“What’s wrong?”
Nicky pointed accusingly at Davy.
“He’s leaving us!”
If the words hadn’t been so potentially upsetting Annette would have laughed at her melodramatic tone; Medea would have been proud. Instead, she leaned over Davy’s partition and stared down at the top of his head.
“Are you, Davy?”
It was said calmly. She was just as upset as Nicky but she knew that further hysteria would result in him crawling out the door on all fours. He peered up through his hair.
“I…It’s just s…something I’m thinking about. It’s the PhD…”
Annette waved Nicky away to make coffee then she pulled over a chair and sat down, waiting until he was ready to speak.
“We’ll miss you. Will you at least promise that you’ll talk to the chief before you make up your mind?”
Davy considered for a moment. He’d been thinking about doing his PhD for a while and the urge had grown stronger in recent months. He wasn’t sure if chatting to anyone would change his mind, but Craig had been good to him so he at least deserved a chance. He nodded.
“Provided you do s…something for me.”
She already knew what it was. “Don’t worry. I promise I’ll keep Nicky off your back.”
****
Craig parked at Limavady police station and flipped open his mobile. Thirty seconds later he was connected with Docklands and a miserable sounding Nicky answered hello. Her voice was so flat he thought someone had died.
“What’s wrong?”
She sighed theatrically. “Nothing.”
It was the signal for him to spend five minutes cajoling her into saying what was bothering her and then sympathising over whatever it was, but frankly he didn’t have the time, so instead he said the words he knew would put him in the doghouse for days.
“Great. Is Annette there, please?”
Nicky said nothing, just generated an ominous silence for the moment it took Annette’s warm voice to come on the line.
“Hi, Annette, can you speak?”
It was her signal to move as far away from Nicky as possible so that he could ask her what was up. She transferred the call to her desk.
“I can talk now.”
“What’s wrong with Nicky?”
Annette sighed; it didn’t have the melodrama of Nicky’s but it was worrying all the same.
“Queen’s is after Davy again to do his PhD. He’s thinking seriously about leaving.”
Craig’s heart sank. Davy was the best analyst he’d ever worked with and without him, solving their cases would be much more difficult. Not to mention that they were all fond of the lad.
“You’re sure?”
“Certain. Nicky’s been giving him hell about it and if we’re not careful she’ll drive him away.”
Craig considered for a moment. PhD fees were expensive; add in the cost of losing your salary for years while you studied and he might yet have a card to play.
“OK. I’ll chat to him in a minute. Meanwhile, what’s happening there?”
Annette sighed again but this time it was about work. “Joanne Greer’s appealing her sentence.”
Joanne Greer was a nasty piece of work that they’d put away in 2013; a business woman who’d been given life for ordering the murders of three people, in partnership with a London gang boss, Alik Ershov. Ershov was dead now, hoisted by his own petard. Literally; one of his contract killers had wrung his neck for taking liberties. Greer was in Wharf House women’s detention centre, serving what was laughably called hard time.
“What!”
“Apparently her solicitor has been making noises for weeks…”
“And no-one thought to tell us?”
Annette continued calmly. One of them had to be; Craig’s temper was threatening to boil over.
“The Public Prosecution Service has been on. They want us to submit a report.”
“Greer hasn’t a hope in hell of them granting her an appeal. She confessed, for God’s sake.”
“She confessed to Ershov who’d made a deal with The Met to walk free. Now she’s saying it was entrapment.” Annette paused, waiting for Craig to say something more, when he didn’t she carried on. “Look, Greer’s just chancing her arm. It’ll get kicked out. Even if it isn’t it’ll take them months to get their case together; they won’t get a court date till at least the spring. I just thought that you should know.”
It was Craig’s turn to sigh. Greer’s appeal would be a hell of a start to 2015.
“OK, tell Jake and Carmen to get the case files and start familiarising themselves with it. Neither of them was on the team when we put Greer away. When does Ken get back from his training exercise?”
