Crossing The Line

by Catriona King

  “Excellent. OK, Liam, leave those for Des to look at and follow me.”

  The D.C.I. abandoned his bags and gloves cheerfully and strode past the hovering governor and out of the cell.

  “Where are we heading?”

  “Back to see Jimmy Morris. He’s up to his eyes in this.”

  Liam’s long stride became a shuffle as they worked their way through a crowd of prisoners, forced to either side of the walkway by guards. Unfortunately they couldn’t be forced to be quiet so the detectives had to shut their ears and bite their tongues very hard as they passed.

  When they were almost through the wall of catcalls and slurs, Liam decided to fight back.

  “Can’t you lot come up with some new insults? Pig-scum’s getting really old. I’ll tell you what, run a competition for the best one and you can have a week’s supply of soap as a prize.”

  Craig stifled a laugh. “For God’s sake don’t encourage them or they really will. Anyway, hurry up. I need to update you on the CCTV and drains.”

  By the time they were nearing the interview room the D.C.I. was up to date on both and grudgingly admiring of the smugglers’ ingenuity.

  “You’ve got to give it to them, boss. The cons here haven’t been idle, have they.”

  “I suppose that’s one way to look at it. Anyway, they’ve obviously been bringing drugs in, and maybe other contraband, and maybe sending messages to their partners on the outside as well. They might have considered it less risky that making mobile calls that could be traced.”

  As they reached the door Liam went to say something more, then he changed his mind and beckoned Craig back several feet, in case Jimmy Morris might overhear.

  “OK, so, if the phone and drone combo brought the drugs in here and kept the orders flowing, what was the calendar about? And with Smyth and Pojello dying exactly the same way they must have pissed the same people off, and how else could they have done that but by working together across gang lines? So you really think addiction’s the reason they did it?”

  Craig nodded. “I think feeding their habits was the reason they began working together, but it continued because they saw dealing in here as a way to make some cash. I think they got murdered because their dealing did their killer out of business and maybe also for crossing gang lines, but I’d put the business offence first there.”

  Liam made a face. “For the size of the market in here? It hardly seems worth it. But OK, let’s say you’re right. The thing that puzzles me most is who wanted Pojello and Smyth dead, and who would be prepared take the risk of committing two murders, bringing twice the risk of discovery by us?”

  He leant back against the wall and put his hands in his pockets, thinking.

  “I can see UKUF killing Smyth for working outside the gang, and maybe even The BMs knocking Pojello off for the same reason, but can you honestly see either gang bothering to top the other one? Or taking the risk of killing another gang’s man?”

  Craig saw where he was heading. “It would start a street war.”

  “Exactly. Not to mention the chance of them getting caught. The buggers must think they’re flameproof.”

  A moment’s consideration ended with both men shaking their heads and then Liam had a new idea.

  “OK, so Smyth and Pojello were betraying their allegiances and dealing, but surely the market in here’s too small to warrant killing them? But... what if they weren’t just dealing in here but outside as well. What if Smyth’s calendar and phone calls say they were dealing on the street too, and that part of their empire was getting big enough to put people’s noses out of joint?”

  Craig gave a wide grin. “Liam, you’re a genius! I could hug you!”

  The D.C.I. took a step sideways “Here now, there’ll be none of that aul stuff! I’m a married man.” He realised what he’d just said and laughed, “You are too now. I’d forgotten about that.”

  He got a dig in the shoulder from Craig instead of a hug, but the sentiment was the same.

  “You’ve nailed it, Liam! Pojello and Smyth were running a drug dealing business inside and outside these walls, and it pissed off someone important.” His forehead wrinkled into a frown. “Finding them won’t be easy though. We can assume that McCrae’s involved here somewhere because of Smyth, but he doesn’t have the brains God gave him so he could never have planned this alone. And those double-drug combos are far too sophisticated for him.”

  “You said there was a mysterious Mister Big.”

