Death to Pay (15 page)

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Wilson said. ‘But we should be moving on it rather than sitting here talking about it.

‘Yes, Boss,’ Moira and Graham said together.

You’ve made a bloody mistake; Wilson thought to himself. That’s the part he didn’t understand. Someone who is clever enough not to leave a trace at a murder site but wants the bodies discovered immediately. What’s the message? And who is it for? If it’s Sammy Rice, then this could be the start of a gang war that could leave a dozen people dead. But where did Nancy Morison fit into a message to Sammy Rice? Perhaps Lizzie was the message, and Nancy was collateral damage. Perhaps she saw something she shouldn’t have or said something that was better kept to herself. In Belfast, you never really knew. Sammy Rice was a dangerous man to send a message to. He looked out on the squad room. The latest killing galvanised the team. He was wondering whether the killer was a professional when the phone rang.

‘Hold for the DCC,’ a haughty female voice said.

‘Wilson,’ the DCC Jennings’ voice was sharp and unfriendly. Nothing new for Wilson.

‘Sir.’

‘I’m waiting for a briefing on this morning’s murder.’

Wilson put on his subservient hat. Now was no time to rock the boat. ‘I’ve just returned to the office from interviewing the husband of the murdered woman, and I was about to brief Chief Superintendent Spence. I assume that in due course he will brief you.’

‘Things are getting out of hand, Wilson. Two murders, and one the mother of a prominent citizen. Several interested parties who feared an escalation in killings after the Lizzie Rice murder have approached me. This business smacks of a gang war. And I want it stopped forthwith.’

‘When I find the killer, Sir, I’ll tell him he is so instructed.’

‘Don’t get smart with me, Superintendent. Because of my position, I sometimes receive intelligence that is not available to people like you on the lower rungs of the Force. I am privy to information that McGreary might be behind the Lizzie Rice killing. I want him brought in for questioning. ‘

‘Do you think it’s wise to announce a gang war? We might very well get one. Things have been peaceful since 2011.’

‘You do understand the system of rank, don’t you superintendent. I am a Deputy Chief Constable. I tell you to jump, and you ask how high and add Sir. Bring McGreary in for questioning and any other member of his gang that you consider might be involved. I want the body count stopped at two.’

The phone went dead in Wilson’s hand.

Wilson knocked and pushed in the door of Chief Superintendent Spence’s office.

Donald Spence sighed and said, ‘Come in.’

‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,’ Wilson said sitting down on the other side of Spence’s desk. ‘I’ve just had the DCC on the phone.’

‘That must have been entertaining. Fill me in on the Morison situation.’

Wilson ran through the discovery of the body and his briefing of the team on the Morison murder.

Spence was silent for a few moments when Wilson had finished. ‘You don’t think that Jennings could have a point? There are some people out there who would like to bring Sammy down.’

‘And where does Nancy Morison fit into that theory? Killing Lizzie could have been aimed at Sammy but as far as we know Nancy Morison has nothing to do with him.’

‘As far as we know. Let’s humour the DCC. Bring McGreary in. You don’t need to give him the rubber hose treatment. A nice cup of tea and a chat.’

Wilson stood. ‘You’re the boss.’

Spence smiled. ‘It doesn’t feel like it sometimes.’

CHAPTER 29

Belfast, 1983

The man driving the car searched frantically for a spot to drop the little girl off. He chose a quiet housing estate in the North of the City. He didn’t like it but you didn’t fuck around with Lizzie Rice. He pulled up on an empty road, got out of the car and looked around. It was early afternoon, and the street was deserted. He moved to the boot. The little girl was asleep on an old tyre. The man had never purposely hurt a child in his life and certainly never a Protestant child. He lifted her out of the boot and shook her awake. He placed her on the footpath.

