by Derek Fee
‘You’re very kind,’ Irene said. ‘I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’
‘He’s going to be all right.’
‘I know, they told me. But I want to see him for myself.’
‘You realise it’s going to be a shock.’ Wilson hadn’t recognised his own father when he had seen him in the morgue, so extensive where his injuries. ‘He’s going to look a lot worse than he actually is. It’s important that you don’t show too much emotion.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m aware.’
‘Has he been keeping you up to date on the investigation into your husband’s death?’
‘No, he only told me that he’d proved it was murder.’
‘Aye, he did, and he almost died because of it.’
O’Neill returned with a cup of tea and a chocolate bar.
‘Thanks, dear.’ Irene took them and sat down.
Reid came into the room. ‘One of you can go inside for a few minutes only. He’s still very poorly, but every day is going to be better.’
Wilson introduced the two women.
‘I’m not going home until I see him,’ Irene said.
‘I’m sorry,’ Wilson said. ‘But I have to see him urgently.’
Reid handed him a surgical mask and led him to the door of the ICU.
Wilson walked along the beds until he saw someone who looked like Peter Davidson. He was badly beaten about the face and only bore a pale resemblance to the man who had been in Wilson’s office the previous day. His body appeared to have shrunk and the dapper Davidson was a dishevelled old man. Davidson’s eyes opened when Wilson stood beside him.
‘Boss.’ Davidson’s voice was weak.
‘It’s going to be okay, Peter. We’re going to get the bastard who did this to you. Do you have any idea who it was?’
‘Two, they wore balaclavas, big guy slapped me about, could have been Jackson. They wanted to know what you knew about Carlisle.’ He was straining to speak. ‘When you find them, I’d like to book a few minutes with them. And I want to be holding a baseball bat.’
My sentiments exactly, Wilson thought. He put a hand on Davidson’s arm. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow and we’ll talk some more. Irene Carlisle is outside, apparently she’s been here all day.’
‘Tell her I love her.’ His eyes closed.
He went back to the waiting room where the three women were in conversation. He hunkered down in front of Irene. ‘He’s very weak now, but he’s going to get better. You won’t be able to see him today, so maybe you should go home and rest. He’ll be in a ward tomorrow and you’ll be able to sit with him a while. He told me to tell you that he loves you.’
Irene stood up and began to cry.
Wilson hugged her. ‘I can get a police car to take you home.’
Irene stood up straight. ‘No thank you, I’ll take a taxi and I’ll be back first thing in the morning.’
Reid removed a card from her pocket. ‘If you have any problems, give me a call.’
Irene put the card in her handbag and left.
‘What did he say?’ O’Neill asked.
‘There were two of them wearing balaclavas. I have a pretty good idea who one of them was.’
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
Harry Graham walked around Pratley’s house. There was no sign of the owner, but the breakfast dishes were unwashed in the sink. It didn’t look like Pratley had departed in haste. Graham explored the rooms, opening drawers and cupboards. Everything appeared intact. If Pratley has run, he is travelling light. Upstairs in the bedroom, he found two passports on the dressing table, one was Pratley’s British passport, the second was issued by the Irish Republic for a George McGrath whose photo bore an uncanny resemblance to Pratley. He took an evidence bag from his pocket and dropped both passports into it. He went downstairs and locked the front door. Forensics would give the place a complete examination. There was a garage to the side of the house. He used a lock pick to open the door. Inside was a 2004 Skoda Octavia and nailed to the wall were a series of licence plates. Graham took out his mobile phone and took a photo of the interior. He texted Wilson the news and included the photo. At last they had found the Skoda.
