The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series)

by Catriona King

  “Yes.”

  “What in God’s name prompted the ransom call?”

  Annette shrugged. “Panic, stupidity; who knows? But they thought better of it and never called back.”

  Craig shook his head. “Your tone implies that no harm was done. It could have delayed the investigation for days.”

  She went to object then thought better of it; Craig would be in a more tolerant frame of mind once they’d closed the case. She changed tack.

  “They’d no idea that Diana had been taken. She’s normally never here on a Wednesday night.”

  Liam’s ears pricked up. “Where is she then?”

  “At a charity committee, then she always stayed the night with a friend called Stephanie Crewe.” She glanced at Craig. “Sorry, sir, the traffic was so heavy we didn’t manage to get there. We’ll follow her up after the briefing.”

  Liam wasn’t letting go. “So what stopped Diana Bwye going out that night?”

  Both women shook their heads. “The only thing Jane could think of was that maybe she’d decided to tell her father about Richard. She would have wanted Jane out of the way when she did it, in case he kicked off.”

  Craig cut in. “You’re sure that when they made the ransom call they had no idea that Mrs Bwye was missing?”

  Annette shook her head. “None. Jane’s devastated.”

  The normally sympathetic Craig wasn’t impressed. “It’s too convenient, Annette. She can’t get her trust fund until she’s thirty and if only Oliver Bwye had died the mother would have inherited everything and Jane would still have been broke. This way she inherits the earth.”

  Annette wasn’t giving up. “But her mother would have given her the trust fund early once she’d inherited, Jane was sure of it.”

  “We only have her word for that.”

  Davy’s quiet voice interrupted the increasingly heated exchange. “I might have s…something useful.”

  Craig’s adrenaline was pumping so hard that he barked. “What?”

  Davy’s dry retort stuck in his throat. Craig’s expression said this wasn’t the time for jokes.

  “Bwye’s finances. There’s s…something odd.”

  Craig’s aggression changed to eagerness and his second “what?” was more conciliatory.

  “He was insured up to his ears but nearly every policy had a negation clause.”

  “Based on what?”

  “His health.”

  “We already know about the heart disease and skin cancer.”

  Davy shook his head furiously. “No, there’s more. His hospital records came through. Bwye had prostate cancer; end s…stage. I’m still gathering info but apparently he didn’t have long to live.”

  Gerry raised a finger to interrupt. “I can tell you about that. Davy told me about his cancer earlier so I called the GP back. Once we said we knew he was more helpful. Oliver Bwye had less than six months to live.”

  Davy nodded eagerly and Annette had a vague thought that anyone watching would think that they were ghouls; excited about a man’s terminal diagnosis. Craig wasn’t excited, he was working out dates.

  “When did Bwye find out?”

  Davy stared at him confused.

  “Bwye. When was he told he was terminal?”

  Davy saw where he was heading. “His urology consultant told him in October, at an outpatient’s appointment.”

  “Two months ago, that’s what made his violence escalate.”

  Andy had a fleeting moment of concern; what if Craig was ill and that’s why he was angry nowadays. He dismissed the idea instantly; he was just being a moody sod. Davy continued.

  “There’s more. Bwye had had repeated problems with his prostate through the years; benign enlargement, bouts of prostatitis, so his life insurer w…wouldn’t cover him for anything related to prostate disease, as w…well as all the other exclusions. I missed it before ’cos it wasn’t listed in the main exclusion section, s…sorry.”

  Craig nodded slowly; it wouldn’t have helped them whether Davy had seen it or not. It only made sense now that they knew Bwye’s diagnosis.

  “So if Bwye had died of prostate cancer, skin cancer or heart disease the family would have got no insurance money at all.” He gestured around the room. “But surely the estate’s worth enough anyway?”

  Davy shrugged. “Depends what you think enough is. Maybe Bwye’s finances weren’t in as good shape as he wanted. He played the s…stock market which can…”

  Liam finished the sentence. “Go down as well as up.”

  Davy pushed his hair back from his face. “Yes. And more down than up at the moment. Most of the money Bwye had made from s…selling The Chronicle was gone.”

