The Waiting Room (#4 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series)

by Catriona King

  “You killed her? Yes, you killed her. You bloody animals!”

  He laughed harshly in her face. “Don’t pretend that you didn’t know what we did to some of them. It just happened without an audience this time.”

  She spat in his face, her dread erased by disgust. “I knew nothing except what you told me. That you sold them or kept them, not that you killed them. Never!”

  He smiled. “Well now you know. We trade them as virgins and make good money, or we keep them for personal use. Until we’re bored, then they die as movie stars.” He laughed brutally. “There’s good money in videos.”

  His eyes hardened and he smiled, remembering. “First editions, the library, then immortalised on the silver screen.”

  Sylvia heard her own voice scream “snuff movies!” Then she wrenched herself away from him, calculating the chances of reaching the front door. The odds of staying alive were higher than if she stayed there.

  He was still talking, enjoying her disgust and too engaged in his soliloquy to notice her edging slightly towards the door.

  “The member was careless and he had to kill her. Once she was dead I had to help him. If he’d involved me earlier we could have got rid of her quietly and the trail would have run cold. But he insisted on an elaborate charade to put her father off the scent, and confuse the police.” He spat angrily. “The idiot had already decided on the church and there was no arguing with him. Even the plods couldn’t miss her draped across a bloody altar.”

  She wanted to vomit, but she fixed on his face as if she was listening attentively. Edging imperceptibly towards the door as his tale of the club member’s stupidity grew.

  The man’s voice took on an almost careless tone and he stared into space. “We diverted the police’s attention with D.N.A. then cleaned-up the scene of her death. He’d washed her down before we moved her of course, but there were still some traces in the drains. I got rid of all that as well. But he had to die of course, for making such a mess. He’d endangered the whole club.”

  She took advantage of his distraction to move six inches closer to the door. He didn’t even notice, too mired in his own memories to pay attention. A sudden angry look flashed across his face and he stared straight at her. She froze and then realised that he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring into the past. She moved again before he focused, and stood rigidly in the corner beside the front door.

  “The stupid bastard kept her cards as a souvenir.” His eyes narrowed. “It’s just as well he did because they included her driver’s licence. That was how he knew who she was.”

  He took two steps towards her, stopping again abruptly mid-step, like a cat stalking its prey. The air of menace in the small space grew and his voice dropped ominously.

  “Her name wasn’t Inger, it was Britt. Britt Ackerman.” He paused, watching her face as the information sank in. “She wasn’t an orphan, she has a father.”

  Sylvia glanced desperately at the door handle, calculating the time it would take him to reach her. She readied herself for flight.

  “Not only is her father alive but he’s the bloody Swedish Ambassador. A Diplomat! You incompetent bitch.” Sylvia knew she would die when he reached her, so, on his last word she grabbed for the door and pulled it open wide. She ran into the street, screaming ‘fire’ at the top of her voice.

  She’d read in a magazine that if you wanted help, don’t shout ‘rape’ or help’, shout ‘fire’. Most people’s sense of their own preservation made them react to the threat of being burned, far quicker than any cry for assistance. She wasn’t disappointed. A man walking his dog opposite flew across the street. She ran into his arms screaming.

  “999, 999 please, please. Police.”

  The suited man ran furiously down the hall after her, halting at the front door. He recoiled at the sight of the dog-walker, like Dracula from sunlight, and retreated swiftly, exiting the house at the rear. He cut through the gardens in the elegant crescent and walked briskly to his car, parked on a nearby street.

  They would still get her. She would end up in the justice system eventually, and the club owned that world.

  ***

  3.20pm

  Craig yawned, loosening his tie angrily. Then he shifted position on the court bench, trying to get comfortable and already knowing it was impossible. His discomfort was increased by his frustration. They had two murders to solve yet he had to spend hours here waiting to testify. But it had to be done, to make sure Joanne Greer got the punishment she deserved.

