The Talion Code

by Catriona King

  Craig rested back in his chair and slid his hands into his pockets, watching as Lewiston did the same in a show of cool. Jamison was already so relaxed he was almost horizontal, so, in the sleepy atmosphere of a pre-Christmas morning Craig asked the question that he’d come to ask.

  “Who hates you, Mr Jamison?”

  Lewiston woke up quickly, leaning forward to object. Liam waved him back.

  “Wait till you’ve something to object to, would you. We’ve more to say.”

  Lewiston held his ground and narrowed his eyes in what he thought looked like a threat; it actually looked like he needed stronger glasses than the frameless pair perched upon his nose. Craig repeated his question and waited for the dormouse to react. Eventually Jamison shrugged.

  “Plenty of people, I’m sure. Why? What does this have to do with my case?”

  Craig swallowed hard, knowing for the nth time in the case that he was sticking his neck out.

  “I don’t think you killed anyone, Mr Jamison, but someone is trying very hard to convince us that you have. That smacks of hatred, I think you would agree.”

  To everyone’s surprise Jamison laughed. “Well, they won’t be sending me flowers, that’s for sure.”

  Lewiston intervened, obviously thinking that he should earn his crust. “As you’re so sure my client isn’t guilty of murder, whoever it was that was killed, then I insist that you release him immediately.”

  Liam shook his head. “Nice try, but there are other aspects of the case that we’re investigating. He’s going nowhere.”

  Craig’s gaze was still fixed on Richard Jamison. He’d woken up suddenly and was leaning forward in his chair.

  “I know it was Dom that was killed.”

  Craig gave nothing away. “Dom who?”

  Jamison tutted and Craig watched the high-handed businessman reappear. “Dominic Guthrie. And before you ask, my wife was told by Cecilia.” He shook his head slowly. “He was a good guy. I don’t know why anyone would kill him-”

  Craig cut him off. “We’re looking at a range of motives, but the main one is that they did it to frame you.”

  Lewiston went to interrupt but Craig forged ahead.

  “There is physical evidence to link you to the crime, Mr Jamison, and the scene was close to your office, on Mr Guthrie’s route back to his car.” He smiled coldly. “It happened after your meeting with him on Friday night, the agenda of which we’re investigating now.”

  Jamison had the good grace to blanch. Lewiston just looked confused; he’d been retained to defend his client against a murder accusation, now it seemed he was involved in a business scam. He was out of his depth; one of the firm’s financial law team should be here not him. But he couldn’t back out in the middle of an interview, so instead he resumed his earlier squinting stance. Jamison colour returned quickly, but the speed with which he steered them back to the murder told them more than he meant to say.

  “Someone’s framing me for Dom’s murder?”

  Craig nodded.

  “So you think they hate me and you want me to tell you who they’re likely to be.”

  Another nod. Jamison shook his head.

  “Sorry, lads, but it could be pretty much anyone. Business is war and some people get badly wounded.”

  Liam’s eyes widened in realisation. That explained something he’d always wondered about; why anyone would want to spend their days shuffling paper around a desk. In his eyes it was boring as hell. But if business was really like combat, with all the cut and thrust, then perhaps he’d missed the point in economics class. Craig asked another question.

  “Even allowing for that, there must be someone who fared particularly badly in one of your deals? Someone who sticks out in your mind?”

  And there it was. The shift in the chair. The deviating glance. The licking of the lips and the over widening of Richard Jamison’s eyes that spelt guilt. A memory of misdeeds and a lie beginning to be formed. Craig saved him the trouble.

  “I can see in your face that you know who I mean, Mr Jamison. Who were they? And what did you do to them that was so bad they’d want to have you locked away for life?”

  Then came the next thing. His eyes shutting down, his arms folding, body attempting to recline in the hard police chair. Whatever Richard Jamison had done to this person was bad enough not only for him to be framed for a murder, it was something he wouldn’t share now, not even to save himself. Except that he didn’t need to; Craig had already saved him by declaring that they knew he was being framed.

