Shadow Sins (DCI Wilson Book 2) (8 page)

CHAPTER
20

Deputy Chief Constable Roy Jennings sat in the front room of one of the most modest Masonic Lodges he had ever visited. His own Lodge in Belfast was at the opposite end of the imposing scale. He was not comfortable in such ordinary surroundings, but he needed this meeting to be held where neither he nor his guest could be recognised. He had been greeted by the Master of the Lodge and led to the small room that he requested for his meeting.  He glanced at his watch for the tenth time. His Lodge Brother was running late. Suddenly, the door opened and Bishop Carey entered the room. Jennings immediately stood, and the two men exchanged a Masonic handshake.

“It’s good to see you, Charles,” Jennings said indicating a chair beside the one in which he had been sitting. He waited for his superior in the Order to sit before taking his place. “We should really have met in more salubrious surroundings. This has got to be the most modest Lodge in Ulster.”

“And therefore, ideally suited to our purpose,” Bishop Carey said.  “I won’t detain you too long, Roy. I know that you are a very busy man. I had a visit from your Chief Inspector Wilson this afternoon.”

“That man is the bane of my life,” Jennings said quickly.

“Well I am beginning to hope that he does not become a problem in my life. You appreciate that he is investigating the murder of the parish priest of Saint Cormac’s, Father Gilroy.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Jennings’ brow furrowed.

“Father Gilroy was apparently stabbed and the church burned to the ground more or less.”

“Wilson is a good man on a murder enquiry,” Jennings found it difficult to say anything positive about Wilson.

“That may indeed be the problem. It would suit the Church, and by extension myself, if the murder and the burning were just considered the work of a fanatic.”

Jennings held his hand in praying mantis fashion before his lips. “That might be a bit difficult. If we were to conclude that a Protestant fanatic killed a priest and torched a church, it might unleash a tit for tat chain of church burnings. “

“I never mentioned a Protestant fanatic. It could equally be concluded that a Catholic lunatic was culpable, which would preclude the tit for tat response. The most important thing right now is for the investigation to be closed down with the conclusion that the atrocity was carried out by a person or persons unknown. We would dearly like to have a line drawn under this affair.”

“Charles, I understand that you wouldn’t have approached me if it hadn’t been absolutely necessary but I’m at a loss to comprehend why you don’t want to bring the culprit to justice.”

“If they had apprehended the miscreant as he exited the church, it would have been OK. However, Wilson is concentrating on the motive for the killing and that absorption is leading him to ruminate on the victim rather than the culprit. There are elements of Father Gilroy’s life that we would rather not have in the public domain.”

“I see,” Jennings smiled behind his praying mantis hands. “In such a situation, Wilson is just about the last person you would want to be leading the investigation. Although I hate to admit it, the man is a skilled investigator. And he is persistent to a fault.”

“I am well aware of that and I must look to you as a fellow Lodge brother to pull this particular chestnut out of the fire.”

“Replacing the Senior Investigating Office on a just started investigation is well nigh impossible other than that officer falling ill or being otherwise indisposed. Were he to screw up the investigation, then of course he could be replaced but it’s early days.”

“There must be some innovative approach to this problem;” the Bishop’s voice was pleading.

The level of fear in the Bishop’s voice surprised Jennings. “Whatever we do will have to be subtle. You’re unlucky that the case has fallen to Wilson. Officers of the PSNI are usually malleable when required by the Deputy Chief Constable. Wilson is the exception to that rule. He derives pleasure from disobeying my instructions. Therefore, there is no possibility of my instructing him on the course of his investigation. I’ll have to think about your request, Charles.” He saw apprehension flicker in the Bishop’s eyes. “Don’t worry I’ll come up with something only right now I don’t know what it is.”

“I’m depending on you,” Bishop Carey said. “If Wilson continues to press on Father Gilroy to provide a motive for the murder it could spell the end for me.”

Jennings glanced at his watch again. “The message has been received.” He stood to leave. “A pleasure as always to meet you.” He extended his hand to Bishop Carey and the two men shook hands. “I’ll be in touch.”

CHAPTER 21

Moira McElvaney sat in the last pew of Our Lady of Heaven Church just off the Belfast Road. She shifted nervously in her seat. The call from Monsignor Devlin had come just as she had been preparing her evening meal. As she sat in the church examining a magnificent stained-glass window depicting the Virgin Mary extending her hands to the world, she was asking herself why she had complied with the Monsignor’s request to meet. She had arrived at the appointed time to find the church unlocked as the Monsignor had indicated.  But, so far, there was no sign of the man she was supposed to meet. The empty church amplified every sound a thousand fold. She jumped as the sound from the opening door at her back echoed through the church. She turned as Monsignor Devlin entered the church.

