The Cabal (#16 - The Craig Crime Series)

by Catriona King

  But why the hell hadn’t the MLAs been charged when they’d been lifted? It smacked of one law for the rich and another for the poor, and it was something that he intended to ask Karl about. Although, as Terry Harrison was the superintendent heading up both Drugs and Vice, they now had an obvious explanation to the blind eye being turned. The other question was, could the list be of use to them the following night? Was there anyone on it that they could squeeze to provide Kyle with cover inside the party, or was that a risk too far for even a hedonistic MLA to take?

  He was still pondering when Liam’s fist fell against his door and he entered the office before waiting for a yes. Craig was grateful for the distraction so he let the transgression pass.

  “What can I do for you, Liam?”

  The D.C.I. fell into the nearest chair and glanced pointedly at the percolator. As Craig obliged him with a mug he outlined what Mark Wilberforce had said.

  Craig fell into his own chair with a whistle.

  “Harrison’s really involved in McManus’ killing.”

  “You say that like you’re surprised, boss.”

  “I am, actually. I honestly didn’t think he was capable of this. Or that.” He pushed the list of MLAs across the desk. “I need to ask Karl more about it, but my instinct is that this lot would have been lifted ages ago if Harrison hadn’t intervened.”

  Liam read the list and shook his head. “This would’ve been blocked higher up the food chain than Harrison.”

  Craig immediately realised that he was right. Someone more senior in the force would have got the call from Stormont if a politician had been caught using drugs, and there was only one name that could fit.

  “You mean Flanagan.”

  “Has to be, although I can’t see him letting them off willingly. But if you get a call from Stormont saying the arrest of some MLA could bring down the executive he’d be between a rock and a hard place, wouldn’t he? Especially if they’d nicked a bunch of them at once. It’d be a choice of arrest them all and risk the scandal collapsing the government, or wait till they lose their seats at the next election and charge them then. I know which I’d choose.”

  It made Craig wonder how many things a Chief Constable had to swallow just to keep the peace.

  “Kyle can gather more evidence at the party, so when we arrest this bunch we can get them on fresh drugs charges as well.”

  Liam helped himself to some custard creams that Nicky had set out. “OK. So, what do we do about Harrison?”

  “Nothing until after the party, but tell Reggie I want Wilberforce kept incommunicado. We can’t have him tipping off Harrison that we’re onto him before tomorrow night.”

  ****

  While the two detectives in Craig’s office were debating Terry Harrison’s future, Davy was gathering up his things outside, an activity that didn’t escape his office mother’s beady gaze. Nicky waited until the analyst made a move towards the exit and then raced to the exit doors to block his way.

  “Where are you going? It’s only ten-past-four.”

  Davy gave her an old-fashioned look and went to move on past.

  “You didn’t answer my question, young man. You’re not on a half-day.”

  “And you’re not Cerberus.”

  She stared up at him. “Who?”

  “I thought you knew everything, Nicky.”

  “I know when someone’s being cheeky, that’s what I know!”

  “Cerberus. Guardian of the Underworld in Greek mythology. He stops the dead from leaving. It’s a clue to my destination now.”

  In the seconds the PA dropped her guard to think about it, the analyst made good his escape. He could still hear her calling after him as he descended in the lift.

  “You’ll pay for that, Davy Walsh.”

  For eternity if the mythology was correct. Even longer if Nicky discovered that Cerberus was a three-headed hound. The thought amused him as he caught the bus to South Belfast, and was still making him smile when he arrived at Queen’s University and tapped on the office door belonging to the Archaeology Professor that he’d come to see.

  Niall Murphy answered the knock energetically and Davy was surprised to see that the academic wasn’t much older than him. Why he was surprised he wasn’t certain, except that he always pictured Professors as tweed-jacketed and round-shouldered, those in Archaeology and Ancient History with an added patina of dust, and the muscled, T-shirted Murphy didn’t fit the mould.

