The Tribes

by Catriona King

  Chapter Twelve

  The Police Intelligence Section. Malone Road, Belfast.

  As Kyle Spence entered the building he’d called his professional home for fifteen years, the sting of homesickness made his eyes turn red. Not tears of course, he didn’t do those, but a definite blurring and watering that if anyone queried he would say was an allergy.

  He’d liked working in Intelligence, not least because being the holder of secrets had made him feel superior; an unattractive character trait but true. He’d enjoyed batting away requests for information with words like ‘it’s above your clearance level’ and ‘I couldn’t possibly confirm’. It had given him the reassuring feeling that no matter how ordinary he was in the rest of life, here he was a king.

  He’d also enjoyed Intelligence because he was good at it, and because, apart from the ground troops who did the tasks like tracing and following and all too often risked their lives, Intelligence was a carpeted, comfortable world where his greatest risk had been from a paper cut and the only thing red that ever got spilled was the red wine at the monthly staff buffet.

  Now, courtesy of Craig, he was out in the big bad world, where cops got shot at and he had to mix with people whose accents were quite unlike his own. It was really too bad and if he hadn’t liked Craig since university he would have made up his mind to obstruct all of the Murder Squad’s investigations when he finally returned home.

  His future return was one of two reasons he was there that day. He hoped it would be as soon as Annette’s maternity leave ended; he also hoped that she didn’t decide to take advantage of new regulations that allowed her to stay off for a whole year. By that time he would have gone totally native and Intelligence might not want him back. The other reason he would save for after he’d sorted the first with a trip to the unit’s HR team. An hour later he was reassured that he’d be back home in his comfy office soon after the infant Eakin had appeared in the world, so he made his way two flights up to the office of D.C.I. Roy Barrett.

  Barrett saw him approach through his glass walled office and greeted his protégé with a sympathetic look.

  “How is it?”

  The silent subtext being ‘out there in the cold, hard world.’

  Spence adopted a pained expression and gratefully accepted a chair and the offer of tea, before giving a sigh that would have done a Victorian matron proud.

  “Let’s just say I’ll be glad to be back in the autumn.”

  Barrett sat forward eagerly. “Is that confirmed?”

  Spence nodded. “Short of Inspector Eakin deciding to take the full year, HR have just said my secondment will be over in October.”

  The senior spook cheered up considerably. “Glad to hear it, Kyle, very glad… Now, it’s always grand to see you, of course, but you could have just called HR so I imagine that this trip means you’ve something else on your mind.”

  Spence set down his cup, realising how much he preferred Intelligence’s logoed porcelain to the Murder Squad’s grab whatever you can find, six pounds for six, mugs. He sat back, taking a pen from his pocket and running it through his fingers like a card sharp as he talked.

  “I’m here to pick your brains about something, sir. It relates to a case we’re working on.”

  Barrett frowned slightly at the word we. Not ‘Murder’ is working on, we are working on. He hoped it didn’t signal a defection to the dark side. Spence was still speaking.

  “There have been three murders, one of which was the son of a local gangster. The others may or may not be related, we’re still looking into that. You’ll have heard of the gang. The Rock.”

  Barrett’s eyebrows shot up. They’d been after The Rock’s general for years and never got a sniff. He nodded.

  “We know the operational head or major was Xavier Rey, until he handed things off to his son, Matias. But we’ve never got a handle on the so-called general at the top. Was it Matias that was killed?”

  “Yes. Drowned. Definitely murder. That’s what I wanted to ask you about. The word is that another gang is trying to take over The Rock’s operations and expand them to include drugs and girls-”

  Barrett cut in. “Rey won’t like that. They’ve always been resolute about not touching either.”

  Spence nodded. “They also never kill apparently, but this new bunch doesn’t have the same scruples.” He hesitated for a moment, knowing that his next words fell into a stereotype of ‘foreigners bad and locals less so’. “Look, sir, it might be nothing, but I’ve heard a rumour that there might be Albanians involved. If there are I’m wondering how to find out more.”

