Craig thought for a moment. She was right. He said so then pulled the car over to the verge, working out the options. Andy could lay siege to the hut with the ARU. Either Danny Foster was inside with the ACC, in which case it became a hostage negotiation and they still had time to get there with Mulvenna to try to talk him down. Or he’d already left and they’d find the ACC alone, alive or dead, leaving Mulvenna’s son out hunting for his Dad. Where would he hunt him? Annette waited in silence until finally Craig spoke.
“Stake out Mulvenna’s house on the Mussenden Road, Annette. You lead on that and take an ARU. They’re not to shoot unless it’s absolutely necessary. Get Liam for me, please.”
Two seconds later, Liam’s bass was echoing around the car. “Boss?”
“Liam. Andy’s going to Downhill Forest to find the ACC and Annette’s staking out Mulvenna’s house in case the boy goes there. I’ll wait here until Andy says she’s alive or dead. If the boy’s not there then we’ll meet you at the art gallery on the Lisburn Road. The odds are it will be the second place he’ll look for Mulvenna. The exhibition’s been advertised all over N.I.”
The line clicked off and they sat back to wait. Craig’s gut told him Melanie Trainor was still alive. Not because she deserved to be, that was for sure, but because if the boy had had his father’s ignorance confirmed then he had bigger fish to fry.
Chapter Thirty
Andy circled the small hut silently, motioning the black-suited armed response team to spread out and form a perimeter twenty metres back. When he was satisfied they were in place he lifted the megaphone to his mouth and gave the warning they were obliged to give. He’d always thought it was stupid; telling a perp you were there and losing the element of surprise, but rules were rules. The wood’s icy quiet was broken only by the groan of the trees overhead, thrust roughly back and forth by the rising north wind.
He gave the warning again, then signalled a single officer to move stealthily towards the building’s rear, working the odds that their target would watch the front. The slim figure slipped through the trees and pressed himself against the hut’s wooden wall. He pointed his Heckler-Koch downwards and pressed his eyes bravely to the wooden slats, knowing that an armed assailant would shoot if he saw their whites. He peered into the darkness searching for signs of a man with a gun but only a huddled shape on the floor came into focus in the gloom.
Andy held his breath as the wind lifted, transforming the forest’s groan to a high-pitched whine that still didn’t drown out his thumping heart. For a few seconds nothing moved then the officer turned and raised his thumb, giving the signal it was safe to approach. The cordon shrank cautiously towards the hut until finally Andy stood by the door waiting while it was checked for a booby trap, then it was opened slowly and they counted off one by one.
“Perimeter safe, check. Armed target, no. Hostage secured, check.”
It was almost surreal and he had to smile. Play-station games had nothing on this. He strode through the door and saw the huddled figure of Melanie Trainor inside. She was lying on the hut’s grubby floor, dishevelled and crying and clutching a blanket around her. He motioned the others to stay outside; she wouldn’t thank them for seeing her weak. He was wrong. As he hunkered down in front of her she grasped his hand, much more like a victim than the woman they all feared so much. Her words surprised him with their desperation.
“Don’t let them kill him. Please, please, they mustn’t shoot him. It’s my fault, I’m to blame. I’m not pressing charges. I came willingly, that’s what I’ll say. He’s not to be harmed, please. Promise me, promise me.”
She gripped Andy’s hand tighter and a look of fear spread over her face. “He’s gone to find Jonno. I don’t know what he’ll do. Find Jonno Mulvenna, protect him. Please protect him.” She wrung his hand so hard that his fingers turned white. Her voice was wild. “Promise me, promise me. You have to swear you’ll protect them both.”
Andy stared at her in disbelief. Danny Foster had killed her daughter and kidnapped her and Mulvenna was a known terrorist, and she was begging him to save them both. He saw the look in her eyes and nodded, freeing his hand gently and walking to the door. One minute later he was connected to Craig.
“The ACC’s OK. Not making much sense, but OK. She’s begging us to protect the man who kidnapped her, and Jonno Mulvenna of all people. She says he’s looking for him. Any idea why?”
