by Carole Pitt
Patterson looked through the window. 'Better not. It's too hot and a family with three kids has taken it over. I need to concentrate on what you're going to tell me.'
Over their soft drinks and sturdy sausage sandwiches Elizabeth repeated Reynolds' disclosure. 'My main problem is that I don't feel confident to cope long term,' she admitted.
'It won't come to that but in the interim, you'll have to. There's nobody else.'
Elizabeth knew he was right. Bringing someone else in would take time. She'd have to face up to the situation at some point so she might as well start now.
Ten minutes later Patterson licked the ketchup from his fingers and rubbed them with a serviette. 'I can't wait for the next installment.'
Elizabeth couldn't finish her lunch. Apprehension had crept in and taken away her appetite. She saw Patterson eyeing up the remnants of her sandwich. 'Have it,' she offered.
While he ate she hoped he understood why she had questioned Yeats' character and background. The nauseous unease she'd felt on Valentine's night had never left her and wouldn't until she saw Daly again.
Patterson pointed to his watch. 'Let's get back. Reynolds is a decent bloke, I don't want to mess him aaround.'
'I better use the ladies,' Elizabeth said.
A couple of minutes later she stepped outside into the cobbled street and made a promise to herself.
Reynolds was enjoying his own meal when they returned.
'I thought I'd better eat. Have you eaten?’ he asked, as he cut up a slice of chicken. A paper plate held a green salad and new potatoes. A jar of Hellman's low calorie mayonnaise stood next to it. He eats healthily, Elizabeth thought, already regretting the greasy sausages.
'We did, thank you Sir. We should wait outside until you've finished yours,' she said.
'No need. I'll keep some of this for later. My wife insists I graze. She believes in the little and often theory and I have to admit she's right. I've lost half a stone since Christmas, though I wouldn't mind another coffee to fill the void.'
Elizabeth set to work while Patterson made small talk. She felt tiredness creeping in and prayed the coffee would keep her alert.
Reynolds went into the cloakroom and washed his hands. When he returned he took up the story where he'd left off.
'I want to go back to the mid-eighties and the relationship between Yeats and his now dead informer. Working for a Special Branch officer wasn't enough to satisfy this informer. He wasn't earning much money and he had expensive tastes so he carried on with his criminal activities. Special Branch didn't care, if informers mixed with the underworld, all the better until they heard they had gone too far and needed to punish them. Yeats was in danger of having his cover blown. He'd heard his informer was double crossing everyone he dealt with, so Yeats planted drugs in his house and the informer went to prison for two years. Taking him out of circulation meant he couldn't ruin any reputations because no one was likely to believe his story and if any inmates did, the prison officers knew how to suppress them. You have to remember prisons were full of people who knew more than was good for them, so staff plugged the leaks. How they did it was questionable, but I'll leave that to your imagination.'
Reynolds paused to take a drink giving Elizabeth an opportunity. 'Surely that defeated their objective, especially for Yeats. He would lose his informer.'
'Yeats wanted rid of him. He felt the relationship had run its course and there were others more than willing to step into his shoes. Yeats continued his mission, trying to split various factions, hoping they'd rat on each other over their gun suppliers. Few people knew what methods Yeats used but he was successful. Then his biggest problem caught up with him, his old informer was out early for good behaviour. The reason, he'd started writing his memoirs. He'd been far too busy writing to get into any trouble.'
'And now you know what those memoirs contained,' Patterson said.
Reynolds nodded. 'He'd spent all his spare time compiling a three hundred page document. His writing skills weren't up to much, but the content would have made a best seller.'
'What happened after he was released?' Elizabeth asked.
'We can only speculate. This man had no real sense of loyalty and prison hadn't persuaded him to go straight. He joined the Ulster Defence Association, the violent loyalist paramilitary group and Yeats ended up resurrecting their partnership. That's when everything went drastically wrong. Innocent civilians were killed because of misinformation and dodgy intelligence.'
