by Derek Fee
‘It was the least we could do. And if you need any help … ’
‘The staff here are adept at handling funeral arrangements. They have had plenty of experience.’ She released Wilson’s hand. ‘I appreciate your consideration. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.’
They went back to the entrance and informed the receptionist of the purpose of their visit. She assured them she would take care of all the arrangements. Wilson left his card and said he would advise when the body was ready for collection.
He didn’t want to go back to the station so they drove to the High Street, where they picked up two ice creams. He parked on Seacliff Road, across from the traditional cottage that serves as the tourist information centre. They walked towards the sea and sat on a bench. The water was alive with children learning to sail small boats. It was the perfect antidote to interviewing an evil monster. He licked his cone and watched the children scream when they tacked and fell into the water. He thought of Reid and wondered.
‘Have you any regrets about what happened with Brendan?’ he asked.
‘No. We liked each other well enough, but it just didn’t work out. He’ll make some woman a fine husband someday.’
‘There was someone else, wasn’t there?’ He could see the wheel of her mind turning and he knew he was right.
‘Maybe.’
‘Only maybe?’
‘For the moment.’
‘Take my advice, Moira, if you find something good, hold on to it. Life goes fast, years pass like months and months pass in instants.’ He wondered whether he was talking to himself or to her. He stood up. ‘I don’t know if I told you, but I’m happy you returned.’
‘I’m glad to be back where I belong.’ She wasn’t totally convincing.
As soon as he arrived back at the station, Wilson went into his office and sat behind his desk. He knew just how Moira felt about the justice system because he’d been feeling like that for twenty years. Sammy Rice was still missing, one of David Grant’s killers was still at large and whoever killed Mad Mickey was also out there. But at least, for him, this one was almost over. Another interview or two with that sick fucker down in the cells, a few months on the documentation and interviews with the DPP and he would move on.
He opened up his emails. The latest was from Davis and the subject line read ‘Rory Browne’. He opened the mail. HQ had put Browne on suspension pending an inquiry. He’d expected that outcome but still felt like he’d failed another colleague. His phone rang and he answered, ‘Wilson.’
‘Hi Wilson, it’s Reid. It’s a beautiful day outside and you’re sounding like the grinch.’
‘Rory is on suspension.’
‘Oh no, what will that mean?’
‘He’ll have a lot of questions to answer. He may not think it worth his while.’
‘What about O’Neill?’
‘The jury’s still out. It depends whether HQ think being naive is against the rules.’
‘Your two clients arrive this afternoon. Anything special you want me to look for?’
‘He says he drugged them with GHB. Check that. And see if there’s any semen in their rectums. You can get DNA from it, right?’
‘If the sperm is there, we’ll get the DNA.’
‘I’ll be buying drinks in the Crown this evening. I don’t think we’ll be the jolliest bunch, but we got a result and there’s a tradition to uphold.’
‘I’ll be there.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
The small padded envelope was sitting on Moira’s keyboard. Her name was written on one side. She felt it and concluded it was a USB stick. She opened the packet and the small stick slipped out. She threw the envelope into the trash and put the USB into her computer. Dozens of thumbnail photos came up on the screen. They were the photos from the shoot at Helen McCann’s house in Antibes. She brought them up one by one until she found the one she’d seen in the magazine article. He was standing in the garden. She zoomed in on his face. The photos were in high resolution, but he was standing far behind the subject of the photo and his face broke up into pixels. She zoomed out until the features became clear. She was looking at Simon Jackson. McDevitt had come through. She was about to take this new piece of evidence to Wilson’s attention but changed her mind. He had enough on his plate.
Wilson, Moira and Graham sat facing the whiteboard. ‘We would probably never have got Timoney without Rory,’ Wilson said.
‘Do you think he’ll get through this?’ Moira asked.
‘I don’t know. Before anything else happens, I’m going to make sure he gets counselling,’ Wilson said.
‘What about Siobhan?’ Moira asked.
‘I tried to convince her to come and have a drink with us this evening, but she just broke down in tears.’
‘I thought she was made a sterner stuff, boss,’ Graham said. ‘We all screw up now and then. It’s the human condition.’
‘I’ve left her out of the report with Davis’s agreement. The chief super is the kind that forgives but doesn’t forget. I don’t think Siobhan should look for promotion any time soon.’
Graham looked at Wilson and Moira. ‘We’re a bit of a motley crew when you think of the old gang.’
‘We have to get ourselves together and get on with things. I’ve booked a snug at the Crown for half five. I suppose we should be on our way.’ Wilson glanced at Rory’s desk as he passed. He’d grown fond of his sergeant. They’d had some good times together.
A few minutes later, the office was empty and Browne’s computer pinged indicating an email. A member of the East Antrim Drone Club had been flying his drone in Helen’s Bay on the day the BMW had caught fire and had some footage of the event.
The mood in the snug was sombre. Even Reid was dragged down by the general torpor. Davis had wanted to buy the drinks, but Wilson had insisted on paying. The steady flow of alcohol wasn’t having the desired effect.
McDevitt stuck his head around the door. ‘Is this wake private or can anyone join?’
Wilson waved him inside and ordered him a drink.
McDevitt put a copy of the street edition of the Chronicle on the table. Timoney’s arrest was the lead story. There was praise for the efforts of the PSNI.
‘The job’s safe for another few months,’ Wilson said. He noticed smiles on the faces of Reid and Davis. McDevitt was a bit of a pain in the arse at times, but he had a way of lightening the atmosphere.
McDevitt sat beside Moira and they toasted each other when McDevitt’s drink arrived. ‘Now I have two new best friends.’
‘Can you take a holiday the week after next?’ Wilson asked Reid.
‘I can rearrange my schedule, why?’
Wilson handed her an envelope. She opened it and took out two plane tickets.
‘There’s someone in Nova Scotia I think you should meet.’
She hugged and kissed him. ‘I’ve always wanted to visit Nova Scotia.’
His phone beeped and he looked at the message: ‘We need to talk. Michael Gowan’.
Wilson had to think for a moment. Then he remembered Carlisle’s coded notebook. Not right now, dear God, not right now, he thought.
I hope you enjoyed this book, in any event I hope that it’s effect on you (positive or negative) incites you to write a short review. This is the tenth book in the Wilson series. If you have any questions regarding this book or any of the others in the series you can contact me at [email protected].
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Actual location have been used in the interest of athmosphere and authenticity.
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