The Tribes

by Catriona King

  She shrugged. “We went upstairs and I sat Ben down with a DVD while I jumped into the shower.”

  He pushed swiftly past the image, urging her on.

  “Then I went into our kitchen. It’s above the workmen’s area you’ll have been in. I was just starting to prepare lunch when I noticed one of the drawers slightly open and an envelope poking out.”

  “Which contained?”

  She frowned, remembering. “Money. Fifty pound notes. There were more envelopes in the drawer so I removed them all and started to count.”

  He raised a hand to halt her. “Can I ask why you counted it? Surely as your husband ran a business you would often have had cash in the house?”

  She shook her head emphatically. “We did everything by bank transfer. That way we could keep track for the tax man. The only cash around would have been small amounts to pay the cleaner or a casual labourer.” She gave him a sceptical look. “And it certainly wouldn’t have been in fifty pound notes.”

  He asked his next question. “Didn’t you worry that your husband might have come in while you were counting?”

  “No. I knew Colin was working in the far fields that day, but anyway, why would I have worried? I wasn’t frightened of my husband, Superintendent. Colin would never have laid a hand on Ben or me.”

  “Yet you wanted Ben out of the house.”

  “Only when I’d finished. It was only when I realised how much money was there that I began to worry. That’s when I contacted Johnny and he advised me to get Ben out.”

  Corbett nodded in confirmation.

  “For the tape please, Mr Corbett.”

  The solicitor sighed. He was supposed to be playing bridge that evening, not sitting in a stuffy interview room.

  “I confirm that Mrs McAllister contacted me on the twenty-second of January around twelve-thirty p.m. to tell me that she had found a substantial quantity of money that she couldn’t account for in her home. Approximately fifty thousand pounds. I advised her to put the money back where she had found it and not confront her husband with the find. Later that day we decided that she should remove herself and her son from the house sometime over the next few days and together we would consult the fraud squad on what best to do next. Mrs McAllister brought Ben to Belfast on Monday the twenty-fifth of January and we contacted Inspector Dawson on the twenty-eighth.”

  “Just before we contacted you at The Merchant Hotel.”

  “Indeed.”

  Craig thought for a moment then turned back to his interviewee. “I want you to think carefully about my next question, Mrs McAllister.”

  She nodded.

  “Exactly when was the last time you saw your husband and how did he seem?”

  Without hesitation she said. “On the Monday we left. He was fine. I said I was going to Belfast for the day shopping then he went out to work on the farm.”

  His follow up question was swift. “When did you last see Mitchell Purvis?”

  If he’d hoped to wrong-foot her he failed. She smiled and shook her head.

  “We weren’t having an affair then, Superintendent. We hadn’t been together for months.”

  His voice was insistent. “When?”

  She shrugged as if he was being stupid. “The day before. The Sunday. Mitchell was in the main hall when I brought Ben in from the swings at around three.”

  “Did you speak?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course. We weren’t teenagers who needed to ignore each other because things hadn’t worked out. We discussed how the milking was going and then I took Ben upstairs.”

  “How would you describe Mr Purvis’ mood?”

  Her answer came snapping back. “Sulky.” It made the night sergeant snigger in the viewing room. “He always acted as if I’d dumped him, when he knew exactly why the relationship had had to end.”

  “Which was?”

  She stared at him as if he was an idiot. “Because I loved my husband, Mr Craig. Mitchell had never been anything but a distraction. Life on a farm can be lonely.”

  It made Johnny Corbett groan.

  She rounded on him.

  “What do you want me to say, Johnny? That I was madly in love with Mitchell? Would that make me seem like less of a tart? Well, I won’t say that because it wasn’t true. I liked Mitchell, but we got together out of boredom-”

  Craig interrupted in a dry tone. “I’m not sure that Mr Purvis would say the same.” Either way it was time to move on. “So you found the money, called Mr Corbett and put it back, biding your time until you could remove your son safely from the farm.” He paused, watching her face carefully as he asked his next question. “Where did you think the money had come from, Mrs McAllister?”

