The Cabal (#16 - The Craig Crime Series)

by Catriona King

  Just what Craig had been about to ask.

  Aidan’s nod was pained. “Trust me, no-one was more shocked than me. I’d never heard more than two syllables from the man before, but as soon as I said that we believed the killer had been hiding in a building that his men had vouched for as cleared, I didn’t get a chance to add, which means they missed her, before he started to rant.” He shook his head, grudgingly impressed. “That man can really swear. In several languages too; I had to look some of the words up when I got back.”

  Liam patted him on the head. “Aw, diddums. Is oo traumatised den?”

  The hand was batted away as Craig asked a question.

  “OK. So, who’s there now searching for the hiding place?”

  Liam jumped in. “I told Wensley to do it.”

  Hughes rolled his eyes at him. “And I delegated it like a good chief inspector should.” He turned back to Craig. “Reggie volunteered some men. They’re at it now.”

  Craig nodded, ignoring Liam’s scowl. He knew he’d been enjoying picturing Hughes going door-to-door asking people if he could rummage through their things.

  Aidan Hughes was still speaking.

  “There are ten empty flats in Carson, so they started with those. As soon as they find anything they’ll call in the C.S.I.s.”

  “OK, good. Anything else, Aidan?”

  “Aye. Billy Regent was a no-mates. You asked about his friends but it seems he hadn’t made many since he’d left the army, so Tommy Hill’s info on him is probably as good as we’ll get.”

  Craig nodded and was just about to move on when he realised that he hadn’t welcomed their guest. He turned to the skinny, raven-haired visitor, wondering if leather jackets and skinny jeans had now become uniform in the Drugs Squad.

  “For those of you who don’t know this refugee from a cologne advert, this is Detective Sergeant Karl Rimmins from the Drugs Squad.”

  It was clear from the blush on Rhonda’s cheeks that she knew Rimmins far too well and Craig remembered that they’d been dating. The others seemed to know the narc as well, as the series of “Hi, Karl”s and casual nods underlined.

  “OK, good. Thanks for coming, Karl. I’ve asked you because this case involves some high-end sex parties where there are apparently drugs in use-”

  As Rimmins cut him off with a knowing nod Liam sniffed resentfully, noticing that The D.S.’ dark quiff didn’t budge at all when he moved; he’d had to rely on Brylcreem to elevate his when he was young, and it had wilted if he’d danced too hard. He wondered if even an explosion would make Karl’s shift; ex-RUC officers tending to think of things in those terms, such had been the experiences of their youth.

  “I’d heard of the parties, sir.”

  “From someone here, Karl?”

  “Nope. One of our snouts mentioned them in passing on another case, around two months ago.”

  “Exactly what did they say?”

  “That the prostitution scene here wasn’t limited to the scuzzy end, and some big names were getting their freak on out in the sticks.” He turned to Aidan Hughes pointedly. “I passed the info on to Vice.”

  Hughes shook his head vehemently. “Not to me you didn’t!”

  It made Rimmins think for a moment. “OK, no, you’re right. It wasn’t you I told. But it was someone downstairs, I’m sure of that. I’ll dig back through my records and check who.”

  Craig glanced sharply at Liam; if a police officer was involved in covering things up it could fit with the killer’s escape from the Travis.

  He returned to the issue in hand.

  “Did you look at the parties from the drugs aspect, Karl?”

  “I did a bit of digging. There seemed to be mostly coke and Viagra, but not in industrial quantities and we were busy with a big smuggling case at the time.” He looked shamefaced. “So it got shunted to the bottom of the pile. Sorry. I’ll take another look.”

  “If you would. I’d like you to get back to me on both those things by tomorrow.”

  It was already almost four so Rimmins went to stand up.

  “I’d better get on with it then, unless you need me to stay?”

  “Five more minutes, please.” Craig turned to Kyle who was staring at Karl’s quiff as well. “Kyle, what else do you have on the Intelligence side?”

  “I’m still waiting for Ash to get me the CIA files on those politicians.”