  Craig smiled.“I’m not sure I used those words.”

  “Words, smurds, you know what I mean. McCrae’s too thick, agreed, but if Pojello was in The BMs, someone there must be Mister Big.”

  Craig conceded the point and glanced at his watch. “We need to finish up with Morris, nip down to see John and Des when they arrive and then head back up the road for the briefing. I moved it to six-thirty.”

  The D.C.I. groaned. “Ach, that means I won’t get home till late, and there’s footie on the box.”

  “Hoping to pick up some hints for the five-a-side? I noticed Aidan had put your name down for it. We’re playing on Boxing Day by the way.”

  He opened the interview room door before Liam could respond and they were greeted by a smugly grinning Jimmy Morris, prompting Craig to lurch forward so fast into the Loyalist’s face that it made him jump back.

  “Grinning for any particular reason, Joyboy?”When there was no answer he went on, “Because if I can prove you had anything to do with anything that’s happened here in the past few days, then you can kiss goodbye to any hope of parole, Sonny Jim.”

  It set the tone for another thirty minutes of interrogation and silences that yielded nothing helpful, and the detectives were just about to return to the cell to see if the scientists had arrived when there was a knock at the door.

  Craig nodded his deputy to answer it and he quickly disappeared outside, reappearing a minute later with a grin on his face and a slip of paper in his hand.

  “Note from an Officer McCausland, boss.”

  Craig’s heart lifted as he read it, then he tucked the note into his pocket and turned back to the paramilitary with a chilly smile.

  “Why were you in Filip Pojello’s cell at one-forty-five this afternoon?”

  Morris didn’t blink, already prepared for the question.

  “I was leavin’ back a book I’d taken from the library. Pojello is, was, a trustee.”

  The correction might have been an admission of murder, but Morris was far more likely to say that he’d acquired the knowledge of Pojello’s demise by overhearing them speaking outside the door whether he had or not, and Craig was pretty sure that ten feet of air supported the latter.

  The paramilitary’s assertion was made with a smirk that made Liam want to smack his face.

  “Why not return the book to the library yourself?”

  “I’m lazy. Couldn’t be arsed walking there.”

  Craig decided to take a different tack, recalling a detail from the note. “You were in Filip Pojello’s cell for three minutes. It doesn’t take that long to leave a book.”

  “I’m a nosy bugger, so I took a look around.”

  “Steal anything interesting?”

  It prompted a croaky laugh. “Now, now officer, ye wouldn’t be tryin’ to frame me, would ye?”

  Craig’s retort was cool. “We won’t need to. We found the tablets that killed Pojello in the vent and as CCTV shows you weren’t wearing gloves in the cell my guess is that your prints will be all over the bag. And given that we know you don’t take drugs yourself, well...”

  He watched with satisfaction as Jimmy Morris blanched beneath his sporty glow.

  It had been a total punt on Craig’s part; he hadn’t known whether Morris had been wearing gloves when he’d entered Pojello’s cell or not, because the CCTV Officer hadn’t said. But he knew now all right, and all it would take was a single print on the bag of tablets that Liam had just found to keep Joyboy Morris locked up for years.
He’d have plenty of reason to look miserable then.

  Craig joined his deputy on his feet. “We’ll be running your prints against them and you’ll remain here while your cell is searched.” He’d just reached for the door handle when a hoarse, “Wait!” rang out and he turned back.

  “What should we wait for? Are you going to tell us whose orders you were acting on when you killed Filip Pojello?” He paused and then added, “And Derek Smyth” watching Morris’ face carefully for any twitch that might be an admission that he had killed both men. “Unless you did it off your own bat?”

  There was a lengthy pause while a ream of conflicting emotions bounced across the Loyalist’s face: anger for everyone but himself, hope that the forensics might fail to implicate him, replaced quickly by despair at the certainty of what they would find in his cell - Pojello’s and Smyth’s normal diazepam tablets that he had removed and substituted poisoned versions for. Tablets that he had intended to flush but just hadn’t found the time.

