Outside in the long, quiet hallway the lights remained dimmed, awaiting the nurses’ handover that would tell the morning routine to start. A young constable guarded the side-room, arm’s folded and perched on a hard plastic chair, determined to be vigilant, as he had been all night. But his unfailing alertness was no match for a professional who said they needed to enter and check a pulse, especially if they showed their I.D.
The white door opened quietly and the young woman slipped inside, scanning the room for the man she’d come to see. As her vision adjusted, Delaney turned fitfully in his sleep until he faced her, his eyes still closed tight. The woman froze for a moment, until he settled into his new position still sleeping and she was safe to approach the bed.
Jennifer Weston gazed at her young lover, wanting to stroke his thick black hair and trace his full mouth with her finger and then her lips. For a moment she hesitated in her task, remembering long, warm nights spent wrapped in his arms and a love that had strengthened by the day. Did he really have to die; did it help them in any way? She already knew the answer. Her feelings for Fintan were strong, but not as strong as for the man who’d groomed her, and what they worked for was stronger than them all.
Before her feelings could prevent what she knew had to be done, she slipped the syringe from her pocket and slid the needle into her lover’s I.V. Delaney’s eyelids flickered and opened and what he saw shocked him then brought the first hint of recognition that he’d felt in days. He gazed into her blue eyes and mouthed a word that only she would understand; Salerno. It confirmed that she’d been justified in her task. Fintan knew everything and soon he would betray them to the police.
Jennifer Weston smiled tearfully at the man she loved and held his hand as he began his departure from this world. Then she scribbled on his chart and turned in the churchlike silence of the morning, to leave the room and the hospital as easily as she came.
***
Docklands. Sunday. 9 a.m.
“OK, this is going to be quick. I’ve had a few thoughts.”
Liam groaned deliberately loudly and it had the desired effect. Craig raised an eyebrow then laughed at his disrespect and the others joined in. All except Davy; he was leaning back in his chair staring at the ceiling, as if it held information that no-one else could see. Craig could hear his brain working from where he sat.
“Penny for them, Davy?”
Annette chipped in, applying her pale pink lipstick discreetly behind a mirror at her desk. Nicky’s bright red gloss wasn’t nearly as discreet.
“I think it’s a pound nowadays.”
Whatever Davy’s thoughts could be bought for he wasn’t ready to share them. He shook his head then leapt from his chair and sauntered across to where Craig sat, with a cockiness that said he was onto something. They’d find out when he was ready.
Craig turned to the small group. “Right, I’ll keep this short and sweet. Liam, get that constable from Vice here today please. I want her in place when Captain Smith arrives tomorrow.” He turned towards Nicky, just in time to catch her mouthing something at Annette.
“Am I going to have to pay for your thoughts as well, Nick?”
Nicky shook her pony-tailed head. “No, I’m a cheap date. I was just wondering if we could commandeer part of Inspector Miller’s floor-space.”
She pointed past Liam’s desk to a small corner of the squad-room that was rarely used. For good reason. It was windowless and cold, even when the rest of the floor was warm.
Craig made a face. “It’s pretty unwelcoming, considering that they’re both coming to help us. Don’t we have anywhere better?”
Nicky swept her arm in an arc, like an estate agent showing a house. “If you can find somewhere else, be my guest. That’s the only space I can see and Inspector Miller might not even let us have that.”
Craig had known Bob Miller for years. He was an amiable looking man whose personality backed up the theory that people’s exterior reflected what lay inside. He was barely five-feet-six inches tall and almost as wide; if the police had had an annual fitness test, Bob would have failed it several hundred donuts ago. His face had a ruddy complexion that said he lived outdoors, which he did; spending each weekend roaming the Glens of Antrim with his dogs and kids, doubtless singing ‘Fa-la-ri’ as he walked. No-one had ever seen Bob lose his temper, or even heard him raise his voice.
Craig smiled reassuringly at Nicky. “Bob will be as good as gold. Give him a call at home today, Nicky. But wait until lunchtime, please. He’ll be up Slemish Mountain this morning.”
