However bad The Troubles had been, they’d formed part of his history and most of his youth. The era when he’d hung out with the lads and got drunk in pubs, storing up tales to embarrass each other with when they were grey-haired old men. The Troubles had been his backdrop to many a fumble, and the first time a girl had ever let him get to second base. Unlike the well behaved girls of Crossgar, the ladies of the big smoke had seemed to him to move at one hundred miles an hour.
As they exited the car and walked up the path Liam laughed out loud, while Jake and Andy shot him looks that said he was clearly insane. Getting to second base in less than a month had seemed like one hundred mph to him back then, how quaint that seemed compared to what the youngsters did now. A quick hello and a handshake nowadays and they ended up in bed; God only knew what they’d be up to by the time his son Rory was eighteen. Erin of course was entering a nunnery. He shook his head as the other two watched, and wished it was still like when he was young; it must mean he was getting old that he longed for the slower path.
As they reached their complainant’s glossy front door, flanked on either side by well-behaved rose bushes trimmed to waist height, Liam pulled his thoughts back to 2015 and banged twice with the knocker in a manner that said I don’t care if it’s Sunday in the suburbs, get this door open right now. A sudden rustling behind the wood and the sound of a lock being undone and they were faced with a very short red faced man whose narrowed eyes said that this had better be good. He opened his mouth to speak but Liam got in first.
“Mr McKibben?”
It was accompanied by a flash of his warrant card so Nigel McKibben’s mouth closed with a snap and he was answered by a nod and one of the many expressions that people adopted when faced with the police. Exaggerated, wide eyed innocence and closed mouth suspicion were top of the pops, followed in third and fourth places by wavering lipped, teary eyed shock and belligerent, defiant rage. Number four was Liam’s personal favourite because it was usually followed by a stream of vitriol that meant he could question the speaker with less finesse. The others just made him feel guilty and his upbringing already ensured that he felt enough of that.
Unfortunately the man in front of them went with expression number five; the one that Liam hated most of all. He smiled like he was really pleased to see them, which meant that he was unlikely to be one of their perps.
“I’ve been expecting you, officer. Please come in.”
The Deacon’s widening eyes as three of them traipsed past him into a chintz styled sitting room with a plethora of ornaments dotted around, said that he hadn’t been expecting quite such a show of force. Still, good manners obliged the offer of tea and, as it was a Sunday, cake, and after the introductions were over and crumbs and cups lay on their laps, Liam decided to kick the proceedings off.
“We’re here about Sam Beech.”
A slow nod and pained smile said that although their host was reluctant to say something bad about a child, his conscience obliged him to. Liam’s pained smile was saying something else; God save me from people who always believe right is on their side.
“Ah yes, Sam.”
As McKibben folded his hands on his lap Jake noticed he wore a gold sovereign ring on one hand. Along with his grey hair, worn in the combed forward style once so popular with emperors, he looked like Caesar ruling all that he surveyed.
“Sam is a very troubled boy, and that’s sad, but he can’t be allowed to do what he did to my son-”
Jake leaned forward, cutting in. “Where is Trevor, Mr McKibben?”
McKibben turned as if he’d barely registered the others’ presence, other than as Liam’s backing group.
“At Sunday School. He goes twice, once in the morning and once in the afternoon.”
Liam drew him back to the alleged assault. “Give us exact details of what happened, please.”
The father’s face grew red and he blustered out a reply. “It was disgusting. I’ve already given the details to Sergeant Boyd. Trevor was in the bathroom at the youth club and Sam followed him in and tried to…” His voice faded away and when it returned it had acquired an Old Testament tone and the accompanying words. “…Sodomy. Sodom and Gomorrah! He’s tried it with others and it’s a disgrace. Sam Beech needs to be punished.”
He already had been but Liam wasn’t letting on, instead he pushed for the details of what the man in front of them considered a suitable penalty.
“How exactly would you like him punished?”
The irate father was surprised by the question and scrambled for a suitable response. “He should…he should be sent to borstal and got some help. It’s unnatural.”
Even Liam, unevolved as he was, winced at the word unnatural.
“What was unnatural, sir? The fact that Sam attempted anal intercourse with your son, or the fact that it was against Trevor’s will? If it was against his will then it was, of course, illegal.”
He gave a satisfied smile; Craig would have been proud of his diplomacy but Jake’s approving nod would have to do instead.
Their host wasn’t smiling. “Of course it was against his will! My son’s not gay; it’s unnatural.”
That answered that question.
Jake picked up the gauntlet. “And in your opinion, Mr McKibben, what is a suitable punishment for being gay?”
McKibben looked confused. “Well…they should be…” His words trailed off, only to return with renewed zeal. “Maybe one of those reprogramming camps they have in America. I’ve heard that they work. But even if Sam Beech is gay it doesn’t give him the right to try to convert my son!”
Convert? He made it sound like changing energy providers. Liam had heard all that he needed to hear. Whatever the man’s personal views on homosexuality he’d constantly referred to Sam in the present tense, which meant that he didn’t know the teenager was dead. Plus, his worst idea of punishment was a conversion camp, which, bad and all as they were, usually didn’t kill the people that they sought to convert.
