The Tribes

by Catriona King

  Reggie smiled. “Never you worry. Her list of chores can wait one more day.”

  They finished their pizzas in relaxed silence then Craig nodded Liam to get ready to leave. As he walked past Jack he stopped for a moment.

  “I haven’t forgotten about D.S. Litton, Jack. I promise I’ll sort him out next week.”

  Liam smiled as he realised Craig’s added ‘Chief’ would give Litton no choice but to tow the line.

  Then they were gone. To bring a crooked cop out into the open and maybe nick a drug dealer as they did.

  ****

  Kyle knew that he’d got off lightly so far; he remembered Craig’s temper from sharing a flat with him as students, and knew that the fact it hadn’t reared at him yet had less to do with Craig’s new found maturity and more with the fact that they’d been run off their feet. But Craig would get round to him when the case was over, that much was certain, so he intended to use whatever grace time he had to follow his own hunch.

  As he drove towards the Intelligence Section he wondered what had happened to get Susan Richie canned, pushing away the feeling that it had been his revelation about Jastreb that had done the trick. He couldn‘t go there because that way led Armageddon; if Susan worked out that he’d made that call and by logic that Roy Barrett had helped him, then it wouldn’t just be Craig on her future hit list, and Intelligence hit lists were often precisely that.

  He swallowed hard and turned up Radio One, his thoughts shifting to Craig as Intelligence’s new chief-of-staff. What would that be like? Day to day it would probably make no difference; Roy would steer the ship as calmly as he had when he’d just been its chief mate . But if the shit hit the fan, as it frequently did in uncertain political times, Craig might step in and from his experience of him that would be something else.

  As he pulled into the section’s carpark he gave a heavy sigh. Either way, in Murder or Intelligence, there’d be no way of escaping Craig’s supervision in future so he’d better just make the best of it, and what better way to do that than by impressing your new boss with a result.

  ****

  Moygashel. County Tyrone.

  Ronan Miskimmon’s farmhouse wasn’t as Ash had pictured it from the crime report. He’d expected something steel and shiny inside its rustic shell, as befitted the lair of a computer genius. Instead he was gazing at a stone floored, wooden furnitured house on the prairie, more suited to a real farmer than someone who’d been using the place to hide out. The only signs of its previous occupants were the sections of degaussing loop still hanging from the ceiling, something that if Craig hadn’t stopped the C.S.I.s quickly would have fried Miskimmon’s computers as they’d carried them past.

  His ruminations were interrupted by Rhonda’s quiet voice.

  “Will this take long? It smells funny in here.”

  Jake nodded. “It’s damp.” He turned to the analyst. “Any idea of your time scale, Ash?”

  “Not a clue.”

  He was too busy searching for a wireless router to be more accurate. On their third sweep he found it located behind a pine dresser, so small it could have passed as an adapter box. He didn’t care how small it was as long as some C.S.I. hadn’t broken it during their search. Thankfully whoever had printed it, evidenced by the grey dust still covering the surface, hadn’t felt the need to dismantle it as well.

  He hunkered down and nodded Jake to pass him his bag.

  Jake leaned in, curious. “What’s that thing?”

  “Router.” Ash took out the Bluetooth, Miskimmon’s laptop and his own smart-pad.

  “And?”

  Ash would have tutted but he knew he’d have to explain after anyway, so he launched into a complex explanation hoping it would put the detective off asking any more. No such luck.

  “OK, so you’re searching for Miskimmon’s LAN and then you’re going to sync your smart-pad to it.”

  The analyst nodded. There might be hope for Jake’s computer education yet.

  “Then we’re going walkabout in the hope of picking up another device.”

  Rhonda chipped in. “Which will be his fourth laptop.”

  Jake shook his head. “If it was anywhere in the house the search team would have found it. They know their jobs.”

  Ash ignored him and started wandering around the room, then out into the kitchen and utility room and up one flight of stairs, until he’d checked every room on the first two floors with no joy. In the middle of the bathroom ceiling he noticed a hatch.