Craig put the phone on speaker and drove the car over the central reservation into a U-turn. He accelerated down the A26 towards Belfast yelling into the dash.
“The boy’s her son, Andy. Jonno Mulvenna’s the father.”
“What?”
“Long story. I’ll fill you in later. Ask her if she has any idea where he was heading?”
There was silence for a moment as Melanie Trainor murmured in the background, then Andy answered no. Craig nodded Jake to bring him up to date and slipped through the traffic like he’d been pursuit driving all his life.
“The boss is heading for the art gallery on the Lisburn Road. We’re meeting Liam there. Annette’s covering Mulvenna’s house on Mussenden with an ARU.”
“She says they’re not to shoot him, Jake. And she’s still the ACC.”
Craig interjected. “Tell her we’ll do our best, but she’s suspended, Andy. We take our orders from the Chief Constable. Give him a call and bring him up to date, please, then get her to a hospital.”
He motioned Jake to cut the call. Twenty minutes later they were approaching the Lisburn Road. The ACC had said her son had left about fifty minutes before and it was at least an hour from the forest to Belfast. It had only taken them twenty minutes to retrace their steps, with any luck they’d get there first. As they neared the gallery Craig knew Melanie Trainor had got her times wrong.
Liam was standing by a patrol car parked on the other side of the road, leaning his elbow on its roof. He was muttering into a radio mike and frowning. Craig parked in Cranmore Park and approached on foot, motioning Jake and Mulvenna to stay in the car.
“What have you got, Liam?”
He gestured tiredly across the street. “Mulvenna’s lad has taken a girl hostage in the gallery and he’s demanding to see him. He’s carrying a machine pistol. Looks like a Steyr. I’ve called armed response back from Mulvenna’s house.”
Craig squinted across the street into the low-lying winter sun. Through the glass-fronted façade of the small gallery he saw a girl he guessed was Sonya Murray, the receptionist Jake said he’d spoken to two days before. She was pressed against the front window staring wildly at them through the glass, her body rigid with fear. Leaning against the gallery’s back wall, deep in the shadows, was a tall dark shape. Craig could make out a gun. Liam had been right. It was a Steyr Tactical Machine Pistol. Lethal. Danny Foster wasn’t messing about. He gave Liam an update.
“The ACC’s desperate for him not to be hurt, blames herself for everything.”
“Aye, well, so she bloody should. The poor bastard’s so fucked up he’d killed his own sister to get revenge. That’s at Trainor’s door.”
“He killed Lissy, not the ACC, Liam. Let’s not forget that. Anyway we can debate who’s guilty when we’ve sorted this out.” Craig rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “OK. Has he made any demands?”
“Not a one. He hasn’t said a dicky bird. Just pointed the gun at the girl once and made her stand at the front, that’s all.”
“He’s telling us what he’ll do. OK.”
Craig slipped his Glock from its holster and placed it on the car roof, then he took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Liam knew what he was planning and shook his head hard.
“No bloody way, boss. I’m not letting you cross that road to get shot.”
Craig turned to his friend with a wry smile. “I’ve no intention of getting shot, believe me, not until you pay me back for all the beers I’ve bought. But if I can bring him in peacefully then that’s what I’m going to do. Trust me on this one.”
Before Liam could answer Craig had raised his arms and walked across the narrow road, stopping at the window in front of the girl. He smiled reassuringly at her through the glass then he spoke. His voice was clear and strong, stronger than he felt.
“Danny, I’m Marc Craig. I’m not armed. I’m here to find out what you need to end this peacefully.”
He was answered by complete silence. No-one in the street moved and there wasn’t a sound except for the radios echoing through the cold November air. Liam signalled everyone to turn them down and stared at Craig’s lean back. He had a random thought that his arms would get sore then he shook it away as Craig started talking again.
“OK, Danny. Then let me tell you what I think you want. You want to see your father, Jonno Mulvenna.”
