The Tribes

by Catriona King

  “More like she’s trying to scare herself to death.”

  The traffic finally moved and Liam slid the car into first gear. “Nope. Brave.” He adopted the tone he’d heard experts use on TV. “I think…no, I know she was scared rigid by her car accident-”

  Craig demurred. “It was no accident.”

  “Ach, we all know that, so would you stop interrupting.” He ignored Craig’s raised eyebrow and carried on. “She was scared rigid, quite rightly. She told Danni so and Danni told me. Anyway it’s made her afraid of being with you. You know, in case one of our nutters tries the same thing again.” He stared soulfully ahead. “It takes a brave woman to be married to a cop sometimes. It’s not for every lassie. Never knowing if we’re coming home at night and-”

  Craig interrupted again despite his instructions. “That’s a lot more common than a murderer actually targeting your spouse.”

  Liam jumped on his words. “Spouse it is now? Now that’s a Freudian petticoat if I ever heard one.”

  Before Craig could query Freud’s lingerie he had forged ahead.

  “So she’s trying to toughen herself up. She reckons if she can do dangerous things and not get killed then maybe she can cope with the odds of a nutter going after her again.”

  He gave a satisfied smirk and waited for Craig’s response. None came but Craig did allow a small smile to twist his lips. Liam might be right. Katy could be trying to toughen up enough to cope with any future psychopath that he might encounter targeting her, which was incredibly unlikely; in fact he doubted that an actuary could actually give them the odds. But… if she was going to all this trouble then that meant she was thinking of giving their relationship another chance.

  His smile was short-lived, in case getting too excited tempted fate, and instead of the response Liam had expected he responded with.

  “The C.C. says I’ve got to make budget cuts. He called me in last night to discuss it.” Amongst other things.

  Liam struggled to keep up. “What’s that got to do with Katy?”

  “Nothing. I’d moved on.”

  “Without acknowledging that I’m right?” It was said in a ‘not fair’ voice.

  “If that ever happens, I promise I’ll say ‘you were right, Liam’.”

  “In front of everyone?”

  Craig noticed gratefully that they were approaching High Street, but Liam was still waiting for his reply.

  “Oh, all right, then. If Katy and I get back together and she confirms that’s why she was doing the parachuting and the rest, and they’re both big ifs, then I’ll state in front of everyone that you were right.”

  Liam pulled into the station car park. “Excellent. Although I think you should see her and confirm it.” He sniffed knowingly. “Makes more sense than sending her half of Botanic Gardens every week. It must be like The Day of the Triffids at her house.” He changed the subject before Craig could ask how he knew about the flowers. “The budget cut bit isn’t so good. How much?”

  Craig opened the door and muttered his reply, but Liam had ears like a bat.

  “Fifteen percent! Where the hell are you going to chop that from?”

  Craig jumped out and began walking towards the station’s back door. This time his reply was crystal clear. “Your expenses, if you don’t shut up.”

  ****

  Xavier Rey had acted as soon as he’d returned from the station the day before. He may have retired but everyone knew that he’d kept his finger on the pulse, so when his call came every lieutenant and captain in The Rock answered and the gathering was set for that night.

  Halfway across Belfast another gang boss was doing the same thing, although Rory McCrae included a second name in his invitation; Tommy’s reputation would guarantee that no-one ignored his summons, even though he couldn’t be there in the flesh.

  It was gearing up to be a busy night all round for Belfast’s tribes.

  ****

  The C.C.U. Sunday, 9 a.m.

  Davy had tried twice to drag Ash away from his desk for coffee but it was only when he’d lifted his friend’s smart-pad and walked towards the door saying, “Miss Canada can come through on this as w…well. The James has free Wi-Fi” that the junior analyst had shifted from the spot he’d been rooted to for the previous hour.

  If Davy was hoping for a quiet breakfast dotted with jokes they’d both seen on the Net, he was about to be disappointed. Less than ten minutes after they’d ordered their coffees and Danish pastries, the familiar electronic bongs signalled that someone was coming through on Ash’s screen. Davy sighed in defeat and went to the bar for some water, leaving Ash practically stroking his smart-pad as his new crush appeared.

