The Tribes

by Catriona King

  “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr Rey.”

  The young constable leaned towards him as he said it, his arm reaching out in a virtual hug. Virtual it might have been but its effect was astonishingly real. Xavier Rey’s stiff lips contorted, tugging first down and then sideways so that Freeman initially thought he was going to speak, and Andy thought he was going to punch the huggy youth. Then the gang boss’ lips pursed so tight that both cops suddenly realised what he was trying to do. Stop himself crying. A lifelong crier himself Sid Freeman recognised the signs. Xavier Rey was teetering between dry eyes and tears and it wouldn’t take much to start the flood.

  The young detective couldn’t help what he did next, rationalising that if it was a child or a woman in front of him he wouldn’t have hesitated to touch their hand in comfort, so why should a grown man need comfort any less.

  Andy watched astounded as Freeman placed an arm around the godfather’s shoulder. He kept watching as Rey’s dam finally burst and fiercely held-in tears started to stream down his cheeks. When they had finally subsided the constable spoke in a quiet voice.

  “Please let us help you, Mr Rey. Let us help you by finding the people who did this to your son.”

  ****

  A field in County Armagh.

  The young woman gazed at her handiwork, assessing its effect before exiting the dark green car. She noticed a stain on her skirt and shuddered; that was the problem with arteries, especially the arteries of overweight old men; high blood pressure sent the spray everywhere. There was no point trying to clean it off; forensic labs could dig DNA out of the smallest blood drop these days. She would just have to burn it, and her top, and they’d cost her thirty quid at the market just the week before. She was bloody well adding the expense to her bill, plus fifty for almost having to have sex with the dirty old man before she’d seen him off. The boss would never know he’d already paid her, and she deserved way more than fifty for what the kinky git had tried to make her do.

  She slammed the car door behind her and slipped off her wig and shoes, burying her toes in the wet grass as she walked. The man had wondered why they’d had to drive so far, so she’d said that the countryside always put her in the mood. The reality was far simpler; at the end of the field lay the border with the Irish Republic, and a short stroll would take her into a different land. When she reached the low fence at the end the girl turned and waved sarcastically at her dead punter, then she stepped across and waited patiently for her lift.

  ****

  The C.C.U.

  Craig and Liam emerged from the lift at the same time as Andy was walking up the stairs. It was such uncharacteristic athleticism on his part that Liam couldn’t allow it to pass.

  “Don’t tell me. You got out at the ninth and walked up to impress us.”

  Andy merely raised an eyebrow. “Aye, that’s right. The same way that you broke your own nose.”

  Before Liam could retaliate Craig waved Andy through the squad’s doors.

  “You were in the relatives’ room with Rey?”

  The D.C.I. nodded.

  “Positive I.D.?”

  Another nod. Craig glanced around.

  “So where’s Geoff Hamill’s officer?”

  “Sid Freeman. He’s still down there, holding Rey’s hand.” He made an appreciative noise. “He got more out of him with a hug that I’d have got all day.”

  Liam halted abruptly. “Hug? That’s not in the interview handbook.”

  Craig tutted. “The man’s just lost his son, Liam.” He turned back to Andy. “He’s safe enough there, isn’t he?”

  “Wouldn’t have left him otherwise. I sensed Rey would say more without the boss man in the room. Macho stuff.”

  Craig shot Liam a warning glance; any cracks about Andy’s masculinity could wait for another day. He strode across the floor to Ash, ending the exchange. On his way he noticed a pile of folders on Davy’s desk.

  “Davy won’t be happy if his desk is untidy when he gets back.”

  Nicky answered brightly. “He’s back already and he put them there himself.”

  Craig turned towards her with a smile. “He’s back? Where is he?”

  “I sent him home. He was tired and dirty from the flight. He’ll be in tomorrow.”

  Fair enough. He grabbed a chair and sat down.

