Craig threw his suit jacket in his small office and strolled out onto the floor, holding a percolator aloft in invitation. Davy nodded and loped across to Nicky’s desk to meet his boss. Nicky’s desk was a strange place; an unofficial village square where people hung out. The street corner that they’d all frequented as teenagers, knowing that it was the place to see and be seen if you were cool. It was where things happened first; phones rang offering exciting new cases and printers spat out the, literally, hot news. Nicky’s percolator held ever-bubbling coffee and her desk drawers were an Aladdin’s cave of sweet things. Above all Nicky’s desk was beside Craig’s office, the epicentre of the squad, where the coolest kid, the Fonz himself, hung out.
This morning Nicky’s desk was just the nearest coffee stop and the two men watched bleary-eyed as the brown liquid bubbled, until Craig finally deemed it fit to drink and poured them both a mug. He perched on the edge of the desk and considered Davy carefully; he saw his team members every day but he didn’t often look at them.
Davy had always been tall, well at least in the three years he’d been on the squad, but he seemed to have grown recently. His once reed-thin frame was broader and more adult and his almost pretty aquiline features were morphing into more masculine good looks. Craig knew Davy hadn’t even noticed; unless something had a code or cipher on it he ignored it completely. Craig completed his scrutiny, skimming past Davy’s shoulder-length hair and stopping at the tiredness of his face. Dark shadows had settled under his eyes like gathering storm clouds and Craig had noticed enough to know that they hadn’t been there the day before.
He smiled kindly. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Davy nodded slowly as if unsure how much to say. Craig said it for him.
“It was the book you gave your father, wasn’t it?”
Davy nodded and at that moment Craig was ashamed of how little he knew about his staff. He knew that Davy had been dating Maggie Clarke, a journalist he’d met on a case, for almost two years and he vaguely remembered a mention of a sister, but beyond that nothing. He knew he’d failed on the team part of his job but once he was focused on a case everything else ceased to exist, a point that every woman he’d been involved with had pointed out.
His voice softened. “Do you miss him a lot?” Hoping it would be enough to make Davy talk. It was. Davy nodded again, throwing his dark hair across his face. Craig wondered if being concealed somehow made it easier to speak.
“It’s funny, but w…when he died, I thought about him every day. And now….”
Craig smiled. “Now it’s only occasionally. That’s normal Davy. No-one can keep up that level of grief forever; you couldn’t live.”
Davy’s voice dropped so low that Craig could barely hear it. “I know you’re right, but…”
“He was a Professor of Literature, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. Early twentieth century w…writers mainly; Yeats, S…Shaw, Dylan Thomas… The book I gave him was a collection of Yeats’ works.”
“Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.”
Davy smiled. “That was one of his favourite lines. He used to read it to me w…when I was a kid.” He glanced away quickly. “I think he w…was disappointed that I preferred s…science.”
Craig shook his head and then realised Davy wasn’t looking. His voice became firm. “There is no way you disappointed your father, Davy. All parents want their children to love what they love. God knows if my Mum had her way I’d be playing the piano in some concert hall, not chasing criminals. But sometimes they love you more precisely because you’re different from them.” Davy stared at him. “Your father would have seen your gift and known that you had to explore it. He’d have been proud when you got your Masters.”
Davy grinned and the expression made him look like a kid again. “That’s w…what my Mum says. She says he would have loved that Emmie read English at Uni and that I was helping to s…solve crimes. Dad used to read crime novels all the time.”
Emmie; short for Emily or Amelia? He would get Nicky to check. Craig tucked the name away for future reference and was just about to ask Davy more about his father when a sudden vibrating of the floor said that Liam had arrived. His voice blasted across the squad-room like a town crier’s.
“Here, what’s happening? How come you two are in so early?”
Craig turned, with a deadpan expression. “We’ve been working all night and we’ve cracked the case, so we’re leaving you to do the paperwork while we head to the pub.”
Annette and Nicky entered just in time to hear Liam’s roar.