  “Hi Ash.”

  “Hi Ashley.”

  Davy stuck two fingers in his mouth, making the bar’s landlord laugh.

  “Love’s young dream?”

  The analyst rolled his eyes sceptically. “They’ve never even met. S…She’s in Canada. Just helping us out with something.”

  Joe Higginson filled one glass to the top and dropped ice cubes into the other. “Just because she’s across the Atlantic doesn’t mean he can’t fall in love.” He gave a proud smile. “I met my wife at a line dancing competition in Texas and we’ve been married for twenty years.”

  Davy resisted a comment on country and western music and lifted the two drinks.

  “I’ll top up your coffee whenever you want it.”

  Davy nodded gratefully and turned to go back to the table, pausing just before he did. “Your w…wife. You met her in the flesh eventually, didn’t you? Before you proposed?”

  Higginson laughed. “Oh aye. But only three times. Once at the comp, once when I went to the US on holiday for two weeks, and the last time when she came over here for a month. I asked her the night before she went back.” He pulled out his wallet, opening it at a photograph of a family group. “That’s us. Happy as they come.”

  Davy nodded politely and glanced over at his friend, wondering if FaceTime on a smart-pad really counted as the same thing.

  ****

  High Street Station. 9 a.m.

  Craig slid a mug of hot tea across the table to Andy before taking a gulp of his own. Boiling hot drinks weren’t normal practice for prisoners on suspicion of murder, but then there’d been virtually nothing normal about the past week, and he reckoned that Andy could be trusted not to throw it in his face.

  Andy stared into the steaming liquid as if he was puzzled about what it was, understandable if it had come from a police canteen where the standard tea or coffee was a bit of both and tasted like neither, but was usually welcomed anyway because it was wet and warm. But this tea had come straight from Jack’s kitchen and been made by Liam’s not so gentle hand; it was one hundred percent proof and strong enough to seal plugholes, so Andy’s confusion couldn’t have been coming from that.

  It seemed to Craig more like the confusion of the newly bereaved. A mixture of how did this happen and it couldn’t have done, mixed with, it must be happening to someone else. After a moment he nudged the mug closer to the D.C.I.’s hand.

  “Drink it, Andy. It will make you feel better.”

  Illogical but familiar; everyone in Ireland knew there hadn’t been a problem invented that couldn’t be solved by a cup of tea.

  As the D.C.I. stared at his two colleagues in turn Liam decided to try his patent brand of motivation.

  He reached across and gave Andy’s arm a thump.

  “Ach, buck up, man. No-one believes you did it, so you’ll be out of here in a few hours.”

  Craig’s eyes widened in alarm and he knocked off the tape with a jab. “For God’s sake, Liam, you can’t say that in an interview. It shows bias!”

  Liam turned to him, confused. “You mean you think he did it?”

  Craig was caught on the back foot. “What? No. No. That’s not what I meant. But we have to conduct this interview in an impartial, professional way.”

  It was too much for Jack. He broke his
rule of a thousand interviews and pressed the viewing room microphone. “Bickering in front of my prisoner isn’t professional. Come out of there now, both of you.”

  They didn’t argue, appearing in the viewing room within seconds. Craig was shamefaced.

  “Sorry, Jack.”

  Harris wasn’t in the mood to be placated. “So you should be. Sir. D.C.I. Angel’s confused enough without you two adding to it.” He turned to face Liam. “And as for you! Thumping my prisoner on the arm-”

  “Ach, it was only a tap-”

  Jack’s response was to punch Liam on the bicep, making him yelp.

  “How’s that for a tap?”

  He pulled open the door and beckoned Craig to follow him. Liam received a scowl. “You. Stay in here.”

  “But my tea’s in-”

  Jack’s glare silenced him mid-word and within seconds a different pair of police officers appeared on the other side of the glass. Jack positioned himself beside the tape recorder and once Craig was seated he turned it on, adding his name for the record. Then he nodded Craig to ask what he needed to ask.

