Liam, being from Crossgar, hadn’t; his childhood terrors had been more of the Banshee variety and his astonishment was clear.
“Here, hang on, Doc, you don’t mean you think she was buried alive, do you?”
“I can’t rule it out yet, Liam, but I sincerely hope not.” The pathologist turned back to Craig. “As I was saying, we should be able to date her death if she died just before or when she went in, but we do have to allow for the possibility that this could be a historical find, or even a more modern skeleton that someone relocated from elsewhere.”
Liam whistled. “Because someone was getting close to finding her at her original dump site…”
John nodded. “Perhaps.”
Craig shook his head. “That would mean the original floor of the hotel being re-concreted especially to bury her.”
“That should be easy to check, boss.”
Des interjected. “If Liam’s right that implies the original site pointed to her killer, which could be helpful if we knew where it was. Of course, there could be another explanation for her being here, apart from all the sinister ones; someone might have just wanted to keep her close, even in death.”
The suggestion made even the gentlemanly pathologist snort in derision, and Liam said exactly what he thought of it.
“Oh, aye, let’s not bother buying a grave for Auntie Bridget! We love her so much let’s just bury her under our feet!”
Des hit back indignantly. “Lots of people have their relatives cremated and keep their ashes nearby in an urn!”
“It’s a bit bloody different! Parking your granny’s ashes on the mantelpiece is a hell of a lot more respectful than shoving her bones into the floor!”
The debate, macabre as it was, made Craig crack a smile. He let the exchange run on for a moment longer and then waved the participants down.
“OK, you two. We’ll get clarity on things once we know how long the victim’s been dead, and to do that we need to give John and Des some peace to get on with their jobs.”
He walked around to the car’s driver’s door and clicked it open.
“John, how long before you have something useful?”
“Give me until after lunch and then call down to the lab.”
“Good. Right, Liam, we’re heading back to the office to see what Davy’s found out. Des, if you’re finished do you need a lift?”
“No thanks. I said I’d meet Annie outside The City Hall for lunch, to shop for Martin’s birthday. He’s eight next week.” He grinned. “Kids. The spending never ends, but they’re worth it.”
None of them were aware that the comment might impact on Craig, and he wasn’t about to say.
Chapter Three
The C.C.U. 12 p.m.
“Right, son, what’ve you got?”
The question was accompanied by Liam rubbing his hands so hard that Annette was half-expecting to see a spark. She stood up at her desk, curious.
“What did you find at the site, Liam?”
The deputy answered without interrupting his advance towards Davy Walsh’s desk. “A lot of rubble and dust.”
Craig added a codicil. “And a set of human bones.”
The D.I. rolled her eyes. “You might have mentioned those first. So, do we have a case, sir?”
Craig stopped by her desk momentarily, nodding. “Either we do, or the Historical Finds Squad will. It all depends on when the victim died.”
He resumed his transit and a few seconds later Davy was looking up at two impatient detectives instead of one.
“Right. What have you managed to find out about The Howard Tower Hotel?”
The analyst beckoned his junior across and nodded the detectives to take a seat. When Liam failed to take the hint, he pointed to a chair unsubtly, with the explanation, “Looking up at you gives me a pain in the neck.”
A suspicious squint that said the deputy couldn’t work out whether or not he’d just been insulted, disappeared when Craig snapped, “Sit down, will you, Liam! We don’t have all day.”
It generated a knowing nod between Aidan and Andy that Liam didn’t miss and made up his mind to query afterwards, but for now he would have to make do with sulking about Craig’s bark.
“Continue, Davy, please.”
The analyst nodded to Ash, who tapped his smart-pad into life.
“OK, so, I checked out the history of the land The Howard Tower Hotel is on, from eighteen hundred to the present day. Shall I start with the most recent first?”
Davy answered, “Yes” for all of them.
“OK. The current building, The Howard Tower, is being knocked down to make way for a new luxury hotel, due to open in twenty-twenty. It’s been commissioned by The Monmouth Consortium, who run hotels all over the world.”
Craig raised a finger to interrupt. “Is the Oasis in Dublin one of theirs?” He’d taken Katy there for their first ever weekend away together.
Ash nodded enthusiastically. “Yeh, it is. My mum and dad stayed there once, years back. They couldn’t afford it now though. It’s five hundred Euros a night.”
He fell silent as he thought about how many computer games he could buy with the money, and as he pondered Liam broke the sulk that no-one had even noticed him having to give an astounded, “What? Five hundred quid just for a bed? Does it have a solid gold mattress?” He rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Who the hell has that kind of cash?”
Craig shrugged. “Euros not quids, and the answer is, people with more money than sense. Carry on please, Ash.”
The analyst broke off from his dreams of gaming and looked at his smart-pad again.
“OK, so, The Monmouth Consortium bought the land for twenty million last year from the previous owners, a small consortium of Pakistani and Saudi business people called The Barr Group. They’d owned the site since two-thousand-and-seven, when they built The Howard Tower, and before that it was government land, used by Stormont’s Department of Energy, the DoE, as their city centre offices-”
Davy interrupted him. “I remember reading about that. Stormont s...sold off a lot of its city centre holdings, all around Linenhall, Bedford and Howard Streets, and moved its offices out to places like Bangor and Newtownards. I think the DoE went out to Moira.”
