***
St Mary’s.
Liam checked his watch; three o’clock. If Sister McHenry didn’t appear soon he’d have to get back to the ranch. He repositioned himself on the hard ward chair and watched the staff and patients walking to and fro. His eyes fell on a student nurse. She looked like a school-kid and he tried to picture Annette at that age in training. It was young to have responsibility, but he’d had it then too. Neither of them compared to his great-grandfather fighting in the Somme at sixteen. His daydream was interrupted by the ward clerk pointing towards the sister’s room.
“She’s just gone in. Knock on the door.”
Liam hesitated. Not at the idea of door knocking, God knows he’d knocked down more than one of them in his time. No, his hesitation was at what he was about to ask. It sounded stupid, even to him. It was more than a long shot, it was way out in orbit, but if you don’t ask you don’t get. He would risk looking stupid for a moment.
He knocked firmly on the small white door. A soft “come in” followed and Liam contrasted the sister’s dulcet tones with the virago they’d met on a previous case; Sister Laurie Johns. He wondered whether they’d known each other but thought it was better not to ask; Johns had met a very sticky end.
Liam opened the door and entered, smiling at the pleasant-looking woman. He smiled even more at her blue uniform. It reminded him of parties in the nurse’s home and his extremely misspent youth.
“Sister McHenry, I’m D.C.I. Cullen; part of the investigation into Mr Delaney’s death.”
She nodded him to sit and gestured towards a kettle. “Tea, Chief Inspector?”
“I never say no to a brew.”
They laughed together for a moment then Mary McHenry returned to the reason Liam had come. “It was a terrible business, and to think that Jenny Weston might have been involved.” She shuddered. “She was a lovely girl and a really good nurse. It’s so sad.”
Liam took the proffered cup and perused the luxurious chocolate biscuits on the tray, limiting himself to one for the sake of good manners. “That’s what I’ve come to speak to you about, Sister. How well did you know Jennifer Weston?”
McHenry’s expression saddened. “Obviously not as well as I thought. She had a degree before she entered nursing and when I met her in 2013 she wasn’t long qualified. She was an instinctive nurse, which is very rare. Most people can learn how to care for people, but few have a truly caring nature. Jenny did. She was passionate about her patients.”
If Craig was right her passion had extended to other things as well.
“You told the superintendent that Jenny had gone abroad and that you hadn’t known she was back until you saw her on the tape?”
“Yes. We use a nursing agency and we never know who they’re going to send us, just their level of qualification. I didn’t even know she was back in Ireland.” Liam eyed up a second biscuit and the sister smiled. “Take another, Mr Cullen. They’ll only go stale. I rarely eat chocolate.”
Liam took the biscuit gratefully and noticed how slim she was, and how attractive. He realised that he was enjoying their chat just a little too much and attempted a more official approach.
“Do you have any idea where Nurse Weston travelled to abroad?”
“I didn’t, but after Mr Delaney’s death I asked around. Jennifer went to work with the poor in Pakistan.” She shook her head sadly. “She seemed like such a nice girl.”
Pakistan. It was the third time that week he’d heard the word. Fintan Delaney had taken a trip there and he phoned there once a week; what were the odds that Weston had been in the same place? Liam reached into his pocket, withdrawing the piece of paper that Ken had printed off for him. He went to unfold it and then hesitated. He might have avoided anyone in the office thinking he had a foot fetish but for some reason it bothered him that the sister might think he was weird. He decided to lead into the conversation slowly.
“Sister.”
“Mary.”
Liam smiled and preened himself; she liked him as well. “Mary. Is there anything that you can remember about Jennifer Weston physically? Anything that stood out in any way?”
McHenry wrinkled her brow in thought. “Well…she was a pretty girl, but then they all are at that age.” She laughed and Liam smiled; not only at that age.
“She was forever dying her hair different colours. They all suited her but I had to draw a line at blue. Some of the patients complained.” She gave Liam a sad look. “A wasted life.”
He urged her on, trying desperately not to lead her.