  Barrett rested back in his chair and ran a hand through his thinning grey hair as he thought. Soon he would have nothing to run his hands through at all. He put his balding down to his job; holding all those secrets in your head was bound to have some sort of effect.

  After a moment he scribbled something on a sticky.

  “You didn’t get this number from me. OK?”

  Spence lifted the paper without looking at it. “Thank you, sir. But I’m curious. Why didn’t it come from you?”

  Barrett rose to his feet. “Let’s just say that this is one of the Director’s best kept secrets, and anyone who messes with those answers to her.” He walked to the door. “When you make the call don’t mention my name. And use plain English; you’ll only get one question. Don’t ask for a face-to-face or who you’re speaking to; no-one but the Director knows that. But I do know that in cases of dire need this contact has always come through.”

  As he opened the door he added. “What you must never do, Kyle, is tell Craig or anyone how you got your information.” He smiled slowly. “But your years here will have made you an expert at that.”

  Spence walked past him out the door but Barrett called him back. “That number will change immediately you get your answer, just in case you’re tempted to use it again. Good luck.”

  Spence’s only reply was a quick salute.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Zac Greer’s walk could be described by a casual observer in one word; cocky. A more polite one might say jaunty, but the meaning was still the same; Greer was pumped up about his task. He’d been in line for the throne until McCrae had ousted him and through a process of obsequiousness and masking his true intentions, even extending as far as saying that his dead parents had been wrong in some ways, a lie that had cost him blood, he’d been brought back from the wilderness into McCrae’s outer circle. If he did this job right he would move even closer, close enough to do what he needed to do.

  He’d never paid much attention at school; every skill he’d needed in life had been played out in front of him since before he could talk. Secret deals and how to hide cash and play the poor man, so well that the government had given them benefits every week. He’d known what a gun cost by the time he could toddle, and how to smuggle dope and coke by the time he’d sat and failed his first exam. Formal schooling had been redundant, something to yawn through and avoid when possible, until he’d been old enough to quit without bringing the law down on his ma.

  But he had paid attention in one class, Drama, and one particular play they’d performed had always stuck in his head. Mainly because there’d been blood, lots of it, squirting from fake daggers as Julius Caesar had met his sticky end. It had taught him two useful lessons: hide what you really feel till it can get you what you want, and don’t kill the boss unless you’re close enough to catch his crown as he falls.

  Soon he would be close enough to kill McCrae and take back his inheritance. Zac didn’t know he’d been given his new task in the belief that it would get him killed.

  ****

  Docklands. 2 p.m.

  As Liam gathered everyone together for the briefing Craig was still in his office. He still hadn’t appeared five minutes later, so when Jake asked the question on everyone’s lips “Where’s Andy?” for the second time, despite him fobbing it off, the deputy decided it was time to give his boss a kick up the ass. He was jus
t on his way to do so when Craig emerged, mug of coffee in hand. He grabbed the whiteboard on his way past Nicky’s desk and dragged it unceremoniously into the centre of the floor.

  “OK. We’re busy, so I don’t want a lot of discussion, just the facts.” He set down his mug and grabbed a marker, writing up the number one. Just then Kyle wandered in, looking paler than Craig had ever seen him before. He motioned him sharply to a seat, in a way that said they’d be having words when the briefing was done.

  “OK. Annette and Jake. I want up-to-date information on Colin McAllister’s scene, our two bailed suspects and the forensics on the field and tanks. Shoot.”

  Annette saw Jake’s mouth open and she shut it with a glance, knowing very well that he was about to ask the Andy question again. Liam had cut him off for a reason and if Craig wanted them to know where Andy was then they would.

  “OK. Mara McAllister-”

  Liam interrupted, deciding to lighten the mood. “Otherwise known as the merry widow.”

  Annette smiled. “Thanks for that characterisation, Liam. I’ll never think of her again without the operetta ringing in my ears.” She continued in a more serious tone. “She didn’t look merry when I last saw her. She was on the way to tell her son that his father was dead.”

