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

by Catriona King

  He dropped his voice to its normal softness, speaking more slowly. “When did you find out?”

  She blinked as if she was waking from a trance. “Ten months ago. That was when they told me they sold some of them.” Sold them. Dear God, if only that had been the whole story.

  Her eyes pleaded with him. “I swear I didn’t know until then. I found out when a man turned up looking for his daughter. He said she’d disappeared and they’d found my office number on her phone. I recognised her picture - she was one of the girls who’d answered Morgan’s advert.”

  She sobbed desperately. “She’d told me she had no family, but she had. She had parents and a brother who were going mad looking for her.” She sniffed, continuing. “I called Morgan and told him I wasn’t doing it anymore.”

  She stared at Craig, begging him to comprehend. “You have to understand, I was only a Madam, prostitution was my game and my girls were always happy. I wasn’t into violence or anything like that. When Morgan hurt my girls, years before, only the ones that agreed to it kept seeing him. And I made him pay them double. I didn’t want any part of this and I told him so. I didn’t know they sold them, I thought it was just sex.”

  Her eyes dropped and she continued quietly. “When I tried to say no they took me somewhere. I don’t know where, they blindfolded me. But I think we headed north-west.”

  Ballymena again?

  “They…they beat me so badly that I nearly died.” She stood up suddenly and lifted her jumper. Craig gasped. Her abdomen was covered in livid red scars only months old. “Morgan stitched me up. They didn’t want me going to hospital. I can’t hear out of one ear now either. They told me if I ever tried to stop again they would kill me.”

  She sat down and Craig interrupted quietly. “Why didn’t you go to the police? Ask someone for help?”

  She gave him a look of despair. “Haven’t you realised yet? They have the police and courts in their pockets, that’s why all my charges were dropped over the years.” She shook her head. “There’s nowhere I can go where they won’t find me.”

  “So you kept on going.” It was a statement of fact. But for the first time in twenty minutes he had no judgment in his tone.

  “Yes. But I did my best to protect the girls. I changed a lot of their answers to rule them out. Then Morgan realised what I was doing and he broke my wrist.”

  She indicated her left wrist and Craig saw a bony deformation that he hadn’t noticed before. He kicked himself mentally. He’d allowed his anger against Sylvia Bryce to blind him.

  “What about Britt Ackerman?”

  She hung her head sadly and Craig produced a copy of the photograph from his pocket. She fingered it tentatively for a second, and then nodded in recognition, fresh tears filling her eyes. “They killed her. Morgan told me they did it before he tried to choke me.” She whispered the next words. “I didn’t know, I swear to God I didn’t know they were going to kill her.” She stared down at the table. “They told me they sold them. Never kill.”

  “Tell me about Tim Morgan attacking you.”

  She exhaled softly; glad to be leaving the topic of the girls. She recounted the attack in her home and how she’d escaped. Repeating everything that she’d told Jake McLean, and confirming that she’d recognised Morgan at High Street station.

  “Why did he try to kill you?”

  A resigned look crossed her face. “Cleaning house.”

  The words explained Paul Ripley’s death and would have covered hers too, if she hadn’t been clever enough to slip out of Morgan’s grasp. Just then the door was knocked once, indicating that the Judge was ready for them.

  “Just one last question, Mrs Bryce. How were you paid?”

  “Into my bank account.”

  That meant there would be a trail for Davy and the forensic accountants to unpick.

  Craig scrutinised her for a moment. She was a Madam, true. But there was a big difference in running a brothel, something that was legal in some countries, and procuring girls that you knew were going to certain death. She didn’t have a clue that they were going to kill Britt Ackerman, so he would bet that she didn’t know about the others.

  If some of the police and judiciary were in on this, and from what Liam had told him earlier that was a definite possibility, then she wouldn’t have known who to trust. She was still a target.

  Her story about changing the girls’ answers would be easy to check, and her injuries were pretty hard to fake. Faking frozen awareness was impossible. Craig stood up quickly, his decision already made. He was recommending the Judge release her to his protection. She would face whatever charges she deserved later. In safety.

