“May I help you, sir?”
Jake smiled to himself, recognising the signs of flirtation in her glance. Good luck with that, it would be a cold day in hell before she got any response from him. He reached into his jacket and withdrew his warrant card.
“Yes, thank you. You can.”
The girl took a step back so suddenly that he thought she was going to fall but she righted herself swiftly, regaining her composure and balancing perfectly on her five-inch heels. She spoke again, this time at a higher pitch.
“What can I help you with, officer?”
“I need to view one of your charcoal drawings, please. ‘Girl being herself’ by John Mulvenna.”
She relaxed visibly, realising that the visit was nothing to do with her and Jake wondered what she had to hide. He shrugged, not his problem today; whatever she’d done it would have to wait. She waved him on to the back of the room, past floor-standing bronzes and mounted works of art, until they stood in front of the framed sketch he’d seen the night before. He gazed at it in silence for a moment, taking in its clean lines and smudged shadows, expertly outlining the girl’s curves. Mulvenna had captured her mix of strength and fragility perfectly; he was good.
Jake’s eyes moved to her face, He looked first at each feature, admiring the slope of the nose and the sweeping angle of the cheeks, and then at the way they melded together, to bring her personality to life. But it was the girl’s eyes that really made him stare. They were large and dark and wide apart and they gazed out of the canvas as if she was gazing at someone she loved. Their message was vulnerability and fear in equal part. Why fear? Fear of whoever she was gazing at, or fear of love itself?
He realised he’d been holding his breath and exhaled in a low sigh. The sketch was beautiful, but there was something else. He’d seen the girl before. He called the assistant and watched as she pulled her eyes reluctantly from the door and the search for her next commission.
“I need to ask you some questions about the sketch, Miss..?”
“Murray. Sonya Murray. What can I tell you?”
He glanced behind her at some chairs. “Can we sit down for a moment?”
She seemed surprised at his request, as if only certain people were allowed to sit. He sat and waited until she joined him then flicked open his notebook and gave her a questioning look.
“How much is the charcoal?”
She raised a long slim finger and pointed towards the price tag below the sketch, as if he should walk back and look. He raised an eyebrow and she sighed. “Two thousand five hundred pounds.”
“Thank you. And what can you tell me about the artist?”
She energised suddenly, as if someone had flicked a switch, confiding in a low voice that the artist had once been a terrorist and had successfully evaded the police until he’d murdered a woman in cold blood. Jake stared at her, trying to hide his surprise. She’d been a picture of boredom the whole time he’d been there but one mention of blood and she’d sprung into life.
He stared at her trying to gauge her age then realised she was much younger than he’d first thought. She was barely eighteen. Too young to remember The Troubles or the devastation they’d wrought. To her Jonno Mulvenna was a living myth. A walking, talking movie star living in our midst. It didn’t hurt that he looked like one too, probably added to the romantic glow. To her Mulvenna was a freedom fighter, no matter what he’d done. He wondered if Mulvenna encouraged the hype.
He watched as she launched into Mulvenna’s sad life story and misspent youth. How misunderstood he was and how alone, as if only her love could make him whole. Yes he’d killed people, but in war sometimes people died. War? Was that what he’d said it was? Tell that to his victims. By the time the girl had finished Jake had nearly every detail that he’d hoped to get and every small confidence that had passed between them while they’d stood for hours in the gallery arranging his art. Things Mulvenna had conveniently glossed over in his statement to Craig.
Mulvenna had been in love with a woman once. Really in love. Was it the woman in the sketch? Sonya didn’t know. He interrupted her. How old was the sketch? She didn’t know that either. The artist hadn’t given them a time and charcoals were hard to date. It could be decades old or just sketched the week before. She launched back into Mulvenna’s story. Their love was forbidden, made impossible by circumstance, and yet it was real. They’d struggled with it and planned to run away together overseas, away from what divided them.