“What? That’s not right, boss. I know you wanted this put to bed before the wedding, but solving it yourself isn’t on.”
Craig raised his eyes to heaven, incredulous that Liam had believed him.
“We haven’t even started. We just got in early.”
Nicky’s husky voice cut in. “Did I hear the word wedding? Has anyone decided what they’re wearing yet?”
She threw her handbag on her chair and stared pointedly at Craig perched on her desk, waving him away with a manicured hand. Today’s nail varnish colour was bubble-gum pink, to match her rather disturbing outfit of ankle socks and wide 1950s skirt. All that was missing was John Travolta and they could have been on the set of ‘Grease’.
“Go away, all of you. You’re untidying my desk.” She scanned her terrain and then squinted at Craig. “And who touched my percolator?”
Craig took the hint and moved everyone down the floor, miming coffee pleadingly as he left.
“Right. Let’s get started. Liam’s right on one thing. We need this done and dusted before John’s big day, hopefully well before it; the last thing I want is to be flying to the Caribbean exhausted. I’ve a best man’s speech to give.”
They sat by Davy’s desk; far enough away not to annoy Nicky but close enough to smell the coffee perking when it did. As Craig opened his mouth to begin, Liam across him in a self-satisfied tone.
“I’ve found us someone.”
Annette got his meaning first. “How? You were working all day yesterday.”
Liam tapped his nose; the universal sign of ‘I’m bloody clever and you don’t need to know’. Annette was wishing she’d never asked when Craig made it clear that he did need to know.
“I presume you’re referring to an officer joining us? And yes, how, Liam? Did the name come to you in your dreams?”
Liam sniffed knowingly. “As a matter of fact it did. I woke up this morning with the idea and a call ten minutes ago sorted it.”
Annette snorted. “I bet whoever you phoned this early on a Saturday was overjoyed.”
Craig nipped the exchange in the bud. “OK, Liam. Who and how?”
“Aidan Hughes in Vice. I didn’t need to wake him ‘cos those boys never sleep; too many late nights staking out brothels.”
Craig shot him a quizzical look. “You mean Aidan wants to work with us? He’s a bit senior.”
Nicky arrived with the coffee and Liam took an enormous slurp, giving Craig a look that said he was daft.
“No, not Aidan. He has a wee lassie on the squad and I remembered him saying she was finding Vice rough going. It seems she’s a ‘laydee’ and the filthy world of sex and drugs is not to Madam’s liking.” Liam extended his little finger like a Victorian Duchess. It looked like a sausage appearing from his mug.
Craig smiled at the reference to ‘Little Britain’. “Does this laydee have a name, by any chance?”
Davy leapt in. “Flower of Victorian womanhood?”
“Don’t encourage him, Davy.” He turned back to Liam. “Well?”
“Her name’s Carmen McGregor. She’s Scottish, from the posh part of Edinburgh. Anyway, Aidan says she’s bright and keen to learn.”
Craig raised an eyebrow. “What’s the catch?”
Liam bit into a digestive and shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“Come off it. You know Aidan as well as I do; do you really think he�
��d let such a gem go without a fight, unless he wanted shot of her? ”
Nicky had stopped typing and was craning her neck to listen and Annette wore an expression that said ‘please God, don’t let her be difficult.’
Liam popped the last crumbs of biscuit in his mouth and was just reaching for a second when Craig’s gimlet gaze halted him. He leaned back in his chair and shrugged, conceding.
“Aye, well… Apparently she’s a bit challenging.”
Craig raked his hair and Annette mouthed “Oh, God.”
“Challenging how?”
Liam was about to play for time when four pairs of eyes warned him not to.
“Well… She’s a bit mouthy, thinks she knows it all. And apparently she got a crush on one of Aidan’s lads and followed him around.” He saw Craig’s head begin to shake and added hastily. “But she’s got a first class degree in something and she works her ass off. And it’s only for two weeks and then we can give her back.”
