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

by Catriona King

  He took a sip of coffee and Liam restarted. “You’re not blowing sunshine up my ass, are you? ‘Cos it’s nice of you and all that, but I’d rather you told me the truth.”

  Craig waved away his objections. “Listen, I’m not in the habit of empty flattery.” He gave a rueful look. “Something I get reminded of by Lucia all too often. Yes, you’d have to study hard, and you’ll have to reign in some of your humour. Not too much, just at crime scenes. But I really believe you’d make a good D.C.I. You have more street experience than all of us put together. And most importantly, I want you.”

  At that he reached into his desk drawer and withdrew a sheet of paper, sliding it across the desk. “The board’s in December so you have six months to prepare. I’ll do you a recommendation.”

  Liam lifted the paper gingerly, as if it might bite him.

  “Take that home and read it. We can talk about it next week. Now, we need to get on with the case.”

  With that the subject was closed. Liam tucked the paper in his pocket for reading later and Craig nodded him on for an update.

  “Aye well, two main things.” His expression became grim. “I took Bjorn Ackerman to I.D. the girl last night. God, it was rough. I wouldn’t like to be in her killers’ shoes if he ever finds them. He as much as told the Doc and me that we’d better find them first or they were dead men.”

  “Was it grief talking?”

  Liam shook his head. “I wouldn’t lay money on it. I’m pretty sure he meant it and he has the resources to back it up. I did a bit of checking and as well as being an Ambassador, he’s richer than God. Throw in a diplomatic passport and he could pull in favours from all over the world.” He grinned widely. “Good luck to him, I say.”

  Craig didn’t disagree but he had to think of the bigger picture. “Except that if he kills them, he’ll kill our trail too. And there are other people’s daughters out there that we might never find.” He thought for a moment. “I need to meet him, Liam. Do you know where he’s staying?”

  “Aye. The Merchant Hotel. Nicky’s got the details. I see what you mean about killing the trail, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  He grimaced. He’d have to start thinking about things like that if he wanted to be a D.C.I.

  “By the way, that wee lass Emily was right about the girl being the youngest. She only has one brother. Fourteen years older, from Ackerman’s first marriage.” Britt had been a late baby and probably even more precious because of it.

  “OK. What about Morgan?”

  “Aye well, the Traffic lads followed Morgan up the M2 and off at the A26. Then he took the A42 towards the forest and disappeared.”

  Craig leaned forward urgently. “Disappeared! How did they let that happen?”

  Liam smiled, creasing his pale face. “Don’t worry. They know exactly where he is.”

  Craig sat back again abruptly. The look on his face told Liam to get on with it, and quickly.

  “He drove into the woods and when they followed him he’d disappeared. Except that he can’t have, he must have holed up somewhere in the forest. The only building for miles around is an abandoned house, or so it says on the map.”

  He pulled a page from his pocket and spread it out on the desk. It was a line drawing of the roads and Portglenone forest, with the house marked with an X. He traced the landmarks with a large finger as he talked.

  “The forest here is made up mostly of oak trees. They grow pretty high. Our Fergal had them at his farm and he couldn’t keep hold of them. They grew over a hundred feet tall. He had to cut them all down in the end.” He saw the ‘hurry up’ look in Craig’s eye and moved on hastily.

  “Aye well, the trees hide the house from the road. So the only people who would find the place would be people who knew it was already there. Even if they did find it they’d never get in.” He tapped the page hard. “It’s like a fortress. Sheer walls and electric gates. No access unless you have the code or a helicopter.” He laughed loudly. “James Bond would have his work cut out getting in there.”

  Craig stroked his face thoughtfully. “What is it?”

  “No one knows. Some sort of private kingdom, maybe? It doesn’t even exist according to the Land Registry. No deeds, no postcode, nothing. It’s just a derelict house left over from World War Two.”

  “Somebody owns it.”

  Liam shook his sandy head. “Not according to the government they don’t.” He shrugged. “Anyway, that’s where Morgan is.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. The local uniforms took over from Traffic and they’ve been watching it all night. No-one went in or out.” He paused, looking at Craig hopefully. “Do you want us to go in and lift him? We have the warrant.” The vision of an S.A.S. type raid made Liam’s eyes gleam with excitement.

