The Running of the Deer

by Catriona King

  When there was no response the question was repeated more loudly, and almost every small mouth mumbled “yes”, then the troop turned and exited, leaving the remainder of them, fifteen plus the older group, still standing in the room.

  But any thought of resistance seemed to be Joey’s alone; everyone else seemingly excited by what might come next. What did come was that they were lined up in a crocodile and marched into a corridor, playing follow the leader around corners and through more rooms until they reached a small store, on one side of which was a floor-to-ceiling cupboard and on the other a huge trunk.

  The nameless red-head opened the trunk and Joey saw that it was an Aladdin’s Cave of bats, sticks and clubs.

  “Right. Each of you lot take two that you can carry. One big and one small.”

  Joey’s eyes kept flicking towards the cupboard and it earned him a smack around the head.

  “That’s not your business. That’s for the lads.”

  The lads presumably being the group who’d passed through puberty, although in the environment they were in Joey couldn’t help wondering how many of them would actually reach adulthood.

  He lagged behind the others, letting them select the most vicious weapons that they could find, because he had no doubt that’s what the bats were to be used as; it didn’t seem like the sort of place that ran a baseball league.

  As he waited in the queue his eyes searched desperately for some way to escape but found none, so when his turn finally came he chose the two least vicious looking implements that remained and waited for their next instruction. When it didn’t come after ten minutes the thirteen-year-old took a seat on the floor, smiling as the others followed his example as soon as their ginger-haired instructor had left the room.

  They were waiting for something to happen, but Joey had no idea what.

  ****

  The M1 Motorway West.

  Dermot Canavan’s drive home had been two steps forward and one back all the way, at one point even pulling into a roadside garage to turn his car back the way he’d come, drawn that way by his promise to Ellie and the picture of his baby daughter on his phone. He’d been pulled back towards Tyrone again by his memories of his brother, who had spent years absorbing every single blow that their abusive father had intended for him.

  Blood and love, blood and love, blood and love, the words throbbed in his head like some sermon he’d heard at school, self-sacrifice the name of the game in his Catholic upbringing. So, shouldn’t he be ignoring what he really wanted to do now, returning to be with Ellie, to say goodbye to his brother? Wasn’t that what self-sacrifice dictated?

  It had made him turn his BMW once again towards Tyrone. Niall had protected him so many times when they were kids that the least that he could do was honour his wishes now.

  It wasn’t the first bad choice that Dermot Canavan had made in his life, but it could well prove to be his last.

  ****

  The M1 Motorway West. 9 p.m.

  “What time do you reckon we’ll get there, Liam?”

  “Ten minutes sooner than the last time you asked.”

  Craig was gazing out the window at the passing traffic and formulating an approach for when they entered the forest. Or rather several approaches, depending on what they found there, every one of which required the Kevlar vests and extra ammunition that they’d loaded into the boot before they’d left. If his hunch was right this wasn’t going to be a polite encounter, even though at yet he wasn’t even certain who it would be with.

  He was mid-tying himself in a Gordian knot of scenario planning when the car-phone buzzed. When he tapped it to answer Annette’s clear voice came out.

  “Hi, sir, I’ve got some information for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  It prompted a caustic, “soon enough”, from his chauffeur.

  “OK. So, first, Aidan went back to Jean Underwood, who’s really not well. Her radiation readings show she’s probably been exposed for months. She’ll be lucky if she survives, and with who knows what side-effects if she does. Anyway, so-”

  Craig interrupted. “Has Niall Canavan been in touch to check on her?”

  She snorted in derision. “What do you think? No, he hasn’t. So much for love. Anyway, harsh though that is it’s proved useful, because she’s so angry with Canavan that she told Aidan he was the one called her to arrange the heads’ collection on Sunday morning.”

  Craig allowed himself a small smile. He’d suspected as much as soon as he’d heard they were a couple. Now Canavan’s lover had snitched on him; Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.

  “Good, that’s useful. Does Aidan think she knew anything about the actual killings?”

  “No. He said she really seemed to believe the boy was a suicide or an accidental death, but that stretches credulity a bit. I mean, what suicide would place animal heads all over the place before they killed themselves? And why would Canavan have known about the heads unless he’d been involved? She must have known he’d been up to something.”

  “Love is blind?”

  He’d been being facetious, but Liam gave a sceptical snort just in case.

  Annette carried on.

  “It also turns out that she’s stored the heads at Appside for him before. Several times since two thousand and nine.”

  Nine? As soon as Appside was built? But the body in the Chief Constable’s case hadn’t been found until the year after that.

  Craig’s heart sank at what it might mean.

  “Annette, organise a cadaver dog and ground-penetrating radar to be ready on my call, please.”

  Liam glanced at him. “You think there are more bodies?”

  “What do you think? Canavan’s been hiding the deer heads at Appside since two thousand and nine, yet the first body wasn’t found until a year later, and it was another eight before we found the second. Maybe I’m a pessimist, but if there were others killed in that time we need to be ready to find them. I’m wondering something else as well – whether there might be another link between the facility and the murders, other than the storage of the heads.”

  “Such as?”

  “No idea yet. OK. What else, Annette?”

