“Who’s there?”
The neighbours halfway down the hall could have heard the irritation in his tone, but it was completely lost on Liam.
“Just me, boss. Open up.”
Craig yanked the door open with a stream of expletives on his lips, only to realise from Liam’s amused stare that he was completely naked.
“Well, well. Now I can see why you’re so popular with the ladies. Get some clothes on. There’s been another one.”
Liam kept on talking as Craig headed for the shower. With anyone else that would have been where the conversation ended, drowned out by running water, but not with Liam. His voice was loud enough to cut through walls when he wanted it to and he employed it to full effect now.
“House up on the Belmont Road. Male in his forties, shot himself once in the head. I hope the gun helps with the I.D. ’cos his face certainly won’t. It happened about half-past-five this morning and if he’s the bloke who owns the house then his name was Adrian Bell.”
Craig yelled back, spluttering the words out to avoid swallowing shampoo. “Did he leave a note?”
“Aye. Same as the others.”
“What did he do for a living?”
Liam shot a sceptical look towards the bathroom and switched the kettle on to boil. “God, give me a chance. I haven’t had breakfast yet. It’s all right for you, you got an extra hour’s kip.”
Just as he said it Craig appeared at the kitchen door wrapped in a towel. He grabbed a piece of toast just as it popped up from the toaster.
“Aye, help yourself to my breakfast, why don’t you?”
Craig gawped, amused. “It’s my bread! Anyway there’s plenty more in the fridge. Do you fancy a decent coffee?”
“We don’t have time if we’re to get to the scene then into the office for nine o’clock.”
“We don’t have to do anything. I’m the boss, remember.”
Craig grinned and turned towards the percolator, leaving Liam to marvel at the muscle definition on his back. His body was as sculpted as if he spent hours in the gym, except Liam knew that was impossible.
“Here. Do you have a weights machine hidden in your office somewhere I haven’t noticed?”
“What?”
“The muscles. Where’d you get them?”
Craig glanced down at his torso vaguely, as if he hadn’t noticed it before. He shrugged. “It must have been all those years of sport. I played rugby in London until six years ago, now I play five-a-side when I get a chance. Which is almost never.”
He pressed the percolator on and headed for the bedroom. “You sort out breakfast while I get dressed, then you can talk me through the case.”
Thirty minutes later they were standing in the kitchen of a modern detached house, staring down at their victim. The place was a mess. The man had shot himself in the head at point-blank range while he was seated in the room’s small breakfast alcove. Brain matter and blood were smeared down the wall, congealing over children’s crayoned drawings and a shopping list suspended on a magnetic notice board. Liam had told the C.S.I.s to leave the body in-situ until they got there, so they had to pick their way through yards of tape and smears of black fingerprint dust to reach their man.
Craig could see what Liam meant about it being hard to I.D. the victim. Whatever Adrian Bell had been he hadn’t been a very good shot. Most suicides would have shot themselves straight through the temple, leaving a single neat hole surrounded by burn marks. Gunpowder residue on their hand and the position of the gun would have sealed the verdict – suicide by gunshot. Adrian Bell, if that’s who the mess in front of them turned out to be, hadn’t been so obliging. He’d shot upwards from above his right ear so that the bullet had torn a path through his parietal and frontal bones then blown off the top of his skull. Hence the wall decoration. Only a powerful weapon could have done that and the gun on the floor was certainly that. It was a Mauser C96; a cannon amongst handguns. But where the hell had Bell got it from?
The head C.S.I. had been watching them in silence. He answered Craig’s unspoken question.
“The box was upstairs. Looks antique. World War Two or round about.”
“The Mauser was popular then. Someone in Bell’s family must have held onto it. Any sign of forced entry?”
“None.”
“Liam, where were his wife and children when this happened?”
“How’d you know there are any?”