The gun barrel twitched at the back of the shop and Craig knew that he’d hit a nerve. He pushed on, risking his life on a hunch. Annette had described Adele Foster’s tight-lipped coldness and abject refusal to answer questions about her husband or son. If Annette had read her lack of words and body language right, there’d been no love lost between them. One glance at the well-worn bible protruding from the woman’s handbag and the large silver cross around her neck said the couple had ruled the boy by the strict word of God, Old Testament style. It was only a short step from there to beatings and abuse. Craig could hear Annette’s words in his ear.
“It’s only my opinion, sir. I can’t be sure.”
Annette’s people-reading skills were better than anyone else’s he knew and he prayed she was right this time. He was about to risk lives on it.
“You’ve had a very rough time, Danny. We know the truth of your childhood. No-one should have to suffer all that. It wasn’t your fault, you were a child. Melanie Trainor isn’t pressing charges for kidnap and she wants us to tell you that she was wrong. It’s all her fault for giving you away.” He swallowed hard then repeated what Trainor had just told Andy. “She regretted her decision and tried to get you back many times, but she was told the adoption was final.” The gun twitched again but Craig pressed on. “Your father didn’t know you existed until an hour ago when I told him, Danny. He didn’t even know she was pregnant. He wants to meet you. I’ve got him here with me. In the car.”
Nothing moved inside the gallery and for a moment Craig thought Foster hadn’t heard then a broken, deep voice came through the glass. It sounded tortured and Craig could only imagine what the boy had been through. If Annette’s instincts were anything to go by he’d been abused and beaten for years. He could hear every stroke of it in the pain of his next words.
“She didn’t want me, so why should I believe that he will?”
Tears pricked at Craig’s eyes as he heard years of ruined childhood in the phrase. But there was no time for sympathy. Only honesty could end this; sympathy could come later. Craig’s voice softened slightly and he gazed protectively into the young girl’s eyes. They were wide and green and he could see her legs trembling from where he stood. He wanted to reach through the glass and steady her but all he had were his voice and brain.
“Because he’s here now, Danny, and he wants to meet you. Will you at least talk to him?”
After a minute the dark shape nodded. It was progress.
“OK. I’m going to turn round now and signal that I want him brought here, beside me. OK?”
He was answered by a grunt and he turned slowly, nodding Jake to bring Mulvenna from the car. Mulvenna took off his leather jacket mimicking Craig and walked hurriedly across the street to stand by his side. He peered through the glass and then spoke to his son for the first time in his life.
“Danny? I’m your father, John Mulvenna.”
Craig watched as Mulvenna spoke coolly to the young man. Danny Foster could shoot all of them in the time it took for them to turn and run but Mulvenna didn’t show a single nerve. His voice was steady as he recounted how much he’d loved Melanie Trainor but their relationship had been marred by the times they lived in.
“Try not to blame your mother, son. She was young and she made mistakes.”
Harsh words cut across him and Craig saw the pistol jerk.
“She gave me away and she lied to you, for a poxy job! A job, for God’s sake.” His hurt was visceral. “I should have had two parents who loved me and a home, instead I got the Fosters. They beat me every day and said it was God’s will. It was all her fault.” Tears clogged his voice and Craig thought he see them glistening on the dark figure’s cheeks. “She did this to me, and you. Her. That bitch. For a fucking job.”
Mulvenna interrupted firmly, as if he’d been a father all his life, soothing his son with his tone and words. His next words shocked Craig, and then he knew it was what he had to do.
“Let me come in, son, and see you. I want to talk to you face to face. Just me, I promise.”
They both heard the sobs that the words provoked. They were the sobs of a child not a man. A young boy, beaten and unloved and exhausted from struggling alone.
“I killed her, Dad. She was nice to me and I killed her.”
“Lissy?”
The shape nodded and went on. “I had to make the bitch feel the pain she’d caused. I had to do something that would make her see.” He sobbed so harshly that Craig could hear it tearing at his throat. “I didn’t want to hurt Lissy, but I had to make her see.”
“All right, son. We can talk about all of that. Now let me come in and let the girl go. Please. She’s frightened and she’s done you no harm.”