  When the bounce finally ended on grim determination and Morris’ heavy jaw set hard, Craig knew that any hope of him turning against his boss or bosses was lost. The paramilitary was going to do the time for the two murders in the hope that he would be rewarded for his loyalty on his eventual release. Either that or he was terrified that if he talked he might meet the same fate as Pojello and Smyth.

  ****

  The C.C.U.’s Basement Garage. 5.10 p.m.

  The three detective acronym that was AAR arrived back at ranch well ahead of Craig’s rescheduled briefing, and Andy Angel pulled his car into the nearest free space, not yet having reached the elevated rank of Chief Superintendent which since the year before had been the lowest requirement for having your name whitewashed on a small piece of tarmac that would be forever yours, on loan.

  Not that he normally paid attention to such things. Normally he would have infringed the rule cheerfully, plonking his Golf decisively in a D.C.S.’ space, especially if it had had ‘D.C.S. Harrison’, a man that he loathed, stencilled there. Not so much looking for a fight, which was always unlikely given that there were ten such dedicated spaces and some of their owners were never around, long retired or dead, the police force not being the quickest to adjust to things like that, more that he didn’t give a monkey’s if one occurred. But today he didn’t even have the energy for a fight that wasn’t likely to happen, hence him parking like a good boy in an unmarked square.

  The D.C.I.’s lack of vim was further indicated by a weak wave to the others to get out of his car and a laboured door opening and sighed exit of his own. The theatricality of the sequence was enough to earn him a grunt from Aidan who was just emerging on the passenger side.

  The sound said, “What’s eating you?”, “get a grip”, and, “we’re knackered too but you don’t see us moaning, do you?” simultaneously, and Andy heard every word of it, deigning only to respond to the first part.

  “I just don’t fancy going upstairs to spend the hour before the briefing working, that’s all.”

  Ryan, who had exited the rear seat with a great deal more energy, displayed some of it by nodding furiously. “And someone’s bound to give us more to do as soon as we set foot up there.” A mischievous look appeared on his face. “So let’s not.”

  Aidan raised an eyebrow. “You mean skip the briefing? The Guv would use our asses for target practice!”

  “No, no, not the briefing. Just the next...” He looked at his watch, “Seventy-four minutes until then.”

  Andy felt his energy levels soar and nodded him on. “OK, so what do we do in the meantime?”

  “We could go to the canteen.”

  Aidan shook his blond head. “Nah, I’m tea-ed out. Besides, someone would see us there skiving.”

  The sergeant chewed his lip for a moment and then had another go. “We could try another casino? That one earlier wasn’t much use. None of the working girls would even talk to us.”

  Andy pulled a face. “We weren’t rich enough, that’s why. Anyway, we’re not going to another one now. I can’t deal with any more rejection today.”

  Ryan gave it one last try. “OK, well, how about we go back to Vice then? We could see what D.C.I. Lomax has found out?”

  Aidan’s looming objection died on his lips at the sight of Andy nodding his head.

  “I agree. So that makes it two to one.”

  His decision to revisit Vice had been more than a little influenced by the hope of encountering a pretty female officer that he’d noticed there the day before, but having spotted Aidan’s aborted objection he was curious why he didn’t want to go.

  “Why were you about to say no?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, you were. Why?”

  Aidan searched for something logical to say. “We haven’t given Emrys enough time, so he mightn’t have found anything yet, and I think we’d be better going back to the streets ourselves.”

  Andy locked his car with a beep and started walking towards the lift, “We can do that tomorrow if we need to, but we’re here now so we might as well ask.”As they ascended to the seventh floor he decided to dig further. “That bit about Lomax not having time to find anything was crap, wasn’t it? You just don’t like seeing another king on your throne, Hughes.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yes it is.” He added for good measure, “I noticed it yesterday.” He hadn’t, but it backed up his case and sounded good.

