by Derek Fee
The driver got out of the car.
‘Are you going to tell me?’ Davis said.
‘There’s nothing to tell.’
‘You have a touch of chivalry about you that could be charming if it wasn’t inappropriate. You can’t protect me by telling me that nothing went on up there. Jennings passed you a message and it concerns Davidson.’
‘I don’t think that he’s going to replace Peter when he retires.’
‘Good, but not good enough, what’s Davidson working on?
‘He’s investigating a murder.’
‘Whose murder?’
‘Jackie Carlisle’s.’
Davis’s face went white. ‘Jackie Carlisle was murdered? I thought he committed suicide.’
‘We have enough evidence to prove that he was murdered.’
‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because we weren’t sure, and because whoever murdered him is very dangerous, and they think they’ve gotten away with it.’
‘We need to formalise it.’
‘No, we don’t. We need to keep it low key.’
‘But Jennings knows about it.’
‘I don’t think so. His antennae may have picked something up, but he’s still not sure.’
She sat back in her seat. ‘Do you think that he’s involved somewhere?’
‘Whoever had Carlisle murdered has clout. Jennings is a dogsbody for the good and the great in this province. When the proverbial hits the fan, he’s their go-to guy.’
‘Holy God, Ian, what have you got us into?’
‘You know nothing. Let me continue, and when I have enough evidence, we’ll go upstairs, all the way upstairs.’
Davis leaned forward and sounded the horn. The driver returned, sat behind the wheel and drove away.
‘Drink?’ Wilson said after several minutes silence.
‘Not tonight, I have a date.’
Jack Duane, Wilson thought, you silver-tongued bastard.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Davis may not have needed a drink but Wilson definitely did. He left his car at the station and texted Reid to meet him in the Crown when she was through with work. The meeting with Jennings had rattled him. Up to that point, he was sure that the Carlisle investigation was under the radar, but obviously Davidson had slipped up somewhere along the line, or perhaps someone had talked. Whatever the reason, it was clear that Jennings had been alerted that Davidson was up to something. Wilson was equally sure that Jennings had no idea what the ‘something’ might be, because if he had been, there would have been a volcanic reaction. The Castlereagh meeting had been a fishing expedition. At the very least, Wilson and Davidson had a limited time in which to dig up credible evidence of a crime. They were nearly there, but so much of what they had was circumstantial and open to being refuted. He sat in the snug cradling a pint of Guinness and pondering what they could do now. Perhaps Davidson was not yet completely compromised. Wilson needed to have a word with him as soon as possible to find out how word of the investigation might have leaked out. He was still deep in thought when Reid pushed open the door. She bent, kissed him and sat close.
‘Your text sounded ominous,’ she said. ‘You’re getting a bit old for making a night of it.’
‘Don’t worry, this and a couple more will do the trick.’
‘Make mine a double gin and tonic’.
He pushed the bell to summon the barman and ordered the drinks.
‘Bad day at the office?’ she asked.
He explained about his trip to Castlewellan and the meeting with Jennings.
The drinks arrived and he paid.
She sipped her drink. She could see that her partner was on edge. He was handling more cases than humanly possible and now there was another one on the horizon. ‘For God’s sake, Ian, can’t you let sleeping dogs lie? Are you so always on the job that you see murder in every death? Dozens of people die every year in agricultural accidents.’
‘That’s what the murderer was counting on. It was just a regular farmyard accident. Guy slips and falls into a slurry tank. It doesn’t matter that he’s twenty-seven and as fit as a fiddle.’
‘It happens. People drown in six inches of water. It’s not an everyday occurrence, but it does happen.’
‘I’ve been through the post-mortem report and the minutes of the coroner’s inquest. They went for the easy option. But there are a few points that bother me. He wasn’t overcome by gas. Why didn’t he just get his head out of the slurry?’
‘His airway could have been blocked.’
