Shadow Sins (DCI Wilson Book 2) (19 page)

CHAPTER 42

As he entered the Station, Wilson was happy that the arrival of Kate’s mother had precluded the descent into the bottle he had planned for himself. At least, it left him feeling like a functioning human being. He had two murders to solve and he had successfully deflected the latest onslaught from Jennings, although he was sure that the respite would be relatively short from that area.

The team were already at their desks in the Squad Room when Wilson entered. “Morning,” he said cheerily as he strode towards his desk. “At the whiteboard in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes later, the team were congregated around the whiteboard. Wilson stood facing them.

“We’re running out of time on the Gilroy and Reilly murders,” he said as a lead off. He pointed at the latest addition to the whiteboard, the picture Moira had obtained from the CCTV footage. “This next to useless image is all that Moira could get from the disks the shops on the Glen Road gave us. She’s passed it over to the boffins in technical, but we’re not sure they can do anything with it. Let’s just hope they can but in the meantime it’s all we have to go on. It may not even be our boy, but he at least looks like the lad the housekeeper told Moira had visited them at the priest’s home in the past few days. All our efforts have to go into trying to identify this fellow. Unfortunately, the housekeeper gave a lousy description to Moira. She’s got a memory like a sieve.”

DCs Graham and Davidson both shook their heads. “We’re grasping at straws, Boss,” Graham said. “That picture is worth shit. It looks like every down and out in the city and there are a hell of a lot of them.”

“Nobody said it was going to be easy,” Wilson said. “We have to get the image out as it is and hope that the boffins can enhance it. We’ve made copies, and we have to pass them out to every copper on the beat. Someone has run across this guy. He knows how to use a knife and he knew how to break into the priest’s house. Chances are that he’s spent a little time as a guest of Her Majesty’s Prison Service. In that case we should start looking at photos of people who have been sent up for burglary. Moira and Harry will get the photo out to the beat coppers. Ronald and Eric will start looking at the faces. We think this guy is homeless so, Moira, get to the homeless shelters and see if anyone can give us a lead on who this might be. Let’s get at it.”

The team drifted off to their desks and Wilson made for his office. He had just taken his seat when DC Ronald McIver knocked on his door and entered.

“Boss, I’ve come up with something strange,” McIver sat down across from Wilson and put a batch of paper on the desk.

“You told me to check into Gilroy’s background at Saint Cormac’s.”

Wilson nodded. McIver was the very definition of the word ‘plod’. Getting to the point wasn’t his strong suit.

“Well I was going over his expenditures to see if there was any financial reason behind the murder. Most of his bills were the normal ones, electricity, gas etcetera. But I also dug up his phone bills.“

“And,” Wilson prompted.

“I remembered what you said about there being no computer in the rectory. But when I looked at the phone bill, I noticed that there’s a charge for broadband. He was still using a dial-up service.” McIver fidgeted with the papers he put on the desk. “The charges run up to the Saturday he was murdered. So how could he be paying for a broadband service, if there was no computer at the Rectory.”

Wilson looked at the pages in front of him. McIver had marked the Internet charges with a yellow highlighter.

“Is there any way that we can find out what sites Gilroy was accessing?” Wilson asked.

“I already put in a request to his provider. We should have something by the end of the day. Everything leaves a trace these days.”

“This is bloody good work, Ronald,” Wilson thought that sometimes nuggets come from the most unexpected sources. He stood up from his desk and went to the door.

“Peter, you handle the distribution of the photos with Harry. Moira, you’re with me.”

“Where are we going, Boss,” she asked standing up from her desk.

Harry Graham glowered at her from his desk.

“We’re going to arrest a Monsignor,” Wilson said.

Wilson watched Monsignor Devlin through the two-way mirror as he sat quietly in the interview room. Devlin hadn’t spoken since he had been arrested at the front door of the Bishop’s Palace. The trip back to the Station passed in total silence.

“That’s some cool bugger,” Wilson said more to himself than to Moira who stood beside him.

She was thinking exactly the same thing. Devlin hadn’t moved a muscle during the twenty-five minutes he’d been left to stew in the interview room.

“It’s time,” Wilson said and opened the door to let Moira enter the interview room in front of him.

Devlin made no attempt at recognition.

Moira sat beside the tape recorder and took a fresh cassette from her pocket and inserted it in the machine.

“DC McElvaney, the preliminaries please,” Wilson said as soon as the cassette had been inserted in the recorder. He placed the sheet of paper containing the phone records of Father Gilroy on the table before him.

Moira ran through the date and time and those present.