  “Jake.”

  Jake walked slowly up the stairs.

  “There’s a loft.”

  “Why do you need to go up there? Surely you would detect anything that’s up there from here? It can’t be more than twenty metres away.”

  Ash shook his head. “I need to be sure. Sometimes physical obstacles can-”

  Jake cut him off with a shrug. He was already sure there would be nothing in the loft but he didn’t want to listen to Ash whine. His next comment was designed to make the analyst do just that.

  “You’ll have to go up there yourself then. My legs aren’t at full strength yet.”

  Subtext; if I fall while I’m still in rehab the boss will rip off your head.

  Ash stared at the wooden hatch and gulped, picturing an attic with only wooden beams and thin plaster board between him and perdition. Rhonda came to his rescue.

  “Don’t worry, little pom. I can be up and down again before you’ve made the tea.”

  He took the hint eagerly, never letting a misplaced sense of chivalry get in the way of logic; Rhonda was strong and fit, whereas he was a self-confessed weed who’d never met an exercise he didn’t hate. Jake on the other hand looked uncomfortable at Rhonda’s offer and decided to give it a try, but she glanced meaningfully at his legs and shook her head. She slipped off her new jacket, raring to go. Ash handed over his smart-pad, explained what she should look for and then wandered downstairs to make the tea. The kettle had barely boiled when he heard an excited yell.

  “Get up here! The signal’s jumped.”

  Ash surprised himself by sprinting up the stairs, only to find Jake clambering slowly up into the loft.

  “You shouldn’t be doing that.” AKA ‘get out of my way. I want to see.’

  The detective slipped through the hatch and disappeared, his “YES” five seconds later saying it had been worth the trip.

  When Ash joined them he was surprised to see the attic not only floored but carpeted, and furnished with filing cabinets and desks. It was more comfortable than the ground floor.

  Jake scanned the long room. “This must have been their office.” He pointed to more grey dust. “It’s already been printed, but I didn’t notice any reference to a loft in the report.”

  Rhonda’s voice came from under a desk. “There wasn’t.”

  One of Des’ C.S.I.s was going to get a bollocking.

  Ash walked over to a small Wi-Fi booster box and beckoned Rhonda to hand him his pad. There was no doubt; the signal was much stronger up here. Not only that but a new device had appeared on the Bluetooth and its name said that they might be getting close. ORIGIN. He crossed his fingers that Miskimmon had named it that because it contained his earliest work.

  “The C.S.I.s missed something. There’s definitely a device up here.” He grinned as he saw it was on Miskimmon’s LAN.

  Jake took charge. “OK. Rhonda, you start in that corner and work down the right hand side, and I’ll start over here. Ash, what exactly are we looking for?”

  “A laptop probably, or maybe a smart-pad. Some computing device anyway. You won’t miss it. I’ll start at this end.”

  They worked in silence for ten minutes, moving furniture and opening drawers. When they’d been through every cubby hole and cabinet twice over Jake finally admitted defeat.

  “There’s nothing here. It must be a rogue signal.”

  Ash waved his smart-pad defiantly. “There is something here. We’re just missing it.”

  Just then
Rhonda had a hunch and she held out her hand for the pad. “Just for a minute, Ash.”

  He handed it over reluctantly and waited to see what she did. For ten minutes she walked the room in silence, holding the smart-pad up as close to the attic’s ceiling as she could, and staring at its screen the whole time. When she’d finished she walked to one end of the room and got on her hands and knees, moving the pad methodically across every inch of floor. Suddenly she let out a squeal.

  “Here! Look.”

  Ash rushed over and grabbed the pad. There was no doubt about it, the signal was the strongest they’d seen it.

  “It just jumped when I held it over this bit.”

  Jake threw his head back, laughing. “The clever bastard! He hid it under the floorboards.”

  In ten minutes they had the carpet lifted, to reveal a section of floor that had been cut out and replaced. Jake gloved up and reached down between the beams, withdrawing a dull metal box.