“I remember that she always painted her fingernails jet-black. It looked like she had gangrene. I know it was the fashion but it made her hands look dirty, so I asked her to stop wearing it on the ward.”
Liam leaned forward, trying not to look too eager. “Did she ever paint them other colours?”
The sister thought for a moment and then shook her head. “No. It was some expensive varnish that she’d bought and she was determined to use the whole bottle.” She laughed. “She painted her toenails as well, but that didn’t matter because the patients never saw those.”
“Was there anything else you remember about her appearance? Think hard. Clothes, shoes, bags?”
“Only that she never wore high heels. She said that she couldn’t walk in them.” She halted and gave Liam a quizzical look. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why is this relevant, Mr Cullen? You’ve got Jenny on CCTV. You already know that she killed poor Mr Delaney.”
It was a valid question and Liam decided that it was time to unfold the page. He smoothed out the print and set it on the desk. The sister peered at it and then at him.
“It’s a pair of women’s feet in sandals.”
“Yes, it is. But look more closely.” Liam pointed at the woman’s toes. “Is that the shade of nail-varnish that Jenny Weston wore?”
“Well, yes. Yes, she wore that shade. Black.” She peered more closely. “And she had a pair of jewelled sandals just like that! I saw her wear them on a staff night out. But what…”
Liam lifted the page and slipped it back inside his pocket then he smiled and gestured at the tea-pot. “It’s probably nothing. I just wanted to ask. Now, is there any more of that delicious tea?”
***
Pakistan was a beautiful country. More than that; it was stunning, in a way that few others were. The landscape didn’t need man-made icons to grab attention; nature’s own were striking enough. Jenny Weston gazed around her. Thirty-metre high sand dunes tinted lemon-red and shades of ochre stretched for miles on either side of the camp. Set in the middle, like pure yellow stone, lay the hard desert floor; smooth and unmarked as if it alone had been there since time began. Polished by winds and bleached by the sun; with a resolve that said it would remain long after they had all gone.
It wouldn’t be long now until she was gone and Jenny knew it. Just as Fintan had been dispensable so they all were now. All destined to die in the service of a higher cause; warriors; mujahedeen. At least it was their choice to die, unlike the thousands slaughtered by foreign drones. She was prepared for whatever came next. She’d said goodbye to her family long before and what personal love she felt now was in snatched moments with Fareed, a man who secretly thought she was a western whore.
Fintan had never thought of her like that. As she remembered the eager young man she’d met two years earlier and how she’d lured him to certain death, a tear rolled down Jenny Weston’s cheek. She dashed it away. What did one death matter or one hundred if it was in the name of the cause? If she wasn’t next she would be the one after. She was at peace with it. Where and when she died was unimportant, what mattered was how and what it achieved. There was only one thing worth achieving now, and tomorrow it would lead her to France.
***
4 p.m.
Thirty seconds of rearranging chairs and clattering cups occurred, until finally there was peace and Craig made a start.
“OK. I’m going to update you on an encounter
that John and I had this afternoon with our friends from across the Atlantic. Two CIA agents turned up at John’s lab when the DNA from Ibrahim Kouri got a hit.” He turned to see John squeezing the cream from a bourbon biscuit and licking the edges, just as he’d done when they were at school. “John?”
John set down his biscuit hastily and began to speak. “As you know we got a hit on our Saudi national. Well, earlier today two CIA agents turned up at my lab; Agents Ross and Mulhearn, over from their office in London.”
Liam gawped. “They flew over just for this? Have they never heard of a phone?”
Annette joined in. “Or video conferencing?” She shook her head. “Talk about overkill.”
Only Davy was excited by the mention of the CIA. John spotted his audience and continued eagerly. “They had the badges and guns, like you see on TV, and you should have seen their suits. Talk about sharp.” He gestured towards Craig. “There was almost a gunfight. They all had their revolvers out.”
Craig smiled, not at the guns being drawn but at John’s schoolboy excitement. They wouldn’t hear the end of this for weeks. Davy was interested in what the DNA had shown.
