by Derek Fee
‘Coffee?’ McDevitt asked.
‘No thanks.’ Wilson stopped but continued to run on the spot. He didn’t want to break his rhythm. He pointed at the coffee. ‘I take that when I’m done, and I’m only halfway.’
McDevitt pulled the cap off one of the coffees and took a sip. ‘I think they use special water to make this stuff. I’ve never been able to boil normal water to the temperature that McDonald’s achieve with ease.’
‘You didn’t come here to offer me a coffee,’ Wilson said, his voice bouncing up and down as he jogged on the spot.
‘Maybe if you stopped hopping, we could have a civilised conversation.’ McDevitt sipped at his coffee. ‘I’m not usually up at this time of the morning so if I think it’s important maybe you should too.’
Wilson stopped running on the spot and put his hand out for the coffee. His run was over. ‘Okay, but you’re going to have to walk back with me.’
McDevitt handed him the coffee and then fell into step beside him. ‘A little bird tells me that my information from Glasgow panned out.’
‘I hope that little bird wasn’t DC Davidson.’ Wilson pulled the lid off the coffee and sipped. The hot coffee burned his lips.
McDevitt smiled and shook his head. ‘I have other sources. You have the names?’
‘Aye, but they’ve scarpered. They could be in Timbuktu by now.’ It was clear to Wilson that McDevitt also had the names. He might be tempted to publish them but given the principle that people are innocent until proven guilty, the lawyers at the Chronicle would put a stop to that.
‘You’ll catch up with them eventually,’ McDevitt said. ‘But they were only the hired help. They’re the monkeys. You need to find the organ grinder.’
A group of runners passed them, heading towards the Waterfront. Wilson envied them. He wished he’d been allowed to finish his run. ‘We’re aware of that. I suppose you’re going to tell me that you know who the organ grinder is, and squeeze some quid pro quo out of me.’
‘This morning’s Chronicle has a story about Brian Malone being a murder victim,’ McDevitt said.
Wilson thought about Malone’s parents. As soon as that news broke, there would be the secondary shock that their son’s death wasn’t natural but had been contrived. ‘I would have liked to have the opportunity to warn the parents.’
‘Sorry ‘bout that. My editor is rather anxious to keep up the pressure on this story. He’s the one who’ll decide how long the story will run.’
‘Meaning?’ Wilson’s coffee had reached a temperature whereby it was actually drinkable.
‘Meaning that there are forces in this Province who might be happier if the whole Malone and Grant issue would go away.’
‘Not another bloody conspiracy theory, that’s the difference between coppers and journalists. You people get to speculate up there in the air somewhere. We concentrate on evidence. Speculation doesn’t put criminals behind bars, evidence does.’ He looked out over the river and saw two double-sculls rowing their way against the tide. The young men at the oars looked fit and strong. He remembered himself like that.
McDevitt followed his gaze. ‘Spring in the air,’ he said and laughed at the double meaning. They were less than halfway back to the apartment and McDevitt was blowing hard. ‘Can we stop for a minute? I need a rest.’
They stopped and leaned over the wall that separated them from the flowing river.
‘What do you know about the Circle and in particular the Inner Circle?’ McDevitt asked.
Wilson shook his head. ‘Never heard of it.’
‘Then I need to tell you a story,’ McDevitt said and repeated almost word for word the tale he had told Carlisle.
Wilson listened while he watched the river. The scullers had turned around and were now rowing with the tide. Throughout his career, he’d heard a great variety of fanciful stories. He had been forced to conclude that everyone he had met had been deluded in some way. There was always a story that would explain why they did what they did. They were never really bad people. They were ordinary people who have done unimaginable things. By any standard, many of them had been monsters who had deluded themselves and now considered themselves saints.
McDevitt finished his story.
Wilson turned away from the river and sighed. ‘And you’re going to publish this?’
McDevitt laughed. ‘That’s one story that would be spiked at source.’
‘But you want me to believe it.’
‘It might help you with your case.’
‘And Carlisle is involved?’
‘He’s not the organ grinder if that’s what you’re thinking.’ McDevitt put up his hands. ‘Don’t ask me who is because I don’t have a clue.’
‘Now you’re dragging me away from the realm of evidence and forcing me to speculate just like you.’
‘Maybe you’ll need to speculate to get to the answer.’
‘I’ve got to get home,’ Wilson said preparing to move.
‘Remember me when you break the case,’ McDevitt. ‘Old Jock gets the scoop.’
‘Aye, when we break the case.’ Wilson tried to run but found that his body had lost its rhythm. He opted for a fast walk instead.
