Dark Circles (22 page)

CHAPTER 52

Peter Davidson was the star of the morning briefing. He had brought home the bacon from his trip to Glasgow. He led off the briefing with his report on locating Baxter and Weir. He told them how he had received an email from the Strathclyde police overnight. They had raided the addresses of the two men but had found nothing. The news wasn’t unexpected, but it was disappointing. ‘We’ll find them, Boss,’ Davidson said as a conclusion. ‘The boys in Glasgow are among the best. As soon as Baxter and Weir resurface, they’ll be nabbed.’

‘Well done, Peter.’ Wilson slapped Davidson on the shoulder. ‘We now have one piece of the puzzle.’ He turned to Eric Taylor. ‘What about Big George?’

‘It appears that he still lives with his mother,’ Taylor said, ‘although he pretty much sleeps wherever he finds himself when he’s tired. The question is, how do you want him picked up, easy or hard?’

‘I’d prefer easy,’ Wilson said.

‘So would I,’ Taylor said. ‘Hard might involve at least five uniforms. If George thinks he’s going down, he might react and people could get hurt. He spends a lot of time with Rice, so we’ll have to choose a time when they’re not together.’ 

‘I’d prefer to talk to him sooner rather than later,’ Wilson said. ‘This man appears to have been an accessory to two murders. I want him here in this station talking to us. I don’t want him to run. So no all-points bulletin. Keep the uniforms out of it. It might mean sitting on his tail for a bit.’ He continued looking at Taylor. ‘What about the Infrastructure Agency stuff?’

‘Christ, Boss,’ Taylor said. ‘I only have two hands, two legs, one nose, one mouth. In other words, I can’t divide myself in two.’

‘Thanks Eric,’ Wilson said. ‘I’m more than aware that everyone is overstretched. Peter, maybe you could be the point man on bringing Big George in. He’s the next link in the chain, and he leads to Rice. That way, Eric can stay on looking at the Agency.’

Davidson nodded. ‘Okay, Boss.’

‘Moira, where are we with Traffic?’

‘They’ve promised me something before the end of the morning,’ Moira said.

‘I want you to keep after them,’ Wilson said. ‘If we locate Big George, you and I will interrogate him.’

‘Harry, anything new on O’Reilly?’

‘I’m reassessing the results of the house-to-house,’ Graham said. ‘It’s a busy intersection. Someone has to have seen something. I’ve collected all the CCTV from the area, and I’m reviewing that. Someone made their way into the apartment building, and I’m pretty sure they did it from the taxi station. That means they had a key. If I can’t turn up anything from the interviews or the CCTV, we might have to bring Boyle in. He’s more likely to crack than Dolan.’

‘Okay,’ Wilson said. ‘You’ve all got lots to do. I’ll be out for some of the morning. I’ve got to meet Laurence Gold. You should all keep it in mind that you might be next on his list. Cummerford is up in six or so weeks. My guess is that she’s going to mount a defence, but I have no idea what it might be.’ He saw a smile break across Moira’s face. ‘I’m serious.’

‘Not even in pillow talk, Boss,’ Moira said.

Wilson’s face hardened. ‘Now get on with your work.’ He turned and strode towards his office.

Moira waited five minutes and followed him. She knocked on the glass door before entering, and closed the door behind her. ‘Boss, I am really sorry if I said something inappropriate.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Wilson said and returned to his papers.

‘What’s up, Boss?’

‘Nothing you need to know about.’ Wilson looked up into her eyes. ‘Honestly, just some personal stuff.’

‘Between you and Kate?’

He could see that she wasn’t about to drop the questioning, and the fact that he would be staying at the Europa would soon be common knowledge. ‘Kate and I have decided to take a break.’

‘Oh no,’ Moira said. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘No. We’re both a bit overstretched these days. We always knew that our jobs would get in the way sooner or later.’ It wasn’t only the jobs though. There was the hand of Helen McCann in there somewhere.

‘Where are you staying?’

‘The Europa but that’s between you and me for the moment. I know it’ll soon become common knowledge, but right now I want it kept quiet. We don’t discuss it again.’

‘No problem, Boss. I thought you looked a bit down this morning.’

‘It isn’t over,’ he said more in hope than certainty. ‘We’ll be back together again.’

‘You’re made for each other,’ Moira said. ‘Whatever the problem is it’ll pass.’ She started for the door and thought about herself and Brendan. Would it pass too? And would she be in Boston when it did?