  Craig tutted at himself in disgust and stood up, signalling Liam to do the same.

  “Your client’s going back in a cell for another twenty-four hours, Mr Lewiston and then we’ll be charging him.”

  The solicitor rose in his chair. “With what? You’ve said he’s innocent of murder.”

  “I also said our investigations were continuing.”

  They joined Jack in the viewing room. As he returned Jamison to his cell Craig swore long and hard.

  “Damn. I showed my hand too soon. If I hadn’t said we knew Jamison had been framed we’d have had more leverage to find out who he’d screwed.”

  There was nothing to say but that he was right. He’d played his hand too openly. Liam searched for a word of optimism.

  “The geeks will find something in Jamison’s murky past; they’re good at that sort of stuff.”

  Craig wasn’t comforted. “It could take weeks and we need to charge him within twenty-four hours or he’ll skip the country and we’ll never see him again.”

  Liam yanked open the door. “Then you’d better stop swearing and get back to work.”

  ****

  Annette had spent an hour showing Tom Fitzhenry CCTV footage and stills. He’d confirmed that the blurry man was the one that he’d seen near Dominic Guthrie and that the description Terry Mallon had given of his paymaster sounded like a different man. Both had been tall and both had worn something on their heads, but the man he’d seen near Guthrie had been clean shaven and hadn’t worn face furniture of any sort. But Annette didn’t believe in coincidences and the odds of someone bribing Mallon if they’d had nothing to do with the murder were too slim to compute. They were the same man and Craig had been right about the disguise.

  If the blurred man was Dominic Guthrie’s killer they had a true but inadequate view of his face. That raised another question. Why show your face at all, disguised or not, unless you thought there were no witnesses and cameras around?

  Annette showed Fitzhenry out and grabbed her car keys. It was time for a field trip. Twenty minutes later she was standing at the murder scene staring up at the buildings nearby. No visible cameras. That answered one part of her question. Given that their killer had to have cased the area before the killing, to have known where to get the breezeblock, he would have checked for any nearby cameras and, like her, found none. So where had the blurry photograph come from?

  She pressed dial and got through to Davy. “Davy, where was the camera that took the blurred shot I’ve just shown Fitzhenry?”

  “Hang on.”

  He returned a moment later. “On the perimeter fence of the construction s…site.”

  “OK, stay on the line while I walk down there.”

  Sixty seconds later Annette was peering up at the smallest camera she’d ever seen, partially hidden behind McElhatton’s sign. “Amazing. It’s the size of a mobile phone. There’s no way you’d find it if you didn’t know it was there.”

  “Cool, eh. It’s motion activated, so it only catches images when they move. It got Guthrie walking and then the man coming up behind him.”

  Excitement bubbled up in her chest. “The murder itself?” She already knew the answer would be no. He would have said otherwise.

  “S…Sorry. Just out of range.” He paused for a moment then restarted. “Is there anyone on the site at the moment?”

  She peered through the fence and saw a man in overalls. “Yes, why?”

  “As
k him if the chain was on the gate on Friday night, could you?”

  “Hold on.”

  A brief conversation revealed that the answer was no.

  “They put the chain on in response to the murder. Talk about bolting the gate after the horse has gone!”

  She cut the call and headed back to the car. The killer had reccied the area but missed the motion camera, and had made the not unreasonable assumption that at nine o’clock on a Friday night there’d be no-one in the nearby offices to witness his assault. That was why he’d felt safe without a disguise when he’d killed Guthrie. She carried the thought through. However, he’d have known there were cameras in and around the Odyssey, so his encounter with Terry Mallon had required some sort of mask, hence the beard and glasses. He’d taken a calculated risk that it would be disguise enough. But the blurry image was their man, undisguised.

  Annette smiled to herself. He’d reckoned without a super-recogniser seeing the images, hadn’t he.