'My God,' Elizabeth gasped. 'Are you saying Yeats caused unnecessary deaths?'
'Their relationship had soured but they were stuck with each other, so Yeats executed him and yes, Special Branch covered it up.'
'It's taken all these years to surface, ' Patterson stated.
Reynolds looked embarrassed. 'Fifteen, if you want to be precise.'
'So the paper never published the informer's memoir,' Elizabeth said.
'They didn't because the government intervened. In our business, cold cases have to wait until there is new evidence and forensic breakthroughs. This case was no different, except for the intervention from families of the victims. The questions began immediately after their relatives had died, as you would imagine. Most of the families weren't involved in the troubles and were extremely suspicious of the circumstances surrounding their relative's death. They formed a group to put pressure on the police to reinvestigate and it wasn't until between two thousand and two thousand and three the European Court of Human Rights got involved. They'd received a number of complaints concerning deaths and concluded the state were derelict in their duty by not implementing an effective investigation to protect the right to life. In other words, these victims suffered a violation because of the state's failings. Now all this was out in the open it was increasingly difficult for the British government to deny any demands for a full inquiry into the deaths. So here we are.'
'I don't understand how this relates to Daly,' Elizabeth stated.
'The people investigating Yeats needed to get him out of Ireland. The man had powerful friends, not just in the IRA but other organisations. Some of them owed Yeats favours. If he'd found out what was happening they would have helped him disappear. The unit dealing with these cases kept him under surveillance for almost two years and discovered he still occasionally met up with them. It was imperative to offer him a transfer to the UK. He could hardly refuse, as he knew it would appear suspicious. From what I can gather, they half expected him to leg it out of Gloucestershire. Had it not been for your murder enquiry he might have.'
'The whole thing was a setup,' Elizabeth stated.
Reynolds looked serious. 'Hear me out for a bit longer. It was imperative to bring resolution to the victim's families and to restore confidence to the wider Irish community. Seconding police officers requires a vacant position. As you know, many retired officers return to the force to investigate cold cases. The jurisdiction for the UK came under Operation Clover. Anita Fleming was persuaded to come out of retirement to head up the team. Daly's involvement was twofold, Anita requested Daly join the team because he had prior terrorist experience when he worked for Avon and Somerset. That gave us a vacant position for Yeats, one where we could continue the surveillance.'
'I didn't know Daly had dealt with any terrorism issues,' Patterson said.
'It was a covert operation that resulted in arrests and prosecutions. Daly knew his stuff.'
Elizabeth stared at Patterson trying to absorb the information. Now she knew why Anita appeared edgy, she'd stumbled uninvited into her house asking questions about Daly, ones Anita could not answer.
'So Daly isn't ill?' she asked.
'Far from it, he was honoured that Anita asked him to help and has worked diligently with her to bring this case to closure.'
'What happens to Yeats?' Patterson asked.
'The Crown Prosecution is con
fident he'll go to trial next year. It was a difficult and complex case. Having said that, we have sufficient confirmation that Yeats knew innocent people would die during the operations he'd directed. Historic offences have to be prosecuted to bring closure to the victim's families. That's the law.'
Elizabeth summoned up the courage to ask the question and held her breath. 'Is Daly coming back to Park Road?'
Reynolds looked straight at her, a slight twinkle in his eye. 'I think that's a question you will have to ask him.'
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Wednesday May 29th
A restless night was responsible for Elizabeth oversleeping. If the phone hadn't rung, she might have remained in her comatose state. Still lying down, she held the phone to her ear and listened carefully to what Patterson was saying. After a three hour delay at Vancouver airport, the two visiting Canadian officers had finally arrived at Heathrow. Eldridge had picked them up approximately an hour and a half ago.
Elizabeth yawned and willed herself out of the fog. 'I bet like me, he didn't appreciate an early start.'
'I sent Katie Gardiner with him.'
