Natalie considered the suggestion and finally uttered a grudging “Well…”
It was the opening Katy needed. She phoned ‘Forever Bridal’ to book an appointment, praying that it had both their sizes in stock.
***
Gresham Street, Smithfield. 5.30 p.m.
Craig stood in the doorway of the erstwhile bookshop and scanned the debris in silence. All that was left of ‘Papyrus’ was a heap of paper and wood partially swept into one corner by the army forensics team, and the remnants of shattered shelving gripping the walls for dear life.
The bookshop had been small; cosy, Craig imagined the owner had called it, with leaded-glass windows onto Gresham Street and a musty old-book smell that had survived the blast. He could just make out the remnants of a wooden banquette on one side, where prospective buyers would have been encouraged to sit and browse amidst the dusty quiet. Shreds of dark-red leather lay in the corner revealing the banquette’s past covering, and shards of smooth brown wood lay everywhere, its joists and grooves saying that it had once formed bookshelves that stood tall and strong, supporting the written word. It was the sort of shop that Craig loved and had often longed for, as a place to spend the endless hours waiting while girlfriends shopped in town.
Liam watched his boss, smiling quietly and reading his thoughts. He’d longed for a place to hide when Danni dragged him into the city-centre too, but his ideal venue had beer on tap and a football match on the box. He broke the shrine’s silence reluctantly, but one of them had to or they’d be there all night.
“They fairly hammered it, didn’t they?”
Craig dragged his eyes away from an aged leather-bound volume with barely three pages left inside, wondering whose first effort it had been. He stared at Liam in the fading afternoon light.
“The shop might have been incidental. A casualty of war.”
Liam glanced at him curiously. “You mean they were after the people? I thought you said earlier…”
Craig nodded, remembering what he’d said. “I’ve reconsidered. If you just want to destroy a building, you do it when it’s empty. This was aimed at someone or something in the shop.”
Liam’s curiosity turned to puzzle. “But if it’s one man you’re after, why kill everyone else in the process? Bit indiscriminate, wasn’t it?”
Craig glanced up sharply. “Good point. One man could have been taken out anywhere; at home or perhaps even shot in the street. It would have been a lot less messy than this. You know what that means?”
Liam didn’t know but decided on a well-worn bluff. “Aye.” The word implied knowledge without the need to elaborate.
“It means that either they were after more than one person who was in the shop, or there was something in the shop that they wanted to destroy as well. They were after both man and thing.”
Craig’s assertion was greeted with a sceptical snort.
“Who kills for a pile of old books? A mad librarian?”
Craig gave a small smile. “I know it sounds unlikely, but books can be very valuable, Liam. There was one sold in the ’90s for thirty million dollars; a 15th Century Da Vinci Codex. Collectors will pay a lot.”
Liam gave a low whistle. “More money than sense.”
Craig continued his train of thought. “Maybe they would even pay to stop a book falling into someone else’s hands.” He considered for a moment and then shrugged. “This is all speculation until Davy and Des give us more.”
Craig took the single step down from Papyrus’ doorway and began to move slowly around the room, stopping occasionally to peer at some small pile at his feet. Liam did the same without any idea what he was looking for, holding his nose to block out the smell of burnt wood and flesh.
Suddenly a shape appeared from the gloom at the back of the shop. Liam stepped back quickly, his hand reaching instinctively for his gun. Craig waved him down. The shape was a light-green suited bomb disposal officer, searching for the final remnants of whatever had caused the blast.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet us.” Craig noted the man’s rank and added. “Captain…?”
“Smith. But it’s Kenneth, Ken, please.”
Smith shook Craig’s hand then removed the mask obscuring his face. The face that appeared was in its early thirties; its grin said that the man found something amusing. He nodded towards Liam, making his blond fringe flop across his brow.
“Your mate’s a bit jumpy, isn’t he?”
Craig smiled and introduced Liam, adding. “He’s seen a few too many bombs in his time.”
