Liam glared at Aidan and received a look of feigned innocence in reply that Liam recognised as usually belonging to him. He nodded towards Hughes’ office and they entered it, with Carmen scowling at their backs. Once behind the firmly closed door Liam let rip.
“Too ladylike for Vice my ass, and ‘she had a crush on a colleague’, complete bollocks! You just wanted rid of her. Thanks for this, Aidan. I’ll do the same for you someday. How the hell am I going to explain this to the boss?”
Hughes perched on the edge of his veneered desk and grinned. He rearranged his long limbs to get comfortable, as best he could in a tiny office hosting two men over six-feet-four, and then he waved Liam to calm down.
“Ah, now, don’t get yourself in an uproar. Just tell Marc it was my fault and he’ll be as good as gold.”
Craig had known Aidan Hughes at school and too late Liam remembered his warnings about Hughes’ warped sense of humour.
“Only if I tape her mouth shut for a fortnight!”
Hughes waved Liam to a seat and poured two coffees that were a while past their perk-by date. His next words held an indignant tone.
“You only have her for two weeks, Cullen, then you’re off to Bali-Hi or wherever, for John’s splicing. Pity me; I have her all year round, and her tongue hasn’t blunted any in the past six months.”
He held out a packet of Jammy Dodgers and Liam seized one grudgingly, like a man doing him a favour by deigning to partake. Hughes kept talking.
“Look. McGregor’s a good officer, works her socks off and she even has moments of real inspiration; she’s just a bit… blunt.”
“Blunt! She nearly chewed my face off when I asked why she’d been christened Carmen. I just wondered if she had Spanish blood!”
Hughes raised an eyebrow sceptically. “Don’t kid a kidder, Cullen. You were about to launch into a chorus of ‘Agadoo’ and she knew it. Anyway, all she said was that her Mum chose it ’cos she loved opera.”
“Those might have been her words but her look could’ve killed.” Liam palmed his face and groaned. “The boss has just got Jake knocked into shape and everything peaceful and now I chuck ‘Hand-grenade McGregor’ into the mix.”
Hughes drained his cup cheerfully then he stood up and headed for the door. “Aye, well, that’s your problem. I’m just looking forward to peace and quiet for two weeks. I’ll have the hand-grenade back soon enough.”
They re-entered the Vice Squad’s main office to see Carmen McGregor with a notebook in her hand. She was scribbling frantically and Aidan whispered to Liam under his breath.
“That’s your list of transgressions so far. It’ll get a lot longer, trust me.”
He loped to the main door and pulled it open wide, smiling from ear to ear. “Bye, now, you two. Have fun and I’ll see you in a fortnight. If anyone feels the urge to call me before then, please don’t.”
***
A third pencil flew past Davy’s ear and landed on the floor beside him and finally he looked up resignedly from his screen. He would get nothing done until he’d answered whatever query Annette had, so he might as well get it over with. He’d just flicked his screen to the Planning Office’s database, preparing to talk about developers, when Annette’s question took him totally by surprise.
“What are you wearing at the wedding?”
Davy stared at her as if she was insane while Nicky perked up at her desk. He took so long to answer that Nicky decided to fill the gap. She crossed the floor in the prim manner she thought was in keeping with her chosen ’50s outfit of the day and started.
“I’m bringing every summer dress I own, so I can choose on the day. Gary’s wearing a linen suit.”
Annette nodded. Linen seemed wise given the likely heat. Except… “Linen creases, Nicky. You’ll spend all day following him around with an iron.”
Nicky snorted in a decidedly un-fifties manner. “He’ll be doing his own ironing. I’m there for a holiday and if I don’t come back with a tan, I’ll kill him.”
She turned towards Davy and repeated Annette’s question. Davy’s normal fashion sense ran to dark T-shirts and a pair of black-washed jeans. The idea of him dressed in anything else was hard to imagine, although with his looks he’d have to work hard to look anything but good.