  “Hello, hello. You must be Mister Walsh.”

  Davy smiled, the cheerful greeting adding to his surprise. “Davy, please, Professor Murphy.”

  Murphy waved him to a seat. “Niall, please. OK. Now that we’ve the introductions dispensed with, tea or coffee?”

  “I’m OK without, thanks.” Davy set down his rucksack and withdrew his smart-pad, nodding towards the desk. “I thought it would make it easier if you could see the s…symbol I mentioned on the phone.”

  “Absolutely. Go ahead and set up.”

  Within seconds the ornate figure four appeared on Davy’s screen and a smile covered Niall Murphy’s face.

  “Wow! That’s an old one.”

  The ‘wow’ shattered another illusion Davy had long held; that academics communicated in long sentences devoid of contractions, and most definitely devoid of words like ‘wow’ or ‘cool’.

  “Old in the sense of an ancient language?”

  Murphy shook his sandy head.

  “Not any that I know. No, what you’ve got there is an astrology symbol. The number four represents the Roman God Jupiter, and his Greek equivalent, Zeus. The bowing on the upright portion is said to represent the personality of the soul, and the vertical cross below represents matter. It’s the sort of thing alchemists were fond of back in the day as well.”

  He took his seat, gazing at Davy intently. “Any of that make sense in the context of whatever you’re investigating?”

  Davy knew he was dying to hear about the case, but unfortunately he couldn’t oblige.

  “Might do. It depends on the answers to a few questions. Do all Classics courses cover both Ancient Rome and Greece?”

  “They do.”

  “OK. Two more. Is there a s…standard textbook used to teach on courses? And do you know of any alumni clubs for Classics grads that cover the whole of the British Isles?”

  The professor’s response was to leap to his feet again and cross to a bookshelf that the analyst hadn’t noticed. The academic scanned each shelf intently, finally seizing a leather bound, hard-backed volume and placing it in front of Davy on the desk.

  “The Zeus Circle. It’s the standard joint text for Ancient Greco-Roman studies, and every Classics graduate will know it inside out. You can borrow that copy as long as you return it.” Murphy shook his head. “But as far as your second question’s concerned, no, I’m sorry, I don’t know of any clubs that cover the British Isles, just single university clubs. But that doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist.”

  Davy smiled slowly. He already knew that one did, and now he knew exactly what it was called.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Saturday. 9.30 a.m.

  Jake was glad of the change of scenery, and he could see from the aeroplane window that it was beautiful scenery too, with a shifting vista of moors, hills and quaint villages visible on their descent into Manchester Airport. By the time he’d disembarked and grabbed his bag, the D.S. had remembered that a change of scene was just what the doctor had ordered, literally. He hadn’t told anyone at the squad but the addiction specialist he’d seen during his steroid rehab had been insistent that changing his work environment would help prevent a relapse.

  He also hadn’t told them that he’d been approached to work in the Hate Crimes Unit in central Belfast, a new team set up to deal with everything from homophobic abuse to race and sectarian crime. He hadn’t considered the offer seriously because he liked Craig and had made friends on the Murder Squad, but the sudden head-clearing sensation he’d got on the flight
at the thought of working with new people, even for a few days, made him wonder seriously whether it was time to make a change.

  The appearance of an unfamiliar but indisputably police uniform by the airport’s exit made Jake shelve the decision for another time, and he extended a hand to the constable who’d been sent to meet him and then sank into the passenger seat of his patrol car for their twenty-mile drive.

  As soon as they arrived at the station in Wythenshawe Jake found himself swept into an office with white boards on every wall, and five minutes later an older detective was talking him through their case. When he’d finished Jake asked a question.

  “The women who disappeared or were killed, were they working in brothels or alone?”

  Inspector John Ellery sat on a desk to answer.

  “They mostly worked through agencies, we think, although we can’t be sure. Most were madams or long-term escorts, but none of them worked out of brothels, we do know that.”

