The Talion Code

by Catriona King

  She smiled at her arrogant assumption that ‘doctor’ was somehow tattooed on her face and overcompensated by explaining herself.

  “Sorry. I’m Dr Stevens.” Adding, as if she wasn’t already justified enough. “My partner is Superintendent Craig.”

  “The police officer who was first at the scene.”

  Something in the girl’s tone made Katy go cold. Corneau softened the effect by joking.

  “That’s handy. He rescues them and you patch them up.”

  A glance at the victim said there was a lot of patching up still to do. Katy led the way into the corridor.

  “It was very kind of you to come, Ms Corneau, but it really is relatives only visiting.”

  “Unless you’re linked with the police.”

  The remark made Katy bristle and her next words emerged much more sharply than she’d meant. “Yes. Now, you’d better leave.”

  Corneau scanned her face dispassionately before turning on her heel. Something about their encounter told Katy that she should inform Craig right away. She caught him just as he was preparing to have a second go at Richard Jamison.

  “Sorry to bother you at work, pet.”

  He’d been walking towards the interview room but something about her tone stopped him in his tracks.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Asking how he knew something was wrong was pointless; she never could keep her emotions out of her voice.

  “Maybe nothing, but I dropped in to see Alison Briars.” His silence said he’d either forgotten the victim’s name or his mind was on other things, so she elaborated. “The woman who was knocked down at the traffic lights. You asked me to check on her.”

  Liam watched as Craig’s expression changed to concern.

  “Right, yes.” His tone became anxious. “Did she die?”

  “No, no, nothing like that, although it’s still touch and go. But that wasn’t what I called you about. Do you know someone called Eleanor Corneau?”

  He frowned. Liam knew something was wrong and drew a finger dramatically across his throat.

  “Yes. Why?”

  Katy suddenly felt stupid. Had she overreacted? Perhaps the girl had just been mistaken about the HDU visiting rules. But it was too late to say nothing.

  “Well…it might not be anything…”

  Which meant that it almost certainly was.

  “It’s just that the High Dependency Unit has a relatives only visiting policy, but when I popped in to check on Alison Ms Corneau turned up. She said she’d witnessed the accident.” She hurried on to make her case. “She might not have known it was only relatives, but, well, there was something-”

  “Odd about her?”

  “Yes! That’s it. There was something strange in her demeanour but I don’t know what. Does that sound whacky?”

  Craig allowed himself a smile. “No more than the things Liam says.”

  Liam shook his fist.

  “You were right to let me know, pet. I think we need to learn a little more about Ms Corneau.”

  He signed off by arranging dinner for that night and turned back to Liam as he put his phone away.

  “What was that about, boss?”

  Craig’s expression said that he wasn’t sure. “Do you remember that young pedestrian who witnessed the RTC on Wednesday? Eleanor Corneau?”

  “Aye. The one you didn’t like. Don’t tell me she’s been annoying Katy?”

  “She went to the HDU to visit the victim.”

  Liam’s expression said that Katy’s instinct had been right.

  “Of course she may just have been being kind-”

  “In a pig’s ear. She sounds more like she doesn’t have all her rocks in a row.”

  Colourful but accurate. Eleanor Corneau was about to be checked out again.

  ****

  Reggie mightn’t actually have been dragging Jackson Poulter into High Street by his ear, but their relative postures when they arrived implied that he was. The sergeant’s height and girth compared to the addict’s malnourished frame made Poulter seem like a little boy tagging along behind his dad, and the fact that he was staring at the ground added to the impression that he was a captive, when in truth he was the key to keeping Les Moriarty in jail and saving Craig’s ass. But it never did to tell wrong-doers that they had the upper hand. It disturbed the natural order of things and that way chaos lay.

  Jackson Poulter had given Moriarty an alibi that could sink Craig’s conviction and allow a murderer back onto the streets. Now they had to break it, without Poulter knowing that’s what they were doing or even sensing that he was in the enemy camp. So Reggie did what he always did when he was with a friend; he made some tea, then he settled Poulter in an interview room with his cuppa and went in search of an ally who was just as big as him.

