“I’ll be fifteen minutes. Pop the kettle on.”
As she pulled off, heading up Stranmillis towards the Malone Road, Katy saw the blue car again. She wasn’t paranoid - it was definitely following her. She noted the number as they drove through the traffic, hoping they wouldn’t try anything in broad daylight. They stayed one car behind her the whole way to her mother’s small bungalow opposite Musgrave Park. Her mother was standing at the door waving brightly as she pulled in.
“Hi Mum. I’ll just run over to the garage and get the milk.”
As she crossed the road, Katy noticed that the car had parked opposite, beside the Vet’s surgery. Part of her was tempted to just knock its window, but common sense kicked in and she fished out Craig’s business card instead. She paused before she phoned, reaching for her mirror. And then couldn’t believe that she’d checked her make-up to call him!
He answered the call quickly, catching her unawares. “D.C.I. Craig.”
“Oh, yes, sorry.” There was a moment’s silence.
“Why are you sorry, Madam? And may I ask who this is please?”
“It’s Katy Stevens. We met the other day. You probably don’t remember me. You meet lots of people. Anyway, you interrogated me.”
Katy realised what she’d said and stopped - she was babbling. She noticed that he had a deep voice and a slight accent that she couldn’t place. She hadn’t noticed it before. She crossed the road quickly and walked back to the house as she talked.
Her mother appeared at the front door, carrying a heavy tray heaped with cake and biscuits. Katy moved forward to take it.
“Mum, let me carry that – it’s too heavy for you.”
Then she heard a laugh and realised that he was still on the phone. His laugh made her feel defensive and she could feel a huff developing in her own voice. “Oh, sorry, I forgot you were still there. It’s probably nothing, so just forget it.”
“No, please tell me what’s happened, Dr Stevens.” The authority in his voice said that he needed to know and she felt less foolish.
“You said to call if anything happened.”
Just then Julia came into the bedroom and handed Craig an espresso. He smiled up at her and then shook himself back into professional mode. “Yes I did. Tell me exactly what’s happened, Dr Stevens.”
Katy moved down the path to stop her mother hearing. “There’s a blue car and, well, I don’t want to seem paranoid, but I’m pretty sure it’s been following me for hours. It was outside my flat this morning, then at Cutters Wharf. Now it’s at my Mum’s. So I’m just a bit worried, for her mainly. I was just wondering if...maybe it’s one of your people? I’ve got the registration number.”
She read it out to him quickly, but Craig already knew that he hadn’t arranged a tail. He also knew that Tommy wasn’t going to give up. He made his voice as calming as possible.
“Let me check that and call you back. And I’ll send a car to your Mother’s, just to be sure. Could you give me the address please? This is nothing for you to worry about.”
She felt instantly better, and then shook herself. She didn’t need a man to protect her. She remembered the last time she’d relied on one of those. She ended the call quickly and turned, to see her mother smiling broadly. “New friend dear?”
Katy laughed at her mischievous face. “Now, don’t start, Mum. I told you, I’m entering a convent.”
“Yes pet, whatever you say. But before you do, have a piece of apple tart. I made it for your brother and there’s far too much as usual.”
They lapsed into thirty minutes of looking at photographs they’d both seen a thousand times before. And soon Katy had forgotten all about the car. A sudden, loud knock made her mother jump. They both froze, and then a voice came through the door.
“It’s D.C.I. Craig.”
She stood in the hall stunned, staring at his outline through the leaded glass. The last thing she’d expected was for him to come in person! She blushed suddenly, catching her scruffy reflection in the mirror. But she knew she had to answer him, so she leaned over reluctantly and turned the latch.
He was standing there grinning and she smiled back involuntarily, neither of them speaking a word. Until her mother appeared to see what was happening.
“Bring the gentleman in for some tea, Katy.” Katy could have killed her.
Craig smiled down benignly at her mother. She was one of those sweet little ladies that Belfast produced so well. All powder and perfume and pink cardigans. He warmed to her instantly. Especially when he caught her twinkle as she smiled at her daughter.
