as they were in motion.

  ‘I was having your back.’

  ‘Duane had my back.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘But you knew something was going down. Who told you?’

  There was silence in the car.

  ‘I need to know,’ he said. ‘No repercussions.’

  ‘I had lunch with Reid. My fault, I invited her. She was beside herself with worry.’ She came to a stop behind his car.

  He opened the door and turned to face her. ‘Thanks for the lift. See you tomorrow.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Reid was waiting for him at the door of the apartment. He assumed Moira had called ahead to let her know he was on his way. She tried to punch him, but he caught her arms and held her. They had had passionate kisses before, but the kiss that Reid planted on his lips contained more than passion. He sensed the relief and he wasn’t about to tell her that it might be short-lived. The adrenaline rush was quite a few hours ago and he was now suffering the down after the high.

  She broke the kiss and held his head in her hands. ‘You look tired.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say no to a drink.’

  Reid walked to the drinks cabinet and poured a large whiskey and a gin and tonic.

  Wilson collapsed onto the couch. ‘It’s been a long and trying day.’

  She left their drinks on the coffee table and sat down beside him. ‘What will they do now?’

  They sat holding each other and he told her about his meeting with Baird.

  ‘So you’re not suspended?’

  ‘No, but there’s an element at HQ who’d like to see that.’

  ‘But the threat is over?’

  For now, he thought as he nodded his head.

  ‘The next time something like this happens, you’re resigning. You might have been killed.’ She hugged him.

  That was their plan, he thought. Peter Davidson had got too close. So now they knew he was coming for them, Brennan’s attempt on his life might not be the last. They had far too much to lose. It wasn’t only the war chest they had built up using Carson Nominees and God only knew what other financial vehicles, it was also the corruption they had fostered and the murders they had organised. While bringing down Helen McCann would remove one block from the edifice, it might not bring down the whole rotten cabal. Most citizens lived their lives without ever seeing or feeling the cancer that was taking place around them. Davidson was ninety per cent of the way to proving that Helen McCann had ordered Jackie Carlisle’s death. That had made Davidson a target. But McCann also knew it was him who was behind Davidson’s investigation. He tried to put the whole mess out of his mind and enjoy the moment with the woman he loved. He picked up his drink and noticed that his hands were shaking.

  Reid was watching. ‘It’s the adrenaline. It’s left your body and your mind is confronted with the enormity of what happened in the warehouse.’

  ‘I think I might have killed a man.’

  ‘Or maybe Jack did.’

  ‘I need to know. They’ll dig the slugs out during the autopsy.’

  She stroked his cheek. ‘He was trying to kill you. What you did was self-defence.’

  Had he lured Brennan to the warehouse to kill him or just to stop him from killing? He couldn’t answer that question yet. For now, he was either a cold-blooded killer or a copper defending his life.

  It wasn’t Jack Duane’s first time being hauled over the coals. Chief Superintendent Nolan was red-faced and spitting expletives faster than his lips could move. He was in such a rage that once or twice he nearly lost his dentures. Duane sat rigid before him. He knew that Nolan had had a dressing down from the Justice Minister and was passing the kick to the rightful miscreant. The problem was that Duane didn’t give a damn about the kick. He’d enjoyed the shoot-out so much he would take half a dozen kicks. He lived for the adrenaline. He wasn’t the kind of copper who hid in the office filling out forms. He’d taken a killer off the board today and in doing so he had sent a message. Some unfortunate rambler would find Brennan’s body in a lane in north County Dublin tomorrow morning. The media would report the death as part of the ongoing tit-for-tat drug murders that plagued the city. But the players would know that Jack Duane had taken out Philly Brennan, and that was what mattered.

  Nolan was running out of puff like a fire that flames and then dies. He slumped back in his chair. ‘Fuck you, Jack, you’re going to be the death of me. Either that or you’re going to get me fired. Some days I wonder if you’re worth the trouble.’

  ‘Think positively. Another scumbag is out of the picture. We haven’t made Ireland great again, but we have made the place a bit safer.’

  ‘You’re getting too close to that northern copper.’

  ‘Probably.’ Wilson wasn’t the only northern copper he was getting close to. Yvonne Davis had called him twice on his way back to Dublin. The first call to make sure he was okay, and the second to tell him that everything in Belfast was arranged. Life had taught him to be unemotional, and while her concern touched him, he wasn’t sure how to deal with the fact that she cared for him. For him, it was all about the sex. He was an adrenaline junkie, excitement was his drug. He looked at the pale-faced man across the desk, who probably couldn’t even spell the word ‘excitement’. The highlight of Nolan’s life was when his village team scored a goal against their local rivals. He stood. ‘I’m tired. It’s been a bruising day. I think I’ll have two pints and then go to bed. You should do the same. It will prepare you for whatever fuck-up I get involved in tomorrow.’

  Moira forked a mouthful of microwaved chicken madras into her mouth. She tried not to look at her new surroundings, which would send the most cheerful person into a fit of depression. Her old flat had been cosy, whereas this dump would need a make-over just to make it habitable. She didn’t need to stay here. She had a cheque in her possession for the sum of ten thousand dollars. Frank Shea had sent it to her as a thank you for keeping him out of jail. Mayb
e she would never cash it. She didn’t help Frank for the money. She finished her meal and deposited its plastic container in the trash. She wasn’t sorry that she’d followed Wilson to the warehouse, but she didn’t like having to shop Reid. Her mind was full of questions. Had she been right to come back to Belfast? Why does the grass always seem greener on the other side of the hill for some people? And why did she have to be one of those people?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Browne was at the station early. He wanted to be there when O’Neill arrived so he could get her working on a background profile for Roger Whyte. He hadn’t slept well again. It bothered him that he’d ignored Wilson’s instruction and was running his own private investigation. He wished Heavey hadn’t involved him. So what if Vincent Carmody and Roger Whyte were missing? Knowing Vinny, they had probably gone off together, especially if Roger had money. Browne never wanted to see Vinny again, and yet he’d gone with Heavey to Whyte’s flat. That had been a huge mistake. Why had he allowed himself to be drawn into Heavey’s paranoia? Breaking and entering Whyte’s flat had produced nothing. There wasn’t any blood lying around and apparently nothing was missing. People vanish every day for many different reasons.

  He let O’Neill sit down before he approached her desk. ‘I need a favour.’

  ‘Fire away.’ O’Neill switched on her computer.

  ‘I need you to do a background profile on a Roger Whyte with an address in Elmwood Mews.’

  ‘Anything in particular?’

  ‘Everything you can find. Is financial information out of the question?’

  ‘Bank stuff, yes, but I can check things like credit rating.’

  ‘Just get me everything you can.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Also, can you check with the hospitals across the province to see if either Whyte or a Vincent Carmody have been admitted recently?’