The Talion Code

by Catriona King

  “S…Should we do something? Rescue him maybe?”

  Craig was perplexed. Even Liam’s face wore a puzzled look.

  “What would we say, lad? Unhand that man, Constable O’Neil?”

  Craig and Davy spoke at once. “We would if it was the other way round.”

  “What, if Rhonda was the D.C.I. you mean?”

  Craig raised an eyebrow. “You know exactly what we mean, Liam. Andy’s completely pissed and if a very drunk woman was being dragged out of here by a man, we would stop it.”

  Liam nodded. “Fair enough. But she isn’t.”

  Craig stood up. “Even so.”

  He walked to the door and opened it, scanning Barrow Square. A scene that he never wanted to see again was playing out ten feet to his left. Andy Angel was sitting on a low brick wall with a giggling Rhonda perched on one of his knees, and they were alternately rubbing noses and kissing, with what was very unseemly glee. But there was definitely no duress on either side so Craig returned to his seat and drained the last of his pint, shuddering.

  Liam’s curiosity meant that he had to go and look. He regretted it instantly, returning swiftly to order another round.

  “Ugh! They’re out there snogging like teenagers. It’s horrible.”

  Davy rose to investigate but Craig beckoned him back to his chair. “Don’t, Davy. You’ll never be able to unsee it.”

  Liam joined him in shuddering at the memory, both of them knowing that wherever the snogging led they would all suffer the fall-out the following day.

  Chapter Seven

  Near Belfast International Airport, County Antrim. Monday. 6.15 a.m.

  It had to be a minor crash. Minor in the sense of few fatalities that was. Too many and it would attract unwanted attention, a big investigation and the search for far more than the wreckage of a small plane. Not that he wasn’t certain his security was flawless; if there was an IT expert better than him in the world then he would eat his hacker’s black hat. No, he’d covered his trail perfectly; there was no way anything would trace back to them. But a big splash; he laughed at his own dark wit, a big splash when the plane came down could blow the seeming randomness he’d spent years planning and have the opposite effect to the one that he desired.

  Subtlety was key. The odd ATM malfunction and traffic snarl up, strange and sporadic accidents with a few deaths here and there. Just enough to warrant superficial inquiries and point the blame at the obvious culprits, but not so much that anyone might think there was deliberate sabotage at work. Sabotage would set them running; sympathising and defending the very people that he wanted blamed. No. Negligence and incompetence were the accusations he was aiming for, and both of them pointed at two old men.

  So he gazed at the rolling countryside and the morning lit waters of Lough Neagh beyond and he tapped his smart-pad; just once, but it was enough. Enough to send the light aircraft into the path of the scheduled morning jet, clip its flimsy wings and send it plummeting into the waters of the largest lake in the British Isles.

  ****

  The C.C.U. Monday, 9 a.m.

  Craig had changed his mind about returning to the office the night before, unable to shake the images of open-air snogging from his mind, so to compensate he’d reached the squad-room at seven a.m., intending that by the time the others had arrived he would have his ducks firmly in a row. He’d just finished printing out a handout when Liam pushed noisily through the double-doors, but not half as noisily as the woman who came next.

  Carmen McGregor pushed past her old enemy and raced, snarling like a Tasmanian Devil, to where Craig was now making himself a drink. She threw a sheaf of paper down on Nicky’s desk, as if she was challenging him to a duel.

  “What’s the meaning of this?”

  Liam stopped six feet behind her, waiting to see what came next. Craig was in a good mood so he simply kept pouring his coffee, refusing to look up. He completely ignored Carmen’s presence until, unfortunately, she spoke again.

  “How dare you tamper with my witness? You had no right to go near Jackson Poulter, never mind bring him in!”

  Liam was just stepping forward to intervene when Craig looked up and the D.C.I. was stopped dead by the expression on his face. Instead of Craig’s usual smile, or even his occasional wry glance, there was a look that Liam had rarely seen before, not even when faced with some of the biggest bastards in Belfast. It was pure fury. It turned Craig’s eyes black and his tanned skin the colour of hot wood. By contrast his voice was cold, sharp and loud.