  Craig thought for a moment. If this was where they took the girls then they had to be cautious. If Morgan saw them coming they could end up in a siege situation, and the last thing they needed was another Waco. Morgan could kill himself if he wanted to, but Craig doubted that he’d leave the girls alive. And it would still leave the others out there, to regroup and start their sordid little game again.

  He shook his head firmly. “No. We watch and wait. Morgan isn’t worth another girl’s death.” His voice grew harder by the word. “He isn’t the biggest fish here, Liam. There are men above him, I’m sure of it, and I want them all.”

  Liam saw the ruthlessness in his eyes and knew he meant it. It was a side of Craig they rarely saw, but the case was one of their worst in a long time.

  “I want every single one of these bastards. And I’m going to get them if it kills me.”

  ***

  The book flew hard against the wall and then fell, ripping its spine and shaking two pages loose onto the carpeted floor. James Dawson bellowed loudly then lifted another one to throw. His wife stood outside the study with her ear to the door, praying that whatever had riled him would make him leave the house quickly. Before he had time to take it out on her.

  Dawson gripped the phone harder and howled into the receiver. “What do you fucking mean you only cleared the house? I paid you to sort out everything! The office as well, you stupid bastard. Everything that was in the house was copied there on the hard drive. And God knows what else that careless bitch left lying around.”

  He was shouting so loudly that Catherine felt the door vibrate. She stepped back hastily, in case it burst open and crushed her against the wall. A vision of James stepping over her body in complete indifference flew into her mind.

  Dawson ended the call with the phone going the same way as the book. Then he ripped the wire furiously out of the wall, and pulled at it as if he could shred its plastic casing with his hands.

  He was ruined. After all his years of hard work. That moron Ripley had done for him, and now Morgan was completing the job. He was surrounded by cretins and incompetents. They would all be destroyed, but he didn’t give a damn about the others. It was his career and his liberty at stake. He thought quickly, ideas racing desperately through his mind as he formulated his escape.

  What did they actually have on him? O.K., so he knew Morgan. So what? Northern Ireland was a small place and its professional classes even smaller. Of course they knew each other, it would be hard not to. He could say that they played golf together occasionally, or cards, and had hit it off.

  Morgan was a murderer? My God, I had no idea. How could I have? He always seemed so charming. And to think I let him meet my wife and daughter. Dear Lord, I shudder to think what could have happened to them.

  The ideas came thick and fast and he convinced himself more with each one. People would believe him, there was no doubt about that. James Dawson, the youngest Judge in Northern Ireland. Pillar of the community and all round good egg. He stood above criminality, passing sentence on the scum below. He wasn’t one of them. No, he wasn’t. He had to get rid of the evidence, get rid of them all.

  He talked to himself for twenty minutes as Cat
herine listened outside the door, hearing his voice rise and fall in one-sided debate. She remembered him doing it often when they were young. Rehearsing his cross examinations and closing arguments. Using her and Melanie as the audience, and revelling in their open admiration and applause. She’d loved him then. Before the power had made him cruel, and she’d become just another person that he judged and found lacking.

  She listened again and heard desperation in his voice that had never been there before. His next words made her freeze. “Get rid of them, I have to get rid of them.” Get rid of who?

  All at once the room fell silent and she startled, stepping back quickly into the shadows as his feet approached the door. She hid in an alcove listening, as he marched angrily across the hall. Then sighed with relief as she heard his feet crunch on the gravel pathway, heading for his car.

  She stayed still until she heard its engine rev, and the sound finally become distant. Then stepped out from her hiding place and set her face determinedly, taking the stairs to the bedroom to pack. She’d sensed for days that something serious was happening and she felt it even more strongly now. The house wasn’t safe for her anymore and the threat didn’t come from outside. It came from the man that she’d married. Whatever was wrong she couldn’t save him now, but she would save her daughter.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Karen sighed and pursed her lips. Nicky marvelled again at how full they were. She wondered if they were naturally plump or if they’d had some help from injections. Karen pouted as if she’d heard her thoughts and rose heavily from her chair, crossing the floor towards her. She just caught the end of Nicky’s grin, as she struggled to adopt the more serious look that befitted a soon-to-be-superintendent’s P.A.

