The History Suite (#9 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series)

by Catriona King

  “What about the s…smell? The mint.”

  Des’ hirsute face broke into a grin.

  “We had a bit more luck with that. It wasn’t mint, it was menthol”

  Craig perked up. “As in…?”

  “Menthol’s the base note in some perfumes and it’s an ingredient in medications, cleaning products and pesticides. Then of course there’s the obvious: menthol gum, mouthwash and cigarettes; although I can’t see cigarettes being smoked on a ward.”

  “It doesn’t mean that someone hadn’t been smoking them earlier.” Craig leapt to his feet. “Thanks Des, that’s been helpful. Thank the archive and we’ll let them know if it helps us solve the case.”

  The others watched as he headed for the door. John spoke first. “Now what?”

  “Now we’re heading back to the ranch to search for a different set of clues.”

  ***

  Balmoral Avenue.

  Annette hadn’t expected the flowers, or the invitation to his house for an elaborate dinner, but later, as she gazed at the kind man across the table, she wondered why she hadn’t. It seemed so typical now that she knew him. She scanned Mike Augustus’ open face; he was six years younger than her and comfortably rounded, with a thatch of mousey-brown hair and a permanently innocent look, despite the horrific things he saw all day. His shy demeanour made people underestimate him but he had a brilliant mind, John would never have hired him otherwise. And even if he wasn’t a matinée idol he was plenty handsome enough for her.

  Mike had had a reputation as genuine and uncomplicated since he’d started work with John, but he’d barely registered on her when he’d attended briefings, other than as a nice man. She’d been too wrapped up in the cases, too busy with her marriage to Pete, a marriage that until a year before she’d thought would remain unchanged until she died.

  But that was then and now she had a decision to make. They couldn’t keep having an affair. The deceit was making Mike ill and if she was being honest it was doing the same to her. Her marriage had been over for months, now she had to admit it. She also had to admit that their relationship, which had begun as a directionless tryst at John’s wedding, had suddenly turned into love. Annette stared into Mike Augustus’ soft brown eyes and answered their silent question with a nod. Tonight they would make love under the pretence of her working late and tomorrow she would go home and change her life.

  ***

  The man stared out the window, thinking about what he’d done. What had he really done wrong? He’d rid the world of two drug-dealers and made it safer for people’s kids. They should give him a medal yet he knew the police would arrest him if they got the chance. He shook his head in disgust, drawing a curious glance from a woman nearby. There wasn’t much that he couldn’t abide in life but drug-dealers were definitely top of the list. Parasitic leeches who fed off the vulnerable; they made pond life look evolved.

  Social commentators would say that addicts wanted to buy drugs; therefore dealers were merely fulfilling a need. Market forces, supply and demand. But commentators were just talking heads, members of the chattering classes who earned money saying things they didn’t believe and giving opinions as mutable as mercury. They called it informed debate to ease their consciences, when really it was egocentric crap. The truth was simpler than anything they said. Addicts needed to be helped, not fed drugs by dealers whose only interest was in making money off their backs. And drug-dealers had to be killed.

  Cooke and Rudd had had good jobs, enough to eat and the respect of practically everyone that they’d met, yet it hadn’t been enough for them. Some people never had enough.

  Cooke he could find some excuse for; he was addicted. Once that craving took hold, he’d seen people rip off their skin for a fix. Nurse Eleanor Rudd he had no sympathy for at all.

  The man sighed as he remembered the first time he’d seen an addict in withdrawal. Screaming in pain as their long dulled nerve endings suddenly felt everything and their clothes became too painful to wear. Scratching at the injection sites on their feet and arms and groin, as if they could free whatever residual opiate might lurk there, to numb themselves for another few hours. He’d seen addicts of every sort but for him Heroin was definitely the worst. He’d seen people eat it, smoke it and inject it anywhere they could find a vein, infecting their tissues with dirty needles hosting hepatitis and HIV.