  Obviously none of it was sounding good to Ryan because he gave a sigh so loud that it made both D.C.I.s turn.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Well, listen to yourselves, for goodness sake! Is not, is so, is not, is so. I’ve heard primary school kids talk more sense!” As he finished his telling-off he suddenly remembered that both men were senior to him and added a weak, “Sirs” that made all of them laugh.

  As it was, the debate was decided by fate, because what greeted them as the lift doors opened was the very Vice boss they’d just been discussing, who stepped forward to enter without looking and collided with his predecessor in the job.

  “Aidan” and “Emrys” emerged at the same time, followed by the Welshman adding, “Are you here to see me?”

  “We were, but if that’s not convenient-”

  “We could go to the canteen” was added by Ryan, unfortunately not only inside his head as he’d planned.

  It prompted Lomax to turn on his heels and head back towards his office with an amused, “Well I know I’m not a hot buttered teacake but I’ll just have to do.”

  Once in the Vice squad-room Andy scanned for his future girlfriend, finding her standing at the photocopier wearing a fetching tie-dyed T-shirt and jeans. He cast a longing look in her direction then followed the others reluctantly into Lomax’s office and took a seat.

  “Right, so. You’re here to see if I’ve got anything for you.”

  In the second the Welshman took to breathe Aidan jumped in.

  “Have you? Because if you haven’t I can pick up on my old contacts. We were going to do it earlier but other things came up.”

  “I can save you the trouble. We’ve already called on our snouts in the casinos and escort agencies. Rebecca took all those.”

  Andy’s mind drifted for a moment. Rebecca. From the Hebrew, "Beautifully ensnaring". The name suited her (he hoped).

  When he listened in again Lomax was talking about the sex trade on Belfast’s streets.

  “The lads checked all the street-level taxi and delivery firms and girls...”

  Ryan sat forward eagerly, interested in what they’d found. Aidan however leant even further back in his seat, in a manner he thought befitted a man of the world who could never be surprised or enthused.

  “... and we had a bit of luck.”

  With his quick glance towards the outer office and a question Andy gave away exactly what he’d been trying to avoid; that he fancied one of Lomax’s team.

  “Which officer was the lucky one?”
/>
  It prompted the other men to give various shades of knowing smirk which he knew was only the silent movie version of the slagging that he was going to get later on.

  “It was Rebecca actually. D.C. Wickes.”

  Andy feigned indifference at the answer but it was too late and he knew it. A kind-hearted Ryan decided to rescue him by asking more.

  “Where did she get lucky? Casino, street or agency?”

  Emrys broke his stare at the now-blushing Andy to answer. “A casino.”

  The words were accompanied by him turning to his smart-pad and tapping several times until a map appeared on its screen.

  “Aidan will already know this, but we have very few gambling clubs in Northern Ireland, and none legal. The UK gambling laws were liberalised under the Labour government in two-thousand-and-seven, but public opinion here not being as relaxed in some ways as on the mainland there hasn’t been a real call for them-”

  Aidan interjected. “We already have enough bookies if people want to chuck their money down the drain.”

  It brought a chuckle from their host.

  “Fair point. Anyway, in the last two years there’s been a push for the first real casino but it’s not here yet, so the places that we’re calling casinos still cover their gambling under the masquerade of ‘entertainment clubs’ and even so there are only two of those in the six counties.”

  There was a ripple of surprise amongst the group as Lomax went on.

  “Ok, so, where there’s money being flashed around there’s all too often drugs and girls, and that’s where Rebecca comes in. She has a lot of contacts amongst the croupiers and escorts from a stint she did undercover as bar staff, and she’s come up trumps.”

  Andy edged forward on his chair. “The counterfeits meds? You’ve found something on the dealers?”

  The Vice boss gave a nod. “More than just the usual counterfeits, she’s got some possible info on your combos.”