He took a slug of his pint. It was a possibility. ‘Okay, I’ll accept the coroner’s verdict if you’ll go over the autopsy. The paper I have is only a summary. You can pull up the complete report and if you say that Colin Payne died an accidental death, then I’ll accept it. Agreed?’
‘Agreed. Let’s finish up our drinks and head home. We could both do with the early night.’
Wilson knew that there would be no early night for him. His mind was racing and he needed one more drink to slow it down. ‘After one more.’ He pushed the bell.
‘I’m done,’ she said. ‘I assume I’m driving us home.’
The barman appeared and Wilson ordered a Guinness. ‘It appears that Jack was serious about dating Davis.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘I wish I was. Davis told me that she had a date tonight and, being a detective, I put two and two together.’
‘And you probably got six. Well, they’re two consenting adults.’
‘Don’t get me wrong. The best of luck to them, but somehow I just can’t see Jack and Davis as a pair.’
‘Stranger things have happened.’
The barman put the pint in front of Wilson, who put his hand in his pocket to pay.
‘It’s paid,’ the barman said.
‘By who?’
‘Bloke standing at the bar, said your next drink was on him.’
Wilson rose from his seat and joined the barman at the door. ‘Which one?’
The barman’s eye examined the patrons at the bar. ‘He’s gone.’
‘Describe him?’
‘Ordinary sort of bloke, nice coat though.’
Wilson handed the barman back the pint. ‘Thanks, but I’ve changed my mind.’ He put his hand out and helped Reid to stand. ‘That early night sounds good after all.’
He ushered Reid towards the open door. So George Pratley had decided to play silly buggers with him. If that’s the way it was going to be, bring it on.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The team had assembled for the morning briefing. Wilson had slept fitfully. He felt like an amateur juggler trying to keep all the balls in the air while being scared that one of them was about to hit the ground. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s start with Harry, where are we on the response to the public for information?’
‘I’m compiling a report,’ Graham said. ‘It’ll make grim reading. We followed up on a dozen calls, the rest were cranks. None of the followed-up calls panned out.’
Wilson turned to O’Neill. ‘Nothing new on the missing years?’
She shook her head. ‘Royce dropped off the radar. Maybe he left the country. You want me to try Interpol?’
‘No,’ Wilson said. ‘What about the Drugs Squad?’
‘I visited our friends in the Drugs Squad yesterday,’ Browne said. ‘I’m obviously too low level for DCI Pratley so I got his sergeant, a guy named John Wallace. I think they thought that I’d just joined the force last week. I got the snow job. This is what we do and this is how we do it. I asked about how Royce got on with the rest of the team. Wallace was a DS during Royce’s time. There were no problems until the corruption was exposed. It appears some drugs disappeared on their way to the lock-up and Royce was a user. Wallace knew nothing about Royce’s life after he left the force.’
‘Did you believe him?’ Wilson asked.
‘No, and I didn’t like him either. There was something about him.’ Yes, he w
as a homophobe.
‘Siobhan, get me what you can on Wallace.’
‘Yes, Boss.’ O’Neill wrote in her notebook.
‘By the way, the owner of O’Reilly’s has been on,’ Browne said. ‘Wants to know when he can reopen.’
‘Check with Forensics,’ Wilson said. ‘If they’re through, give him a call and tell him he’s good to go.’ He looked up at the board. ‘We’ve got to fill in the gaps in Royce’s life. He must have friends. Maybe he has a woman somewhere who knows him. We’ve got to hit on everyone we know. It’s a shoe-leather job.’ He looked at Browne. ‘You and Harry have to pound the pavements. For God’s sake this guy wasn’t living in a bubble. He interacted with someone. Find them. Now I want you to be very quiet for a while, because I’m going to tell you a story about where I was yesterday.’ He told them about the farm outside Castlewellan and the death of DC Colin Payne. He told them why Payne was important to their case and that he suspected murder. When he was finished, he found himself looking into four stunned faces.