Ken Smith, or Captain Kenneth Smith of the Swords Regiment to give him his full title, was an army officer on secondment to the squad until the coming July. He’d started in a liaison role during some bomb related murders and had quickly become part of the team. They would miss him when he left, which made Craig’s determination to keep Davy even more resolute.
“Friday. Just in time for the Christmas parties to start.”
“He’ll be doing some holiday reading then.”
From Craig’s run through of his troops, Annette knew that she would be handed a task next. Something occurred to her.
“Where are you and Liam? Will you be in after lunch?”
Craig said a cantankerous “No”. He was regretting accepting the Bwye case now. The last thing he needed was to be off site when Joanne Greer was playing games. She was one of the slipperiest villains he’d ever put away, with the money and resources to get more slippery still.
“That’s what I was calling about. We’ve been asked to consult on a case in Derry and I need you here.”
She went to ask more but he pushed on. “Sorry, I don’t have time to brief you. Ask Nicky to print out a copy of the file; it’s in my saved messages. I need you here tomorrow morning if that’s OK?”
Annette grinned; she loved being in the field and if that field happened to be in the countryside then so much the better. She was a Maghera girl and she missed the fresh air.
“I’ll get the kids sorted and come up in the morning.”
She paused, wondering whether to remind Craig about Davy or let him forget and sign off. Craig forgot nothing.
“Pass me over to Davy now, please.”
Davy had been watching Annette from a distance whilst trying to avoid Nicky’s martyred stare. When Annette nodded in his direction he knew his phone was about to ring. He hesitated before picking it up, dreading the conversation he was about to have. To his surprise Craig sounded cheerful, even though he cut straight to the chase.
“Morning, Davy. I hear you’re thinking of leaving us?”
Davy gawped at the handset, uncertain how to reply. Craig accepted his silence as assent and took the lead.
“I want you to do your doctorate. You’re bright and I’ve no intention of trying to stand in your way.”
Davy didn’t know whether to feel relieved at not having to defend himself, or hurt that Craig was prepared to let him leave so readily. He was still deciding when Craig spoke again.
“However, you know I don’t want you to go so I’ve had an idea that might give us both our way. I need to check a few things and then perhaps we could have a chat?”
Davy’s normally lightning fast brain was struggling to keep up but he could have hugged Craig for what he said next.
“Meanwhile, I’m sure you’ve had quite enough of Nicky’s badgering, so how about you work from home this afternoon and come up to Derry tomorrow morning with Annette? Liam and I are here on a new case.”
Davy just had time to stammer “Y…Yes” before Craig asked to be transferred back to Nicky. He got in the first word.
“Nicky, Joanne Greer’s appealing her verdict and we need to submit a report. I want Jake and Carmen to read all the files, but remember Jake’s working flexitime.”
Jak
e’s grandfather, the man who’d raised him since he was five, had terminal cancer. The sergeant was helping his grandmother nurse him so he made up his hours as and when.
“Ken too when he gets back. Annette and Davy are joining Liam and me in Derry tomorrow, meanwhile Davy’s working from home for the rest of the afternoon.”
He paused, waiting for the onslaught, but all that came from Nicky was a squeak. He pushed his good luck.
“And leave Davy alone, please. I’m trying to persuade him not to leave and that won’t work if you give him so much grief that you drive him away. I’ve got things under control, so leave the lad in peace.”
With that he hung up, knowing that his few days in the doghouse had just extended to at least a week.
Ch
apter Three
In the time it took Craig and Liam to ascend the three flights to Julia’s office, she’d been alerted to their presence and had the kettle on and a tray of biscuits set out. She was as nervous as she knew Craig had been on the phone the day before, but it was time to play the gracious hostess now.