Katy looked even prettier than she had on their last encounter. Softer and more approachable somehow, her hair a mess of fine blonde waves. But nothing compared to Julia’s titian curls.
“Tea, Mr...? Katy, what’s your friend’s name?”
“It’s D.C.I. Craig, Mum.”
“It’s Marc Craig, Mrs Stevens. Lovely to meet you.”
Marc...
Katy’s panicked look entreated him to be quiet in front of her mother. So they chatted for over an hour about everything and anything, other than the reason he was there. Finally he stood up to leave. “I’m sorry, but I must go. I’ve really enjoyed myself Mrs Stevens. Thank you.”
“Not at all. Please come again. Katy will show you to the door. Won’t you dear?”
The amused look in her mother’s eyes said far too much for comfort, hinting at heavy teasing when he left. They stood at the door shyly, Katy aware that she kept staring at the ground. Craig broke the silence, keeping his voice low so that her mother wouldn’t hear.
“I’m sorry, but one of Tommy Hill’s crew was following you. We’ve picked him up now, so you won’t be bothered again. But if you have any more trouble please call me. I’ll have a car drive past your home and your Mother’s this evening, just to be sure.”
“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mr Craig, but you should’ve just phoned rather than come all this way.” Then she noticed his suit. “Oh, were you working anyway?”
“Until we get this case closed, every day’s a work day. So don’t worry, you didn’t bother me at all. And I enjoyed the tea.” He wasn’t lying, he really had enjoyed himself. Mrs Stevens was like his own mum.
“I...my mother enjoyed it as well. Thank you again, Mr Craig.”
Katy gazed into his dark eyes, losing track of her words. He was far too good-looking to be safe. She willed herself hard to dislike him, closing the door firmly as he climbed into his car. Then she walked back into the living-room, knowing exactly what came next. A suspicion confirmed instantly by her mother’s impish smile.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Beth sat for hours on the bathroom floor, thinking and crying. Until the chilling room and the changing light made her realise she’d lost the whole day. Eventually she climbed up the sink, testing her nausea, until she was certain that it had passed. Then she guided herself slowly along the wall and back to the bedroom.
She reached across the bed and lifted her phone, flipping the screen open. Sunday 6pm. So where was Janey? She couldn’t be at work on a Sunday. And why was she at home? She should be in her room at the nurses’ hall.
The front door opened and Janey’s familiar footsteps entered the living-room. Beth called her name and she ambled into the bedroom, looking tired, and with steristrips across her top lip. Beth stumbled across the room and held her face, examining the wound with professional eyes. Someone had made a neat job of it.
“What happened to you? Are you OK?” Janey sat on the bed, speaking very slowly.
“I can’t remember, but Shirley said they took me to casualty. Damien brought you home. Apparently two men tried to kidnap you and hit me. But I honestly don’t remember anything after the restaurant. Shirley and Damien chased them but they got away. God, my head feels really heavy. We must have been drugged.”
“That would explain why I’ve been so sick. I feel like a truck hit me. We need a blood test quickly. Drugs can leave your system in hours.” Beth f
licked open her mobile. “I’m calling the police.”
***
The Visitor had found it easy, far easier than he’d thought. A quiet venue, some chemical aids, and gravity. That was all it had taken. Now he had what he wanted, and he had the time and place to complete his work.
He kicked the body at his feet hard, checking that it didn’t wake. The father had failed to expose them so he’d had to act. Now he had the first one, but it wouldn’t be the last. Three more would pay before he was done.
***
Monday.
Craig organised his papers and walked into the briefing room, assuming his usual position as people filtered in. Everyone looked too tired for a Monday.
“Good morning everyone, grab a coffee and sit down please. We need to start quickly. There’s a lot to get through.”
He updated them on the weekend’s events and just as he finished, Annette came rushing through the door, breathless.
“Sorry I’m late, sir. I’ve been taking a call about Beth Walker. We need to see her this morning. Two men tried to abduct her on Saturday night. Uniform attended but they’ve just flagged it through now, so I said I’d go over when we’ve finished.”