  ***

  “Any word on Morgan, Liam?”

  Liam stared at the phone. Craig should know he’d have called him if he had, but he humoured him anyway.

  “Not a dickybird, boss. We’ve tried his work and home and we’ve got Traffic onto the car. The last time he was seen was at twelve-thirty in St Marys’ canteen. The nurse he was with said he took a call, and then just abandoned his lunch. Maybe it was the sprouts.”

  He gave a loud laugh, amused by his own wit. Craig would normally have joined in, but not today.

  “Tell Traffic to concentrate on the M2 to Ballymena. But if they see him they’re just to follow, not lift him.”

  Liam was surprised and disappointed. He’d been looking forward to a good session with Morgan.

  Craig answered his next question before he asked it. “Bryce said they took her somewhere. She was blindfolded but she knew they were heading north-west. I think it was somewhere near Ballymena.”

  Liam inhaled to interrupt but Craig got there first. “Don’t ask. Let’s just say it was a trip that she’d rather forget. But I think that’s where Morgan’s heading, so I don’t want anyone stopping him. Make sure that they all know Liam. If they sight him they just follow and report back.”

  “Will do.” Liam hesitated, wanting to ask more. In his experience knowledge was power, so he didn’t like anyone knowing more than him. He bit back his questions, knowing that the information he’d given Craig about the intranet was giving him a headache. If he ignored it he was culpable, and if he followed it up he was going to open a big fat can of worms.

  “Any word yet?”

  Craig said nothing but Liam read his mind. His only option was to take it to the Chief Constable. “I’ll see you back at the squad at four. Can you get everyone there for a briefing please? Reggie Boyd, and John too if they’re free. I need to do something before then.”

  The phone clicked off and Liam knew he was going to check his findings about the intranet. He wasn’t offended. In fact he’d prefer it if Craig did. Better to get the facts right before they brought a shit storm down on all their heads.

  ***

  “I told you never to call me here! And what the hell are doing using your mobile? You know how easy those things are to tap.”

  Dawson paused then restarted more calmly. “Where are you anyway?”

  “Heading for Headquarters.”

  “Shut up! We never use that word.”

  Morgan swallowed hard, fighting the urge to say ‘stuff your rules’. Then he saw the sense of it and apologised. “Sorry. I’m heading for the house.”

  “Why?”

  “The police went to St Marys and checked the bloods. My P.A. phoned to say that they were looking for me, with a warrant for my arrest!”

  “On what charge?”

  “She didn’t know. But they must have something. I had to get away.”

  “Alright. Make sure you aren’t being tailed and then stay there. I’ll see what I can find out at this end. And don’t phone anyone else.”

  He slammed the phone down and walked quickly to his office door. His young secretary glanced up from her computer and smiled innocently. He had a second’s thought that she would look good in chains. Then he shook it away quickly and barked an order.

  “Get Assistant Chief Constable McGurk on
the phone.” She turned back to her screen to shut down a file, then jumped as his sudden shout told her it was urgent. “Not next bloody week. Now!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Craig sat in the C.C.U. car-park, rubbing his eyes and thinking. Liam’s information had been correct. The case file containing Hill and McCrae’s names had been accessed by a senior officer last Friday. Nicky had checked and rechecked it. Then she’d got on to the Chief Constable’s office and arranged a meeting for him at five o’clock.

  He toyed with the idea of confronting the man first. To give him the chance to defend himself. Although he didn’t owe him any particular loyalty, it seemed fair. But there was no question of the computer being wrong. And if he did confront him it would alert him to the information they had, and he would have time to cover his tracks. He’d concoct some cock-and-bull story about how he’d been checking on the case for some reason. A case that had been closed for over a month. No, he couldn’t tell him. So why did he feel so bad about it?

  After a minute more thinking Craig shook off the mood, and dialled a number. He smiled to himself. At least it was good news this time. He just hoped that Annette’s conversations at home were yielding such positive results.