Craig had taken the stairs two at a time but now he trailed along the narrow, windowed corridor behind Liam, his nervousness growing with each pace. He wasn’t sure why; after all, the awkward greetings had been covered yesterday. Then he realised what it was; at some point Julia would ask if he was seeing anyone and he would have to tell the truth; there was no way he would deny Katy’s existence. That was when things could get tense. Even if someone didn’t want their ex anymore many people were still happier when said ex remained alone.
It was an atypical moment of arrogance on his part and as soon as he entered Julia’s once austere office he knew that he’d been wrong. Instead of the familiar wooden floor and ancient blinds, there was a bright blue carpet, white walls and curtains, pulled back to allow the winter sunshine in. It wasn’t the office of someone sad.
As Julia turned from the kettle she’d been boiling Craig’s heart sank. She was dressed for a Sunday, in a pair of tight jeans and a sky-blue blouse that matched her eyes, with her red curls rambling unsubdued down her back. She looked stunning.
Liam’s eyes darted from one ex to another and he saw the pallor beneath Craig’s Latin tan. Fair enough, they had only broken up because of geography, not a lack of love. But what Liam saw when he looked at Julia was the exact opposite – a relaxed, confident woman. One glance at her left hand told him why. He signalled Craig frantically with his eyes but the attempt was wasted; Craig was too stressed to see anything smaller than a truck. So Liam did what any mate would do in such circumstances and what he realised he’d actually been brought along for; he ran interference. With one stride he crossed the floor; his right hand angled deliberately to shake Julia’s left.
“D.I. McNulty. Nice to see you again.”
As they shook, Liam turned Julia’s left hand upwards so that not even Craig’s panic could blind him to the large diamond ring glinting there. Craig saw it and as quickly as he realised its significance he relaxed. He’d been worried about hurting Julia’s feelings but the engagement ring made it clear that there were no feelings left to hurt. He smiled genuinely for the first time since she’d phoned the day before and crossed the room to say hello, as Julia stared down, confused, at Liam’s still present grip.
“Hello, Julia. How are you?”
Liam released her hand, confident that Craig had seen what he needed to see, then he sat down and scoffed the best biscuits before anyone else could. Julia smiled at Craig with the fondness that only ex-lovers share.
“I’m good, Marc. You?”
Her clear, half-English accent catapulted him back in time and he was momentarily nostalgic. He remembered their arguments and recovered rapidly.
“Fine.” He gestured at her left hand. “Congratulations seem to be in order. Who’s the lucky man?”
She blushed in a girlier way than he’d ever seen her do before. “His name’s Matt Thomas. He’s a surgeon at Peter’s Hill in Enniskillen, where my brother works.”
Craig smiled, relieved at his complete lack of jealousy. His smile deepened; another doctor. What was it with medics and the police?
She laughed. “He puts up with my strange little ways, which is saying something.”
Craig laughed with her. “Even your smoking?”
She shrugged and smiled. “I’m down to two sneaky ones a day.”
She’d had a twenty-a-day habit when they’d dated; Dr Love must have been some man to separate her from her cigs. As Liam chomped at the biscuits, he listened, smiling to himself at how Craig had managed not to mention Katy’s name. He wasn’t hiding her but he was gentleman enough to let McNulty have her happiness without playing tit for tat. As the chat lulled naturally, Julia waved Craig to a seat, pouring the coffees as Liam brought up the reason that they were there.
“Interesting case.”
She nodded and opened a drawer, removing a buff-coloured file. “Have you been to the house yet?”
Craig noticed a framed photograph on the desk; it was of a man around his age, with blond hair and a tanned face that sported a two-day beard. The snow behind him and skis in his hand completed the image of relaxed happiness and health. Dr Thomas I presume. Julia’s shy smile as she caught his gaze was endearing, embarrassed, but most of all unambiguously in love.
The moment was broken by Craig answering “we’ve just been there” and within a minute they were hard at work. He had a list of questions on the case, but top of it was ‘who’?
“Who’s your best pick for the Bwyes’ disappearance?”