  Of course she’d been a Super’s P.A. once before, with Terry Harrison, but she’d never felt comfortable in the carpeted silence of the twelfth floor. Craig had insisted on staying on the tenth, so she’d feel much more normal this time.

  She turned brightly towards the grumpy analyst, hoping her cheerfulness would be contagious. It wasn’t. Karen stared at Nicky’s perpetually sunny face as if she was ill, or insane. It wasn’t normal for anyone to be so happy all the time. She sniffed hard and then spoke, in a ponderous tone that matched her mood.

  “Is D.C.I. Craig around?”

  It was hard to hide anywhere in an open-plan office, so Nicky was tempted to point to Craig’s glass-walled room like a magician’s assistant, and mimic reversing his invisibility. But somehow she didn’t think Karen would appreciate the joke. Instead, she smiled even more widely. Then said “no, sorry” in the sugariest voice that she could manage, intent on overdosing the younger woman with good cheer.

  “Can I help you in any way?”

  Karen sniffed again and considered the question. She didn’t actually dislike Nicky. She was like Annette, old and married, which was always good. But she did wish that she’d be grumpy occasionally - all this optimism wasn’t normal.

  “Maybe...” She paused for a moment and thought, then she went on. “Tell him the kosher knife’s sold in at least forty shops, and I’ve found matches for the girls. Not all of them, but some. And what does he want me to do with them?”

  Before Nicky could answer she turned and walked away, satisfied that she’d done what was asked of her. She lifted her handbag and took out a half-eaten chocolate bar, finishing it off then headed off to the canteen for elevenses.

  ***

  Davy gawped at his screen, stunned by what was in front of him. He turned around to tell Annette, as he normally did, but her desk was empty. She was on leave. He remembered. But he wasn’t allowed to tell her anyway. Craig’s explicit order. He scanned the floor for Liam but he was nowhere to be seen, so he disembarked his wheelie chair and crossed the floor to Nicky.

  “Have you s…seen the boss, Nicky?”

  She smiled up at him and Davy returned it double. She thanked the universe again that he was their analyst, not Karen. “He’s gone to The Merchant Hotel, Davy.”

  “Nice for him.”

  “Not really. He’s meeting Britt Ackerman’s father.”

  Davy bit his lip in apology and nodded his commiserations. “Do you know w…when he’ll be back? It’s just; I’ve got the information he needs.”

  “It’ll be after one. Give me the message and I’ll give it to him if he rings in.”

  She smiled up at him in expectation and he went to open his mouth, then Craig’s warning about her safety rang in his ear. He shook his head like a child with a secret and a look of annoyance crossed her face. She didn’t like secrets, especially when they were kept from her.

  “S…Sorry Nicky, I can’t. Boss’ explicit orders. Just tell him I need to talk to him urgently, please.”

  He turned away quickly before he saw the hurt look that he knew would follow, and left Craig to deal with a sulky P.A. He’d have a much bigger headache than that to deal with soon.

  ***

  Liam lifted the radio and got patched through to Ballymena. The crackling on the line was soon replaced by a strong north-coast lilt that announced itself as belonging to ‘Sergeant Mul-doon at Bally-mena station.”

  Liam stifled a smile at the oft-caricatured accent. The caricatures didn’t do it justice. It was much stronger than they ever were.

  “Hello Sergeant Muldoon, it’s Inspector Cullen here from Belfast Docklands. I believe you lent us some of your lads last night?”

  “Aye, I did too. When can-y have them back? We’ve a concert on and the young’uns will be running buck daft the night. I’ll need all hands on deck.”

  “Aye well. Sorry about that, but we’ve no end in sight just yet. We’ll need the surveillance to continue. D.C.I. Craig appreciates it and you’ll get credit when we crack the case. But for now my thanks will have to be enough.”