CHAPTER 53

Big George Carroll watched the Blue BMW 520 drive slowly towards him on Ballygomartin Road. The previous evening, he had wanted to go back to his mother’s house in Riga Street, but the Boss insisted that he stay the night with him. His mother wasn’t best pleased when he’d phoned and told her that he wouldn’t be home for his dinner. She had made him a steak and kidney pie and was looking forward to sharing it with him. His mother was the one constant in his life. Along with Sammy, she was the only person in the world who actually cared for him. Other people laughed at his size and the fact that he didn’t always understand things. George’s physical development and mental development were diametric opposites. While his bodily development went ahead at a pace, his mental capacity appeared to go in the opposite direction. As a young child, he had been diagnosed as being mentally retarded. His father wasn’t up for dealing with a difficult child and decided to do a runner. George and his mother had never heard from him again after he left the house one evening to buy a packet of cigarettes. His mum stuck with him despite the tremendous difficulty in getting him through school. The psychologists and psychiatrists had a field day with him. They carried out test after test on him without coming to any conclusion on the particular genetic foul up that led to his disproportionate development. Sammy Rice had befriended him at school and made sure that the other kids who made a laugh of him only did it once. George reciprocated by helping Sammy to extort money from their classmates, and even from those in the older classes. He’d skipped school so many times that he had the reading age of a five-year-old. That didn’t bother him because he only liked looking at the pictures. He was no good with numbers, but that was okay too since his mum and Sammy made sure that he didn’t have to do any arithmetic. On the other hand, he could drive a car from the age of twelve, lift a truck with his bare hands and carry hundred-pound loads without blinking. He watched the Beemer until it pulled up beside him. The Boss had told him that he was going on a trip. He had no idea where he was going, but he hoped it would be somewhere beside the sea. Big George loved the ocean. It was nearly the first totally clear day since Christmas. The sky was blue and cloudless, although there was a nip in the air. He had already decided that if they were going to the seaside, he would have an ice cream, maybe even a 99. He liked the combination of the Cadbury’s flake and the vanilla ice cream. And maybe they could have fish and chips afterwards.

Owen Boyle pulled in beside Big George and lowered the driver’s window. ‘Get in,’ he said simply.

Big George walked around the car and opened the passenger-side door. He squeezed himself into the front seat.

Boyle could feel the weight of the Hi Point 9 millimetre automatic in his right-hand pocket. At 29 ounces, it wasn’t the heaviest gun in the world, but he could feel it more because it wasn’t his favourite weapon. He would have preferred a Ruger, a Sig Sauer or a Beretta. They were class guns. The Hi Point was a piece of American shit. Some people would call it cheap and cheerful, but if it’s your intention to kill someone, you’d be better off beating them over the head with it than trying to shoot them. Sammy had told him what he wanted done with George. It was one of the only times that he heard emotion in Sammy’s voice. That was highly unusual. He concluded that Sammy was either drunk or high, or maybe a combination of both. In any case, the result was the same. Big George had become a problem, and that problem had to disappear. Boyle felt oppressed by the body sitting next to him. The guy was a human ape. Boyle was astonished that Sammy had taken Big George on the O’Reilly business. He could just imagine the witnesses, ‘it was a guy who was built like a brick shithouse officer’. Big George wasn’t made for normal seats. They’d modified a black cab just for him, so an ordinary sedan was a bit of a challenge. At least, they weren’t going too far and there would be more room on the return journey.

CHAPTER 54

The office of Laurence Gold QC was located in a modern office building in Arthur Street just around the corner from Chichester Street and the Royal Court of Justice. It was in the same area where Kate operated her office. Wilson stepped out of the elevator on the third floor and into the nineteen seventies. Whereas Kate’s offices were decorated in Scandinavian chic, the heavy mahogany furniture and thick silk curtains that dominated Gold’s office spoke of a long legal tradition and stability. This was no fly-by-night operation but a serious legal outfit that could be depended on to ensure that justice was well served, for a price. Wilson announced himself to the receptionist and was pointed to a leather button-back chair. The coffee table in front of him held magazines with titles like
Tatler
and
Field & Stream
. This was no place for the readers of
Football Monthly
. Wilson watched as juniors and paralegals raced around the offices trying to convince themselves, and each other, that they were enormously important. Those who did manage a look in his direction could see that he was either a client or a witness, both of whom ranked low on the scales of the budding lawyers.

The receptionist left her desk and approached Wilson. ‘Laurence will see you now,’ she said and headed off down the corridor.

Wilson followed, impressed at the level of democracy in the office whereby the lowly staff referred to their superior by his first name.

She knocked on a door and pushed it open. ‘Detective Superintendent Wilson,’ she announced moving away from the opening and ushering Wilson inside.

Wilson entered the large office that was almost the size of the murder squad room at the station. It was seven good long strides between the door and the desk from which Gold was rising to greet him. Laurence Gold was an imposing character. He was almost as tall as Wilson and although in his early sixties, he still stood at his full six feet two inches. His leonine head was set off with a mop of silver hair which was combed back from his forehead and terminated in what used to be known as a duck tail. He had two piercing blue eyes and a hooked nose, which would have done credit to a wooden Indian. His lips were full and most likely naturally so. He had put on some weight since Wilson had seen him last.