Where’s my Ma, she asked him through a flood of tears. He told her to wait where she was and her Ma would be along soon. He got back into his car and drove away quickly. The little girl looked down the row of houses. This wasn’t where she and Ma lived. All the houses had front gardens surrounded by brick walls with gates leading to the house. It must be nice to live in a house like this. She sat on the wall of one of the houses. She missed her mother. Why did Ma leave her alone with the other women? She started to cry again. She repeated, I want my Ma, again and again. It was getting dark when the police car pulled up beside her. The policeman was very nice and took her in his car to a big building. He told her that he was going to find her Ma. They gave her some sandwiches and tea. After a while, a nice woman came and talked to her. She told them that she had lost her Ma, and that Ma had gone into a building with some other women and hadn’t come out. She told them about the woman who had bought her the ice cream. A policeman came into the room and spoke with the nice woman. She listened and heard him say that there was no sign of Ma. Must have run off, he said, unmarried, pregnant and dealing with a small child. The nice woman said that she was going to take care of her. She was going to live in a place where there were a lot of children, and she would like it. It sounded nice.

CHAPTER 30

Six o’clock briefing of the Murder Squad and there was a buzz from the team as Wilson took his place in front of the whiteboard. Maggie Cummerford took her place at the back of the room and tapped away on her laptop. ‘Lizzie Rice,’ he said simply. ‘She’s the core of the killer’s motive. That is, unless we find out something spectacular about Nancy Morison.’

‘Still ploughing through the intelligence files, Boss,’ Moira said. ‘There are boxes and boxes of the bloody stuff. It’s going to take weeks. She was a very active lady.’

‘Everybody on Malvern Street and the surrounding streets has been re-interviewed,’ Peter Davidson said. ‘We’ve done our best to shake up a few memories but nothing so far. Sorry.’

‘Search of the area turned up nothing on the blunt instrument,’ Harry Graham said. ‘Either he still has it or it’s been dumped.’

Wilson looked at Ronald McIver, but he seemed to be a million miles away. He switched his gaze to Eric Taylor.

‘I’ve interviewed Lizzie’s friends and former colleagues. Not many words and none of them bad,’ Taylor said. ‘I’ve written it up but it’s a dead end.’

‘Let’s move on to Nancy Morison,’ Wilson looked at Peter Davidson.

‘She attended the Lizzie Rice funeral and the after-funeral bash at the ‘Black Bear’. I’ve spoken to a half-dozen of the attendees and while most of them remember seeing her, there’s no consensus on what time she left at. Some people say they didn’t see her after five o’clock while others say they saw her at seven. If I was to guess I’d say she left sometime between five and seven.’

‘We’ve got the traffic tapes, Boss,’ Harry Graham said. ‘And we’re checkin’ to see what CCTV is available for the route from the ‘Black Bear’ to Malvern Street. It might take a while, but I’m sure we’ll turn up something.’

‘She was a nobody,’ Ronald McIver seemed suddenly awake. ‘I went through the records. Nothing. She was never picked up. No record, like I said nothing.’

Wilson tried to hide his disappointment. ‘The autopsy is tomorrow morning, but I don’t expect that we’re going to learn anything new. The cause of death will be a concrete block dropped on her head, full stop. Forensics have the murder weapon but if our killer is as intelligent as I think he is, we won’t get anything there.’ He let his gaze run across his team. ‘We have to keep at it. We need a break.’ He looked directly at McIver. ‘Ronald can I see you in my office?’

‘Boss,’ McIver said and followed Wilson to his office.

Wilson noticed Maggie Cummerford packing up her computer but not leaving the squad room. The bloody woman was always hovering about.

‘Shut the door,’ Wilson said as soon as they had entered the office. ‘I’ve noticed that you’re a bit out of sorts lately. Is there something bothering you?’

‘Just some home issues, Boss’ McIver didn’t bother to sit. ‘Nothing for you to get concerned over.’

‘You’re a member of my team. That just doesn’t mean work. If there’s some way that I can help with whatever the matter is, then I want to do it.’

‘It’s medical. There’s nothing you can do. It’ll work out.

‘Do you need some leave?’

‘Not in the middle of two difficult cases. Maybe if things get a bit quieter.’

Wilson liked McIver. He was the quietist member of the team but one of the most experienced and reliable. He was sad to see him so down. ‘Just remember that I’m here to help. You tell me what you need and I’m going to do my best to get it for you.’

‘Thanks, Boss. It’s appreciated.’ McIver started to move toward the door.

‘See you to-morrow, Wilson said.

He was about to turn to his computer when Maggie Cummerford entered his office. ‘Two cases for the price of one,’ she said dropping her messenger bag on the floor and sitting down.