Craig thought for a moment and then dragged his hand down his face in a gesture of defeat. He looked directly at Annette. In Jake’s absence she would be the person with most contact with a new junior. If she didn’t want Carmen McGregor to join them then she wouldn’t. Annette read Craig’s mind and thought for a moment before she spoke.
“OK, here’s the deal. Until Jake’s back Liam and I share responsibility for her equally.”
Liam lurched forward, scattering crumbs all over the floor. “Here now, I’m a D.C.I.”
“I don’t care if you’re the Pope, those are my terms.”
“Ach, boss.”
Craig ignored his whine. “Carry on, Annette.”
“If she’s lippy we need your permission to rein her in then and there, sir, not have to refer her back to you.”
“Agreed. Is that it?” Craig knew that it wasn’t.
“And Davy has to let her shadow him sometimes so that we get a break.”
Davy had only been half-listening, reckoning that a new detective was the business of the police-officers in the room, not him. He’d left a programme running on one of his computers and had been craning his neck to see how far it had progressed when he heard his name mentioned and turned back hurriedly to the group.
“W…What?”
Craig knew he hadn’t been listening so he summarised. “Annette wants the new girl to be able to sit with you sometimes, to learn what you do.”
Davy shook his head with a vehemence that surprised them all. “No. W…What I do is… is complex. I need peace and quiet.” He finished with a veiled threat. “That’s if you w…want results.”
Craig did want results so he was on Davy’s side. “Sorry, Annette. But you, Liam and Jake, when he’s back, will have to split the load. Davy’s off limits, and before you ever think about it, so am I. It’s up to you. So, do you want Constable McGregor with all her foibles or not?”
There was a Mexican standoff for a moment then Annette’s shoulders slumped and they had their new member of staff.
“OK, good. Liam, call Aidan and say yes, but only from this Monday until we leave for the wedding. Now let’s get back to the case. Liam, update us on the bomb then I’ll do the hospital. Davy, it looks like you’re waiting for something to come through on your screen?”
“Yes. Hopefully I’ll have the victims’ details s…soon. Well, the I.D.ed ones.
“Excellent.” Craig waved Liam on to start.
Liam spent ten minutes running through the army’s preliminary report on the explosion then he paused for breath, took a swig of cold coffee and gave Nicky a look so pathetic that Annette started to play an imaginary violin. Nicky took the hint and as they were waiting for fresh drinks Liam handed out some pages; copies of the army’s summary.
Craig read for a moment then nodded, realising that he needed to pay a visit to the local base.
“As you can see, boss, they’ve kept it as vague as buggery. ‘Timed device with Semtex explosive.’ No details on the bomb’s signature or hint of where it might have come from.”
Just as a painting was signed by the artist on the canvas and a composer printed their name clearly at the top of each page, so every bomb bore a signature. Not signed with words of course, no matter how proud they were of their destructive creations few bombers were willing to lead the forces of law and order directly to their door. But each bomb was signed by its chemical composition and the structure of the device, and the military world-wide could read the signatures as clearly as a name. Craig tapped the page in front of him.
“They haven’t said it was anonymous.”
Liam was about to answer when Annette cut in. “They haven’t said anything, sir. Surely that means that they just don’t know?”
Craig shook his head tiredly. “I wish it did, Annette. But their lack of elaboration speaks volumes. The army knows who exactly made this or they can find out; they just don’t want us to.”
“Aye. That’s what I thought. I asked but they just fobbed me off. You’ll have to go and see that Major James yourself.”
Craig nodded in resignation, knowing that he’d be stonewalled all the way. He’d try the polite approach but if Major James tried to obstruct his investigation then he’d go over his head. Just then an air-raid siren’s whine came from the direction of Davy’s desk and he raced over excitedly and started typing on some keys. Liam frowned in irritation.
“I asked you to tone that noise down.”
Davy ignored him and two minutes later they had new sheets in their hands and Davy started to report.
“Right. W…We have I.D.s on three of the bomb victims. Fintan Delaney, the s…survivor, Jules Robinson, the shop owner, and a third man; Barry McGovern, a forty-two-year-old businessman who often browsed in the s…shop.”
