Craig nodded. It was a dead end, he was sure of it.
“The man we need to talk to in the Drugs Squad is Karl Rimmins, boss. He knows all about Tommy’s little operations. He’s one of Andy White’s team.”
“Right, I’ll nip down and see Andy later.”
Annette interjected sheepishly. “Sir, I asked Jo about Beth Walker as well.” Craig raised an eyebrow at her.
“No, honestly - she really didn’t know why I was asking. Anyway, it seems that Beth’s well-liked by everyone, especially by her patients. But she gets a hard time from some of the higher-ups for her lifestyle. You saw the purple hair - well apparently it was green last year. And she’s very open about being lesbian. She hangs out at Sarajevo a lot - that’s a gay club in town. But there’s a steady girlfriend on the scene. She works in a bank. Shall I dig there a bit as well?”
“Yes...but softly Annette. Remember we have nothing firm on either Murdock or Walker yet. You’re interviewing Brian Murray this afternoon aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“OK. I know I don’t need to tell you, but be careful with him. The Kerrs said he was in a real state yesterday. The G.P. had to be called.”
“Will do, sir”
“What’ll I do, boss?”
“See if Karl Rimmins has anything on Murdock and Tommy Hill. And don’t you worry Liam. You’ll be busy enough, trying to stop us telling Danni what you said about swopping her!”
***
“Close that bloody door, McCrae. I don’t want that nosy cow next door listenin’ in. She spends her days doin’ nothin’ but hangin’ over her hedge. An’ her brother’s a bloody Peeler.”
Rory McCrae banged the front door shut and scanned the small, cold living-room. Its décor was sparse and beige, unchanged since the 80’s when Tommy went inside. It seriously needed a woman’s touch. Or a decorator’s.
A draught was sifting through the dirty net curtains and Hill was sitting on the room’s only chair, an old stuffed recliner. His cracked leather car-coat was pulled tightly round him. “Away into the kitchen an’ grab a chair, McCrae. An’ put the kettle on while you’re at it.”
McCrae returned a minute later gripping a hard-backed foldaway, with its tied cushion falling off. He turned it around so that his arms rested on the back. Only his inner thighs rested on the seat, their full muscles spilling over the edge. He was as large and wide as Hill was wiry, but his bulk didn’t give him any sort of edge. Tommy ruled by history and legend. People still stared when he walked down the street.
“I was wild sarry to hear about your Evie, Tommy – she was a real queen. How’s the babby? Wee girl I heard.”
He stared deferentially at the floor, focusing there while Tommy swallowed. Neither man said anything for a few minutes, until finally Hill broke the silence. He spoke so quietly that the other man strained to hear him.
“I need you to do some stuff for me, McCrae. The Pigs ar saying it’s suspicious.”
“Suspicious! God aye, Tommy, no worries. I’m with you. What kin I do to help? Whatever it takes. Do you know what happened? Is it one of them doctors not doing their job? Or...do...do they think its murder then?”
Hill sat forward so violently that his face nearly hit the other man’s.
“What do you fuckin’ mean, murder? Why wud anyone murder our Evie? She was brilliant. Ar you trying to say this is someone gettin’ at me, that it’s my fault she’s bin killed?”
Saliva gathered at the edge of Hill’s mouth, and his eyes burned into Rory McCrae’s face. McCrae reared back in fear, nearly falling off his chair.
“Fuck no, Tommy. That’s not what I meant. Honest to God Tommy, it wasn’t. It was just...when you said the Peelers was gittin’ involved. Sarry Tommy, sarry. God I’m sarry. Evie was a lovely wee girl. No affence meant Tom. Fuck no.”
A hostile stillness fell over the room, until eventually McCrae scraped his chair back, standing up as if to leave.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re goin’?”
The snarl in Hill’s words made McCrae sit down again rapidly. Tommy sat forward sharply and clasped his hands. Whiteness spread up from his knuckles throwing his forearm tattoo into focus. His voice was low and cracking.
