Shadow Sins (DCI Wilson Book 2) (5 page)

CHAPTER 12

Evening was drawing in by the time Wilson and Graham arrived back at the Station. “The Super is still in the Interview Room,” the Duty Sergeant said as Wilson entered.

“I know,” Wilson said wearily. He couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. He went to his office and took the file containing the photos of Constable Doogan from his desk.

“About bloody time,” Worthington said as Wilson entered the Interview Room.

“I’m sorry you’ve been here so long, but we’ve got to get this one right,” Wilson dropped into the seat facing the man who until this morning had been his superior.  He flipped open the cardboard file exposing the colour photos. “Things look a little worse than they did this morning.” He slid three photos across the table so that they were facing Worthington. “Constable Doogan,” he said simply. “Taken last night as soon as the police arrived.”

Worthington looked blankly at the photos before him.

Wilson broke the silence. “DC McElvaney interviewed Constable Doogan with her solicitor present this morning. She insists you did this to her, and she intends to go the full distance on this one.”

Worthington remained silent.

“She intends to quit the Force,” Wilson continued. “So we can assume that there’s going to be at the very least a civil case at some time in the future. She’ll probably end up with enough to finance a villa and a small bar in Spain. Happy days for Constable Doogan. Your problem won’t be the civil case but a criminal prosecution for assault.”

“I had a few drinks, Ian,” Worthington said keeping his eyes on the desk. “I’ve been under pressure recently, and things haven’t been going so well at home. It’s this fucking job, Ian. It eats you up. Years of dealing with the dregs of society. Some of it has to rub off. I lost control that’s all.”

“You beat the bloody woman up, Joe,” Wilson said quietly. “You’re a senior police officer, so I don’t have to paint you a picture of what that means. When you go down, and you will go down, you’re going to go down hard.” Wilson saw a tear escape from Worthington’s eye. ‘You should have told me the truth this morning. Do you have a solicitor?”

Worthington nodded wordlessly then put his head in his hands and sobbed.

Wilson continued. “Chief Superintendent Spence has signed a paper extending you stay in custody to 36 hours. Please write the name and number of your solicitor, and I’ll make sure he’s contacted. And I’ll need your warrant card.”

Worthington removed the warrant card from his coat pocket and placed it on the table. “You’ve got to help me, Ian,” he said when he had regained his composure. “For old time’s sake. For Christ’s sake,we’re colleagues.”

“I told you this morning, Joe, not to lie to me. And yet you did. You picked on the wrong female. Whether she put you up to it or not is something the judge and jury are going to have to decide. However, when you swung your fist at her, you knew there was going to be a price to pay. She intends to go the distance on this whether by principle or financial gain. Now give me the phone number and let’s get on with business so that we can get you home as quickly as possible. We’re a long way from the end of this process. Now is not the time to panic. Anything can happen in the meantime. “ Wilson picked up the warrant card and put it in his pocket.

Worthington wrote a name on a sheet of paper before him. “I don’t know the number,” he said almost as a whisper.

“Don’t worry we’ll get him,” Wilson took the paper and stood up. “I’ll send in a cup of tea and something to eat while we wait.”

Wilson closed the door and lay with his back against the wall. It was at moments like these that he wished he hadn’t given up smoking.  The whole scene was unreal. He had seen Joe suffer from fits of nerves over the past two years, and he was aware of an increase in his alcohol intake, but he never would have guessed it would end like this.

He took out his mobile phone and called Kate. She answered immediately.

“Shit day,” he said simply.

“Same here,” she replied. “My client killed a baby by shaking it too hard. He refuses to accept that he killed the child and wants to plead not guilty. Not an easy one to defend.”

Her voice lifted his spirits slightly. “I’m going to be late to-night,” he said.

“Me too.”

“I miss you.”

She could hear the tension in his voice. “Whatever it is it will go away. I miss you too. See you when you get home.”

He broke the connection and walked away in the direction of his office. He needed to get Joe’s solicitor on site as quickly as possible. The Station’s rumour mill would be in overdrive.