The mood in the Drugs Squad’s room at Musgrave Street was sullen when Browne and Kane entered. Rumours had been flying after the uniforms had taken Wallace away. Then the word came through that he had been arrested and was being questioned at Tennent Street. The rank and file of the squad were confused as to why their leaders had been lifted. Browne ignored the muttering of the detectives and produced his warrant card. ‘DS Browne and this is DS Kane from Professional Services. Please pick up your items of clothing only and leave the office. The squad room will be sealed and you will be informed by the chief constable as to when you can return.’ He looked straight at two of the men who had been at the table in the cafeteria on his last visit. ‘You may spend the next few hours drinking tea in the cafeteria and thinking about what you have to say when DS Kane interviews you. Now please leave.’ He got busy wrapping the computers in plastic sheeting. Then he and Kane carried the computers to the door and handed them to uniformed officers from Tennent Street. They returned to Pratley’s office and began filling cardboard boxes with the contents of the office.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
PC Francis Cole drove into the caravan park just outside the village of Millisle. He’d been at the station in Donaghadee when he received a report that a gunshot had been heard in the vicinity of the park. It was probably a car backfiring, but it was a slow day and the drive along the coast broke the monotony. He was surprised to find a car parked close to one of the caravans. Nobody in his right mind would be caravanning here in the middle of winter. He parked beside the car and knocked on the caravan door. When he didn’t receive a response, he tried the handle but the door was locked. He walked around the outside of the caravan until he came to the large window at the rear. It looked like someone had thrown a can of tomato juice against the window. He peered inside and immediately recoiled. He pressed the button on his radio and made a frantic call to the station.
When Wilson arrived at the scene, the uniform from Donaghadee had been augmented by two squad cars from Bangor and crime scene tape had already cut off the entrance to the park. As soon as he had heard the news from Donaghadee, he’d called Graham and told him to meet him at the caravan park. He’d then called Forensics and asked for a team, and Reid.
Wilson slipped on his plastic overshoes and his latex gloves before approaching the caravan. He noted the churned-up ground beneath his feet. Forensics would not be at all pleased.
He tried the door of the caravan before taking a lock pick from his pocket and opening the door. Inside, he walked down the van to the bedroom at the end. George Pratley was splayed out on the double bed. Pieces of his brain were spread over the rear window of the caravan. Wilson looked at the gun in Pratley’s hand, a Browning Hi-Power that he was sure would turn out to be the weapon that had killed Royce. He would wait for the forensic report and Reid’s opinion, but he had a feeling that he was looking at a genuine suicide. He was immediately drawn back to the sight of his father sitting in his chair in the potting shed of their house in Lisburn with his brain splattered on the wall behind him. There was a similar bloody mess in the back room of the caravan. There was going to be a hell of a clean-up job here. He wondered who had cleaned the shed in Lisburn and realised that his mother had probably spared him the full horror of his father’s suicide. When Pratley had disappeared, Wilson had three scenarios in mind, he’d run, he’d killed himself or he’d been murdered. He’d was willing to accept either suicide or murder. He walked back down the van and stepped gingerly onto the ground. He didn’t want to compromise the scene any more than had already been done.
‘Who is it, Boss?’ Graham said as he joined Wilson.
‘Pratley, blew the top of his head off.’
Graham held up the evidence bag containing the passports. ‘Looks like he planned to run.’
‘Then
he was overtaken by events and took the easy way out.’
‘I wouldn’t call that the easy way out.’
‘He was done once we had Wallace inside. He would have gone down for Payne and we would eventually have got him for Royce. Especially after we tied the Skoda to him. He shot himself with a Browning Hi-Power and I’d bet a month’s pay it’s the gun that killed Royce. Maybe the thought of a lifetime in prison was too much for him.’
They walked to the entrance of the park. ‘Who found him?’ Wilson asked.
‘I did.’ Cole came forward from a group of uniforms. ‘PC Francis Cole.’
‘Harry, please take a statement from PC Cole and don’t forget the name of the person who made the call.’
Wilson sat into his car to await the arrival of the forensic team and Reid. It was always the same. You plod away for ages trying to put the evidence together and developing prime suspects, then all of a sudden the pace of the investigation goes into overdrive. Wallace would go down for his part in Payne’s murder and the other two participants were now dead. Case solved. Pratley was the middleman in the corruption within the Drugs Squad, but he was lying with his brains blown out and his hand still round the gun that killed Royce. Second case solved. The forensic van arrived and pulled up at the entrance to the caravan park. It was the same team that had been at O’Reilly’s pub. Wilson watched them suit up. Finlay briefed his team and then joined Wilson.