  He found Liam and Craig in interview room one, just about to send for Richard Jamison and his brief. He entered without knocking, justifying his urgency with words that were music to Craig’s ears.

  “I’ve got Poulter next door, sir.”

  Craig grinned, all thoughts of Eleanor Corneau instantly gone.

  “Good work.” He waved the sergeant to a seat. “How did you manage that?”

  Reggie thought for a moment, weighing up the benefits of lying against the chance that he might get caught out. The truth won.

  “Well… he might have got the impression that I was working for Superintendent Harrison.” Craig’s mouth opened but Reggie held up a hand. “Before you go mad, I didn’t actually say it, just implied it by saying I worked for ‘the Superintendent’.” He added hastily. “I didn’t give said Superintendent a name, mind you, so Poulter just assumed that it was Harrison. It helped that he’s up in Limavady today and that Poulter couldn’t get any answer from the C.C.U. switchboard.”

  Liam guffawed. “Good man.” He turned to Craig. “That’s real street smarts at work.”

  Craig gave a wry smile. “It’s certainly something. OK, Reggie, so what do you suggest we do next?”

  Reggie considered for a moment. “Well, I brought him here in case D.C. McGregor was lurking around Docklands.”

  “Good thinking. And?”

  “I need to break the alibi he gave to Moriarty, without him realising that’s what I’m trying to do. So…”

  He glanced hopefully at Liam but Craig immediately shook his head.

  “Oh no, you don’t. I need him here.”

  “But-”

  “No buts. If you can wait for half-an-hour then you can have him, if not Annette will be here in a minute. She’s bringing in someone on the murder case but they can wait to be interviewed.”

  He became aware of a draught by his left ear and turned to see Liam fanning himself with his notebook like a southern debutante. His next words hailed from Georgia, USA.

  “Well, my, my, gentlemen. I don’t believe y’all are fighting over little old me.”

  Craig stifled a laugh. “Stow it, Scarlett. Reggie, on second thoughts, is Liam really the right person to help you with Poulter? They know each other of old, so Poulter might clam up.”

  The southern belle dropped her fan. “Actually, much as it pains me to say so, Reggie, the boss is right. I’ve nicked Poulter far too often. If he sees me he’ll vote with his feet, so I’d say that Annette’s your gal.”

  Reggie nodded reluctantly. He liked interviewing with Liam; the sight of their combined bulk usually made it a very short job. He rose to his feet.

  “Annette it is then, sir. I’ll tell her that you OK’d it, shall I?”

  “Fire ahead.” Craig turned back to Liam with an old fashioned look. “All right with you if we call Jamison in now, Ms O’Hara?”

  Liam tossed his head like a diva. “Frankly, I don’t give a damn.”

  ****

  Computers seem so innocent. Small and getting smaller. Compact, quiet; just a QWERTY keyboard and a pile of electronic chips. They are everywhere: schools, homes, offices. In your bag and on the move; on the train, the bus,
the plane. How useful. How convenient. How modern and progressive they make us feel. What would we do without them now? Is life even possible? How would we find our way, make our planes, programme our microwaves and remember all those people we need to call? Would we even remember to put on our seatbelts without the warning bell?

  What if we tried to do without them? Detoxed from our smart-pads, phones and PCs for one week. How long would we last before others’ expectations pressured us to reconnect? Why didn’t you call me? Didn’t you get my email? Where were you? You missed the meeting that we’d scheduled at five o’clock. How hard it is to really turn off and disconnect in the twenty-first century?

  That was just what the man was relying on. Society’s addiction to technology, the ‘crack’ in the machine. Cyber-junkies with their legitimate highs, inviting strangers into their lives and increasingly dependent on technology to tell them what to do. Technology that would lead them to their deaths.

  ****

  Craig was readying to summon Jamison and his lawyer when his mobile interrupted them again. The number was withheld and that usually meant the C.C.U.

