The Tribes

by Catriona King

  “Is his car traceable? He might show up on a traffic cam.”

  Davy shook his long locks. “Nope. They always use pool cars so he would only have been using it for that night. We’ve an alert set up for his private motor, but nothing’s s…shown up so far. Sergeant Rice went round to the house but there was no answer. He’s chasing up Delaney’s wife as well.”

  Craig sighed. Gerry Delaney was either out of the country by now or dead. This bunch covered their tracks well.

  “OK, keep going on that, Davy, and on the cab Matias called to get home. Liam, did you find out what Xavier Rey’s up to?”

  Liam’s expression said he was puzzled. “Well…by all accounts he hasn’t left home since he saw us at High Street, but I checked with his phone provider and his mobile’s been red hot. We don’t have a warrant so we can’t know who he’s calling, but if I had to guess I’d say he’s gathering his troops-”

  Annette cut in. “He’s calling a summit. That means they’re going after someone.”

  Liam shook his head. “Nah. If Rey already had a name he’d just do them himself. If they’re going after anything it’ll be information. I’d say some street scrotes are going to get a beating tonight to see what they cough up.”

  Craig raked his hair, thinking. Liam was right and they had no way of knowing whom Rey had called, or who they were likely to attack. He made a decision.

  “Liam, get a warrant for Rey’s phone logs and put Joe Rice on the house. I want Davy and Ash on finding out who Rey called, then we stop them attacking whoever they’re going after. We don’t need any more aggro on the streets.”

  Kyle had barely moved since he’d arrived but now he signalled to interrupt. “They’d be barking up the wrong tree anyway.”

  Craig raised an eyebrow. “You know something?”

  The inspector glanced towards Craig’s office in a way that said ‘just you and me’. Craig added a third.

  “Excuse us for a moment, everyone. Liam, you’re with us.”

  No sooner had the office door closed than Craig turned on the untidy spook.

  “Where the hell have you been all day, Kyle? If you’ve been playing stupid-”

  Liam had been studying Spence’s face intently and something he read there made him shake his head. “I think you should let him speak, boss.”

  Craig was taken aback. He was normally the one reining Liam in. He strode to the window and said nothing for a moment then he thudded into his chair and waved the inspector on. The reason for Kyle’s pallor soon became clear.

  “You know I’d heard a mention of Albanians. Well, I decided to have a word with my old boss.”

  Liam gave a snort that said what he thought of people hedging their bets, but Craig said nothing. Kyle was only on secondment so it made sense that he kept his foot in Intelligence’s door. Spence swallowed hard before he continued.

  “He gave me a number to call. An overseas number.”

  Craig’s eyes narrowed, guessing what he would hear next. Liam didn’t believe in guessing.

  “Give me it and I’ll call it now.”

  Kyle shook his blond head. “It’ll already have been cut off.” To prove it he re-dialled the number and set his mobile on speakerphone. The dead line sound was hard to miss.

  Craig’s guess was firming up. Kyle went on.

  “I was told not to ask for the man’s name. All I knew was that he was one of Director Richie’s private sources. I was also warned not to tell you anything about him or the call, but…”

  Craig finished the sentence. “But you’re shocked that Susan Richie could let a bad man roam free, just for information? Come on now, Kyle, you’re a big boy. This isn’t the first time criminals have been protected informants, here or elsewhere.”

  He glanced at Liam, knowing they were both thinking of the case they’d had three months before, involving paramilitaries who’d acted as informants during The Troubles.

  Spence hit back. “I’m not naïve, Marc, you know that. But this…”

  Liam didn’t have time for his angst. “What country did you call? Albania?”

  Kyle answered in a tired voice. “Bosnia.” It hinted at what was to come. “While we were talking a door opened and someone entered the room to speak to him. I heard them call him Jastreb.”

  Jastreb, the Hawk. One of the worse Bosnian Serb war criminals in the Bosnian War. There couldn’t be two men who went by that name.

  Craig swore beneath his breath. “You’re certain?”