Smith grinned again and shook Liam’s hand. “Veteran of the Troubles, then. Brilliant experience for bomb disposal. I missed all that.”
Liam gave a wry smile. “Your miss was your mercy, lad. They were grim times.” He nodded towards the back of the room. “Bomb planted back there, was it?”
Smith nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. It packed quite a punch. Simple design; basic Semtex and a timer. For some reason they used an old pocket watch for that; it’s pretty bashed up but it did the trick. Anyone nearby was a goner.”
Craig interjected. “One man wasn’t.”
Smith nodded. “Yes, we’re not quite sure how Delaney escaped. “ He kicked some shards of wood at his feet. “The bookshelves might have saved him, we’re not sure yet. My boss is trying to get hold of the floor plan to work out the logistics.”
“So are we.” Craig glanced around the shop. “Can you talk us through what you’ve got so far?”
Smith nodded eagerly and walked towards the front door. “Give me a minute to get out of this clobber and I’ll be with you.”
One minute later he re-appeared, clad in khaki trousers and T-shirt. He was lean and fit with the year round tan of the well-travelled; although in Smith’s case Craig was certain he’d holidayed in Iraq and Afghanistan, not Barbados and the South of France. Smith’s blond hair was as long as regulations would allow and Craig could just make-out a small hole in his earlobe, where an earring was worn on his days off. He smiled to himself, knowing the young officer was just his younger sister’s type, not that Lucia was ever likely to meet him.
“Right then.”
Smith’s crisp English tones focused them on their task and they walked slowly towards the back of the shop. He hunkered down, pointing at a pile of glass and dust beside the back wall, close to what was left of a small doorway. Craig joined him while Liam decided to take their word for it. Hunkering down with his bad back might mean that he wouldn’t straighten up again for a week.
The bomb disposal officer lifted a pen from his trouser pocket and spread the dust, revealing a clear area underneath.
“You’ll notice that the floor around here and most of the walls have been damaged, but this area is clear. That’s because it’s where the bomb was sitting. The blast went up and out from the centre, leaving the area directly beneath it clear.” He nodded at the doorway behind them. “That door led to the loo and staff-room. They’ve been wrecked but not quite as badly as the shop itself, so we reckon that door was closed when things kicked off. There was no-one in there but if there had been they might have survived as well.”
Craig interrupted. “Dr Marsham, our Head of Forensic Science, said there was some sort of frame found in the bomb debris.”
Smith nodded so hard Liam thought his fringe was going to concuss him. His voice echoed its excitement.
“Yes. It’s brilliant. We think it’s made of titanium, really rare and really hard, that’s why it survived the blast semi-intact. It has scrollwork down the sides and a glass front. That splintered in the heat of course, but there were remnants of a photograph underneath.”
Craig cut in urgently. “Titanium? Who makes a photo-frame out of that? Unless they wanted it to survive the blast because whatever it held was important. Could you make out an image? Where are the frame and photo now?”
“At our labs. It’ll take the tech people a while to work out what it was. ”
Craig’s voice was stern. “It
needs to be in our labs. Have the frame remnants sent over to Dr Marsham please. And whatever’s left of the watch.”
Liam knew a battle for ownership of the forensics was about to begin. He’d done this dance with the military before. He attempted a joke to lighten the mood. “I’ve heard of nail bombs, but never one with a photo and an old watch.”
No-one laughed. Instead Smith leapt to his feet and for one minute Liam thought he was going to salute. Instead he snapped out. “Yes, sir. Right away. I’ll speak to Major James.”
Craig waved the younger man down. “When we’ve left will be time enough. It’s just important that we don’t lose the evidence. You understand.”
Smith exhaled noisily, relieved that he wasn’t in trouble. “Yes, sir.”
Smith spent the next ten minutes moving slowly around the room, pointing out scorch marks and wood and paper debris that Craig knew represented thousands of pounds of valuable books. Every so often they paused at an area of red and pictured the dead body that had lain there, or the detached body part that had caused a smear. Finally the tour was finished and the three men emerged onto Gresham Street. Smith stretched out his hand to shake.