  He was right.

  Davy gave a cheerful “Hi, chief.”

  “Hi yourself. What can I do for you?”

  “It’s more a case of what I can do for you. Richard Jamison, or Richard Jamisons, to be more specific.”

  Craig sat forward, interested. He was pretty convinced that the Richard Jamison they held next door was the one they wanted, but he was always open to being proved wrong. Well, usually.

  “You’ve found another one?”

  “I’ve found s…several Richard Jamisons in Northern Ireland and another score or so in the South, but they all check out and are present and accounted for; apart from one who was buried yesterday. I’ve had the Gardaí checking all day, plus the lads up here. Ash has checked the airline and ferry bookings as well and your detainee is the only Jamison listed as trying to leave the country. So I’d say that the Richard Jamison you’re holding is definitely the one you want.”

  Craig nodded then realised that he needed to make a sound. “Good.” If he sounded less than excited it was because he was already sure they had the right man. Davy continued.

  “So, I can let the patrols stand down?”

  He was answered by an equally apathetic “Yes”.

  Craig was about to sign off when he remembered something.

  “Eleanor something.”

  “Who?”

  “She was one of the witnesses to the RTC on Wednesday.”

  “You’d like her checked out?”

  Before Craig could answer Liam cut in.

  “She’ll need a deep check. I already asked Ash to take a quick look and she and Miskimmon were squeaky clean.”

  Davy’s response said that he’d taken offence. “No-one told me Ash was doing that.”

  Liam hit back. “Do they need to? I thought he was your interim, not your servant.”

  Ouch. But it was a good point. Craig intervened diplomatically.

  “Thanks for asking Ash to do that, Liam, but Davy, I’d like you to do a much more rigorous check on them both. The girl turned up at the hospital today to see the victim.”

  Davy’s instant “that was kind” wasn’t what he needed to hear.

  “Maybe, or maybe it was just odd.” An edge of tetchiness entered his voice. “I don’t care who does it but someone needs to check them properly.” He turned to see Liam staring at him. His eyes said that Craig was being a bit odd himself. “Don’t give me that look, Liam. What was her surname?”

  “It sounded like Cornetto.”

  “Corneau. Yes, Eleanor Corneau, Davy. Check them both out please, and I still think they’re linked in some way. There was a strange dynamic between them.”

  “A bit like with Liam and you.”

  He hung up before Craig could respond.

  Liam sniffed knowingly.

  “If you think the boy’s being cheeky now, wait till he gets married. The Doc was only mildly sarky before he tied the knot, now he’s worse than Ricky Gervais.”

  Craig wasn’t listening; he was too busy thinking about Richard Jamison. He flicked through the papers in front of him and withdrew a sheet that Davy had faxed through an hour before. Richard Arthur Jamison, fifty-one years old, born in Bangor, County Down to well-to-do parents, Millicent and George. Physics degree and related PhD at Queen’s, and then into business. Academia probably hadn’t paid enough. So what type of business was he in? From the way the magnate had reacted earlier it didn’t sound one hundred percent above board.

  Craig read on. Jamison had quit Queen’s in the nineties and set up a technology firm, applying his physics to the real world. It sounded innocent enough. Riding the dot com wave all the way to the bank had been every geek’s dream back then. Later he’d branched out into import/ export, technology, security and ownership of a minor airline. There was potential for dodgy dealings in all four. Craig scanned the rest of the page but there was nothing more except two marriages and a step-son. He wondered what had happened to wife number one and made up his mind to find out. He passed the page to Liam with a shrug.

  “His business now is mainly import/export. Plenty of scope there for fraud.”

  Liam set the page to one side, signalling that they were ready for the fray. Craig pressed the intercom and a minute later Jack entered with Jamison and Lewiston for round two. When the chair scraping and jacket adjusting was over and the desk sergeant was safely in his place, Liam switched on the tape and Craig repeated the caution then he settled himself back in his chair, not saying another word.