  Liam looked suitably chastened.

  “Anyway, both she and Mitchell Purvis are out on bail and sticking to their stories. I saw them signing in this morning at High Street. Ms McAllister’s staying at The Merchant Hotel and Mr Purvis at a B and B.”

  Craig nodded. Nothing could have more starkly underlined their differing financial circumstances, and the end of their romance.

  “As far as the forensics are concerned. Jake, could you cover those?”

  Jake glanced at Liam as he opened his mouth to speak, deliberately saying nothing for a moment to make him uncertain what he might say. When he said “Doctor Marsham” Liam exhaled gratefully.

  “Doctor Marsham has come back with information on the soil samples we sent up from the field. They were rich in the nutrients needed for growing crops-”

  Craig cut in. “So McAllister lied to his wife.”

  Annette nodded. “And to Mitchell Purvis. I checked with him and he was convinced they hadn’t planted in that field because the soil was poor.”

  Craig took a sip of coffee. “OK, so Colin McAllister didn’t want anyone digging in that field, which says he knew about the tank all along.” He’d just waved Jake on again when Liam noticed something.

  “Here, Jake. Where’re your crutches?”

  Jake didn’t look up as he answered and it made Craig’s antennae twitch.

  “I spoke to my physio and they said I can try with a stick now.”

  Craig’s “well done” was tempered with concern. Not that Jake would fall; he would do fine with a stick. It was more that his sudden haste to return to full fitness could be being generated by a darker desire. The sergeant’s next words confirmed it.

  “I’m going to the gym as well.”

  Craig heard the unsaid words ‘building myself up for revenge’ loud and clear. But that was a worry for another day. He turned back to the case.

  “Tell me about the tank.”

  Jake nodded. “It’s steel with a hydraulic pump inside. The exit pipe connects with one in a field just over the border in County Monaghan.”

  Liam slapped a hand on his desk. “Bloody smugglers.”

  Craig shrugged. Shifting the evidence to fool the police was an old trick.

  “OK, none of this gets us any closer to knowing whether the widow knew all about the tank and killed McAllister because she wanted the profits for herself.”

  Annette shook her head. “She must be innocent, otherwise why report the cash to the fraud squad?”

  Craig was unpersuaded. “That’s the obvious assumption, Annette. She tells Inspector Dawson-” He broke off suddenly and turned to Liam. “By the way, did you ever check up on that?”

  Liam raised an eyebrow. “Well, not that you ever asked me to, but it just so happens that I did.”

  Craig laughed. “Sorry. I must just have thought it.”

  “And I did my resident psychic act. Anyway, Dozy says the widow did call the unit.”

  Craig balked at the nickname but he hadn’t the energy to pull him up.

  “OK, good. So Inspector Dawson confirms her story, but that still doesn’t exclude her completely; she could have been trying to get her husband out of the picture. For all we know that fifty grand was the just the tip of the iceberg.”

  Liam couldn’t resist a comeback. “Except that if she was planning on getting hubbie arrested then why would she have bothered to bump him off? She’d have got the tank money anyway. And if her’s and Purvis’ relationship is dead, that’s another reason to bump hubbie off gone up in smoke. Her killing McAllister just doesn’t make sense, boss.”

  Craig thought for a moment and then conceded. “OK, I grant it’s unlikely that either of them killed him, but I still want them in Belfast until we find out who did.” He turned back to Annette. “So, that leaves us with what else might have got Colin McAllister killed? Either he double crossed someone he was working with or for, or he was an obstacle that someone wanted out of the way. Any other suggestions?”

  The silence that answered said no, so ‘double cross or obstacle’ went up on the board.

  “Right, we’ll come back to that. Annette, tell me where you’ve got to with O’Shea.”

  She replied with a shrug. “Nothing more since the last time. I’ve sent him the sketch of the girl.”

