The Running of the Deer

by Catriona King

  There were all sorts of reasons for it, most at least five years old: Harrison’s leching at young women under his command, an abuse of power; the man’s toe curling snobbery, making him treat people well or badly based purely on their wealth or social clout; his patronising interference towards his subordinates, and worse, taking the credit for work that wasn’t his, something that he couldn’t abide; Harrison’s deliberate refusal to allow his ex-girlfriend Julia a transfer to Belfast, something that had contributed to their eventual, painful breakup; and last but not least his more recent attempt at preventing Aidan’s secondment and now complete transfer from Vice, not because he gave a damn about the D.C.I., he probably didn’t even remember Aidan’s name, but just because he’d thought that he could.

  The list of the D.C.S.’ transgressions was lengthy in his book; Terry Harrison was all the worst things a man could be, and he could hardly bear to look at him without wanting to punch him in the face.

  That image was still in Craig’s mind when they reached the squad-room, making Liam cast a pointed glance at his clenched fists and then murmur so that only the two of them could hear.

  “Stand down, boss, you look like you’re about to hit someone. Save your fight for upstairs.”

  It jolted Craig from his red mist and he unfurled his hands, but if the detectives had been expecting sweetness, light and a warm welcome home, Nicky soon made sure that they were disabused. She hurtled towards them brandishing a sheaf of paper.

  “This place has gone to hell! I’ve all these letters for you to sign, everyone’s disappeared, and Rowan Drake’s causing chaos down at the court!”

  Craig stopped in his tracks for a moment and gathered his thoughts, then he plastered on a bright smile and nodded his head.

  “To be expected. More importantly, how are you, Nicky? And everyone else?”

  The PA wasn’t going to be diverted by his mollifying words, as she demonstrated by her planting her hands stubbornly on her hips.

  “Kyle and Andy have disappeared, Davy and Ash are overworked, and Aidan told me a lie! He said he’d given up smoking when he hadn’t.”

  How dare he? Imagine someone thinking that they had the right to change their mind?

  She hadn’t finished. “And you need to tell that new constable to get her earrings out now!”

  Craig hauled his inner zen up to the surface and smiled at her again, nodding pacifyingly and inching his way towards his office as he did. Liam read his mind and got there first, opening the door and following Craig in. They slumped down in their chairs for a moment, listening as Nicky continued ranting outside, and then Craig stared up meaningfully at the roof.

  “We might have been better just heading for the thirteenth.”

  Liam shrugged. “Ach, just give her a few minutes to vent and she’ll be fine.” He thought of something and lifted the phone. “I’ll get Davy and Annette in, shall I?”

  “If they can get past the guard.”

  A minute later there were four of them in the small office, arranged on chairs and leaning against the wall with Craig’s paint stripper strength coffees in their hands. Liam led off on his nod.

  “Right, updates. Annette, what’s with Mary? Nicky was ranting about some earrings.”

  Annette twiddled one of her own bare lobes as she replied. “Several of them, and a nose stud. I’ve told her to get them out in case of injury, but I think she needs to hear it from the chief.”

  Craig winced. “I hate telling people what to wear.”

  “Tough. You have to, sir. It’s health and safety and she’s already ignored Nicky and me.”

  Liam grinned. “I’ll do it. I’ve got a good trick for that one.”

  “Be my guest.” Craig’s eyes narrowed suddenly in warning. “Just as long as you don’t pull one through her earlobe to make your point.”

  “Damn, you always spoil my fun.”

  Craig rolled his eyes and turned back to work. “What have you got her working on, Annette?”

  “She helped go over everyone’s court statements and now she’s working for Davy.”

  She nodded the analyst to take over, and he started by asking a question.

  “Do I look like a Pisces?”

  Liam almost spat out his drink. “A what?”

  “The star sign, Pisces. I am one actually, but I was w…wondering how Mary knew just by looking at me. Do you think she’s psychic or something?”

  Liam was spluttering now, and the conversation was already hurting Craig’s head. He had better things to do than debate the existence or otherwise of ESP.

