by Derek Fee
‘I know, but there was never a good time. I’m glad I’m going to be out of it in a couple of months. It’s not the Belfast it used to be. Everybody is rushing around and chasing their tails. Although Rice and McGreary were arseholes, they were our kind of arseholes and we could deal with them. Best and his gang give me the willies. They’ve been trained to kill and they’ve seen things in Iraq and Afghanistan. When you look into their eyes all you see is the emptiness.’
‘We’re getting old. I spend a lot of time worrying about the kids.’ Graham took out his wallet and showed Davidson a picture of his three girls. ‘They look so angelic. But they haven’t grown up yet. The place seems to be swamped with drugs. My eldest tells me that most of the kids in her class have tried cannabis. How are your lot getting on?’
‘Never see them,’ Davidson said. ‘It’s the price I pay for not being there for them when they were younger. There are a lot of things I’m sorry for and I’m out of time to put them right. Take my advice and stay close to the kids. It’s the only way to keep them out of trouble.’ Davidson finished his drink and called for another.
‘Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Until they invent time travel we’ll just have to live with our mistakes.’
‘Irene and I are out of here as soon as the insurance money comes through. We’re going somewhere hot.’
Graham was instantly envious. His youngest was eight, if she went to university that meant fourteen more years of supporting her. And the two others. ‘Are you going to marry her?’
‘Not this time, maybe we’ll stay together just the way we are.’
Davidson was fifteen years older than Graham, but they had become good friends through the job. Graham had never seen his friend so happy. He raised his glass. ‘To you and Irene, I hope it all works out.’
‘So do I. A couple of months ago I was looking at a retirement that involved working security in a shopping mall or doing follow-ups for an insurance investigation firm. Now I’m thinking about sitting by a pool in Spain drinking a gin and tonic. Maybe I’m just caught in a dream.’
‘You think the boss can get a result on the Carlisle business?’
‘If he can’t, then nobody can.’ He lowered his voice. ‘We have Jackson bang to rights. Special Branch is right in the middle of it. If he can get Jackson to flip, God only knows how far the investigation can go.’ The identity of the owner of the second phone was so sensitive that he decided to keep it to himself. ‘I’m out of it now. The boss wants me to ease myself out and that’s just the way I like it.’
‘I wouldn’t fancy taking Special Branch on. Those guys are a law unto themselves.’
‘Not my problem. Time for another one?’
‘I’d love to, but it’s a school night and I have to help out with homework.’ Graham finished his drink. ‘I’m going to miss you, old friend.’
‘And I you, Harry.’ Davidson stood and they man-hugged.
As Graham left the bar, he took no notice of the man sitting on the bench at the bus stop across the street.
Simon Jackson had a beanie on his head and wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses that covered much of his face. He had dispensed with Leslie’s services and been waiting outside the Tennent Street station. He’d followed Davidson and Graham to the Rex and waited patiently in the bus shelter until Graham left. He needed to know what they had on him. The gnawing at his innards caused by the uncertainty was increasing with every passing day. It was all right for the likes of Rodgers to suggest caution, but it was Jackson who was in the frame for Carlisle’s murder. Rodgers and the other principals would slip quietly away. He thought about going into the Rex but good as his disguise was it mightn’t pass close examination. He needed to tail Davidson for at least twenty-four hours. A plan was formulating in his mind and he had no intention of discussing it with Rodgers.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Wilson immediately blamed McElvaney and Reid for the pounding in his head when he woke up. McElvaney had kept him in the Crown, pumping him for information on the Royce and Payne murders, while Reid had worked later than he could remember. He dragged himself out of bed and after a swift visit to the toilet headed to the kitchen in search of an antidote. He thought about going for a run but immediately dismissed the idea. The pain in his head was stationary and he didn’t want to disturb it by bouncing it up and down. He located a vial of tablets that he thought Reid recommended as a hangover cure and tipped a couple into his mouth, washing them down with a glass of water. The events of the previous evening were not totally clear, but he seemed to remember Reid and McElvaney getting on like a house on fire. It was a strange turn of events considering their relationship had begun with such antagonism. Two cups of coffee and some toast and marmalade restored him somewhat but he wasn’t looking forward to a difficult day.