  Her expression didn’t change. “I had no idea, but I knew it wasn’t from the farm. If Colin had made fifty thousand he would have told me, or it would have shown up in our bank account. I did the accounts so I would have noticed immediately.”

  “Did you make any attempts to find out where it was from?”

  She surprised him with a nod. “I drove around the land on the Saturday, when Colin was at the dairy market.” She gave a weak laugh. “I don’t know quite what I was looking for. Maybe a barn full of diamonds, or something, but I looked in every barn and stopped at every field and I couldn’t find anything that looked out of place.” She shook her head sadly. “I honestly have no idea where it came from, but it must have been what got Colin killed.”

  Craig’s scrutiny didn’t weaken. “Had you ever seen anything before that had made you suspect your husband of being dishonest?”

  It made her smile. “Never. Colin couldn’t lie to save his life.”

  Apparently not.

  She stopped, realising how silly it had sounded. “Except that he must have been lying in some way, mustn’t he, or why would he have been killed?”

  Craig had almost finished.

  “I just have two more questions, Mrs McAllister. In your opinion, could Mitchell Purvis have killed your husband? He was in love with you, after all.”

  It was her most empathic “Never” yet. She added “Mitchell couldn’t kill a rat never mind a man. Colin had to do any killing there was to be done on the farm.”

  He withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket, watching her face carefully as he spread it out to reveal a map of the farm. He tapped the field where they’d found the underground tank.

  “Can you tell me where that is, please?”

  She leaned forward, turning her head this way and that to orient herself before placing a finger on the top of the map.

  “That’s north, isn’t it? I’m not great with directions.”

  “Yes, that’s north.”

  She ran her finger down and stopped at the farmhouse. “Well, if that’s the house then where you tapped must be the southernmost field.” As she moved her hand, Craig noticed that any mark there might have been from her wedding and engagement rings was invisible; an omen for how quickly she might forget her married life. Her finger halted and she nodded. “This is the border with the Republic so down here would be County Monaghan. The border is the boundary of our land so that’s definitely our southernmost field.”

  “What’s normally grown there?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Colin said the earth wasn’t good for crops. He used it for grazing the ponies occasionally. Mine and Ben’s. Mitchell’s mare as well.” She gazed at him innocently. “What’s so special about that field? There wasn’t anything there when I checked.”

  The value in the field lay deep underground. The soil had looked fine for planting to him but he wasn’t an agriculturalist; they’d need to take samples. If the land turned out to be OK for crops then the fact that Colin McAllister hadn’t used the field for such would tell them that he’d known all about the tanks.

  He stared at the new widow; still certain that she knew more than she was saying. How could McAllister have been running a racket on their land without her spotting something? Her good citizen
’s act over the cash could simply have been revenge because she’d thought her husband had been withholding money from her. OK, reporting it to the fraud squad was pushing the act a bit, but she wouldn’t have been the first wife to think that getting her husband locked up would have left her free to keep all the profits herself.

  He put the map back in his pocket and rested his hands on the table. It felt cool despite the overhead neon lights.

  “You’ve outlined your whereabouts for the past week to Sergeant Harris?”

  Corbett answered eagerly, sensing a slight thaw. “Mrs McAllister has accounted for every hour.”

  Craig’s next words said that the thaw had been less than he’d thought. “We will be checking everything, and if we find even the slightest discrepancy-”

  Mara McAllister shook her head desperately. “You won’t. I promise.”

  He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “We will revoke your bail. In the interim I am bailing you to reside at The Merchant Hotel or your parents’ home; we have both addresses. You must sign in at this station every day and if you attempt to leave Belfast you’ll be arrested and held on remand.”

  Corbett pushed it. “Exactly what are you charging my client with? You can’t-”

  “I can under PACE and I will, and if you insist on a charge it will be obstructing a police investigation. Despite her protestations I don’t believe your client has been entirely honest with us, so I suggest that you take the bail offer before I change my mind.”