'A sensible choice,' she replied, struggling to sit up.
'Hang on, she's just texted me...'
'Where are they now?' Elizabeth asked.
'Just come off the M4. You'd better get a move on.'
'Please don't state the obvious when I'm still in my nightwear,' she said and hung up.
Elizabeth searched her cupboards looking for a suitable outfit. Clothes piled up on the bed until she checked the time. In desperation she discarded the corporate suits in favour of her old comfortable jeans, a t-shirt and a cardigan in case the temperature dipped. She slipped on comfortable flat pumps and dragged a brush through her hair. After glancing in the mirror indecision struck again. Did she look smart enough, was her choice too casual. Other than the fact that two RCMP officers from the City of Terrace in British Columbia were now en route for Cheltenham she'd received no other information. What did these two officers hope to achieve? Elizabeth couldn't decide, only that anything Canadian was rapidly turning into a thorn in her side.
Getting to sleep after the Reynolds disclosures hadn't been easy. To tire her eyes she'd read through a copy of Morven's lecture to the A-level pupils. He'd prepared well for his school tour, which proved he was conscientious. Why would a man of his status suddenly turn into a murderer? If he had, then it could only have occurred through some kind of provocation. She'd read the Volcano Woman legend twice, it fascinated her. The short narrative had exposed more about the selfish side of human nature and the subsequent consequences than any cut and paste news article. She remembered reading a book that had began in Etruscan times. The story revolved around an ancient tablet that over the centuries had caused countless murders and terrible destruction. Could a missing mask be responsible for what had happened in Cheltenham? She still couldn't decide. On the one hand it seemed too fanciful, on the other, the only credible option.
She put the kettle on and thought about last night. Her job dealt in facts, not fiction, a point Reynolds had made clear to her in the pub. Before he went home he'd invited her and Patterson for a drink, except Reynolds only had fruit juice. He explained that his doctor had advised him to cut down on wine and spirits, a policeman's curse, he'd said. He didn't mention Yeats again. Instead he entertained them with quirky stories from his years in the force.
Elizabeth gulped her tea and was ready to leave when she remembered Bagpuss. She quickly filled up his bowl, opened the kitchen window and shouted for him. Either he didn't hear or he'd gone off further afield. She tried again but still no sign, which was unusual, as he never missed breakfast.
The forecast had promised a warmer day with the chance of light showers. She pulled into the car park ten minutes later and left the Saab in her favourite spot, under a solitary beech tree. Park Road was quiet as she crossed reception. Once in her office she checked her email. She'd received one from the Canadian Embassy confirming details about further consulate support for Jacob Morven. Elizabeth read it carefully, noting the date of the next visit from one of their officials. The email also mentioned the International letter of request authorising liaison officers from Terrace to meet with Morven. Today was the first time in her career she'd welcomed overseas police officers. The amount of diplomacy involved was staggering. She knew that they couldn't investigate in the UK without permission from the Home Office, but she still felt apprehensive. The chances are they would arrive with a hostile attitude which might hamper both of her investigations.
Her plan focused on lightening the atmosphere. Take them to the canteen for a cup of tea and maybe a cream scone. Subject them to a typical English tradition. Talk cheerfully about mutual interests, make them feel at home. Elizabeth knew it wasn't very original but it would have to suffice. Park road seemed even shabbier today as she tried to imagine it from their eyes. No doubt back in Terrace, they had a light, airy modern building with a well-equipped restaurant. God knows what they'll make of this place, she thought.
Reading the email's next section she was surprised to learn the Terrace City Chief was a woman, one Inspector Gillian Walsh. Her travelling companion was a Sergeant Stuart Adams from the forensic identification services. Why send a senior officer she wondered. Surely, a couple of lower ranks were capable of compiling a report on the Morven situation. Elizabeth now wished she'd prepared better, but time and lack of relevant information had put paid to that idea. A postscript at the end of the email stated that the direction the Canadian officers intended to follow would remain confidential. So she was none the wiser as to their remit.
