“Of course, and you can buy me a glass of your best Chianti if we ever meet again.”
Craig had an idea that might happen sooner than she thought.
****
Demmin, North Germany.
“How did you get this number, Beatrix?”
“Solokov.”
It gave The Fox a chilling reminder of who he was dealing with.
“So why are you calling me? I told you, no more contact until I called you.”
Beatrix Hass might have been intimidated by his stern tone, but he was several countries miles away and right now she had something far scarier nearby.
“I’m being followed.”
The words conjured up more possible names that she knew and The Fox raced through the list in his head, ranking them in terms of likelihood and danger before Hass could repeat her sentence again.
“Did you hear me? I’m-”
“I heard you. You’re sure?”
“Would I have called you if I wasn’t?”
She pushed back a lock of newly dyed red hair from her face. She hated having to dye her natural blonde but it was an occupational hazard, one that would take ten hours at the hairdressers and a year of conditioning treatments to redress.
“He was at the train station when I arrived, and I’ve just seen him again at the store. He was watching me, I’m certain of it.”
The Fox had no time for sympathy. “You stupid bitch! He’s probably just some commuter who lives locally! I knew we should never have used you. You’re paranoid.”
She barked back at him. “Fuck you, you communist throwback! If it wasn’t for me McManus would still be in place and your plan would be nowhere. All you have to do is wine and dine your precious politicians now to smooth the way, I’m the one who made things happen and don’t you forget it!”
He went to snap back but then bit his tongue. The truth was Beatrix was connected in the one way that he couldn’t compete with. They might have been occasional lovers but she only really belonged to one man, Gleb Solokov, and if anyone harmed a hair on her head Solokov would cleave his off the next day.
The Fox swallowed hard, forming his next sentence carefully.
“OK. Be cautious, but there’s no need to be paranoid. All you need to do is behave normally for another few days, then it will all be over and Solokov will send someone for you. Can you manage that?”
She gave a grunt that said yes, but he still had to have the last word.
“But if you phone me again, then Solokov or no Solokov I’ll hunt you down and kill you, Beatrix.”
Her expletive laden response fell on a dead line.
****
Craig wound up the briefing soon after Vala Raske’s call, nodding Liam to join him at the lift. Before they got inside he gave his deputy a warning.
“Keep your fists to yourself with Mercer, Liam. That’s an order.”
The D.C.I. couldn’t let it pass. “Aye, I’ll just punch a window instead, will I?”
Craig’s attempt at severity died a death as he failed to suppress a laugh. “Fair enough. I deserved that one.”
Liam pressed the point home with a glance at his boss’ hand. “I bet that scar nips you in the cold weather.”
“Not as much as it’ll nip you if it hits your head.”
It was the signal for a banter filled journey that ended at High Street’s staff room fifteen minutes later. Craig perched on an under-stuffed settee that had seen far too many coppers’ behinds, speaking in a serious tone.
“OK, here’s how I want to play it. There’s no point me trying to play good cop when Mercer already knows that I want to hit him.” He indicated his deputy. “And Liam here kicked a chair from beneath him within living memory, so that won’t work either. Jack, I’m afraid that means you’re it.”
Jack Harris levelled the teapot mid-pour, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “It what?”
Liam tutted primly. “That’s not good grammar.”
“It still made sense though!” The sergeant set down the pot and folded his arms in a way that didn’t bode well. “You want me to interview Mercer?”
Craig nodded hopefully. “I’ll be in there as well. But I think if he sees the two of us.” He gestured at Liam. “He’ll be so busy worrying about being thumped that he’ll just clam up.”
Liam snorted sceptically. “If he hasn’t already.”
Craig ignored the comment, carrying on. “Whereas if he sees you, Jack. Caring custody sergeant…”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Friend of the oppressed, yada, yada. OK, you can stop sucking up, sir. I’ll do it. Not because I want to but because I must. You’re the boss, after all.”
Craig gave him an offended look. “I won’t order you, Jack. You can say no.”
The sergeant’s response was to finish pouring his mug of tea and then glance at Liam. “And risk Finn McCool here leaving a bruise on my charge. I have to account for any injuries in custody, you know.” It prompted him to ask another question. “Oh, aye, and while we’re at it, what the hell do you mean by having your analyst tell me to charge Mercer with outraging public decency?”
The detectives exchanged a look. Was that the best charge Ash could manage to come up with? Then Liam smiled, remembering something.
“That’ll be ’cos Mercer swore as I put him in my car and there were kids around. Ash must have found out.”
Craig nodded approvingly. “Good man. Now we can hold him legitimately.”
Jack went to object but he cut him off.
“You never know what other lewd acts he might have performed, Jack, and it’s our civic duty to find out.”
The sergeant’s eyes narrowed again. “Then you’d better make sure to ask him during the interview.” He headed for the door. “And the sooner we start the sooner I can kick you two out.”
Liam lifted his coffee and headed for the viewing room, settling in while Craig appeared on the other side of the glass and Harris retrieved Ray Mercer from his cell. The sight of the normally dapper journalist looking bedraggled without his tie, and his lack of belt making him hold up his trousers with one hand, made Craig smile, but as far as revenge went it would have to do for today.