Davy shrugged. He hadn’t a clue about clothes and he didn’t really care, but he knew that Maggie would have other ideas.
“No idea. Maggie will sort it out.”
Nicky raised her eyes to heaven. “I bet that phrase is repeated in every house in Belfast at least once a week.” She sighed theatrically, with a faraway look in her eye. “Why can’t Northern Irish men be more like the Italians or French? They always look so… suave.”
Annette smiled. “I think it’s something to do with their freckles and pale skin. A tan improves everyone.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully with the only pencil that she hadn’t thrown. “I don’t know what to get for Pete. He’s a hard shape to dress.”
They fell silent as an image of Pete McElroy sprang to mind. He was a P.E. teacher so he was fit and slim enough, but he was so flat-footed that he walked like a duck and he had an unfortunate tendency to place his feet at ten-to-two. His habit of folding his arms tightly across his chest at all times was another problem. Nicky assumed it was part of being a teacher and exercising disapproval but it would play hell with a linen suit.
“Not linen, it’ll be creased before he takes his seat.”
Annette nodded. “No, not linen. But what does that really leave for men? Lightweight summer…”
Her fashion discourse was cut short by the sight of Craig striding into the squad-room with a look like hell on his face. Davy thanked God for the rescue and turned quickly back to his work. Craig strode past them and into his office, slamming the half-glass door behind him with a bang. After a moment exchanging looks with Annette, Nicky bravely knocked on the door.
“Yes?”
They all heard the same pissed-off yes, what was different was their responses. Annette sat upright nosily, Davy hid behind his screens and Nicky pressed hard on the door handle and marched straight in. She stood in front of Craig’s desk, hands on her hips in a ‘what’s your problem?’ gesture. A gesture completely wasted as his back was towards her. He was gazing through his window at the river and swearing quietly under his breath. He turned sullenly to his P.A.
“Yes, Nicky? And before you start complaining about my bad manners, Fintan Delaney was murdered.”
Nicky went to open her mouth then she closed it again, widening her eyes instead. Craig was about to give her the details when he thought better of it and ushered her out onto the floor, calling the others to take a seat. If he was going to tell one person he might as well tell them all.
He leaned back against a desk and sighed. “Fintan Delaney is dead and I’m positive that it was murder. The C.S.I.s are at the hospital now; they’re pulling the CCTV for the whole floor and the constable who was guarding Delaney is I.D.ing everyone who entered his room last night. When forensics have finished Delaney’s body will go to John; I’ll head to the lab later.” He raked his hair so hard he was almost pulling at the roots. “OK; comments or questions?”
Annette spoke first. “Do you think Delaney was the original target? And that’s why they went back to get him?”
Craig shrugged. “Perhaps, or perhaps he had something to do with the bombing and they’re cleaning house.”
Nicky interjected. “How can you be sure that he was murdered? I mean, he did have a head injury.”
“Yes he did, but he was improving, and his observations were all recorded as normal. The last time they were recorded was at seven a.m. and they were fine. The P.M. will tell us why but he died sometime after seven o’clock.”
Davy screwed up his face.
“What’s on your mind, Davy?”
“W….Well, it’s just that if people were going in and out of the room then we’ll s…see his killer on the CCTV.”
Craig decided to
test him. “Which could be useful, unless they wore a disguise.”
Davy shook his head. “It can’t have been an obvious one or the officer on the door w…would have twigged.”
Craig nodded Davy was quick. “You’re right. Delaney was on two-hour nurse observations so the killer either dressed as a nurse or actually was one.”
“Do you think they were a clean-skin, sir?”
Nicky frowned at Annette. “What’s a clean-skin?”
Davy leapt in. “S…Someone with no rap sheet. Not known to law enforcement.”