  Craig leaned in. “So what did that leave his family if he’d died of prostate cancer?”

  “He would have got absolutely no insurance pay-out, unless it was for kidnap and ransom. Just Rocksbury and whatever was in his companies and s…stocks, but without the life insurance money to maintain the place…”

  Craig shook his head. “OK, so Bwye knew he wasn’t leaving as much as he’d planned. They still wouldn’t have been poor.”

  Annette’s voice was firm. “You’re thinking like a normal person, sir. Oliver Bwye was a type A personality, bordering on egomania; he’d never have been satisfied with that. When his Will was published in the papers he’d have wanted it to say what a success he’d been. Especially if it was published in The Chronicle.”

  The room fell quiet as Craig thought. Had Oliver Bwye really been so desperate to leave a fortune as some sort of reflection of his ego, that he’d arranged his own kidnap to get his K&R insurance to pay out?

  Annette hadn’t finished. “Some treatments for prostate cancer can cause impotence. Liam, did Mavis Brown actually say that they’d had sex?”

  A faint blush coloured Liam’s cheeks; he wasn’t used to Annette bringing up topics like that. He stumbled over his words.

  “Well…no…but I assumed.”

  Annette persisted. “You said she wasn’t the most glamourous woman, but she was motherly and a great listener. What are the odds that Bwye couldn’t get an erection and only went there to talk?”

  Liam’s blush turned bright red. “Here, now. There’s no need for that type of talk. We’re not even in a bar.”

  She ignored him and turned to Craig. “At this stage of his disease I honestly doubt if Oliver Bwye could have had sex. Imagine the ignominy for a powerful man whose masculinity had formed the basis of his life.”

  Craig frowned; but it made sense. “So you’re saying that he arranged a hit on himself to get the K&R. But why kill his wife as well?”

  “She wasn’t supposed to be there but when she was they had to kill her.”

  Davy nodded furiously. “That’s why Bwye took out K&R insurance even though he was retired. The Chronicle had K&R on him but it lapsed when he s…sold it. He took out a new private policy eleven months ago. Maybe that’s when he began having prostate symptoms.”

  Craig frowned. Had Oliver Bwye controlled his death like he’d controlled everything about his life, arranging his own kidnap and murder so that his family would get the K&R? It felt wrong but they had to explore the possibility. He thought for a moment then restarted in a brisk voice.

  “We need to know when his cancer was first diagnosed.” He turned to Annette. “Would he have felt ill enough to know he was dying eleven months ago when he took out the K&R?”

  “It’s possible, depends on his symptoms. He might have known that something was wrong and deliberately taken out the K&R before he went to see a doctor.”

  “OK, let’s say he took out K&R and arranged a hit on himself that looked like a kidnapping so that his family would get the pay-out.”

  Julia cut in. “It means he loved his family enough to leave them well off. That’s one redeeming feature.”

  Craig shook his head. “I’d love to say that was his reasoning but my guess is that Bwye didn’t give a damn about anyone else. All he
cared about was his legacy and the write-up in The Chronicle when his Will was read.”

  Liam nodded wisely. “So now, all we have to do is find out who he hired to kill him.”

  All eyes turned to him but Andy spoke first. “That’s all, is it? He could have hired anyone to carry out the hit. Just open the yellow pages and stick a pin in paramilitary gangs. We’ll be here all year.”

  A noisy debate started and Craig let it run for a moment before signalling for silence.

  “This is all assumption. We’ve proved nothing except that Bwye had cancer and was possibly worried about being kidnapped. He could still have been genuinely abducted, or for all we know the wife was the real target of the attack and that’s why they waited till she was there.”

  Liam raised an eyebrow and Craig smiled for the first time in hours.

  “OK, maybe that’s stretching it; Bwye’s murder was much more sadistic than hers. But this is still all speculation. I need a lot more proof before I’m going down the contract killing road.” He paused and scanned the row of faces. “Does anyone have anything else to report?”