  “BE QUIET.”

  Carmen’s mouth opened again but this time no sound emerged, instead her small face paled and genuine bewilderment widened her eyes. Not bewilderment about Craig’s words or why he’d said them, but confusion caused by his look and tone. Marc Craig was nice, and she didn’t mean the word as a compliment. To her nice was most definitely a pejorative term. People walked over nice people and then walked back again to wipe their feet. Her mother had been nice and her father had taken full advantage of it; she’d lost track of how many times he’d abandoned her or landed her in hospital, leaving her and her brother to be passed around foster homes. Nice was an insult; it equated to weakness and victimhood, so for ‘nice’ Craig to be so firm and unequivocal was something so unexpected that it didn’t compute. His past kindness and tolerance of her issues meant that he was a doormat, and the man in front of her now was something, but he definitely wasn’t that.

  Liam read her thoughts in an instant, as clearly if they were sky written in smoke. Her bullying expectation that she could march in and insult a senior officer, and her shock as the lion she’d thought was a pussycat had finally roared. Another stupid person who’d mistaken Craig’s niceness for weakness and his politeness for something to take advantage of, completely ignoring the evidence of scores of murders solved and perps in prison, pointing to a man who was as hard as nails when called to be.

  He couldn’t read Craig’s thoughts quite as clearly, so he was surprised when he pointed Carmen to a seat and then beckoned him into his office, closing the door behind them without a sound. Liam remained standing, not out of fear but from respect. He’d always had a high opinion of his boss, but now and again it did no harm to demonstrate the fact. As Craig stared out the window in silence for a good minute, Liam listened to the others arriving and the sounds of the morning schedule starting up. A couple of the team acknowledged Carmen’s presence, but if they were wondering why she was there then no-one asked. Only Nicky knew, reading Les Moriarty’s name on the sheaf of paper lying randomly on her desk.

  She watched as a pale faced Carmen sat immobile, wearing an expression she didn’t remember from her sixteen month sojourn on the team. Doubtless she would be told what it was all about when she needed to know it, but for now she merely filled the kettle and fetched some milk from the kitchen for her morning cup of tea.

  As Liam watched the statue that was Craig unfreeze, the senior detective took his seat and leant on his desk with his head held in his hands. “What am I going to do with her, Liam? Of course it’s not just her fault; she’s following Harrison’s lead. In fact the spineless bastard probably sent her down!”

  Liam shook his head and took a seat. “You’re going to do nothing. I’m going to take her back to the thirteenth floor and have it out with him.”

  Craig looked up sharply. “NO. He’ll try to ruin your career as well.”

  Liam shook his head, smiling. “Ah, but you won’t let him. My money’s on you being an A.C.C. within three years, while Harrison’s pensioned off playing bad golf somewhere.” He coloured slightly. “I’m hoping you’ll take me with you when you go.” He added a roll of his eyes. “Especially as I’ll be working till I’m ninety to pay the kid’s Uni fees.”

  Craig smiled. “I admire your faith in me.”

  Liam shrugged. “Facts is facts.” He rose again. “What time are we briefing?”

  “Ten. Why?”

  “That’ll give me time to have words with Tefl
on and madam upstairs.”

  Craig was on his feet instantly. “No way. It was me he came after and it’s me who should have it out -”

  Liam held up a hand in a way that brooked no disagreement. “I’ll do it. A, I’ll enjoy having a go at the old eejit, and B, I don’t trust your temper.” His voice took on a serious tone. “I saw something in your face just now-”

  “You mean you think I might damage him this time.” It wasn’t a question. Craig nodded tiredly. “Unfortunately you’re right. I know exactly what I’m capable of.”

  Unknown to Liam, so did Annette. She was the only team member who knew Craig had almost acquired a record for grievous bodily hard at seventeen, when he’d half-killed a paedophile who tried to abduct the six-year-old Lucia.

  Liam smiled. “Well, OK then. But I want something in return.”

  Craig’s voice softened. “If you mean will I take you with me if I go, then the answer’s yes of course.”