  He glanced at his watch again. Only two minutes since the last time. They’d been late starting back after lunch. Now some barrister was taking their time and wasting his. Just then he heard his name called and turned to see the clerk beckoning him forward. He yanked his tie into place. Then he stood, ready to give what he hoped would be his last piece of evidence, before Joanne Greer went away for life.

  ***

  Sergeant Jake McLean surveyed the small apartment gravely, determined that its occupant wouldn’t be just another missing girl, forgotten about, except by her parents. Not in his patch. He rubbed his youthful face hard, taking in the room’s pink décor, dotted around with pretty knickknacks and cards.

  Every surface was covered with pictures of happy scenes. Friends and family, countryside, even a signed picture of a medallist at last year’s Olympics. Signs of a happy life. The girl who lived here had friends who loved her, if the tears of the girls’ opposite were any indication.

  He hunkered in front of Hannah, smiling kindly. “You last saw Britt on Wednesday afternoon, is that right?”

  Hannah nodded, numb at the implications Britt’s disappearance carried for both of them. Everything was going to come out now.

  “We had lunch at Maggie Mays at the junction of University road and Stranmillis.”

  He knew it well. He often nipped in there for a coffee himself.

  “What was her normal routine from Wednesday to Saturday?” His voice was soft with a lilting Antrim accent and Fiona thought that he had kind eyes. Green eyes.

  Jake stared at the girls, shocked at how young they looked, and what that said about him. He was only ten years older than them and being a student was a very recent memory. His digs had been in Eglantine Avenue, the parallel street.

  He didn’t feel young today. The job had aged him already.

  “We usually met on Wednesday afternoon’s for coffee.”

  Fiona leaned forward, chipping in. “And Sunday morning, we always met on Sundays. Up at the Lyric Theatre.”

  He smiled. Typical student debrief on the weekend’s adventures. They’d held theirs in the Student’s Union.

  Hannah restarted. “We might have bumped into each other on campus on Thursdays or Fridays. Or out and about on Friday nights. But not always. Britt…” She paused for a second, gathering herself. “Britt’s studious, so she often stayed in on Friday nights, working.”

  “What is she studying?” Hannah smiled gratefully at him for using the present tense.

  “Law.”

  “And does she have a boyfriend, or a part-time job?” Most students had one nowadays, to supplement their student loans.

  Fiona shook her head vigorously. “No to both. Her father was very protective. Britt…she wouldn’t have been allowed a boyfriend. So…she, she was naive.” Her eyes flicked towards Hannah as she said it and Jake caught the exchange. “And her father would never have allowed her to work. He said college was for studying and having fun, and…”

  Hannah finished her sentence. “And she didn’t need to work anyway, her Dad’s wealthy.”

  Jake nodded and his fair hair fell over one eye. As he pushed it back he noticed Fiona staring at him. She blushed and he sighed inwardly. It was always flattering to be fancied, but now wasn’t the time. And even if it had been she definitely wasn’t his type; wrong sex. He turned back to professional mode.

  “I understand her father’s the Swedish Ambassador?”

  “Yes.”

 
; “We’re trying to get in touch with him now.”

  “Her mum died when she was young and her granny lives in Dublin.”

  “Yes, we’ve already asked the Irish police to go and see her. Just in case Britt’s gone to stay with her for a few days.”

  Hannah shook her head miserably. “She hasn’t. We called her earlier, before we came to check the flat.”

  Jake glanced at his notebook and started to work his way through more questions, none of them yielding good news. The photograph that the W.P.C. had found was already being scanned and circulated throughout the force. On the off-chance that someone knew something, or that Britt flagged-up in another case.

  After twenty minutes the C.S.I. nodded they’d finished and he began to wrap up. He only had one question left to ask.

  “Is there anything, anything at all that you know of, that might suggest to you that Britt is in any danger?”

  Hannah swallowed and Fiona glared at her fiercely, her look clearly saying ‘you tell him or I will’. She started talking and Jake McLean hid his shock, as he got the information that would help solve two of the murder squad’s cases.