  The small analyst jerked upright in his seat. “It takes time!”

  The ex-spook shrugged and went on. “When I have those, I’ll know more. Otherwise I’ve another meeting with my snout this evening.”

  “He’s back from Brussels?”

  “On the eight-ten Heathrow flight. He should give me more about the party this weekend-”

  Karl cut in.

  “You’re expecting drugs there?”

  Liam nodded. “A real snow storm.”

  The sergeant’s face lit up. “Do you want us to raid them? We can if you like.”

  Craig shook his head. “Trust me, narcotics are the least of this bunch’s transgressions. You’d go blind if you saw the rest. But the proximity of the party’s why I need those answers quickly, Karl. And anything else you can find would be great.”

  Rimmins nodded. “One question, sir. When you say high-end parties, were you referring to the punters or the girls?”

  “Both of those, plus the venue. We know that at least one party was held on an Earl’s estate, and the possible host of this one is a billionaire.”

  It spawned a chorus of impressed whistles.

  “So… the punters are media stars, or-”

  Liam shook his head. “More the political kind. The sort of people with a lot to lose from an in flagrante appearance in the tabloids, not the sort it would earn big bucks.”

  Craig chuckled. “Well put, Liam. Yes, those punters, Karl, so we’re interested in the drugs aspect as background mainly and perhaps for leverage later, rather than nicking them for it right now.”

  “Fine.” The sergeant went to rise again, completing the action his time on Craig’s nod. “I’ll get on it immediately.”

  “None of this goes beyond this room, please, Karl.”

  “Understood.”

  Then, with a soft-eyed smile at Rhonda that completely trashed his street-cred, the skinny drugs sergeant was gone. Craig turned back to the group briskly.

  “Right, I need to update you all on a few developments. First, the DNA found under Billy Regent’s fingernails belongs to a German woman.”

  He’d expected questions but he mostly got blank looks, not least from Annette, whose stunned expression made Craig realise that he hadn’t informed anyone but Liam and the analysts about the last bit.

  “A woman? When were you going-”

  Craig’s apologetic wince cut her off. “Sorry, John and Des only told me last night and with all the stuff about Mercer I forgot.”

  Annette looked shocked again. “Ray Mercer who you almost punched?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “But I thought he was gone. Working freelance for some car magazine down south.”

  “He’s back and working at The Belfast Journal.”

  The importance of Mercer’s mention didn’t miss her. “He knows something about our case!”

  Craig’s gave a grimace. “Not about our actual investigation, but it seems he’s been working on an article about a secret club that might be linked to McManus’ death.”

  “Oh God.”

  Her expression of horror was shared by the group, but Liam nodded cheerfully.

  “That’s what I thought, so he’s sitting in a cell at High Street.”

  Jake shook his head. “What about freedom of the press? You can’t just lock him up.”

  “Too late.”

  The sergeant turned to Craig for support. “Chief?”

  “Sorry, but I’m with Liam on this one, Jake. You don’t know Ray Mercer like we do. He could and will blow our whole case if he gets out. So…” He turned
to Ash. “Find me something to charge him with. Anything trivial will do: jaywalking, parking fines, disturbing the peace. I just need something to hold him on for questioning.”

  Ash screwed up his face. “What’s the PACE maximum?”

  “Twenty-four hours without charging, but I can authorise an extension.”

  The analyst nodded cheerfully. “OK, leave it with me.”

  Craig ignored Jake’s ‘you’re violating Mercer’s Human Rights’ glare and moved on.

  “So, we have a female German assassin-”

  Ash cut in. “We have a name for her now, chief. Beatrix Hass. Interpol came through a few hours ago.”

  Craig perked up. “What else do you have on her?”

  Ash lifted his smart-pad and read aloud. “Beatrix Hass. Forty-three.”

  Too old to fit the theory of Billy Regent being influenced by a woman his own age. Ash saw what Craig was thinking and shook his head.

  “She looks twenty something.”

