Read The Coercion Key Online

Authors: Catriona King

Tags: #Mysteries & Thrillers

The Coercion Key (6 page)

BOOK: The Coercion Key
2.41Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

They smiled simultaneously and stood up.

“Have you got your car, Des? I lent Liam mine.”

“Yes. But remember that John’s expecting you downstairs. We’ll give him a yell as we pass.”

Five minutes later they were in Des’ car, leaving John preparing to start Victoria Linton’s P.M. After ten minutes they were standing inside Nelson Warner’s apartment overlooking Belfast’s Albert Bridge. As they’d driven into the development the title on the name plate had rung a bell with Craig. ‘St John’s Harbour’. Where did he know the name from? He hadn’t visited there before, he was certain of that.

Craig wandered onto the balcony that Nelson Warner had taken a swan-dive from and stared into the Lagan five storeys below. The small balcony was empty, apart from a circular metal table and the wicker chair that their victim had jumped off. There was nothing else to see so Craig turned back towards the living room. It was long and wide, laid out in an L-shape, with a pale wood kitchen arranged along the shorter arm. He paced the room several times, from the outsized flat-screen television at one end to the wide settee and long pine table at the other, then he turned to Des.

“Where was Warner’s computer?”

“On the table, there.” Des pointed at the rough pine slab.

“Have all the contents of the apartment been taken back to the lab?”

“You’ve already seen the suicide note. His laptop, papers etc. are still being examined.” Des paused for a moment before he spoke again. “We wouldn’t have specifically noted a USB amongst his effects because we weren’t looking for anything like that. Give me a minute.”

He pulled out his mobile and made a call while Craig wandered around the rest of the large flat. It was nice; almost as nice as Victoria Linton’s apartment and it was only Nelson Warner’s weekday Pied à Terre. Linton and Warner had both been wealthy and that was already too much coincidence for him. But then… Diana Rogan hadn’t been, so where did she fit in?

Des found Craig in the bedroom, staring down at the oversized bed. Craig doubted that Nelson Warner had been sleeping in it alone every night. He turned to Des eagerly.

“Well?”

Des nodded. “Jenny was just filing Warner’s effects to bring them to me. There’s a memory stick with a cover identical to the key that Victoria Linton had.”

Craig grinned. Now they were getting somewhere. They cast a final look around the apartment and then headed for the lift. As he pressed the button Craig had a fleeting thought about phoning the squad. He dismissed it immediately. Liam and Annette would get on with things, although he’d better phone in at some point or Nicky would send out a search party. As they stepped out of the lift at ground level a woman went to get in. Craig recognised her instantly. It was Katy Stevens! He smiled broadly.

“Hello.”

Katy stared at him confused, in the way you are when you see someone somewhere you least expect.

“Mr Craig. What are you doing here?”

Craig glanced upwards in reflex and she nodded.

“Ah… Mr Warner on the fifth floor. Very sad. He was such a nice man.”

Craig smiled at her kindness. “Do you live here?”

“Yes. I have done for years.”

Craig nodded. That was where he’d recognised the name of the development from. She’d been a witness in the Murray-Hill case the year before. He would’ve seen her address when he’d interviewed her.

Des watched the exchange with a focus that made Craig blush and he said goodbye hastily. They walked to the car in silence and as they fastened their seat-belts Des shot Craig a knowing smile.

“Old flame of yours, Marc?”

Craig gave him a look that had made grown men quake.

“That look doesn’t have any effect on me, you know. I take it that’s a yes.”

“It’s a no.”

“Well, then I’ll lay odds on that it won’t be long before you give her a call…”

***

By the time Craig returned to the C.C.U. it was time for lunch, so he gathered everyone together and they headed to The James bar, the C.C.U.’s local watering hole. As they were walking down Princes Dock Street Liam fell back beside Craig and dropped his voice.

“We’ve done a search on the boyfriend, boss. Linton must have fancied a bit of rough.”

“In what way?”

“Well he doesn’t live in BT9 for one thing. He has an address somewhere out near Sydenham.”

BT9 was the postcode of an expensive area of Belfast that nestled between University Road and Balmoral Avenue. It was home to Queen’s University, Belfast’s academic jewel, houses worth millions of pounds, and restaurants and shops with prices that would make the average Belfeirstian’s eyes water. It was just known as BT9 to the rest of Belfast. Shorthand for Northern Irish prosperity.

“When are you seeing him?”

