Crossing The Line

by Catriona King

  The D.C. hadn’t finished. “But why would Tomelty have bothered with the drains at all when he could just have stayed working at Mahon and carried the drugs in every day?”

  It was Annette who answered her this time. “He couldn’t. Everyone is searched and the sniffer dogs would have picked them up. Besides, he’d wanted the harbour police job for years so he wasn’t going to give that up just for Smyth and Pojello. But then once he got there he spotted the opportunities to import.”

  Craig was just about to carry on when Liam came in again.

  “So, a small amount of the imported drugs goes into Mahon to serve any buyers in there and the rest gets dealt on the streets, or wherever the distribution happens, by Tomelty.”

  Aidan joined in enthusiastically. “But Smyth must have been the leader. He held the calendar.”

  Craig nodded. “And that was their big mistake. If Tomelty had been the only one seen running the operation then it probably wouldn’t have pissed off as many people outside. OK, so he’d have been a competitor, but established dealers have lots of those and they don’t go around killing them; there’s plenty of business to go around. But by being involved and working together Smyth and Pojello were being disloyal to their gangs, and what do you do to disloyal soldiers?”

  “You take them out.” Aidan’s forehead creased. “Which was their biggest disloyalty? Working across gang boundaries or setting up in business without giving their bosses a cut?”

  It brought a shrug from Craig. “Take your pick. Sin number one, disloyalty; they hooked up across gang lines. Sin number two, they sold drugs inside Mahon and then started a bigger street business without paying a percentage to their bosses.”

  Annette’s eyes widened suddenly. “Tomelty!”

  “What about him?”

  “He could be killed next! I know what you just said about people not killing new dealers but now that they’ve killed Tomelty’s partners won’t they think there’s a danger of him talking to us? He’s a loose end, but if they kill him then they could take over his drug import operation for themselves.”

  Craig considered the points and then shook his head cautiously. “I’m not dismissing the idea, Annette, but let’s think it through. Smyth and Pojello were stuck inside a prison, captive targets, with Jimmy Morris close by and willing to do the deed, and we’ll come back to that in a moment. But Tomelty’s out on the street wearing a police uniform. Whoever kills him would immediately become the subject of a massive manhunt.”

  She was unconvinced. “So? What then? The other dealers just let him continue dealing?”

  “Possibly, or they try to appropriate his supplies. I don’t believe Tomelty was the problem. It was the fact that the others were-”

  Liam cut in. “How long do you think he’s going to carry on dealing now anyway? Once Tomelty finds out that both his partners are dead he’s either going to stop or leg it! I know I would.”

  It was an excellent point and made Craig turn to Andy White. “Andy, you have the time and details of tonight’s boat, don’t you?”

  “Aye.” He glanced at the wall clock. “It’s scheduled to dock at ten-thirty. Tomelty comes on shift at ten so I was planning on taking myself down there to nab him in the act, hey.”

  “Not on your own you aren’t!”

  “Ach no, even I’m not that ambitious, hey. I was going to ask a couple of lads from drugs and customs along to see what we can find.”

  “We need to be involved too.” Craig scanned the group until he hit on two eager faces. “Ryan and Andy. Are you game?”

  A joint, “Yes” came back. So much for Andy’s movie night.

  “OK, good, we’ll convene in my office after the briefing to discuss it.”

  As Craig said it his heart sank. He’d promised Katy that he would try to get home by nine. It seemed that rather than marriage interfering with his career as had always been his fear, it was going to be the other way around.

  Liam crossed his arms and made an exaggerated tutting noise. “This won’t do at all. No... no, it most definitely won’t.”

  “What won’t?”

  The D.C.I. gestured at that night’s volunteers. “Well, I mean, look at them. Andy White and Andy Angel; there’ll be mayhem on the raid if it all kicks off. Get him, Andy! What, me? Oh, sorry, did you mean him?”

  He expanded his gesture to cover the whole group. “I mean for goodness sakes, how come so many people in this place have names starting with ‘A’? Eh? Tell me that. Were all your parents lazy?”

  He adopted a mocking tone. “‘Ooh, Doris, let’s get out that book of baby names your mother gave you and pick one.’ And then the idle buggers just stop at the first page!”