  She was shocked by the thought of more bodies but managed not to let it show.

  “Aidan spoke to the gamekeeper at home and asked about Declan Canavan’s relationship with his sons, but all he would say is that Canavan was ‘wild hard’ on the boys.”

  “That could mean anything from him being a disciplinarian to a child abuser.”

  Liam chipped in. “Probably the second one if they’re involved in these murders.”

  Craig corrected him. “That’s a common misconception. Only one in eight abuse victims go on to abuse.”

  “Well, whichever one the old man was, the odds are his wealth stopped anyone looking too closely at that family.”

  Sad but probably true.

  Craig motioned Annette on wearily.

  “OK, well, Davy managed to get a hit on the blond boy’s ID. His name is Max Legge. He’s eighteen and he disappeared from foster care in South Belfast nine years ago. He was initially thought to be a runaway and then either disappeared or dead. I haven’t been to see his family yet, so should I do that now?”

  Craig thought for a moment before replying; did they really want to combine telling Max Legge’s parents the good news that their son wasn’t dead, with the bad, ‘oh, but sorry, he might be a kidnapper and killer’? He needed to find out what the truth was and what if any charges might be brought against the boy, before he made the Legge family suffer even more.

  “No, not yet. I’ll discuss it with you when I’m back. Tell Davy to concentrate on ID-ing the dead boys and the prints Des found. Anything on links between the Canavans and Joey Parfitt’s care home?”

  Annette’s immediate deep breath said that there was.

  “Yes. It turns out that Dermot Canavan’s charity work with children’s causes
means he’s well known at several homes and youth projects, so his appearance at any of them wouldn’t be unusual.”

  Craig held his breath, awaiting the inevitable.

  “I’m at The Oaks now and I brought along some photos, and one of the security staff recognised Dermot immediately and said he was here on Monday night. He volunteered to help give out the evening meals and stayed for a few hours after that, leaving at around one a.m.-”

  Liam cut in. “That tells us the boy was kidnapped between his bedtime and then.”

  Craig exhaled noisily.

  “Bastard. It’s too much of a coincidence to mean anything else.”

  “I’d say yes, sir, but I’d still like to check the CCTV.”

  “Confiscate the tapes and do it back at base, please, Annette. There’s a lot still to do there. Anything from Mary about the Demesne yet?”

  “I’m not sure. Aidan disappeared with her after he finished his calls, and I know they were planning on contacting Reggie Boyd. Karl was going to check out his snouts on the estate as well.”

  Sergeant Reginald, Reggie, Boyd was an easy-going Donegal man and the full-time police presence on the Demesne Estate. The fact that the estate warranted a resident police presence said much about some of its occupants.

  “Good idea. OK, well done, Annette. Get back to us with anything new.”

  He ended the call to see Liam screwing up his face.

  “OK. Spit it out. What’s making you look like a bulldog that’s just swallowed a wasp?”

  The D.C.I.’s immediate chuckle beat his instinct to feign offence.

  “That’s not bad for a continental like you. Anyway, it was nothing useful. Just trying to get my head around the Canavans’ skin in all this.”

  Craig shrugged. “It’s not rocket science. They’re involved in drug dealing, and they’ve been using the kids to do it. County Lines, just like Karl said.”

  “And the deer heads? What’s that all about?”

  “Intimidation or staging, perhaps. Or part of the whole ‘wild boys’ crap maybe? I don’t think we’ll find out for sure until we have them locked up.”

  “If we ever man-”

  Liam was cut off by the phone buzzing again and this time Craig picked it up.

  “Craig.”

  Davy’s voice came down the line, still with a slightly sulky edge to it despite his beer bribe.

  “I’ve got something on Dermot Canavan’s texts.”

  Still no “chief.” The analyst’s lingering huff was more than slight.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Well, there’ve been no new messages on the lines we cloned so I’d say he’s burned those phones. But running his old texts through a programme I think that I’ve managed to w…work them out. Each text except the last one had a large number followed by a space and then a smaller number, then a second space and then a letter. I think they represent the amount of drugs the customer’s ordering, the type of drug, and the address of a s…set location in the county where they’re to be handed over by the mule. The numbers and letters w…will correspond to reference lists.”

  “And the number five in Dermot’s last text?”

  “That wasn’t him communicating about drugs. I’d say that was a prearranged meeting place in Belfast for s…something else, but we’ve no way of finding out because he slipped his tail.”

  Craig said, “good work” and then hung up. For a second, he’d considered repeating his apology to the analyst, but then decided that he’d done enough. Davy would just have to get past it, and that might take time.

  As Liam had only heard half the call he was curious.

  “What’d he say?”

  Craig’s answer took Davy’s information and built on it.

  “I think Dermot Canavan has a personal life.”

  “He’s a thirty-five-year-old man, so I bloody hope so.”

  His implied horror if Canavan hadn’t had made Craig scoff. “Not everyone’s obsessed with sex, Liam.” He didn’t wait for a response. “My point is that it could be relevant to our case.”

  He waited for a moment for his idea to firm up and then spoke again.