  “Move it on, Davy, before Liam blows a gasket.”

  As he had already turned scarlet, the analyst moved on hastily.

  “OK, well, Mary’s got a degree in computing and linguistics, so I’ve put her on the database and she, Ash and I are w…working our way through your list, chief.”

  “Any answers yet?”

  “S…Some, but they’re a bit random, so I’d like a few more hours if that’s OK?”

  Craig nodded. “Fine. We’ll brief at five and hear what you have then. Annette, have you seen Kyle, Andy or Aidan?”

  “The last I heard Andy and Kyle were leaving Intelligence and heading to Aerial Support. That was around an hour ago, so they should be back soon. Aidan’s up on the roof.”

  Craig nodded. “Smoking.”

  The D.I. gave him a smug look. “No, actually, not smoking. He’s given up.”

  “But Nicky said-”

  “He told Nicky he was giving up, but I told him that was a bad idea, because if he backslid she would nag him to death. So, then he told her a minute later that he’d decided not to.”

  Craig nodded. That’s what Nicky had meant when she’d said that Aidan had lied.

  “But he really is, trying to give up I mean. He’s just keeping it very quiet.”

  Liam raised an eyebrow. “So, you thought you’d tell all of us?”

  She looked startled, suddenly realising what she’d done. “Oh, but…I didn’t…you…”

  Craig shook his head. “Don’t worry, none of us will rib Aidan about it.”

  Liam snorted derisively. “Speak for yourself!”

  Craig’s expression became stern. “I’m speaking for all of us, Liam. I’m not having Aidan’s genuine attempt to kick cigarettes hindered by you taking the piss. Make jokes about something else.”

  The deputy raised his hands in mock defence. “All right, all right. God, I was only joking. You lot really need to lighten up.”

  Craig ran his gaze around the group. “And no-one tells Nicky that Aidan’s really quitting, agreed?”

  He was answered by a series of nods and Liam sticking out his tongue, making Annette sigh.

  “Never mind us lightening up, you need to grow up, Liam.”

  Craig killed the discussion by withdrawing the napkin he’d placed in his pocket earlier and starting to read aloud.

  “OK, here’s where we are. This morning Liam and I met with the C.C. and it seems that the case we’ve been given in Tyrone is the second murder committed in that clearing. Both teenage boys, the first one eight years ago, both found dead in the same spot in Killeter Forest. Doctor Winter did the new PM and Doctor Marsham is currently finishing up at the site-”

  Annette cut in anxiously. “Wasn’t Mike there?”

  Suspicions of infidelity raced instantly across her face and everyone except Davy noticed them; he was still wondering what a Piscean looked like.

  Craig ignored why Annette was asking the question and just answered the what.

  “Sorry, yes, Mike’s been with John since yesterday. They were all still down there when we left, but they should be back very soon. John’s busy this afternoon doing something else, but I’ll see if we can get Mike and Des here for the briefing. I won’t cover the details until then as they can do it much better than me. OK, let’s move on. Annette, have you finished all the court prep on the Drake case?”

  “Yes. I’ll let you have a
copy of the witness schedule. I know Liam’s up on Friday.”

  The D.C.I. wasn’t amused. “Ach, not for the whole day, surely?” He glanced hopefully at his boss. “What if we’re still on the case then? You’ll need me.”

  Craig was amused. “Indispensable as you are, I guess I’ll just have to struggle on.”

  Annette kept going. “I’ll check how long they need you and let you know later, Liam. Nicky said there was some ruckus down there this morning, during opening statements.”

  Craig rolled his eyes; he couldn’t say that he was surprised. Rowan Drake was a malignant narcissist with grandiose tendencies; he was hardly planning to go gently into any dark night.

  “I’ll see what that was about after this. Annette, if you’ve finished doing the court prep now then perhaps you wouldn’t mind helping Davy as well? I’ve given him a lot to do.”

  She turned to the analyst. “Fine with me. Just let me know what you need.”