  Glancing around the group everyone started laughing at the accuracy of the observation. They had an Aidan, an Annette, an Ash and two Andys at the moment. Thank goodness Alice had gone home for the night at least.

  Meanwhile, Liam was on a roll. “Where’re all the Freds and Veras? Eh?”

  Aidan came straight back with, “Probably in their rest homes”, threatening to ignite the laughter again.

  Craig waved the group down. “Liam actually has a point, especially on a raid.” He stared at the two Andys. “D.C.S. White will return to Derry after this op, but does either of you have another name that we could use just for tonight?”

  Andy White shook his head quickly. “Nope.”

  Liam scoffed at him. “Get away with you, man, I know for a fact you have. Your middle name’s Mary.”

  When a raspberry coloured blush flared on the drug officer’s cheeks Annette asked the obvious question, gently, before anyone else could make a crack. “Mary?”

  The answer came in a mutter. “They were hoping for a girl.”

  Craig bit his lip to stop himself laughing again and moved things along, turning to the Dungiven man’s namesake.

  “D.C.I. Angel. Do you have a second name that we could use?”

  The response came with rolled eyes. “Samuel. Sam. You can call me Sam for tonight but that’s all. I can’t stand the name, or the fat uncle who owned it.”

  Craig nodded and rose to his feet. “OK, Andy, Sam, Ryan and I will meet in my office after the briefing, but right now we’re all taking a five minute break. If I don’t have a coffee soon I’ll crack.”

  As he headed for the percolator in his office he noticed that Liam was on his tail. “Can I do something for you?”

  “Aye. I was just wondering why you didn’t want me there tonight?”

  Craig arched an eyebrow as he sipped gratefully at his hot Americano. “I didn’t think you’d want to go. It’ll be a late one and I know you like to get home for the kids.”

  As they returned to the main office, Liam shook his head.

  “I’m fine tonight. I’d like to do it.”

  Craig perched on a desk and gave a knowing smirk. “Danni’s parents staying again then?”

  The D.C.I. pretended to be offended.“Just because I’m keen to work?” Then he gave a hollow laugh. “It’s worse than her parents, it’s her brother and his wife, and they’re both giant pains in the rear. You’d be doing me a favour by getting me out of it.”

  “Come along then. We aim to please.”

  They sat in amiable silence for a few minutes as everyone filtered back carrying fresh drinks and then Craig reconvened the group.

  “OK. So what do Smyth’s and Pojello’s murders tell us if they were punishments for disloyalty?”

  Ryan was the first to respond. “That their gangs outside had to have ordered them.”

  “Tell me more.”

  The sergeant looked nervous for a moment as all eyes turned to him, then he gave a ‘what the hell’ shrug and carried on.

  “Well, Derek Smyth was a member of UKUF and so is Jim Morris, so UKUF had to have sanctioned Smyth’s death. If anyone else had killed one of their men then they’d have come gunning for them. The same is probably true of Pojello’s gang. The BMs.”

  Craig knew what h
e was getting at but decided that it needed interrogation. “OK...playing Devil’s Advocate, how do we know that Pojello’s gang, the BMs, didn’t have Smyth killed? Perhaps Pojello even did it himself?”

  “No way the BMs would’ve killed Smyth because it would’ve started a gang war, and also you told us about Jimmy Morris and how both men died the same way, by taking the poison tabs. Pojello wouldn’t have taken them if he’d known they’d already been used to kill Smyth because he’d have known that it would have been suicide.”

  “True, except that we haven’t had suicide ruled out yet.”

  At a cry of, “Shame, boss” from his deputy made Craig concede the point with a laugh.

  “OK, OK, let’s say you’re right, Sergeant. Smyth and Pojello were killed by the same man in the same way, and that man’s probably Jim Morris. But if gang loyalty holds true then I can agree with Morris being sanctioned by UKUF to kill Smyth, but Pojello wasn’t in UKUF he was in The BMs, so killing him without BM permission could still start a gang war, couldn’t it?”

