The Coercion Key
Page 6
Craig nodded. He hadn’t thought about it, but Des was right. That could have been why Linton had brought the USB home from work.
“That means she couldn’t have viewed it at work, even though it was delivered there.”
Des nodded. “Correct. Plus the fact that the envelope was marked private would likely have made her want to look at the USB’s contents away from prying eyes. That was clever of whoever sent it, considering what it contained.”
Des reached into the drawer again and withdrew two more evidence bags. One of them held the jiffy bag that Craig had seen the night before.
“This is the jiffy bag that the USB probably came in. I say probably because we’re assuming she got this at work yesterday and took it home to view last night. That might not be the case. She might have had this USB for weeks and there could have been something completely different delivered in the jiffy bag.”
Craig shook his head. “The USB was in it and it was delivered yesterday.”
“Probably.”
Craig’s voice was firm. “Definitely, but we’ll check with her office to make sure.”
Des smiled wryly then handed Craig the other evidence bag. It contained a sheet of crumpled paper. Craig turned it over in his hand, puzzled.
“I haven’t seen this before. It wasn’t listed.”
“Ah yes it was, but not amongst the things found around her settee. It was listed under the contents of her wastepaper bin. That’s where it was found, screwed up in a ball. There’s nothing unusual about the paper. No prints, standard A4 and Times Roman font. But read what it says.”
Craig peered through the plastic and made out five neatly printed words. ‘I am from the past.’ Nothing else to say where it was from or who’d sent it. He glanced at Des.
“She would have thought it was something romantic. A personal letter sent with the USB.”
Des nodded. “Yes, especially given the shape of the USB.”
Craig screwed up his face quizzically. What did he mean, shape? It was just a memory stick. Des removed another plastic bag from the drawer and handed it to Craig. It held a silver-grey metal key in a gothic design. Craig examined it carefully. The key’s head was ornate and there was intricate scrolling down its wide shank. The end was hollow, as if there had been something hidden inside. Of course…
Des gestured at the key. “That was found on the floor. It’s a cover for the memory stick. The stick slips neatly inside.”
“Very romantic, especially when she read the note. Key to my heart and that sort of thing.”
“Even more romantic given the fact that the key’s made of platinum.”
Craig felt the key’s weight and gave a low whistle. It was worth a small fortune. His dad had bought his mum a platinum ring for their fortieth wedding anniversary and it had cost him well over a grand. This was worth at least twice that. Craig said nothing for a moment then he smiled slowly.
“Everything here is telling us something about our killer, Des. The note, the shape of the key, the use of platinum and whatever was on the file. What was on the file?”
Des shook his head. “You’re not going to like it. Whoever is doing all this isn’t going to make it easy for you.”
Craig was insistent. “What was it?”
“Just the number ‘111012’ and a few words.”
Craig’s eyes widened in surprise. He’d expected more. “You’re certain that was everything?”
“Positive.”
Craig frowned. “What were the words?”
“’I am depressed and I have nothing to live for.’ Exactly what was written on the suicide note left beside her body in the car.”
“And at every one of the other scenes.”
Des nodded. “All four suicide notes were identical: a six-digit number written on the back and ten handwritten words on the other side. The handwriting matched the victims and the only prints on the paper belonged to the victims themselves.”
Craig frowned again. “The suicide note’s had numbers on them?”
“Yes. Didn’t John tell you?”
Craig shook his head. It wasn’t like John to be sloppy. Maybe Natalie’s wedding spam had been getting to him. Des’ sudden look of realisation said that it might not have been John’s mistake after all.
Des rushed over to a cabinet and withdrew a file, spreading out the four pieces of paper inside. Three were photocopies of identically worded suicide notes from Diana Rogan’s, Jonathan McCafferty’s and Nelson Warner‘s scenes, without any numbers to be seen. The fourth piece of paper held three sets of numbers.
Des set his jaw. “I’m going to bloody kill Jim.”
“He only copied the text to John?”
Des nodded. “The original notes go into our reports, ready to be sent to the coroner or court, and we keep photocopies of them in the files. Jim must have thought the numbers weren’t important for John to see so he didn’t put them on the copies he sent John and copied them together on a separate sheet.” He shook his head. “I’ll have a word.”
He handed the page holding the list of numbers to Craig. They made no sense at all. Craig shook his head.
“I’d have said they were dates, except that there aren’t seventeen months in any year or fifty days in any month as far as I know. Linton’s and Rogan’s numbers look like dates, but not the other two. They could be the combinations of safes for all we know.” He shrugged, knowing Davy would enjoy cracking the puzzle. “There were no other files on the memory stick at all?”
Des shook his head. “Nothing.” Craig was incredulous.
“Then whatever those numbers meant to our victims, they were enough to make each of them copy the text into a suicide note and kill themselves?”
“It seems so.”
Craig shook his head. “No. There’s something more here. There has to be. No-one’s that easily intimidated!”
“Well, good luck with finding it.”
They sat in silence for a moment, Des doodling the key’s design over and over again on a page and Craig trying to make things fit inside his head. After a minute Craig leaned forward.