  Annette raised a finger tentatively. “We met with Father Fred and we’re pretty sure that we can tie Ray Mercer to her and expose his set up.”

  Davy was curious about the blogger. It wasn’t often that he was beaten by a kid. “What was s…she like?”

  “A sulky fourteen-year-old, but if her mother doesn’t ground her for the next ten years we can expect great things from her.”

  Craig clenched his fist. They had Ray Mercer by the balls and he was going to enjoy watching him squirm.

  “Good. Annette, get onto Cameron Lawton and say we’ll have proof of Mercer’s bad behaviour for his lawyers very soon. It looks like Maggie’s interim post just became permanent. Anything else, anyone?”

  He was answered by silence. “OK. Davy, keep digging into Bwye’s finances and I want to know more about Diana Bwye’s trust fund and Bwye’s cancer, particularly when he was first diagnosed. Andy and Gerry, go back to the escort agency and interview Mrs Brown in more depth, knowing what you now know about Bwye’s cancer. Liam’s feeling too shy to ask about sex. Annette and Julia, keep the pressure on forensics and I want to know more about Diana Bwye’s charity work and why she wasn’t at her meeting that Wednesday night. That’s too much of a coincidence for me. Carmen, check whether Garvan McDermott belongs to the family across the lake and call me ASAP; Liam and I are heading over there now.”

  Liam shook his head firmly. “There’s no way I’m getting in a boat on that night.”

  It took Craig a moment to realise what he meant. “I didn’t mean over literally. We’ll drive around.” He headed for the door. “On our way we’ll check if the divers have found Bwye’s gun.”

  ****

  The divers had drawn another blank on the rifle and their explorations had halted for the night; the freezing water finally defeating them. Craig drove quickly and ten minutes later they were viewing the Bwye’s estate from the jetty on the opposite side of the lake, accompanied by Garvan McDermott and his two sons. Mrs McDermott had sensibly remained in the warm house.

  Liam stamped his feet, trying to stave off hypothermia, while Craig stood perfectly still, staring across the lake as if it held answers that only he could see. Micky McDermott broke the silence in his still-high adolescent voice.

  “I watched the men checking the boat. It was really cool. Just like C.S.I.”

  McDermott senior smiled vaguely at his younger son and then turned to Craig with a pained expression.

  “They didn’t tell us what the boat was used for and before you ask, no, I don’t want to know. It can’t have been anything good if it attracted the police.”

  Craig dragged his eyes from the pitch black water, so black that only a lack of shine and prism said that it wasn’t oil. He fixed Garvan McDermott with a stare that Liam knew was assessing his innocence or guilt. Innocence won and Craig gave a smile; too small for normal times but typical of recent days. His warm voice cut through the air.

  “When was the last time any of you saw the boat before it disappeared?”

  McDermott stared at his two sons, nodding them on to answer. Micky obliged him first.

  “Wednesday morning before school.”

  Oisín’s deeper voice chimed in. “Tuesday night for me.”

  “And you, Mr McDermott, when did you last see it?”

  His reply was immediate. “Tuesday after eleven p.m. I remember because I was closing the bedroom curtains before bed and Niamh had the News on.”

  A sense of urgency overcame Craig. “You’re sure it was still there then?”

  “Positive. If it hadn’t been I would have gone down.” He gazed pointedly at his elder son. “Just in case me laddo here was off joy riding again.”

  Oisín cut in indignantly. “I wasn’t joy riding, I was just…”

  His father raised an eyebrow knowingly. “I know exactly what you were doing out there and all I can say is I’m surprised that you didn’t capsize.”

  The boy glanced away, embarrassed, as his younger brother grinned, eager to hear more about the ways of men and women. Craig saved Oisín’s blushes. Garvan McDermott had narrowed their window for the boat’s removal and now he needed him to do something else.

  “That’s very helpful, Mr McDermott. Now, please tell me what you know about Mr Bwye.”

  McDermott stared at him, confused. “Nothing. We barely speak.”

  Craig wasn’t convinced; by the sounds of the fight at the golf-club they’d done more than talk. “Not even on boundary issues? The lake is bounded by both your lands.”