  Ryan thought for so long that Mary signalled to speak but Craig shook his head, giving him a moment longer. As the sergeant came to the conclusion that Craig was looking for, his eyes widened and he murmured, “You mean UKUF worked with The BMs to order the deaths!”

  “Yes. And who’s the most likely person to have ordered it in The BMs?”

  “Hugh Bellner.”

  Liam wasn’t the only one surprised but he was the most vocal. “Here. You’re saying Bellner’s Mister Mysterious and McCrae and Bellner got together to have Smyth and Pojello whacked?”

  “Poetically put, and yes. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Both Smyth and Pojello had transgressed against their gangs, but the only way Jim Morris could’ve killed both men without risking a gang war inside and outside Mahon, would have been if both of the big bosses had sanctioned the hit.” He frowned, thinking for a moment. “Now we have to decide whether that was a one-off collaboration or part of a wider partnership between McCrae and Bellner, and if it’s the second, then why?”

  Annette signalled to speak. “We know there are quite a few BM members inside Mahon, so maybe it would be worth asking them what they know?”

  Liam shook his head. “Squealing to the cops could get them killed, But Geoff Hamill might know something more?”

  Craig agreed. “Good, you check on that with gang crime, Annette. And Andy, will you check the drugs side?”

  Getting nods back from both he moved on. “Right, if UKUF and The BMs are working together on something more than the murders then there would have to be profit in it for both of them. They’ve nothing else in common so money has to be the bond here. Everyone, shout out your suggestions and I’ll write them up on the board.”

  A minute later he was reading the list aloud. “Drugs, prostitution, people trafficking, protection, counterfeits. OK, which, if any, can we rule out?”

  Liam responded first. “The Loyalists mostly do one, two and four and we’ve heard that The BMs are into drugs as well.”

  Aidan nodded. “The BMs are heavily into gambling as well, so we should add that to the list.”

  As Craig scribbled up ‘gambling’ something dawned on him. “McCrae operates out of a bookies. What if that’s how he and some of The BMs met? Gambling? They go in there for a flutter and stay to do business with UKUF.” He turned to his deputy. “McCrae won’t give us anything on that so you’ll need to have another chat with Tommy.”

  “I’ll bring some incense with me this time.”

  He didn’t elaborate, despite the questioning looks, because knowledge was always power.

  Craig rapped the board with his marker to focus everyone’s minds. “Right, so what do we think UKUF and The BMs are working on together? Drugs or gambling?”

  Annette answered first. “Drugs. They use a drug combo in the killings but they didn’t develop it just for that.” She was backed up by a series of nods from everyone except Andy-Sam.

  Craig looked at him curiously. “You don’t agree?”

  “It’s not that. I just think we need more evidence to prove the link. I’m also wondering if the gambling and drugs are being combined.”

  “Elaborate.”

  “Well, remember that Vice mentioned casinos possibly being used as drug outlets. I was planning on going to Zenith tomorrow, that’s the place that Emrys Lomax told us about, with a D.C. Wickes from the squad.”

  “Because?”

  “Because Constable Wickes has a snout who’s heard something about combos. She said there was a rumour that people would soon be able to order exactly the drug combo that they liked-”

  Craig interrupted. “So the drugs will be made to order?”

  “Some. At the high end. But if you were the dealer you’d be mass-producing as well, wouldn’t you? The ones that are likely to be popular with kids in the clubs. Uppers and downers, or two uppers maybe.”

  Liam gave a low whistle. “If those get out there then there could be dead kids.”

  Craig nodded solemnly. “OK, Andy-Sam-”

  The name made Liam snigger. “You sound like a drink my mum used to like, Babycham. The advert showed a deer leaping into a glass.” He gazed into space quizzically. “I never understood what that was about.”

  Craig continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “- your namesake will be going with you to Zenith as well, so clear it with Vice please.” He turned to the blue-shirted D.C.S.. “Andy, you’d better find out what Karl knows on the combos.”

  Aidan shook his head. “I can already tell you that he knows nothing. We asked him.”

  Craig nodded and glanced at his watch. It was almost eight-thirty; time to let some people go home.

  “Andy, make your calls and get Drugs and Customs to join us at the Docks at nine-thirty. Preferably with someone versed in Slavic languages.”