‘When will we know whether it was murder?’ Graham asked.
‘Reid is looking at the result of the post-mortem. If she says it’s clear, there is no case. On the other hand ... ’
‘It’ll be a four-year-old case,’ Graham said. ‘There’ll be no forensic evidence and we’ll have a hell of a job establishing a timeline, but I can see where you’re going on the motive.’
‘Someone thought they were very clever coming up with the agricultural accident scenario,’ Wilson said. ‘And in a way they were, the pathologist and the coroner both bought it.’
‘They’re not going to like this upstairs,’ Davidson said. ‘If you’re right, there’s a possibility that Professional Service leaked information on the complainant. That means that they’ve been compromised as well as the Drugs Squad. Right now you’re standing on the bank looking out over a river of shit wondering whether you want to wade in. But the river of shit is not the real problem. The real problem is how deep the shit is.’
‘For now, we do nothing,’ Wilson said. ‘Reid promised to look at the post-mortem today. By this evening, we should know whether we require waders. In the meantime, we keep pushing on filling in the gaps in Royce’s life. Get to it.’ He turned to Davidson. ‘Peter, in my office.’
As soon as they entered his office, Wilson closed the door behind Davidson. ‘Sit down, Peter.’
Davidson sat and withdrew a plastic evidence bag from his pocket and placed it on the desk.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ Wilson asked.
‘It may be. This phone was binned in the airport business lounge on the day the phone call was made from Hillsborough. There’s no SIM, just the phone.’
Wilson picked up the evidence bag and examined the phone inside. It was a cheap throwaway. If it was the phone that received the call from outside Carlisle’s house, it probably belonged to whoever organised the hit. And if that was the case, there was a chance that their fingerprints were on the phone. ‘You’ve done a hell of a good job, Peter.’
Davidson smiled, praise from Wilson was praise indeed.
‘That’s the good news,’ Wilson said. ‘The bad news is that I was called to Castlereagh last evening by Jennings. He expressed an interest in what you’re working on at the moment.’
The smile faded from Davidson’s face.
‘I don’t think he knows what you’re investigating,’ Wilson said. ‘But his interest is ominous. I think someone might have leaked.’
‘Jamsie Gibbons?’ Davidson said. ‘Gibbons dropped dead two days ago, but I had asked him to get me details on Jackson.’
‘For God’s sake, Peter, Jamsie was a well-known alcoholic who’d sell his soul for a drink.’
‘It was all I could come up with, Boss. I was desperate.’
‘Who might he have told?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘And what might he have told them? That you were looking for information on Jackson?’
‘Probably.’
‘Jennings might know that you’re looking into Jackson then, but he has no idea why. We’re going to have to work at making sure he doesn’t find out.’
‘Carlisle’s neighbour returned last night. He called me this morning.’
‘Put a couple of photos together and include Jackson’s. Get him to identify the man in the white coat outside Carlisle’s house. If he picks Jackson, take a statement and get him to sign it. There might be enough to bring Jackson in. And be bloody damn careful from now on. If I get even a sniff that Jennings and his crew are on to you, you’re off the case. Understood.’
‘Understood, Boss.’
Davidson pushed himself out of the chair and left the room. Wilson thought he might have a chequered career but he was a fine detective. He could see Browne hovering about outside his office and motioned him to enter. He felt like a priest in the confessional. ‘What’s up, Rory?’
Browne explained what had happened in Musgrave Street. ‘I’m getting a bit pissed off. I don’t know whether the PSNI is for me.’
‘An arsehole like Wallace and a few of his hangers-on toss a name about and you want to fold up your tent and slink away. I don’t see you as that kind of man.’
‘I was back in Coleraine for the weekend and my father hardly spoke a word to me.’