  As he thought of it the man clenched his hand into a fist and smacked it hard against the glass, drawing gasps and looks. He didn’t care. It was only a matter of time before the cops caught him but he had no regrets; it was payback for all the lives he’d seen destroyed. He stared out at the trees and made his decision. If they were going to find him then they were going to do it on his terms.

  ***

  Friday, 8 a.m.

  “Right. I want your updates then we need to get out there and wrap this up, before we have another death.”

  Even as he said it Craig felt sure that they wouldn’t; their killer’s work was at an end. He’d killed whoever he was going to kill and now it was a question of when they caught him, not if.

  He glanced around the group counting heads. Liam, Davy and Ken were all present and correct. Carmen was back that afternoon, hopefully less angry than she’d left. Jake was helping his grandparents and Nicky was making drinks. That just left Annette absent. He took the coffee Nicky offered and asked where she was.

  Liam pushed a Rich Tea into his mouth before answering. “Interviewed Eddie Rudd yesterday afternoon. Haven’t seen her since.”

  Nicky glanced at him, disgusted. “Stop talking with your mouth full, and the occasional personal pronoun would be nice.”

  “Little Miss Manners.”

  Craig didn’t have time for their banter. As he was drawing breath to continue Annette rushed onto the floor.

  “Sorry, sir, the traffic was dire on Boucher Road.”

  Liam spotted her mistake immediately and the fact she was wearing the same clothes as the day before. Mike Augustus lived in Balmoral Avenue.

  “You don’t come in from Cregagh on Boucher Road. Where were you last night?”

  “When did that become your business?”

  Craig was impressed by her quick comeback, remembering the reserved Annette of the past. He was even more impressed that she didn’t fill the ensuing silence with facts. He shot Liam a warning glance. Whatever Annette had been doing was her business and he could save his speculation for outside working hours.

  “Right, let’s start. We’ll take Annette, Liam, Davy, then Ken and myself. By the way, Carmen will be back this afternoon and I want no cracks from anyone. Is that understood?”

  He started pointedly at Liam as he said it and Liam attempted a look of innocence; it ended up somewhere between Dumb and Dumber.

  “OK. Annette.”

  Annette fished her notebook from her handbag and glanced quickly at the relevant page. Craig wondered why she bothered with the book when she barely gave it a second look nowadays. He supposed it was a security blanket, like his need to wear a tie at work. There were days when other Superintendents dressed informally, when they weren’t on a case or were at a conference, but even then he only got down to his shirt sleeves, keeping his tie anchored firmly around his neck. A tie said work and the lack of one said something else: fun, leisure, holidays, even sex. No tie at work just said sloppiness.

  Annette began speaking.

  “I brought Eddie Rudd into High Street.”

  “Any resistance?”

  “Not a peep. He was cooperative during the interview too. Said that he’d gone to the E.M.U to collect his sister’s belongings from her locker; it’s in the staff-room at the back of Reilly Suite. He left by the rear exit so he didn’t even see Dr Cooke. He caught a bus home so we can check his timings, but I believe him, sir.”

  “How did he explain his print being on Cooke’s badge?”

  “He didn’t at first then he remembered Cooke had lent him his coat for a school play.”

&nb
sp; Craig thought for a moment. If the evidence confirmed Rudd had left the unit before Cooke had arrived he wasn’t their killer and they’d have to take his word on when he’d left the print. He nodded.

  “OK, rule him out then let him go.”

  “He’ll be a happy boy twice over then. He was over the moon when he heard Cooke was dead, said he’d got Ellie into drugs, not vice versa. I think it was probably six of one…”

  Craig had little sympathy for either of their deceased, although Eleanor Rudd’s abusive home life made him err slightly on her side.

  “They were both old enough to know better. OK, thanks Annette. Rule Rudd out please.”

  He turned to top up his coffee and saw Liam staring at a female analyst from another team. A sharp “Liam – report” focused his mind.

  “Aye, OK…well the lad and I got on with printing everyone while the rest of you were swanning around.”