  ***

  Monday 4pm

  Wendy Hinton followed the constable into the C.C.U.’s lift and travelled the eight floors to the small office Nicky had found for Emily to create her profiles in. The door opened quickly to her knock and she was greeted by the cheerful smile of a robust young woman. The one the Chief Inspector had said visited her church on Saturday morning.

  Emily lifted some papers from a chair and beckoned the vicar to sit down, hitting the switch on the kettle on her way past. “Tea or coffee, Reverend?”

  “Wendy please, Miss Streeter.”

  Emily smiled at the unfamiliar maturity of her title. “Emily.”

  They both smiled and as the kettle boiled Emily indicated a coffee area set to one side of the room. It had softer chairs and a low table and the vicar decamped there gratefully, struggling to relax in such an unfamiliar world.

  Emily read her thoughts and grinned. “I know, scary isn’t it? That’s what I thought when I first came here. But actually they’re all very nice.” She smiled impishly. “Unless you’re a criminal that is.”

  Wendy nodded, imagining Craig’s easy charm turning off quickly when he met a murderer.

  “Shall we make a start? I’d like to ask you about anyone with access to the church. About your routine, a normal week, the Holyland area, and a few more questions. Then let’s see if we can create a picture of what sort of person might have entered your church on such terrible business.”

  Chapter Ten

  Julia hung-up the phone and looked around the apartment, trying to think of something to do. She’d already sorted out Craig’s wardrobe and she knew the kitchen cabinets needed doing next. But she drew the line at year-old ketchup when she was on holiday. Her mum wasn’t arriving until Wednesday and, although she knew she should do the galleries and give her brain a treat, she was finding it hard to motivate her cultural side.

  After a minute, she reached for her laptop and clicked on the search engine. She day-dreamed for a moment then typed in her fantasy requirements, and set up enough appointments to fill her next two days.

  ***

  The young woman gazed around the musty room. It was small and dark. Always dark, no matter what the time of the day.

  What time was it? She had no idea, there were no windows. It made it hard to count the hours. The only illumination came when the door opened and one of them entered, letting a few rays of light in from the hall. Then a girl left, taken for hours to some other place, only to return crying and bruised. Or not to return at all.

  Anger surged up in her and she searched the others’ faces of the others for the same. But there was nothing. Just dull submission and acceptance of their fate. She wanted to scream at them to do something. Cry, shout, anything. Just something. But she knew there was no point. They weren’t to blame for their lethargy. They’d just been here too long.

  She was new. But how new? She remembered doing her exams at Easter and then going on the ‘date’. But then… It was easy to lose track of the days in the dark, when there was nothing to tell the time. They’d taken her watch when they’d put her here.

  Her eyes fell on a girl lying on the next bed. She was frail. Thin and pale with large dark eyes, like a Dickensian orphan. She stared into space, as if her mind was somewhere else. The young woman scanned her body, her eyes falling on her bandaged wrists and the scratches on her legs. Self-harm, inflicted by a mind so broken that she wondered if it could ever be repaired.

  How long did it take to get to that place, where all hope of escape was gone, and death seemed for the best? She shook her head hard, convincing herself that the girl must have always been frail, always a victim. The sort of schoolgirl who missed P.E. at school on vague excuses. She was stronger than that, always had been. She’d never stop trying to get home.

  A thought of her parents, frantically searching, flew through her mind. She bit back the tears. And the guilt. This was her fault, all her fault. Tempted by easy money. There was no such thing in life.

  A sound in the hall made her turn and the room became a flurry of movement, as the girls scrambled frantically to hide. But there was nowhere that they couldn’t be seen, so she sat still. Amidst the cries and whimpers she looked towards the door. Knowing that when it opened it would bring light. And for one of them a fate that might be worse than dying.

  ***

  Monday. 5pm

  “Here, have you seen that Vicar? She doesn’t look like any I’ve ever met.”

  Nicky had her headphones on and was typing furiously. She wasn’t listening and Liam admitted to himself that he missed Annette.