“Moira,” he said pleasantly when he was seated beside her. “I do hope that I can call you Moira.” He didn’t wait for an affirmation. “Thank you for responding so positively to my invitation to meet. I apologise for my late arrival, and I hope that you have been able to spend the time productively in the presence of Our Saviour.”

Moira bristled. She didn’t like the superior manner in which the Monsignor addressed her. “I was about to have my evening meal when you called so I’d appreciate it if you could get to the point as quickly as possible. As you may imagine, I don’t get a great deal of free time and when I do I tend to treasure it.”

“But yet you accepted to meet me,” he smiled as he sat beside her.

“I’m intrigued. I have no doubt that the reason you called me is because I’m a Catholic. I should perhaps inform you that I am not a very good Catholic. In fact, I’m on the fast track to becoming a lapsed Catholic.”

“We all have doubts on our journey through life. This is simply a phase. When you have reflected more fully you will return to Our Mother the Church.” Monsignor Devlin didn’t expect this approach from McElvaney. “Despite your doubts, you are, of course, correct in your deduction. I wanted to speak to you in the context of our common religion. The murder of Father Gilroy has caused great reverberations within the Church in the Province. We have a great deal of experience with church burnings and I am sure that I do not have to point out to you that many of these arson attacks have gone unpunished. Many within the local communities who have suffered church burnings are aware of the culprits, but the PSNI has been unsuccessful in breaking the alibis provided by these people. The murder of Father Gilroy adds another dimension to the problems already encountered. The Hierarchy of the Church are worried for the safety of our priests and quite honestly there is some disquiet that the PSNI may be as unsuccessful at solving the murder case as they were of solving the church burnings.”

“So basically you don’t trust the PSNI,” Moira said.

“We are assuming that the murder of Father Gilroy and the arson attack on his church have been motivated by sectarianism. It does not take a leap of the imagination to assume that the case may not be pursued with the customary vigour.”

“You are out of your mind,” Moira smiled. “I could expect that kind of crap from some dyed in the wool Republicans but not from someone like you. If you keep talking like that, people will take you for a conspiracy nut.”

“I didn’t say these were my thoughts only that there is some level of disquiet within the Church Hierarchy,” Devlin said smoothly. “While we may have had our reservations, and not without reason, regarding the old RUC, we have nothing but the greatest respect for the PSNI. And I should add that we have absolute confidence in DCI Wilson.”

“And so you should have,” Moira said quickly. “He is the best detective on the Force. His honesty and dedication are way beyond question. If anyone can solve this murder, it’s DCI Wilson.”

Such a spirited defence, Devlin thought to himself. He looked at Moira’s face, now slightly flushed. Her eyes were burning. Wilson had struck him as the type of man who attracted women easily. The woman before him was either indulging in hero worship or there was something sexual between her and her superior.

“You didn’t bring me here just to tell me that you didn’t trust the PSNI,” Moira continued. “What do you really want?”

“We want to help find Father Gilroy’s killer but we think that your superior is looking in the wrong direction. This crime has all the trappings of a sectarian attack.  Wilson is concentrating on the wrong area. He needs to probe the Protestant paramilitaries. In the meantime, we would like you to be our eyes and ears in this investigation. We really believe that Wilson is the right man for the job it’s just that he seems set on the wrong course to solve the crime.”

Moira stared into Monsignor Devlin’s eyes. They were without expression. She had no way of working out what this man was thinking, but she did know that whatever was on his mind, she didn’t want to be a part of it. Something about Devlin bothered her. The man was one of the coldest fishes she had ever encountered. She had never seen a human aura, but she was willing to bet that Devlin’s would be an icy blue. There was a complete lack of emotion in both his speech and in his expression. Put that together with his obvious feeling of intellectual superiority and she might be looking at a classic megalomaniac. Barely twenty minutes ago she was already regretting that she had accepted the invitation to meet at the church. Now she was desperate to get away to her small flat. Devlin was no Svengali but she could feel the power of his personality.

“I don’t see any problem,” she said flicking her eyes away from Devlin’s. “We both want the same thing.”

“Only Wilson is going about it the wrong way,” the Monsignor interjected quickly. “Can I assume that you will accept calls from me and keep me informed?”