“What happened? Did they run away together?” Jake asked the question knowing that if the sketch was old the answer was no. Mulvenna had gone to prison. So what had happened to the girl then?
Sonya gazed at the ground as if she could feel Mulvenna’s pain. “No. It was very sad. They were pulled apart by something, he didn’t tell me what. But…”
Jake leaned forward slowly, not wanting to spook his source. “What?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t say, but I had the impression that she left him and broke his heart.”
He nodded slowly, it was a familiar tale. He could imagine Mulvenna recounting it to the girl and sucking her into his so-called romantic life. Perhaps it was true and past, a story from his youth, the girl a matron now, surrounded by her kids. Nothing to do with the present day, simply a past love and a broken heart. And yet…
He still couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew the girl in the sketch from somewhere. What if the sketch was recent? He watched as Sonya’s eyes misted over and closed his notebook, knowing that his next demand would earn him an instant rebuke.
“I need a copy of the sketch, please.”
She sprang to her feet in indignation, as if he’d just asked her to betray a friend. “No, absolutely not. Mr Morena won’t hear of it.”
“Mr Morena, the gallery owner?”
“Yes. He’s very specific about things like that. It devalues the art.”
Jake nodded but he was undeterred. “You must have publicity material, from the launch last night. Does any of that carry a good photograph of the sketch?”
He could see from the way she quickly glanced towards a corner that it did, and he nodded her to find him some. She walked grudgingly to a pile of ten by tens and returned with one, holding it out at arm’s length, displeased.
“They were made for the press. Mr Morena won’t be happy that you’re taking one.”
“And yet, you gave them out to the press.”
Jake stared at the print in his hand. The front was a duplicate of the sketch and the back contained details of the launch. It would have to do.
“Thank you, Ms Murray. I’ll see what our technicians can get from this. If it’s not enough then I’ll be back.”
He turned on his heel and walked to the door knowing she would be pulling a face behind his back. He didn’t care, his mind was already trying to work out where he’d seen the girl before. Davy would give him an answer if there was one to give.
***
Craig pulled his phone from his pocket and flicked it open to answer the call. Withheld number. That meant it was probably work.
“D.C.I. Craig.” He realised what he’d said and smiled. It was taking him a while to get used to the Superintendent tag. The soft voice that came down the line was unmistakable and he could hear tears thickening it.
“Hello, Marc. It’s Julia.”
She was phoning him on a work line, something she never did.
“What’s wrong? You sound upset.”
She started sobbing so hard that he could only make out every other word. He let her cry for a moment and made soothing noises, until her sobs finally became a gasp and she gulped for air.
“Sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong, please. Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out together, I promise.”
“We can’t sort it out, don’t you realise that by now? I’ve tried and it’s hopeless. Harrison won’t let me go and the Chief Constable won’t help. Now Gerry’s told me his wife doesn’t want him to do his inspector’s
exams until 2015. He won’t be eligible to apply for my job until the year after next.” She gasped for breath and Craig stepped in with the words he thought would help. He swallowed hard and then took the plunge.
“Let’s get married. Now. This weekend. Then you can move to Belfast and we’ll be together.”
The howl that answered him wasn’t quite the answer he’d been hoping for, but he’d half-expected it all the same.
“NO! No, no, no. That’s not the answer. It’s a typical man’s solution. Marry the little woman and she’ll follow you anywhere. Don’t you understand that if I’d been prepared to give up my career and move I would have done it when you asked me to before, even without marriage? I don’t want to give up my job, Marc. It’s my security; it’s my life, just as it’s yours. Why don’t you marry me and you give up your job and move to Limavady? How does that sound?”
Craig didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.
“There, that’s your answer. You think your job is more important than mine, because you’re a man! I heard it in the army every day and I’m hearing it again from you. You’re impossible! This is impossible. It will never work!”
The line went dead and Craig stared at his mobile helplessly. He felt lost about what to do. He knew she was feeling even worse, but he also knew that anything he said at the moment would be useless. Worse than useless, it would be seen as another attempt to undermine her job.