“What was so special about the Saudi, Dr Winter?”
“What?” John looked puzzled for a moment and then remembered why he was there. “Oh, yes, yes, of course. Well apparently our Saudi national, Ibrahim Kouri, was Ken’s bomber. The DNA matched. He’d been on the American’s list of Middle Eastern combatants for years, but they’d lost his trail.”
“Islamic radical then, you were right, boss.”
Annette was puzzled. She’d just found that an SNI employee was missing. “Do you have a physical description of Kouri, Dr Winter?”
“Not yet, Annette. Why?”
“Because one of SNI’s senior employees has gone missing.” Annette produced a photograph from the papers on her lap. “Mohammed GhamdiAl. Aged thirty-five, six feet and one hundred and seventy pounds. He’s a director, functioning just below Board level.” She glanced at Craig. “What are the chances this is the same man, sir?”
“Kouri posed as an SNI employee for cover?”
Annette shrugged. “It would have got him a visa into the country.”
Craig raked his hair. “SNI might know nothing about it, or they do and GhamdiAl not being at Board level could have given the company deniability. It’s unlikely but the whole purchase of the bookshop could have been set up to get nearer the target, whatever it was. Davy, check GhamdiAl out, please, especially his DNA if you can find it. Annette, go back to Hilary Stenson and find out whose idea it was for SNI to invest in Northern Ireland, and in Smithfield in particular. Do it face-to-face, I don’t want the CIA hacking into our systems.”
“I’ve confirmed the Mercedes belonged to SNI as well.”
Craig nodded at her then scanned the row of faces. “What I said about to Annette about the CIA hacking goes for everyone. Keep of the internet as much as possible for the next few days, and Davy, tighten everyone’s firewalls please. The CIA will want anything they can get on the explosion and their equipment is advanced. It’s back to old-fashioned policing for a while I’m afraid. Face-to-face interviews rather than phone calls, preferably not taped unless you think it will be necessary in court, and no-one except Davy is allowed on the Net.” He turned to Nicky. “Issue everyone with new pre-paid phones please, Nick.”
Smith interrupted. “I might need to access the army database.”
Craig shook his head. “Then go to headquarters. I know it will be time consuming but better that than an information breach.” He sighed heavily. “And you’d better tell Major James that we may be under surveillance; he’ll need to notify GCHQ.”
Smith groaned. “I feel another ‘you should never work with civvies’ lecture coming on.”
Craig gave a tight smile and turned back to John. “Before I forget, John, make sure the lab’s firewalls are reinforced and ask Des to do as I’ve just said on anything to do with this case. I’ll give the CIA what we have when I’m ready and not before.”
Liam grinned and Craig felt a joke coming. “You’d better be a good boy for the next few days, boss.”
“OK, I’ll ask, even though I know I’ll regret it. Why?”
“Because they’ll be tailing you and listening to everything you say and do. I’d treat them to a chat with your Mum, just for a laugh.”
Craig nodded, knowing that Liam was right. His apartment was probably already bugged. He’d be staying at Katy’s for a few days, although there was no guarantee that they hadn’t got to her place as well.
“Liam’s right, and the rest of you might be targets too, especially you John. Look on the bright side everyone; you’ll be the safest you’ve ever been with the CIA on guard.”
He motioned John on.
“OK, so we know who Kouri was and we’ll check Annette’s description of GhamdiAl against whatever’s known about him. I had to I.D. Kouri from a bone, so I’d say he was right beside the bomb when it went off.” He held up a USB. “Des sent this over. Davy, can you do the honours?”
A moment later they were crowding round Davy’s desk, gazing at a schematic of Jules Robinson’s shop, as it had been when it was intact. John tapped a key and two body outlines appeared. One by the shop’s left-hand wall looking in from the street, and the second two feet away from it towards the back.
“These were our two intact bodies. Barry McGovern and Jules Robinson. They were shielded from the main blast by the book shelves.”
Smith glanced sharply at him. “The main blast?”
