Crossing The Line

by Catriona King

“Welcome back, Inspector.”

  He gestured towards the kettle but was answered by shaking heads.

  “We’ve only got five minutes, Geoff.”

  He waved them to take seats and then folded his arms defensively across his chest. To Craig it was a sign that Annette had been right; Hamill had been concealing something and was probably preparing to do so again.

  “OK, then, what can I do for Murder’s finest?”

  Annette spoke first. “You knew I would be back.” The words were said in an exasperated tone and carried a silent, “Could you not just have saved me the trouble and told me the truth first time round?’

  Hamill ignored her chastisement. “I knew that you were clever so my clumsy attempt not to answer your question wouldn’t go unnoticed. So... who’s going to ask it this time?”

  Craig nodded his D.I. to do the honours again.

  “Are you running an undercover operation inside Mahon prison, sir? Looking at a particular gang or gangs?”

  Hamill stared straight at her for a moment, saying nothing, then he unfolded his arms and sighed like a surrendering man.

  “Now there was me getting ready to give you some general guff, and then you go and cut right to things.”

  He gave her a tight smile and then turned to each of them in turn. “Whatever I say can’t go outside this room.”As the first “OK” came from Annette he added, “Not even to the rest of your team. It stays with us four, understand, or you’ll be putting one of my officers at risk. I need all of your words on it.”

  He gazed pointedly to Liam, “Can you keep your big mouth shut? If not, I’m saying nothing more, and I’ll get the C.C. to back me up.”

  As his deputy railed indignantly against the insult Craig was computing the benefits of having Hamill’s information versus the nuisance of not being able to impart it to the rest of his troops. Finally he nodded, giving Liam a quick nudge when he was less than quick to do the same.

  Annette gazed earnestly at the D.C.I.. “None of us will say a word, sir.”

  “Good, because if my man gets hurt in anyway then I’m going to haunt all of you when I’m dead.”

  Liam chuckled. “That’ll be something to look forward to.”

  Hamill’s voice hardened. “I’m not joking, Liam. This could get a man killed.”

  A chastened Liam nodded solemnly and when Hamill was convinced that they all understood the seriousness of the issue he reached into his desk and withdrew a bulky file, setting it on top of his desk.

  “OK. As I told Annette before, we have Republican, Loyalist, European and far-right gangs inside our prisons.”

  Craig interrupted. “European?”

  “Eastern mostly, although The Baltics are getting a look in nowadays too.”

  He glanced around for any other looming questions and when none appeared he carried on.

  “The sectarian flags and gang loyalties tend to get blurred if someone’s jonesing for a fix, so the addicts inside all know each other. But we’re finding other times when the boundaries are blurring inside as well.”

  Liam signalled to speak. “Still on drugs?”

  “Yes, but on the prison dealing end more than the consumption.” Hamill shook his head in exasperation. “It’s mostly rumour at the moment-”

  Craig interrupted again. “Doesn’t the Drugs Squad know anything? If anyone should know about dealing inside prisons then it’s them.”

  Hamill sighed. “You would think so, wouldn’t you, but the truth is they came to us for help. All they’d heard was rumours that there might be dealing going on inside and across the prisons here. There’s always been a bit, we all know that. But the only way to find out if there’s something big or organised happening is to investigate, so we are. Drugs let us take the lead because of our experience with gangs.”

  Craig nodded, thinking about how he would have approached it and deciding to see if Hamill had had the same idea.

  “How many prisons do you have men inside?”

  “Every prison in the country. Posing as prisoner officers. A female officer too, inside Wharf House.”

  Annette cut in.“Are the prison authorities-”

  “Aware? No, not at ground level. For all we know the governors and existing guards could be in on any organised dealing. The Permanent Secretary at the Department of Law here knows, but that’s all, and even she doesn’t have my officers’ names.”

  Liam scratched his chin thoughtfully before asking his next question. “How long have they been under?”

  “Some for a year, some only in the last few months as the rumours grew.”