He shook his head. It was Camille all over again, except with Camille it had been her acting career that had made continuing their relationship impossible. Crossing the Atlantic was an impossible commute. But Northern Ireland was a small place, surely there was some way that he and Julia could stay together and both stay on the force.
He racked his brains for a moment then glanced at his watch, making up his mind. Limavady was only seventeen miles away; he could be there in half an hour. He called Liam to say he’d be unavailable until that evening then headed for the car and sped up the Portstewart Road without the slightest idea what to say when he arrived.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I’m all right, Annette, honestly. Devlin’s more hurt than I am.”
Annette was gripping the phone so hard that her hand had turned blue. Nicky stared at her questioningly.
“You’re positive you’re OK, Lucia?”
Lucia smiled at her concern. “Positive. He’s been arrested. Unfortunately they’ve taken him to High Street so Marc’s bound to find out. That’s where I am now.”
Annette shook her head. “Leave it with me. I know Jack Harris, the desk sergeant there. I’ll ask him to keep it quiet until I get a chance to tell Marc myself.”
“No, I’ll tell him Annette. I don’t want you getting in trouble.”
“We’ll argue about it later.” Annette glanced at her watch. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes; I just need to clear up some stuff here. OK?”
“OK, thanks. And stop worrying. I’m fine.”
***
“Davy. What can you do with a sketch and facial recognition?”
Davy looked up from his horseshoe of computers and smiled. Jake’s voice held a challenge and he loved one of those. He sat back in his chair and furrowed his brow in a way that he thought made him look like Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock.
“A clear s…sketch of a face?”
Jake nodded. “Slightly turned to one side, but clear.”
“When was it drawn?”
Jake shrugged. “No idea. It’s one of Jonno Mulvenna’s. He took up painting in prison but he could have been sketching before that. It could be forty years ago or as recent as last week. The girl in the gallery didn’t know.”
“OK. W…what do you want it for?”
Jake looked at him surprised, then remembered he would have to put a case number against the work.
“Sorry, I should have thought. It’s background for the Lissy Trainor case. The Super asked me to dig around a bit.”
The Super. Davy smiled. It was hard for them to think of Craig in that way but Jake had just come on board and he was keen. He stretched out his hand for the sketch then stared at it for a moment with a puzzled frown. Jake saw his look and jumped in.
“That’s exactly the feeling I had when saw it. I’m sure I’ve seen the girl before.”
“Mulvenna must have known her well, she’s nude.”
Nicky heard the word ‘nude’ and popped her head over her partition.
“Don’t you be bringing rude pictures onto this floor, Jake McLean or I’ll have words to say.” She pursed her lips disapprovingly then Davy saw a twinkle in her eye and he knew what was coming next. “Davy’s very young, you know.”
She crossed the floor in a few quick steps and stared at the flyer in Davy’s hand. He held it above her head playfully.
“I’m only two years younger than Jake. You’ll have to stop treating me like the baby soon.”
“Not a hope.” Nicky jumped up and grabbed the flyer, smiling at the impressed look on his face. “I played volley-ball at school.”
She stared at the picture and the frown that crossed her face matched Davy’s one minute before. “I know her, I’m sure I do.”
“That’s what we both said. Davy’s going to face-match her and see if she’s in the system somewhere.”
Nicky smiled smugly then set the flyer on the desk. “No need. I can tell you exactly who she is. That’s Lissy Trainor.”
Jake’s mouth fell open in realisation. She was right, that’s exactly who it was. Davy scanned in the flyer and then pulled up Lissy’s picture for a match. It was ninety percent; way too high to be random. The ten percent gap fitted with it being a drawing instead of a photograph.
Jake spoke first. “Oh God, you realise what this means.”
“Mulvenna knew Lissy Trainor w…well enough to draw her in the nude. He did it. He killed her the same way he killed Ronni Jarvis. Our killer’s been staring us in the face all this time!”