“Each victim’s note was identical, and they knew to copy it out in their own handwriting. That means they got instructions from somewhere. Were USBs found at the other scenes?”
Des rubbed his face. “The problem is that the first two scenes weren’t preserved, Marc. Diana Rogan was found dead at home from a Paracetamol overdose and Jonathan McCafferty hanged himself, again at home. They looked like open and shut suicides. It was only with Nelson Warner that John thought there might be foul play. His scene was preserved; in fact his apartment is still taped off.”
They smiled simultaneously and stood up.
“Have you got your car, Des? I lent Liam mine.”
“Yes. But remember that John’s expecting you downstairs. We’ll give him a yell as we pass.”
Five minutes later they were in Des’ car, leaving John preparing to start Victoria Linton’s P.M. After ten minutes they were standing inside Nelson Warner’s apartment overlooking Belfast’s Albert Bridge. As they’d driven into the development the title on the name plate had rung a bell with Craig. ‘St John’s Harbour’. Where did he know the name from? He hadn’t visited there before, he was certain of that.
Craig wandered onto the balcony that Nelson Warner had taken a swan-dive from and stared into the Lagan five storeys below. The small balcony was empty, apart from a circular metal table and the wicker chair that their victim had jumped off. There was nothing else to see so Craig turned back towards the living room. It was long and wide, laid out in an L-shape, with a pale wood kitchen arranged along the shorter arm. He paced the room several times, from the outsized flat-screen television at one end to the wide settee and long pine table at the other, then he turned to Des.
“Where was Warner’s computer?”
“On the table, there.” Des pointed at the rough pine slab.
“Have all the contents of the apartment been taken
back to the lab?”
“You’ve already seen the suicide note. His laptop, papers etc. are still being examined.” Des paused for a moment before he spoke again. “We wouldn’t have specifically noted a USB amongst his effects because we weren’t looking for anything like that. Give me a minute.”
He pulled out his mobile and made a call while Craig wandered around the rest of the large flat. It was nice; almost as nice as Victoria Linton’s apartment and it was only Nelson Warner’s weekday Pied à Terre. Linton and Warner had both been wealthy and that was already too much coincidence for him. But then… Diana Rogan hadn’t been, so where did she fit in?
Des found Craig in the bedroom, staring down at the oversized bed. Craig doubted that Nelson Warner had been sleeping in it alone every night. He turned to Des eagerly.
“Well?”
Des nodded. “Jenny was just filing Warner’s effects to bring them to me. There’s a memory stick with a cover identical to the key that Victoria Linton had.”
Craig grinned. Now they were getting somewhere. They cast a final look around the apartment and then headed for the lift. As he pressed the button Craig had a fleeting thought about phoning the squad. He dismissed it immediately. Liam and Annette would get on with things, although he’d better phone in at some point or Nicky would send out a search party. As they stepped out of the lift at ground level a woman went to get in. Craig recognised her instantly. It was Katy Stevens! He smiled broadly.
“Hello.”
Katy stared at him confused, in the way you are when you see someone somewhere you least expect.
“Mr Craig. What are you doing here?”
Craig glanced upwards in reflex and she nodded.
“Ah… Mr Warner on the fifth floor. Very sad. He was such a nice man.”
Craig smiled at her kindness. “Do you live here?”
“Yes. I have done for years.”
Craig nodded. That was where he’d recognised the name of the development from. She’d been a witness in the Murray-Hill case the year before. He would’ve seen her address when he’d interviewed her.
Des watched the exchange with a focus that made Craig blush and he said goodbye hastily. They walked to the car in silence and as they fastened their seat-belts Des shot Craig a knowing smile.
“Old flame of yours, Marc?”
Craig gave him a look that had made grown men quake.
“That look doesn’t have any effect on me, you know. I take it that’s a yes.”
“It’s a no.”
“Well, then I’ll lay odds on that it won’t be long before you give her a call…”
***
By the time Craig returned to the C.C.U. it was time for lunch, so he gathered everyone together and they headed to The James bar, the C.C.U.’s local watering hole. As they were walking down Princes Dock Street Liam fell back beside Craig and dropped his voice.
“We’ve done a search on the boyfriend, boss. Linton must have fancied a bit of rough.”
“In what way?”
“Well he doesn’t live in BT9 for one thing. He has an address somewhere out near Sydenham.”
BT9 was the postcode of an expensive area of Belfast that nestled between University Road and Balmoral Avenue. It was home to Queen’s University, Belfast’s academic jewel, houses worth millions of pounds, and restaurants and shops with prices that would make the average Belfeirstian’s eyes water. It was just known as BT9 to the rest of Belfast. Shorthand for Northern Irish prosperity.
“When are you seeing him?”
Liam shot him a surprised look at the ‘you’. “This afternoon. Don’t you want to be there?“
Craig shook his head. He needed some time to make sense of the past few hours.
“He’s not a suspect yet, Liam. Remember we have four cases so it’s unlikely that whoever did this was just linked to Victoria Linton. We’re beginning to find things that tie the cases together.”