  Craig came in again. “How loud?”

  “Very loud over the past three. Something’s brewing but we can’t get a handle on it.”

  “You’re hearing the same about every prison in the country?”

  Hamill gave a glum nod. “All the big ones. What we can’t get are details. We don’t know what or how many drugs they’re dealing or how they’re getting them inside, and we don’t know if they’re just planning on dealing inside the prisons or outside on the street as well.” He slumped down in his seat. “The truth is we don’t know much, except that the lines between gangs are starting to blur inside every prison in the north. It’s as if the buggers are communicating with each other somehow and organising it.”

  Given the SIM that they’d found in Derek Smyth’s cell that was very possible.

  Craig moved forward in his chair. “Which gangs specifically? You’ve said the Loyalist and far-right have always been close, but I can’t see either of them working with the Republicans. Are the Loyalists working with the Europeans? But... the Europeans and the Republicans would be more natural bedfellows on religious grounds, so are they the gangs linking up?”

  He knew that couldn’t be right even as he was asking the question; the dissident Republicans knee-capped drug-dealers on their own estates. Besides, Derek Smyth had been a Loyalist anyway.

  Hamill held up his hands in a way that said, “Who the hell knows?” adding aloud, “That’s what I’ve tasked my officers to find out, but so far we’ve had no joy and with the rumours getting noisier I think we’re fast running out of time. The only significant event in any of the prisons so far has been Derek Smyth’s death. Maybe it’s a sign that things are about to move.”

  Craig thought of the calendar and nodded. Everything was saying that whatever was planned to happen at Mahon, and maybe the other prisons, had begun in September and was going to climax in the next few weeks. He confided his thoughts to Hamill and when he finished the gang lead decided on a quid pro quo, giving them the name of his undercover officer inside Mahon, partly so that they could avoid dropping him in it as they dug around for clues.

  It prompted Craig to offer something else.

  “I believe Smyth’s murder is going to lead us somewhere that might help your operation inside Mahon, or maybe even overall, so Annette will act as liaison and keep you up to date.”

  They returned to the tenth floor just in time to hear Andy White’s briefing being wrapped up, and as Craig rejoined the group the Derry man nodded towards the back of the squad-room.

  “Mind if I base myself at one of your desks?”

  Craig indicated his office. “Use mine if you like. We’re heading down to Mahon and we won’t be back until the briefing at six. Water the plants while you’re in there, will you. I’ve managed to kill every one I’ve ever had, but Katy still insists on giving me new ones. Something to do with them being good for me.”

  Liam gave a winsome smile. “Ah, the love of a good woman.”

  Knowing exactly what he was playing at the remark earned him a warning look from his boss, who was already heading towards the lift.

  “Alice, you can get me on the mobile.” Craig glanced back at the group, “As can the rest of you. You all know what you have to get on with and we’ll be back for six.”

  On the way to the car he decided on a detour. “Let’s head to the Labs first, Liam. I want the
name of that poison.”

  “So I’m driving, am I? Nice to be asked.”

  “And I know exactly what your response would have been if I had. You’d have asked me if I was feeling ill. Anyway, you like it when I give you something to moan about, you know you do.”

  Liam got a glint in his eye as he wondered how that theory might work the other way around.

  ****

  Mahon Prison. 1.30 p.m.

  It was never difficult to get into someone’s cell when they weren’t in it, just as long as you knew what your timings had to be. Fortunately, for Jimmy Morris’ purposes, most men left their cell doors lying open, and those in the prison’s small trial of giving trustees keys to their cells had had Yale locks fitted that he could pick as quickly as his teeth.

  Equally fortunately Filip Pojello was a creature of habit whose daily routine was as regular as the bells at the eighteenth century church a mile down the road. Up, wash, breakfast and then the rest of his day between meals was spent either chasing a fix, at the library, or attending woodwork or one of his other classes, before returning to his hidey-hole after dinner for a cuppa and his night-time tab of Amazepam to help him nod off. It was boringly predictable, and on any other day, from his stance of taking each day as it came like the ducker and diver he’d always been, Jimmy Morris would have called Pojello boring, but today he just thanked his lucky stars that no two men lived their lives in the same way.