  She picked up on two rings, recognising his number and greeting him with a “Hello sir.” Her tone was flat and Craig could hear that she’d been crying, instantly feeling like an intruder. But his news was good and she had a right to know it. So he told her, in five words. “Good afternoon, Detective Inspector McElroy.”

  Her whoop of joy didn’t disappoint him and her questions came thick and fast, tumbling over themselves. “When did you find out? Who told you? Is it true sir? Really?”

  He let her speak for a minute uninterrupted, and then stopped her kindly. Aware that so much else that was happening in her life wasn’t kind at all.

  “It’s true, Annette, D.C.S. Harrison told me a few hours ago, but this is the first chance I’ve had to call. I’m sorry.”

  He talked over her reassurance that it didn’t matter, feeling guilty that he hadn’t told her before. “You can get your scores from the college but I’m sure you did very well. You deserve this, Annette, and I’ll be a lucky superintendent to have two such good Inspectors.”

  “Does Liam know yet?”

  Craig heard the note of glee in her voice and smiled. “No, I thought you should be the one to tell him.”

  Liam would be happy for her, and he wouldn’t. Not much would change in practice, but the shift in dynamic could be fascinating.

  “I’ll call him later. What’s happening at the ranch?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about.” His voice softened. “Forget work, how are you?”

  She breathed in heavily and then started five minutes of who said what to whom, when it had happened and what she was going to do about it, ending with a sob. “You always think these things only happen to other people, but they don’t.” She hesitated. “Do the others know anything?”

  “No. And they never will unless you tell them. This is your business Annette. And…Pete’s.”

  She heard his reluctance to say Pete’s name and thanked him mentally for his loyalty. They chatted for a moment longer and then Craig checked his watch, realising that everyone would be gathering for the briefing. “I’m sorry Annette, I really have to go.”

  “Of course. Thanks for the call, sir. And tell everyone I’ll be back next week.” He could hear her smiling and he was pleased that he’d cheered her up, for a little while at least.

  “Tell Liam I’ll give him a call at five. And then listen out for the explosion.”

  ***

  The whole team was there except Annette. They were joined by Karen, Reggie, Jake and John. Craig’s office was too small so he grabbed a seat out on the main floor, signalling them all to bring over their chairs. Nicky dispensed papers, followed by the coffee and cakes she’d bought earlier on Craig’s instructions.

  Liam grabbed a fresh cream éclair and pushed it into his mouth without any preamble, talking as he chewed. Nicky frowned and he realised what he was doing, making an attempt at politeness by covering his mouth and swallowing hurriedly.

  “Here, why the buns, boss?”

  “Because this week’s been hard enough, and it’s about to get harder.”

  He updated them on his interview with Sylvia Bryce and their warrant for Tim Morgan. But he glossed over the fact that a senior officer at C.C.U. had accessed information that made it clear they were linked with the crimes. Liam went to raise it and Craig stilled him with a look. He wanted to wait until his discussion with the Chief Constable before it became common knowledge.

  When he mentioned Bryce’s opinion that both the police and judiciary were involved, a buzz went around the room. John glanced at him in acknowledgement - it made sense. How else could she have operated for so long without being prosecuted? Jake McLean reported the frustration he’d heard from one Ballymena sergeant when he’d mentioned Bryce’s name. He’d called her the Teflon Tart. Nothing ever stuck to her. Not politically correct, but accurate.

  John updated them on their earlier discussion in the lab and confirmed the D.N.A. findings at 40 Marrion Park. He summarised the profiles and then turned to Craig, whose face said he was a million miles away.

  “Did you get a chance to look at the forensic autopsies yet, Marc?”

  Craig jumped, realising that he was being spoken to. He shot John an apologetic look. “Sorry, no, not yet. I’ve been with Sylvia Bryce since you gave them to me.” Not strictly true, but close enough.

  John smiled and took out a file containing more copies. He handed them around and summarised quickly.