“The Pigs is on the bloody slow track as usual. An’ I’m not waitin’ for them to drop the ball like they alays do. I’m sortin’ this out mysel’, an’ I need you and the lads to help.”
“Tommy, you know me, Gerdy and Coyler will be there. Whatever you need, just you say the word.”
Hill stared down at the worn carpet. “If someone delibertly did for my Evie, then they’re fuckin’ well dead. They just haven’t stopped breathin’ yet. But they will, as soon as I know their name. I don’t give a shite if they throw me in Maghaberry. It’ll be worth it to put a bullet in their fuckin’ hed.”
He glared at the younger man, saliva covering his thin lips. His hoarse voice was harder than Rory McCrae had ever heard it. “This is goin’ the whole length this time McCrae. I mean it.”
McCrae smiled. This was just like the good old days. “Now yer talkin, boss”
“It had to be someone who was with her last night. Gotta be. I saw al’ three of them docs ‘n nurses in an’ out of her room al’ evenin’. No-one else was there but her Ma. An’ she’d rather die than hurt our Evie. That wee shite Murray was there too. The first time the wee fucker had been there al’ week. He’ll need to be knocked off soon.”
McCrae smiled, hopeful of getting the job.
“One of them killed her but I don’t know which one yet. So I want them all fallyed. I need enuf men to tail the three of them, so git your lads together. Meet me tomara night at eight. Up at the centre, near the Windsor playing fields. I’ll get the info you need for then. I’m fallyin’ that stuck- up prick Murdock myself. I need you lot to tail Murray, the lezzie nurse, an’ the blonde Doc ‘til I say so.”
“I’ll have the blonde.”
Hill stared coldly at him.
“You put your dick away, McCrae. No-one gits touched except the fucker who killed our Evie. Do you hear me? An’ no-one touches the weemen, unless they did it. Then you can do whatever you want with them, after I’ve killed them. For now, just watch them an’ report back to me. And keep away from the Pigs. They don’t git told nothin’ that they don’t need to know.”
McCrae laughed nervously. “Aye, Tommy. Treat the Peelers like mushrooms, keep them in the dark an’ feed them crap, ha ha. I’ll get the lads and see you here tomara night.”
“Not’ here, for fucks sake. Wise up and listen. At the centre, near Windsor fields...”
“Sarry, sarry. The centre, that’s right.” McCrae stood up and headed for the door.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re goin’?
Hill’s rasping voice spat menace and the bigger man froze, waiting for permission to move.
“Get in there now an’ make my fuckin’ tea.”
Chapter Nine
The Visitor found it hard to focus on this temporary life, when the real pull was towards exposing the guilty. But it was necessary. Food had to be eaten and bills had to be paid, and the job gave access. And without that of course, there would be nothing.
One of the guilty ones walked onto the Unit, preening. Walking the corridors as if they were hers. Straight-backed, head in an arrogant child’s pose. Spoilt and self-indulgent like her type always were. Talking down to some faceless companion.
Soon Tommy Hill would expose the truth for the whole world to see. And then there would finally be justice.
***
“Hi Nicky, could you get everyone in the briefing room at four, please. I’ll be finished at High Street by then. I need Joe Rice from uniform and Karl Rimmins from Drugs there as well. Also, could you give John a call, and see if he can send us through a quick update. Thanks. I’m switching my phone off now. If you need me urgently contact High Street, otherwise I’ll be back before four.”
Craig shut his phone off quickly and walked do
wn Belfast’s High Street into the station. He was resigned to an afternoon in a dimly lit room, and intent on begging a coffee from the duty sergeant, Jack Harris.
It was a short walk to the city centre’s cafes and he could always go for one there, but it was better to stay in the station and chat. Relationships built over the years were worth a fortune, as Liam often proved. As well as being great craic.
He never tired of Jack’s stories. He’d been the sergeant at High Street throughout The Troubles and there was little that he hadn’t seen. He was one of the most laid-back men Craig had ever met. And one of the most astute.