  Just then Craig strode through the squad’s double-doors, heading angrily for his office and grunting a vague hello. Liam gave him five minutes and then loped over to Nicky’s desk. She was pouring strong coffee into a mug and arranging biscuits on a plate.

  “You expecting visitors then?”

  She smiled up at him ruefully. “No, they’re for the boss. He’s just back from court on the Greer case.”

  Liam’s eyes opened wide, remembering. “Oh aye, I’d forgotten about that. Is that him finished then?”

  “Pretty much, but I think the defence barrister was a bit nasty.”

  “So what else is new?”

  She indicated the biscuits. “I’m dispensing T.L.C.”

  Liam grinned. He’d enjoy a bit of Nicky’s tender loving care himself. Then his marriage vows popped into his head, subtitled under a video of hellfire and damnation, and he thought again.

  Nicky tapped Craig’s door gently and entered on his muttered. “Come in.”

  When he saw the biscuits and Liam’s grin, he smiled, despite himself, and beckoned them both to sit down.

  “Call Davy in as well, Liam. We might as well catch up while the steam comes out of my ears. Bloody barristers.”

  “The lad’s not about, boss.”

  Craig nodded, remembering where he was. They sat in amicable silence for a moment, while Liam slurped coffee and forced a handful of biscuits into his mouth. Finally, Craig broke the silence.

  “OK. The Greer case first. Ian Holland did his best to rip me apart this afternoon, but thankfully he failed. Or at least that’s what the prosecution barrister told me afterwards. Closing arguments are on Wednesday and we’ve done everything we can to secure a conviction. So let’s park that one for now and just hope we have a sensible jury.”

  He paused for a second and gazed through the window, momentarily lost in the clouds. Nicky frowned, knowing that he’d had no sleep all weekend. She reminded herself to get some vitamin tablets to keep in her desk - that way she could at least ensure he took one every day.

  Craig pulled himself up, remembering where he was. “OK, let’s park Greer and get back to our new cases. Right. We have two murders, apparently unrelated. Although I’m not sure I believe that, given they oc
curred only two miles and less than two days apart.”

  Liam nodded. “Way too coincidental.”

  Craig glanced at Nicky in a way that meant his next words would be hard to hear. She nodded him on, her need to know stronger than her squeamishness.

  “In the first we have a young woman, tortured, raped, probably by more than one man, and brutally murdered. She was left in a local church, in a scene that was mocked up to implicate Christians, Jews and Pagans. In other words, to confuse us. Her body was laced with D.N.A. from two men, Tommy Hill and Rory McCrae, involved in a case we investigated two months ago.”

  Just then Davy rushed onto the floor, raising a hand in apology. Craig smiled. It was his twenty-sixth birthday and he’d been having lunch with Maggie. Even the murder squad were allowed some sort of life. He thought of Julia sitting alone in his apartment and changed it to ‘his team’ were allowed a life. He wondered how much less free time he would have when he became a superintendent.

  “OK. Both men have confirmed alibis for the murder, so it was definitely a frame-up. But we can’t rule out that one or both of them were chosen because of something they did to our murderer in the past. Opportunistic vengeance. If you’re covering up a murder then why not implicate someone that you have a personal grudge against? And we know that Tommy has plenty of enemies.”

  “Aye, he has that all right.”

  “The girl in question was dressed expensively and had a valuable watch which was left behind, so theft isn’t a motive. But her I.D. was nowhere to be found, so hiding her identity for a while was important to our killers. But not essential, or they’d have washed off all of her blood. I believe they knew we’d identify her for some reason, and they were just trying to delay it.”

  Davy leaned forward to speak and Craig waved him on. “Her clothes were S…Swedish and her shoes were American. Only one of the brands is sold in the U.K or Ireland. I think she was northern European, possibly S…Swedish. The Rolex is numbered and it’s running against the database now. The computer will let us know if we get a hit. The weekend delayed us a bit. And, s…sorry, but the chain used to hold her to the altar can be found in any hardware store.”