‘That’s sad. My own father committed suicide when I was seventeen. I blamed my mother and we spent half a lifetime without communicating. Later, I learned that the suicide had nothing to do with her and we’ve had to rebuild our relationship. I don’t usually believe in regrets, but I bitterly regret those lost years. You’re a fine detective and I think a fine man. Your sexuality is just part of the picture and the opinion of people like Wallace counts for nothing. I think the Drugs Squad is rotten to the core and if I’m right you might have the occasion to turn the tables on Wallace. Now get out of here and find out where the hell Royce has been for the past two or three years.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Professor Stephanie Reid left the lecture room and started back to her office in the mortuary. Most days she enjoyed her job as a pathologist and relished explaining the ins and outs of her speciality to students. Other days she wished she had chosen anaesthesiology. It was neater and a hell of a lot cleaner. This was one of those days. She had instructed her assistant to download the full post-mortem on Colin Payne. Before returning to her office she picked up a cup of coffee and had a chat with a few of her colleagues. She was back on focus by the time she sat down at her computer. Ian was clearly under a lot of pressure, but she wondered whether some of it was self-induced. He was beginning to become murder-prone. She felt that Payne would be a bit of a stretch. He’d been much more laid back when he was away from the job in California. Everybody has a breaking point and Ian wouldn’t be the first police officer to lose a sense of reality because of the pressure of work. She brought up the post-mortem file and saw that her predecessor had carried it out. She didn’t have much respect for him but that went with the job, everyone thought they were superior to their predecessor and they were definitely a lot smarter than their successor. She started at the beginning and read the detailed examination of the corpse before moving on to the conclusions. Payne had been a fit young man with no sign of any illness; he was a non-smoker and drank in moderation. She brought up the photographs of the body and examined each one in detail. She stopped dead when she saw the photos of Payne’s back. There were three contusions and the absence of healing indicated that they were made perimortem. She zoomed in on the bruises and then examined the commentary. There was no mention of the contusions. She sat back in her chair. Her predecessor may not have been the best pathologist in the world, but he wasn’t a total idiot. Could he really have missed three areas where significant pressure had been exerted on Payne’s back? She hated to admit it, but perhaps Ian wasn’t paranoid after all. Examining the photos, she could imagine a scenario where someone had ensured that Payne’s upper body was forced into the slurry
and kept there. She went through the photographs one by one, concentrating on each. Payne would have been powerful enough to push himself out of the tank, unless he was restrained. Payne had drowned in pig slurry. In many such agricultural accidents the victim is overcome by slurry gas, which contains a high concentration of hydrogen sulphide. There was no sign that Payne had lost consciousness before drowning. Reid was forced to the conclusion that Payne had been forcibly held face down in the slurry until he expired. She shut off her computer and picked up her mobile phone.
‘Hi,’ Wilson said. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘I hate to start with an apology, but it looks like you were right about Payne. I’ve examined the photos and there are contusions on his back consistent with him being forcibly held down just before he died. I can’t understand how this wasn’t noticed during the post-mortem.’
‘Maybe it was. The bottom line is that you are willing to go on the record that the pathologist got it wrong in his conclusion to the coroner. Will that be enough to reopen the inquest?’
‘It should be, but that will depend on the coroner.’
‘We need to get cracking with this right away. Reopening the inquest will be a precursor to launching an enquiry.’
‘I’ll call the coroner right away. Where are you going with this?’
‘Payne was murdered because he reported on corruption in the Drugs Squad. Royce retired because he was instructed to throw himself under the bus. Something happened to Royce in the intervening period, and now he’s been murdered. It’s all linked. I don’t know exactly how yet, but I’m beginning to focus in on some of the personalities.’
‘I’ll get back to you.’ She put the phone down.
Wilson checked out Lucy Kane on the staff list and called her number. ‘We need to talk,’ he said as soon as she answered.
‘We are definitely not going to talk,’ she replied.
‘I think I can prove that Colin Payne was murdered. And I don’t think that you’ll like the direction that the investigation into his death is going to take.’