‘Is it a suicide?’ Finlay asked.
‘Apparently.’
‘Not sure?’
‘I’m pretty certain. I’d like to know whether he was alone when he died.’
Finlay looked over at the caravan. ‘That might be difficult. My guess is that there are dozens of latents in that caravan. Either that or it was thoroughly cleaned after the last renting season, and I have yet to meet a caravan owner who does that.’
‘Get his car towed in, I want it checked out and printed.’
‘We’ll do our best. Any sign of the pathologist?’
‘She’ll be here any minute.’
‘We’ll take the photos but leave the body where it is.’ Finlay marched off in the direction of the caravan.
It was all neat and clean. Wilson knew that he should be happy, but he wasn’t. An ambulance arrived at the entrance but neither attendant exited. He went back to the car and found Graham sitting in the passenger seat.
‘Anonymous caller,’ Graham said as Wilson slid into his seat. ‘Reported a shot fired in the vicinity of the caravan park.’ Graham turned to face Wilson. ‘I don’t like that look on your face, Boss. We’ve got a result on both killings.’
‘Cases closed, Wallace goes down for Payne’s murder, the corruption case on the Drugs Squad will be investigated by Professional Services. I don’t think we’re the only ones who got a result.’
‘There’s someone else?’
‘I think there may be lots of someone elses. Pratley was a cog in a machine. Wallace says he was the middleman collecting the money from the drug peddlers and passing it upstairs. I’d like to know who was upstairs. Also, I think that Lucy is aware that not all her colleagues are as squeaky clean as she is.’
There was a rap on the driver’s side window and Wilson looked out to see a smiling Reid looking in at him. He lowered the window.
‘We’ve got to stop meeting like this,’ Reid said.
‘He’s in the caravan,’ Wilson said. ‘Don’t bother about time of death, we had an anonymous call about a shot fired. Cause of death was a bullet in the brain.’
‘Looks like I’m superfluous. Are you coming along, or is it too cold for you?’
Wilson raised the window and opened the door.
‘Peter is doing well,’ Reid said as they walked towards the caravan.
Wilson was giving himself his umpteenth metaphorical kick in the arse. ‘Shit. I’d forgotten about Peter.’
‘You are tired.’ She let her free hand touch his.
‘This has been a tough one. Pratley, Royce and Wallace were all dirty coppers. How many more of them are out there?’ He thought about Jennings suborning perjury from Whiticker.
‘Cleaning up the PSNI isn’t your job.’
He opened the caravan door and they both climbed in. Two CSIs were working the interior. One was taking photographs and the other was collecting fingerprints.
Reid moved to the bedroom and examined the corpse. She took the dead man’s temperature and examined the wound in his head before standing up. ‘The gun was in his mouth and I think you’ll find that it’s a clear case of suicide.’ She packed up her case. ‘He can be taken away as soon as you’re finished inside.’
They left the caravan. ‘Maybe you’ll start sleeping at night now,’ Reid said as they walked towards their cars.
Wilson gave her a comforting smile. He felt a complete cheat. His phone rang and he took the call. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can?’
‘Jennings?’ Reid asked.
‘Baird.’
CHAPTER NINETY
‘I’m resigning.’ Rodgers was sitting in Jennings’ office facing the DCC. ‘The fuckers can learn to watch their own backs and do their own dirty work.’
‘Don’t be an idiot. You wouldn’t last a wet week. You know too much. That knowledge helped you climb the ladder, but now it’s become your death warrant. As long as you’re useful, you’ll be alive. So I don’t think it’s a good plan to talk about retiring.’
Rodgers slumped in his chair. Jennings was right. The little bastard was always right. It wasn’t only the IRA that had the motto, ‘once in never out’.