“Here - that’s the third one! Murdock and Stevens were tailed by Tommy’s team as well, but they weren’t touched.”
“Maybe we just got to them before they could be.”
“Or maybe Tommy thinks Beth killed Evie. We should have banged him up last week.”
“There’s no point beating ourselves up about it Liam. We couldn’t have anticipated this happening. Remember that Tommy’s a grieving relative - we had no grounds to arrest him. And we didn’t have the resources to tail them all. OK, let’s finish the briefing quickly and then we’ll sort that out. Background first. Liam, Annette, Martin – anything of interest? What’s been happening with the background checks on Walker, Murdock and Johns?”
“Nothing criminal showing up, sir. Beth Walker, thirty-five, co-habiting in Eglantine Avenue, up near Queens. She has a slightly rakey lifestyle. Recreational drugs and the odd public fight with the girlfriend, Janey Holmes. She’s a Kiwi and works at N.I.BANK. Beth’s worked at the M.P.E. since 2008 and she’s a good midwife by all accounts. She’s well-liked by her colleagues, no complaints or actions against her, and she has a wall full of thank-you letters.
Sister Laurie Johns, forties, single, and living alone out near Drumbeg. No relatives except for an elderly mother. There’s no love lost between her and her nurses or, it seems, many of her patients. But no official complaints or malpractice suits. In fact, she’s viewed as very efficient by the management team. According to the other midwives, she’s had her knife in Beth pretty much since she joined the Unit. Although no-one seems prepared to say why.”
“Jealousy?”
“Maybe. But she’s the boss, so why? I suppose she could resent the fact that Beth’s so well liked. But I think there’s more to it than that. I’ll keep digging, sir. Anyway, apparently Johns had quite a thing with Murdock when they were juniors and she’s been carrying a torch for him ever since. He still ignites it the odd time, rumour has it.”
Liam laughed and was about to say something rude but Craig waved Annette on.
“Nigel Murdock, fifty-two-year-old consultant surgeon. He has two teenage children. A son and daughter, both at University in London. The family home is out at Cultra. He married into big money - the Burton family.”
Martin let out a low whistle. “They’re richer than the Beckhams.”
“But not as talented, son.”
Annette ignored the exchange and went on. “He has an expensive lifestyle, and owns property in Northern Ireland and the Republic. As well as a place out in Florida. He took the M.P.E. post in 2006 - he was at St Joseph’s Trust before that. Since he joined he’s had complaints from patients about various things. They range from his rudeness, up to and including complaints about the three deaths we know of. And there are rumours of some earlier ones, sir.”
She saw Craig’s questioning look and answered it.
“As you know, we’re looking into any deaths amongst Murdock’s patients. They were all investigated internally and some went as far as coroner’s inquest. But it’s hard to get information when nothing negligent was proven, without ringing massive bells at the Trust. At each enquiry and inquest Murdock had support from his senior colleagues, namely...” She turned over her notes. “Dr Alan Davis - that’s Dr Winter’s predecessor. Sister Johns and Robert Moore, the old Chief Executive.”
“Ring the Trust’s bells as loudly as you like now, Annette. We’ve got as far as we can by being discrete.”
“Right, I will. I’ve a lot of other information coming in today, but that’s all I can add until then. But we know that Murdock and Johns both hate Beth, and I’ll keep digging until someone tells me why. It’s definitely more than a ward tiff.”
“Great, Thanks Annette. Liam, you met with Ted Greenwood and Charles McAllister. What are the stories there?”
“Aye, well Greenwood’s a typical project geek.”
Martin piped up. “I said that.”
“So you did, son. Aye, well. Greenwood was boring, but pleasant enough. He chatted a bit about the hospital but mainly gave yes/no answers to everything. Although he seemed genuinely sad about Evie. He said that he and one of the sparks popped into her room to fit a cable and she was very nice. That checks out by the way.