  “Certain. A man International Courts has warrants out for, is acting as a source for the Director of Police Intelligence.”

  “Does Roy Barrett know?”

  Spence shook his head immediately. “Not his name. There’s no way he wouldn’t report it if he knew.”

  “But now we know, and we need to decide what to do about it.”

  While the other men angsted, Liam opted for pragmatism. “So what did he give you?”

  Kyle wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “What?”

  Liam rolled his eyes. “Well, we can all sit here whipping ourselves about what to do about the naughty Director, or we can use whatever info yer man gave you to solve our case first. So did he give you anything worth having?”

  Craig almost laughed. Liam was right. Solve now, angst later. He waved Spence on.

  “OK, Kyle, tell us what you got from him.”

  Spence shook his head in disbelief before answering. “I asked him about Goga, the Albanian who came here last year, and he said he was just the tip of the iceberg. He said Albanian gangs have been coming into the south for years and working with Irish criminals. At first it was just small, sporadic groups, but then they got pulled together under the leadership of one man. He’s set up a network of independent cells across Ireland, all working in isolation but all reporting to him. None of them knows the others’ details but Goga runs the one in Belfast.”

  Craig nodded. They’d organised themselves like terrorist cells. “Did he have the boss man’s name?”

  Kyle shook his head. “He said he changes his moniker every month and only the heads of the cells know who he really is.”

  Liam snorted. “He’s not as smart as the general. No-one knows who he is, not even Xavier Rey.”

  “This guy’s not afraid of disloyalty because he has a special hit team that kills anyone who steps out of line. Jastreb said he’s completely ruthless, and that’s bad coming from him.”

  Craig nodded. “That’s obvious by the trail of dead bodies he’s leaving in the north. Rey’s general might be a crook but at least he isn’t a killer.”

  Kyle nodded. “The last thing he said was that this gang will mow down anyone in their way.” A look of disgust crossed his face. “He said it like he admired him.”

  Craig was unsurprised. “He probably does. Genocide was his way of life for years.” He tapped a pen against the desk as he thought. After a minute he pocketed it and stood up. “OK, we’ll give the team a sanitised update on this but the information on your source stays in this room until after the case. OK?”

  Everyone nodded and Craig saw the colour return to Kyle’s cheeks. A problem shared was a problem passed on by the looks of it.

  They re-joined the group and updated them on the possible Albanian links, then Craig wrapped up and Liam went to harass the on call judge for his phone warrant. It left Craig alone in his office contemplating his next steps. Half-an-hour later his trance was broken by his mobile phone. He answered it without looking at the screen, surprised when John came on, shouting in a most un-John-like way.

  “Get your ass down to St Mary’s ED. You and I have something to discuss!”

  ****

  Annette entered the lift to reception in silence and Jake took the hint not to talk, already occupied with thoughts of his own. He was calculating how long it would take him to bulk up through exercise, working on five sessions a week before or after work. The answer of six months was too long so he changed the number to seven and came back
with four months. He gave a satisfied smile. Four months was about the length of time it would take him to appeal the P.P.S.’s decision on Foster’s sanity, something he’d decided to do the night before in an alleyway, and tested in daylight until he was sure. If he could get it overturned then Aaron would get out on bail, pending his trial. That was all the access he needed to ensure justice of a different kind.

  If Annette had been paying attention she would have read something in Jake’s eyes, but she wasn’t. She was too busy working out how much bigger she was likely to get before she threw in the towel and went on leave. At the rate she was eating she reckoned it would be about March so Kyle had better learn what he could about detecting in the next eight weeks.

  When the bell dinged for the ground floor Jake suddenly noticed where they were.

  “Why are we getting out here, Annette?”

  She sighed and waited for the doors to open. “Because I was too tired to drive into the basement so my car’s parked on Pilot Street.”

  As the basement entrance was only twenty feet further on it didn’t make sense even to her. They’d reached the junction with Corporation Street before she spoke again.