Craig pulled open the heavy street door and noticed two people sitting on the bench in reception. A slim woman sat several feet away from a well-fed, expensive looking man. Sleek was the word that best described him. He looked just like a surgeon. Not that Craig had anything against doctors. It was John who was hard on his own. But his air of unquestioned authority was easily identifiable.
If he was Nigel Murdock he could wait until after coffee. He was too early anyway. And Craig wanted him off-balance, in the way that only prolonged waiting could achieve.
The woman sat with her head down, but there was no missing how pretty she was. Fine-featured and blonde, with a light tan. She was hard to miss in the drab surroundings of the station. It was like seeing a flower growing through tarmac.
Craig pressed the desk buzzer and stepped back from the outward opening door. His foot knocked over the woman’s handbag, and a sheaf of papers fell out onto the floor. He bent to retrieve them, his face flushed with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me.”
He held the papers out towards her, looking down at her still-bowed head. Without looking up she said softly. “Please just leave them on the seat. Thank you.” And continued reading her book, as if it contained the most fascinating words ever written.
Craig felt like a sixteen-year-old boy, knocked-back by the prettiest girl in school. He left the papers and turned back quickly towards the door, trying to regain his composure. Jack Harris was already standing there, amply filling the doorway.
“Hello there, sir. Come on in.”
Craig entered gratefully, walking quickly through to the staff room. He wondered if Jack had seen everything and carefully timed his rescue. If he had noticed the episode he was far too discrete to comment, and Craig morphed back to his forty-something self over coffee.
They chatted comfortably for ten minutes, about the weather and the latest Northern Ireland match. Craig’s father had held a season-ticket since George Best had played for them and David Healy had renewed his zeal.
Jack followed every game so Craig just relaxed and listened. Letting a five minute commentary on the last match at Windsor Park flow pleasantly over him.
A few minutes later the door was knocked quietly. The desk constable, Sandi, a dark-eyed girl about twenty, entered, looking strained. She spoke anxiously, hardly pausing for breath.
“Sorry sir, but that man in reception’s really not happy. He says he’d been waiting thirty minutes. I pointed out that he was early; his appointment isn’t for five minutes yet. But then he phoned his solicitor, and now he says he’s not seeing anyone until she arrives. That could be another twenty minutes. She’s coming round from Victoria Street. Morris and Harden’s Solicitors, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Sandi, take a breath love. And don’t keep apologising. Wait till you’ve done something wrong first. And I’ll tell you when that is, never you worry.”
“Yes sir. Sorry sir.”
“Is Dr Stevens here? The three o’clock.”
“Yes sir, in reception now.”
“Does she want a brief?”
“No sir. At least she hasn’t said, sir. Should I ask her?”
“Don’t you bother your head asking her. Just show her into the interview room and tell her that D.C.I. Craig will be through in a minute. And give whoever’s out there a cup of tea.”
He shook his head kindly, like Craig imagined he’d done when his kids were small. Sandi flushed to the tip of her chin and turned to put the kettle on. Craig moved to help her get out the mugs. He was being kind but he also had an ulterior motive. He wanted to ask her something, without Jack overhearing.
“Sandi, is Dr Stevens the lady who was in reception when I came through?”
“Yes, sir.”
Craig’s stomach dropped like turbulence at thirty thousand feet and he mentally gave himself ‘The Lecture’. Get a grip man, you’re in charge, remember that. Nope, it wasn’t working. He was even more embarrassed by his assumption that Dr Stevens would be male. Lucia would have a field day with that one.
Jack didn’t need to hear the exchange to know exactly what was being said. He gazed at them over his glasses, smiling at Craig’s discomfort. He was a grown man, but only three years older than his boy Euan, so Jack felt he had parental rights.
“These doctors are getting bonnier every day, aren’t they now..?”
Craig smiled at him. “Something you’d like to say, Jack?”
“No, no...Just an observation, sir. But I think you’ve finished making that tea, don’t you? Off you go now, mustn’t keep a lady waiting.”
Chapter Ten
2.40pm.