Nigel McKibben wasn’t one of their killers but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t enjoy giving him a shock. Liam reserved it until they were walking down the front path to the car. He turned and stared at the man they’d just interviewed then delivered the news in a solemn tone.
“I think that you should know, Mr McKibben, that Sam has already been punished far more harshly than anything the law could do.”
He didn’t give any more detail and decided not to wait for what came next, knowing that it would include speculation then realisation, followed by the usual mixture of shock and guilt that decent people experienced when they felt they’d been too harsh.
Chapter Twelve
5.30 p.m.
The briefing had been perfunctory at best with the only new information Jake’s report on meeting his snout. Rick Grundy had remained adamant that his suggesting T.J. McDonagh had been pure coincidence and Jake couldn’t get him to shift. If abductions had occurred in the gay community before or after Bobby’s they hadn’t been reported so it was a dead end for now, but it raised the question of how many more youngsters might have disappeared.
By five-thirty Craig was alone in his office with his thoughts, wondering whether to take Katy’s friend up on her offer of a profile or whether it would tread on John’s toes. He’d just decided that they could produce one together when Nicky’s desk phone rang. He went out and answered it, expecting somewhat illogically to hear her voice.
“Superintendent Craig, Murder Squad. Can I help you?”
A young man answered, his breathless tone saying either he’d been running or he was excited to be making the call.
“Yes!”
It was practically shouted. Craig kept his tone neutral.
“Who is this?”
“Constable Joe Brunton, sir. I’m in Downpatrick.”
At the word Downpatrick, Craig’s heart sank and his voice grew sharp.
“You’ve found a body.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“The Mearne Road.”
“I’m transferring you to Doctor John Winter. He’ll bring a team and we’ll meet you there in half an hour.”
****
By the time Liam had joined him and they’d raced to the scene, John was already there, cordoning it off. They suited up and joined him inside the tape. Craig stared down at their fourth corpse, his face grim.
“The same?”
Winter nodded, indicating the red-haired youth at their feet.
“Certainly looks like it. Wet and covered in cling-film. I haven’t removed it to check but I’m pretty sure that’s a tattoo on his right arm.”
They peered at where he was pointing and made out ‘te’ just above the man’s elbow. Craig stepped back as Liam scanned the wood that they were standing in. A young man hovered just outside the tape, looking like a cop even though he was in T-shirt and jeans.
Craig strode across with his hand held out. “P.C. Brunton?”
As they shook, Craig noticed a Labrador at his feet. He reached down to pat its head.
“What’s his name?”
Brunton had been standing to attention but now he relaxed. “Winchester, sir. After the characters in a TV show; Supernatural.”
Craig nodded and beckoned Liam across. “This is D.C.I. Cullen. P.C. Brunton here notified us about the body.”
Liam nodded a greeting. “Tell us exactly what you found.”
Brunton glanced quickly at where John was kneeling then looked at Craig, patting his dog’s head as he spoke.
“I was taking Winchester for a walk before dinner.” He pointed through the copse to low stone walls and the pretty houses behind them, dotted along the narrow road. “I live there with my parents, so I always walk him here. Anyway, I’d thrown a stick and was expecting him back with it, when he started barking. It was really loud, like he was hurt, so I ran over to look and he was standing there, right beside the body.” He nodded towards the shining cling-film, dulling now in the early evening light.
Liam cut in. “How’d you know to call Belfast?”
The youth shook his head. “I didn’t. I called my station and the desk sergeant said they’d been told murders in Downpatrick should be referred to Belfast.”
Craig wondered who’d had the presence of mind to make that ruling and decided on Annette.
“I called your office and the Superintendent here answered.”
Craig turned to stare at the houses and then back at the P.C.
“That’s the main road, isn’t it? We’ll need any tapes. Also, I need you to canvas those houses and any regular passers-by.”
Brunton nodded eagerly. “You’ve had the tapes from the past two weeks, haven’t you? Did they show anything?”
Craig decided to trust the boy; the more the locals were on their side the sooner they might catch a break. He shook his head.
“Nothing yet. But there’s always a chance they’ll get lazy and make a slip.”
He wasn’t holding out much hope. He strode across to where John was tidying up.
“How long has the body been here?”
“Around an hour I’d say. The grass is barely flattened.”
Craig had already walked back to the others.
“He’s only been here an hour. That means he was dumped around five o’clock.” He turned to Brunton “What time did you arrive?”
The P.C. glanced at his watch. “About half-four. We always stay for an hour; I was just about to leave when we found him.”
Liam chipped in. “That means they dumped the body while you were here.”
Craig nodded. “Where did you enter the wood?”
Brunton pointed into the distance. “Around a mile away. I like to give him a decent run.”
Damn. A mile in dense wood was as good as ten. Brunton wouldn’t have seen a thing.