I did a background check on him. Born here but lived in England for years. He’s early forties but never married, although he has a girlfriend - she’s a mature student. He trained as an architect and went into project management, but he had no links with St Marys until he started the job there last year. He was living in London when the original project manager had an accident - hit by falling masonry. So Greenwood stepped into the job a year ago.”
Liam paused and pulled a tiny notebook from his pocket - it disappeared in his huge hand. He flicked slowly through its pages before continuing.
“By all accounts, he’s good at running big projects. Worked on a shiny new shopping centre in Wembley. No criminal record and he does the territorial soldier thing at the weekends. So does the girlfriend. That’s how they met. He even went on one of those jungle survival courses last year. You know the sort of thing - can I live by eating dung beetles for a month?”
“Like the Celebrity one?”
“Aye, but without the half-dressed women. Anyway, Greenwood looks clean boss, although I’m meeting the girlfriend tomorrow just to confirm things. I checked out his tradesmen as well. That stroppy spark Randle had a bit of form fifteen years back. For throwing stones at us poor Peelers. And a football knifing - superficial wounding. He got probation both times. But there’s nothing on the other tradesmen. They’re just the normal joiners, sparks and tilers.”
“Was Randle fitting the CCTV in the Maternity Unit?”
“I’ll check that. He may have been the one in Evie’s room with Greenwood.”
“Thanks Liam. Martin?”
“Just before you move on, boss. I’ve gone back over McAllister’s background and something’s definitely fishy there. So I’m getting him into High Street tomorrow too. I’ll keep you up to date.”
Craig shot him a questioning look but could see that he would rather wait before feeding back. He nodded, confident in Liam’s judgement. “OK, let me know what you find out. Martin?”
“We’ve been pulling the records on any deaths for twenty years back, sir, and especially in the last five. But the Trust is going onto a linked computer network, and it’s a complete fiasco. A licence to print money for the computer firms and running way over budget. Anyway, because of that, lots of the paper records are away being scanned. We’ve got a requisition in for the hard copies, but it could take a week, sir.”
“We haven’t got a week, Martin. Annette, contact the I.T. Director and get him to speed it up. I need those records today. Meanwhile, keep digging for any links between the dead women and the Trus
t, and with each other. Anything at all, OK?”
Craig turned to face a wall-mounted screen at the front of the room, and John Winter’s image appeared from his lab. “Go ahead, John.” He watched his friend’s face for some sign of Saturday’s emotional trauma, but he was cool and professional. John was far better at controlling his emotions than he’d ever been.
“Hello everyone. Well, there are a few new things that we’re chasing. Ms Murray-Long had D.N.A. all over her that wasn’t her own, which was to be expected because of the resusc and operation. There was little point looking at anything from her mouth down, but we found some isolated fluids on her forehead. It’s a small patch and the diameter fits a mouth. Who leaves stains on a forehead? Suggestions anyone?”
Annette chipped in. “I kiss my kids on the forehead.”
“Or Pete if he’s on a go-slow, ha, ha.” She clamped Liam’s mouth hard.
“Exactly what we thought Annette. It’s a conciliatory or caring gesture. It’s male D.N.A. but it’s not in the system. We compared it to Tommy’s and there’s no match. There’s no familial link with Evie at all, so we need to check it against Reverend Kerr’s and Brian Murray’s to rule them out. Can that be arranged, Marc?
“We’ll chase it up.”
“The point being, that if it’s not them, then who else would be kissing Evie on the forehead? We may well be looking at the killer’s D.N.A. The idea of them kissing their victim is definitely significant. Remorse? Or did he know her? Remorse fits better with the note that the cleaning lady found.
About the note. Well, it’s basically an apology of sorts, although justifying what they’ve done by saying it’s ‘necessary’. We’ve drawn a blank on it Marc. Word-processed, bog-standard Arial font. Paper that could be bought anywhere, and no D.N.A. or prints. They must have worn gloves so that means that they’re forensically aware, which nowadays could just mean that they watch C.S.I. Des is on it but it’s doubtful that we’ll get anything. There’s just one thing. The sentence construction definitely implies a higher level education.”
The Visitor (#3 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) Page 20