Wilson was still not feeling totally human when he saluted the duty sergeant and made his way to the squad room. He picked up a cup of cafeteria coffee and assembled the team at the whiteboard. ‘Rory and Harry, draw a car and head for Castlewellan. Give Agnes Bagnell a ring before you head off. She’ll introduce you around the neighbours. See if they remember anything about the day of Payne’s murder. Specifically, did they see any strangers or unusual cars in the neighbourhood of the Bagnell farm. It’s been a while so memories might have dimmed, but it’s a close-knit community where people can usually remember the day something like the accident with the slurry tank happened.’
‘You fancy someone for this, Boss,’ Browne said. ‘Why not let us in on the secret?’
‘I think that Pratley and possibly Wallace were involved. And they may even have roped in Royce.’ He looked at Kane. ‘I need you to take another look at the PS interviews with Payne and Royce. I know this is going to be a sore point, but we need to look at the possibility that someone in PS leaked the fact that Payne was the source of the information about the corruption in the Drugs Squad.’
‘Siobhan, remember those photocopies I gave you when I came back from Castlewellan.’
‘Safe and sound, Boss, I’ve made the digital record.’
‘Good. I want you and Lucy to examine them.’ He finished his lukewarm coffee. ‘If I’m right about Pratley and Wallace for Payne, and if the two cases are linked, they did Royce as well.’
‘Holy God, Boss,’ Graham said. ‘We’re going to stir up a hornet’s nest. PSNI officers involved in two murders.’
Everywhere Wilson turned there was evidence of PSNI involvement in crime. Jackson was almost certainly Carlisle’s murderer and he was a serving police officer. Now the Drugs Squad was riddled with corruption and killers and even PS appeared to be compromised. They would have to be careful because the ice they were skating on was getting thinner and thinner. ‘Find me something I can use to get Pratley and Wallace in here.’
Kane joined him on his walk back to the office. ‘I have to meet my chief this morning. I’ll find out if anyone remembers Payne referring to his notebook during the interviews.’
‘Keep me informed.’ He went into his office and sat behind his desk. It was inconceivable that no evidence existed in the deaths of Payne and Royce. There was no such thing as the perfect crime, and Pratley and Wallace were not criminal geniuses. Something that kept circulating in his head was the fact that Royce had left Rathlin and gone to Belfast to put things right. That had to mean that he had some evidence that would accomplish his aim. What the hell was the evidence and where was it? It was highly unlikely for him to take it with him when he met his killer, and Graham had searched the shelter. He took out a pad and started to doodle. If he were Royce, where would he have hidden something that he valued so highly?
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Browne and Graham drove to Castlewellan in silence. They did get on, but there was a tension around Graham being the longer-serving in the squad and Browne being the superior officer. Graham had tried for the sergeant’s exam on several occasions, but his mild dyslexia did for him every time. He accepted that he would remain a
detective constable. It didn’t sit well with his wife, who managed their financial affairs. Money was never discussed in the Graham household, principally because there was never enough of it to discuss. Outside Castlewellan they branched off to the right and headed towards Ballyward. They were obliged to plug in the coordinates of the Bagnell farm into the Satnav otherwise they would have been rambling around the countryside all day. Agnes Bagnell greeted them with tea and scones before they set off on a tour of the neighbours. Given the scarcity of people, neither detective gave good odds to finding the evidence Wilson was looking for. If you were planning to murder someone, Ballyward was a good place to do it. It was a community of small farmers who were predominantly Protestant and situated close to the border between Northern Ireland and the Republic. It was not an area renowned for cooperation with the police force of either part of the island. They checked in with several farmhouses between Ballyward and Moneyslane but came up empty.