Liam wasn’t giving up. “Think. Did you hear anything, like a car starting or a thud? Maybe some branches breaking. Anything.”
The young officer glanced feverishly at him and Craig saw fear enter his eyes. It was no use to them; if he was afraid of them he’d never risk making a mistake.
His next words were soothing. “Look, I realise we’re putting you on the spot and it’s intimidating. Don’t worry. Even if you saw nothing we got here soon after he was dumped and that tells us something.”
It did tell them something; that the killers were still somewhere close. There were police in the area so they wouldn’t have risked speeding in case they’d got stopped, and on a rural road that meant a maximum of sixty miles per hour. Craig was praying the narrowness of Mearne Road had slowed them even more.
As Liam phoned through to arrange roadblocks Craig’s relaxed approach worked and Brunton started to nod. They were about to catch a break.
“I heard some branches break about ten minutes after we arrived. I remember thinking that it was kids messing about, cracking the branches as they walked. But thinking back, the cracks were really loud, like the branches were thick. Kids couldn’t have done that.”
Craig urged him on. “Which direction?”
The P.C. scanned his surroundings and oriented himself in the wood, then he started to walk away from the scene. After a minute he turned to face them.
“We were here. I remember because Winchester was still on the leash and he went to tear into those flowers.” He nodded at a bank of Blackthorns. “I tugged him back and that’s when I heard the cracks.” He raised an arm and pointed. “They came from over there.”
They sprinted simultaneously and one minute later they reached an area where the thick roots of Sycamore trees were emerging from the earth. Craig scanned the wood’s floor, praying that they’d caught a break. As the evening light dimmed they did and it was Liam who caught it first.
“Over here.”
He was staring at a thick brown root, broken to reveal its snow white inside.
“That’s recent.”
Brunton’s voice cut through the gloom. “There’s another one here.”
Craig made a decision. “Joe, head back to the crime scene and tell the C.S.I.s to bring some lights. Liam, cordon off this patch.”
He kept walking till he’d followed the trail of broken roots to a small back road, and as he hunkered down by the tarmac he thanked God for Northern Ireland’s rain. There, as clear as day, was the muddy track of a tyre. With any luck it would yield a make of car and they would be on their way.
****
Belfast Social Services. Monday 30th March, 9 a.m.
“I don’t know what more I can tell you, Sergeant McLean.” The middle-aged manager looked sad, as if she was recalling something painful. “Bobby came to us very troubled. Louise saw him and referred him for therapy.”
Louise? Louise McIntyre, the same social worker who’d removed Sam Beech from his home and had referred Elena Boraks to rehab? Jake mentioned the coincidence and the woman smiled warmly.
“That’s not a surprise. Louise deals with most of our troubled adolescents. Anyway, Bobby. Well, after a few sessions with a counsellor he came to terms with his sexuality and he was like a different boy. Pleasant, well mannered…”
It fitted with T.J.’s version of events, but if therapy had been so successful then why had Bobby still been seeing someone two years on? The manager shook her head.
“I really can’t answer that. Perhaps it helped him to have someone to talk to? It wasn’t mandated by us I can tell you that. Our contact with him ended after six weeks.”
The sergeant thought for a moment and then rose to leave. “Thank you, Mrs Hinds. We’ll need to chat to Ms McIntyre and I’ll need the name of that therapist.”
As he left the ageing building with the counsellor’s name in his pocket it occurred to Jake that he could benefit from some therapy himself. Six months of watching someone he’d loved dying had taken its toll, but if the last few days had been anything to go by, not as much toll as the future would. He winced as he remembered Aaron’s ye
lls the night before, when he’d finally got home at one a.m. He knew that it was hard on him, but he had a busy job and a widowed grandmother to care for and if Aaron couldn’t understand that then he needed to grow the hell up.
He’d spent the night in the spare room again and after a restless hour he’d given up on sleep and logged on to online poker to pass the time. At least the other players didn’t nag and ask him where he’d been. He’d greeted the sunrise exhausted and two hundred quid down, to be met by a silent breakfast and Aaron’s judgemental scowl.
Jake banged the steering wheel hard with his fist, wishing that it was Aaron’s head. He had enough crap at work without getting more when he got home and he knew that he was looking at a repeat performance that night. As he put the car in gear and pulled out onto Circular Road he made up his mind. He wouldn’t be looking at another night of Aaron’s nagging because he wouldn’t be there. His grandmother didn’t know it yet but she’d just acquired a long term guest.
****
Liam bit into his bacon butty so hard that the sauce he’d added trickled down his chin. He’d barely caught it in the wrapper when Andy did exactly the same. His packaging wasn’t as efficient and the sauce dripped onto Liam’s passenger seat, resulting in Liam grabbing his butty, lowering the window and chucking it into the bin. He ignored Andy’s howls of objection and started the car, pulling a left-turn onto the Saintfield Road.
“That was my breakfast!”
“Then you should’ve put it in your mouth and not all over my car. I’ll have to shampoo it now.”
The Sect (The Craig Crime Series) Page 19