  “OK. We’ve got to see O’Shea, but I don’t know about you, I’m too wrecked to go down tonight. Let’s do it first thing tomorrow. I’ll drop you to your car now and collect you in the morning.”

  It was an unexpected but welcome turn of events. If he was going to get fit he wanted to get started. Aaron was already four stone of muscle ahead.

  ****

  St Mary’s Trust. Emergency Department.

  Craig wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected to greet him when he entered the Emergency Department, but it wasn’t the sight that he clapped eyes on as he walked through the sliding doors. Something in John’s voice, irate as it had been, had suggested there was an element of, if not amusement about why he’d called him, certainly a vague subtext of ‘I told you so’. Nowhere had he got the impression that someone might have died, and that much he’d got right, but as far as amusement went, by the expression on John’s face he’d completely misread that part.

  The scene in front of him had something of the theatrical farce about it. John was standing beside a very red-chinned Natalie, seated in a wheelchair with one leg elevated in plaster and her bandaged right hand grasping an elbow crutch, and not in a way that said she was about to use it to stand up and walk. She was wielding the prop like a weapon, with its end aimed at someone behind a curtained screen.

  When John saw him enter, his frown, previously directed at the recipient of Natalie’s ire, turned firmly towards his friend.

  He strode across reception like a man possessed. “Here you are. Finally!”

  Craig gawped at him. “You only called me ten minutes ago!”

  But the irate pathologist wasn’t in the mood for detail, instead he lifted a hand to indicate his bride.

  “Look at her. Just look.” He turned back to Craig, adding a triumphant. “You see!”

  Craig didn’t see at all. In fact he hadn’t a clue what Natalie’s obvious mishap had to do with him, but he liked her so he ignored her husband’s performance and walked across to hunker beside her chair.

  “How are you, Natalie? What happened?”

  If he’d believed he would be answered any more sensibly by her than by John then he’d been sadly mistaken. Natalie’s only response was an ominous silence and another jab of her crutch straight ahead. As Craig turned to find the enemy, Katy bolted from her hiding place and made off down the ward, leaving the stunned detective staring first at her and then back at Natalie and John. He finally found his voice.

  “You’re saying that Katy did this?”

  Natalie’s reply was dramatic.

  “She tried to kill me!”

  “Katy? Katy tried to kill you?”

  In the second before she said yes he remembered a conversation he’d had with his mother when he’d been around ten. They’d been watching an old black and white movie where someone had murdered someone, and, in a sure sign of his future career, he’d asked Mirella what she would do if he ever told her that he’d killed someone. Her reply still lived with him. She had answered indignantly “I say no, you didn’t”; such was her belief that her son could never do anything truly wrong. It had surprised him then but now he understood, because he was just as certain there was no way Katy could ever have hurt anyone, much less her own best friend.

  As the word “yes” emerged from Natalie’s mouth Craig started to laugh, not sure who was going to hit him first; Natalie with her crutch or John with his badly curled fist.

  He raised his hands in peace before either one could. “I’m not laughing at you, Nat. I just can’t believe Katy would deliberately hurt anyone. Tell me what happened.”

  As the sounds of indignation rose and fell he searched around for a chair, sitting down well out of crutch range. John was the first of the couple to make any sense.

  “I warned you about this risk taking stuff, Marc.”

  Craig nodded. “You did.”

  “Well, today they went to the race track and Natalie went round first-”

  “Do you mind?” Natalie reclaimed her war story with a glare at her husband. “It’s my story to tell, not yours.” The glare shifted to Craig. “I drove round the track without a problem. I reached a hundred and ten and the instructor said I was the best he’d ever seen on a first drive.”

  Craig made soothing sounds. “I don’t doubt it.”

  He was struggling to keep a straight face, knowing exactly what was coming next. Katy wasn’t a fast driver but it wasn’t just conscientiousness that kept her driving slow. She hated speed. They’d visited a skid pan one day and her response to hitting a skid had been to take her hands off the wheel and cover her eyes and if he drove above eighty she practically blacked out in the passenger seat. So why she’d decided that doing the ton would be a good idea he would never know.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Natalie’s crutch waving perilously close to his nose.