  As he projected the woman’s image onto Nicky’s screen to demonstrate, Craig concurred. The youthful looking blonde looked like she should be at university, not a thousand miles from home killing two men. Billy Regent had probably thought Hass was chatting him up when she’d first made contact.

  “You’re right, she does. OK, what else do you have?”

  As Ash read out the litany of Beatrix Hass’ crimes against the German State Liam’s jaw dropped.

  “She looks like butter wouldn’t melt!”

  Ash kept on reading. “She’s wanted by BPOL, the Federal Police in Germany, and on a European Arrest Warrant. And if GSG9 get their hands on her, she might disappear into a deep dark hole.”

  Liam never liked to show his ignorance so he nodded Jake on to ask the question.

  “GSG9?”

  “Germany’s Elite Federal Commandos. They’re the counter-terrorism side of BPOL, a bit like our SAS. Anyway, they’ve been after Hass since an explosion at a compound for Syrian Refugees in Dresden earlier this year. Several immigrants were killed.”

  Craig had been nodding the whole time the junior analyst spoke, although if anyone had asked him why he couldn’t have explained. The seed of an idea was germinating but he wouldn’t know what it would turn into for quite a while.

  “OK, good work, Ash. Davy, anything further on the calls and emails?”

  Davy had been fixating on Beatrix Hass’ image and jumped at the sound of Craig’s voice.

  “Nothing more yet on the incoming calls to Lewis, but w…we’re still digging. The email text only makes sense if facials and massages etcetera relate to sex, but as far as the hidden information goes I’m still having trouble finding the reference book. My machines have been running word s…searches for hours, utilising the British Library’s database, but I’ve nothing yet except a long list of books they’ve ruled out.”

  Craig had heard a ‘but’ since the analyst’s first word.

  “You’ve got something else, haven’t you?”

  The analyst screwed up his slim face. “The beginning of something, maybe. OK, so far we have the names Joshua Loughrey, Roger Burke, Nigel McArdle, Joseph Bell, Peter McManus-”

  Liam shook his head. “He’s dead.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. He’s still relevant. And now we have Leonard Montgomery.”

  Liam’s jaw had been hanging open since Sherlock, the analyst’s cheekiness saying that he’d have to rethink his tolerant dad approach. Davy had progressed to adult back chat so the gloves were off. Henceforth he would feel the full force of his acerbic wit.

  Craig tipped his deputy’s mouth shut before going on.

  “I’m not sure about Montgomery. Yes, he goes to the parties, but how much he’s involved is-”

  Davy shook his head firmly, cutting Craig off.

  “Humour me, chief. All the men I just mentioned plus the Earl, and now Montgomery and Emmett Darrian, are either IBP members or donors, or sex-party hosts.” The analyst woke-up his smart-pad and projected a table onto Nicky’s screen.

  “OK, I’ve been looking for commonalities between them, and I think I’ve finally found one.” He highlighted a row in red. “All of them, except for the Earl, went to Edinburgh University.” He lit up a second row. “Where they all studied Classics. The Earl also studied Classics, but at Oxford.”

  Craig felt the seed begin to grow.

  Liam was confused. “What’s Classics? Doesn’t sound like something you could do as a job.”

  It was so practical that Craig had to smile.

  Davy elaborated.

  “Classics or Classical Studies is the study of classical antiquity. It’s the study of the Greco-Roman world, languages and literature, also its philosophy, history, and archaeology.”

  Liam was unimpressed. “So they can all read Plato while they’re claiming the dole.”

  Aidan Hughes snorted. “That’s something this lot will never have to worry about.”

  Craig let the jokes flow for a minute before moving Davy on with a question. “You’re saying that they knew each other at Uni? But surely their age range precludes that.”

  The analyst was undaunted. “That’s what I thought at first. But what if there’s an alumni association?”

  Craig nodded as realisation dawned. “Not for the specific university, but maybe for the degree. A worldwide Classics club that they’re all members of!” Before he got too carried away he asked the question. “Is there such a thing?”

  Davy looked glum. “Not that I’ve found yet. But I haven’t given up. There’s s…something here, chief. I know it.”