‘No sign of Jackson then?’ Jennings asked.
Rodgers shook his head. ‘We put an APB out on the van, but so far nothing has turned up.’
‘We need to find him. Wilson knows about his role in Carlisle’s death. I hope to God that’s all he knows.’
‘Jackson won’t talk, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
‘That’s exactly what’s worrying me. You and I both know that Wilson will never let the Carlisle affair go. He has evidence that Jackson is involved and he’ll worry that until he finds out why Carlisle had to die and who has the power to use Special Branch to get the job done. So go and find Jackson.’
Rodgers pushed himself out of the chair. ‘I’ll see what can be done.’
‘And no more talk of resigning, you’re much too important to a lot of people.’ Jennings watched Rodgers as he left the office, his shoulders were rounded and he looked ten years older than he had the previous week. He would have to keep an eye on him. There was still the possibility that everything might eventually go pear-shaped. It all depended on what Wilson knew. Jackson’s ill-advised action had thrown the spotlight on him and Davidson. Word from the hospital was that Davidson would survive, but he would never return to active duty. He would do whatever was necessary to ensure that outcome. It all hinged on Wilson. If only he could be removed from the equation.
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
The object of Jennings’ musing was sitting in the chief constable’s office not fifty metres away.
‘Thank God Davidson is going to be all right,’ Baird said. ‘That’s a relief. I’ll drop by and see him later this evening. I suppose a return to active duty is out of the question considering that he’ll be retiring in a few months.’
‘I’ll be sad to lose him,’ Wilson said. ‘He’s done a very good job.’
‘And you’re sure he was beaten up by a Special Branch colleague?’
‘Not sure, but there’s a strong probability.’
‘Find him and drag him in. We can’t have PSNI officers beating each other up.’
Or murdering each other, Wilson thought.
‘Are you ready to tell me the background to this whole incident?’
‘Not until I speak to Jackson.’
‘Then pull him in and ask him the questions.’
‘I would, if I could find him.’
Baird picked up the phone on his desk. ‘I’ll call Rodgers
and get him to present Jackson to you.’
‘Don’t waste your breath. Rodgers doesn’t know where he is either.’
‘Are you telling me that a PSNI officer has gone missing?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘That’s it. Tell me exactly what’s going on.’
‘Davidson has uncovered evidence that Jackie Carlisle was murdered.’
‘Good God, man, do you realise what you’re saying. That was an open-and-shut verdict of suicide.’
‘And it appears that Jackson may have been involved.’
‘Involved how?’
‘He was at the scene dressed as a hospice nurse. I think he gave Carlisle the hot shot.’
‘You have more evidence?’
Wilson didn’t reply immediately. ‘Nothing substantial.’
Baird ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Does CS Davis know about this investigation?’
‘No, it was off the books.’
‘Then let’s keep it that way. Does this tie in to Pratley?’
‘I don’t think so. Pratley was the middleman for a corrupt link between the PSNI Drugs Squad and big dealers in the city. He, Wallace and Royce murdered Payne because he blew the whistle on them. Someone in Professional Services leaked Payne’s name to Pratley. Royce was about to reveal all until Pratley murdered him and now Pratley has killed himself.’
‘This is going to cost me my job.’
Spoken like a true politician, Wilson thought. If Baird were removed, Jennings would be the obvious replacement. That wasn’t a scenario he could countenance. ‘It all depends how you spin it.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘You’re a new broom intent on cleaning up the PSNI. Professional Services uncovered corruption in the Drugs Squad. The DCI in charge of that squad took his own life when he realised he was about to be exposed. Another officer is in custody and will be charged accordingly. Wallace will plead so there will be no show trial.’
‘That might fly.’
‘There are two dead men, both killed by serving PSNI officers. That might be a little more difficult to gloss over. Also, Pratley was the middleman between someone more senior and the dealers. Wallace has no idea who controlled Pratley and I doubt if we’ll ever know. And someone compromised Professional Services by giving Pratley the whistle-blower.’