  Two ‘lads’ glanced across at him, unsure which of them he was referring to. Liam nodded at Ken and the thirty-something army officer suddenly felt young again.

  “And?”

  “We sent the prints from the acute ward staff and patients through to Des and most of the ones on the long-stay ward as well, but some of the staff and residents from Reilly were on a day-trip yesterday to Newcastle and didn’t get back till late last night. We’ll finish them off today.”

  Annette interjected. “Was Hazel Gormley one of them?”

  “She was. Why?”

  “It’s just something Eddie Rudd told me. Gormley knew he was on the ward the night Cooke was murdered. She pointed him towards Ellie’s locker.”

  Craig cut in. “And she didn’t tell anyone he’d been there? Liam? Ken?”

  As they shook their heads Annette caveated her suspicion.

  “Maybe she thought we only needed whoever was there at the actual time Cooke was killed?”

  Craig shook his head. “She should still have mentioned it. Check it out, Annette, and I’m still waiting to hear if they use menthol based cleaner on the wards. I need an answer on that ASAP. Anything else, Liam?”

  “Nope.”

  “OK, finish the prints today and Davy will run them through.”

  He was just about to update them on their sensory I.D. session when Nicky’s phone rang. She rushed over to answer it then covered the receiver and beckoned Craig across.

  “It’s the sister on the acute ward, sir. She sounds in a real state.”

  Craig took the handset and motioned the group to be quiet. “Sister Norton, what can I do for you?”

  Everyone could hear the near hysterical voice on the other end, if not the words.

  “You can get this reporter off my ward, her cameraman too. She’s questioning my patients! These are sick people, Superintendent. Some of them aren’t long for this world and the last thing they need is to have a microphone pushed in their face.”

  “What’s the reporter’s name?”

  “Maggie Clarke. She’s from that rag The Belfast Chronicle. I wouldn’t line my dog’s bed with it.”

  Craig reassured her that someone would be there ASAP. When he got off the phone he shot Davy a rueful look.

  “Maggie’s on Newman trying to get a story.”

  Davy blushed to the roots of his hair. Maggie was his girlfriend but he had about as much control over her as a parent with a runaway two-year-old.

  “S…Sorry, boss.”

  “It’s not your fault. It was only a matter of time before someone tried. Did she mention anything to you?”

  Davy shook his head vehemently. “No way. I didn’t even say we were w…working the case. I never talk about what we do. But Maggie would’ve mentioned it if she’d been on the story, in fact she was complaining last night that things were really s…slow at work.”

  Craig nodded. Someone had tipped off the press deliberately, possibly their perp. If they had it meant they were getting close to catching them. Perhaps they’d hoped the press would divert police attention or perhaps it was something else. Either way he had to nip the story in the bud.

  “Nicky, give the officers on the ward a call and tell them to warn Maggie off, then call Maggie directly and say that I’d like to see her here ASAP. Liam, Ken, get over there after we finish and take the last prints. I don’t want anything obvious for Maggie to see if she goes back later on.” He nodded to Davy. “OK, Davy, report on the sound and scent I.D. please.”

  Davy updated the group on what they’d witnessed the previous day, handing out a list of the possible things that had caused the squeaking noise and menthol smell.

  “W…When you go back to the ward, it will give you something to check for.”

  Liam guffawed. “So we’re looking for a gum-chewing, menthol smoking, rubber-shoed man wheeling a baby’s pram.”

  Craig let the group laugh for a moment then he focused them by making a statement. “Our perp tipped off the press.”

  Annette stared sceptically at him. “Why would they do that?”

  “Humour me for a moment. Let’s say Rudd and Cooke were killed because they were dealing and someone took exception to it.”

  Liam laughed. “Serious exception, I’d say.”

  Craig pushed on. “Now that they’re dead our perp’s work is done and it’s only a matter of time before we catch him.”

  “Or he runs, chief.”