  Once inside the cell on the top level walkway Morris knew there would be no interruptions; no random friends dropping in to shoot the breeze or cadge a ciggie, no-one by to discuss the snooker or last night’s game, everyone knowing, just as he did, that Pojello wouldn’t return there until that night. He could be in and out in under a minute, with plenty of time to make the swap of Pojello’s normal bag of diazepam for lethal ones just like he’d been instructed. Then it would be, “So long Filip and it’s been nice knowin’ ya.”

  Part two of the operation would be messy again of course, full of guards running around like headless chickens and jump-suited forensics and cops, but given that he’d been through it all before when he’d swopped Decker’s tabs he knew what to expect, and exactly how he needed to behave to avoid being nabbed; keep his head down and watch the guards. The last thing he needed was for one of them to start looking closely at him, and to that end he had his schedule well planned for the next few days, in what appeared to be his usual random mix of going to the gym for a workout, doing his classes and aimlessly wandering around the place. It might look the same as his usual shit but for once it would all be well worked out in advance.

  Satisfied that all of his bases were covered Jimmy Morris strolled towards Filip Pojello’s cell to set about his job.

  ****

  The Labs. 1.30 p.m.

  “Right, lads, we don’t have all day, so what’s the story?”

  Liam’s words were accompanied by a grin and a loud slapping together of his hands as encouragement, both of which were greeted with the disdain that John and Des, seated at John’s desk with large mugs of coffee in front of them, thought that they deserved.

  The Head of Forensics flicked a glance at the over-sized policeman.

  “Now...would that be the story of Cuchulain?”

  John joined in. “Or maybe that one about Finn McCool?”

  “Oh, very witty.” Craig pulled out a chair and sat down. “You know exactly which story Liam’s referring to. The one about the poison tablets, and while we’re at it, John, any medical info you’d happened to get from the Medicines Enforcement people would be good.”

  Des nodded Liam towards a seat but the D.C.I. huffily declined to move.

  “Aw look, John, we’ve hurt his feelings.”

  Liam snorted. “You two are obviously in a piss-taking mood, so just tell us which bloody poison killed our victim and we’ll go.”

  “Ach, stop sulking and sit down, man. Then we’ll tell you.”

  As the scientists held the whip hand and there seemed to be no other way to get his answer, Liam gave a haughty sniff and then perched on the edge of a chair.

  “See how easy that was? Right, your poison was an unusual one. Strychnidin-10-one.”

  Craig frowned quizzically. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  Des sat forward eagerly, warming to his theme. “Yes, you have, as Strychnine. Used to commit murder in novels by Agatha Christie and Conan Doyle. Remember ‘The Sign of Four’?”

  He didn’t wait for recognition to carry on.

  “Anyway, Strychnine’s an organic alkaloid distilled from the Strychnos nux-vomica plant found in southern Asia and Australia. It’s a neurotoxin that interferes with the fibres that cause muscle contractions so people literally spasm to death. The lethal dose ranges from thirty to one-twenty milligrams and your blue tablets contained around two hundred each. Random fact; in tiny doses it’s actually been used by some professional athletes for muscle enhancement so they dope test for it now.”

  While Liam looked shocked Craig frowned.

  “Where did they get hold of it? Strychnine’s been illegal to purchase here for years.”

  “There are still tiny quantities in some pest control chemicals, and where there’s a will there’s a way. But the rules on purchase are more lax in some eastern countries, so my guess is it was probably smuggled in.”

  Liam was less huffy and more curious now. “How does it kill again?”

  Des nodded John to explain and he did so enthusiastically, although strangely while averting his eyes from Craig, something that the detective completely missed.