Liam went to ask the question but Craig shook his head. “Give me a few hours. We’ll have a briefing at four o’clock and I’ll tell you everything then.”
Craig glanced at the group walking slowly ahead. Nicky and Annette were deep in conversation and Craig watched as Nicky balanced perfectly on her five-inch heels, despite the street’s surface being broken by tram lines and the remnants of builders’ waste. Davy and Jake were walking together. Davy hunched over, with his hands pushed deep into his jean pockets, his six-foot plus gangly frame still towering over Jake’s much more compact five-feet-eight. Craig smiled; glad to see Davy back in his dark jeans after a few months trying out his girlfriend Maggie’s suggestion of wearing a suit. He’d never really looked comfortable and it hadn’t been necessary when he didn’t work with the public face-to-face. But Craig was glad to see that some remnants of the style change had survived in the shirts he now wore instead of his old, ripped T-shirts.
They reached the pub and ordered and while they were waiting for the food to come Craig brought them up to speed on his thoughts.
“We definitely have four cases that were made to look like suicide but are effectively murder. They killed themselves, but only after they were coerced into it.”
Jake went to ask a question but Craig nodded him into silence while the waitress put down their plates then he picked up the file he’d brought with him and explained. “Each of them left a suicide note using exactly the same words.”
Jake interrupted, more confident now that his secondment to the team had become permanent.
“How did Victoria Linton kill herself, sir?”
“Car exhaust. She was found this morning by a neighbour coming home after a late night.”
Annette made a face at the image. She’d seen Carbon Monoxide poisoning once when she’d worked in A&E and it wasn’t pretty.
Nicky scanned Craig’s face, looking concerned. “Were you up half the night?”
Craig nodded and Liam chipped in, looking for sympathy.
“And me.”
Nicky came back at him, quick as a whip. “You’ll soon catch up. You’re always half asleep.”
Liam objected loudly, starting a moment of banter. As it died down Jake spoke again.
“But if they all killed themselves, even if they were coerced into it, where’s the chargeable crime? If I tell you to kill yourself otherwise I’m going to… kill your budgie, say, what crime can you charge me with?”
“Here, son. What did budgies ever do to you?”
Craig smiled and raised his hand, stilling the next round of jokes. “John made that point to me yesterday, Jake. They killed themselves, we’re sure of that, but I think they were blackmailed into it. So that’s one crime for a start. We’re also pretty sure that John was being stalked.”
“And you got a threatening phone-call, sir, don’t forget that.” Craig turned to Nicky just in time to see a chip disappearing through her indignantly pursed lips.
“If we ever catch them there’ll be plenty to charge them with, Nicky, don’t worry about that. I’m more concerned with finding them before someone else dies.”
Annette gave him a smile that said ‘come on now, tell the truth’. Craig laughed, acknowledging that she was right.
“OK. Yes, I want to solve the puzzle too.”
They reverted to normal chatter while the meals were eaten and the teas and coffees came. As he sipped his espresso Craig remembered something.
“Has anyone seen Des recently?”
There was a series of ‘no’s’.
Liam caught on first. “Why? Is there something we should know?”
“Annie made him shave off his beard. He looks ten years younger.”
Nicky screwed up her face. “I’m not surprised. It must have been like kissing a Brillo-pad.”
Davy interjected. “Do married people still s…snog then? I thought you were all too old.”
“You cheeky young…”
Annette smiled and shook her head. “It’s hard to imagine Des without his facial hair.”
“Hitler or Stalin?”
“More revolutionary Guevara. It looks good.”
Liam took a gulp of tea and then laughed. “Sure, whether it does or not it’ll give us something to slag him about.”
***
Jenna Graham watched the team as they strolled back from lunch, past the Rotterdam Bar and on towards the high-rise building that housed the C.C.U. Craig had ignored the warning; he was still on the hunt. That meant he needed a reminder. Craig was a stubborn bastard; normally one threat was all it took to scare people off. She shrugged and turned away, walking down Corporation Street until she reached her car. It didn’t matter what Craig did, the list was almost complete. Then they could disappear for good. Craig might think he was getting somewhere but she defied him to join the dots in time. In fact she defied him to join them at all. Only she and the others knew what this was really about and soon there would be nothing left to give the game away.
Chapter Seven
St Mary’s Healthcare Trust. 1 p.m.
“Guess who I saw today?”
Natalie Ingrams picked at her sandwich trying to work out what the pink lumps inside it were, and nodded absentmindedly at her friend. They might be prawns but she couldn’t see their normal pale coat beneath the sauce, or they might be chicken, but who would cover chicken with pink paste? Finally she pushed her plate away and glanced across the canteen table at Katy. She was giving Natalie an amused look.
“Are you going to eat that or dissect it?”
“I was trying to work out what it was but I’ve given up. Sorry, you said something. What was it?”
“I said, guess who I saw today?”
“I give up, who?”
“God, you don’t make much of an effort, do you?”
Katy paused huffily until Natalie urged her on with a threatening look.
“Oh, OK. Marc Craig. He was at my apartment block with another man with a moustache.”