“Monsignor Devlin, I have arrested you on a charge of interfering with evidence relating to a crime, and I have cautioned you. “

Devlin remained silent.

“Do you intend to remain silent?”

Devlin did not respond.

“You do intend to answer my questions?” Wilson said.

“You haven’t asked one yet,” Devlin replied calmly.

“Would you care to examine the papers I have put on the table?”

Devlin picked up the A4 pages and scanned them.

“For the record Monsignor Devlin is examining the phone and Internet records of Father Gilroy. Do you accept that these records are valid?”

“If you say they are. Then I accept them as valid.”

“Would you please look at the record of Internet usage?”

Devlin shuffled the pages and moved one to the top.

“Would you please look at the Internet usage for the last day of Father Gilroy’s life?”

Devlin looked at the page but did not speak.

“What time was the last connection to the Internet made prior to Father Gilroy’s murder?”

“It appears to be some time after six in the evening,” Devlin said calmly.

“What does that indicate to you?”

“That Father Gilroy was on the Internet at approximately six in the evening on the day he was murdered.”

“And that would indicate that he was in possession of a computer at six in the evening on the day he died?” Wilson said.

“Yes, it would,” Devlin replaced the A4 pages on the table.

“And yet no computer was found at his residence when we searched it two days later.”

“So it would appear,” Devlin said.

“It, therefore, follows that someone removed the computer during the period we were denied access to the Rectory.”

“Or the computer could have been removed by someone after six thirty on Saturday evening and the discovery of the body,” Devlin said.

“The policeman left at Saint Cormac’s remembers you and another priest visiting the Rectory on the Sunday evening.”

“It was necessary to remove some sacred objects, including hosts. It’s important to us that the representation of the body of Christ does not fall into the hands of others.”

“So you are telling me that you and your priest friend did not remove a computer from Father Gilroy’s residence.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m telling you.”

Wilson noticed the momentary slight smile that flicked over Devlin’s mouth. It was a sure tell that Devlin felt his lie was going to be bought.

Wilson was tempted to look under the table to see whether Devlin was crossing his legs because he was sure the man was lying.

“You are aware that it is a serious offence to tamper with evidence?”

“Yes, I am aware.”

“I believe that you removed a computer from the residence of Father Gilroy. I also believe that you may have removed other items which could be considered germane to the murder case which I am examining,” Wilson could see that he had been right about Devlin. He was a formidable opponent.

“You can believe what you wish, Chief Inspector,” Devlin stared into Wilson’s eyes. “The question is can you prove it.”

“I intend to,” Wilson smiled. “By tomorrow, I will have a log of every site visited by Father Gilroy. I will also have a copy of every e-mail that he has sent and a full list of his contacts. I have a strange feeling that this information will open up a completely new line of inquiry. In the meantime, I will be examining every ounce of CCTV footage from Sunday evening. If I find one frame of you with a computer, we shall be having another little chat.” For the first time, Wilson noticed a flicker of fear in Devlin’s eyes.

“DC McElvaney, please,” Wilson said.

“Interview terminated at 11:26,” Moira said and switched off the recorder.

“There are times when it pays to be smart and other times when it doesn’t. I hope you’ve made the right choice. We’ll talk again. You’re free to go. You are currently on police bail and you are not to leave Belfast. The Duty Sergeant will arrange for transport.” Wilson stood up and left the room.

Devlin was about to speak to Moira when she said, “Don’t. We’re not on the same side despite our religion.” She followed Wilson from the room.

Wilson’s phone was ringing when he entered his office. He picked up the receiver.

“Ian,” Chief Superintendent Spence’s voice was strained. “Have you taken leave of your senses? You arrested the assistant of Bishop Carey. The phone lines have been hot with calls from the Bishop, the DCC and a QC that you know very well. I hope that you can substantiate whatever allegations you’ve made against him.”

“We have evidence that Gilroy had a computer and accessed the Internet at about six on the evening of his murder. There was no computer when we searched the Rectory on Monday. The only people who had access to the Rectory on the Sunday were the Bishop’s staff. I think that the contents of that computer would have given us some idea as to the motive for Gilroy’s murder, and possibly Reilly’s as well. There isn’t a ‘Priest Killer’ out there. There’s somebody with a grudge against a couple of priests, and he has a motive. The computer was germane to the establishment on that motive. I’d bet a year’s salary that Devlin removed it because he was afraid it contained incriminating evidence. Against whom or what I don’t know. But I’m sure he was instructed to remove the threat. I’ve shaken the good Monsignor’s tree and we’ll just have to wait and see what falls out.”