Liam squinted at his watch and then at Craig, with a ‘you’ve got to be kidding’ expression.
“He leads the local scout troop. They go there every Sunday.”
“All that exercise doesn’t seem to affect his waistline.”
Craig ignored the comment. “If Bob says we can have the space, which he will, then get it sorted today please. Get a couple of desks, chairs…”
Nicky sniffed. “I know what to do, sir.”
“Sorry. Of course you do. Do something to brighten the place up a bit as well, please. Flowers or plants, whatever you like; I’ll pay.”
Craig turned back to the group. “Right. As I said, this will be quick. I’ve been thinking about a few things. First the unidentified fifth person; Davy, can you get on to John and Des and see how quickly they can identify DNA from the tissue they found. “
“There’s likely to be two types, chief. Possibly five if the others bled a lot.”
Craig sighed, knowing it could take a while. “Try anyway, please.” He turned to Liam and Annette. “You two, get Carmen in today and brief her. I want her up to speed ASAP. I’ll see her today or tomorrow, whenever I can. Liam, when you’re chasing the protection rackets today; be careful. We all know who these guys are linked with and how much they hate the police. Annette, do as much of the developers’ search as you can on your desk-top. If you need to be on the street before Captain Smith arrives tomorrow then take Liam with you, please.”
Annette protested loudly. “That’s unreasonable, sir. If you don’t mind me saying so.”
Craig raised an eyebrow as she carried on.
“I’m quite capable of looking after myself and most of them will be no more than fat estate agents.”
Craig raised a hand to quiet her. “But one of them might not be, Annette, if they’ve already blown up a shop.”
Annette was undeterred. “I saved your lives three months ago.” She was referring to a shoot-out on a case when she’d saved both Craig’s and Liam’s lives. She smiled smugly at the memory. “Maybe Liam should have me along for protection.”
Craig stifled a laugh and conceded, but only partly. “I know you can take care of yourself, Annette, but you had a gun then and you’re not carrying this time. In hand-to-hand combat you’re still no match for most men, not unless you’ve learned a martial art in the past few months?”
Annette went to protest then shook her head grudgingly.
“OK then, my order stands. Take someone with you to the interviews.” He swung round to face Liam, catching the end of his grin. “And you needn’t look so smug. Annette saved your life last time. I don’t want you taking risks with the gangs either. Wear your vest please.”
Craig ignored the inevitable groan that followed and carried on. “OK, Liam’s going to bring in our new team member Carmen and then pay a visit to the protection gang. Annette’s going to be here doing background work on the developer, and then she and Liam can pay them a visit.” He stood up. “Davy, Nicky; you both know what you’re doing. I’m going back to the hospital to see Delaney, then I’ll be at the lab if you need me.”
Craig headed for the main doors then stopped as the phone rang on Nicky’s desk. A call this early on a Sunday was never going to be good news.
“Murder Squad. Can I help you?”
The room felt silent as everyone saw the expression on her face. Before Nicky dropped the receiver Craig knew what exactly she was going
to say.
“Fintan Delaney’s dead, sir.”
By the word ‘dead’ he was halfway out the door.
Chapter Eleven
10 a.m.
By the time Craig reached the hospital Jennifer Weston was on the train back to Dublin, preparing to gather her uniform and belongings for her return flight to Pakistan. She gazed through the train’s pollen-smeared window and sobbed as she thought of the man she’d just killed.
Fintan had been different from the other men she knew; kind and uncynical, only ever wanting to help. It had led to his death. She wished that she’d never met him, just let him walk by in the student’s union that day. But something about his soft eyes and shy smile had made her stare, a stare that he’d felt and returned. What had she seen; gullibility or someone she could love? Probably both, but whatever it had been from that moment his fate had been sealed.
They’d been inseparable, just two young people in love, doing the usual romantic things. Long walks and cool swims, first in Belfast and then under a warm Pakistan sun. They’d made love tentatively at first, her sensing that it was his first time; until the pupil had become the teacher and he’d aroused her in ways that she’d never known before.