  The silence continued for a full ten minutes, while Jamison first smirked with the invincibility of the wealthy then fidgeted and rearranged himself in his hard backed seat, casting sideways glances at the tape and then at Ronald Lewiston, his gaze always avoiding the detectives’ eyes. Lewiston’s eyes couldn’t settle either. They swivelled from side-to-side and then from Liam back to Craig in a narrow arc. Occasionally his mouth opened to say something portentous then he thought better of it, so by the end of the ten minutes he was as nervous as his client.

  That was Craig’s cue to do something, so he coughed, loudly, but not so loudly that it warranted the effect it had. Jamison and Lewiston almost jumped out of their skins and finally Ronald Lewiston’s nerves could take no more. As Craig rearranged himself for more minutes’ silence the solicitor cracked and blurted out “ask us something, man” in a corncrake of a voice. It wasn’t his voice, it was the voice of stress, but it was definitely emerging from his mouth.

  Craig’s reply was calm, almost mellifluous. He sat forward slowly, the movement as fluid as his words.

  “What would you like me to ask, Mr Lewiston?”

  Jamison’s face was red now, but Lewiston’s was redder still. “Whatever you damn well brought us in here to ask!”

  Craig nodded slowly. “Ah, I see.” He tidied the papers in front of him until they were parallel with the desk’s edge and deliberately left Richard Jamison’s life history on top for them to read. After a pause that was long enough to worry the pair that he was about to resume his silence, he asked the question that he really wanted to ask. Jamison’s earlier skittishness about his business interests and his attempted trip to a non-extradition country had told Craig far more than any words.

  “What business fraud have you just committed, Mr Jamison?”

  The sudden widening of Jamison’s eyes and his sharp turn towards Lewiston told Craig that he’d hit the jackpot in one move. Liam knew exactly what came next. A thirty second pause for an answer that wouldn’t come and didn’t need to, followed by them pushing back their chairs and exiting from the room.

  Richard Jamison’s reaction had been as good as an admission; next step was a warrant to check his books and files. Then they would know exactly what crime he’d committed and hopefully why someone was framing him for a man’s death.

  ****

  Jackson Poulter had been pl
ied with so much food and drink that, barring a fresh hit of Heroin to take him to Nirvana, he couldn’t have been a more contented man. True, he was in a police station, but not in a cell which was the important bit. They were treating him like an honoured guest and if he played his cards properly he might even get a bed for the night. It all made for him being a very happy man.

  If he’d known the truth of what Reggie was up to, or heard the exchange he was having with Annette in the staff room, Poulter would have been far less impressed. But he didn’t and he couldn’t, so he considered the takeaway menu Reggie had left with him a minute earlier and after a fantasy that included him ordering three mains and five sides, he settled for a beef curry, rice, poppadums and a bag of chips.

  Reggie meanwhile was dealing with a much less happy Annette.

  “I want to interview Fitzhenry immediately.”

  Reggie gazed at her pleadingly. “Couldn’t you see him afterwards? Poulter won’t take very long.”

  She folded her arms grumpily and then unfolded them. The space between her chest and stomach was non-existent now, so there was nowhere handy to rest her arms. Unless she put them on her stomach that was, and that was definitely a step too far. She already felt like an Oompa Loompa, damned if she was going to sit like one as well. The postural dilemma made her even grumpier.

  “Anyway. If I’m right you want me to lie to Poulter, to get him to admit that he lied to give Moriarty an alibi. And get him to say that Harrison put him up to it!” She shook her head emphatically. “No.”

  Reggie’s bass took on an incongruously wheedling tone. “Pleeeease. The boss knows all about it.”

  “Then he should be ashamed of himself!”

  Pregnancy was bringing out her priggish side. Grumpy and priggish; what next? Lecturing people about not drinking just because she couldn’t? She looked at Reggie’s lined face and relented. Even though there was only a few years between them he reminded her of her dad, and she could never say no to him.

  “Oh, OK. But I want it noted that I don’t approve of your tactics.” She struggled to her feet, waving away his offer of help. “What do you want me to do?”