Katy was sitting in the interview room still reading her book, when Craig came in. She didn’t look up when he entered, despite him willing her to. She felt even more nervous than she’d expected to, and it wasn’t helped by Natalie being delayed. She just prayed that she was outside when they finished.
Craig pulled-up a chair and sat across the table at a slight angle. Facing her straight-on felt wrong somehow - too confrontational.
“Dr Stevens, I’m D.C.I. Craig. Thank you for coming in. It would be helpful if you could answer some questions. Anything you can tell us about your involvement with Mrs Murray-Hill would be useful.”
Katy glanced up from her book without making eye contact. Then she held her hand out to be shaken, in what seemed like an oddly formal gesture. Her hand trembled slightly when Craig took it and he realised that she was nervous too. The knowledge rescued him from a repeat of his adolescent backslide.
When her words eventually came, they were so soft that they were almost a whisper. Craig asked her to repeat them.
“I said I hate this! I feel like a criminal.”
“We just need your help, Dr Stevens.”
At the sound of her name she gazed at him across the table. Her eyes were large and petrol blue, set wide apart in a heart-shaped face. Everything about her seemed fragile, set in such stark surroundings. He felt almost protective of her, until he saw the flash of anger in her gaze.
“For God’s sake, don’t you think I wish I could help you? But not half as much as I wish I could have helped that poor girl. She’s dead, it’s too late and we killed her. One of us, all of us, it doesn’t matter. It’s our fault.”
She stopped abruptly, her eyes dropping back to the table. Then after a moment’s pause she spoke again, her voice heavy with emotion. “She’s dead and her child’s alone.”
Craig realised that she was edging towards tears and rose hurriedly to open the door, sensing the danger of them being alone. Then he lifted the phone to call Sandi in.
“I think it would be better if you had some support, Dr Stevens. Police interviews can be upsetting. Would you like a glass of water?” She nodded quickly.
“Constable Masters, could you cover the desk and join us please. And bring a glass of water? Thanks.” Sandi appeared quickly, and took the seat beside Katy on his nod.
“Dr Stevens, I know how upsetting this must be and I’d like to minimise that. So how would it be if we taped this interview, to avoid future repetition?” She nodded silently.
“Good.” He pressed the recorder.
“For the benefit of the tape, it is Wednesday the 10th of April 2013 at two-forty pm. This interview is being held at High Street station. Present for the tape is...”
“Dr
Katherine Stevens, 69a St John’s Harbour, Belfast.”
“W.P.C. Sandra Masters.”
“And D.C.I. Craig. Now Dr Stevens, in your own words, please tell me about all your encounters with Mrs Murray–Hill.”
Katy recounted the process that had brought her to see and treat Evie. The meetings with her and Tommy Hill. And the tests, results and treatment prescribed. Then she brought out the papers that had fallen from her handbag earlier. They were copies of Evie’s tests and charts. Craig had already seen them but he took them again politely, thanking her as she handed them across.
“Thank you for that. That brings us to the day before Mrs Murray-Hill’s death – Monday the 8th of April. Could you tell me about your movements that day please? And particularly about any meetings you had with or about her.”
Katy relaxed slightly and as her voice grew clearer and stronger, Craig could see the professional asserting herself. “I called to see her several times on Monday, because she was due for her Caesarean soon. It should have been today at three, in fact. About now.” She paused, re-starting after a sip of water.
“I wanted to keep an eye on her tests and be there to assess the baby with the paediatricians if necessary. She was absolutely fine. Except...she can’t have been fine, can she? Or she wouldn’t be dead.” Her voice rose slightly in volume then she fell silent again. Craig waited, smiling slightly at her in encouragement.
Katy had an incongruous thought that he was very handsome. He had slight sideburns and she’d always liked those on men. Then she felt guilty about such a frivolous thought when a woman was dead, and re-started, more professionally.
“I last saw her at nine on Monday night. I know that was the time because I was recording her blood sugars on a chart. We did other tests as well, and they were all fine. The results are there.”
The Visitor (#3 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) Page 8