Agnes Bagnell sat despondently in the rear of the police car. ‘There’s only a couple of farms between Castlewellan and Ballyward, I suppose we should give them a try.’
‘How long were you away from the farm?’ Graham asked.
‘An hour and a half, maybe.’
‘And nobody passed you on your return?’ Graham asked
‘I don’t think so. Not that I remember anyway.’
‘If you were away for such a short period, whoever killed your nephew must have been watching for you to leave.’
They had passed the Bagnell farm and were heading east on the Bann Road. About two hundred yards along the road there was a depression on the right-hand side and a small lane leading into a cleared area. A shed was just visible in the clearing.
‘What’s in there?’ Browne asked.
‘That’s Packie’s garage,’ she said, ‘the locals all use it.’
Graham turned the car into the lane and drove into the depression. The garage consisted of a concrete block shed with a corrugated roof. The two sliding doors in the middle of the building were open. The building was surrounded by motor cars in different stages of decay. He stopped the car and the three of them got out.
A small grey-haired man in his seventies exited from the building. He was wearing a pair of faded blue overalls, heavily stained with oil, and a well-worn pair of stout leather work boots. ‘Ah, Agnes, it’s you,’ the old man said.
‘How are you, Packie?’ Agnes said. ‘These two boys are peelers from Belfast.’
Packie looked from Graham to Browne and didn’t seem to like what he saw. ‘Peelers you say, now what would the peelers want with the likes of me?’
Browne and Graham showed their warrant cards and introduced themselves.
‘Were you around the day that Agnes’s nephew had the accident?’ Browne asked.
Packie was cleaning his hands with a rag. ‘Aye, I remember it well, it was a terrible thing. Mind you, I was at the funeral. We all were.’
‘Were you working here that day?’ Browne asked.
‘Aye, I was.’
‘You didn’t happen to see anything out of the ordinary?’ Browne said.
Packie continued to clean his hands and looked at Agnes, who nodded in return. ‘I seen three boys I never seen around here before or since. They was parked at the top of the lane. I thought they was coming here, but they just sat there.’
‘Did you approach them?’
‘No, it was a fine day and I thought they might be tourists lookin’ for Castlewellan Lake. They weren’t from here anyways and people around here are brought up to mind their own business.’
‘Do you know what they looked like?’ Browne asked.
‘I passed them on the way out,’ Packie said. ‘One was an older fella and the other two were about your age.’ He pointed at Browne. ‘I couldn’t say what they looked like, but I could tell they weren’t dressed for muck-spreadin’.’ He laughed, exposing a mouth of tobacco-stained teeth.
‘Thanks,’ Browne said and motioned to Graham to follow him as he walked up the short lane to the road. He pointed ahead. The Bagnell farmhouse was clearly visible off to the right. ‘It’s a perfect place to keep an eye on the farm. Someone with binoculars would have had a great view of the house.’ They stood for a while before making their way back.
‘Why did you go to Castlewellan that day?’ Browne asked Agnes.
‘On a fool’s errand. I was selling land at the time and the agent called me and said he’d had some interest, but the boy who wanted to view was lost and I agreed to meet him at Mulholland’s bar. When I got there the place was empty.’
Browne turned to look at Packie. ‘What sort of a car were they driving?’
‘I think it was a Skoda.’
Graham and Browne looked at each other.
Packie had done his civil duty and so started moving in the direction of the shed. ‘I need to get back to work. Take care, Agnes.’
They walked back to the car. ‘Packie had a fancy for me when he was younger,’ Agnes said before climbing into the back of the car. ‘Of course, he was a much finer man back then.’
They continued along the road, stopping at two other farmhouses and enquiring about the Skoda, but nobody had seen it. It was time to call a halt and they returned Agnes to her house before heading back to Belfast.
‘It wasn’t a total failure,’ Browne said as they turned onto the main road.