  Craig did as well. “Keep going, Davy. It’s just a thought, but maybe the sex-worker killings you found elsewhere could give you a clue.”

  The analyst didn’t get the chance to answer because Nicky’s phone rang. She beckoned Craig over after the first few words.

  “Who is it?”

  “Some woman called Vala Raske, sir. She says she knows you well.”

  Craig’s response was drowned out by a chorus of ribaldry, so he nodded Nicky to transfer the call to his room, answering his phone cheerfully.

  “Vala! How are you?”

  The sound of Craig’s voice made the chief inspector smile, despite the serious topic she’d called about.

  “Better for hearing your voice, Marc. It’s been a while.”

  Craig tried to remember just how long, but she told him before he could.

  “It’s been eighteen years since my secondment to The Met. I must admit I was surprised when Yemi told me you’d gone home. I’d always pictured you as Met Commissioner by now.”

  His sceptical laugh made her join in.

  “Oh, OK then, a deputy at least. What made you leave London? You’re not married, are you? With five kids running around your feet.”

  Craig chuckled. “Hardly. And before you ask, Camille’s not here with me. We split up back in oh-seven.”

  The Berliner didn’t even try to hide her glee. “Good. You were far too nice for her.”

  Before Craig could defend his ex-fiancée’s indefensible behaviour, Raske had already moved on.

  “Beatrix Hass. Her DNA came across my desk.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  “Your analysts already have, I’m sure. Interpol has been onto them.”

  “Tell me again, anyway.”

  She smiled, remembering how he’d always liked to dot his Is and cross his Ts.

  “Hass is a fraudster and far right political terrorist. We’ve been having real problems with them here since immigration increased. She cut her teeth in a few nationalist groups, and now she’s wanted for the bombing of a refugee hostel in Dresden in March. GSG9 have her on their watch list.”

  “So, what the hell was she doing over here?” He corrected himself immediately. “We know the reason she was here, ostensibly to kill our First Minister, but what we don’t know is why.”

  Raske frowned at the other end of the line. It didn’t make sense to her either.

/>   “McManus’ party is right-wing, yes?”

  “Not far right, but yes.”

  “But they’re pro staying in the EU.”

  “Well…”

  She knew what that meant. “You mean their public face is, but behind the scenes…”

  “Exactly. We think McManus was genuinely Pro-EU, but his party has a hard-right core.”

  There was silence for a moment while Raske thought. When she broke it, it was with a statement.

  “The IBP killed their own man to get their way in the referendum?”

  Craig was about to agree, then he surprised himself.

  “Not the party.”

  She heard the missing word. “You mean not the party alone. Left to its own devices the IBP wouldn’t have assassinated its own man, not unless someone more powerful had wanted him gone.”

  The seed had just had a growth spurt, but Craig couldn’t commit to it just yet.

  “Maybe, maybe not. We’re pursuing all options.”

  The ‘we’ unambiguously placed her on the outside. Raske shrugged. There was no point taking offense when they weren’t even on the same force any more.

  “OK. So how can I help?”

  “You already have, by giving us her background. A list of her known associates across Europe would help as well.”

  “Done. But there must be more I can do than that.” She paused for a moment, glancing at the personnel chart on her wall. “I can help you find her. GSG9 already have some leads we can chase.”

  Craig frowned, knowing what that meant. If the Commandos got wind of where Beatrix Hass was hiding they would lift her, then she’d disappear to an interrogation site and he might never find out how far this conspiracy went.

  Raske heard his frown.

  “Don’t frown, Marc. You’ll get wrinkles.”

  Her perceptiveness made him laugh out loud. The chief inspector carried on speaking.

  “Look, here’s what I’ll do. I’ve had a man looking for Hass since I saw your DNA request. If she’s back in Germany we’ll find her, but we won’t lift her unless you give me a go. That way we might just find out who she’s working with.”

  Craig’s next sound was a sigh of thanks.

  “That’s brilliant, Vala. I owe you for this. You’ll keep me informed?”