Shadow Sins (DCI Wilson Book 2) (9 page)

CHAPTER 23

Wilson almost missed the signal from the Duty Sergeant that he was wanted upstairs. This was not the way that he liked to begin the day. He was very fond of the Chief Superintendent who generally left him alone. But Spence had less than a year to go to retirement and had become more nervous as the day he longed for came closer.

“Good morning, Boss,” Wilson said as he entered Spence’s office.

“Is it,” Spence said dourly. “I don’t think that you’re going to consider it so good when you leave this office.”

“Hold on a second,” Wilson said theatrically. “Maybe I’m suffering from Alzheimer’s, but I can’t remember killing someone’s pet dog since I left here yesterday.”

“Whether you know it or not you’ve done something. I’ve just been informed that Chief Inspector Ronald Harrison will be replacing Joe as Superintendent for the duration.”

“You cannot be serious,” Wilson moved forward and sat facing Spence. “Are we talking about Ronald ‘Fatboy’ Harrison? That tub of lard has never managed an investigation in his life, and they put him in charge of the Investigative Branch including the Murder Squad. He’s too busy stuffing his fat face to solve crimes.”

“There are bigger brains at work on these kinds of placements than yours or mine,”

“How long have you known about this?”

“He just left my office before you arrived. Turned up this morning with a letter from Headquarters confirming a temporary appointment.”

“Should I guess who signed the letter?”

“Your old friend,” Spence said with a heavy touch of sarcasm.

Wilson sat staring into space. He’d never worked with Harrison but he knew enough about him to understand that his life would not be worth living. Harrison had the reputation of being a nit-picker which is why he spent most of his life in accounting and personnel just like his mentor Deputy Chief Constable Jennings.  They were two peas in the same pod. Except for the respective girths which were more in the Laurel and Hardy class.

“The news on Joe isn’t so good either,” Spence continued. “We’re looking at arresting him for sexual assault in the next few days. Since you’re the SIO on that one, the immense pleasure of taking him in will fall to you.”

“This life stinks,” Wilson said. “Joe goes down and that mangy bastard Harrison rises.”

“Nobody said that life was fair. Harrison is waiting in Joe’s office, and you’re the first person he wants to see.”

Wilson stood up slowly. “If this dickhead gets on my case, I’ll knock his fucking block off.”

“No you won’t, that is if you want to continue working here.”

“Aye, well I’ve been thinking about that lately too. Maybe there is life after the Force.”

“Living with a Q.C. is giving you ideas above your station. You’re a copper, Ian, and you’ll always be a copper. It’s what drives you. You wouldn’t last a day without the chase. Keep your powder dry with Harrison and everything will work out. He won’t be with us a month before he’ll be crying to his pal to get him out of here. Now go down to Joe’s office and be as civil as you can to the bastard.”

Wilson steeled himself before knocking on what had once been Superintendent Joe Worthington’s office door.

“Enter,” the voice was clipped just like its mentor’s.

“Good morning,” Wilson said as he entered. “I understand that you wanted to see me.”

Ronald ‘Fatboy’ Harrison didn’t so much as sit in Joe Worthington’s ergonomic office chair as he flowed around it. Weighing in at just under two hundred and eighty pounds in his boxer shorts, there were parts of Harrison that would never fit comfortably into a chair designed for a normal-sized human being. Within reach of his right hand was his trademark plate of biscuits.

“Is this the way you normally address a superior officer?” Harrison said without looking up from the papers on his desk.

“The last time I heard you were a Chief Inspector. And since I’m also a Chief Inspector, I think the form of address appropriate.”

Harrison looked up, and his tongue licked out like a giant sloth. He was wearing a pair of pince-nez glasses that he used for reading and which gave his round face an owlish look. The glasses stood on a nose which would have been large in a normal face but which was diminished in size in comparison with Harrison’s ample jowls. The eyes were blue but didn’t have the light associated with that colour. An untidy mop of lank fair hair crowned his broad pale face. “Your reputation precedes you, DCI Wilson.“ He turned a sheet of paper around so that it faced Wilson. ‘This is my appointment as temporary Superintendent and as such your superior officer. I tend to take issues of rank seriously so from now on you can address me as Superintendent, Sir or Boss. I don’t like the Guv or Governor form of address, so don’t use it. I have no idea how long I’m going to be here, but as long as I am you will treat me with the respect my position deserves. Considering your reputation that may be difficult for you but I can assure you that I will use every rule in the book against you if you try to undermine me.”

“Understood, Gu.. I mean Sir,” Wilson said.

