The Tribes

by Catriona King

  Craig fell into his chair. “Except it hasn’t been yet. I need you to put someone you trust on door-to-door at that apartment block. We need to rule out that this man wasn’t just visiting someone on the same floor that night. Davy can give you some photos to show around.”

  Liam snorted. “And who exactly do we trust with this information? Given that no-one’s supposed to know that Andy’s up shit creek.”

  It was a good point. Only a handful of them knew that Andy was in a cell. Craig thought for a moment and then smiled.

  “Jack can do it. He needs to get out of the station more.”

  “Oh aye, and who’s going to cover High Street while he’s off swanning around?”

  Another good point. Liam’s score was mounting up.

  “And before you say it, don’t even think about me. I’ve got Rey to talk to.”

  He actually hadn’t been thinking about Liam. There was another big man far better suited to the job.

  ****

  St Mary’s Trust. 3 p.m.

  Where Rory McCrae had been raised they’d had a saying, and it was one that he had always held true. Sympathy comes between shit and syphilis in the dictionary, so if you’re hoping for any then you know exactly where to look. He’d seen nothing in forty years to alter his opinion and Zac Greer’s bruised and disfigured face didn’t change it now, so instead of giving the youth sympathy he decided to try for a laugh.

  He sucked in his teeth like a plumber giving an estimate.

  “Ye’ve had the cowboys in there, son. I’d ask for a refund if I were ye.”

  Greer opened his mouth to speak, closing it again quickly as he tasted the pain that it would cause. McCrae cut to the chase.

  “One nod fer yes, two fer no. Did ye find me anything?”

  Mercifully it was a yes. Two nods would have made Greer’s head hurt even more. McCrae was forming his next question when he realised it required more than the two options they had, so he searched around for a piece of paper and thrust a pen into the boy’s swollen right hand.

  “Write it dyne then. And make it readable, mind. None of yer usual scrawl.”

  As Greer struggled to form the letters with a fist like grip, McCrae turned his attention to a passing nurse, deciding that either he’d got older or they’d got younger over the years, but either way they were a damn sight better to look at than the balloon headed youth in the bed. He smiled to himself in a way that had nothing to do with women but everything to do with revenge. His plan had worked perfectly; he’d got the boy prince the thumping he should have had years before, and got him out of his hair for a while. Plus, depending on what ended up on the paper, he might get Tommy off his back.

  When the pen went down he seized the paper and read the scrawled words with a smile, then. with a swoop that retrieved his pen and smacked Greer on the jaw on the way past, he was out of the ward and on his way to the carpark before the youth had finished his scream of pain.

  ****

  Annette left the cab office with a lot of information, but how much of it would prove useful was anyone’s guess. When she arrived back at the ranch she headed straight for Craig’s office, only to be stopped by Nicky on the way.

  “Jake’s not with you.”

  A more sarcastic woman than Annette would have seized on the obvious comment as an opportunity, but she replied politely instead.

  “He’s taken thirty minutes personal time.”

  She wondered whether Nicky was just curious or if it was her way of barricading Craig’s door. A wave on said that it had been the former so she knocked and entered, standing in front of the detective’s desk while he finished a call. When he’d hung up Craig turned his chair away from the window and saw who’d been waiting, hurriedly offering Annette a seat. She abandoned her early pregnancy objections to chivalry and accepted it gratefully.

  “You should have just sat down, Annette. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that it was you.”

  But her mind was already on other things. She was certain she’d heard Craig say “Fine, Reggie. I’ll see you when you get here.” But she was as un-nosey as she was un-sarcastic so instead of asking she simply began to report.

  “Jake and I went to the cab office, sir. It turns out that the office was manned that night by a Declan Delaney, the younger brother of the man who’d dropped the three lads at the club earlier that night. They were working together and now they’ve both done a bunk. Davy’s searching for them.”

  Craig rubbed his chin, thinking. “Had they worked there long?”

  She nodded. “Years. The older one brought the younger one in once he’d learned to drive.”