  Craig nodded at Davy. “Or he runs. But what if he’s not going to run because he thinks we’ll still catch him eventually?”

  Liam shook his head. “Why would he? All we have is a squeak and a smell. Every print so far has been a dead end.”

  “We still have the one on Cooke’s watch. Our killer will know we’re printing everyone and if their prints are on a database anywhere they’ll know it’s only a matter of time till we get a match.”

  Annette interjected. “OK, so they see the net closing in and they call the press, trying to distract us. As a delaying tactic it’s pathetic. They’re obviously not stupid, so why bother?”

  Liam answered. “Messing us about?”

  She shook her head. “Why? If they think we’re going to catch them eventually then why not just run? Unless they plan to kill again.”

  It was Craig’s turn to shake his head. “It’s simpler than that. They weren’t just playing for time by calling the press; they really want this story told.”

  “What story? Two drug-dealers get killed for what they’ve done. It’s hardly headline news, sir.”

  Craig felt the pieces slotting into place. “Exactly! Which means there must be another twist that they want revealed.”

  He ignored the confused faces and wrapped up the briefing just as Nicky nodded at the clock in a way that said Maggie would arrive soon.

  “Put her in the relatives’ room, Nicky.”

  He headed to his office for his jacket and just as he reached the door he turned back to the group.

  “I should have added something. There could be another reason they’re not going to run.”

  “And that is?”

  “Because something is keeping them here.”

  ***

  The Relatives’ Room.

  It was always a struggle being authoritative with someone you knew and cared for, like a parent trying to chastise their child. Making a serious face and standing rather than sitting, then telling them do so too, as if being vertical somehow imbued your words with more gravitas or ire. All the time you were fighting a smile from twitching at your lips or entering your eyes, because once that smile became visible you were done for. The sharp eyes of youth would see it instantly and their equally sharp intelligence would know what it meant. I’ve won and Dad’s lost, because he’s my dad and he loves me. Then the arrogance of the winner would show its cheeky face and the battle would be done. Craig was fighting that smile now with everything in him.

  He liked Maggie. What had started as a tense stand-off between the press and police two years earlier had matured into evenings of chat in the pub when she�
��d accompanied Davy, and two weeks of getting to know her at John and Natalie’s wedding. She was fun, kind and as sharp as a tack, and she loved the other worldly Davy to his bones, guarding him fiercely from the wickedness outside. They’d probably get hitched one day and he’d be there to cheer if they did, but today Maggie was back in that box marked ‘media pains in the ass’ and he had to make her see that she was.

  Craig seized the door’s handle and opened it smoothly, his eyes taking in everything in the room. Maggie standing by the window gazing out at Clarendon Dock and the coffee and biscuits Nicky had organised, weakening his ‘this is business’ position before he’d even arrived. Maggie smiled as she turned and saw him standing there, a genuine smile that reached her eyes.

  Craig held his position in the doorway, his face erring on the dark side of neutrality and his unsmiling first words setting the tone, or rather un-setting the tone of the amiable friends’ chat that Nicky’s hospitality had created. They stood facing each other, Maggie’s brown eyes widening slightly as she saw the message that he was trying to get across. She gave a small nod of acknowledgement and he sighed, relieved. She understood this was business and she wasn’t going to hold it against him.

  With the agenda and mood set Craig nodded her to a seat and said, “Hello.” For a microsecond he’d toyed with ‘Hello, Ms Clarke’, aiming for formality and overbalancing on the way, but it would have sounded ridiculous. He wouldn’t do that in a meeting with anyone he knew well, no matter how formal it was. Besides, it wasn’t necessary; she was as professional as he was and she’d got his message straight away.

  Maggie smiled, a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes this time, befitting the occasion. She liked Craig as much as he liked her but crinkling eyes could wait for another day.

  “Hello, Marc. You wanted to see me?”

  Craig sat and poured them both a coffee.

  “Thanks for coming in.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say “did I have any choice?” But she let it pass and nodded instead.