  “What have you got for me, Ash?” He turned, looking for Liam, only to find him by Nicky’s desk, basking in her sympathy for his sore nose. “Liam, call Joe for an update, and when you’ve finished that get onto the lab. I want a definitive cause of death for Matias Rey; they must have his tox-screen back by now. We need to know if he drowned normally, was killed by a blow as he went into the river, or was drugged so heavily that he drowned. Hurry up.”

  He turned back to Ash, but not so quickly that he didn’t catch Liam shaking his fist.

  “Right, Ash. I need Rey’s point of entry into the river, and the path he travelled. Plus anything else you’ve got.”

  Ash didn’t move, not even to tap a key. As Craig leaned forward to urge him on, the analyst said “Yes.”

  Craig was perplexed. “Yes? Yes what?”

  “Yes, Davy and I had a chat and I’d like to stay. If the offer’s still open.”

  Craig grinned. “That’s brilliant. I’m presuming you’ve divided the work in a way that’ll keep you both happy.”

  Ash gave him a ‘too right’ look. “I’m going nowhere near Agent Somerville again. That was part of the deal.”

  Craig laughed. “OK, I’ll get the details some other time. Nice to have you on the team.” He gestured at the analyst’s computer. “So, have you got what I need?”

  So that was it. No fanfare and no cake; they had a new permanent member of the team and now he had to earn his crust. Ash lifted his smart-pad and tapped up a map. It showed the Lagan from its source at Slieve Croob in County Down to Belfast Lough where it entered the Irish Sea. Every tributary was marked in red, every weir, lock and bridge in green.

  “OK, so according to the different algae found in Matias Rey’s throat and lungs, he entered the river here.” He tapped on the screen and a gold star appeared at Shaw’s Bridge. “He was still breathing when he reached here.” Another tap and another star appeared at the near end of Lagan Meadows. “The algae’s different in the higher part of his respiratory tract.”

  “Meaning it entered later.”

  “Correct. We think that’s where he died. The algae downstream from there is different again, but there’s no sign of it in his throat or lungs, so Des and John think he took his last breath somewhere around here.”

  Craig frowned at the screen, puzzled. The distance between Rey’s entry point and where he’d died was less than two miles. He’d been young and fit, and in inland water even the weakest swimmer shouldn’t have drowned. Ash read his mind.

  “Yep, that’s what I thought. A couple of miles in an inland river wouldn’t seem enough to have killed him. I’m not that strong a swimmer and even I would have been OK. I checked the currents for Tuesday night and Wednesday and they weren’t strong, so he’s unlikely to have been pulled under for any time. And OK, the water was cold, but it wasn’t freezing, so while hypothermia could’ve been a factor in his death, it couldn’t have been the cause. So…” He moved to his P.C. and began to scroll. Before he could speak again Craig threw in a question.

  “He could swim, couldn’t he? Someone has checked.”

  Ash nodded, still scrolling. “Doctor Winter asked his father at the viewing. He was a strong swimmer.”

  “So…that means… either there was some obstacle in the river that caused his death that wasn’t on the map, or he had to have been physically compromised in some way. Probably drugs.”

  “Or both.” Ash nodded towards Andy. “Andy asked some uniforms to check the route and they found a heap of scrap metal dumped in the river…” He turned back to his pad and pointed just beyond the second star. “Just here. So it’s possible Rey got caught on it, struggl
ed to free himself and drowned. It rained heavily on Wednesday night so the current must have washed the body free, down to the Lagan Weir. It could explain why it took almost two days for him to be found. I checked and Rey’s jeans had rips in them that were too big to have been made by stones-”

  Craig signalled him to stop. “OK, so he enters here.” He pointed to the first star and then moved his finger along. “And we know that here is where he acquired the last algae he breathed in, just a few feet before the scrap metal he got caught on. So was that it? He got stuck and drowned naturally?”

  He was answered by a flurry of green. “No. It definitely wasn’t natural; he could have freed himself if he hadn’t been so compromised by drugs. Doctor Marsham has just phoned. They found enough Ketamine and Valium in Rey’s system to render him completely incapable.”

  Craig nodded. Rey’s attackers would never have taken the chance he’d survive to I.D. them.

  “Good work, Ash.”