  He reiterated the order of play for the morning.

  “OK, we’re still speculating about too many things so we need them nailed down tomorrow once and for all. Annette, take Mary with you to Gang Crime again. Andys, you’re following up the leads on Zenith. Liam and I will be with Tommy first thing and then paying a visit to Mister Bellner. Aidan and Ryan, I’d like you to take a trip to the Labs and confirm everything on Filip Pojello’s death and the tablets that were found today. Also any prints on anything: the drain access, the phone, the tabs found in Morris’ cell, etcetera. Whatever you can get. Davy and Ash, I want everything last thing from Smyth’s phone by tomorrow, and see if you can find who flew that drone into Mahon please.”

  Ash shook his head immediately. “No hope, chief. Drones don’t have to be registered, and without its number to check for credit card purchases, or an actual photo of the handler, which I already know there wasn’t from the petrol station CCTV, we’re out of luck.”

  Davy chided him for his pessimism. “Take a look for other CCTV footage: traffic cams, passing cars, people in overlooking houses. Maybe someone took a pic of it on their phone. S...Seeing a drone disappearing down a drain isn’t be a common thing.”

  Craig ignored the scowl being exchanged between them and went on, “Also, dig deeper into Bellner’s business, and check with Des whether the SIM fits with the phone found in Pojello’s cell.”

  Davy answered the second point immediately. “I already spoke to him, and the phone and SIM are on the s...same network and right for size. Before you ask, no, there’s no techy stuff we can do to be surer than that.”

  Craig laughed at the quick anticipation. “OK, just keep chasing the numbers called on it then. One of them has to belong to Jerome Tomelty, but if we’re lucky we may find something else.” He rose to his feet. “OK, everyone, that’s it. Go home and get some rest, tomorrow’s going to be busy. We’ll meet at one to see what else we’ve got. Anyone who’s on tonight’s operation, come into my office, please.”

  ****

  North Belfast. 9.45 p.m.

  It was bloody frustrating, but inevitable since Pojello’s death.
One dead prisoner might have been an accident, but two and someone was definitely making a point, and that point was that all good things must come to an end.

  Jerome Tomelty gazed at the police uniform lying on his bed, knowing that if he donned it that night it would be for the final time and sipping from the glass of whisky he was holding to give him the Dutch courage for one last big score.

  It was a real pity; he’d always wanted to be a harbour cop but youth and confusion had diverted him into the prison system, and back then any uniform had seemed like a prize. It hadn’t been long before he’d realised that he preferred to lock men up rather than guard them while they were caged and since then he’d applied to the police every year, finally succeeding just months before. He should have been ecstatic, but he hadn’t been because it had come too late. A handful of years earlier and he’d have been driving around the docks as proud as Punch, busy and cheerful every day for the rest of his working life, but in those few years prison work had taken its toll on him and he had met his nemesis in the form of a betting slip.

  He’d always been a gambler; a game of poker here, a five pounds bet each way on a horse there, but it had got worse as he’d grown more disillusioned with his job, until the only thing that had kept him going during a shift was knowing that when he got home he could boot up his laptop and begin betting online.

  But that wasn’t his preference; no, he liked the grime and noise and bonding of a bookies. The camaraderie of people risking their money together in a freezing cold, concreted shop, with its carpet of dead betting slips and cans and its wallpaper made of peeling safety notices and exit signs, was a strange, strange thing. Some were rich, although they tended to go to the races for real, some were average wage slaves like him, but most of the others were poor, on their uppers even, the sort of blokes who couldn’t afford to bet their family’s food money for the week on either two or four-legged animals, but their addiction drove them to.

  As addictions went he supposed that there were worse ones and he’d met plenty of men who’d had them at Mahon. It made the policeman in him shudder and take a swig from his glass this time, naming a few of them in his mind: drug dealing, women, violence, worse... of all of them he was most revolted by the first, which was why part of him was relieved that his role in dealing was being brought to an end; he knew that he’d never have the willpower to stop his involvement himself because of the money, even though the sight of draped across their bunks drooling and absent, sometimes with a needle still hanging out of their arms had made him feel sick long before he’d got involved in the trade.