Craig smiled at Davy’s excitement; he loved anything to do with the covert. “Not necessarily. The constable was a rookie; he wouldn’t have recognised even a known crook. But even if you’re right, Annette, and they are clean to us, that doesn’t mean that they won’t be wanted somewhere.” He straightened up. “Davy, get onto Joe Rice over at St Mary’s. Tell him to upload the floor’s CCTV to you, then run all the faces please; first against the hospital database, then against the DVLA and passport office. You know the rest.”
“Fine, but s…shouldn’t I just run the last person in the room before Delaney was found; they must have been the killer.”
Craig shook his head. “Only if whatever they used to kill him was fast-acting. If it was me I’d have used something with a delayed onset. It would kill him a few hours after I’d left and give me time to get away.”
Annette smiled; she’d have never thought of that. Craig continued.
“The tox-screen will tell us what killed Delaney but it won’t tell us why.” Craig turned to leave the floor then he turned back.
“Davy, make that I.D. your first priority, when you find the face that doesn’t belong in the hospital get it to every port and airport on the island. They may try to skip the country and if so they’ve probably already gone, but it’s worth a shot.” He glanced at his watch. “OK, we’re briefing at four, so focus on whatever you were doing and let’s see what we can get before then. I’m heading back to the hospital.”
***
Liam glanced at the woman seated beside him and for one moment he thought about just dumping her in the squad-room and leaving Nicky to sort her out, then the part of him that enjoyed a challenge kicked in. That and the part that knew he’d get the blame for bringing a mouthy constable on board to disrupt the team. He turned the key in his old Ford’s ignition and raked the gearstick into reverse.
“Buckle up, constable. I drive fast.”
Carmen Mc Gregor winced at the crunching gears then said her first words in ten minutes, in a Scottish accent so lilting it sounded like mood music and almost disguised her sarcastic intent.
“Don’t you mean buckle up because if you drive anything like you change gears we’ll both be dead soon?”
Liam hit back immediately. “With a mouth like that I’m surprised you aren’t already!”
He raked the car into neutral and jerked on the handbrake, leaving the Ford’s rear-end protruding from the parking space. Then he unbuckled his belt and turned as dramatically as he could in the confined space. The tone in his voice was unambiguously pissed off.
“Now listen to me, Little Miss Mouthy. You might be used to Vice, where everyone is so politically correct that they’ll let you say anything in case you cry sexism, but you aren’t working in Vice now. This is the Murder Squad and we have serious crap to deal with every day. That means pressure to get results and stress from the top. The last thing we need is more shit from inside the team. Do you understand me?”
McGregor folded her arms defiantly and said nothing, so Liam raised his voice just a notch. In the small space it transformed his already loud bass into a roar and his passenger howled “Ow!” and clamped her small hands over her ears. Liam was undeterred. He leaned forward and stared into McGregor’s sky-blue eyes, signalling her to remove her hands.
“Do you understand?”
Carmen nodded grudgingly and Liam carried on. “Now, the Super’s a nice man and he worries about things like people’s feelings; unlike me. He likes to run a happy team, so it’ll take him longer to say these things to you. But make no mistake, if you piss him off enough he will. Then he’ll chuck you back in the pool with all the other little constables. I, on the other hand, don’t give a monkey’s about your feelings, or why you’re such a grumpy cow. Maybe someone stole your ice-cream when you were a toddler, or you didn’t get invited to the school dance; I. Don’t. Care. You have two choices. You can be nice and work hard, get on with everyone for the next two weeks and leave with a good reference, or you can behave as you obviously do normally; mouthing off and acting like the world owes you a break. In which case I’ll make your life hell and eventually Superintendent Craig will give you the push.”
Liam raised his voice again to underline the point, watching amused as his companion recoiled at the sound.
“Well? Which is it to be?”
Carmen glared at Liam with real hatred in her eyes and he knew she wasn’t used to anyone standing up to her. He wondered in passing why she was so angry with life, after all, she seemed to have everything going for her, and then he decided that he didn’t care. Not his problem.
