by Derek Fee
Wilson hit the A1 and sped south towards Hillsborough. The business with McIver had been a monumental cock-up, but it paled into insignificance when compared with what they were facing now. Despite any extenuating circumstances, the buck stopped with him. If it hadn’t been for Moira, he would be at home enjoying a meal with Reid. Unaware that one of his sergeants was in a life-threatening situation and that his own career would be heading for the toilet with DCC Jennings’ hand on the flush. Maybe management was his Achilles heel. He knew he was a good detective, he could plod through the evidence with the best of them, but was that enough for someone in his position? If he had so little awareness of what was going on with his team members, maybe he shouldn’t be their leader.
Wilson went so close to the car in front that Moira jumped. There wasn’t the width of a small coin between the two cars as Wilson flew by.
‘Take it easy, boss. We won’t be much use to Rory if we’re lying in a ditch on the side of the road.’
‘I want to skin the stupid bastard.’
‘He had his motives and we should try to understand them.’
That was the kind of empathy he lacked. Browne was doing something so untypical of the man. He’d proved that he is clever and now he’s being stupid, and probably a little heroic, and it could get him killed.
Moira’s mobile rang and she answered immediately. She listened for a moment and then turned to Wilson. ‘Rory’s phone signal has disappeared.’
Wilson floored the accelerator.
Timoney mopped his brow and flopped into a chair. He had manhandled Rory Browne into his parents’ living room and dumped him on the floor. He looked down. Rory’s eyes were still open, staring back into his own. He knew that he could see everything and his brain was still operational at some level, but the drug had left his body paralysed. He went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. He needed to get on with business. He had a lot of digging to do. The heat had gone out of the sun but planting Rory Browne would be heavy work. He drank the water and left the glass in the sink.
Browne saw Timoney leave the room. He fought to clear his mind, but he was battling a fog that just wouldn’t lift. None of his limbs were responding. He lay awaiting his fate. Fearing his life was about to end.
Wilson was hitting the outskirts of Hillsborough. What if Browne wasn’t at the Timoney house? The phrase ‘more haste less speed’ occurred to him. No, if the rendezvous with Timoney was set for the Hillsborough area, surely his parents’ house was where he would have brought Browne.
Timoney climbed off and pulled up his zip. He looked down at the bare buttocks of another pathetic bastard. Now that he had established his power it was time to get on with erasing his victim. He picked up his mobile phone from the coffee table where he had placed it to record the performance.
A small tear crept out of Browne’s left eye.
Timoney pulled up Browne’s trousers and dragged him to the rear of the house. The wheelbarrow was waiting on the patio and he struggled to dump Browne into it. When he succeeded, he hummed to himself as he pushed the wheelbarrow down the lawn towards his mother’s rose garden.
Wilson pulled up at the electric gate. The house beyond appeared to be empty. They would have to enter the property without a warrant. But they had every right to do so since they believed that a serious crime was about to be committed. The gate was only five feet high and Wilson and Moira scaled it with ease and ran up the driveway.
‘You take the front,’ Wilson said. ‘And I’ll take the rear.’
Moira pushed the doorbell while Wilson went through a small gate at the side of the house into a large back garden. There was a patio outside the back door, which was open. Wilson entered the house and heard the bell ringing. ‘PSNI, anyone here?’ he shouted. There was no answer, so he went to the front door and opened it for Moira. ‘Check the house. I’ll take the garden.’
Moira took out her pistol and disappeared into the living room.
Wilson went back to the patio. The garden was the size of a football field. There was a large lawn area in the centre and the boundaries consisted of trees and dense foliage. He walked straight down the centre of the lawn, listening carefully as he went. As he approached the back boundary, he heard the sounds of digging and what he took to be bees humming. He walked towards the noise. Through some foliage he could see Timoney digging a hole. Then he spotted Browne lying prone in a wheelbarrow. They were too late, the stupid young bastard. Anger welled in him and he rushed forward.
Timoney tensed when he heard the bushes rustling behind him. He pivoted and saw the famous rugby guy from the press conference rushing at him. He swung the spade at his head.
Wilson went low in a perfect rugby tackle. He felt the rush of air above his head and the swish of the shovel as it flew past him. He caught Timoney around the middle and drove him into a tree at the boundary wall. The spade flew out of Timoney’s hand and Wilson didn’t let go until he heard Timoney’s ribs crack. The adrenaline was coursing through his body. He stood over the prostrate man. His instinct was to kick Timoney in the head and inflict a serious wound. He drew back his foot, and heard a noise behind him.
‘Don’t, boss, it’s over.’
‘Why don’t you turn your back for a few minutes?’
‘That’s not you. We need to take care of Rory.’ She rushed to the wheelbarrow and put her fingers on Browne’s neck. ‘He’s alive. That bastard must have drugged him.’ She pulled out her mobile and called for an ambulance.
Wilson looked down at Timoney, who was struggling for breath. ‘You piece of shit! You would have buried him alive?’
‘I can’t breathe,’ Timoney gasped. ‘I think you’ve punctured my lung.’
‘Good,’ Wilson said.