Julia wrinkled her forehead glumly and sat back in her chair, picking at the edge of the file.
“It depends if they’re dead or just injured.”
She’d got it in one. Craig joined her train of thought.
“OK. So far there’s no sign that it was a burglary, so the real question is, was it a kidnap that went wrong where the Bwyes fought back, in which case they could still be alive somewhere. Or…was it always the plan to murder them? You haven’t received a ransom demand yet, four days after they disappeared, which points away from kidnap, but if murder was always the intention then why bother removing the bodies? They could have just killed them and left them at the house.”
Julia thought for a moment then ventured a suggestion that reminded them just how perverted criminals could be.
“Could…could they have taken them somewhere to torture them? Before…”
Craig frowned. “I sincerely hope not, but we can’t rule it out. There’s a third possibility I should have mentioned. Oliver Bwye could be a family annihilator who rigged the scene to make us believe that he was a victim as well. Fifty per cent of family mass murders happen from within.”
Her eyes widened as he went on.
“Annihilators have four types: anomic, disappointed, self-righteous and paranoid. Anomic annihilators see their families as status symbols and if something happens to negate their worth they become disposable.”
Julia shook her head. “Bwye was a model family man. Successful career, pillar of the community; his wife’s charity efforts practically built the local hospice. Everyone I’ve questioned says there was nothing strange about the family in any way.”
Craig shrugged, unconvinced, and Liam agreed. They’d seen enough of people’s façades to know that often even their nearest and dearest didn’t know what was on their mind, never mind the neighbours.
“You don’t agree?”
Craig answered first. “No, I don’t. I saw enough in a case we had in April to know that people are rarely what they seem. Five apparently upstanding people with secrets so bad that they were prepared to commit suicide rather than have them revealed. And none of their family members had a clue.”
Julia topped up their coffees, nodding him on. “What’s your theory then?”
Craig shook his head. “I don’t have one yet, but I have a lot of questions. First of all, the study was obviously Oliver Bwye’s kingdom, so how
did the whole family end up in there? If they did. We still haven’t confirmed whose blood was all over the floor. There’s no sign of a struggle anywhere else in the house, so were the wife and daughter marched into the study at gunpoint, or did Bwye call them in?”
Liam leaned forward, gesturing at the file. “Do you have photos of the gun cabinet?”
Julia withdrew a pile of ten by tens and handed them across. He selected three and spread them out, giving an admiring whistle. Oliver Bwye’s gun cabinet was antique. It must have cost a fortune, but then people with money spent it on something and there were only so many eco-friendly houses that you could build.
Craig ran a tanned finger down one photograph, taking in the cabinet’s intact glass and lock.
“Did forensics find anything on it?”
Julia shook her red curls. “Not a thing; no prints except Bwye’s and no blood. The lock had been opened with a key, not forced.”
“Bwye’s prints could have been left there at any time and the assailant probably wore gloves. The question is how did they open it? The lock’s intact so that means either Bwye opened it or he gave them the key.”
Liam cut in. “He might have been forced to open it.”
Craig spoke slowly, thinking. “He might have…perhaps by threatening his family. I can’t imagine he would have done it without duress. But his bloody fingerprints are elsewhere in the room, so why no blood on the cabinet if they had to force him?”
“Maybe they did it before he was hurt?”
Julia rifled through the photographs, selecting a head and shoulders shot of a powerfully-built man. She stared at it for a moment before handing it to Craig.
“Bwye’s a big man so they’d have had to be strong or used a weapon to make him do anything.”
Craig shook his head. “If they’d already had a weapon to threaten him with then why bother with the gun? Unless…they might have wanted to use it in the killings to incriminate him.”
“Or to avoid a trail leading back to them?”
Both ideas made sense but something was still niggling at Craig.
Julia carried on. “Bwye was a rugby player at university; played for the old boys until 2005. He still went for a five mile run every day.”
The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series) Page 3