Craig gestured at the drawings on the notice board and Liam made a face at the mess on the wall. He was glad that Annette wasn’t there. Gory scenes weren’t up there on her list of favourite things with raindrops on roses.
“Don’t know where they were, but I’ll find out. Can we move him now?”
Craig nodded. The sooner the body got to the lab the sooner John could give them more information. The thought was out before Craig could stop it and he didn’t know whether to smile or frown. He settled on a smile, confident that John was on the mend.
“Ask Mike Augustus if he’ll take the case. If he says yes then get Marlene Carey back to protect him. Warn him of the risks, Liam.”
“Will do. I’ll head to the lab now and meet you back at the squad. What time are we briefing?”
“Not until eleven. I’ve a meeting with the Chief Constable at nine-thirty.”
Craig glanced at his watch and startled. “Hell, I’d better get going or I’ll be late.” He headed for the door then turned back. “Liam, if you get to the office before me confirm the I.D.” Then he thought of something. “The key!” He spun back to the C.S.I. “Did any of your team find anything that looked like a large, gothic looking key? Or a USB?”
Liam smiled and reached into his pocket, withdrawing an evidence bag. “Calm down. I got it earlier. I’ll get Des to print it at the lab then get the numbers across to Davy.”
Craig exhaled sharply. “OK, good. Right, I’ll see you later. And Liam…”
“What now?”
Craig shot him a warning look. “Go easy on Jake.”
Liam’s face was the picture of innocence. “Me? As if I’d do anything else.”
***
Jenna Graham watched the cars come and go and the mortuary van arrive at ten o’clock, to carry the last man on her list to the cold dissection table he deserved. Adrian Bell deserved it doubly for refusing to go quietly like the rest.
Jenna often wondered whether her lack of feeling showed something missing in her psyche, but she could remember another, earlier time when she’d felt everything and it had hurt far too much. She’d wondered if her reactions had been normal then. Was it normal to feel so much pain that you wanted to scream and cry and tear down walls, and be prepared to do anything for some peace? And then suddenly, without a sign that it would end, to burn out and feel nothing at all?
She’d felt nothing from that day to this. It was as if someone had pressed her mind’s ‘escape’ button and she’d entered a space where nothing felt real. Perhaps a fuse in her brain had blown, never to be replaced. Whatever it was she thanked God for it, if there was such a being. It had left her free of pain, free to live, with her mind totally clear to think and plan. Now her plan had been completed and she was finally free.
***
“My God, you certainly do get them, Marc.”
Craig gave Chief Constable Sean Flanagan a rueful smile.
Flanagan continued cheerfully. “All my other teams get normal killings, with the odd strange one here and there. Domestic violence, death by dangerous driving, normal stuff. But you…”
“We get an episode of ‘Criminal Minds’ every other month.”
Flanagan raised a questioning eyebrow as he poured the coffee. “What’s Criminal Minds when it’s at home?”
Craig laughed, thinking of John. He loved American cop shows and he knew he’d be catching up on all of them now.
“An American TV series set in the Behavioural Analysis Unit at the FBI. It’s based on a real team. John loves it.”
“Ah, y
es…I’ve been keeping track on Dr Winter. He’s on a ward now, so that’s excellent news.”
“Certainly is, sir.”
Craig sipped his coffee and glanced at the man across the desk. Flanagan was six-feet-five of amiable teddy-bear, except when he was pushed so far that he needed to growl. Then he did and his temper could rip people apart. It was a management style Craig could relate to.
“Right then, update me, Marc. And don’t spare the gory details.”
In the next twenty minutes Craig outlined their five victims’ profiles and methods of death, and his suspicions about the computer game. He rounded up with the missing PDFs and the possible earlier murder by their perp. When he’d finished Flanagan gave a low whistle prompting his curious P.A. Donna to peep through his half-glass office door.
“So you think that whatever coerced each of them to kill themselves was written in the PDF files?”