  Liam was at his desk, still talking on the phone. He cut the call just as Craig approached.

  “Rey’s C.O.D. was drug induced drowning. Ketamine and Valium. Enough to stop a truck.”

  “I know.”

  Liam wasn’t deflated. “Aye, but what you don’t know is that they’ve found something at the farm. Joe wants us down there.”

  Craig glanced at his watch. Two o’clock and it would take them until four to get to Armagh and back. He didn’t fancy a late briefing so he strode across to Nicky.

  “Nick, I want a briefing in one hour, please, and can you see if Sergeant Karl Rimmins from Drugs and D.C.I. Hamill from Gangs can join us. If Karl needs persuading tell him that it involves Ketamine.”

  As he turned towards the door she called after him. “Where will you be until then?”

  “Here. I’m just nipping down to get a sandwich.”

  Liam reached the stairs before he did. “Me too.”

  ****

  Katy typed in her credit card details and then hovered the mouse above the ‘purchase’ button, wondering if she was insane but deciding to go ahead anyway. She clicked twice and then shut down the screen. She was a grown woman and it was time to stop being scared. Life is dangerous; get over it, girl. She was more likely to get killed crossing the road than-.

  She halted mid-thought, wondering if it was actually true about crossing roads and other accidents. Scientist that she was, she clicked on an actuarial site to check. Actually, it was true about the likelihood of accidents, but she was even more likely to die of the Flu! And they were both infinitely more likely than getting killed by one of Marc’s psychopaths. It made up her mind.

  If she could do even two of the things that she’d just paid for without running away in fright, then she would officially be brave. What that meant for her future, only time would tell.

  ****

  Craig was sitting with his feet up on his desk and a chicken sandwich halfway out of his mouth when the handle of his office door began rattling; interrupting the five minutes quiet he’d allowed himself to think about life. He kept on eating, knowing that his intruder would enter a second later, whether he wanted them to or not. It would be either Nicky or Liam; no-one else would dare bother him when he was trying to take a break.

  When no-one entered and the rattling continued he set his sandwich down and sighed.

  “Come in before you pull the handle off.”

  It was Nicky, the rattling her way of warning him of bad news. Her glum expression underlined it so effectively that he dropped his feet to the floor with a thud.

  “Who’s dead?”

  “A man in a field in Armagh.”

  What was it with Armagh this week?

  “I take it, it wasn’t natural causes.”

  It was the P.A.’s turn to sigh. “Not unless he cut his throat shaving.”

  Everybody’s a comedian.

  He beckoned her in and consigned the sandwich to the bin. “OK, so tell me why a murder in Armagh is our problem? You don’t think two deaths is enough for one week?”

  “The officer in charge recognised the victim and he’d heard about our investigation and thought that it might be connected.”

  He sat back. “Who is the victim?”

  “A Belfast bookie called Calum Fox. He owns…”

  Craig had already tuned out. He already knew exactly what Calum Fox owned, the Fox chain of betting shops was well known across the north. The gambling link took his mind immediately to Matias Rey.

  “Did he say Fox was linked with gangs?”

  She shook her head, puzzled. “Gangs? In Armagh?” It was said as if the countryside was immune to such things. “No, he just said Fox was a well-known businessman and he wondered if there might be a link with our farmer’s death, seeing as it happened just down the road.”

  Craig gave a sceptical ’huh’. “You mean he wanted to get a potentially high profile case off his patch.” He thought for a moment. “OK, move the briefing to five, please, and apologise to everyone; I know it’s late for a Friday but we are on all weekend. Tell Liam we’re leaving for Armagh in ten minutes, please.”

  When the door had closed he cleared murder from his mind and turned to thinking about Katy. He had a hunch it was the last chance he would get all weekend.

  ****

  Dundalk. The Republic of Ireland.

  “So it’s done, then?”

  The girl zipped up her jeans and walked past the youth towards the house’s back garden. As he repeated the question more firmly, she swung round, spitting out a reply in a heavy accent.