  Ash gawped at the find. “That’s why we had to get so close to pick up the signal. It’s a Faraday Cage! It must have a breach in it somewhere or we wouldn’t have got a signal at all.”

  He went to grab the box but Jake pushed him away. “It has to be printed first. Chain of evidence. Rhonda, get me an evidence bag from the car, please. And call the local station while you’re there; they’re taking you two back to Belfast with this. I’ve got to drive to Armagh. ” He nodded Ash on. “Explain a Faraday Cage to me.”

  Ash was powerless to touch their treasure, so he used the time to explain grudgingly.

  “Wi-Fi signals can be weakened by lots of things. Microwaves, cordless phones, even some baby monitors. Apparently garage door openers can-”

  Jake interrupted, seeing him straying off point. “Faraday Cage.”

  The analyst nodded, his eyes fixed on the box so intently that if he’d said “my precious” the detective wouldn’t have been surprised. He continued in a distracted tone.

  “It’s pretty much the only physical thing that can block a signal. Metal that’s sealed and grounded.” He gestured at the box. “Like that.” He reached out a hand to touch it again only to have Jake bat him back.

  “You’ll get once it’s printed, then you and Des can do whatever it is you do and let’s just hope that it works.”

  ****

  Armagh Police Station. 9 p.m.

  By eight o’clock Annette had summoned Magnus O’Shea to Armagh and by nine he was sitting across from Jake and her, moaning about how they were ruining his week. She kept her tone deliberately meek. If O’Shea liked his ladies passive then that’s exactly what he would get this time, much as it stuck in her throat.

  She could be herself and make things harder, or play meek and mild and have him trotting after her like a dog; her energy levels made the path of least resistance the more attractive choice.

  “I’m so sorry to make you come all this way, Inspector.”

  He melted into his chair as she spoke and the frown present since he’d entered morphed into a stupid grin.

  “Ach now, don’t you worry your wee self about that.” All that was missing was the pat on the head. He continued pleasantly. “Happy to be any help I can.”

  And we’re not even bribing you.

  She continued. “It’s just that this is too sensitive to discuss over the phone.” She stopped suddenly, making a show of asking Jake to check that no-one was lurking outside. It was his signal to arrange the phone blocks and plant the devices beneath O’Shea’s family estate. He returned a minute later, shaking his head.

  “No-one there, Ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Jake.” She folded her hands demurely in her lap, thinking it was the sort of thing that Mrs O’Shea would probably do, then she leaned forward confidingly. “You see, Inspector O’Shea.”

  There followed a tale of Albanian gangsters, drug runners and big bosses, and how they knew exactly where Abaz Goga, the Belfast cell leader, would be that evening and were preparing a raid for eleven o’clock.

  O’Shea’s expression changed from fatuous to serious. “Is that so? Well, my goodness you boys and girls up north certainly know how many beans make five.”

  It didn’t require anything of her but a simper and she watched as the Garda edged his chair closer until she could feel his hot beer breath on her cheek. Drinking at work; that would be another nail in his box.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by O’Shea’s next question.

  “I don’t know Belfast well, so what sort of places would boyos like that frequent?”

  Her mind said ‘you know it better than you’re saying’ but she answered disingenuously. “Night clubs apparently.” She smiled. “I never go to places like that, of course.” But I did when I was a student. Every night.

  He nodded approvingly, moving her up another length in the good woman stakes. Annette was really looking forward to nicking the man, it was just a pity there was no extended sentence for being a chauvinist. She was tiring of the game and they needed O’Shea on the road, so she added.

  “Apparently it’s called The Pit.” Kyle’s information had been confirmed by Drugs and Vice. Goga and his cronies used the club as their den. “A terrible place, as the name might suggest.”

  If they were right then O’Shea’s next move would be to leave hurriedly, ostensibly for home but if the tracker didn’t lead them to Belfast then she’d be very surprised. As the Garda walked swiftly to his car Annette took out her mobile and called Craig.