Craig considered what the information meant. If there had been a government department on the land before The Howard Tower, then thousands of civil servants would have been in and out of it every day. It would make for an impossible suspect pool and they would have to find some way of narrowing things down. Even if they were going to hand the case over to the Historical Finds Squad, the HFS, eventually, they would need to do so with as much information as they could.
“Davy, find out who was responsible for that land sale at the Stormont end and get their name to Nicky. We need to meet.”
Liam’s sulk was broken once again, this time with a whine.
“Ach, no, boss, not civil servants. I can’t be doing with those eejits. They can’t even go to the shops without getting permission from their boss.”
Craig stared wistfully into the distance. “Oh, for the days when you used to ask permission from me for things.”
Liam frowned. “I don’t remember that.”
“Exactly my point. Davy, liaise with Nicky on any meetings, which there will need to be, no matter what Liam says.”
He gave a short wave that was Ash’s signal to restart.
“OK. On the sale of the site between the DoE and the Barrs. The site was vacated by the DoE in February oh-six when it went on the market. It was empty for well over a year before exchange of contracts in the middle of June oh-seven and completion and handover to The Barr Group at the end of July-”
Craig cut in. “Can you put whatever you get on a timeline, please, Ash, and forward it to everyone’s phones. Any updates as well, to keep us right.”
“Will do. So anyway, the government first bought the land in nineteen-twenty-one.”
Liam sniffed loudly. “Partition.”
&nbs
p; The partition of Ireland was the division of the island of Ireland in nineteen-twenty-one into two distinct jurisdictions, Northern Ireland, and Southern Ireland which eventually became the Republic of Ireland as it now exists. Northern Ireland became a majority protestant unionist state, something which many of its catholic nationalist inhabitants, the tradition Liam came from, remained less than enthusiastic about.
“It had been owned by various churches and merchants before then.”
Craig gave him a puzzled look. “Together?”
Liam grinned. “Brilliant idea. You could get a pint while you’re praying.”
“I’m pretty sure there’d be objections to that.”
The analyst continued. “No, sorry, I meant that the church owned part of the land and the rest of it was used for commercial business. Obviously, the buildings back then didn’t go as high as The Howard Tower, except for the church steeples maybe… probably…” He realised that he was bluffing and added. “Actually, I might just look into that.”
“On your own time, please, unless it’s to do with the case.”
Liam edged forward on his seat, finally realising that his hurt feelings were being completely ignored, and curious about what Ash had said.
“Were any of those businesses pubs, by any chance?”
The analyst scrolled down his screen and nodded. “Yes. Well, hostelries. That’s what they were called back in the day.”
“The Red Rooster wouldn’t have been one of them by any chance, would it?”
“Yes. Yes, here it is. The Red Rooster Hostelry and Bawdy House.”The analyst chuckled. “What a brilliant name for a bar.” He turned to Davy. “I’d be there like a shot, wouldn’t you?”
Before Davy could answer Liam gave a definitive nod. “That’s the place with the famous ghosts. The man who killed his girlfriend in a drunken fight, and then he was shot by her brother. It was notorious.”
Craig gave him a wry look. “Unless you’re suggesting that particular girlfriend was our victim, what the hell does it have to do with the case?”
“Nothing. I just thought I’d add a bit of local colour.” He gestured to the analysts. “For the youngsters here, like.”
Craig’s rolled eyes said what he thought of the idea and he turned back to the junior analyst. It was on the tip of Liam’s tongue to say, “Lighten up, boss”, when he caught a confiding shake of Aidan’s head that promised mischief to come and decided to let it go.
Feeling the pressure of Craig’s sigh Ash picked up his report at speed.
“OK, so going back to The Monmouth Consortium that’s just bought the land.”
“Tell us about its members and constitution.”
Ash tapped his pad twice and pulled up what looked like a legal report.
“I’ll copy the constitution to each of you, but I’ll need to drill down a bit to get the name of all the board members and accountable officers. They seem to be mainly based down south and in Canada, although there is a local politician involved: William Bruton.”
Liam couldn’t restrain himself. “Billy Bruton! That chancer.”
Craig was curious. “Why chancer?”
“Surely you mean why is he more of a chancer than our other dodgy politicians are? Well, let’s put it this way: Bruton goes to every party and freebie event in Belfast, he’s forever being photographed for the Ulster Bazaar with some model or other draped over him, and he drives a car he was given by a local dealer for ‘his support in obtaining planning permission’. The man would attend the opening of an envelope and then nick it afterwards.”
It was a damning indictment that put the lid on Bruton’s coffin and nailed it down.
Craig chuckled. “You really should write poetry, Liam.” Before the D.C.I. could respond he went on. “OK, The Monmouth Consortium are unlikely to be involved in our victim’s death as they’ve just bought the site, but ask Nicky to set up a meeting with Bruton anyway, please.”
He glanced across at his PA, wondering whether her ears were burning, but she was diligently typing away.