‘Detective Superintendent,’ he said rounding his large desk and striding purposefully towards Wilson. He held out his hand in advance. ‘May I call you Ian?’

Wilson shook his hand. ‘Absolutely.’ Gold’s voice was captivating. It had the kind of timbre that could have replaced the Pied Piper’s flute in leading people astray.

‘And you shall call me Laurence,’ Gold said leading him towards the desk. ‘After all you’re almost a member of the legal fraternity by association.’

There was a knock on the door. The receptionist stuck her head in and announced ‘Professor Guilfoyle’.

Wilson turned towards the door and frowned. He wondered what the hell Brendan Guilfoyle was doing here.

‘Ian,’ Gold said stopping at his desk. ‘May I introduce—.’

‘We’re acquainted,’ Wilson said quickly cutting Gold short.

Guilfoyle walked forward and offered Wilson his hand. ‘Good to see you, Superintendent.’

‘Better call me Ian,’ Wilson said taking his hand. ‘We all seem to be on first-name terms here.’

Gold smiled. ‘No professional jealousy I hope.’

‘The good professor is trying to lure my sergeant away to Boston,’ Wilson said. ‘And I’m afraid that he’s succeeding.’

‘I had no idea,’ Gold pointed to two chairs in front of his desk. ‘Because of his experience with serial killers, I asked Brendan along as a consultant.’

‘Good,’ Wilson said. ‘I thought that this was going to turn into an episode of
Lie to Me
. I understand that Brendan is an expert at knowing when people are lying.’

‘My last job in Belfast,’ Guilfoyle said, a touch of sadness in his voice.

‘We in the legal profession will certainly miss you, Brendan,’ Gold said. ‘Now I understand that Ian’s time is limited. He’s heavily involved in finding out who killed David Grant.’

‘The investigation has expanded somewhat,’ Wilson said glancing at Guilfoyle. He saw no sign that he was aware of the extension of the investigation to Malone and O’Reilly. The pillow talk was probably on more important topics, like their future life in Boston.

‘Unfortunately,’ Gold continued, ‘there is one major point to be cleared up before we go to trial. We’ve examined all the documents, and we’re wondering how Maggie Cummerford got to attend murder squad briefings.’

‘There’s a lot of research that shows that smart killers try to get themselves as close to the investigation as possible,’ Guilfoyle said. ‘They always seem to be around the investigating officers, drink where they drink, that kind of thing. In this case Cummerford wasn’t just around. She was right in the centre of the investigation. She knew what leads you were following up, what your investigation strategy was. In fact, I was intending to use this case in my lectures.’

Wilson shifted uneasily in his seat. He saw that Gold recognised his disquiet.

  ‘Ian?’ Gold said.

‘How important is this issue?’ Wilson asked.

‘A murderer who killed three women was at the very centre of a police enquiry into the killings,’ Gold said. ‘I have a feeling that the defence would be remiss in its duty if it didn’t investigate for the jury how this situation arose. I should say that what is said within these four walls will stay here. But I need to know what happened so that I can prepare some kind of counter.’

Wilson tried to remember whether he had promised Jennings that he would bury the affair. Had he obtained something as a quid pro quo or had he simply used Jennings’ written order to allow Cummerford access to the briefings in order to save his own skin? The look on Gold’s face said that he was going nowhere until he explained. ‘It all started when my old boss shot himself,’ Wilson began, and the story of how Maggie Cummerford had blackmailed Deputy Chief Constable Jennings into letting her attend the briefings tumbled out of him.

‘Holy Cow,’ Guilfoyle said when Wilson had finished. ‘I’m definitely including this in my lectures.’

‘Now I understand your difficulties,’ Gold said. ‘And mine. There’s a strong possibility that DCC Jennings will be dragged into the trial. You kept his written instruction, I assume.’

Wilson nodded.

‘I must speak with the DCC.’ Gold made a note on the pad in front of him. ‘I’ll try to keep your name out of the conversation.’

Wilson smiled. He could just imagine the fallout from that conversation. Jennings wouldn’t need two guesses at who had spoken to Gold. That meant that he would find himself in the centre of the biggest shit storm in a career already noted for significant shit storms. ‘Did I lie?’ he asked Brendan.

‘It’s too bizarre to be a lie,’ Brendan answered.

‘Well I’d like to thank both of you for stopping by,’ Gold said rising from his seat and extending his hand across the desk.

Wilson and Guilfoyle shook his hand then turned and left together.

‘You really think I’m winning?’ Brendan asked when they were at the elevator.

Wilson looked into his earnest face. ‘I’m afraid so, and I’m about to lose a very talented policewoman.’