  The sergeant sniffed. “Aye, all right then. What’s it all about anyway?”

  “Sorry again, but I can’t tell you. I’ll tell you what though, I’m feeling generous. I’ll send one of my lot up there to relieve one of yours. He’ll stay for the duration.”

  “Grand. Anything’s better than nothin’. What’s his name?”

  “Jake McLean. Sergeant from Stranmillis Road. He can take over the op and relieve your top lad. He’ll be there at six-thirty.”

  “Right, bye now.”

  “Bye.”

  Liam was pleased with himself. This delegation lark was easy once you got the hang of it. Or ‘wee buns’ as they said in Ballymena.

  ***

  Craig walked reluctantly up the wide stone steps of The Merchant Hotel, telling himself that the conversation needed to happen. He had hardly enough belief in his task to convince himself, never mind Bjorn Ackerman.

  What if it had been his daughter lying in the morgue? Wouldn’t his first thought after his heart broke be to find her killer and punish them? He knew that it would. His belief in justice would stop him ultimately, but that was him and this was theory. Ackerman was living with the facts.

  He walked into the imposing, plushly carpeted foyer and stopped, casting a look around him. The high ceiling was gilded and ornate and the floor was dotted about with small, elegant tables. The atmosphere was hushed and expensive, as befitted the ‘best hotel UK’ award.

  A waist-coated waitress smiled welcomingly at him, walking over sedately. She suited the opulent room. “Can I help you, sir?” She smiled and the whiteness of her teeth matched her pristine shirt. It made Craig think of an old toothpaste ad. All she needed was a ring of confidence to appear around her head.

  His voice was always quiet, but he noticed that he’d unconsciously lowered it further, to match the carpeted hush. “I’m meeting one of your guests. Ambassador Ackerman.”

  She smiled and beckoned him to follow, heading across reception into the cocktail bar. She indicated off the bar to a smaller, more secluded room. It was empty apart for one man. He was seated by the window with his back to the door and Craig glanced around instinctively for his prote
ction or officials. The only people he could see were two women chatting in the outer bar. They smiled at him, a slight inclination of their heads confirming who they were. If the occasion hadn’t been so serious he’d have smiled at their casualness, but it was too sad a day for jokes.

  As he approached the table Bjorn Ackerman turned instinctively and rose, extending his hand. “D.C.I. Craig, thank you for coming.”

  They shook hands, and Craig noticed that despite his age being over sixty, he had the tanned fitness of a much younger man. He indicated the seat opposite, beckoning a nearby waiter to bring drinks. “Tea? Coffee? Or something stronger perhaps?” He lifted a glass tumbler from the table, swirling the amber liquid inside. He was starting early, or finishing late.

  “Just coffee, thanks.”

  The waiter reversed politely and Craig sat in the proffered chair, silently considering the Ambassador. He was Britt Ackerman’s father - there could be no mistake about that. His sandy-blonde hair and light grey eyes were ubiquitous in northern Europe. But the angle of his jaw, and his high, clear brow were a perfect echo of his child’s. He leaned forward and Craig saw that his watch was the match of hers. It had been his gift. They’d been close, and Bjorn Ackerman’s heart was breaking.

  They sat in silence until the waiter came and left, and longer. Until Craig finally spoke, in a soft voice. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ambassador.”

  Ackerman raised a hand, quickly but politely. “Bjorn please, Chief Inspector. We Ambassadors are an informal bunch, contrary to the rumours.”

  Craig nodded, liking the man more with each word. He kept talking, knowing that his words were going to fall on deaf ears. They would if someone said them to him, but he still had to try.

  “Bjorn, I know what you want, and possibly intend to do. And privately, I know that I would want the same thing in your position.” Ackerman nodded in agreement. “But I must ask you not to.”

  He turned his face away and Craig thought that it was as close as a diplomat probably got to a refusal. But as Craig continued, explaining about the scores of pictures they’d found and the other missing girls, Ackerman started to understand.