  He shook his head. “Rey probably thought they were loyal to the gang. But they weren’t at the end, which says that someone’s making it worthwhile to betray The Rock.”

  Annette shrugged. “Money talks. As long as you’ve no qualms about helping spread drugs and girls, which the Delaneys obviously didn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ryan Phelan, the kid who ended up having his stomach pumped, hadn’t had his drink spiked by them as well. The hospital wouldn’t have bothered checking his tox-screen if they’d just thought he was drunk.”

  Craig sighed. “I suppose it could have been worse. They could have killed all three of them.” He drummed his fingers on the desk thoughtfully. “What did Purvis and Kennedy say about the car?”

  “It belonged to Colin McAllister. Apparently he’d fallen in love with one years ago on holiday, so Mara imported it as a gift for his last birthday.”

  Craig sat forward. “So how come it wasn’t registered?”

  “She said she’d never got round to it because he could only ever drive it off-road around the farm. He lost his license for drink-driving last summer and he wasn’t due to get it back till twenty-seventeen.”

  Craig slumped back in his chair again.

  “Did anyone else drive the car?”

  “Never. It was Colin’s baby.”

  “Where did he keep it?”

  “Garaged in an empty barn.”

  He nodded. “That no-one but he visited. Whoever stole the Peugeot took the risk of its theft being noticed by McAllister the day before he died, unless…”

  “They knew his routine. They checked the work rota at the farm when they did his air tank.”

  He shook his head. “They knew it before then. They’d read the kitchen calendar; it shows the work allocation months ahead. That’s how they knew when McAllister would next be at the slurry pit, and that he’d be too busy on the Wednesday to miss his car.” He stood up. “Where’s Mitchell Purvis?”

  Annette was struggling to keep up. “Why? He’s-”

  “We need to ask him how if they’d had any visitors they didn’t know at the farm recently. Casual labour, deliveries, someone asking directions; anything. Someone read the calendar and timed the killing of McAllister accordingly, then they stole the car and they or someone else used it in the killing of Matias Rey.”

  “We’ve already checked the farm workers, but…”

  She pulled out her mobile and pressed dial. In seconds Mitchell Purvis’ voice was rumbling down the line. Craig waited until she’d hung up before he spoke.

  “Well?”

  She sighed heavily. “They had a visitor a few days before the killing. He didn’t think to mention it to us before because the man was barely there ten minutes.”

  “He left him in the staff kitchen, didn’t he?”

  She nodded. “The man was asking directions to Tassagh, a nearby townland, and Purvis went to the hall table to fetch a map. It would only have taken him seconds to check the calendar.”

  Craig nodded. “That was all he needed. He came back on the Tuesday, sabotaged the air tank and stole the Peugeot, using it in Rey’s killing early Wednesday morning. By seven a.m. the next day McAllister was dead as well.”

  Annette gawped at him. “My God, they planned this perfectly.”

  He smiled at her. “Let’s hope not. The day a killer plans the perfec
t murder we’ll all be out of a job.” He noticing how tired she looked suddenly and decided to give the job he’d been just about to allocate her to uniform. “Right, let’s get Purvis in to do a sketch. It’s a faint hope but you never know.”

  She made to rise but he waved her back down. “Jake can organise it when he’s back. Where’s he gone, anyway?

  “To do something, that was all he said.”

  His curiosity was piqued. “OK, if you could just call Purvis and send a car to bring him here, then when Jake gets back they can work with the sketch artist.” His voice softened. “Stay in the office for the rest of the day, Annette. You look tired.”

  She didn’t argue so he went on.

  “If you want to take your maternity leave early that’s fine.”

  She nodded. “I’ll have a think about it if that’s OK? I’m more tired than I thought I would be by now.”

  “No problem. We have Kyle.” He popped his head out the door and had a look around. Kyle was nowhere to be seen again. “Correction. We have Kyle when he deigns to appear. He still thinks he’s in Intelligence, I’m afraid, with all that that entails.”