‘We need to get Rory to the patio.’ Moira turned the wheelbarrow around. ‘The ambulance should be here soon.’
Wilson went to assist.
‘No, boss, you handle that arsehole. Are you okay?’
‘Yes. Don’t worry, I won’t kill him.’
‘You know Rory?’ Timoney wheezed.
‘Yes, he’s one of mine.’
‘A police officer?’
‘One of my police officers.’
Moira reached the patio. She took out her phone and called McDevitt, gave him the address in Hillsborough and told him to get there immediately. She heard a commotion at the front and went around to see an ambulance parked outside the electric gate. She waved at them. ‘Do what you have to do to get in. There’s a sick man on the patio.’ She didn’t care about Timoney or the damage that might have to be done to the gate.
One of the ambulance men vaulted over the gate with a steel handle in his hand. He inserted it in a hole at the bottom and used it to free the gate. Two paramedics rushed in carrying heavy bags. Moira flashed her warrant card and led them to the rear, where Browne was still lying in the wheelbarrow.
‘He’s been drugged,’ Moira said.
She looked down the garden and saw Wilson coming towards the house, pulling Timoney behind him.
A paramedic looked up from attending Browne. ‘His vitals are good, but the outcome will depend on what he was given and how much of it he was given.’ He saw Wilson tugging Timoney, who appeared injured. ‘You have another injury?’
‘You can deal with him later,’ Moira said.
Wilson handed Timoney over to Moira. ‘Keep an eye on this lowlife. If he’s off to the hospital, you go with him. Don’t leave him for a moment. He takes a piss, you stand beside him. You have my approval to restrain him by force if you deem it necessary. I’ve got some calls to make. It’s going to be a long night.’
Two uniforms came around the corner of the house. Wilson showed his warrant card and instructed them to man the gate. A few onlookers were already assembling and a second ambulance had arrived.
Davis was still at the station when Wilson called. He told her where he was and that they had a man in custody who he was sure was responsible for the killing of Ro
ger Whyte and Vincent Carmody. He was also certain he knew where the bodies were buried. There were elements of the arrest that she wouldn’t be happy with, which they could discuss later. She tried to push him for more information, but he wasn’t up to discussing it. They had prevented another homicide. In the meantime, he would be grateful if she would stay at the station because Harry Graham would be there for a warrant to search the house and grounds. He also needed Forensics to be informed that a major operation would be required, probably involving the disinterment of more than one body.
Two police vehicles had arrived while Wilson was speaking. The crowd was being moved back from the gate and crime scene tape was being strung in front of the property. A paramedic was wheeling a gurney up the drive.
Wilson called Graham and told him to go to the station to prepare a search warrant for the Timoneys’ house and then to present it for Davis’s signature immediately.
The paramedics came back with the still body of Rory Browne on the gurney. Wilson caught one of them by the arm. ‘How is he?’
‘He’ll survive, but he won’t be feeling so good tomorrow.’
‘I want a full tox screen done. I’m making you responsible it happens.’
The paramedic nodded. ‘Understood.’ He hurried towards the ambulance.
Wilson went back to the patio, where another paramedic was treating Timoney. ‘Moira, do the necessary with our friend.’
Moira pulled Timoney to his feet.
‘Take it easy, you bitch. Can’t you see I’m injured?’
‘Howard Timoney, I am arresting you on suspicion of kidnap and murder, you do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be used in evidence.’
‘Take this down,’ Timoney gave her the middle finger.
‘What’s that over there?’ Wilson said.
Moira, Timoney and the paramedic all turned away. Wilson punched Timoney hard in the stomach. Timoney sucked in air then vomited on the patio.
‘That’s what comes of insulting a police officer doing her duty,’ Wilson said.
The paramedic smiled. ‘That’s possibly a condition.’
A second gurney had arrived.
‘I suppose he should go to the hospital,’ Wilson said.
‘It would be best,’ the paramedic said.
He turned to Moira. ‘Stay in touch and as soon as he’s discharged, I want him in a cell in Tennent Street.’
Wilson sat on a chair in a quiet corner of the patio. He phoned Reid and told her of the happenings in Hillsborough. ‘I’d bet a month’s pay that the forensic boys will dig up a couple of bodies tomorrow.’
‘How are you, Ian?’
‘The bastard almost gave me a new haircut. If I hadn’t been a rugby player accustomed to tackling low, I might well have lost my head.’
‘Come home, you sound tired.’
‘I have to hand the scene over to the uniforms, and I need to go to the hospital to make sure Rory is okay. I’m realising that I’m not as young as I used to be.’
‘There’s always Santa Monica.’
‘Right now Santa Monica sounds like heaven.’ He knew the reply would please her, but he hadn’t meant it.
A young uniform inspector arrived and Wilson ended the call. He briefed the inspector and then decided there was nothing more he could do at the scene tonight. He’d parked outside the gate and the road leading to the house was blocked at both ends by police vehicles. He was about to climb into his car when he heard a familiar voice shouting his name from beyond the crime scene tape. He closed the car door and walked to where McDevitt was standing.
‘What the story?’ McDevitt said.