Craig interjected. “Leave Delaney till the end, Davy. Tell us about McGovern first.”
Davy nodded. “OK. Barry McGovern. An accountant w…working at Roulston’s in North Street. He’s been there for ten years, before that he w…worked in London. Nothing very exciting about his life. Married, with three children aged three to thirteen.”
Annette groaned. “Poor kids.”
Davy nodded and continued. “Wife, Maria. S…She’s an event’s organiser for a children’s charity called ‘The Belfast Buzz’”
Liam cut in. “Here. Isn’t that the one Lucia used to work for?”
Craig nodded. “Years ago. She might know Maria McGovern. I’ll ask.” He waved Davy on.
“I’m getting McGovern’s financial details and phone and computer dumps now, but s…so far there’s nothing nasty.”
Annette interrupted with an annoyed look on her face. “Why are we getting all that? Are we treating everyone as a suspect, even if they died?”
Craig shot her a sceptical look. “We have to, Annette, you know that. Even if it’s only to rule them out. What’s the problem?”
Annette shook her head, setting her sensible brown bob flying. Craig smiled inwardly at her flat shoes and prim suit. Annette had never dressed casually but nowadays it seemed she was dressing as if someone was assessing whether she was suitable senior officer material. He knew she was ambitious and getting more so but she didn’t need to carry it that far.
Gone were the days when women had to hide their attractiveness to be taken seriously; feminism was in its third wave. Well, that’s what Lucia and Katy told him if he asked how they walked all day in five-inch-heels.
Annette’s Maghera tones dragged Craig back from his thoughts. “Well, it’s just… hasn’t the wife suffered enough already without her husband being treated like a suspect?”
Craig shook his head. “This is behind the scenes work, Annette, and if you’re worried I’ll let you interview Mrs McGovern. OK?”
Annette nodded, mollified, and Davy picked up his report.
“The s…shop-owner Jules Robinson is more interesting. He was a civil servant, then ten years ago he bought the shop outright w…with cash.”
“Retirement money?”<
br />
“Maybe, but I can’t find any s…sign of where it came from and retirement funds would normally be paid into a bank account, w…wouldn’t they? Maybe it was dodgy money?”
Craig laughed. “So young and yet so cynical. It’s probably perfectly innocent but follow it up anyway. Dig into every corner of Robinson’s finances; personal and business. Anything on his family?”
Davy shrugged. “Wife, Sarah, s…seventy-two.”
Liam grinned. “Here. Old Jules was a toy-boy.”
Annette snorted. “And if he’d been some sad old man with a ponytail and a twenty-year-old on his arm you’d have said ‘good on him’. It might interest you to know that in forty-eight percent of marriages the woman is the same age or older than the man.”
The way she said it made Craig expect a “So there” to follow. It did, from Nicky. Her husky voice grew louder as she approached the group with more biscuits.
“Good on her. I hope I’m dating a fifty-year-old when I’m eighty. Joan Collins is an example to us all.” She deposited the digestives with a haughty sniff and left.
Craig waved the chatter down. “OK, everyone. I know we’re all de-mob happy about John’s wedding but let’s focus, please.”
Davy focused. “The Robinsons led a quiet life. No children, just a cat and dog. They seemed to put everything into the s…shop. Mrs Robinson helped out there.”
Craig leaned forward urgently. “Find out how often, Davy, and if she was expected to be there on Thursday. Any changes in her routine, flag it up to me. We need to know if she could have been a possible target.”
“W…Will do. Do you want to take over for Fintan Delaney?”
Craig nodded then started reporting on his two encounters with Delaney and his belief that the youth’s amnesia was genuine. “He can’t even remember his own name. The consultant called it global amnesia and said the sooner we find Delaney’s family the sooner his memory might return.”
Davy waved for attention. “I’ve found them. He has parents, John and Bronagh, and two younger brothers, Dermot and Liam.”
The Careless Word (#8 - The Craig Crime Series) Page 6