Jennifer sobbed before she could stop herself and glanced quickly around the carriage to see who might have overheard, but there was only a young couple there, both deaf to the world. Their heads were nodding in sleep and their bodies were intertwined, as if they were travelling home from some romantic night. The sight of them made her sob harder; she’d loved Fintan like that, really loved him. Oh God, what had she done?
How many times had she wished that she was just an ordinary girl, as Fintan had first thought she was? Young, free and doing good works. But she wasn’t and the works she planned on doing were a different world’s version of good.
To the others, Fintan had just been another asset that they could use, so they did. When he’d survived the explosion her orders had been clear; go to Belfast, finish the job and keep the movement safe. The movement. She wanted to spit the word on the floor but it was too deeply ingrained; seared on her heart since she’d been an undergraduate. She’d had to choose; her personal feelings or the greater good. Jennifer cast a final look at the young lovers and then sighed and turned her eyes towards the countryside. The greater good; it would win every time.
***
St Mary’s. 10 a.m.
Craig raced down the bright, white corridor, forcing his way through the crowd of nurses and police. As he pushed open the door of the side-room the sight that greeted him was even worse than he had feared. A dark-haired woman lay prostrate across the bed, crying racking tears. A stern-faced man, ashen but upright stood beside her, gazing down at the body of his dead son. Fintan Delaney lay unseeing amidst his parents’ grief, oblivious to the world that he’d just left.
Craig halted at the door, torn between his pity for the couple and his desire to shout “get out”; every forensic trace of Delaney’s killer would have gone by the time the C.S.I.s got there. Because if there was one thing that Craig was sure of, it was that this was no normal hospital death; Fintan Delaney had been murdered.
Craig backed out of the room quietly and spoke to the nearest officer; a middle-aged sergeant who he recognised. He was an affable Cork man called Joe Rice who punctuated his sentences with the word ‘so’, in the character of his home county. He and Craig always got on well but today there was no preamble and Craig’s tone was very far from warm.
“Why wasn’t this room sealed off, Joe?”
Rice stared at Craig, bewildered, as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “It’s a hospital death, sir. Why would we have done that, so?”
Craig’s jaw dropped in astonishment at the man’s stupidity and then he realised that he was the stupid one. As far as St Mary’s knew they were guarding Fintan Delaney because he might be a criminal or a witness. No-one, including him, had thought of Delaney as a potential victim who could be targeted.
“Do it now, please.”
As Rice cleared the side-room Craig’s mind raced with possibilities. Had Delaney been the real target of the bomb all along? Should he have foreseen that whoever had planted it would have come back to kill Delaney, or any survivor? Was there something that he’d missed? No, they had no reason to believe that Fintan Delaney had been the main target, everything pointed to it being something to do with Jules Robinson or his shop. Delaney’s record was clean; if anything he was a model citizen and it was too early to have disproved that. Craig berated himself for a minute about things that he couldn’t possibly have predicted, then he berated himself for not posting more guards outside Delaney’s room.
Suddenly something occurred to him. Where had the guard been when Delaney had been killed? He looked sharply at Joe Rice. “Who was posted here last night?”
Rice indicated a brown-haired young man three feet away. He was wearing a look of surprise. Craig beckoned him over, dialling his temper down a notch.
“What’s your name, Constable?”
The P.C. stumbled over his words. “Con…Constable McCormick, sir.”
His nervousness softened Craig’s heart slightly, but not enough; he had a dead witness and a dead end in his case. Craig’s voice was cold. “Where were you last night?”
McCormick’s eyes widened. “H…Here, sir.”
He pointed hastily at a chair outside the side-room’s door.
“For how long?”
McCormick looked at Joe Rice pleadingly, seeking support. Craig repeated the question. “How long, Constable McCormick?”
“All night, sir. I came on at ten p.m. and never moved.”
“Did you fall asleep?”
McCormick was indignant and it made him forget his nerves. “No, I didn’t. You can ask anyone who passed by, or ask the nurses who were in and out of the room.” He folded his arms defiantly. “It was like a revolving door, there were so many of them in and out.”