  He shrugged. “And the council’s. The Bwyes own it; we just pay mooring and access rights.”

  “Is that expensive?”

  “No. Mrs Bwye keeps the price down.”

  Craig’s ears perked up. “You dealt with Mrs Bwye not her husband?”

  “I didn’t deal with either of them. It’s my wife who sorts out the fees. She knows Mrs Bwye through a local charity.”

  By now Liam’s face was turning blue to match his hands and, interesting though the combination of blue face and sandy hair was, Craig decided to take pity on him. He gestured him and the boys towards the house, motioning their father to wait behind. When his sons were out of earshot Craig stared hard at him in the dimming light.

  “Would you like to revisit your comment about barely knowing Mr Bwye? We know you’re both members of the golf-club.”

  McDermott had discussed the Bwyes in the present tense so he wasn’t going to change that and give things away. McDermott smiled.

  “Ah, so someone’s been telling tales. Yes, I’ve played him at the club sometimes, but I don’t call that knowing someone. Oliver Bwye’s not a man I’ll ever have in my home.”

  Future tense this time. Interesting. Did McDermott really not know that Bwye was dead or was it a disingenuous pretence? He needed to know more about the man.

  “May I ask what you do for a living, Mr McDermott?”

  Davy had described the property as a farm but apart from the exterior of the house it didn’t look like any working farm he’d ever seen.

  “I’m a businessman. Land development mostly; we have quite a bit in various locations across the north and Donegal.”

  “This was a farm originally, wasn’t it?”

  McDermott smiled. “You’ve done your research. It was a farm when we bought it but we sold most of the land and only kept the fifty acres around the house.”

  Neither Bwye nor McDermott had worked the countryside they lived in; making money was their game. Craig changed tack.

  “Tell me about your conversations with Mr Bwye at the golf-club.”

  McDermott shrugged. “Politics. It’s a common topic of conversation. Bwye’s a staunch unionist and I fall firmly into the other camp; quite a few people around here do. I find it hard to see the logic of being in the UK when the Republic is less than ten miles away.”

  Craig had no intenti
on of debating the issue; they would be there all year.

  “You came to blows in November.”

  The businessman shrugged again. “It was nothing. Just drunken slabbering; you know the form. A few punches and it was over. Your man Ellis saw to that. I haven’t seen Bwye since then. I don’t like the man.”

  “Because?”

  McDermott’s fists clenched. “Because he hits his wife and I have no time for men like that. OK?”

  It was OK in Craig’s book, but McDermott had fought publicly with Bwye and just admitted that he didn’t like him, so he warranted Davy taking a deeper look. But for now he would let him play the host. Craig changed the subject, nodding towards the brightly lit house.

  “May I speak to your wife?”

  “Sure. She’s just cooking dinner.”

  As they entered the warm house the smells of home cooking filled Craig’s nostrils and he noticed that Liam’s blue hue had changed to red, on its way back to his usual white. McDermott disappeared into the kitchen and re-emerged with a slim, dark-haired woman whose face was a feminine version of her two sons’.

  “Niamh, these gentlemen are Superintendent Craig and D.C.I. Cullen. They’re here to ask some questions about the Bwyes.”

  Niamh McDermott stared at the policemen in turn and then quickly back at her husband. Craig expected her next words to be a question but they were chiding instead.

  “For goodness sake, Garvan, they’re frozen! Could you not have offered them a warm drink?”

  Her mini-mes grinned, first at her and then at their dad and Craig knew that affectionate chiding was a regular event in the house. McDermott didn’t seem to mind.

  “Ach, no. I forgot. Sorry, gentlemen, would you like tea or coffee?” He gave them a knowing wink. “I’ve something stronger if you’d prefer.”

  Craig declined and took the coffee but he encouraged Liam to drink whatever he liked. It was after six and he was the designated driver.

  As Liam sipped gratefully at a whisky, Craig followed Niamh McDermott to the kitchen for his coffee, using the opportunity to sound her out. He leaned against a worktop and watched as she basted a joint of beef before putting it in the oven.