CHAPTER 51
Wilson turned on the shower and increased the temperature of the water until it was almost scalding his skin. He hadn’t worked up a sweat during his run/walk, but he was still wondering why McDevitt had interrupted him with his conspiracy theory. He was glad that he was a policeman and not a journalist. Ninety per cent of the so-called newspapers had already given up the pretence that they were actually about communicating ‘news’. They pandered to what the customers wanted, and that was an article on the lives and loves of celebrities. The average citizen, who would be hard put to find Crimea on a map of the world, was totally enmeshed in the lives of the Kardashians and some crowd of idiots from Essex or Geordieland. That meant poor sods like McDevitt had to dream up conspiracies that might titillate both his editor and the general public. The financial crash of 2007 had exposed the excesses of the Masters of the World, as the bankers styled themselves. The man in the street was now aware of the astronomic bonuses and the extravagant lifestyles of those who ruled their financial futures. The existence of a tight-knit group at the top of Ulster’s tree who wielded incredible financial power and, in effect, directed much of life in the Province would be sheer box office for McDevitt and the Chronicle. He appreciated that it was McDevitt’s information that led to the identification of Baxter and Weir but the existence of an Inner Circle that might be behind the murders was a step too far into McDevitt’s imagination. He jetted ahead to what his day was going to look like. He wasn’t happy about the meeting with Gold. There was something in that silken voice that alerted him. If there was a flaw in the Prosecution case and he was to blame, there would be hell to pay. There was no question of Cummerford walking. They amassed a mountain of evidence linking her to the murders of three women. But Gold’s time was money, and he hadn’t invited Wilson to his office just to pass the time of day. He exited from the shower and towelled himself off before donning a bathrobe and making his way to the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewing coffee reached his nostrils before he got there. He was surprised to find both Kate and Helen fully dressed and facing him.
‘Ian, I want to talk to you,’ Kate said as soon as he entered the kitchen. ‘Perhaps we should sit down.’
Wilson could see sadness in Kate’s face and smugness on her mother’s. He could already tell what was coming, and he felt an instant pain in the pit of his stomach. He pulled over a stool and sat down. ‘We don’t have to do this here and we don’t have to do it now. We need to talk things out between ourselves.’
‘We can’t go on like this,’ Kate said tears welling up in her eyes. ‘The stress is making me a physical and mental mess. We shouldn’t be living under the same roof at the moment. I found myself trying to stay on in the office last night to avoid coming home. That’s not the way I want to feel.�
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‘We shouldn’t be forced into decisions. There are people that we can talk to, experts in this area.’
‘Maybe later.’ A tear crept out of the corner of her eye.
Wilson started to rise but she held up her hand, and he sat back down. ‘So there’s to be no discussion.’
‘It’s only to give ourselves a break,’ Kate said, the initial tear was joined by others. ‘I really don’t want to do this, but we can’t go on like this.’
Wilson looked at Helen and thought he could see satisfaction in her face. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to have her living with them when she was in Belfast. But it was always Kate’s decision since it was Kate’s apartment. ‘So, I move out.’ And leave the field to Helen, he thought.
‘Temporarily,’ Kate said. ‘Until I get some time to think things out. Maybe then you and I can go see someone.’
Not if your mother has anything to do with it. The timing was rotten for both of them. Kate needed to concentrate on the upcoming cases, and he needed to focus on finding the person behind the deaths of three men. Splitting from Kate, even temporarily, was not going to help. It would simply be a distraction. However, he could see that the die was cast. ‘I’ll pack my things,’ he said simply.
‘I’m sorry, Ian,’ she said. ‘I’ve agonised over this decision, and Helen has been a great sounding board.’
I’ll bet, Wilson thought.
‘I do love you.’ There was a catch in Kate’s voice. ‘But losing our child.’ Her voice trailed off.
Helen put her arms around her daughter and led her towards the rear of the apartment. She turned to Wilson. ‘I’ll get Kate off to work. The maid will pack a couple of suitcases for you. I’ve booked you a room at the Europa, and we’ll have the luggage sent over.’
Wilson stared at the backs of the two women. Had he unwittingly let a serpent into his relationship with Kate? Helen McCann had researched him; perhaps he would return the favour. He looked around the kitchen, and he could not dispel the feeling that he was seeing it for the last time.
CHAPTER 52
Peter Davidson was the star of the morning briefing. He had brought home the bacon from his trip to Glasgow. He led off the briefing with his report on locating Baxter and Weir. He told them how he had received an email from the Strathclyde police overnight. They had raided the addresses of the two men but had found nothing. The news wasn’t unexpected, but it was disappointing. ‘We’ll find them, Boss,’ Davidson said as a conclusion. ‘The boys in Glasgow are among the best. As soon as Baxter and Weir resurface, they’ll be nabbed.’
‘Well done, Peter.’ Wilson slapped Davidson on the shoulder. ‘We now have one piece of the puzzle.’ He turned to Eric Taylor. ‘What about Big George?’
‘It appears that he still lives with his mother,’ Taylor said, ‘although he pretty much sleeps wherever he finds himself when he’s tired. The question is, how do you want him picked up, easy or hard?’
‘I’d prefer easy,’ Wilson said.
‘So would I,’ Taylor said. ‘Hard might involve at least five uniforms. If George thinks he’s going down, he might react and people could get hurt. He spends a lot of time with Rice, so we’ll have to choose a time when they’re not together.’
‘I’d prefer to talk to him sooner rather than later,’ Wilson said. ‘This man appears to have been an accessory to two murders. I want him here in this station talking to us. I don’t want him to run. So no all-points bulletin. Keep the uniforms out of it. It might mean sitting on his tail for a bit.’ He continued looking at Taylor. ‘What about the Infrastructure Agency stuff?’