  “Then did the ones who were escorts get work from the madams who died? Or perhaps even attend the same organised events?”

  He didn’t want to use the word party unless there was some sign that they were on the right trail.

  Ellery gazed at him suspiciously. “How could you know that?”

  “So they were. Working for the same madams that is?”

  The inspector nodded. “And the events, we think. It’s only rumour, but we think some of the madams organised parties for the rich and famous, and they always needed girls.”

  Party. It was the magic word and Jake’s cue to take out his smart-pad, so that they could start comparing facts.

  ****

  The C.C.U. 10 a.m.

  The squad-room was buzzing. Kyle was behind his nemesis the wall with Andy, trying out the gadgets that Ray Barrett had supplied, amongst them a set of cufflinks, one of which carried a recording device and the other a camera so small that Liam had wondered aloud how the hell it could capture anything, until he saw a picture of his backside displayed in all its glory five-foot-wide on Nicky’s screen.

  Annette and Rhonda had watched Harrison until midnight, relieved by uniforms for the overnight shift, and as they entered the squad kitchen to fill their flasks with coffee before leaving for more hours in a cold car, Annette wondered idly what she’d be doing now if she was a stay-at-home mum. She would never admit it to anyone, but even hoovering was starting to look good as long as she could stay in the warm.

  In the middle of all the hubbub the analysts were like an oasis of calm. Davy peering silently at each of his three screens in turn, while Ash sat with his eyes shut wearing giant headphones, listening to NSA phone transcripts as two programmes ran on his PC: one searching for deaths and disappearances of sex-workers in Scotland and Wales, and the other live-feeding Interpol and FSB searches for the bullets’ match.

  Craig stood behind them watching for five minutes, before the junior analyst realised the detective was there and slid his headphones off. “I’m not going to ask how you’re accessing a live feed in Russia, Ash.”

  The analyst grinned mischievously. “A, I’m not really, it’s just a mirage, but B, you really wouldn’t want to know if I was.”

  Craig leaned in closer and pointed at the screen. “What’s it doing, specifically? Bullet matching?”

  “It’s not the FSB’s actual bullet matching programme, just a live feed of their forensic reporting on it. You don’t need to keep watching it, chief. If there’s a match it’ll ping.”

  It was Ash splitting colourful hairs as far as Craig was concerned, but he didn’t really care as long as they got results. With one caveat.

  “They can’t trace your hack, can they? I’d rather not have Cossacks kicking down our doors.”

  The analyst arched an eyebrow. “No-one can trace my hacks, chief. You must know that by now.”

  Craig smiled ‘I believe you’ and turned towards Davy. “What are you working on?”

  Davy’s vague grunt said that whatever it was he wasn’t ready for the big reveal, so Craig left him to it and went in search of his deputy. He found Liam about to wrap his hands around Kyle’s throat.

  “Put him down, Liam. Annoying as he is we’ll need him alive tonight. Come with me, we’re going to High Street. I’ve had Wilberforce moved there and I want to see Ray Mercer again.” He scanned the squad-room on his way to the lift and stopped by Nicky’s desk. “Nicky, where’s Aidan?”

  “He went to see that madam.” Her loud sniff made her opinion of Veronica Lewis clear. “He knew her when she was young, I think.”

  When she was Ronnie Lee.

  “OK, we’re heading to High Street. We should be back in an hour or so, but if we’re not then take everyone to The James for lunch, please, and put it on my tab. I’ll need a briefing called for two, and I want everyone here, including Rhonda and Annette.”

  They were almost at High Street when Liam asked something that had been on his mind.

  “Leonard Montgomery. You saw him so he knows we’re interested in Lewis. What’s to stop him warning whoever’s running tonight’s shindig?”

  Craig chuckled. “Shindig? That makes it sound like a ho-down and I can hardly see MLAs wearing denim dungarees.”

  “Ach, you know fine well what I mean. What’s to stop Montgomery giving us up?”