Mulvenna glanced at Craig and he saw serenity in the new father’s eyes that said this was right, then Mulvenna swung the glass door open and stepped inside. A moment later the girl stumbled out of the gallery and into Craig’s arms. He signalled Jake to guide her across the street and held his position as he watched. Danny Foster and his father moved to the back of the gallery and sat on the floor against the back wall, hidden behind high canvases shielding them from view. Craig could hear them starting to talk. He walked back to Liam to stand post, ready to wait for as long as it took.
***
It was hours before Jonno Mulvenna stepped onto the street, beckoning Craig over with an order for food. He walked back into the gallery with his parcel as the day dimmed into evening and the blue lights of the squad cars flashed into high relief. It added to the prosperous road’s pre-Christmas air and Craig could make out late-night shoppers beyond the cordon going about their business just like on any other day. It was bizarre, but then so was what was happening in the gallery fifty metres away.
Finally at ten o’clock the glass door re-opened and Jonno Mulvenna beckoned Craig across the street. Craig went to remove his jacket again but Mulvenna shook his head, signalling that everything was OK. When he reached the door Mulvenna beckoned him in, his glance saying it was safe. At the back of the small white gallery Danny Foster was sitting on the marbled floor, his head resting in his arms like a child. The Steyr was lying ten feet away, disabled, its magazine sitting on a chair.
“The gun’s no threat. I stripped it down.”
Craig stared at him, knowing that he’d done it many times before.
“Danny and I have had our first chat and he knows that we’ll have a lot more.” He smiled at his son and the young man shot a weak smile back. “I’m coming with him to the station and I’ll not be leaving him ever again. He knows that too.” He smiled at the boy again. “Don’t you, son?”
Foster nodded uncertainly and Craig saw a flash of doubt in his eyes. It didn’t matter. Time would prove that he had a father now, one who would never mistreat him or leave.
“He knows what he did to Lissy Trainor was very wrong and he’ll have to pay for it.” Mulvenna helped his son to his feet and for the first time Craig saw the two men side by side. The resemblance was astonishing.
Mulvenna grinned. “It would hard to say he wasn’t mine, wouldn’t it?”
The pride in his voice was so obvious that even Foster smiled. Craig pulled a pair of handcuffs from hi
s pocket and Mulvenna nodded his son to turn round while he slipped them on. Craig lifted the gun and nodded him ahead. The siege had ended without anyone being killed.
Liam loped across the street to join them and grabbed Foster’s arm, catching Craig’s warning glance not to be rough. He walked Mulvenna to the car and they headed to High Street for the long night ahead.
***
Five hours later they had Danny Foster’s account of Lissy Trainor’s death and her mother’s abduction and they left Jonno Mulvenna to talk to his son. Foster would be charged with murder even if they didn’t progress Melanie Trainor’s kidnapping charge. His solicitor would argue diminished responsibility due to his years of abuse. It might fly, but either way he was looking at time locked-up. The sins of his parents were being visited on him. Both sets.
Adele Foster would carry the can for child neglect and abuse, her husband far beyond their reach. Melanie Trainor would lose her job for what she’d done in 1983. She might do a stretch for framing Mulvenna, if he was prepared to complain, but her longest stretch would be a future without either of the children that she’d brought into the world. Maybe her son would forgive her, if Mulvenna had his way he probably would, but Craig wasn’t holding his breath. It was a result all round, if not a happy one.
It was six a.m. by the time Craig fell into bed, teeth brushed but still fully clothed. His dreams were fitful and disturbed, with a distinctly female theme. By the time he woke up in the morning he knew what he had to do.
Chapter Thirty-One
Saturday 8 a.m
“Annette, can I see you in my office first thing, please?”
Annette stared at the handset as if it was going to bite her, then swallowed and answered ‘yes’ in a subdued voice. She knew what it was about; she could hear it in Craig’s tone. He wasn’t stupid. He’d worked out that something was being kept from him days ago, but he hadn’t known what. Only a monumental effort from all of them had managed to keep it that way.
The Broken Shore Page 29