  “OK. A forensic autopsy basically looks at the deceased for any information that pertains to them as a person, and hopefully also to the manner of their death. That isn’t just medical information. I’ll take Paul Ripley first. He was a slim man so it only took drugs to make him sufficiently pliable to be taken to 40 Marrion Park. Or perhaps he went to the house willingly and was then drugged. After all, he’d been there plenty of times before.

  There are no signs of injury or struggle on his body, so he willingly took the drink containing the drugs. That means he was given it by someone that he trusted. His stomach contents show that the drugs were given a couple of hours before death, so it fits with them being given at Marrion. But who would give someone something to drink? Thoughts anyone?”

  Davy leaned forward enthusiastically, fascinated by the game. “A friend? Or the owner of the house?”

  John smiled and nodded. “Exactly Davy, someone who was in the position of host. But we know that the house is owned by a company. So that implies that whoever gave Paul Ripley the liquid, probably tea from his stomach contents, was his superior in some way. People typically take things from people higher in rank than them. Or more dominant. The person who gave him the drugs treated the house as if he owned it. I believe that when we unravel this mess we’ll find that we’re dealing with a hierarchy. In the true sense of the word. These men will have some sort of overt ranking system.”

  Craig nodded. It made sense.

  “Ripley was shot in the right temple, but we know from the callous on his hand that he was actually left-handed.”

  Davy leaned forward again. “The man at his church’s central office confirmed it.”

  “So we know that whoever faked Ripley’s suicide didn’t know him well enough to care or notice which hand he wrote with. That tells us two things, again it’s a sign of seniority and disinterest. And secondly it means that they were unlikely to have ever worked with Ripley, or they would have seen him writing. The chances are they only knew each other socially. They guessed at him being right handed because most people are.” He took a sip of coffee and continued.

  “Right. Ripley lived on the Lisburn Road and we’re pretty certain he killed Britt Ackerman at 40 Marrion Park, less than half-a-mile away. People typically kill in places they know, and where they leave the body often te
lls us something about the killer. In this case a church. The symbols of religion surrounding the victim were red herrings to throw us off. They covered Judaism by using kosher knives, Christianity by leaving her in a church and mimicking the sites of the crucifixion wounds, and Neopaganism with the pentagram. But the very fact that the killer knew enough to mimic all of those told us he had an extensive knowledge of religion. An educated man in the ways of the church.

  Plus, he didn’t break into the church. He opened the doors with keys. And we know that skeleton keys are held in the church’s central office. So if we follow the keys, access, knowledge and blood at Marrion Park I believe we have a tight case that Paul Ripley was Britt Ackerman’s murderer.” He paused and took a bite of his cake. No one spoke as he chewed, fascinated by his logical approach.

  “So far so good, Ripley brought Britt Ackerman to the church in LeRoy Street. But he couldn’t have displayed her like that alone. It would have required far more strength than he possessed, so he had an accomplice. That’s confirmed by the injuries on Britt Ackerman showing that she was raped repeatedly. That points to more than one man. It was most probably the same man who killed Ripley two days later. The man who was seen entering 40 Marrion Park on Sunday evening by Hannah Benner. I’ll give you back to Marc on that in a minute, but first I’d like to look at Britt Ackerman in more detail.”

  All eyes turned to the photos of Britt Ackerman’s scene that Nicky had handed out. It was the first time that Jake and Reggie had seen them and they both gasped. The descriptions they’d heard from Liam hadn’t prepared them for this. Liam grabbed at the pause to interrupt.

  “Britt Ackerman’s father is touching down at six, boss. I’ve sent a car so he’ll be at the path lab by seven to do the I.D. I said I’d meet him there.”

  John nodded - it wasn’t something to look forward to. “O.K. Britt Ackerman. She was twenty years of age, five-feet-two, seven stone and wore size three shoes. No match, even for a small man.” He hesitated for a moment and Craig knew that he was thinking of Natalie. She was as tiny as Britt Ackerman had been. He restarted.