While Liam was carrying out his analysis, the woman seated next to him was calculating her best way to go. Marc Craig obviously liked to keep the peace, that made him a wimp in her book; but even wimps had power. She could behave however she liked, last one week and wreck her name forever in the force, or she could bite her tongue and count down the days until she’d be back in Vice. Carman decided on the latter and contorted her lips into a false smile.
“I’ll play nice with the other girls and boys.”
Her words were dripping with sarcasm and Liam knew she didn’t mean them, but he’d take whatever he could get. His headache was blinding after just ten minutes of arguing with her. He decided on one last gift to himself.
“Sir.”
Carmen gave him a puzzled look. “What?”
“I’ll play nice with the other girls and boys, sir.”
Liam folded his arms, indicating that they were going nowhere until she said the words, so after a moment’s defiant silence Carmen capitulated, in a tone so saccharin sweet that Liam could feel his teeth beginning to rot. As he drove out onto Pilot Street he knew that she was already plotting her revenge.
Chapter Twelve
Dublin. 1 p.m.
Jennifer Weston completed the flight safety briefing and strapped herself in for the steep ascent, relieved that she was home and dry. The mission had been successfully completed; they’d achieved their goal and the only man who could have incriminated them was dead.
She gazed around the small galley and thought of Fintan and his crooked smile. He’d just been the wrong man in the wrong place all those months ago. She was sorry that he’d had to die, and she was sorry that she’d had to lose her chance at a healthy love, instead of her addiction to Fareed. But Fintan’s death would serve a higher cause and they’d been bred for sacrifice. Her sacrifice was that she would never see her family again.
***
Belfast. 1 p.m.
Liam drove for ten minutes in silence, down Queen’s Road and past the iconic Titanic Belfast building, until finally, when the new apartments and office blocks that signalled the city’s inward investment were behind them, he pulled off the road onto a patch of wasteland. Its only occupants were seagulls, signalling how close they were to Belfast Lough. They were everywhere. Perching on the old fence-posts that said something more than pebbles and remnants of piping had once stood here, and in the air above them, circling in patterns so seemingly random that it was only scientists who could prove that they weren’t. They surrounded the car like curious children, cawing and flapping for attention and food as the car’s five minute immobility turned into fifteen and Carmen finally spoke.
“Are we waiting for someone, or did you just come here for the nice view?”
Liam tutted at her sarcasm and raised a warning eyebrow, but he had to admit that
she was right about the view. The vista that stretched in front of them was impressive. The lough’s industrial Belfast shore had given way to clear water, unobstructed by people or boats of any sort. It stretched in front of them for miles until, just as the next logical step was to transform into open sea, it was fringed by a shore so green that it belonged to a different place. It was. It was Bangor; home to boats, regattas and other rural pleasures that Belfast’s inhabitants drove out of town to see, and the few who made their lives there enjoyed every day.
Finally, when he’d drunk in the view for long enough, Liam answered the question. “We’re here to meet someone. He has information that I want.”
Carmen sat forward eagerly and Liam was certain he saw a smile in her eyes. Well, well, so that’s what it took to make Little Miss Mouthy happy.
“Is this about the protection racket you mentioned? Are they loyalist paramilitaries?”
Liam sniffed knowingly. “They might be, indeed they might. But don’t you know there are no paramilitaries anymore, only misunderstood ex-combatants? We have peace nowadays.”
He was about to wink conspiratorially then thought better of it; she would probably call it sexist. Liam sighed heavily, knowing that he was looking at two weeks of watching his back. He was about to say something else when the sound of a badly out-of-tune engine made him turn. A battered silver Nissan had pulled onto the wasteland and was driving slowly towards them. Liam watched it in his rear-view mirror with a smile. He knew who the driver was but that didn’t stop his hand resting on his gun; you never knew who might be hiding in the back seat.
The Careless Word (#8 - The Craig Crime Series) Page 12