Craig swallowed the history between them and waved Mercer to a seat, allowing him five minutes to vent his ire before switching on the tape just in time to catch the journalist’s last few obscene words.
“Mister Mercer, you have been charged with outraging public decency, in that you did…”
As Jack recited the charge Craig ordered his thoughts, then he started the interview with an open-ended question to which he knew Ray Mercer was bound to lie.
“Mister Mercer, have you at any time committed other acts of lewdness or obscenity?”
The reporter’s response was to laugh. “What’s this really about, Craig?”
“Answer the question please.”
“I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. If I say yes, then you’ll double the charges, if I say no, you’ll produce someone who’ll say that I fucking well did. So why don’t I save us all some time and I’ll tell you why I think I’m here.”
As Craig knocked off the tape Mercer snorted.
“Ah, now we’re getting to it.” He turned towards the two-way mirror with a malicious smile. “I suppose fat-head Cullen’s behind there?” He gave a wave just in case. “OK, then. I’ll bite. What’s this all about?”
Craig leaned forward. “Cover your ears, Jack.”
The sergeant obliged hastily.
“You’re investigating Peter McManus’ death.”
Mercer shrugged. “So’s every journalist in the country. Tell me something new.”
“In your digging, you uncovered something about a secret club. I need to know what you’ve found out.”
Mercer had started shaking his head on the word ‘club’. “No way, Craig. This is my story.”
Craig’s voice became a hiss. “And by the time you get out of here it’ll be old news. Every newspape
r in the country will already have had it on their front page and relegated it to their editorials! I’ll make damn sure of it unless you cooperate!”
He sat back, smiling coolly. “So, what will it be, Ray? Two days stuck here remembering every time you swore in public, or you tell us what you know.”
The journalist bared his teeth in fury. “Door number three. I call my solicitor and he has me out in an hour.”
Jack’s fingers had been out of his ears long enough for him to scoff.
“And if you’d wanted to do that you would have asked me to get him here hours ago. The reason you didn’t is because you’re curious, Mister Mercer.”
Craig smiled admiringly. Jack was right and Mercer’s snort of bravado couldn’t disguise it. The detective picked up the theme.
“Sergeant Harris is right. You knew our agenda as soon as we lifted you, but you wanted to see what you could find out from us, just like any investigative journalist would.”
His bluff called, Mercer relaxed back in his seat. “OK, so… what do you have for me?”
It killed Craig to be dancing with the Devil but they needed whatever the reporter had.
“An exclusive interview when it’s all over.”
“With you?”
Craig shrugged a yes, surprised when the hack shook his head.
“No. I want the big fucker on the other side of the mirror.”
He made a two-fingered gesture at the glass, making all three cops want to swing for him.
It made sense. Craig had only really pissed him off once, whereas Liam had a season ticket for the sport. Craig glanced apologetically at the mirror and then nodded his head, trying to ignore the heartfelt groan that vibrated the common wall.
But Mercer hadn’t finished.
“And both of you apologise for everything you’ve done to me in the past.”
It was too much. Craig was on his feet in seconds and Jack moved towards the journalist to escort him back to his cell.
“I’d like your help but it’s not essential, Mister Mercer. We can get what we need all by ourselves.”
Mercer spat out his next words. “Then I want my solicitor, Craig!”
“No solicitor.”
Before Jack could object Craig reached inside his jacket, producing a page.
“I’ve an order from a Judge for you to be sequestered on the grounds of National Security.”
The shooting of a First Minister ticked the box.
The journalist’s small eyes widened. “You can’t do that!”
“I already have.”
“For how long?”
“As long as I deem necessary. So get comfortable.”
Mercer backtracked hastily. “OK, OK. The interview with fat-head will do then.”
Craig knew that he should bite his lip and accept it, sit back down and press record, but a sudden rush of blood to his head said no. Screw Mercer. He’d spin the wheel until just before the party, and if they hadn’t cracked the club by themselves then he’d come back. Meanwhile, Ray Mercer could stew.
He headed for the door to the sound of Liam’s cheer and the journalist’s yells. It was only when they were at the car that Liam reluctantly asked the question that he knew might make Craig turn back.
“You’re sure, boss? I’ll do his bloody interview if it’ll help the case.”
Craig shook his head. “I’m sure. The party’s not until Saturday so we have time.”
As he opened the driver’s door and climbed in Liam asked his next question.
“Do you really have a court order?”
Craig smiled. “Got it as soon as you informed me Mercer had been lifted, courtesy of Judge Eugene Standish, the last and possibly only reasonable man on Northern Ireland’s bench.”
****
The C.C.U. 4.30 p.m.
Aidan Hughes had received two phone calls at once, leading to him having both his mobile and desk phone in his hands. As, contrary to Liam’s jibes, the Vice cop only had one face, and one mouth along with it, he opted to answer the loudest voice first.
“D.C.I. Hughes. What can I do for you?”
“It’s Des Marsham in Forensics.”
“Sorry, Doctor Marsham, but the chief’s not here right now.”