  “Ach, I already knew that, so don’t be going all double X on me. I mean I want the dirt on the Aussie and Andy, so get digging. I’ll expect the full, gory details when I get back.”

  ****

  The full gory details would have be inferred, rather than extracted directly from the individuals involved; Craig had too much work to do to ask about his staff’s love lives, no matter what Liam was offering in exchange. As it happened he was able to combine the two because he was standing by Ash’s desk gazing at his computer just as an unusually lively Andy Angel came bouncing past.

  “Whatcha looking at, chief?”

  The combination of Andy’s slang and the slap on the back that accompanied it, made Craig turn around and give him a sceptical look.

  “Still drunk from last night, D.C.I. Angel?”

  Andy missed his warning tone completely and continued to dig his own grave. “Drunk on life, sir. That’s all I need.” He stared into the distance meaningfully. “That’s all anyone needs, when you think about it.”

  Craig was just waiting for him to burst into song when instead he emitted an excited yell. “Is that the CCTV from the murder scene?” It was accompanied by another slap, but this time on Ash’s desk.

  The analyst looked up, confused by what was happening. Not the general gist; he’d got that much. Andy had obviously got pissed the night before and by the look of him that wasn’t all that had happened. But he didn’t have the details and his best source for such information, Liam, was nowhere to be seen. He rubbed away Andy’s damp handprint with a hankie then nodded his head regally and magnified the blurry shot.

  “We think it’s the man Tom Fitzhenry saw from his window. It matches the time and place.”

  “That’s brilliant.”

  As Andy lifted his hand for another back slap Craig sidestepped its descent and he hit the desk lamp instead, emitting a loud “OW”. Craig admitted to being curious. What was so brilliant about a blurry night shot of a man half turned away? He asked the question out loud, using the time till Andy recovered his voice to scan the room for the rest of the team.

  Nicky was at her desk with a large box on the floor beside her. It looked personal, so doubtless she’d pick her moment to reveal whatever it held. Annette was unpacking her bag slowly and deliberately; it wasn’t her usual habit so he guessed immediately that she was tired. He already knew where Liam was, so that only left Rhonda, Davy and Jake to still appear. He turned back just as Andy found his voice.

  “It’s brilliant ’cos I’m a super- recogniser.”

  A super-recogniser (SR); someone with enhanced facial recognition and other cognitive abilities, which gave them an uncanny ability to recognise faces from even the poorest angle. Craig had heard about them when he was at The Met and they’d actually set up a small team of SRs in twenty-eleven, after the English riots.

  “You mean you’ve a good memory for faces.”

  Andy shook his head, until the night before’s excesses reminded him that it probably wasn’t a good idea.

  “It’s more than that.”

  He pulled out a chair and sat down, resting back and folding his arms. Craig recognised the cocky attitude from mornings after nights when he’d had far too much alcohol himself; he could pull Andy up on it or find out what he had to say. He decided to defer the abstinence lecture and waved the D.C.I. on.

  “If I’ve seen someone once I can identify them again, plus I can look at a picture of someone I’ve never met and then recognise them from pretty much any angle in any shot.”

  “Why didn’t you join The Met’s team?”

  Andy shrugged. “Too far to travel to see my boy.”

  Craig decided to see if he was bullshitting and pointed at the blurred man on the screen.

  “OK then. Who is he?”

  “I don’t know, I’ve never seen him before. But if you have a photo of any suspects then I can give you a definite yes or no that it’s the same guy.”

  “Even on an image as poor as that?”

  “Even on that. It’s about facial angles, body shape and stance-”

  Craig held up a hand. “OK, OK, I believe you. Unfortunately we’ve no-one in the frame yet except Richard Jamison.”

  Andy leaned forward. “Show me his image.”

  Craig shrugged. “OK, but I’m already certain he isn’t our man.”

  He nodded Ash to access Jamison booking in photo. As expected, Andy shook his head.

  “Not even if he’d disguised himself. The angle of his jaw’s all wrong. Plus he’s not as tall as that bloke.”

  It gave Craig an idea. He leaned over the desk.

  “Ash, pull up all the footage from the Odyssey, inside and out. I want Andy to watch it for any sightings of our man.”