  She smiled and stood up to leave. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s doing something useful, and when I’m not here, he’ll have to tow the line.”

  He wasn’t convinced.

  When Annette had gone he returned to what he’d been doing before she’d arrived. Reggie had agreed to break his holiday to do the door-to-door at Andy’s apartment block and had been sworn to secrecy. He smiled to himself; the sergeant had jumped at the offer, but he wondered what Mrs Boyd had made of her husband’s announcement that he had to go into work when she’d had an afternoon of odd jobs laid out for him. Her vengeance would probably see his dinner in the dog that night.

  He had two other things to do. One was meeting with Ash; their earlier planned five minutes had got shunted by calls. The second thing on his list was at best a punt, but it was niggling at him and when something niggled at him there was only one way to sort it out.

  He scribbled a few words on a sticky and went out to give it to Davy, stilling his coming questions with a look.

  “Whatever you get is for my eyes only, Davy. Maybe some of your overseas contacts will come through.”

  The analyst nodded and Craig motioned Ash to come into his room, making them both coffees before sitting down.

  “OK. What’s happening on the search for Miskimmon’s laptop?”

  Ash rubbed his chin and for the first time Craig noticed a few stray hairs.

  “Growing a beard?”

  Ash nodded. “The hipster look is in. But I only need to shave once a week normally so I think it’ll take me a while. I thought I might dye them green as encouragement.”

  Craig rolled his eyes and returned to the matter in hand. “So?”

  Ash screwed up his face. “Maybe… Miskimmon’s IP address isn’t showing up on any traces.”

  Craig’s stare said ‘so?’

  “He may have built the computer himself.”

  “How easy is that?”

  Ash smiled pityingly. “If you mean could you do it, then no, it takes a lot of skill. But most IT people could.”

  Craig let the cheek pass. They were in geek land and he didn’t have an A to Z. His next question was asked hoping to be contradicted.

  “I suppose that means we’ll never trace it?”

  Ash took his life in his hands and grinned.

  “Not so. There are two ways we might find it. One, a computer’s IP address comes from its operating system, that’s like Microsoft and Mac. He’ll have to have purchased that from somewhere.” He thought again. “Well, not necessarily I suppose. It could have been pirated-”

  Craig made a hurry-up motion with his hand. “So what’s the second way?”

  Ash sniffed at being cut short. A genius was never recognised in his own land.

  “The second way is for me to try to start the computer remotely. If the computer hasn’t been destroyed and it’s near a wireless hotspot then we might be able to trace its Wi-Fi signal, even if it’s turned off. I can even turn on its webcam to see what sort of room it’s in.”

  Craig gawped at him. “You can do that?”

  “I’m a hacker. I can do lots of stuff.”

  Craig didn’t know whether to be scared or not. “OK. Try both. We need to find this thing quickly.”

  He stood up, waiting for the analyst to do the same. But Ash didn’t move, looking less confident suddenly.

  “It might not be quite as easy as I just made it sound. I might need Davy’s help for a while.”

  Craig motioned him to leave. “Whatever. Just don’t hold him back on anything big.”

  As Ash left he smiled to himself. Partly at Craig being so obviously out of his depth - bosses needed to be flummoxed now and then - and partly at the fact that he got paid to do what other people got arrested for and what other job would allow that?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Monday. 3.30 p.m.

  Liam drove into the C.C.U.’s garage wondering what to have for his belated lunch, as far as he was concerned his most important decision of the day. He’d just left Xavier Rey’s house after giving the usual lecture about not interfering with police investigations, and warning him that he was being watched and any future attempts to beat information out of hapless low-lives, no matter how bad they were, would see him spending a night in jail.

  As he pulled into a free parking space his mobile beeped with a message. He groaned as he read what it was about. As he pushed through the squad-room’s double doors ten floors up he tannoyed the information to the world.

  “One of McCrae’s men’s in St Mary’s.”