  He stood up, pushing back his chair. “The night sergeant will make the arrangements.” He stared at the widow. “Go and see your son, Mrs McAllister, and think very carefully about what I’ve said. If you’ve withheld anything from us we will find out, and then any chance you have to stay out of court will be lost.”

  He left the room, forgetting about her instantly, and drove home to spend a sleepless night thinking of the woman he loved.

  ****

  Tates Avenue, Belfast. 4 a.m.

  Tommy liked the night; the wee small hours north of midnight when houses were dark and roads could be crossed at a stroll. Or a strut, which was how he always walked. Cock of the walk, the King of Belfast, anointed by his own hand with his victims’ blood. He smiled a closed mouthed smile, reminiscing about the good old days. He was still smiling and scanning the terraced street when he heard a slight rustling behind his back. He stood still and listened, knowing that any minute now a rat would appear; a skinny, lank-haired, human one.

  As a shadow flashed at the edge of his vision Tommy swung around fast enough to grab its cause, squeezing hard as the man in his grip attempted to peel his fingers from his arm. Finally he released his hand, casually lighting up a cigarette as the scrawny, leather jacketed man winced in pain.

  “Long time no see, Coyler.”

  Ralph Coyle was still wincing; Tommy had a grip like steel. The wince was accompanied by a rattling cough, his condition worsened by the smoke the ex-paramilitary was blowing in his face. He’d run with Tommy for years, until twenty-thirteen when the whole gang except its boss had landed in prison, Tommy’s ability to shrug off arrest almost as legendary as his past.

  “Been out of Maghaberry since last year, I heered.”

  Coyle had recovered enough to nod, and as the cold air cleared his airways he retreated to a safe distance and spluttered out a reply.

  “June. I gat extra time fer fightin’.”

  His voice was high and weak, a condition unchanged by the advancing years. It made Tommy laugh as it had always done.

  “I see yer balls still haven’t dropped. I bet that made ye popular in jail.”

  Coyle said nothing, knowing that any protest would mean more pain. Instead he watched as Tommy stubbed out his cigarette on a white stuccoed wall and then slipped his plastic lighter back into his jeans. Same old Tommy, hard as granite, but age had mellowed him a bit; ten years earlier the cig would’ve been stubbed out on his head.

  Coyle gathered his courage, wondering how best to frame the question uppermost in his mind. Thirty seconds of mouth opening and closing later he blurted it out in a fractured squeak.

  “Wat dee ye want from me, Tommy?”

  It brought a swift answer in the form of a punch, followed by a glare as Coyle lay on the freezing ground.

  “Ye meant to say, wat can I dee fer ye, Tommy, didn’t ye?”

  The follower nodded furiously, clambering slowly to his feet again via a nearby car. “Aye, aye, that’s wat I meaned, Tommy. Wat can I dee fer ye?”

  Hill pulled out another cigarette, this time gifting a second to his old employee.

  “Nye, I’m vary glad ye asked that, Coyler. Ye can pick up with yer mates in The Village, and find out who’s takin’ over west Belfast.”

  ****

  Stranmillis. Saturday 30th January. 7 a.m.

  After a night spent tossing and turning, courtesy of all shades of angst, Craig staggered groggily into the shower, hoping that a blast of cold water would shock him to high alert. It succeeded for its duration, only to be replaced immediately by the walking coma that weeks of bad sleep had condemned him to. He had to speak to Katy and find out if they were really finished; he couldn’t cope with living in limbo any more.

  An hour later he was in the office, his mind leaping from one topic to the next. Katy and Miskimmon, the murders and Mara Kennedy, none of the thoughts deep enough to be useful but all amounting to a sore head. He heard Nicky arrive and place her handbag in her desk drawer so he yanked open his door and croaked “Paracetamol and coffee” in as pathetic a tone as he could produce.

  Her response came from the Liam Cullen School of Man-management. She gasped and stared into his face.

  “You looked like you died and they forgot to bury you.”