  “That’s him away now, sir. You can tell Davy to start tracking and we’ll see you there ASAP.”

  At the other end of the line Craig alerted Davy. When he returned to his office Liam was relaxing in a chair.

  “OK. I need suggestions. We know The Pit is Goga’s usual hang out, but I’ve had plain clothes guys inside for hours and he hasn’t turned up. How the hell do we get him there for eleven?”

  Liam glanced at his watch and relaxed even further. “I’m expecting a call.”

  Craig sat down opposite. “From anyone in particular or do you expect me to guess?”

  “I’ll give you a hint. It’s not Kyle. He’s AWOL again.”

  Craig face said that he wasn’t amused by either of them. “Unless you have a death wish, Liam, tell me who’s going to call.”

  Liam straightened up. “Ach, you’re no fun nowadays, do you know that? Time was when you would have joined in a joke but not now. And don’t go giving me ‘I’ve three murders to solve’ and ‘I’m a D.C.S. now’ because they’ve got bugger all to do with it. You’re a misery because of that wee girl and I wish you’d just sort yourself out.”

  Craig’s jaw dropped. “You do have a death wish.”

  The D.C.I. raised his eyes to heaven. “Oh, all right, I’ll tell you. I’m waiting for Roller Brant to call. He owes me big time for my nose.”

  Craig started laughing.

  “So you do still laugh, but only at my physical pain. You know what they call people like that.”

  “Friends?”

  The exchange was cut short by Liam’s phone ringing, so Craig listened for sixty seconds as he “yepped” and “noped”. Finally he hung up and said. “Good man. I forgive him for my nose now.”

  Craig sat forward eagerly. “So?”

  “So… Roller’s passed word through The Pit that there’s a German punter looking to buy a kilo of smack. But he’ll only do business face-to-face and he’s flying back home tomorrow, which means the buy has to be tonight.”

  Craig was sceptical. “Since when did Roller get so well connected?”

  “Since his favourite sister got hitched to the lad who owns the club.” He tapped his nose knowingly but very gently, in deference to its pain. “Keep your snouts close and you hear all sorts of useful stuff. Anyway, if that doesn’t get Goga to the club tonight then nothing will.”

  Craig sat back, not bothering to hide that he was impressed. He thought for a moment before surprising Liam with his next question. “Does the sister look like Rolle
r?”

  “She does actually. Big ears and all. But as the man says, there’s no accounting for taste.”

  ****

  The Lab. 9 p.m.

  While Jake had handed Rhonda the metal box and then headed off to Armagh, Ash had kept their find well in his sights. By the time Des had docketed and printed the container the analyst had steam coming from his ears; this was their last chance to prove Ronan Miskimmon guilty and they weren’t even sure they’d found the laptop yet.

  He tried to focus on other things, but found himself peering at the box’s rusted hinges wondering again if they’d provided the breach that had allowed the signal through. Something must have done, otherwise they would never have known the box was there.

  Finally Des stepped back and nodded at his work. It was a fatal move; anything resembling approval was bound to be seized on by Ash as a sign that he could grab the box. Before the forensic scientist could say no or yes, the analyst had prised the iron box open, noting with satisfaction that not only was there a laptop inside but that one of the box’s hinges had corroded enough to create a small gap. They had their breach.

  He pumped the air triumphantly and then lifted the computer out reverently onto the laboratory bench. After a tense five minutes where he checked the signal again and confirmed the device was part of Miskimmon’s LAN, he opened the laptop’s lid and stared at its keyboard, muttering to himself.

  “Faraday Cage. Smart move. Smart move.”

  Des recognised the nerves behind the words. “Brilliant actually. It’s amazing you ever found it.”

  Ash didn’t break his stare. “Rhonda’s find. She crawled along the floor.”

  “I’m impressed.” Ash’s reluctance to take the next step and switch on the computer was palpable, so Des added logically. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  The analyst turned towards him, his large eyes wild. “You know what! I could turn it on and the whole thing could fry.”