“It must have been, there’s no trace of anything else. And the pressure point was probably different for each of them. The clever part of it is that without the PDF all we have is a suicide note copied out in their own hand and a random six-digit number.”
Craig swallowed, wondering whether he should bother to say what he was thinking after Jake’s bad behaviour the day before. He chose yes. Jake would either have learned his lesson or he’d be off the squad in a week, today would tell, but that didn’t detract from his past good work.
“If Sergeant McLean hadn’t recognised the key’s design in the first place we would never have got this far.”
“Ah yes. Jake isn’t it? How’s he doing?”
“A bit rough around the edges, but OK. He’s a bright boy. It’s an asset having two younger members on the team. None of the rest of us play computer games, that’s for sure.”
Flanagan laughed. “If Liam Cullen can’t kick it, throw it or bang into it, it isn’t a game in his book. I remember playing GAA football with him back in the day. My God he was strong.”
“Still is. He nearly put my door in this morning.”
Flanagan grinned and drained his cup, setting it down in a way that signalled the meeting was almost at an end. He clasped his hands on the desk.
“What do you need from me?”
Craig had known the question was coming and he was well prepared. “We need to step up the close protection on everyone involved in the case. I don’t want another incident like John’s.”
“Done.”
“I need tracking on all of our phones: home, work and mobile. And enhanced computer support for Davy Walsh, plus dedicated use of someone to support him for a few days.”
“OK, and?”
Craig shook his head. “Nothing else yet, sir, but I think things are coming to a head. When they do we may need armed support.”
Flanagan nodded. Either their killer was going to disappear suddenly because their work was done, or Craig’s team would get to them before they did. His money was on the latter and that meant it could get nasty.
“Right. Just keep me up to date with everything and good luck. I want whoever did this locked away before there are any more deaths of any sort.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jenna Graham stared at the phone, willing herself not to be stupid. They were all dead now and Craig had no idea who she was. All she had to do was get on a plane and she was home free. She lifted the photograph from the table and gazed at it for minutes, tracing the couple’s outline with a long finger and trying to recall their voices. Her father’s, so deep and strong, echoing through the house when he sang. She remembered his baritone soaring towards the crescendo in The Toreador song, or ‘Votre Toast’ from Bizet’s Carmen, as she now knew it was called. Her childish ears hadn’t understood its beauty and instead she’d tried to block out the sound, squealing. “Stop, Daddy, stop. Too loud.” She’d give anything to hear him sing it now.
He’d swung her high in his arms and laughed, showing large white teeth, while her mother had bustled around chiding them to sit down for their meal. She strained to hear their voices nowadays, they faded with each year but they were still audible enough to make her tears flow, just as they were doing now. Sorrow and hate were the only feelings she had left and even the sorrow was numbed.
Jenna smiled down at the picture, remembering her mother’s dark curls and her father’s greying pate, then she fingered her own red hair, a legacy of her paternal grandmother just like her blue eyes. She glanced at her new passport, waiting to be used. Only one more day before she caught her flight. She thought for a moment longer then made her decision and headed for the door. Once she was in position she would call Craig and start the chase. What a day it was going to be.
***
The C.C.U. 11 a.m.
“OK, gather round please.”
Craig scanned the open-plan office as he grabbed a chair. No Jake. He’d given him a choice and it seemed that Jake’s ego had made him take the easy way out. He thought of his words to the Chief Constable. He’d meant them; Jake had a lot of potential but if he didn’t want to develop it in the murder squad then there was nothing he could do.
Craig had all but written Jake’s final report in his mind when he came bounding onto the floor carrying a white box. Liam recognised what it was and his ire from the previous day was instantly gone. He loped across the room and peered down at the box, waiting for Jake to open the lid. Jake gabbled nervously, desperate for approval.
“I hope these are from the right bakery. It was the only one I could think of nearby.”
He lifted the white cardboard lid reverentially, revealing a plethora of cream cakes inside, their number reduced by one as soon as Liam reached in.