CHAPTER 13

“Have you two no homes to go to,” Wilson said as he entered the Squad Room.

DCs Graham and McElvaney were still at their desks.

“The budget for overtime has been used up this month so you can bugger off home.” Wilson was well aware that neither would be claiming overtime. Harry was in the office to be seen by his superiors hoping it would influence them in his quest to become a sergeant. In Moira’s case, it was simply that she was a workaholic.

“Moira, a word please,” he motioned towards his office.

As soon as they entered he closed the door.  “Get me a copy of the statement from Constable Doogan. Furthermore, I want you to get a copy of the 911 call and statements from the police that responded to the call. Moreover, we’ll need a statement from the physician that attended her and the photographer who took those photos. The Super is still in the Interview Room and I want him out of there as soon as possible. Then I want the file prepared for HQ so that we can get on with the investigation into the burned body in the church. This business with the Super is simply a sideshow. We don’t need it right now.”

“I was hoping that I could concentrate on the murder,” Moira said.

The phone rang before Wilson could reply.

“DCI Wilson,” he said into the speaker.

“I have been waiting for the update on the Worthington business since early evening,” Deputy Chief Constable Jennings voice was harsh and unfriendly.

Wilson pushed the speaker button and put his finger against his lips for Moira to remain silent.

Wilson brought Jennings up to date on the investigation.

“I don’t like it,” Jennings said when Wilson had finished. “I don’t like it at all. The publicity could seriously damage the reputation of the Force. How bad are the photographs?”

‘Bad,” Wilson said. “I’ll have copies over to you to-morrow morning. “

“I knew you were the wrong man for this investigation.” There was irritation in Jennings’ voice. “I should never have let Spence talk me into leaving it to someone as insensitive as you. There are political overtones relating to an assault case against a Detective Superintendent.”

“I am well aware of the negative publicity the case will generate,” Wilson continued. “Chief Superintendent Spence and myself have examined various alternatives, but our hands are tied. A criminal complaint has been lodged, and we must follow up in the normal manner. Joe Worthington’s position here is immaterial.”

“Typical,” Jennings said. “You don’t give a toss that putting Worthington in the dock could blight both Chief Superintendent Spence’s and my career. I told you this morning to sort this mess out with the minimum of fallout and you have managed to do the opposite. What do you intend to do now?”

Wilson told him of his plan to carry out a final interview with Worthington with a solicitor present, collect statements from all concerned and prepare a file for his consideration.

“Get Worthington out of the Station by to-night. You’ve caused enough harm already we don’t want to compound it by keeping him overnight.” The line went dead.

“What a prick,” Moira said. “Do you really have to listen to crap like that?”

“Suck up and kick down,” Wilson said. ‘That’s how you rise to the exalted rank of Deputy Chief Constable.  Anyway this isn’t any of your business. Get the statements organised as quickly as possible.”

The phone rang again. Wilson listened for half a minute and then replaced the receiver. “The Super’s solicitor has arrived. Why don’t you join me in Interview Room 1 and take a lesson in how to flush a colleague’s career down the toilet?”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Moira said standing up. “He did that himself without any help at all from you.”

CHAPTER 14

Wilson’s head hurt just a little as he walked into his office. It was after 10 o’clock the previous evening when he had managed to get Worthington out of the Station. Spence had prepared the necessary paper to put the errant Superintendent on leave without pay. A good example of the Force looking after its own. Wilson had finally reached home at just before eleven to find Kate already fast asleep. He made himself a ham and cheese sandwich and washed it down with a half litre can of maybe the best beer in the world. Then he had raided the selection of Scottish Malts that Kate kept for special visitors. He felt he deserved it.

When he had awoken in the morning, Kate was already up and gone. She was thoughtful enough to prepare a large pot of coffee and to leave a tube of headache killer ready for use. An intake of three cups of coffee and two tablets from the tube brought Wilson’s head back into the land of the living. When he was capable of thinking again, he wished he hadn’t taken the coffee and the tablets. It had been better when his mind was filled with pain. Still there was work to get on with. He was going to put Joe’s problem on the long finger. There was nothing he could do about it now except prepare the file for HQ and be ready to go to bat for Joe in the event of a trial. A prison sentence was no way for a previously decent man to finish his career as a police officer.