  Ash made a face. “Not sitting here he’s not.” He pointed firmly to Andy’s desk. “I’ll transfer it to your computer.” Neither detective moved so he added pointedly. “As soon as I get some peace.”

  Craig took the hint and moved away, wondering if Andy was actually gifted or he was yanking their chains because he was still half drunk. He forgot about it a moment later when Nicky opened her box and set out the biggest selection of cup-cakes, pastries and tray bakes that he had ever seen. She must have been up half the night! He’d been right; the Great Bun War was about to start.

  She beckoned them all across. “Help yourselves, everyone. The caramel shortbread is our Gary’s favourite.”

  The sounds of loud chomping weren’t quite enough to drown out a sudden shout in the stairwell outside. Everyone moved towards the doors but Craig halted their progress, saying that he would check it out. He’d already guessed where the noise was coming from; the only question was who had shouted; Harrison or Liam. As he raced up the stairs to the thirteenth floor he got his answer from an abrupt encounter with Terry Harrison on the twelfth. He was moving faster than Craig had ever seen him, his normally pristine appearance ruffled and his face an unseemly red. Carmen wasn’t far behind. As they passed him, trying to slow their run to a less unseemly pace that implied they always took the stairs down thirteen floors; Liam’s face appeared over the banister above.

  “And if you try it again at least be less obvious about it!”

  Craig’s eyes ricocheted between him and the fast moving Harrison, who’d been passed on the ninth floor by Carmen, moving with impressive speed. He gawped at Liam who joined him and took a seat on the stone steps.

  “How the hell-”

  “How the hell did I manage that?”

  Craig nodded, still stunned.

  “Well, first. You’re welcome. Second, I did nothing. Just pointed out that we knew exactly what he’d been up to with Moriarty and that we had Poulter on tape confirming everything.”

  “OK, that explains the shouting, but what was the fast exit about?”

  Liam grinned. “Ah well, I might have said something about everything being passed on to the Chief Con in the next ten minutes unless the pair of them got out of my sight pretty damn quick.”

  Craig raised an
eyebrow sceptically. “You mean Harrison was so afraid of you telling the C.C. that he ran? Pull the other one.”

  Liam feigned offence. “Why’s that so hard to believe?” Craig’s eyebrow remained raised until he relented. “Oh, OK. Not me. You. Harrison knows if you showed Flanagan the proof he’d believe it, and he’d be off the force PDQ, most likely without his pension. I just threw in the speedy exit for a laugh.”

  Craig puffed out his cheeks. “Well done. Of course he’ll come back at us even harder now, and more covertly if he has any sense.”

  Liam stood up. “Not for a week at least. I said you’d do it if they showed their faces here again before Christmas.” He started descending the stairs. “I thought we could do with the rest.” He walked on for a moment then turned back to look for Craig, who hadn’t moved. “Hurry up. We’ve a briefing in twenty minutes and I want the dirty details about Angel and the cake queen before then.”

  Craig strolled down the stairs after him. “There’s a new cake queen in town.”

  Liam burst out laughing. “Nicky? I told you she was competitive, didn’t I?”

  Craig smiled. “She’s brought in half a bakery. She must have been up all night making them.”

  Liam rubbed his hands. “Excellent. I could do with breakfast. What did Rhonda say?”

  “She’s not in yet, but Andy’s still hungover and looking like a happy man.”

  “The dirty dog.”

  As they reached the tenth floor Rhonda stepped out of the lift, her mouth opening and closing in greeting as they walked onto the floor. Andy’s response was immediate; he rose from his seat with a dopey grin, only to be completely ignored by his paramour. Craig’s and Liam’s rolled eyes said it all. They were in for another bumpy office romance.

  Craig didn’t have time for it right now so he called the group to order, pointed them towards the coffee and cakes and gave them five minutes to take their pick before taking their seats. As Rhonda nibbled a cupcake and mouthed something, Annette watched as Nicky’s eyes narrowed and she moved forward. She stepped in quickly, blocking her path. Nicky gestured at the new team member indignantly.