“I’ll speak to Major James immediately, sir.”
“That will be fine, Captain. Now, go and enjoy whatever’s left of your evening and we’ll try to do the same.”
As Smith climbed into the waiting armoured car Liam squinted at Craig. “Did you mean that about us going to enjoy our evening? ’Cos if you did, I could just get home in time to watch the footie and you could head to your folks early.”
Craig thought of his mother Mirella’s three-line whip for Friday night family dinner, happy to defer the experience for a while. She’d moved it to Thursday this week because Katy was coming with him for the first time and she was on-call for most of the weekend. Craig knew an evening of scrutiny lay ahead of them and he was eager to defer it as long as he could.
Craig smiled at Liam, knowing that they had opposing agendas. “No, I didn’t mean it. We’re heading for St Mary’s to interview our survivor.”
Liam shook his head in defeat, knowing that another hour of questioning lay ahead before home. He just hoped that Danni remembered to tape the match.
Chapter Four
St Mary’s Healthcare Trust. 6.30 p.m.
St Mary’s main building just off the M2 was familiar territory for the police. Every young constable visited its Emergency Department more often that they wanted to, whether to take statements from doctors, accompany prisoners who needed examined, or to break up a brawl at the weekend. It used to be only weekend nights that fights broke out, but with the drinking culture in the UK, practically every night in the ED was party-time now. Some hospitals in England even had dedicated police; they were called so often. Was it any wonder that so many police officers married hospital staff?
It was a trap that Craig had resisted falling into throughout his career; partly because he’d dated an actress for nine years and partly because it was mostly the junior ranks that lived in the ED. He’d finally succumbed to the siren call of the health service three months before, when he’d started dating Katy Stevens, a consultant physician. They’d met on a case but it was only John’s engagement to Katy’s best friend Natalie that had caused them to see each other again.
As Craig walked down St Mary’s main corridor deep in thought, Liam was having thoughts of his own, mainly that if he never saw the inside of a hospital again he’d be a happy man. He’d been there too often over the previous two years, once during a case involving patients’ murders and twice more as a patient himself, first poisoned and then shot at by perps. He didn’t fancy his luck again.
After a minute’s walking Craig turned sharp left down a corridor that led to the well-lit ED. Their survivor was in a side-room on its admissions ward, with a P.C. standing guard outside. Craig nodded the young constable off for coffee and pushed at the room’s half-open door. They were greeted by the sight of a jet-haired young man whose skin was almost as pale as his sheets. His eyes were closed as they entered and they stayed closed, giving no acknowledgement that anyone had entered the room.
Craig halted several feet from the bed and scrutinised Fintan Delaney, gathering information from everything he saw; even the man’s lack of response. There was nothing on the bedside table except the obligatory water, and a menu card waiting to be completed for the next day. Liam lifted it idly, wondering when seared salmon had become health service fare.
Craig’s eyes scanned the young man’s narrow face, seeing everything. Delaney was handsome, even a man could see that, and young; he looked even younger than his reported twenty years. His eyes could be brown, green or blue, black hair with any of those was common on these shores; Craig’s own blue eyes were testament to that. But something made Craig veer towards brown and something about the young man’s features reminded him of Andy White, a D.C.I. from Dungiven in the North-West. Without asking a question or hearing a word, Craig knew the boy was from Derry or somewhere close by.
While Craig scrutinised the patient, Liam did the same to his boss, smiling to himself. He knew exactly what Craig was doing; it was a technique that they all learned. Distant information mining or end-of-the-bed diagnosis in health, so Natalie had told him during a drunken debate at her engagement bash. The art of divining information about a person without them saying a single word.
When Craig had learned as much as he could in silence he lifted a metal chart noisily from the end of the bed, watching the patient for some response. A faint flicker of the young man’s eyelids said that he’d heard.