  Davy nodded gratefully and stood up, then all but Craig and Liam left the room. Once they were alone the D.C.I. rubbed his hands together gleefully.

  “Right, take your pick. Do you want to sort Harrison, Nicky, Aidan or the new girl first?”

  ****

  The Lisburn Road. South Belfast. 1.15 p.m.

  Natalie Winter tutted loudly.

  “It’s a quarter past, so why are we still waiting? If I made my patients wait this long there would be a complaint, and that’s not even private medicine. We’re paying for this.”

  The reality of what she’d just said hit her suddenly and she turned to her husband, who was sitting with his eyes shut and his arms tightly folded, wishing that he was in a galaxy far far away.

  “Exactly how much are we paying for this, John?”

  After a few seconds silence she nudged him for a response, prompting the pathologist to turn his body away from her, his eyes still firmly shut as he replied.

  “I’m paying for it out of the money my parents left me, so you needn’t worry.”

  Natalie sat forward so that she could angle her face into his.

  “Why needn’t I worry? I’m your wife, so part of that money would be mine in any divorce.”

  It was on the tip of John’s tongue to say, “that’s why we’re here. To avoid a bloody divorce”, but he decided that silence was more prudent at that moment and tried to pacify his wife by opening his eyes.

  Just as Natalie was about to ask him another question the smooth wooden door behind them opened and, “make another appointment for next Tuesday and I’ll see you then”, and a stout woman with a sulky tweenie in tow emerged.

  A sleek brunette wearing glasses that had been sketched by some designer’s pen appeared soon after them. She spotted the Winters immediately and smiled in what John thought was an overly optimistic way, given that she hadn’t yet met his wife.

  “I’ll be with you in just one moment.”

  Any response was rendered redundant by the woman leaning down to whisper to her secretary and then disappearing back into the room, earning her a snort from Natalie.

  “Gone again, and without a word of explanation. There’s no respect any more.”

  John sighed, the first of many to come in the next hour he was sure.

  “Say something about it to her then. Although, do you explain your every move to the patients sitting in your waiting room? I very much doubt it. You’d be there all day if you did.”

  “That’s different. They’re not paying a fortune.”

  “Yes, they are. They’ve paid it in instalments called income tax all their lives.”

  She rounded on him, irritated. “That’s different and you know it. When people pay-”

  The economic debate would be forced to wait, as the smooth door opened once again, and they were beckoned in.

  ****

  1.45 p.m.

  Harry Johnston opened his eyes a sliver, wondering why it felt like such hard work. Between the weight of his lids and his thickened, coated tongue, it felt like the time he and Billy McDowd next door had bought two litres of cider and necked them one after another in Alexandra Park. He wouldn’t be doing that again; for all the fun they’d had chasing pigeons and girls and scaring both, the head he’d had on him had lasted all week and the thick ear he’d got from his Ma had stung for days.

  The teenager stopped trying to open his eyes and squeezed them together instead, fighting back the tears that had instantly appeared at the thought of his dead mother. It was only two years since she had died in the car crash, but it felt like she’d been gone all his life. He would have given anything for her to be with him again, even if it meant two thick ears. Maybe if his Da had hung around his life would have been different, but that shirker had taken off when he was five, so now his Ma’s younger sister, his aunt Josie, lived with him and put up with his shenanigans, although he sometimes wondered why.

  He knew that he was trouble, always bringing the peelers to her door for nicking and boozing and beaking off school, but still she never walked out, not even when he chucked all the four-letter words that he knew at her and told anyone who would listen that his family didn’t give a shit. Harry shook his head, puzzled by her tolerance and honestly not understanding it. But Josie McCullough could see her dead sister in the boy’s wry smile and cheeky ways, and for all the trouble that he gave her that was enough for her.

  Harry tried once more to open his eyes, this time managing a larger crack. What his small window on the world revealed puzzled him; he wasn’t in his bedroom or even in Billy’s next door, but in a dimly lit, narrow space that he didn’t recognise. Its walls were a dull shade of beige and its floor was grey, and strangely the whole place seemed to be moving, or maybe that was just his throbbing head.