  “You bloody know it done, Dermot. Your dog on phone to you as soon as I get in his car.” She held up her soiled clothes. “I burn my clothes now because of it. You owe me cost of those as well.”

  As she dropped the bloodied outfit on the bonfire, the man relaxed down in his chair. He waved her back in, coaxing her onto his knee as they watched the evidence go up in smoke.

  “Ach, I’m sarry, mo grá. Ye know I’d never have asked ye if it hadn’t been important.”

  The girl wriggled in a show of displeasure. “Important to who? And what they want bookie killing f-”

  She didn’t finish the word, her throat suddenly constricted by the young man’s strong hand. The message was clear; keep your mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you. When fear had widened her eyes enough to please him Dermot Faloon relaxed his grip and trailed the hand down to her breasts instead, cupping one firmly in his hand. It was a different message to his first, but every bit as clear.

  Chapter Seven

  Armagh. 3 p.m.

  “McAllister was on the take so the odds are Fox was.”

  Craig shrugged and then indicated off the Portadown Road, pulling into the city’s main police station.

  “We don’t know they’re linked yet.”

  Liam sniffed and climbed out of the car. “If they weren’t dumping bodies at beauty spots, I’d say leave them to it. Scrotes killing scrotes is the way of the world.”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Craig locked the car and headed for the building. “Anyway, they are defacing beauty spots and all these killings are bad for the tourist trade.” He pulled open the heavy steel front door. “What I don’t like are the links with the Republic.”

  Liam frowned. “What links? The deaths were both in the north.”

  “A few miles from the border. And Geoff said something about The Rock; they intercepted a call that referred to knackers.”

  Liam’s eyes widened. “You’re linking the Armagh deaths with Matias Rey’s?”

  Craig walked to the desk, not answering, and pulled out his warrant card. “Sergeant O’Donnell, please. Say Superintendent Craig and D.C.I. Cullen from the Belfast Murder Squad are here to see him.”

  The W.P.C. behind the desk looked startled by his words, then she peered at his badge and looked even more shocked when she saw that it was true, knocking a pile of paper over in her grab for the phone. She turned her back to them and cupped her hand a
round the receiver. It made Liam comment in a loud voice.

  “See the effect we have on women.”

  Craig snorted. “I think you’ll find the word murder did the trick.”

  The woman turned back, her eyes still wide, and pointed them shakily to a bench. “The sergeant’s just popped out. They’re phoning him now.”

  As Craig sat down he thought idly that words like ‘popped’ and ‘nipped’, however descriptive, probably didn’t carry the authoritative ring that the force hoped to convey. When he’d trained they’d said things like ‘he’s on an enquiry’, even if that enquiry was only how much the chips cost in the local café, or else they’d said ‘he’s liaising’; it had sounded good and covered a multitude of sins. He was just about to ask Liam what he’d said as a P.C. when a grey-haired Sergeant Frederick O’Donnell popped back in. He followed the flurry of handshaking with a buzzed entry through to a small briefing room. Its white boarded wall was covered with scenes that could have been from a slasher movie and Craig wandered across to take a closer look.

  “Calum Fox, I presume?”

  “Aye.” O’Donnell ran his fingers under his collar like he was spiking a temperature. “I don’t mind telling you we don’t see much of this sort of thing. Thanks be to God.”

  Liam’s reply was caustic. “We see far too much of it, and now you want to give us another one.”

  Craig shot him a warning look and took a seat. “We’re happy to help in any way we can, Sergeant. Tell us what you know so far.”

  O’Donnell perched on the desk, pointedly avoiding Liam’s eyes, and Craig made up his mind that another diplomacy lecture lay in his D.C.I.’s future. If rural forces were deterred calling on them for help, there’d be a lot of future murders in the country written off as accidental deaths.

  O’Donnell was still feeling his own collar, in a way that said doing up his top button had probably only been for their benefit. Craig pictured him fastening it between the front desk phone call and the moment he’d popped back through the station’s door, so in a show of consideration he loosened his own tie, relaxing the tone until O’Donnell felt confident enough to speak.