Liam shot him a surprised look at the ‘you’. “This afternoon. Don’t you want to be there?“

Craig shook his head. He needed some time to make sense of the past few hours.

“He’s not a suspect yet, Liam. Remember we have four cases so it’s unlikely that whoever did this was just linked to Victoria Linton. We’re beginning to find things that tie the cases together.”

Liam went to ask the question but Craig shook his head. “Give me a few hours. We’ll have a briefing at four o’clock and I’ll tell you everything then.”

Craig glanced at the group walking slowly ahead. Nicky and Annette were deep in conversation and Craig watched as Nicky balanced perfectly on her five-inch heels, despite the street’s surface being broken by tram lines and the remnants of builders’ waste. Davy and Jake were walking together. Davy hunched over, with his hands pushed deep into his jean pockets, his six-foot plus gangly frame still towering over Jake’s much more compact five-feet-eight. Craig smiled; glad to see Davy back in his dark jeans after a few months trying out his girlfriend Maggie’s suggestion of wearing a suit. He’d never really looked comfortable and it hadn’t been necessary when he didn’t work with the public face-to-face. But Craig was glad to see that some remnants of the style change had survived in the shirts he now wore instead of his old, ripped T-shirts.

They reached the pub and ordered and while they were waiting for the food to come Craig brought them up to speed on his thoughts.

“We definitely have four cases that were made to look like suicide but are effectively murder. They killed themselves, but only after they were coerced into it.”

Jake went to ask a question but Craig nodded him into silence while the waitress put down their plates then he picked up the file he’d brought with him and explained. “Each of them left a suicide note using exactly the same words.”

Jake interrupted, more confident now that his secondment to the team had become permanent.

“How did Victoria Linton kill herself, sir?”

“Car exhaust. She was found this morning by a neighbour coming home after a late night.”

Annette made a face at the image. She’d seen Carbon Monoxide poisoning once when she’d worked in A&E and it wasn’t pretty.

Nicky scanned Craig’s face, looking concerned. “Were you up half the night?”

Craig nodded and Liam chipped in, looking for sympathy.

“And me.”

Nicky came back at him, quick as a whip. “You’ll soon catch up. You’re always half asleep.”

Liam objected loudly, starting a moment of banter. As it died down Jake spoke again.

“But if they all killed themselves, even if they were coerced into it, where’s the chargeable crime? If I tell you to kill yourself otherwise I’m going to… kill your budgie, say, what crime can you charge me with?”

“Here, son. What did budgies ever do to you?”

Craig smiled and raised his hand, stilling the next round of jokes. “John made that point to me yesterday, Jake. They killed themselves, we’re sure of that, but I think they were blackmailed into it. So that’s one crime for a start. We’re also pretty sure that John was being stalked.”

“And you got a threatening phone-call, sir, don’t forget that.” Craig turned to Nicky just in time to see a chip disappearing through her indignantly pursed lips.

“If we ever catch them there’ll be plenty to charge them with, Nicky, don’t worry about that. I’m more concerned with finding them before someone else dies.”

Annette gave him a smile that said ‘come on now, tell the truth’. Craig laughed, acknowledging that she was right.

“OK. Yes, I want to solve the puzzle too.”

They reverted to normal chatter while the meals were eaten and the teas and coffees came. As he sipped his espresso Craig remembered something.

“Has anyone seen Des recently?”

There was a series of ‘no’s’.

Liam caught on first. “Why? Is there something we should know?”

“Annie made him shave off his beard. He looks ten years younger.”

Nicky screwed up her face. “I’m not surprised. It must have been like kissing a Brillo-pad.”

Davy interjected. “Do married people still s…snog then? I thought you were all too old.”

“You cheeky young…”

Annette smiled and shook her head. “It’s hard to imagine Des without his facial hair.”

Craig smiled. “Ah now, I didn’t say that. He’s grown a moustache.”

“Hitler or Stalin?”

“More revolutionary Guevara. It looks good.”

Liam took a gulp of tea and then laughed. “Sure, whether it does or not it’ll give us something to slag him about.”

***

Jenna Graham watched the team as they strolled back from lunch, past the Rotterdam Bar and on towards the high-rise building that housed the C.C.U. Craig had ignored the warning; he was still on the hunt. That meant he needed a reminder. Craig was a stubborn bastard; normally one threat was all it took to scare people off. She shrugged and turned away, walking down Corporation Street until she reached her car. It didn’t matter what Craig did, the list was almost complete. Then they could disappear for good. Craig might think he was getting somewhere but she defied him to join the dots in time. In fact she defied him to join them at all. Only she and the others knew what this was really about and soon there would be nothing left to give the game away.