  “This is all your fault, Marc. If you didn’t hang around with killers she would never have been attacked, and she wouldn’t be trying to prove that she wasn’t frightened now.”

  He ignored the comment. “I take it that it was Katy’s turn to drive and she went a bit off course-”

  Natalie’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “A BIT! A BIT! She aimed straight for where I was sitting with the cameraman.”

  They’d videoed it! That must be how all those calamities appeared on reality TV.

  “You know she didn’t mean it-”

  Natalie wasn’t persuaded. “Huh. She looked like she was aiming to me.”

  There was silence for a moment then, when he’d gauged that it was safe, Craig smiled at her chidingly.

  “Aimed at you, Nat? Really? She couldn’t have just lost control?”

  “NO.” Then. “Well… maybe.” She gave a weak shake of her crutch. “But I’m still in a chair and I’ll be out of the operating theatre for months.”

  A roll of John’s eyes said that he would have to listen to her moaning all that time. Then, just in case Craig believed he’d nearly forgiven him, he shook his head solemnly.

  “You really need to sort this out, Marc. Because Katy’s trying to prove she can cope with being with you, Natalie almost got killed.”

  Craig didn’t voice his thoughts that Natalie had probably encouraged Katy to pursue the most dangerous things on her risk list because she’d quite fancied the thrill herself. Instead he nodded diplomatically.

  “Any idea where she might have gone to, Nat?”

  She thought for a moment. “Her office maybe, or down to her apartment to change. She won’t have gone back to her mum’s yet, that’s for sure. She’s still covered in mud.”

  Craig decided to take a risk. “Why is your chin so red?”

  John couldn’t stifle his laughter. It earned him a dark scowl from his wife.

  “Because when Ka
ty drove at us, I threw myself off my chair and skidded along the tarmac into a steel barrier. That’s how I broke my leg.”

  John added helpfully. “She skidded on her chin.”

  Natalie’s scowl was bordering on the wild now. “I think he’d already worked that out!”

  Craig leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Sorry, Natalie. I promise I’ll talk to her.”

  She softened slightly. “If she’ll let you… You could text her, but I’d leave trying to see her till tomorrow. She’s feeling pretty bad about things.”

  He turned for the sliding doors, shaking his head. “If anyone should feel bad it’s me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  West Belfast. 9 p.m.

  Joe Rice watched as the men skulked into the Rey house and then as they left again two hours later, averting their faces from the neon street lights. It made the unassuming Belfast semi look like the headquarters of some secret society, which in a way he supposed that it was. Not one with special handshakes or rituals, but one where the men were bound by ties just as strong. The ties of criminality.

  The Cork man had perused each face as the men arrived, videoing them for their I.D.s. Each one looked different, some small and some tall, some thin and some fat, but one thing was consistent, there was no mistaking the stench of corruption that they reeked. No avoiding the light of self interest in all of their eyes.

  He amused himself by picturing the group wearing suits, instead of their motley selection of polo shirts and logoed T-shirts, stretched over huge guts or hanging off them, and paired with jeans so ill-fitting that they started halfway down each one’s ass. Instead they were polished, groomed and Armani-ed, their stench masked by expensive eau de cologne. In the right light they could have been a group of crooked bankers or politicians, separated from the gangsters by an accident of birth more than by any moral code.

  Joe chuckled quietly to himself and packed his camera away, then he dialled the number Liam had given him and started a train of events. At the other end of the line Davy and Ash were waiting for their download, ready to capture each face as the sergeant had sent it, run it through their database and match the men’s mobile numbers to Xavier Rey’s earlier calls. Thirty minutes later Craig, Liam and two teams of uniforms were escorting the men into police vans watched by their glowering major, with a warning ringing in Rey’s ears that if he tried it again he would join his men in the cells, only his status as a grieving father saving him from that ignominy tonight.