by Derek Fee
Wilson had huge respect for Moira’s ability as a detective and was sure that she might well have done better than Browne, but he wasn’t about to say that. ‘We’re a team, and if we perform well individually that means the team performs well collectively. So when we review our performance, it’s with a view to doing better next time. We don’t take offence. We move on.’ If the argument had happened on the rugby field, the referee would have asked the participants to shake hands. However, Wilson wasn’t ready to play referee in an argument between his sergeants. ‘What’s your point, Moira?’
‘There was a giant conflagration on the edge of the sea and yet nobody at the café down the road saw anything. I don’t buy it. Whoever set the fire must have left in that direction. I think we should interview the café staff again. There were also two patrons and we should check in with them again as well. Maybe they have remembered something in the meantime.’
‘That’s the argument?’ Wilson said. ‘If you have the time, it might not be a bad idea to have another word with them. If I were to hazard a guess as to who we’re talking about, I’d say Eddie Hills. Moira hasn’t met Eddie yet, so she’s a fresh pair of eyes. Go talk to the people at the café and the patrons. It’s worth a try. Rory, let’s go to my office.’
Wilson motioned to Browne to close the door behind him. ‘Take a seat. Look, I get it that Moira has ruffled your feathers a little, but we can’t go on like this.’ He saw Moira pick up her jacket and head for the door. She glanced into his office as she passed.
‘She can be so bloody superior, boss. She thinks she knows everything.’
‘That’s not the picture I have of her. She’s a first-class detective who gets results. And up to now, she’s been a good colleague. She’s not taking your job. She’s taking Peter Davidson’s place and we’re lucky to have her. You two will have to get along sooner or later and I’d prefer if it was sooner.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Don’t think of her as a threat, think of her as an opportunity. You’re a smart guy and part of being smart is learning from others.’ Browne was sitting with his head bent. ‘And stop looking like an errant schoolboy. I want Moira to cast an eye over both the Sammy Rice murder and disappearance and the body in the burned-out BMW. You never know, fresh eyes might give us a lead.’
‘I am sorry, boss.’
‘There are two of you in it. I’ll have a word with her as well when she gets back.’
Browne stood and left the office.
Wilson swivelled in his chair and took a small key from his pocket. He opened a locked steel box attached to the wall behind him, removed his PSNI issue Glock 17, two magazines and a shoulder holster, and laid them on the desk in front of him. He didn’t like guns. Maybe it was because his father had put one into his mouth and blown the top of his head off. He moved the slide on the top of the pistol and verified that there was nothing in the chamber. He handled the gun and found that it still fitted his hand like a glove. As a trained athlete, he had excellent hand–eye coordination, and he was one of the best shots on the range. He removed a box of 9 mm shells and loaded each of the magazines with a full load, seventeen. Then he slapped a magazine into the gun and put it into the shoulder holster. It was a hell of a bind having to carry a gun on his person, but he had made a promise. He put the holster on and settled the gun underneath his left armpit. A fully loaded Glock 17 weighs about two pounds, so when people tell you you won’t notice it when it’s under your armpit, they’re not exactly telling the truth. He knew he would get used to it; however, as far as he was concerned, it was an interim measure until they discovered that the whole hitman/assassination thing was a figment of someone’s imagination. At that point, the Glock would be back in the box and could stay there as far as he was concerned. He slipped on his jacket and looked across at the glass door where Graham was looking in. He motioned for him to enter.
‘What’s up, boss?’ Graham asked. ‘I saw you tooling up. There must be something serious on the cards.’
‘Nothing. It’s just been a while since I wore the damn thing and I have to go to the range next week. I thought I’d get used to the feel.’
‘That’s why you loaded a full magazine?’
‘Look, Harry, it doesn’t concern you and it’s on a need-to-know basis.’
‘Peter reckoned he could remain safe and it almost cost him his life. What’s going on, boss, maybe I can help?’
‘It’s probably nothing, but there’s a threat against a PSNI officer and the chief super thinks it may be me. It’s all a load of crap.’
‘You got to be kidding me, boss. The people who put Jackie Carlisle in the ground know you’re after them. They murdered one of the biggest politicians in the province, and you’re not afraid of them? Those people would off you in a heartbeat. What if the chief super’s right?’
‘And what if she’s wrong? All this is for nothing.’
‘Holy shit, I thought after Peter that things couldn’t get worse, but as long as you investigate Carlisle’s death they will. Give it up, boss. Whoever killed him has the power and is not afraid to use it.’
‘Don’t involve yourself in this, Harry. You’ve got the kids to think about.’ He stood up. ‘I feel like Wyatt Earp walking around with this thing under my arm. Concentrate on giving the kids their tea and help them with their homework and stay lucky.’