Chapter Seven

 

St Mary’s Healthcare Trust. 1 p.m.

 

“Guess who I saw today?”

Natalie Ingrams picked at her sandwich trying to work out what the pink lumps inside it were, and nodded absentmindedly at her friend. They might be prawns but she couldn’t see their normal pale coat beneath the sauce, or they might be chicken, but who would cover chicken with pink paste? Finally she pushed her plate away and glanced across the canteen table at Katy. She was giving Natalie an amused look.

“Are you going to eat that or dissect it?”

“I was trying to work out what it was but I’ve given up. Sorry, you said something. What was it?”

“I said, guess who I saw today?”

“I give up, who?”

“God, you don’t make much of an effort, do you?”

Katy paused huffily until Natalie urged her on with a threatening look.

“Oh, OK. Marc Craig. He was at my apartment block with another man with a moustache.”

Natalie leaned forward, excited. “That’s Des Marsham. He works with John. They must have a case there.”

Katy screwed up her face. “I don’t think so. We had a death last week, but it was a suicide. My upstairs neighbour Mr Warner jumped into the Lagan from his balcony and drowned.”

Natalie’s face lit up. “Can you reach the river from your place then?”

Katy gave her a horrified look. “Yes, you can, if you jump far enough. But that’s not the point. A man’s dead, Natalie!”

Natalie sniffed, ever practical. “The mortuary’s full of dead people but most of them didn’t die in such an interesting way.” She warmed to her theme. “John told me about this one case where…”

Katy stood up and Natalie stared at her in surprise. “I don’t want to hear it, Nat, at least not over lunch.”

Natalie waved her down. “OK, OK, keep your hair on. What’s eating you?”

“I was trying to talk to you about Marc Craig and you turned it into a diatribe about dead people!”

Natalie thought back over the conversation then laughed aloud. Katy was right; she had. She leaned in with a mock-attentive look on her face.

“OK, then, tell me all about Mr Wonderful.”

“Don’t you like Marc?”

“I like Marc fine. In fact I’d go as far as saying I like him a lot. He’s kind and he’s funny, when he’s not being anal about his work.”

“But?”

Natalie sat back and threw her hands up in the air. “But nothing. God, Katy, you can read something into nothing better than anyone I know. I wasn’t damning him with faint praise, I was telling the truth. I really like him.” She smiled knowingly. “Although not half as much as you obviously do.” She glanced around the canteen then leaned in like a conspirator. “I thought that you and Rowan…”

Katy set her jaw. “Rowan and I are just friends.”

“That’s not what I saw at the radiologists’ party last week. I’m sure I saw you slow dancing with him and there wasn’t much space between your lips.”

“Natalie!”

“I’m just saying. If you like Marc Craig then you should do something about it, before Rowan gets the wrong idea.”

Katy shook her head shyly. Her long blonde waves fell across her face hiding her expression. Natalie reached across and pushed them back like a mother.

“If I ever have a daughter I’m going to make her shave her head, or at least tie her hair back. I can’t stand people hiding behind their hair.”

Katy smiled at Natalie’s long dark curls, they were pulled into a low ponytail down her back and Katy knew they wouldn’t dare try to escape. She returned to the subject of Craig.

“I can’t ask him out.”

“Why not? I practically did with John. He might like to think he did it, but really I made it impossible for him not to.”

Katy gawped at her. “I wouldn’t have a clue what to do, and anyway…” She turned away and said something that Natalie couldn’t hear. She didn’t need to hear it, she already knew what it was. “I’m shy.”

And she was. Terminally shy. She was worse than a teenage girl. Katy was still speaking. “He knows where I live and I gave him my card when we met last year at that art gallery, but he didn’t call. He didn’t even ask me to dance at your engagement party. So…”

Natalie wasn’t listening, she was already making plans. If Mohammed wouldn’t come to the mountain then it would have to be vice versa, and two weeks in a hot country while she got married would give Craig no chance to escape. She interrupted Katy rudely.

“What are you doing in August?”

“What? I don’t know. It’s too far away to think.”

“Well I do. You’re being my bridesmaid on an island. Somewhere that even Marc Craig, John’s best man won’t be able to escape from.”