  She didn’t even add a ‘sir’ to soften the blow.

  Craig couldn’t argue with the assessment; he’d seen his reflection in a mirror an hour before. He grunted “Uh” and returned to his cave. When he re-emerged thirty minutes later, following three espressos so strong he could have stood a pen upright in them, two paracetamol, one of Nicky’s ginseng capsules and a sausage butty that she’d fetched him from the canteen, he resembled less a cadaver than a man with a very colourful past. It would have to do.

  To the others who were filing yawning onto the floor he had to look like a man in control. That’s what leadership was, wasn’t it; acting like you knew which end was up even when you’d spent the night before with your head stuck up your ass.

  He perched on a desk holding his fourth espresso of the day, and waved everyone to take their seats.

  “Right. This will only take ten minutes. You already know what work you’ve got to do.”

  Craig saw Liam staring at him and then shooting Nicky a look that said it all. He was tempted to say something antsy to his deputy but he didn’t have the energy.

  “OK, Tommy Hill. Sergeant Rimmins said that he’d been seen in Belfast, so, Ash, I want you to check his GPS locator. Hill’s on license and wearing an ankle bracelet, so he shouldn’t be moving more than three miles from his house and even then only between certain hours.” As he said it he noticed Davy sidling towards his desk. “Davy. Good to have you back. We’ll catch up later today.” He turned to see Kyle making a face. “After I see Inspector Spence that is. Annette, until I need Kyle, start to familiarise him with your work, please.”

  Annette’s energy level was on a par with his own, so she yawned as she nodded and lounged back in her chair.

  “OK, Liam, you and I will pay Tommy a visit today. Davy, while Ash is checking Tommy’s locator I want you to check out ways ankle bracelets can be cheated. If there’s a way to do it then we can be sure that Hill’s found out.”

  As he sipped his coffee he noticed that Jake looked even worse than he did. It revived his guilt even though it wasn’t his fault.

  “OK, I re-interviewed Mara Kennedy McAllister last night.”

  Liam raised an eyebrow. Craig must hardly have rested at all
. He confirmed his deputy’s thoughts with a weak smile.

  “I asked her about the fifty thousand she found and the field where we found the tank-”

  Liam’s words were out before he could stop himself. “You didn’t tell-”

  Craig’s glance stopped him dead. “No, of course I didn’t tell her we found the tanks! But thanks for teaching me how to suck eggs anyway.” It earned him a laugh and perked everyone up. “To cut a long story short, I’ve bailed her to her parents’ address or The Merchant, signing in at High Street every day.” He turned to Davy again, before Liam could tell him he’d done something else wrong. “Davy, I want a trace on her mobile and the phone in her hotel room. I want to know everyone that she calls.” He turned back to Liam with a sarcastic look. “That OK with you, boss?”

  Liam thought about it and nodded, adding “Just as long as you don’t do it again” ending with a guffaw.

  Craig smiled and carried on. “OK, I’m not convinced that Kennedy wasn’t going to shop her husband to Inspector Dawson just so she could take over the tank scam for herself.” Just then he remembered something. “Ash, get onto Joe and tell him I want a sample of soil from that field analysed for crop planting suitability.”

  He answered Annette’s questioning look. “Her husband said the field was only suitable for grazing because the soil wasn’t good for growing things. If that turns out to be false then Colin McAllister knew all about those tanks.”

  Her questioning look deepened. “You think it could have been happening without him knowing, sir?”

  Craig shook his head. “No, but I want to be sure. If he didn’t know about the tanks and the fifty thousand wasn’t his that removes a possible criminal motive for his murder, so we need to know ASAP.”

  Liam shook his head. “McAllister must have known about the money. Only he and the wife could have put it there. No-one else had a key to that part of the house.”

  Craig shook his head too. “We’d have to prove that no-one had cut a copy and that would take too long.”

  Kyle perked up suddenly. “It might have been a domestic killing. A love triangle. If it was, that would remove any link between his death and Calum Fox’s.”