Harrison sighed, picked up a biscuit and chomped on it. “I am particularly interested in two cases that you’re handling. The Superintendent Worthington affair is of primary importance to the Force, principally because it reflects not only on the individual but on the Force as a whole. It requires delicate handling.” Flakes of biscuit clung to the edges of his mouth. “Not exactly your forte. Therefore, I intend to take a strong personal interest in the case particularly in relation to how we communicate with the outside world. So far, the press haven’t picked up the story, but I have no doubt they will very shortly. All communication with the press will be through my office. I am instructing you now not to have any contact with those outside the Force with regard to Superintendent Worthington. Understood.”

“Understood, Sir,” Wilson had decided to keep his exchanges as short as possible.

“The second case involves the murder of Father Gilroy and the burning of St. Cormac’s Church. This case could have political overtones, which again require a delicate hand. We must avoid a spate of church burnings at all costs. It is my considered opinion that either a dissident Protestant group or some local religious lunatic murdered the priest and torched the church. Therefore, I want the investigation to concentrate on this premise.”

“The murder is inconsistent with previous church burnings,’ Wilson said quietly.

“Stabbings are at epidemic level at the moment,” Harrison removed the pince-nez from his nose and rubbed the enlarged organ. “I can well imagine if the priest had disturbed the arsonists, they might have reacted by stabbing him.”

“The evidence we have developed to date indicates that the murderer waited until only the priest was present in the church. He purposely stabbed the priest and then immolated him. We don’t even know whether the church burning was intentional. It may have been a bi-product of the murder and not vice versa.”

“As I have already said there is a political overtone to this investigation. Therefore, I want you to follow the hypothesis I have outlined. Concentrate on the Protestant paramilitaries and look for local people who have a grudge against St. Cormac’s in particular. “ Harrison replaced the glasses on his nose and shuffled the papers on his desk. “I want a report every day on the advancement of both cases. For the rest we’ll deal with things as they arise. Close the door on your way out.”

Wilson felt his right hand involuntarily form itself into a fist. Why does the shit always rise, he thought? Employing all his self-control, he pivoted and walked out the office door.

Harrison helped himself to another biscuit as he watched Wilson’s broad back disappear through the door. It doesn’t pay to have an enemy in high places, he thought.

CHAPTER
24

Wilson ran into Harry Graham as he made his way to the Squad Room.  Graham looked harassed.

“What have you been up to, Harry,” Wilson said.

Graham’s face flushed bright-red. “My fucking motor broke down on the way, and I had to call the AA to get the bugger going again.”

“Shit happens,” Wilson clapped Graham on the back.  “Better keep an eye on the car. You don’t want your kids sitting in the back of a death trap.”

“I’m on it,” Graham said.

“Good man.”

They entered the Squad Room together. The rest of the team were busy at their desks.

“Briefing in ten minutes,” Wilson said making for his tiny office. He had just powered up his computer when he saw Moira standing hesitantly at his door. He motioned her to come in.

“What’s up?” he said as soon as she entered.

“Does something have to be up?”

‘I’m a frigging detective. When I see someone moving around nervously outside my door trying to make their mind up whether to knock or not I usually think that person has something on that same mind. Hence the question, what’s up?”

“Can we delay the briefing for a few minutes? I need to talk to you.”

Wilson got up and moved to the door.  “Briefing delay for a few minutes,” he called into the room. Four heads rose as one and nodded before returning to their computer screens.

He returned and sat in his chair motioning Moira to take the chair opposite him. He had Moira marked down as a cool customer. If something was bothering her, he wanted to know what it was. “You have my undivided attention,” he said.

Moira explained in detail her meeting of the previous evening.

“Did he swear you to secrecy?” Wilson said when she had finished. “Perhaps he muttered some Latin incantation over you that turned you into his creature.”

“You’re watching too much TV. There were no incantations, but that’s what’s strange about the way I feel. Somehow he made me feel that if I didn’t play ball that I would be betraying my religion.” Moira leaned forward and rested her chin on her two hands. “I don’t like the feeling, although I know that I’m right in telling you.”

“Don’t worry,” Wilson said his mind racing as he tried to assimilate the information and what it might mean to his investigation. “He’s an authority figure from your past. You always obeyed the priest no matter what he said because he had the authority over you. He didn’t feel that he needed to swear you to secrecy because he was creating a ‘them’ and ‘us’ scenario for you. He wanted you to identify more with your religion than with your job. Pretty good psychology if you ask me. The question is what does it mean?” Wilson had a pretty good idea of what it meant but for now he was going to keep things to himself. The arrival of Fatboy and the late-night meeting in the church might all tie together in the end. The previous day’s meeting with the Bishop was the likely reason for the escalation in the need to keep control of the investigation.  He was more convinced than ever that the answer lay in looking into the background of Father Gilroy. “I know what it ‘s cost you to break what Devlin set up as a confidence, but you did the right thing. At the briefing, I’m going to change the direction of the investigation. But you and I are going to follow the original direction. Despite what I say before the other members of the team, I want you to get me a picture of who Father Gilroy was. Don’t bother with the one we’re being sold at the moment. I’m not buying the simple priest that Bishop Carey was selling us. Find out where he studied, what parishes he worked in, who his friends were, did he have colleagues who knew him. We need to find all this out yesterday. As far as the team will know, you’re still pottering about on the Worthington business. Okay.”