The chart was headed ‘Fintan Delaney’; a good Irish name. It went with his colouring, typical of the dark Irish of the North-West. ‘La Trinidad Valencera’, a ship of the Spanish Armada, had wrecked in Kinnagoe Bay in Donegal in 1588. Generations of Spanish-Irish blood and looks had been the local result.
Craig continued reading Delaney’s notes. Date of birth, first of May 1994, address, The Prehen Estate, Derry/ Londonderry in the North-West. He’d guessed correctly. He patted himself mentally on the back as Liam watched the whole proceedings with a smirk. Finally, when Craig had learned all he could from the chart, he spoke.
“Mr Delaney.”
The boy’s lids flickered again but remained stubbornly closed.
“I’m Superintendent Craig and this is D.C.I. Cullen. Can we have a word?”
Again, nothing. It left Craig with a dilemma. Was this a man in shock? After all, he’d almost been blown to buggery. Or was this someone who didn’t like the police? Craig gave a wry smile. Hard though it was to believe for all those who knew and loved them, he knew that the police weren’t popular with the whole world.
Or was it option number three; did Delaney have something to hide? Was that why he was playing deaf? The only way to find out was to ask a professional. Craig nodded Liam to stay in the room and walked into the corridor, following the sound of voices to the nurses’ station. A woman was hunched over the desk reading and didn’t hear him approach. Craig coughed and she looked up; he could tell from her age and badge that she was a student.
“I’m Superintendent Craig. Could I speak to the doctor caring for Mr Delaney, please?”
The girl startled at the sound of his rank and Craig sighed inwardly, wondering when he’d become the bogey-man. He made a note to ask Katy why people always reacted that way to the police and then he smiled again, as unthreateningly he could. The girl raced off down the corridor, returning a moment later with a male doctor in tow. He looked almost as young as she did and Craig laughed at the reversed stereotype; who said old age began when the policemen started looking young?
The young man extended his hand formally. “I’m Dr Hinton. Mr Delaney is my patient.”
Craig indicated a row of chairs and sat down. “I wonder if you can help me. You probably know that Mr Delaney was the sole survivor of an explosion this afternoon and, as such, he’s a valuable witness. Could you tell me if he’s fit to be qu
estioned, please? At the moment he seems unable or unwilling to respond.”
Hinton blinked furiously and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a tiny notebook, not unlike the ones that P.C.s used. He flicked quickly through its pages until he reached one headed ‘Fintan Delaney’. Craig tried reading the medical shorthand upside down but gave up at the third acronym. Hinton moved his head across the page as he read, flicking back to the left side periodically, like the carriage of an old typewriter. Finally he made a satisfied sound and closed the notebook, then he stared at Craig and began reciting from rote.
“Mr Delaney hasn’t spoken since he was brought in this afternoon at three o’clock. He’s been examined by a neurologist, Dr O’Neill, and her opinion is that there’s no physical damage, except cuts and bruises, but that the shock of what Mr Delaney experienced has rendered him mute.”
Craig interrupted. He’d seen post-traumatic responses before. What he needed to know was how long it was going to last.
“When is he likely to recover, doctor?”
The junior doctor shrugged, not rudely but in bewilderment. “To be honest I don’t know. Dr O’Neill said it could be days or weeks, and she couldn’t tell how much was involuntary and how much was Mr Delaney simply clamming up. There’s no way of telling at the moment.”
And short of torture, which wasn’t a sanctioned interview technique, they would probably never find out; although Craig was sure that Liam would be keen to try. He had a sudden thought.
“Has Mr Delaney opened his eyes at all since he was brought in?”
Hinton flicked through his pages again then nodded. “He co-operated with all the visual field tests, so he would’ve had to. But he definitely hasn’t spoken.”
Craig nodded and rose to his feet. “How long do you intend to keep him here?”
Hinton clambered to his feet, keen to even up the status. “He’ll be moved to the Neuro ward as soon as they get a free bed, but how long for will be up to Dr O’Neill. She’ll do a ward round tomorrow at ten-thirty and decide then.”
The Careless Word (#8 - The Craig Crime Series) Page 3