  The teenager opened his eyes wider and scanned the space more intently. No furniture, no pictures or windows, and moving; he was in a bloody van! As he clambered to his feet, clinging to a nearby wall for stability, he searched his jeans pockets for his phone and realised that it was gone, checking the time on the sports watch that he’d got for his last birthday instead. Nearly two, and he could sense that it was daytime. It wasn’t Monday anymore!

  He searched for a gap to look through but found none. At one end of the container he thought he could make out some kind of shutter, but as he knelt down to try and lift it he heard a sudden groan, and jumped back with a loud, “FUCK!”

  Staring at the corner that the sound had come from, the teenager could just make out a mound in the poor light. When another groan came, and this time definitely from the mound, Harry yelled out, “WHO’S THERE? I’VE GAT A GUN!”

  He hadn’t of course, but he’d seen enough movies to know that for scaring an opponent the threat of one could work just as well. The shocked, “WHAT?”, that he received in response showed him that the tactic had worked, so he pushed it further.

  “Come out here where I can see you, ar I’ll shoot.”

  What eventually appeared, breathing heavily and shuffling forward on his knees with a worn blanket clutched around him, was a boy even younger than him and around half his size. Harry knew that he was small for his age, but this kid was a real runt. He could easily take him in a fight and it made him breathe easier.

  His adversary wasn’t similarly reassured.

  “Don’t hurt me! Please.”

  Harry stood up as straight as he could and puffed out his chest, not prepared to give an inch just yet.

  “What’s yer name?”

  “Joey, Joey Parfitt.”

  “I’m Harry Johnston. Hacker to my mates. What are you doing here?”

  The younger boy scanned the space hurriedly, then his face crumpled, and he began to cry.

  “Where are we? I was in bed at The Oaks.”

  Harry had a naturally curious bent, so he took a step towards his foe. “What’s the Oaks?”

  The dark-haired Parfitt sniffed back his tears. “A care home. It’s where I live with the other boys.”

  Harry had he
ard people talking about those places when his mum had died, when they’d thought that he couldn’t hear them, but he’d never met anyone who actually lived in one. It made him feel bad for the kid, so he motioned him to rest down on the floor again, joining him at a distance of several feet.

  “Is it in Belfast then? This home.”

  Parfitt’s round blue eyes grew even rounder. “How did you know? Are you in a home too?”

  Harry drew back indignantly. “No, I’m nat! I live with my Aunt Josie.” Adding proudly. “She’ll be worryin’ about me.”

  The truth of it hit him sharply and he pictured Josie phoning anxiously around her friends and knocking on Billy’s door, then walking the streets of north Belfast searching for him in floods of tears. It made him feel comforted and sad all at once.

  Joey nodded, sniffing back his lingering tears. “You’re lucky. I don’t have an aunty. My mammy takes drugs and can’t look after me, so they took me into care three years ago.”

  Harry edged closer and stared at the boy. He had a strangely shrunken face, like a little old man.

  “How old ar you?”

  “Thirteen last week.”

  Harry was shocked. The kid was so tiny he’d thought he was maybe nine or ten!

  Joey was still talking.

  “I had a party, with a cake and games. You’re big. Are you older than me?”

  Harry straightened up proudly where he sat. No-one had ever called him big before.

  “I’m fifteen in June.”

  He frowned suddenly as the van slowed down for a moment, then it sped up again and he carried on. “It’s lunchtime and we’re in a van goin’ somewhere. My phone’s gone so I’m guessin’ we’ve been taken. Like in that Liam Neeson movie.”

  His companion shook his head. “I’ve never seen it. They wouldn’t let us at the home, said we were too young. You’re lucky you got to.”

  Harry realised the truth of the words. He had been lucky in lots of ways with Josie, and all he’d ever done was give her lip. He looked away, suddenly ashamed, and was diverting himself from his guilt by running his eyes over the shutter when he noticed a glint of light at its base.