‘But it wasn’t a total success either,’ Graham said. ‘We’re no closer to finding the owner of that bloody Skoda.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
By mid-afternoon Wilson’s hangover was almost gone and he decided to stretch his legs and check on his team’s progress. O’Neill and Kane were at their desks.
‘I’ve had a preliminary look at the notes you found in Ballyward,’ O’Neill told him. ‘Payne was all over the corruption. He’s got the times and dates of operations and the results, and he’d also checked the drugs in the lock-up and found the missing weight. He put the finger on Royce as a user.’
‘It would be better if we had the original notebook rather than photocopied pages,’ Wilson said.
‘I know, Boss. I’ve already called his parents and there was no notebook in the effects they received.’
‘Why am I not surprised?’ Wilson said. He turned to Kane, ‘Anything to report?’
‘I floated the idea with my chief that someone in our group leaked Payne’s name. He looked like he was about to have a seizure on the spot. He asked whether Baird was aware, but I wasn’t able to answer.’ She saw that Wilson was looking inscrutable. ‘Okay, so he does.’
‘I never said that.’
‘Anyway, I also checked whether we had Payne’s notebook and we don’t.’
‘I have a feeling that we’re never going to find it. The photocopies are gold but getting them admitted might be a stretch. But that’s going to be the DPP’s problem. We’ll use them to sweat Pratley and Wallace, if we ever get that far. Take a look at them from your angle and see if there’s anything you can add.’
Wilson returned to his office and spent the rest of the afternoon re-examining the murder book. When he had finished, the nagging feeling that he was missing something was still present. There’s a time in every investigation when the tide turns and the criminal’s errors begin to appear. At the morning briefing, he’d thought that they had reached that point but now he doubted it.
The evening briefing went through the day’s progress. O’Neill and Kane summarised the content of the photocopies. Browne and Graham relayed the news concerning the Skoda and the ploy to get Agnes Bagnell away from the farm so that Payne would be alone.
The team were standing at the whiteboard and staring at Wilson, waiting for him to come up with some incisive comment. Perversely, he was looking to them to come up with a piece of evidence that would break the case. The three men in the Skoda had probably been Pratley, Wallace and Royce. That meant Royce was present at Payne’s murder and might possibly have been one of the people who had
held him down.
‘Anything on the CCTV footage of the Skoda?’ he asked O’Neill.
‘We have it arriving and leaving, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to identify the driver. The plates are a dead end. Whoever was driving knew his business.’
‘And the gun?’
Browne shook his head. ‘Another dead end.’
‘The person, or persons, who had climbed into the slurry tank to hold Payne down must have been covered in pig shit,’ Wilson said. ‘How had they managed to clean themselves?’
Graham bowed his head. ‘We’re grasping at straws, Boss. It was too long ago to go around the car valeting companies and ask whether they’d had a Skoda in whose interior was covered in pig shit. The murderers could have used plastic jumpsuits and dumped them later.’
Wilson looked up at the board. He was having an episode of déjà vu. Pratley and Wallace looked like they were going to get away with murder. But he was damned if they were.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Jennings watched Pratley the same way a biologist watches the antics of an insect. He could smell the fear and panic emanating from him. Fear in one’s associates is dangerous. They had gone from safety to deadly peril since Royce’s murder. The decision to take him out was going to prove disastrous for somebody and it wasn’t going to be him. Pratley and Wallace were going to take the fall. But were they going to talk? Wallace knew nothing, but Pratley was a different kettle of fish altogether. It was a chance he couldn’t take. But that wasn’t the impression he wanted to transfer to Pratley.
‘I’ve made arrangements,’ Pratley said. ‘As soon as they get close, I’m out of here. I’ve got a false passport and the money is already in Hong Kong.’
Jennings didn’t tell him that Wilson was so close that Pratley should be feeling his breath on his neck. ‘The last thing you must do is panic. The coroner has issued an open verdict. There’s no evidence.’
‘Royce had direct evidence on the Payne murder. I offered him money, but it wasn’t about cash for him. He was on a crusade and he was going to turn us in come hell or high water.’