***

The C.C.U. 2 p.m.

 

Craig swung his chair around to face the window, certain that he wouldn’t be disturbed for an hour. He’d promised Nicky one whole hour from three to four p.m. to go through her list of things for him to do. In exchange she wasn’t to allow anybody through his door until then and she had his permission to bite anyone who tried. He pictured her sinking her teeth into Liam’s leg and laughed. They flirted mercilessly with each other but so far it hadn’t gone further than that, leaving both their hearts intact. If it ever progressed Craig hoped he was long gone; he wouldn’t have a clue whose side to take.

He turned his mind back to the case. Four deaths, four apparent suicides. Four identical notes written in the victims’ hands and four obscure six-digit numbers. So far they had two identical platinum keys from Linton and Warner’s scenes and he was still waiting to see the second one. He didn’t even know how Nelson Warner had received it. Victoria Linton’s had been posted to her office but Warner didn’t work now that he’d retired. So where had his come to? His home?

That left the two earlier deaths of Diana Rogan and Jonathan McCafferty. Had they received keys as well? They must have, so where were they? Annette was visiting the McCafferty family this afternoon so they would know more when she came back, but Diana Rogan’s husband hadn’t mentioned anything to him about a key. Rogan definitely hadn’t had any reason to kill herself – quite the opposite. Craig thought back to her children’s faces and the obvious love of her husband. She’d had everything to live for, so why?

And what did the four victims have in common? Linton and Warner were obviously wealthy. A barrister and a retired stockbroker who could afford the best. But the Rogan family was just comfortable, and most of their income would have come from Conor Rogan’s job. Was he part of the equation?

And what about Julian Mooney, Victoria Linton’s partner? Craig made a mental note to check into him and the other’s spouses then he turned his mind back to their victims’ occupations. Diana Rogan had been a middle manager in a firm of brokers, Nelson Warner had been a broker too, but he’d been retired for years. Victoria Linton was a prosecuting barrister and Jonathan McCafferty was the manager of a high street bank. What was the connection between them? Money? Their own or other people’s? Money might tie three of the four together; they’d all worked with it in different ways. But not Victoria Linton. And NIBank wasn’t a merchant bank, it didn’t deal in stocks and shares like Rogan’s and Warner’s brokers firms would have done, it was just a bog-standard ‘go in and cash your wages’ type of place.

Even if he could establish a connection between them, like they had with the victims in the Jessica Adams’ case eighteen months earlier, what was the significance of the key? Its design was too expensive and elaborate for it to mean nothing. It definitely meant something, but what?

Craig stared out at the river, looking for inspiration and caught sight of some small sailing boats set against the opposite bank. Their sails were fluttering in the light April breeze and they had flags hanging from their masts with something written on them. He walked to the window and peered out, straining to see the words. He could only read one. ‘Northern’. The boats were obviously part of some company-sponsored publicity event. Craig watched them for a moment longer, wishing that he was out on the water as well. He’d sailed a lot when he was younger and Julia had bought him some refresher lessons at the Abercorn Marina for his birthday in June. He hadn’t got round to taking them yet; work always seemed to get in his way.

Craig let himself think about Julia for a moment, smiling as he remembered her long red curls and freckles, then he remembered her moodiness and shuddered. They hadn’t spoken since November and fortunately work hadn’t made their paths cross. He’d been worried about hurting her so he hadn’t had another relationship since they’d split, but it was time to move on. Craig was just about to make a phone-call to start that process when his desk-phone started to buzz.

He glanced at the clock. Two-thirty. He’d asked Nicky not to bother him until three. He lifted the phone, expecting to hear her voice saying it was important, then he froze; it was the male voice from the day before.

“I warned you not to hunt me, Craig, and now you’re making me warn you again. I don’t like having to repeat myself, so I think your team needs a little lesson. You’ll get it when you least expect.”

As soon as the line went dead Craig was out of his chair and at the door. He yanked it open. “Nicky, get a trace on the call to my line five seconds ago.”

Nicky stared at him aghast and grabbed the phone. Craig knew a trace would give them nothing but they had to try. It wasn’t just a threat now, it was a promise and it was time for all of them to watch their backs.

Craig lifted the line to High Street and Jack Harris answered it in one.

“Jack, is Liam there?”

“Ach, and hello to you too, sir.”

“Sorry, Jack. I haven’t got time for the niceties today. Get Liam on the line please.”