  ****

  The James Bar. 1 p.m.

  Craig picked listlessly at his burger until Liam, a dedicated carnivore, actually began to feel sorry for the dead beast. He moved the plate out of reach and pushed a coffee towards Craig instead.

  “Pick on that. It never had any feelings for you to hurt.”

  Craig nodded, only half listening. He’d been miserable since they’d left the interview an hour before and Liam had had enough.

  “For God’s sake, boss, stop moping.”

  Craig objected half-heartedly. “It’s all right for you, my neck’s on the line here. We’re three days in and the only leads we have are a blurred photograph and a motive buried somewhere in Jamison’s past.”

  “So trust your team. We’ve got two of the best analysts around and a ‘superwhatsit’ in our midst.” He wiggled his fingers, putting superwhatsit in parentheses, and then bit into a double fried chip with glee. “Anyway, we always have nothing at this stage. That’s what makes investigations fun.”

  Craig gave a weak smile. “I suppose.”

  Just then the bar’s door opened and gust of cold air made Liam sneeze. It blew in half of the murder team as well. As Craig beckoned the analysts and Andy over, he made an effort to smile. Ash was smiling even harder and Craig felt a sudden flash of hope.

  “What have you got?”

  Ash saw his chance for a free lunch. “You buying?”

  “Yes. What have you got?”

  “Can we eat first?”

  “No. Order quickly then tell me.”

  After ordering deliberately slowly just to torment him, the newly arrived trio smiled smugly at each other and then Davy glanced around.

  “Where’s Annette?”

  Liam shrugged. “No idea. Why?”

  “Because she was part of it.”

  Craig’s eyes turned wild with exasperation. “Part of what? If someone doesn’t tell me in ten sec-”

  They’d tormented him long enough so Davy waved him down soothingly and began. “OK. At the edge of the construction s…site there was a miniature motion camera that couldn’t possibly have been seen by our killer. It captured Guthrie walking and then the killer approaching, which is our blurred shot.”

  Craig shook his head. “We’re assuming that was our killer.”

  Davy shook his head and Ash chipped in.

  “Not so much, chief. Tom Fitzhenry’s confirmed it was the man he saw and he was tall and wearing some sort of cap, just like the man with the beanie who bribed Mallon.”

  “Who also had glasses and a beard.”

  Ash dismissed his pessimism. “But was otherwise exactly the same; height, build, the works. We’ve just spent an hour, us three and Annette, going through the shots of Mallon and the man outside the Odyssey.” He jerked a thumb at Andy. “Old super sleuth here is one hundred percent that it’s the same man, with or without the disguise.”

  A glance at Andy confirmed that it was true, but Craig still wasn’t ready to be cheered.

  “So we know the blurry image is definitely an undisguised shot of our man. Great, except that it’s blurry.”

  Davy rolled his eyes in a gesture that said it all and Craig shot the group an apologetic look.

  “Sorry. Good work, everyone. So now what?”

  Ash answered this time. “Annette also found out that the construction site wasn’t locked until after the murder, so the odds are our man cased the area a few days before, which is when he saw the breezeblock and chose it as his weapon…”

  Craig’s jaw dropped. “And when he was casing things out he might have been unguarded and shown his face!” He turned to find Liam mouthing his next words. “Liam, get down there-”

  “On my way. I’ll get any earlier footage I can find for the Odyssey as well.”

  As he left the bar, Craig frowned. “Hang on; when we canvassed the area for camera footage did we specify just the footage for Friday night?”

  The analysts nodded. Craig knew he should have been cheered by the thought of another few days’ footage but instead he had a sinking feeling. The odds of the motion camera’s tape holding more than a few hours footage were small, and the habit of even large companies to reuse their tapes for economy was far too widespread.

  But he said nothing; he’d already got the rep of being a miserable bugger and Liam would tell them if he’d found anything soon enough. Instead he changed the topic.