‘I’m not up for this right now. In case you didn’t notice, I’m a bit busy.’

She smiled and waved her access badge at him. ‘Access all areas the big boss said.’

‘What have you got on him?’

‘My editor and him are big pals. They both see the value of turning you into a hero. The general population has almost forgotten that you once played rugby for Ireland, and Jennings is an expert at the taking the credit for successful murder investigations. You should learn not to look a gift horse in the mouth.’ She bent and removed a file from her messenger case and put it on the table. ‘That’s the amount of press cuttings I’ve located on your rugby career.’ The file was nearly two inches think. ‘You really were something back in the day. It must have hurt when you had to give it up.’

It still bloody hurts, he thought. When he had moved in with Kate, he had sloughed off his previous life. He still had photos of Susan, but he never looked at them. They only evinced guilt. He had presented all his old rugby paraphernalia to his club, and they had auctioned it off for prices he couldn’t believe. It had been like losing a vital organ, but he had decided that his life was about Kate and the future and not about pining for the past. ‘Yes it hurt,’ he said simply.

‘You’re an amazing guy. A lot of people would have used the sympathy element of a brilliant career cut short by an injury sustained in the line of duty to leverage themselves in a cushy number commentating or being a pundit on television. But when you recovered you immediately returned to the police job. Why did you do that?’

‘I’m a copper not a pundit or a commentator.’

She smiled. ‘You’re a strange guy. That’s why I wanted to profile you. You don’t want publicity. You just want to do what you want to do.’

‘You got it in one. And if you have any sense, you’ll leave me alone.’

She though for a moment then replaced the file in her bag. ‘We’ll see about that,’ she said before moving to the door.

CHAPTER 31

Sammy Rice spent most of the day in bed. As the grieving son, he had been obliged to drink alcohol for most of the previous day and night and despite his Irish heritage, an excess of alcohol did not sit well with him. The pains in his stomach were only matched by the headaches. Every time he thought about crawling out of bed a fresh burst of pain would convince him that he wasn’t yet ready to confront the world.  It was almost five o’clock in the afternoon before he felt sufficiently human to face the world. He managed to get some food down, but the day was totally wasted as far as getting things done. Every now and then, his mind wandered to the question of how Lizzie managed to get herself murdered right in the middle of his holiday. He had splurged on a five-bedroom villa with swimming pool on the Costa del Sol and he wanted to enjoy his new toy. He’d clear things up in Belfast as quickly as possible and then get back to the sun. Sammy’s wife didn’t bother to join him in Belfast. She never got on with Lizzie and didn’t want to be a hypocrite. Either that or she was more intent on peddling her arse to the young Spanish pro at the golf club. He was going to sort that situation out as soon as he got back to Spain. He walked into the living room to find his father spread-eagled in an arm chain surrounded by empty beer cans. One of his gang members was in another chair watching snooker on the television.

‘Get that auld fucker up to bed,’ he said.

His man moved reluctantly to Billy and pulled him upright. He tried to lift him but couldn’t manage it. ‘Fucker’s a dead weight. I’d need a forklift or a crane to get him upstairs.’

‘Well, if you’re going to be as useless as a snowball in an igloo, fuck off home.’

The young man shuffled. ‘Ivan told me to stay here, and look after things.’

‘And I’m telling you to piss off. Now piss off if you still want to have two knees at the week-end.’

The young man made for the door and left quickly.

What the fuck is going on here, Rice thought. I’ve been away two weeks, and the fucking hired help thinks that they should obey Ivan fucking McIlroy before they obey me. And some asshole thinks that he can dig a hole in the back of my mother’s head, and nothing’ll be done about it. Then they don’t know Sammy Rice. I’m goin’ to hang the bastard that did Lizzie by the balls from a lamppost on the Shankill. That’ll show them who’s still runs things around here. He flopped onto the chair recently vacated by the idiot McIlroy left to take care of things. The standard of criminal must be going down seriously when they were taking on village idiots.

‘You’re up,’ Ivan McIlroy stood in the doorway. ‘The gobshite I left here’s run off home. You threatened to kneecap him,’ McIlroy burst out laughing.

‘Keep it down. My head is still a bit fragile.’