“Help yourselves everyone, but before you do I’ve got something I’d like to say.” He swallowed hard and even Nicky’s anger softened as she saw a blush tint his ears.
“If you’ll excuse my language, I behaved like a complete dick-head yesterday and I’m very sorry.” He turned to face Davy whose expression gave nothing away.
“I’d especially like to apologise to you, Davy. I was rude and childish and my only defence, although honestly there isn’t one, is that I really want to do well on the squad. I was trying to prove myself so hard that it made me compete with all of you, but particularly Davy.” He turned to Annette. “And you, Annette.”
He fell silent then he caught the look in Craig’s eye telling him that he hadn’t finished yet. Craig willed him on, trying hard not to smile until he’d finished. Jake restarted, falteringly, staring at the floor.
“I…y…you’ve all been so welcoming and kind that it’s made me want to excel, but I forgot that this was a team and I started trying to score points at other people’s expense. It was wrong.” He glanced up pleadingly, almost afraid to read their expressions. “I hope you’ll give me another chance. And…and have a cake.”
On the word cake Liam interrupted. “That’s all grand and stuff, but there are cakes to be eaten so shut up lad and get out of my way.” With that he reached into the box and grabbed a second pastry as a chorus of “leave some for everyone else” and “thanks Jake” echoed across the room. Only Davy said nothing.
Jake put two cakes on a plate and carried them over to Davy’s desk, trying to catch his eye. It was a challenge through Davy’s hair.
“Davy. I’m sorry. I’m a prat.”
Davy glanced up shyly and smiled. “Yes, you are.” He reached his hand towards the plate then stopped in mid-air. “W…Which one do you w…want?”
Jake smiled. “I like cream horns.”
Davy grabbed the only cream horn and bit off a chunk. Craig laughed out loud as he did it, knowing he was telling Jake that his behaviour wasn’t that easy to forget. Jake smiled too and lifted the other cake.
“You’re a k…knob, Jake.”
Jake nodded, agreeing. The scene was disturbed by the phone ringing in Craig’s office. He gestured them all to be quiet and motioned Nicky to let the phone ring out. Only their perp could have bypassed everyth
ing to call straight to his office phone and they would ring again. He was right. After thirty seconds the sound restarted and Craig walked slowly into his office, beckoning everyone to follow.
“Superintendent Craig.”
A man’s voice came through and Craig listened hard, but not to the words.
“You didn’t listen, Craig. You hunted me and now I’m going to hunt you back. I’ve finished with the others so it’s between us two now. I may have missed with the pathologist but I won’t miss with you. Enjoy your last day alive.”
The line went dead and Craig motioned Nicky to phone downstairs. She came back a moment later shaking her head.
“Re-routed again, through Rome this time.”
It was too much of a coincidence. Rome was where Craig’s mother came from.
“OK, I’m obviously next on the list or my folks are. Nicky, tighten the security on my parent’s home and call my sister at work and tell her I’ll be there in thirty minutes to collect her. I’ll take her to my folk’s place until this is all over. Davy, did we get it on tape?”
Davy rushed to his computer and typed. A moment later he nodded.
“OK. Then humour me and run it through the programme I asked linguistics to send you this morning.”
Davy typed furiously for a moment then beckoned them all to be quiet. He played the words Craig had just heard and then altered the tape incrementally, stripping away the artificial components until he reached a different voice. A woman’s. They listened hard as Davy played it three times, then Craig gestured for him to stop.
“Thanks, Davy. OK, opinions anyone?”
Liam spoke first. “There’s no partnership, only one perp. Female pretending to be male.”
“Yes. They used voice altering software.”
Jake spoke tentatively, gazing around to see if anyone minded.
“Young… I think. Early thirties at the latest.”
“You’re right, lad. And it’s a Belfast accent, but posh Belfast. Malone or Cherry Valley somewhere.”
The Coercion Key Page 19