“Is it true?” the Duty Sergeant said as Wilson passed. “Superintendent Worthington is for the high jump. The Boss is off to HQ already.”

“Give my head peace,” Wilson said heading for his office. “Briefing on the body in the church in five minutes,” he said as he entered the Squad Room. “Moira would you please be so kind as to locate a cup of coffee for me.”

“Boss,” Moira stood up from her desk and headed in the direction of the cafeteria.

“It’s the priest,” Graham said as Wilson was opening the door to his office. “The lab confirmed the DNA this morning.”

Wilson glanced at the whiteboard and saw that a photo of Father Gilroy was placed at the top.

“It arrived this morning by messenger,” DC Graham said. “Compliments of Monsignor Devlin.”

“Of course,” Wilson moved closer to the whiteboard and examined the face that looked back at him from the photo. If there was a way to divine the heart’s intentions from the face, it would not work on Father Gilroy. The face was round either by nature or from a life well lived. The hair was luxuriant and steel grey. The nose was prominent but not overly so, perhaps because of the width of the face. The lips were full which was rare in a man who had passed his fiftieth birthday. It was, all in all, a very Irish face. Wilson asked himself whether he liked or disliked the face but in the case of Father Gilroy he felt neither like nor dislike. The eyes, however, gave some hint of what lay behind the face. They were dark and without life. Wilson wondered what was hidden behind those hooded eyes that would have wanted someone to stop their light permanently.

“Boss,” Moira proffered a cup of black coffee and broke Wilson’s concentration on Father Gilroy’s eyes.

Wilson took the coffee and sipped. The liquid scalded his lips. It was typical of the cafeteria. Scalding hot water hid the fact that virtually no coffee had been added. “Gather round, children.”

The five members of his team left their desk and stood in front of the whiteboard.

“As you are all now no doubt aware the corpse in the church has been identified as Father John Gilroy the parish priest of Saint Cormac’s. Harry, briefing on the autopsy.”

DC Graham moved to the centre of the whiteboard. “Father Gilroy was stabbed several times before he was set on fire. The murder weapon was most probably a knife with an eight inch jagged blade. We should have a mould of the weapon shortly. The murderer was right-handed and strong. The knife was buried in the body several times. Withdrawing it would have been no easy feat. It’s unclear whether the murderer intended to set the church on fire but considering that Father Gilroy was doused in accelerant it’s pretty certain that the murderer wanted him immolated. According to the pathologist, the attack was not frenzied and there are no defensive wounds on the body.  We can assume that the attack was planned and the victim carefully chosen.”

“Ronald,” Wilson looked over at McIver. “Any result from the house to house.”

McIver moved forward and replaced Graham in front of the whiteboard. “We canvassed the whole area around the church. We drew a blank except for an old couple who were at confession on Saturday night. They saw a man sitting in the last row of pews. His coat collar was up around his head, and he was bent in prayer, so they didn’t really get a good look at him. There’s no way they could recognise the guy again. When they left the church, he was the only one left behind so it’s a pretty good guess that he’s the last one to have seen the priest alive. Other than the murderer.”

“Moira, what do we have on church burnings?”

Moira McElvaney stepped forward. “Ulster is probably the capital of the world for church burnings. There is a historical precedent for burnings in that it wasn’t wrong to burn the place of worship of those you considered to be heretics. However, I don’t think the latest church burnings have much to do with recorded precedent. Since the outbreak of the ‘Troubles’ in 1969, there have been numerous church and Orange Lodge burnings. The zenith of the church burnings took place in 1998 when 10 Catholic churches throughout the Province were torched. Although nobody was ever arrested for the arsons, at the time it was common knowledge that the Loyalist Volunteer Force was responsible. The churches were torched but there were no fatalities. However, it hasn’t been all one-way traffic. The IRA has burned their fair share of Protestant churches interspersed with arson on Orange Halls. Again, none of the arson attacks by the IRA involved a death.”