Nicky grabbed the desk phone and hit dial, connecting with Craig’s answerphone. She handed the receiver to Jake to leave a message while she dialled Liam on the other line. If Jonno Mulvenna had killed Lissy Trainor then he was guilty of Ronni Jarvis’ killing as well, despite his denials over the years. They had their man.
***
Liam stared at the phone, then ended the call and slumped back heavily in his seat. His witness had been right all along. It had been Jonno Mulvenna that she’d seen talking to Lissy that Sunday on the parade. He must have skipped out of his art course and sneaked back to Portstewart for long enough to kill her, then returned to Ballymena to get his alibi straight. The fact that the man she’d seen had looked young and had brown eyes could be easily explained with coloured lenses and a trick of the light.
He scribbled down some notes, getting his thoughts in order before Craig phoned, a certainty as soon as Jake gave him the news. He stopped mid-word as a doubt pushed its way through his eagerness to make an arrest. What about Mulvenna’s hair? He couldn’t have had it cut then grown it back again over night. He thought for a moment and then shrugged; a wig would cover that. He turned back to his notes but something else nagged at the back of his mind. Mulvenna’s alibi. He needed to break it before he interviewed him or said anything to the boss. He glanced at his watch and shoved the page he’d been writing on inside his coat, then he made for the car and Ballymena to run a JCB through a bunch of arty types’ lives.
***
Craig had just reached the outskirts of Limavady when his answerphone went. He pulled over and pressed dial. Jake’s garbled message made no sense but Nicky’s was crystal clear. Something they’d found had made them think Jonno Mulvenna was their man. He shook his head firmly; no. He didn’t care what they’d found, Mulvenna wasn’t Lissy Trainor’s killer, he was sure of that. But something had rattled their cages. He glanced at the clock and then at the darkening sky, knowing that if he started a discussion with Julia he wouldn’t make it back to Portstewart until the next day
. He mulled over his choices for a moment then hit dial.
“Where are you, Liam?”
The background noise said he was on a road and it wasn’t a slow one.
“On my way to check Mulvenna’s alibi. You heard then?”
“Only what Nicky left on voicemail. Can you pull over and talk?”
“Aye. Give me a minute and I’ll call you back. Where are you by the way?”
Craig thought for a minute and then lied. “On my way to see John, but it can wait. Call me back.”
Two minutes later his phone rang and Liam’s voice boomed through, loud and clear.
“OK, shoot, Liam. What’s happened?”
“Aye well, basically Jake went back to the gallery and got a copy of some sketch for Davy to face-match, then Nicky recognised it. It was Lissy Trainor. A ninety percent computer match said she was right.”
Craig immediately shook his head; this was all wrong. He realised Liam couldn’t see him and repeated his thoughts.
“There’s no way Mulvenna did this, or the Jarvis murder, Liam. They’re not his style.”
“We have to look at him, boss.”
“Yes, we do, and long and hard enough to make sure I’m right. OK. Your witness was pretty sure she’d seen him, and granted, Mulvenna could have changed his eye colour and hair with lenses and a wig. But shedding thirty years is a harder trick.”
Liam’s tone was insistent.
“But we need to check so I’m heading up to the hippy place to crack his alibi now.”
Craig laughed, despite the serious topic. “I don’t think all artists are hippies, Liam. Maybe back in the sixties but not now. But crack away. If there’s a gap you’ll find it, I know that.”
“Right. What did the Doc have to say?”
“What?”
“You said you were on your way there.”
Craig scrambled quickly for a reason he might be seeing John and came up with an old faithful. “D.N.A.. He was matching the D.N.A. from the scene.”
“And?”
Craig frowned. If he hadn’t known better he would have thought Liam was trying to catch him out, but his tone said he was just being nosy. His guilt about leaving work during the day was making him paranoid.
The Broken Shore Page 21