‘We’ve arrested a man in connection with the disappearances of Roger Whyte and Vincent Carmody. He has sustained a slight rib injury and, after medical treatment, he will be transferred to Tennent Street, where he will help the police with their inquiries. That’s as much copy as I’m going to write for you. How the hell did you get here so quickly? I didn’t think this was on the scanner.’
McDevitt touched his index finger to the side of his nose. ‘Jock has contacts everywhere. I have an intern looking into the owner of the house and we’ll have a name before morning. I need a bit of grisly stuff for the readers. Did you find any bodies inside?’
‘There will be a forensic investigation of the house and grounds beginning tomorrow. Now, piss off.’
‘There’ll probably be some grisly news tomorrow then?’
‘Don’t you have any feelings for the dead?’
‘I do, they sell papers, which keeps me employed. I remember the days when the newsroom was crammed with reporters. I’ve watched those desks empty one after another. You can hear yourself think in the newsroom these days. The only thing on Jock’s mind is making sure that his desk stays occupied.’
‘See you around.’ Wilson walked back to his car. He understood Jock’s point. He might lose two officers from his team over this fiasco. Some bean counter at HQ will probably attempt to cut the posts altogether and he will have to fight back. He climbed into his car and drove away.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
It was quiet in the waiting room of Lagan Valley Hospital. Wilson sat alone, drinking a cup of coffee. Browne was still in triage, but a nurse had informed him that he would recover. Meanwhile Timoney’s ribs had been strapped, and he was now sitting in a police car on his way to Tennent Street with Moira. Wilson had contemplated starting the interrogation immediately but decided to wait until the forensic team reported. The good news was a murderer had been taken off the streets. The bad news was that there would be an inquiry and he doubted that either Browne or O’Neill would come out of it well. When you decide on a course of action, it’s important to know that there will always be a price to pay.
After a couple of hours, a doctor in a hijab, who looked about eighteen years old, told Wilson that he should go home. Browne was asleep and would stay in overnight for observation. He’d be discharged in the morning. Wilson said he’d return then.
Reid was sitting in the living room reading when Wilson entered the apartment. She immediately put her book away and hugged him.
‘I need a drink,’ he whispered in her ear.
‘I’ll bet you do.’ She broke off the hug.
He poured himself a whiskey. ‘Anything for you?’
Reid shook her head. ‘It’s a hell of a result.’
‘Aye, but the cost will be heavy.’ He sat on the sofa. ‘There’s a good chance I’ll lose Browne and O’Neill.’
‘HQ will understand.’ She sat beside him and held his hand. He looked all-in.
‘They don’t like coppers running around trying to get themselves killed. The only exception they make is when THEY tell you to run around and try to get yourself killed. I’m afraid Rory is for the high jump, and there’s a good chance that O’Neill will be joining him.’
‘Maybe you’ll sleep now.’
‘I’m not so sure. At least that bastard won’t be planting any more bodies in the rose garden.’
‘Finish your whiskey and let’s go to bed. I need to be held and I think you do as well.’
‘What did I do to deserve you?’
‘You are one lucky man.’ She kissed him and they sat clinging to each other on the sofa.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Wilson was back in Lagan Valley. He needed to speak to Browne and the hospital had informed him that Browne’s discharge papers had been prepared and he would soon be ready to leave. He stood up from his chair in the reception area when he saw his sergeant coming out of the lift.
‘I’m sorry, boss.’ Browne was as white as a ghost.
‘Not here.’ Wilson took his arm and led him out into the sunshine.
‘He raped me.’ Tears were running down Browne’s face.
Wilson stopped in his tracks. ‘What!’
‘I wasn’t able to move, and he raped me. I told the
doctor, and they used the rape kit. God, boss, I feel terrible.’
Wilson’s plan to get involved in the blame game was now off the table. Browne might not have a future in the PSNI, but there was no way he would kick a man when he was down. ‘It’s okay, Rory. They’ll give you counselling. You’ll get over it in time.’ He knew it was a lie. He’d had counselling after his injuries caused by the bomb, but he still woke up some nights bathed in sweat. That would be Browne’s future.
‘I’ve been an idiot, boss.’
Wilson steered him to his car and opened the passenger door. ‘You did what you thought was right.’ He examined his own conscience and couldn’t declare himself innocent.
‘I screwed everything up.’ Browne sat in the car and Wilson closed the door.
Wilson walked to the driver’s side and sat behind the wheel. ‘You stopped a killer from killing again.’
‘It was you who did that. Are we going to the station?’
‘No, I’ll drop you at home. You need to rest and I need a chance to sort things out with the chief super.’
Browne slumped back into his seat. ‘I’m done. They’ll throw me out.’
‘You must have seen it as a possibility.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘But one of the things I learned as a rugby player was that it’s not over until it’s over. And you’re not over.’
‘Tell me it’s not true.’ Davis did her nervous tell of flicking a loose strand of hair that wasn’t there.
‘It’s not true.’
‘Don’t be an arsehole, Ian.’
Wilson didn’t want the meeting to turn into a slanging match. He’d already noticed the absence of tea and biscuits, always a bad sign. ‘What’s not true?’