  Annette shook her head tiredly. “Say it a bit louder. I think they missed it in the pub.”

  He ignored her and turned to see Craig hovering by Davy’s desk, doing the senior officer’s equivalent of hopping from foot to foot. It looked like a soft shoe shuffle, a fact that Liam didn’t fail to point out.

  “Danni wants me to learn that.”

  Craig turned round. “What?”

  “Dancing. She wants me to do the ballroom classes at our church.”

  Craig was saved any further discussion by Davy handing him a note. The speed with which he seized it told his deputy that something was up. Liam sidled over.

  “Fancy some grub?”

  It was a timely reminder so Craig led the way across Pilot Street to The James. Thirty minutes later they were fed and watered and Liam began his intended interrogation by first offering up a few facts.

  “OK. So Rey’s warned off and under surveillance, Templepatrick Police said they’ll keep an eye on Tommy if they have time, but they’re fairly stretched with a spate of burglaries. Oh, and one of McCrae’s men’s in St Mary’s with a bad hiding.”

  Craig narrowed his eyes. “You can bet that Tommy’s involved in that somehow.”

  Liam leaned in. “No doubt, but you’ve more important fish to fry, haven’t you? I saw the way you grabbed that note from the lad.”

  Craig wondered at what point the engaged twenty-eight-year-old Davy would cease to be a lad in Liam’s book and changed the subject. “I’ve put Reggie on Andy’s door-to-door. I don’t think his wife was pleased. She had a list of chores for him to do.”

  “Don’t change the subject. What was Davy’s note about?”

  Craig’s response was to set the piece of paper face down on the dark wood table. “Before I tell you, I need to tell you a few other things.”

  Liam sat back and rested his folded arms on his diminished paunch. “You’ve just been made a Chief Super.”

  Craig’s jaw dropped. “How the hell-”

  “Did I know that? Danni knows Donna, the C.C.’s P.A.” He tapped the side of his nose and adopted a bad French accent. “I noze everyzing.”

  Craig laughed. “I see the holiday French classes failed.”

  But Liam was uninsultable. “Was that what Flanagan wanted to see you
about the other night? And what does it mean for us?”

  “Yes. And what do you mean by us? You and me us? In which case I promise I’ll still love you.”

  Liam shoved his elbow off the table but Craig carried on without missing a beat.

  “Or us, as in the Murder Squad?”

  “The squad. Are you leaving for pastures new?”

  Craig attempted a simper. “Would you miss me?”

  “Don’t ever do that again, unless you want a thump. So what’s happening?”

  Craig puffed out his cheeks. “What’s happening is that I haven’t accepted it.”

  “Yet. But you will. Anyway, why haven’t you? It’s more money.”

  “Strangely money’s not everything in this world.”

  Liam gave a sceptical snort. “It is when you have kids to feed. My two would eat the dog if it didn’t run away. I don’t know where they get their appetites from.”

  Craig let the obvious jibe pass and continued. “Taking the promotion is conditional on me supervising another section and I’ve enough bloody work to do.”

  Liam was puzzled. Aidan Hughes ran Vice and Geoff Hamill ran Gangs, with Terry Harrison in oversight. And the Drugs and Fraud Squads were under D.C.S. Devon Murray. It didn’t leave much to supervise. Then he realised.

  “He wants you to run the spook squad!”

  Craig nodded glumly. Intelligence was a poisoned chalice, with staff who coveted their roles as the keepers of secrets jealously, and a few who sailed far too close to the edge. He didn’t have much time for Machiavellian practices, not even when they were on the side of the law.

  “It’s part of every Super’s job to supervise and I’ve been lucky to get away with only the murder squads up to now. But both of our last big cases touched on Intelligence in some way, so the Chief thought it would be a good fit.”

  Liam chuckled. “That means you’ll have the darling Director Richie and Roy Barrett to cope with, not to mention a hundred Kyles.”

  Craig rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me, especially after what Kyle told us. That’s partly why I’m hesitating.”