“Yes. Des is certain a secondary charge went off a few seconds later, most likely triggered by the force of the initial blast. It probably used a tilt switch that reacted to the shock wave. Seems they were determined that there’d be no survivors.”
Smith looked puzzled. “Major James said nothing about that.”
“Your forensics guys agree with Des. He met with them this morning.” John brushed past Smith’s surprise and carried on, knowing that James had probably withheld the detail deliberately, to assert his power. He sounded like a complete dickhead.
“OK, it’s neither here nor there except that it shows their determination to completely destroy the shop.” He smiled at Craig. “Or whatever was inside.”
John pressed another key and Fintan Delaney appeared by the front door and the bomb appeared under the bookshelves at the back of the shop. Another key added red crosses, to mark the likely positions of Sharon Greer and Ibrahim Kouri at the time of the blast.
John gestured at the screen. “You can see exactly where everyone was when the bomb exploded, the only reason Delaney survived was because he was by the front door, but the secondary device makes me think he was supposed to die in the blast as well.”
Annette cut in. “He and Kouri both were. That’s why they returned to the shop after planting the bomb.”
John raised a note of caution. “If Kouri definitely was the man who planted the bomb with Delaney the night before. It seems logical, but we still can’t be sure. There could be a third man involved. Remember that we didn’t see the face of the second bomber, only Delaney’s”
Craig cut into the debate. “I think Annette’s right, John. I think there were only two bombers and they were meant to be martyrs for Islam. Whatever they knew about the movement was supposed to die with them. That’s why Delaney was murdered. They couldn’t risk him living to tell their secrets.”
Liam interrupted. “And Jennifer Weston killed him because she was part of the cell.” He updated them on his trip to St Mary’s, ending with “She went to Pakistan last year, that’s already too much coincidence for me. And what are the odds that the feet in the photo don’t belong to her? Same sandals and same black nail varnish.”
Craig frowned in thought. It was possible but they needed to dig deeper.
“OK, Liam, it was a good thought but we need this water-tight to be sure. Find out who made those sandals and how many pairs were sold.” Liam went to obj
ect but Craig’s glance said that he’d better not. He sweetened the task with his next words. “Nicky, you’re our fashion guru, help Liam with that please.” Liam’s objection evaporated instantly and Craig carried on.
“OK, so if Jenny Weston was tasked with finishing Delaney off, she was most likely part of the same radical cell. But why trust a woman with the mission? Their status wouldn’t be judged as high. Unless…What was her relationship with Delaney?”
Annette was the first to answer. “She recruited him?”
Craig nodded. “Anyone else?”
Davy chipped in. “She was his handler? He w…was her responsibility?”
“Yes to both of you. I think Weston recruited Delaney and trained him so it was her job to finish him off.”
Davy nodded eagerly. “I was going to tell you. I finally found a connection between Delaney and W…Weston. They met at Queen’s.”
“I thought you said she’d left university before Delaney started.”
“S…She had. But some of her nurse training was at the M.P.E. in Elmwood Avenue, just down from the student’s union. I checked with the nurse tutor and the nurses often went to the union coffee shop for lunch.”
Craig’s eyes widened excitedly then he shook his head. “It’s thin, Davy. That only proves they could have met, not that they did.”
Davy smiled smugly and tapped his left-hand screen, pulling up a double column of names. He scrolled down until he reached the pair he wanted. There, printed so clearly that no-one could argue, were two names side by side; Fintan Delaney and Jennifer Weston. Craig leaned in, excited.
“Where is this from?”
Davy considered dragging out his explanation to impress the crowd but his eagerness wouldn’t let him. “I remembered that W…Weston had studied religion and we know that Delaney was religious. S…So I figured that if she was recruiting for a religious group, w…where better to find possible converts than amongst people already interested in religion and then just look for the floating voters! The table is a list of volunteers at a church near Queen’s in 2012. Delaney had helped out there since s…school and Weston joined when she was a s…student nurse; they paired-up the new and experienced volunteers.”
The Careless Word (#8 - The Craig Crime Series) Page 25