  Ten minutes later they knew that Andy had left the squad-room the evening before at five-thirty and retrieved his car from Dockland’s underground garage, following the route home that he always took, along Donegall Quay and Oxford Street, to arrive at his city centre apartment in Howard Street around six. He’d had an unhealthy dinner of hamburger and chocolate pudding, thankfully not on the same plate, and then showered and changed to go out for the night.

  “Where did you go, Andy?”

  “A bar called El Robo, sir. On the Lisburn Road.”

  “Did you drive?”

  “No. I took a taxi.”

  “Were you alone in the bar?”

  “I was meeting a mate from my old training station there. He’s newly divorced like me.”

  Recycled wolves on the prowl. More Labrador than wolf nowadays but their intentions had been the same. Meet a woman, chat her up and see how far you can get. It was a typical boys’ night out the world over, but this one had gone badly wrong.

  “He called me about ten minutes after I got there to say he had to cancel. His ex-missus had come round wanting to talk.”

  “We’ll need his name, Andy.”

  Andy obliged by leaning towards the tape. “Inspector Bob Lindsay. He’s in the TSG.”

  The Tactical Support Group; riot police, aka the boys in green. It would be easy to check.

  “OK, what did you do then?”

  Andy exhaled with a loud whoosh. “Well, I was screwed, wasn’t I? I couldn’t hang about in a bar on my own without looking like a real saddo, but I’d just paid for a drink, so I waited for it. The plan was to chuck it down fast then head home via the takeaway.”

  The burger obviously hadn’t been enough rubbish for one night. Jack motioned to cut in.

  “OK, if that was the plan, D.C.I. Angel, what happened to it?”

  Andy dropped his head into his hands, shaking it from side to side. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. ” He lifted his eyes and gazed at Craig beseechingly. “You’ve got to believe me, boss. I was drinking and then the next thing I knew I came round at home with some uniformed lads standing over me, shouting at me to wake up, I had a dead girl in my bed.”

  “Who was she?”

  Andy shook his head frantically. “I’ve no idea. I’d never seen her before.”

  “So we’re not going to see you chatting her up on the bar’s CCTV?”

  “No way.” He stopped suddenly, looking horrified as all the possibilities kicked in. “Unless my drink was spiked… The bar was crowded; it wouldn’t have been hard.” His face contorted with the effort of remembering. “I remember waiting for it and…” He shook his head desperately. “No…no, I can’t remember anything after that, not until this morning when the police arrived-” He stopped again, his expression a mixture of shock and sorrow. “What if I did talk to her? What if I took her to my place? I don’t remember. Honest to God, boss, I don’t.” His eyes grew wild. “I couldn’t have killed someone and not remember, could I?” He seized Craig’s arm. “Who was she? Why did someone want her dead?” When Craig said nothing tears filled the D.C.I.’s eyes. “Why can’t I bloody well remember? How could I have killed an innocent girl? ”

  Craig sighed heavily. “I’ve one last question and then we’ll leave you, Andy. Where do you keep your gun when you’re off duty?”

  Hope lit up the D.C.I.’s thin face. “The safe. I have a safe and it’s always locked. They couldn’t have got my gun. She couldn’t have been killed with my Glock. Ballistics will prove it.”

  Craig nodded, not convinced things would be that simple. “Where do you keep the key, Andy?”

  Andy’s hope died as quickly as it had been born. “On my keyring.”

  They could have accessed his key to open the safe. Craig tried for a reassuring tone.

  “I have no idea how this happened, Andy, but we’re going to find out. In the meantime I suggest you try to relax and let Jack here take care of you, while we see what the CCTV and bloods show.”

  He motioned Jack to turn off the tape and rose to leave the room. While the sergeant escorted a despairing Andy back to his cell with promises of better tea, Craig re-joined Liam in the viewing room.