  “Muscle convulsions. Smyth would have been in so strong a spasm that he couldn’t have caught a decent breath, so he asphyxiated”

  Craig rolled his eyes. “Delightful. The poor bugger must have been in agony.” He paused for a moment to think before he spoke again. “So, we can assume that the poison was acquired especially for Derek Smyth... so...”

  He turned to his deputy, determined to make him demonstrate what he was capable of.

  “So? Liam?”

  The D.C.I. stared blankly at his boss for a moment before catching on.

  “So? Oh... aye, well, it has to mean that Smyth was important, or at least killing him was, to go to all that trouble, like. Finding a weird foreign poison, making it liquid and then putting in the tabs. That’s a lot of work just to kill one of McCrae’s scrotes, so Smyth had to be up to something big.”

  Craig nodded emphatically. “Exactly. Something big which, if the calendar in his cell was anything to go by, has already started and is coming to a head soon.”

  Liam added another point. “And something that’s going to steal someone else’s business, or at least get in their way. There has to be big money at stake here, boss. You wouldn’t risk a murder rap otherwise-”

  John cut in. “Couldn’t it just be a revenge killing? Maybe Smyth stole someone else’s wife.”

  Craig chuckled at the words; the idea that another person could be stolen like a television set or a wallet had always amused him and he said as much. In response the pathologist gave a loud tut, in no mood for bandying words with his, as he’d thought they’d been since they’d met at school, best friend.

  He had spent the night before listening to Natalie rant because she’d gone to check the Rota in the consultants’ admin suite, only to find out that Katy was going on maternity leave and she hadn’t been told a thing; his wife, rather like Liam, believing that she had the right to know every personal detail of all of her friends’ lives.

  So the pathologist wasn’t in happy with Craig on two counts: one, Natalie had chewed his ear off all evening, and not in a nice seductive way, and two, maybe her approach was catching because he was also seriously pissed-off that his so-called friend hadn’t confided in him about one of the most important events in his life, impending fatherhood. He’d spent the night before devising unspeakable tortures for the detective, but being the non-violent man that he was he would just have to settle for a tut, a s
ulk, and when they were next alone, a rant.

  Craig carried on speaking, oblivious to his impending fate. “I think Liam’s right, there’s big money at stake here and Smyth must have stepped on someone powerful’s toes.”

  Liam guffawed. “Well, that lets McCrae off the hook. The most powerful thing about him is the stink of his aftershave.”

  Craig made a face, recalling the aroma. “It was pretty bad, wasn’t it? But I wouldn’t write McCrae off just yet. He could be working with someone else.”

  Liam’s equivocal nod said that it might be something to explore, and Craig was on his feet ready to do just that when he remembered the second question that he’d come to ask and turned back to his friend, this time actually noticing that John was on edge. But now wasn’t the time to explore why so he asked his question.

  “Anything from Medicines Enforcement, John?”

  The medic’s deliberate turn towards Liam, as if he’d been the one who’d asked the question, would have been impossible for anyone in the small office to miss.

  “Nothing that they hadn’t already told the SOC team during Pangea. The counterfeits are mostly coming in from Eastern Europe, Ukraine mostly, and China. Although he did say that there was a market for homemade counterfeits developing, mostly down south.”

  As Craig was already halfway out the door by the time the answer was completed a confused Liam responded with a rare show of politeness.

  “OK, thanks, Docs. The briefing’s at six if you two would like to come.”

  Craig was waiting impatiently by the car by the time his puzzled deputy caught him up.

  “What the heck did you disappear for?”

  Craig shook his head heavily. “He knows.”

  Liam clicked open his car doors and climbed in as he asked, “Which one’s he? And knows what?”

  “John. He knows something about Katy and me. I could see it in his eyes.”

  The D.C.I. reversed out the parking space in one turn and drove swiftly out onto the Saintfield Road, heading for the M1 motorway and talking as he went.

  “I’m surprised you could see anything in his eyes considering he hardly looked at you the whole time we were in there.”