Craig thought for a moment and then turned on his heel, barking “Stay there. We haven’t finished” at the young man. He strode to the nurse’s station and waited impatiently while a pleasant looking woman finished her telephone call, itching to cut her off.
“Can I help you?” The woman’s tone said that she wasn’t impressed at the chaos and her demeanour said that the ward was definitely hers.
“Sister?”
The woman nodded. “Sister McHenry.”
Craig extended his hand and she took it, surprised; relatives rarely shook her hand. Craig flicked open his warrant card.
“Superintendent Craig. I’d like to ask a few questions about the nursing care Mr Delaney received last night.”
The sister sighed, resigning herself to the chaos lasting another while. “What would you like to know?”
“How many times nurses were scheduled to enter his room.”
She reached for a small flipchart and ran her finger down a list of names. “Mr Delaney was on two-hourly observations because of his head injury. A nurse would have checked on him every two hours during the night. At one a.m., three and so on until nine this morning. That was when he was found dead.”
Craig’s heart sank; the P.C. had been telling the truth and he would have had no reason to prevent the nurses’ access to the room. Craig had a thought. His gaze shot towards the ceiling and then back to the nurse.
“Are there CCTV cameras on this floor, Sister?”
“Yes. I’ll show you.”
One minute later Craig knew the position of each camera on the floor and in the stairwell outside. He nodded his thanks then said the words that were guaranteed to make any ward-manager’s heart sink.
“I’m sorry, Sister, but this is a crime scene. I need the whole floor sealed off until further notice. A forensic team will be here soon.”
Craig ignored her widening eyes and made a series of calls, then he headed back to Delaney’s room. Jordan McCormick tensed as the senior officer approached but Craig’s apologetic smile said th
at he had nothing to be worried about.
“I owe you an apology, Constable McCormick. The sister has confirmed that Mr Delaney was on nurse observations throughout the night.” He paused to give the young man a chance to say something, good or bad, but McCormick’s shoulders merely slumped in relief.
“OK, I need your help. This is a crime scene. I’m going to talk to Mr and Mrs Delaney and in the next ten minutes the C.S.I.s will arrive to work up the room. We’ll need your help to I.D. the nurses who entered the room last night. Can you do that?”
McCormick nodded. “I checked every badge and they were OK, honestly. I remember what they all looked like.”
Craig’s eyes widened. Either one of the badges had been a fake or they were looking for a real nurse.
“OK. Good. In the meantime, clear the floor of anyone who isn’t police, seal off this corridor and impound last night’s CCTV tape from the ward. The sister’s been informed and she’s making arrangements to move the other patients elsewhere. Is everything clear?”
McCormick looked like he might faint. “He was murdered?”
Craig nodded. “I’m certain he was. The post-mortem will confirm it. Delaney was on the mend, there was no reason for him to suddenly deteriorate and it’s just too damn convenient.” He glanced towards the side-room door. “OK, let’s get to work. And Constable McCormick...”
“Yes, sir.”
“Apologies again. You did your job.”
***
Docklands. 11 a.m.
There weren’t many things in life that Liam Cullen admitted challenged him, after all, he’d dealt with bombs and bullets during the Troubles and long before that he’d shoed horses and birthed cows on his granny’s farm. That was enough challenge for fifty twelve-year-olds. No, he wasn’t easily fazed by life and he wasn’t easily deterred, but the five-feet-five, thirty-something woman standing in front of him could prove to be his nemesis yet.
Liam stared down at Carmen McGregor and then back at Aidan Hughes, wondering how he’d managed to get sold such a pup. Not that there was obviously wrong with McGregor, if anything she was a looker. Petite, with fine features and the brightest blue eyes that Liam had ever seen, topped by a heavy fall of copper hair that he sincerely hoped she would tie back on a job. Nope, if looks were the criteria then they’d struck gold for two weeks; it was when McGregor opened her mouth that the fireworks began. She’d been sniping since Liam had arrived and he had a headache worse than a hangover now.
The Careless Word (#8 - The Craig Crime Series) Page 11