Those damn dead eyes were boring into her head. She didn’t want to look at them, but she knew that if she didn’t Devlin would know that she was lying, and she wanted him to believe her. She turned her head back and stared into his eyes. “I’ll let you know how things are progressing,” she said simply.

“And you will keep this meeting between the two of us?” his eyes continued to bore into her.

“Of course,” she said maintaining her stare.

CHAPTER 22

Detective Constable Harry Graham rose up in the lift to the fourth floor of Brooklyn House, the headquarters of the PSNI in Castlereagh. He ran his hands through his hair and then rubbed his palms on the sides of his trousers. He had been sweating since he had received the call from the DCC’s Office at 7 a.m. Graham didn’t like dealing with the brass. He liked his job but lived in continual fear of screwing up so badly that he would be obliged to leave the Force. He was ambivalent about becoming a detective sergeant. The family could certainly use the extra money, but he would be much more in the firing line, and his superiors would have a better view of any mistake he might make. There was a distinct advantage in keeping your head below the parapet. A million possibilities ran through his mind on his way to Knock Road. He had never before been called to the Deputy Chief Constable’s Office. It scared him to think that Jennings actually knew who he was. He gave his palms a final rub on his trousers as he stood outside the DCC’s Office and then knocked on the door.

“Come in,” the voice was authoritative.

“Sir,” Graham stood to attention just inside the door.

“Sit,” DCC Jennings nodded at the seat in front of his desk.

Graham approached the desk but before he could sit down Jennings rose and extended his hand. It was the moment Graham had dreaded. His palms felt as though they had water running down them but he couldn’t refuse to take the DCC’s hand. The handshake allowed both men to indicate their membership of the Masonic Order.

“We haven’t had an opportunity to meet,” Jennings said affably as both men took their seats.

“No, Sir,” Graham replied. “In fact this is my first visit to Headquarters.”

“I understand that since George Whitehouse’s untimely death that you’ve been filling in for him on a temporary basis.”

“I’ve been doing my best, Sir.” Things were going rather better than Harry Graham had anticipated. Jennings had a reputation for being a bit of a bastard, but so far he was coming over like a gentleman.

“George was a big loss to the Force. In effect, he was also a major loss to us here at Headquarters. George played a sort of dual role. He was of course your sergeant and one of the mainstays of the Murder Squad. However, he was also producing invaluable feedback to Headquarters on how investigations were being managed. Over the years, we have developed a sort of unofficial three hundred and sixty degree personnel appraisal system. Senior officers have the responsibility to report on their staff. However, it is equally important for us to know what the members of a team think of their leader. George was our three hundred and sixty degree man in your squad. Do you understand?”

“I think so.” This was the kind of moment that Graham hated. It was what he would call ‘a screw up moment’. If he made the wrong call here, he was gong to suffer for it.  It was common knowledge that Wilson and Jennings hated each other’s guts and that Jennings was just waiting for an opportunity to give Wilson the door or at the very least a trip to the back of beyond. It was patently clear that George Whitehouse was the undercover man in the squad charged with keeping an eye on Wilson for the DCC. That job was being offered to him. “You would like me to report back to you on how DCI Wilson manages his case load, his relations with staff members, that kind of thing.”

“Precisely,” Jennings made the praying mantis with his hands in front of his face. “You would be assisting me in preparing DCI Wilson’s annual appraisal. As you can imagine, I cannot keep an eye on all the senior officers.”

“Completely understood,” Graham stopped sweating and was sitting up straighter in his seat. “Has any decision been taken on the permanent replacement for DS Whitehouse?”

“Not so far,” Jennings said. “The situation, for the moment, is quite fluid. We may be looking for a suitable candidate shortly.”

Jennings needed him and Graham decided to press his advantage. “I would very much like to be considered for the position but I haven’t passed the sergeant’s exam.”

“Well I don’t think that would be an impediment for someone who is doing important work for Headquarters. Perhaps I should have someone in Administration go back over some of the papers and see whether some errors were made in the marking.” Jennings didn’t think that Graham had it in him and he was secretly gratified. He managed to hook and reel in his man with consummate ease.

“I would be very grateful,” Graham said.

Jennings looked at his watch. “I think that you are due at your Station. We would not want to have DCI Wilson wondering where you had got yourself to. I expect that I’ll be hearing from you.”

DC Harry Graham nodded and rose slowly from his seat. He didn’t much like himself. If he had ever wondered how Judas Iscariot had felt, now he knew.