  “OK, get back to him on that, and I want you and Jake in Monaghan, checking on the other end of that pipe. What about Calum Fox?”

  As she answered he wrote up the number two.

  “We have a lead there. Jake.”

  “OK, we paid a visit to a brothel in Smithfield. Fox called its number a few hours before he died.”

  Liam coughed grandly. “I think you’ll find they’re known as Personal Service Domiciles nowadays.”

  “You’ve just made that up!” Jake went on. “Whatever they’re called they have some full-time girls who are based there, and some part-timers and free-lancers, most of whom are home-based. We’ve got a list of all the girls working when Fox died and we’re working our way through it now.”

  Craig nodded. “Give a copy to Davy and let’s see if we can narrow them down. Also-”

  He turned to find the analyst tapping furiously on his smart-pad in a way he’d seen kids doing in arcades.

  “You wouldn’t be playing a computer game by any chance, Davy, would you?”

  It resulted in another hasty tap then the pad was turned round to display Niall Henderson’s sketch.

  “Is that w…what you were about to mention, chief?”

  The angelic look on his face fooled no-one but Craig decided to let it pass. Davy was one of the few people he knew who really could do several things efficiently at once.

  “It is actually.”

  Liam shot him a look that said well-played.

  “Compare that sketch to the passport and driving licence photos of the girls on Jake’s list, please. Let’s see if we can show a link between the deaths of Matias Rey and Calum Fox. Also, if any of the working girls comes from the south, ask O’Shea to check on them. I want this girl’s name and who paid her to kill Fox. She didn’t do it alone, I’m sure of that.”

  Suddenly something occurred to him. He stared at Liam and his wide-eyed gaze in return said that he’d just read his mind. The girl in the morgue looked remarkably like the sketch. Had she been used as a decoy to isolate Matias Rey and then sent in to kill Calum Fox, then finally killed herself to set Andy up? Her death would ensure that she could never give up her boss.

  If it was the same girl then Annette’s search for Calum Fox’s escort would prove futile, but they couldn’t reveal that without revealing that Andy was locked up and why.

  Craig decided to discuss it with Liam after the briefing and
moved on, writing up the number three. But Jake hadn’t finished.

  “Sorry, sir, but do you now definitely believe that not only McAllister’s and Fox’s deaths might be linked, because of their proximity, but Fox’s and Rey’s, because a girl was involved in both?”

  Craig considered for a moment before answering. “Let’s just say that I need every option explored before I rule anything in or out.” He banged on the board firmly, indicating that the subject was closed. “OK, number three, Matias Rey. We know that two of Matias’ friends on their night out were conveniently side-tracked, one in hospital and one by spending the night with the girl in Davy’s sketch. That left Matias alone and vulnerable. I called Doctor Winter just before the briefing and we now have the final forensics. Matias Rey was killed by a combination of drugs and drowning. The injection he was given before he entered the river wouldn’t have killed him without the inhalation of river water, but the drugs made him unable to clear his airways. Ash has more on his passage through the river, I believe?”

  Ash lifted his eyes from his screen and nodded. “He went into the Lagan at Shaw’s Bridge early Wednesday morning and was washed downstream. The current that night was slow which is probably why he got caught on the rubbish at Lagan Meadows. The algae shows us that he died around there. There was a lot of rain the next day so the current became much faster and that’s when he must have been washed down to the weir.”

  Craig nodded. “OK, good. Keep going with that please. Let me know immediately you find something.”

  He turned back to Davy. He was leaning forward attentively, anticipating Craig’s next request.

  “We contacted Rey’s cab firm and asked for all the records from the day before to the day after Matias’ death. We didn’t need that much but if we’d narrowed it any further Xavier Rey would have caught on that we s…suspected the cabbie who drove the boys that night.”

  Liam nodded. “We don’t want another death.”

  Davy continued. “The cabbie who drove them to the club was called Gerry Delaney. Unfortunately he’s dropped off the map. Joe Rice is looking.”