Spence sighed. “Harrison’s been to my office. He insists that he should have been informed before you ran off and started arresting people. He claims that you’re out of control and wants me to replace you. I’m expecting a call with a similar request from the DCC. There’s only so long I can resist the pressure.”

“We have a grainy image of a homeless man who could be the killer. Unfortunately, it’s not clear enough to identify him. We know that he’s probably been inside so we’re on that and by this evening, I’ll know what Father Gilroy has been playing with on his computer. Take me off this case now and God only knows what will happen. I know that we’re close. Keep the hounds at bay for the next couple of days and I think I can produce a result.”

“Sometimes I wonder whether you’re worth all the grief. I’ll do my best to keep the DCC and Harrison in check, but you’d better come through on this one.”

Noel Mulholland was wandering the streets of central Belfast. He had a specific pitch but tended to move from place to place depending on the generosity of the passersby. The people of Belfast were not the most generous in the world but he could make anywhere between ten and thirty pounds depending on the weather. Begging produced the best results on a fine day but fine days in Belfast were few and far between. Today had better be fine because he was skint and his little box of pills needed refilling. If the begging didn’t work out, he knew a few toilets where he could make twenty pounds for sucking some cock. The problem with that was that he was looking more like a train wreck every day and even the desperate punters had some level of discrimination.  Customers had for some time now been steering clear of him. The fear of picking up something nasty from contact with him was forcing most of them away. The pains in his head were getting worse, and he was beginning to think that there was something seriously wrong up there. He was having the otherworldly feelings more often. It was like he was an observer of life and not a participant in it. He was homeless since he was sixteen and aside from the eighteen months he was inside, he had spent his life on the streets. His life was the streets, the hostel and the pills. It wasn’t so much a life as an existence. He found himself on Royal Avenue and across the road from the Belfast Central Library. It was one of his favourite hangouts especially in winter. Even the homeless were entitled to a library card although he wouldn’t be allowed to take a book away with him since his official address was the hostel. He felt around in his pocket for the card and was thankful when he found it. The woman at the Reception turned her nose up as he displayed the battered library card when he passed her. He went immediately to the newspaper rack and removed a copy of the Belfast Chronicle and the Irish Daily Mail. He moved to one of the tables and sat down. He started on the Daily Mail. It was the usual tabloid fare. He flicked quickly through the pages. The lives of the rich and famous had little relevance or interest for him. What little news the paper contained didn’t interest him either. Iraq and Afghanistan were a million miles away from the streets of Belfast and the articles about the poor getting it in the neck at the expense of the rich were just a generalisation of his pathetic life. He moved on to the Chronicle. He found the article on the ‘Priest Killer’ on the second page. The writer was following the line that had been proposed at a police press conference earlier in the week. Serial killers had concentrated on sections of the population before. Prostitutes and homosexuals had been selected by serial killers, so why shouldn’t Catholic priests. He smiled when he thought of himself as a serial killer. He didn’t even think of himself as a murderer. For him, killing Gilroy had been an act of vengeance while Reilly was simply payback for the rotten life he had been forced to live. He hadn’t really murdered Reilly, he had just speeded up his demise. He read the article in its entirety. The police appeared to be totally in the dark. The two priests had nothing in common other than the fact that they wore the Roman collar. The police appealed to the public for information. Mulholland glanced around the library. None of the public seemed to be taking a blind bit of notice of him except to keep well away from his smell. He removed the small box from his coat pocket, chose a Vicodin tablet and slipped it into his mouth. He was a mass of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he had successfully murdered two men who had blighted his life. He made the front pages of the Chronicle. Although his name was not out there, he was, in a way, famous. On the other hand, he had never thought of himself as a murderer. All he had wanted was to avenge the wrong that had been done to him and others. He had depended on the authorities to bring Gilroy to justice, but they had turned their back on him and the other abused children.  He continued to turn the pages over scanning the articles as he went. He stopped when he saw the name of the last man on his list. Bishop Charles Carey would be officiating at a Confirmation ceremony at Our Lady Queen of Peace Church in Dunmurray in two days time. Mulholland sat staring at the newspaper in front of him. The squat was prepared to receive the Bishop but he had until that moment no idea as to how he would abduct Carey. Slowly, a plan was developing in what was left of his brain. He was never sure these days about the validity of his thoughts, but it seemed to make sense to him. He had spent some time casing the Bishop’s Palace and that meant that he had all the information he needed to carry out his plan. He laughed out loud and looked around. The other four people at the reading tables studiously avoided looking at him.