Twenty seconds later Craig heard Liam’s booming voice in the background. “What do they want? Tell the eejits that I’m busy…” Craig heard Jack mutter something then Liam’s voice again, less booming this time. “Oh, right. I’ll be there now.”

Craig imagined the faces that Liam was pulling. He would have laughed if his message hadn’t been so serious. He heard the phone being fumbled then Liam came on the line.

“What’s up, boss?”

Craig’s voice was urgent. “I’ve had another call. They’ve said they’re going to teach the team a lesson for not dropping the case. I want you to watch your back, Liam.”

“Ach now, calm down. They’re all talk, that’s all.”

Craig’s voice grew harder. “Take me seriously on this, Liam, or I’ll take you off the case. Do you understand?”

Liam stared at the phone, making a face, then he acquiesced. “Aye, aye, OK. But we’ve no idea where or when, so all we can do is keep our eyes peeled.”

“Do that. At least it’s something. I need to phone Annette now. I’ll see you at four. Bye.”

Craig dropped the phone and called Annette, repeating the message. She was still at Jonathan McCafferty’s parents and as she put down the phone she grimaced. Angela McCafferty gazed at her anxiously.

“What’s the matter, Inspector? Is everything all right?”

“Yes, please don’t worry, Mrs McCafferty. Now, let’s go back to what you were telling me about your son.”

Angela McCafferty glanced at her husband and he gave a heavy sigh. They were an elderly couple. Older than Annette had imagined from the age of their son. She’d expected a spritely pair of sixty-somethings like her own parents, but she’d been taken aback when Niall McCafferty had opened the door of their small apartment. Taken aback by two things. At the straitened circumstances they were living in, given their son’s important job, and by their age. They were both in their eighties and forty-five-year-old Jonathan had been their only child. A late baby perhaps?

Angela McCafferty had corrected her obvious assumption. “Jonathan was adopted. Unfortunately we couldn’t have children of our own. .Jonathan always knew. He was a good son.”

Not as good as he should have been, given the shabbiness of their clothes. The elderly woman saw Annette’s glance and smiled. “Jonathan offered to buy us things all the time but we wouldn’t allow it. Material things aren’t important to us, Inspector. We place much more importance on the love of God.”

Annette glanced round the room, noticing a cross and bible. She wondered if Jonathan McCafferty had been as religious as his parents. Not if his lifestyle and divorce were anything to go by. She changed the subject hastily; religion really wasn’t her thing.

“Did his divorce affect your son a great deal?”

Niall McCafferty shook his head. “Not half as much as it should have done. Amelia was a good girl and they were happy, until he met that whore.”

Angela McCafferty frowned at her husband. “Niall! That’s terrible language to be using. The Inspector doesn’t need to hear about all that.”

Annette stilled her with a smile. “I’m afraid I do, Mrs McCafferty. I need to hear about anything that might have been important in your son’s life.” Annette turned back to her husband, Niall. “Do you think the divorce could have been a reason for your son’s suicide, sir?”

Niall McCafferty snorted. “Not a bit of it. He didn’t care. What did he have to kill himself about? He was off flying his kite all over the world. France, America, you name it. Anywhere he fancied a holiday he took one, never mind about Amelia and the kids. Well at least they’ll inherit all his money. They’ll be OK now.”

Annette startled. She hadn’t thought about his wife having a motive to see McCafferty dead. Did the same apply to the other victims? She made a note to raise the point at the briefing and carried on asking questions. Thirty minutes later she had a true picture of Jonathan McCafferty and it wasn’t the image of a loving son that his mother had wanted to portray.

She said her farewells and headed back to the car, checking her mobile. She’d missed two messages. Craig saying something about being careful, and Nicky telling her to call the ranch urgently. She slotted the phone into speaker mode and dialled the squad as she drove.

Nicky answered in one ring. “Annette!”

“Yes. What’s up?”

“The boss wants a word.”

She transferred the call immediately and Craig barked at her down the phone. When he stopped Annette backtracked gently on his words.

BOOK: The Coercion Key
2.41Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Temptation and Surrender by Stephanie Laurens
Lawman's Pleasure (sWet) by Karland, Marteeka
The Little Shadows by Marina Endicott
Reckless by Rain, Renee
Bob Dylan by Greil Marcus
The Knight's Prisoner by Rose, Renee
The Spell-Bound Scholar by Stasheff, Christopher