  “The motive’s in Jamison’s past, we’re sure of it. When we asked him he definitely reacted, but he refused to say what it was.”

  Ash scooped ice-cream onto his spoon and nodded. “That’s this afternoon’s task then. Along with his-”

  Davy cut in. “And Guthrie’s financial records, plus a million other things.”

  Craig smiled at the double act then turned to Andy. “How much of the tape footage have you covered?”

  “All of the Titanic Quarter stuff except whatever new stuff Liam finds.” He took a slurp of hot chocolate and shook his head. The chocolate left a brown ring around his mouth, making him look like a sad clown. “There’s no other sighting of our man. Not from any angle. I’m sure of it. If you find a suspect I can confirm it’s him, but unless he turns up in another image somewhere-”

  “Which is as likely as any of you paying for lunch.”

  Ash changed the subject hastily. “Did anyone see the news? A light aircraft came down over Lough Neagh.”

  Davy asked the compassionate question. “Was anyone killed?”

  “One. The pilot.”

  Andy asked the topical one. “Terrorist attack?”

  Craig raised an eyebrow. It was nothing to do with their case but he was curious. “I’ll ask Ken. He’s in military intelligence now.” The soldier’s time in policing had developed his nosy streak.

  Andy snorted. “Military Intelligence. That’s an oxymoron if ever I heard one.”

  Craig smiled at the old joke. It was usually cracked about the police. “Anything else of interest?”

  Ash nodded excitedly. “I’ve been looking into that other stuff, chief. The algorithms.”

  Craig raised an eyebrow. “Nice to know you have time, considering that it’s nothing to do with our case.”

  “Depends on which case. I’ve found something on your RTC.”

  Craig was ashamed to admit he’d almost forgotten about the RTC in the heat of the murder case. But his interest was piqued; if he couldn’t solve a murder today he might as well take a look at this.

  “OK, I’m off to pay the bill then I’ll see you back over the road.”

  He had an appointment with the Lagan first. Maybe staring into its waves for a while would break his mental block.

  Chapter Nine

  As Craig stared into the river’s excitable waves, courtesy of the rain that had suddenly decided to pelt down, turning the clear day misty in minutes and threatening to soak him to the skin, his ruminations were disturbed by his phone ringing. He answered it with a vague “hello”, his mind on other things. A brighter “He
llo, Marc” answered him, followed by. “There’s no DNA from your grey hair.”

  It would’ve sounded strange to an eavesdropper but to the two men talking it made perfect sense. Craig ran for the shelter of the James’ awning and stood under it, admiring the now lashing rain.

  “Why not?”

  John Winter heard the noise and knew Craig was outside. “Where are you?”

  “Outside the James. Why no DNA?”

  “No hair follicle.”

  Craig straightened up, interested. “So it wasn’t caught in the breezeblock and pulled out by the root.”

  “Correct. So I thought it might have broken off or been cut by something sharp, but there’s no sign of either.”

  “It was shed naturally.”

  “It was.”

  There was silence for a moment while Craig considered what it meant. When he spoke again it was with another question.

  “Is it definitely Jamison’s?”

  John smiled. It was exactly what he would have asked. Craig would have made a decent scientist except he’d never have been able to sit still long enough to look down a microscope.

  “As close as I can tell. I got a sample for comparison and its morphology and colour is identical.”

  “So someone got one of Jamison’s naturally shed hairs and planted it in a crack in the block.”

  It told them a lot. Not least the patience of their killer. How many trips had they made to Jamison’s office at night or on weekends before they’d found a suitable hair on his chair or floor? And how many breezeblocks had they lifted before they’d found one with a crack that they could easily slip the hair inside? That revealed something else; their killer hadn’t opportunistically grabbed a block from the construction site minutes before Guthrie’s death; they’d chosen it carefully beforehand, inserted the hair and carried it with them to the kill. It smacked of obsession. Patient and obsessive; they were formidable traits in an opponent.