  “Dermot’s last text was just the number five, then he went haring off somewhere and Jack’s man lost him. What if he was going to meet someone and that five told him which pre-arranged location it was? What if he was meeting a woman?”

  “By woman I take it you mean luuvvvv.”

  His Barry White tones reverberated around the Ford’s interior so effectively Craig wondered whether one had ever been used as a recording booth.

  When the sound died down, Liam spoke again.

  “OK, so a woman. I’m with you. But as we don’t know where they were meeting, and we lost him, it’s not going to get us far.”

  Craig wasn’t so sure. “Isn’t it? Why was the van on the Demesne?”

  Liam shrugged. “Maybe one of the boys had family there.”

  “Unlikely that they’d pay them a visit, considering the whole drugs business runs on anonymity.”

  “OK, then maybe one of the dealers lives there.”

  Craig went to say, “and the boys advertise it by turning up? I don’t think so-”, but something made him halt abruptly.

  Could they really have been that stupid? It seemed too easy.

  He voiced his thoughts.

  “Would a dealer be stupid enough to allow the van to come to their home?” His tone said that he was prepared to be convinced. “Or maybe they just hid a top-up stash on the Demesne somewhere and the boys came to get some supplies. The dealer might live in another part of town entirely.”

  Liam snorted. “You’re asking me if criminals are ever stupid? Catch a grip, boss. Half of them couldn’t find their ass with both hands.”

  Craig chortled at the image. It was a fair point and prompted him to make another call.

  “Aidan? Where are you?”

  The D.C.I. looked around the comfortable staff-room that he and Mary were sitting in, invited into the sanctum by Reggie Boyd. He decided to omit the detail of coffee and custard creams and play it tough.

  “On the Demesne seeing Reggie. It’s a rough place.”

  “Certainly is. Is he with you now?”

  Aidan handed over his phone and the sergeant’s sonorous tones came down the line.

  “Good evening, sir, what can I do you for?”

  “Hi, Reggie. I’m sure Aidan’s asked you about the white van already, but I’d like you to check something else. Are you near a computer?”

  “I am indeed.”

  “Good. Get Aidan to log-on to our system and pull up a photo of Dermot Canavan. And while he’s doing that, tell me about the van and any drugs on the estate.”

  He heard the computer whirring into action in the background as Reggie obliged.

  “Well… there’s an aul white van that’s sometimes parked by the side of Harland Tower, that’s one of the blocks of flats. But I’ve never seen anyone at it while I’ve been here, although I’ve sent your lad the CCTV footage he requested.”

  Liam interjected. “Davy’s the boy, not the lad.”

  Reggie grunted. “Is that that big lump of a Crossgar man driving?”

  He knew Liam well enough to insult him, which in Northern Ireland usually only required that you had shaken hands once, but the men had actually known each other for thirty years.

  “It is.”

  “Your car? And you hope to reach your destination without it getting wrecked?”

  “It’s my own car, you big-”

  Liam’s mini-rant ended when Aidan said, “Here we go.”

  Craig pictured Reggie peering over his glasses at Dermot Canavan’s photograph and then wracking his brains for whether he’d ever seen him, and if so where. He was rewarded a few seconds later with a vague, “Aye”, that grew stronger on its repeat.

  “Aye, I’ve seen him here all right, but I’m having trouble recalling exactly where… I mind…aye, I mind that it was over by Harland.”
<
br />   “Near the van?”

  “No, no, the van was parked on the other side of the tower. But now, that might just have been because there was no parking space closer. But, no, no, I can’t honestly say I saw this fella near the van.”

  Craig wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not. His next question might help him tell.

  “What’s the drugs situation on the estate at the moment, Reggie?”

  The question generated a loud tut.

  “Ach, I hate that muck. They might as well pour drain cleaner down their throats.”

  Liam chipped in with, “don’t give them any ideas”, as the sergeant continued.

  “There’s the usual pound dealers, for folk who want a bit of weed and some of those happy tablets on the weekends maybe-”

  Craig moved him on. “What about the harder stuff? Coke, Heroin?”

  Reggie shook his head as though Craig could see him. “Not so much now. There used to be hard addicts around here about a decade back, but they either moved out or got themselves some help. The local GPs organised a big anti-drugs push offering residential placements at rehab, and a few people took them up.”

  About a decade…

  Craig froze for a moment. When he’d thawed he said, “I’ll call you back” and cut the call, turning to his deputy.

  “About a decade, Liam.”

  “So?”

  “Make the links. It’s around the time everything began to happen around Killeter. The father’s death, the Appside development, Niall and Jeannie Underwood’s relationship and the first time he left the heads with her. Now we have the van used for kidnapping boys and taking them to Killeter parked on a Belfast estate where a drug rehab initiative happened at around the same time.”

  When Liam looked at him blankly, Craig rolled his eyes and dialled Davy again.

  “Davy, there was a drug rehab initiative on the Demesne, and probably around the whole of East Belfast around ten years back, although that mightn’t be exact so check a few years either side. See what you can find out about it. Reggie says there was residential rehab offered, so check where, and if anyone went there from the Demesne. Also, run Dermot Canavan’s name against rehab centres for the same period and call me back with whatever you get.”