  Craig pulled into the station’s carpark, turning off his car engine before he replied.

  “OK, one, Montgomery doesn’t know Kyle so he can’t give him up, and two, I paid him a reminder visit last night to point out how fragile his position was and exactly what he’s got to do this evening to stay out of jail. He’s agreed to watch any clique members he knows of carefully, and tip Kyle the wink if they start to slope off.”

  Liam gawped at him.

  “You went to his home at night? At night? When his wife could overhear!” The D.C.I. tutted primly. “That’s dirty pool, boss.”

  Craig’s response was unequivocal. “This isn’t a bloody game, Liam! He needed to be reminded how easily his wife could find out, but as you seem so concerned for his marriage I’ll tell you she was already in bed when I called and we talked outside.”

  Liam’s gaze continued chastising. “Still, boss.” Then he gave an incongruous snigger. “The poor bugger must have nearly had a coronary. Her upstairs already suspicious and you there to talk about a sex-party he’s going to the next night. You’re an evil sod, you know that.”

  Craig grinned and climbed out of the car. “Katy says it’s my greatest charm.”

  He walked towards the station’s rear door still talking.

  “OK, let’s take Mercer first. We’ve got Wilberforce on a possible accessory charge at the moment, but that might change when everything comes out. I managed to get a court order to prevent him having any contact with the outside.”

  Liam stopped in his tracks. “Don’t tell me. Judge Standish again.”

  “National security trumps everything.”

  Liam rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Even the rights of the fourth estate.”

  ****

  The Malone Road.

  When Veronica Lewis eventually opened the door of her penthouse apartment it was by only a tiny crack, and even that access was limited by a chain. The slim brunette squinted suspiciously at Aidan Hughes, scenting police even before he’d flashed his warrant card.

  Her squint tightened further as she perused the D.C.I.’s angular face. “I know you, don’t I?”

  The ex-Vice cop smiled, marvelling at her memory for faces. He hadn’t seen her since twenty years before at Lilith’s, and his murmured greeting told her just how long it had been.

  “Hello, Ronnie.”

  The use of her younger name made the madam’s eyes widen and Hughes pressed the advantage generated by her shock.

  “Is your son here?”

  Her head shake was automatic.

  “Well then, let’s have a chat.”

  They both knew that it wasn’t a request, and Lewis slipped the
chain from its mooring immediately, opening the door. The action was performed with a passivity that almost saddened the policeman; he remembered her as a sparky young adult when he had been the same, but Veronica Lewis’ bowed head as she turned towards her sitting room told him that years of being used by men and life had finally ground her down.

  The D.C.I. knew she probably viewed him as just another one and the idea disturbed him somehow. But could he really argue with it? He was a man and he wanted something from her, and although it was information not sex and he would never use violence or money to get his way, he could take away her freedom and that was just as bad.

  It made Aidan Hughes want to turn on his heel and walk out the door, to knock and start again, to ask for her help instead of expecting or insisting on it. But he couldn’t. They had a case to break that affected far more people than just her.

  Instead he decided on a compromise. He took the chair that the madam nodded him to and perched on its velvet edge, waiting until she was seated before staring intently into her dark eyes.

  “I want to say something, Mrs Lewis. You have a choice whether to help us, and if you say no I’ll speak to my boss and ask if we can do this without you. But first I’d like you to hear me out. OK?”

  She had only heard one word. “This? What’s this? You mean you’re not here to arrest me?” Her passivity was suddenly joined by anxiety. “Or to tell my Rupe how I paid for his school?”

  Aidan Hughes shook his head firmly. “I promise you that I’ll do neither of those things, whatever you say.”

  Her response was to sit back, her eyes still fixed on his face. “What do you mean by this, then?”

  Her change in body language gave him hope, so with as much background as he could give without blowing their operation, Hughes explained how, if she helped them by taking Kyle Spence along as her bodyguard that evening, they could free her from the men who were ruining her life for good.

  ****