‘Christ, Boss,’ Taylor said. ‘I only have two hands, two legs, one nose, one mouth. In other words, I can’t divide myself in two.’
‘Thanks Eric,’ Wilson said. ‘I’m more than aware that everyone is overstretched. Peter, maybe you could be the point man on bringing Big George in. He’s the next link in the chain, and he leads to Rice. That way, Eric can stay on looking at the Agency.’
Davidson nodded. ‘Okay, Boss.’
‘Moira, where are we with Traffic?’
‘They’ve promised me something before the end of the morning,’ Moira said.
‘I want you to keep after them,’ Wilson said. ‘If we locate Big George, you and I will interrogate him.’
‘Harry, anything new on O’Reilly?’
‘I’m reassessing the results of the house-to-house,’ Graham said. ‘It’s a busy intersection. Someone has to have seen something. I’ve collected all the CCTV from the area, and I’m reviewing that. Someone made their way into the apartment building, and I’m pretty sure they did it from the taxi station. That means they had a key. If I can’t turn up anything from the interviews or the CCTV, we might have to bring Boyle in. He’s more likely to crack than Dolan.’
‘Okay,’ Wilson said. ‘You’ve all got lots to do. I’ll be out for some of the morning. I’ve got to meet Laurence Gold. You should all keep it in mind that you might be next on his list. Cummerford is up in six or so weeks. My guess is that she’s going to mount a defence, but I have no idea what it might be.’ He saw a smile break across Moira’s face. ‘I’m serious.’
‘Not even in pillow talk, Boss,’ Moira said.
Wilson’s face hardened. ‘Now get on with your work.’ He turned and strode towards his office.
Moira waited five minutes and followed him. She knocked on the glass door before entering, and closed the door behind her. ‘Boss, I am really sorry if I said something inappropriate.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Wilson said and returned to his papers.
‘What’s up, Boss?’
‘Nothing you need to know about.’ Wilson looked up into her eyes. ‘Honestly, just some personal stuff.’
‘Between you and Kate?’
He could see that she wasn’t about to drop the questioning, and the fact that he would be staying at the Europa would soon be common knowledge. ‘Kate and I have decided to take a break.’
‘Oh no,’ Moira said. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘No. We’re both a bit overstretched these days. We always knew that our jobs would get in the way sooner or later.’ It wasn’t only the jobs though. There was the hand of Helen McCann in there somewhere.
‘Where are you staying?’
‘The Europa but that’s between you and me for the moment. I know it’ll soon become common knowledge, but right now I want it kept quiet. We don’t discuss it again.’
‘No problem, Boss. I thought you looked a bit down this morning.’
‘It isn’t over,’ he said more in hope than certainty. ‘We’ll be back together again.’
‘You’re made for each other,’ Moira said. ‘Whatever the problem is it’ll pass.’ She started for the door and thought about herself and Brendan. Would it pass too? And would she be in Boston when it did?
CHAPTER 53
Big George Carroll watched the Blue BMW 520 drive slowly towards him on Ballygomartin Road. The previous evening, he had wanted to go back to his mother’s house in Riga Street, but the Boss insisted that he stay the night with him. His mother wasn’t best pleased when he’d phoned and told her that he wouldn’t be home for his dinner. She had made him a steak and kidney pie and was looking forward to sharing it with him. His mother was the one constant in his life. Along with Sammy, she was the only person in the world who actually cared for him. Other people laughed at his size and the fact that he didn’t always understand things. George’s physical development and mental development were diametric opposites. While his bodily development went ahead at a pace, his mental capacity appeared to go in the opposite direction. As a young child, he had been diagnosed as being mentally retarded. His father wasn’t up for dealing with a difficult child and decided to do a runner. George and his mother had never heard from him again after he left the house one evening to buy a packet of cigarettes. His mum stuck with him despite the tremendous difficulty in getting him through school. The psy
chologists and psychiatrists had a field day with him. They carried out test after test on him without coming to any conclusion on the particular genetic foul up that led to his disproportionate development. Sammy Rice had befriended him at school and made sure that the other kids who made a laugh of him only did it once. George reciprocated by helping Sammy to extort money from their classmates, and even from those in the older classes. He’d skipped school so many times that he had the reading age of a five-year-old. That didn’t bother him because he only liked looking at the pictures. He was no good with numbers, but that was okay too since his mum and Sammy made sure that he didn’t have to do any arithmetic. On the other hand, he could drive a car from the age of twelve, lift a truck with his bare hands and carry hundred-pound loads without blinking. He watched the Beemer until it pulled up beside him. The Boss had told him that he was going on a trip. He had no idea where he was going, but he hoped it would be somewhere beside the sea. Big George loved the ocean. It was nearly the first totally clear day since Christmas. The sky was blue and cloudless, although there was a nip in the air. He had already decided that if they were going to the seaside, he would have an ice cream, maybe even a 99. He liked the combination of the Cadbury’s flake and the vanilla ice cream. And maybe they could have fish and chips afterwards.