Des’ answer was typically cheerful. “Out flying his kite, eh? Not to worry, it was you I needed anyway. It’s about the forensics on that flat.”
Aidan knew then that he should have taken the other call first and he hurried to repair his mistake.
“Sorry, could you hang on a minute, please?”
He covered his mobile and spoke into the other line.
“D.C.I. Hughes here.”
A young voice that he didn’t know rattled out its words breathlessly. “We’ve found it, sir, or at least we think we have. Flat fifteen, Carson Tower. Forensics have been and gone.”
‘It’ could only mean Beatrix Hass’ hiding place.
“What’s your name, son?”
“P.C. Galvin, sir.”
“OK, Constable Galvin. Wait there for me and I’ll be down as soon as I can.”
He wanted to see exactly what Bill McEwan’s men had missed.
“Before I get there, who found it?”
“I did, sir.”
“And Commander McEwan’s men had been searching as well?”
“Yes, sir. Ten of them were here.”
Hughes tried hard not to laugh. McEwan would rip each of them a new one for embarrassing him yet again.
“Right, I’ll see you soon, Galvin. And well done.”
He swallowed his laugh and woke up the line to Des.
“Sorry about that, Des. I had another call. What were you saying?”
“I’ve had a quick check of the forensics on the Carson Tower flat, and the DNA from the hairs found there definitely matches your girl’s.”
Bingo. Beatrix Hass had avoided capture because she’d slipped down off Carson Tower’s roof straight into a safe house, and there was no way she could have known that a flat in a foreign city was safe unless someone had tipped her off.
The D.C.I.’s reverie was cut short by Des’ next words.
“When you see Liam, tell him I’ve got something interesting on his guns if he’d like to call in. I’ll be here until seven tonight.”
Thirty minutes later Aidan Hughes’ suspicions were confirmed. He and a surprising hairy, given his youthful voice, Constable Galvin, were staring at a pull-down wall bed that would have provided the least comfortable night’s sleep ever, missing as it was a mattress. The detective hunkered down to look at it sideways on. Without a mattress, there was an eighteen-inch gap between the bed’s frame and the top of its slim headboard, not enough to hold a grown man but a woman might just fit.
He donned a pair of gloves and levered the bed into its vertical recess, smiling in admiration at the way it aligned perfectly with the fake bricks mounted on its wall surround. The fact that the same polystyrene cladding had been used to cover the bed’s underside made the join seamless. To an observer it would have appeared like a smooth, fake-brick wall, a dubious design feature perhaps, but not something that would normally have aroused police suspicion.
Hughes turned to the P.C. in admiration. “How the heck did you spot that join, Galvin? It’s nigh on invisible!”
The constable looked embarrassed. “I had a bed just like it when I was a student, sir. You’d never have known that it was there.”
“Well, thank God for your landlord’s dodgy décor then. We’d never have found it otherwise.” He pulled the bed down again and pointed at the springs. “That’s where forensics found the hairs?”
“Yes, sir.” The P.C. pointed eagerly. “There was a clump caught in that spring at the top. It must have been torn out by the roots.”
Facilitating the fast DNA lift.
“Excellent.” Hughes had a thought. “Who’s your boss?”
An immediate look of fear crossed the constable’s face. “Sergeant Maguire at Stranmillis. Did I do some
thing wrong, sir?”
The D.C.I. slapped him on the back. “You did something very right, Galvin, and I’m going to make sure credit’s given where it’s due.”
****
And blame as well. No sooner had Aidan Hughes returned to the squad-room when the phone on his desk rang again. He answered it absentmindedly, his thoughts on other things.
“Mmm…”
“Is that what passes for a hello up there?”
The D.C.I. stared at the phone. “Who’s that?”
“Karl Rimmins. I’m getting back with the information the chief asked for, and I thought, as you used to be Vice…”
It sounded strange but Hughes knew what he meant. People were often identified by where they’d worked, so just as Rimmins was Drugs he was Vice, which he supposed made Craig Murder. They should form a band called the Seven Deadly Sins.
“Is this about the name of the officer you told about the sex parties?”
“Plus the names of a few politicians who we’ve warned over drugs. Do you want it over the phone or-”
Hughes cut him off. “I’ll come down to you. It’s safer.”
Five minutes later he was returning in the lift, with a list of naughty MLAs in one hand and the name of a bent copper in the other. It was a name that made his heart sink.
****
Hughes’ call caught Craig and Liam just as they were leaving High Street, and Craig answered it while opening his car door with his other hand. When Hughes told them where Beatrix Hass had hidden the two detectives decided to look for themselves, so Craig passed his keys over to Liam and continued the call from the passenger seat.
“Good work, Aidan. We’ll take a look, then I want to have a quick word with Eileen Regent. Tell Nicky we’ll be back in about an hour.”
The silence that answered him said that there was something more. Hughes gave up the easy information first.
“Des says he’s got something on the guns if Liam’s got time to drop in before six. He says he’s not staying any later.”
“We’ll both go.”
Craig knew the guns had just been an offering before the main event. “And? There’s obviously something else, Aidan.”
The Cabal (#16 - The Craig Crime Series) Page 26