Patterson seemed to think they'd want to go straight to their hotel to sleep off the jet lag, but Elizabeth knew what she would do in their place. Suss out the senior investigating officer first. These days police forces from all over the world regularly collaborated, often very successfully. The arrangements were all in place. All she had to do was welcome them to Park Road.
Their imminent arrival meant she must hold on to her authority. Reynolds had made it clear that until the Yeats trial was publicly announced she was absolutely on her own.
DC Darren Johnson knocked on her office door. 'Dr Oakley is holding for you. Do you want it put through?'
'Thanks Darren,' she replied, waited a few seconds and picked up the handset.
'Sorry if you're busy Liz but I wanted to double check something about the papier-mâché masks.'
'Is this to do with the paint chip analysis?'
'Yes, I'm missing three masks. The list I was given states there should be eighteen. I've only got fifteen.'
Jessica's caution was understandable. Even the highly acclaimed government funded forensic laboratory had suffered damage to its reputation due to several blunders including mislaying evidence. Its failure to use the most up-to-date techniques for extracting DNA samples had caused a scandal. Detectives had ended up reviewing cases where samples had failed to provide definitive DNA profiles.
'Sorry Jess. I assumed you had them all.'
'Who dealt with them after I left the scene?'
'Yeats did. He logged eighteen entries into the competition Morven judged. I saw his notes.'
'I'm positive this particular paint chip hasn't come from any of the masks but it's vitally important I eliminate them all.'
An unwelcome thought flashed into Elizabeth's head. 'I'm thinking the unthinkable here.'
'Please no conspiracy theories. I joined Twitter last night, it is mind boggling.'
'You know I don't trust Yeats. He wouldn't be the first cop to have tampered with evidence.'
'That's a dangerous assumption unless you can prove it. What reason would he have?'
'Deliberately frame Morven for a quick fix.'
Jessica sounded outraged. 'It's virtually impossible to do that these days.'
Elizabeth immediate
ly regretted accusing Yeats. Jessica might repeat her words, and if it got back to Reynolds, he would be furious.
'Forget I said that. I've had a bad night.'
'Ring as soon as the masks turn up. I might collect them myself.'
Darren was back, this time looking sheepish. 'Sorry, there's another call on line two. It's a Mrs Fleming.'
'Tell her to ring me on my mobile. I'll turn it on now.'
'I spoke to ACC Reynolds last night?' Anita said. 'I'm relieved he told you. I don't like lying.'
Elizabeth suspected that Anita had probably done plenty of lying in her life out of necessity, but didn't like saying so. 'I want to see Daly, or if that's off limits, talk to him,' Elizabeth stated firmly.
She heard Anita sigh. 'We're a long way off tying this up. I'm not saying you'd forget yourself, but even with the best intentions leaks still happen. This is a big operation Elizabeth, important we get it one hundred percent right. Yeats has kept his nose clean all these years; I'd hate to see him get off on a technicality.'
Elizabeth had just made a stupid gaffe. She daren't push Anita too far. 'So the answer is no.'
'For the moment it is.'
I'm being selfish, she thought. Daly is a busy man. Even if Anita had allowed her to speak to him, listening to her problems was the last thing he needed. She changed the subject. 'Is Yeats looking at a long sentence?'
'That's not my area of expertise. What I will say is people will view Yeats' crimes differently. Some will see him as a cold blooded killer, others as some kind of hero. It's a fact that juries can be swayed and judges don't always deliver the expected verdict. I've talked to Yeats, and I don't think he cares what happens to him. He sees himself as a soldier rather than a cop. All those years waiting for this to happen must have taken its toll. Going to prison will seem the better option. He's still considered young enough to start again after he's released.' Anita paused for a while and Elizabeth sensed she had something else to say. 'Don't be too alarmed but I need to warn you. Please be careful. The other night, when you thought I was scared...'