“Okay, Boss,” Moira said. “But why do we have to keep the rest of the team in the dark?”

Wilson told her of the arrival of Chief Inspector Harrison. “He’s been put here to sit on me. Soon I’m going to need his permission to go to the toilet. Watch my words. It odds on that at least one member of the team has been compromised. Devlin thinks that he has you in his pocket but my old pal DCC Jennings would not have left Harrison here alone. We’ve shaken the cage and now the beasts have been roused. From now on, we’re going to have to keep our wits about us.”

“I don’t like it, Boss,” Moira’s forehead was a series of frown lines. “Running a separate investigation within an investigation. If it ever came out, both of us might be for the high jump.”

Wilson was thinking that in his case that would not be such a bad idea, but he didn’t want to ruin McElvaney’s career. “Don’t worry I’ll carry the can if it becomes necessary. Now let’s go join the others and brief them on yesterday’s meeting with the Bishop.”

CHAPTER 25

Noel Mulholland looked around the room. It was ideal for his purposes. He had been searching Belfast for weeks to find a place where he could take someone and where nobody would ever find him. The old Victorian girls school that he had located in South Belfast just off the Malone Road was the perfect place. It was derelict for years. It wasn’t even fit to be called a squat. The building had been badly damaged by a succession of kids who used the place to drink and sniff glue. The kitchen out the back was minging with mildew and the less visible but more sinister rat piss. The floor was covered in a centimetre or so of goo that could have been ectoplasm for all he knew. There was excrement in the sinks and dried puke in the bathrooms. He stared at his filthy sleeping bag in the corner of the room. Home sweet fucking home, he whispered under his breath. It had to end. He couldn’t put up with the pain any longer. The prison psychologist had told him that the pain was in his mind, but the arsehole should be inside his body. Then he’d know that the pain was real enough. He’d be the one eating Vicodin and shoving heroin into his arm. He had hoped that Gilroy’s death would have lessened the pains he felt all over his body but there’d been no change since Saturday. Vicodin, Oxycontin or Xanax kept him going until he had to shoot up again. Maybe another stretch inside would do him some good. He looked down at his thin emaciated frame and wondered how long it had been since he’d eaten. He seldom ate these days and even more rarely could remember when he had eaten last. He jumped at a sound from the rear of the building. It could be Gilroy’s ghost. The previous evening he was sure he saw the dead priest looking out from one of the broken windows as he approached the derelict building. The prison psychologist had written on a paper they gave him when he’d finished his sentence that he had a psychoneurosis, and that he should have further treatment. He had torn the paper and flushed it down the toilet. He wasn’t mad. He sat down on the old sleeping bag and removed the knife from its folds. He ran his finger along the razor-sharp blade. He lifted his right trouser leg and ran the knife along the pale dirty skin. A bubble of blood followed the line of the knife and left an incredibly thin red line in its wake. The knife had barely broken the skin and he felt the pain as delicious not at all like the other pain that dominated his being. His brain absorbed the pain. He needed to think but thinking had become a major problem. He had been aware that the tablets would ultimately turn him into a vegetable. That wouldn’t be a problem for him. There were a lot of things he would prefer to forget, and vegetables didn’t have memories. He lay back on his sleeping bag and tried to make his brain concentrate.  It was now obvious that Gilroy hadn’t been enough to flush them out. He would have to continue until they admitted what they had done and maybe that would take away the pains. He should have known better. Nobody had given a flying fuck all those years ago, and nobody would care now. Gilroy was just another number. The days after the killing, he had visited Belfast Central Library to see what the papers made of the murder. Sweet nothing was the short answer. Nobody saw any significance in the murder of Gilroy. He would paint them a picture. Gilroy wasn’t some anonymous priest. He was murdered for a reason. The petrol didn’t just fall on his body by accident. It was poured over the body on purpose. Setting him on fire was his way of ensuring that the bastard would never survive. But nobody was connecting the dots. All he could do was to give them another dot and see whether there was anyone in the PSNI with a brain cell.