  “Tell Davy what’s happened, but no-one else. We need him to chase the CCTV from Docklands’ garage and traffic cams, and confirm the time that Andy says he got home. Then I want the taxi who took him to the bar. Check his mobile and landline for the number. And chase up this Bob Lindsay, he’s not someone that I know, and get the CCTV from the bar, street and apartment hallways, plus the blood and gun analysis from Des.”

  Liam made a rude gesture. “What did your last slave die of?”

  Craig’s only response was “Fifteen percent.”

  ****

  The James Bar.

  After twenty minutes of watching Ash grin at his smart-pad Davy grabbed him by the arm and the analysts began the short walk back to work. As soon as they got there Nicky beckoned them over to her desk. Davy jerked his head towards his friend.

  “You’ll have to make do with me. Romeo’s busy.”

  Her ears perked up immediately, but she decided that an update could wait for another day; there was too much work to be done. She waved a slip of paper at him.

  “Liam’s given me a web message address for you. It has a list of stuff he needs apparently.”

  Davy squinted at the note, shaking his head as he read.

  “More s…stuff for our murders?”

  Nicky shrugged. “Don’t know. He was being mysterious, and I didn’t have the time to drag it out of him. All I know is he said he needs answers on it ASAP. We’ll be briefing at two.”

  Davy signed onto the web message quickly, trying to hide his shock as he read; he recovered quickly and started working on the list. He’d just logged onto the central traffic records when he remembered he didn’t have that month’s code.

  “Ash, get onto Inspector Ronson and say the S…Super needs us to access his traffic cams.”

  Ash didn’t turn or answer, still grinning fatuously at his screen. Suddenly Davy experienced an unfamiliar surge of anger and the urge to throw Ash and his smart-pad out the window. He was, as a rule, the embodiment of modern youth; a quasi-Emo-hipster who believed in peace and love. He’d never had a subordinate before but he’d always imagined that when it happened he would be an understanding, supportive chief, but his zen had been severely tested since Ash had acquired his gal pal, so he was about to experience the sharp side of having a boss.

  In one stride Davy was across the floor, liberating Ash’s smart-pad from his feverish hand. He turned it towards him and stared at the woman on the other end, giving her a tight smile and re-introducing himself.

  “Thank you for assisting us with the hack information. I’ll give you an email address to s…send any written info to, and Analyst Rahman will be in touch.”

  Then with a q
uick click the screen darkened and he slid Ash’s smart-pad into his desk drawer and turned the key. Ash was on his feet immediately and Nicky turned her chair around to see what came next.

  The green-haired analyst was furious.

  “I was talking to her!”

  “You weren’t talking, you were drooling! And you can s…sodding well drool on your own time.” Davy held up Liam’s note. “We have to get answers to all this before the briefing at two, and I can’t do it all by myself.”

  Ash’s response was to storm off the floor, leaving Davy to slump in his chair and stare up at the roof. After what she considered a decent interval Nicky strolled across.

  “Do you want to hear where you went wrong?”

  “NO!”

  She pulled over a chair. “I’ll tell you anyway. Next time give him a warning that you’re going to shut him down, instead of just doing it. Stand in front of his desk, say it and then count down from ten. If he doesn’t budge, then lift his pad.”

  Davy objected. “But he did it all through breakfast! It w…was nauseating. We’re not running a dating agency.”

  She nodded. “True…but I seem to remember that you met Maggie here at work-”

  Davy jerked upright. “That was different! Maggie-”

  She held up a hand. “And I told you off when you did. And I was wrong.” She glanced towards the door. “Go and find him. He’ll be in the canteen.”

  Davy frowned. “How do you know?”

  “It’s where he goes when he’s annoyed. He fills himself full of e-additives like a kid.”

  Davy was about to fold his arms stubbornly when she shook her head.

  “Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face, Davy, no matter how much someone hacks you off. First rule of management. You might want to throttle Ash, but you need him to help you with this work.” She glanced at the note meaningfully. “Because you’re his boss so you’ll be the one explaining to the Super if it isn’t all done by two o’clock.”

  It was a persuasive argument, and as she returned to her desk Davy slid as surreptitiously as he could manage to through the double doors.