“Tell me more about the group that’s just sold the land to Monmouth. The ones that owned The Howard Tower Hotel.”
Ash read directly from his pad. “The Barr Group. Three partners: Dalir Barr, his older brother Kamran and a Saudi Resident called Farshid Lund-”
Craig halted him. “The Barrs...where did you say they were from?”
“The family was from Pakistan originally. But their parents settled here in the mid-seventies.”
Liam frowned, puzzled. “I thought it was mostly Indians who’d settled here.”
Ash nodded enthusiastically. “It was mostly. Like my folks. They came from the Punjab in nineteen-eighty and had my older sister and then me here. But there were some people from Pakistan who migrated here as well.”
“What’s the percentage split?”
“There are still very small percentages of both, but the Indian to Pakistani ratio here is about six to one now. I’d have to check what it was at different times over the past century.”
Craig shook his head. “Only if you wish to. OK, carry on.”
Wish. Liam sucked air in through his teeth; there was that elegant grammar again and it didn’t bode well.
“So…the younger Barr brother, Dalir, was born here in eighty-three, so he’s thirty-five. He returned to Pakistan to live in two thousand and eight, although he kept his stake in The Tower. The older one by five years, Kamran, stayed here, and he lives up the Malone Road. He’s taken Irish citizenship as well as Pakistani, and he’s been on the Northern Irish Rich List for the past ten years.”
“Very nice for him. Tell me about the Saudi.”
“Farshid Lund.” The analyst looked confused for a moment but then he shook his head, continuing. “He lives in Riyadh in Saudi Arabia and has never been resident here. His interest in The Tower Hotel seemed to be mainly financial, but I’ll need to dig a bit more on that.”
Craig considered for a moment.
“OK. I want you to check how often Lund and the younger Barr brother have travelled here since the Tower was built in two-thousand-and-seven. Dates, flights and whatever. Get me all the details. And I’d like to know what the profit profile of The Barr Group has been as well. Take that back to its beginning.”
He added, “please” as an afterthought, making Davy give a tight smile; at least Ash had managed to get one, there’d been few enough of them being thrown around since March.
Craig rested back in his chair and opened up the discussion. “Thoughts on the body site?”
Liam got in first. “With the high foot-fall from a hotel and government offices we could be stuffed for suspects.”
Craig rolled his eyes. “I should have said any helpful thoughts.”
Davy leaned forward on his desk. “S…Surely it all depends upon the age of the body… sorry, bones? If they turn out to be hundreds of years old, then it’ll be over to the HFS. And if they’re more recent then whatever date Doctor Winter puts on them might help to narrow things down?”
Craig couldn’t argue with his logic, so why did his gut say there was something more? But it did, so he pressed the group again.
“That’s logical, Davy, but I’m looking something slightly more creative. We have a dead woman embedded in the floor of a hotel, so, all of you; give me your best shot.”
Ash rose to the challenge quickly.
“It was a hit. Cartel, mafia or gangs.”
Liam snorted. “You and the Angel have been binge watching The Godfather again, haven’t you?”
The analyst and Andy were both film buffs, especially the older ones.
Craig shook his head. “Whether he has or not, a hit’s not a bad suggestion, Liam.” He nodded the D.C.I. to bring the whiteboard across. “Right, let’s start a list with that at the top.”
While Liam scribbled everyone kept thinking.
“What else could it be? I want you all to think of what motivates one person to kill another, and then to
kill a woman in particular.”
Ash got in first again. “Money, or drugs, or… jealousy. Yeh jealousy; that could work with a woman. Someone caught her with a lover and killed her, then they needed somewhere to dispose of the body.”
Not to be outdone Liam added. “Or some mistress wanted the wife bumped off, so she could get her man.”
Davy nodded. “Or it could have been one woman killing another because of jealousy, if they were in a relationship with each other.”
They all deserved to go on the board.
Craig nodded. “Good. Davy, find out who laid the foundations of the tower in two-thousand-and-seven. We need to know when the concrete was liquid because that’s when the body went in. Also, find out about security on the site then. Who could have accessed it? There must have been guards on, in case some child wandered in and never came out.”
Ash wrinkled his youthful forehead in curiosity. “I’ve never understood the difference between concrete and cement.”
Liam obliged. “Cement is an ingredient of concrete. Concrete’s basically a mixture of aggregates and paste. The aggregates are sand and gravel or crushed stone; the paste is water and cement. Me and my big brother used to lay patios in the summer holidays when we were in our teens.”
“Your new name’s Bob the Builder.”
Craig made an impressed sound. “Remind me to hire you if I ever buy a house, Liam. OK, I don’t really mind what people call it. Concrete, cement, stone, brick, we all know what we mean. Right, next?”
“I think we should check the night-guards in particular, boss. People dispose of bodies in the dark.”
“Good thinking, Liam. OK, other motives, anyone?”
Davy’s slim face took on a look of disgust and he offered his next suggestion in a subdued voice.
“Rape? She might have been assaulted and killed on a night out in town. Then the killer panicked and saw the wet concrete, so he threw her in.”
The Property Page 4