“Let’s move on to Monsignor Devlin,” Wilson said looking at DC Davidson who immediately stood forward to face the small group.

“What I have is mostly from our contacts in the Garda Siochana. Monsignor Malachy Joseph Devlin born in Galway City to Seamus and Geraldine Devlin. His father is a noted surgeon at Bon Secours Hospital in Galway. His mother is a director of a Catholic educational trust. One sibling, Catriona, is also a doctor. The parents are both fervent Catholics. Devlin attended NUI Galway and switched from medicine to politics in his second year. He was heavily involved in the management of the Opus Dei house in Galway. As soon as he graduated, Devlin entered Religious Orders and he was ordained three years later. Since then he has been to Rome and has had a stint as a lecturer at Notre Dame University in the US. Two years ago, he was made a Monsignor and became the Secretary of Bishop Carey. According to our sources, he is headed for the top in the Church. He has been identified as cardinal material, and he is totally dedicated.”

“To complete the picture,” Wilson said. “Harry and I took a quick look at the rectory at Saint Cormac’s. I have never seen any kind of residence that didn’t have some indication of the type of person who lived there. In my humble opinion, the rectory had been cleaned between Sunday and our visit yesterday. It was my fault. I should have left a copper on duty, but I wasn’t expecting what we got. There was no indication whatsoever of the kind of person Father Gilroy was in that rectory. The books were anodyne religious tracts. There were clothes in the wardrobes and in the chest of drawers but no newspapers, no photographs, no handwritten notes, no pens, no paper, no DVDs, no personal objects of any kind. In effect, nothing which would give us any idea of the type of individual Father Gilroy was or the kind of life he lived. If we were to go on the contents of the rectory, Father Gilroy might be a cardboard cut-out of a priest. Forensics were at the rectory yesterday evening, so we should have their report later to-day. I doubt there’ll be anything we can use. But I’m left with one mighty large question. Why did someone, and here I’m thinking Monsignor Devlin, consider it necessary to remove every vestige of Father Gilroy from that rectory? Was there some deep dark secret in that small space that would shed some light on why Father Gilroy was murdered? And why does someone feel the need to hide that secret? Harry, I want you to contact Bishop Carey’s office. I want a meeting with him as soon as possible. Monsignor Devlin will propose a meeting with himself, but you’re to refuse and insist that we have to meet the Bishop himself. We need to close a door on the possibility that some of our Loyalist friends were involved.” Wilson looked around the five faces. “One more issue,” he said. “I have been given the unenviable task of investigating charges, which have been laid against Superintendent Worthington. Don’t bother looking surprised. I know that you’ve all heard the news on the bush telegraph. I don’t want anyone in this room to leak a single solitary word of what they hear here concerning this investigation.  Moira is helping me prepare a file for HQ. As soon as that’s out of the way, our total concentration is going to be on finding the killer of Father Gilroy. OK let’s get about our business.”

Wilson had just taken his seat in his office when Graham knocked on his door and entered.

“I’m about to get organising the interview with the Bishop, Boss,” Graham said nervously. “But I was just wondering whether there’s any news on the promotion front.  I’m working like a bugger these days hoping the brass will notice me.”

“With the Super out of the way you’ll have more contact with Chief Superintendent Spence. That can’t be bad.” Wilson rubbed his forehead. The dull ache behind his eyes had returned and he had already promised himself that he would never drink again. But he had already done that many times before.

“They won’t leave the Super’s job vacant for long. Surely, they’ll bump you up, even temporarily.”

“No chance of that. The Chief Super is in HQ this morning discussing these very issues with the DCC. If you want to make sergeant, Harry, you’re going to have to take the books out again.”

“Fuck it,” Graham spat out the words. “I’ll never make it.”

“Nihil desperandum et nil illegitimus carborundum,” Wilson said.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s an old Latin phrase that says don’t despair and don’t let the bastards get you down. I tend to live by it myself. Now close that bloody door on your way out.”