The History Suite (#9 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) (14 page)

“Do I look that stupid? It’s part of the case. Eleanor Rudd’s ex has been taking them.”

John nearly dropped his mug. “Weedy Taylor?”

Craig shook his head. “Not Taylor. No, it’s Adrian Cooke, the foundation grade doctor on the ward.”

John tutted. “Stupid bastard. Steroids have nasty side effects.”

“That’s exactly what I need to know about.”

John set down his mug and returned to his formulary, listing steroid’s effects as if he was reading them off a page. Craig had long ago stopped being surprised by his memory, but the staring into space and reciting was disturbing, even for him.

“Aggression, genital atrophy, high blood pressure, baldness…”

“Thank you, Rain Man. Do you know every drug’s side effects off by heart? Because that was strange, even for you.”

John smiled serenely and lifted his coffee again. It was on the tip of Craig’s tongue to ask what was in it, but he knew John’s euphoria couldn’t be bought in tablet form. He had a severe dose of prolonged honeymoon and Craig hoped it lasted for years.

“Cooke was using cocaine as well.”

John shook his head. “Bad combination. Coke and Roid-rage is a nasty mix; he might have killed anyone who got in his way.”

“He’s saying he had an alibi for the time of the killing.”

“You’ll crack that, if it’s crackable.”

Craig laughed. “Is that even a word?”

“It’s one of Natalie’s.”

Craig raised an eyebrow. “I take it the Miranda Taylor transgression was forgiven?”

John nodded. “Natalie said she’d known for months.” He looked puzzled. “How do women know these things?” There wasn’t a short reply. “Anyway, my punishment for the omission is having her parents to dinner once a month. I like them so that’s OK.”

He gave such a loved-up grin that Craig shook his head and stood up to leave. He smiled as John reclined on his old leather sofa surrounded by new cushions and throws.

“You’re a lost cause.”

John smiled. “I know. Isn’t it great? Honestly, Marc, you should try marriage, it’s brilliant.”

“This from the man who’s been married all of ten weeks. Thanks, but I’ll leave it for another while.”

“You might want to check what Katy thinks about that.”

Craig froze instantly, knowing that conversations had been taking place behind his back. He loved Katy but marriage was a whole other deal. He intended to do it once or not at all and he wouldn’t be corralled into it by anyone. His next words were sharp and he knew it.

“What has she been saying to Natalie?”

John’s face fell and he jumped to his feet.

“Nothing. It was only a joke. My joke. Natalie never even mentions you as a couple.”

The look on Craig’s face said he wasn’t convinced. He turned to go and John grabbed his arm, staring him down.

“Listen to me, Marc, Katy has said nothing. I don’t think she’s even sure how you feel about her.”

It was Craig’s turn to be surprised. How could she not know how he felt? He’d told her, hadn’t he? In that moment he realised that he hadn’t. He’d never actually said ‘I love you’, in either English or Italian. Sure, he’d said romantic things, but all of them oblique and usually in bed. In Katy’s mind they probably didn’t count and he knew that. It was possibly why he’d only ever said them there.

As John watched realisation dawn he determined to say nothing else. Craig was just stubborn enough to cut off his nose to spite his face, and cut himself off from Katy as he did. He changed the topic swiftly.

“Cooke may have been reported to the General Medical Council for his drug use. Would you like me to check it out?”

Craig nodded vaguely, his mind on other things. “Good idea. And Des might get onto you for help with his tox-screen.”

“Fine. Keep me up to date on anything you need. Sorry that you had to come here instead of the lab. I slept late.”

Craig nodded again and wandered towards the front door, his thoughts a mixture of romance and the case. He decided the case was a much safer bet.

***

High Street Station. 1.20 p.m.

“Is Cooke in a cell?”

Liam nodded vaguely, staring down at his paunch. He’d been reclining on a chair in the station’s staff-room since lunch and he’d had to let out his belt a notch. He wasn’t happy about middle-aged spread but giving up his grub would make him even less happy so he was stymied. Craig gave a wry smile.

“It won’t shrink just because you stare at it, you know. If that worked the diet companies would go bust.”

Liam nodded resignedly, glancing at Craig’s lean shape. “Do you think I should try those steroids, then? Would they get me back in shape?”

“John says they make your genitals shrink.”

Liam’s eyes widened. “What! I’m not having that. We might want another kid.”

“You’ll be working until you’re a hundred if you have any more.” Craig sprang out of his seat athletically, just to annoy him. “Come on. It’s time to interview William Rudd. Who’s coming to see Cooke from Drugs?”

Liam rose more sedately. “Karl Rimmins.”

They smiled simultaneously, remembering Rimmins from a case eight months earlier when he’d led the drug side of an S&M murder case. He was a lean and edgy looking young sergeant, who in reality was about as edgy as his mother’s chicken soup.

“What time is he arriving?”

“Two o’clock. We might see him before he goes in.”

Craig nodded. “Good. I’d like a word. John’s checking Cooke out with the GMC and Davy’s running him for any arrests.”

Liam shook his head. “They’ll find nothing.”

“Why?”

“Because Davy’s just called to say that Daddy is Patrick Cooke, the High Court Judge.”

Of course! That was why the name Cooke had sounded familiar. But Patrick Cooke was one of the more honest judges in Belfast so he might not have helped his wayward son – they would soon find out. Craig motioned Liam towards the interview room where Jack was waiting with William Rudd. Ten minutes later the names were recited and Jack was ensconced on the other side of the glass.

Craig considered the man in front of him. Billy Rudd was over fifty but still powerfully built and Craig imagined him scaring his wife and children half to death for years. Carmen had phoned twenty minutes before, updating him on the scars on Eddie Rudd’s arms, and John had already shown them Rudd’s signature all over his dead daughter’s back. Craig was certain they’d find similar marks on his wife. The man was an animal, except animals only attacked for food or defence. Billy Rudd had done it for…what?

Why
had
Rudd beaten his wife and children? Because he ruled his family with a rod of iron and it was his house, his rules? Because he was an arrogant, mindless bully like so many men of his ilk, who cited God’s word to justify whatever he did? Or was it even simpler than that, more basic? He beat them because he was bigger and sadistic and he enjoyed it. He could terrify them so he did. But had Rudd killed his daughter? It was unlikely. If he’d wanted to do it, home would have been a much more likely venue than the linen room of a hospital, but until they’d confirmed his movements that day, they couldn’t rule him out. Whatever the reason Billy Rudd had terrorised and beaten his family, he was facing two grown men now. Craig and Liam were his equals and both had zero tolerance with what he’d done.

Craig stared into Rudd’s fat enveloped eyes so coldly that Liam could almost feel his hate. He’d just made up his mind that if Craig snapped and grabbed Rudd by the throat he wouldn’t stop him, when Craig began to recite the charges in a monotone.

“William Mervyn Rudd, you are charged with assault and grievous bodily harm on Mrs Margie and Mr Edward Rudd of 10a Rilstone Close, Belfast. You will be arraigned tomorrow at Belfast Crown Court where we will be asking for bail to be denied. You are free to appoint your own counsel or counsel will be provided to you.” Craig stared calmly at Rudd. “Do you have anything to say regarding the charges I have just read to you?”

Rudd spewed out a stream of expletives, most of which mentioned God’s will and the bible. He strained forward in his chair, his face red and bulging with rage.

Liam sniffed. “That’ll be a no then.”

On Craig’s nod they rose and he turned towards the mirror, signalling Jack to return Rudd to his cell. As they walked back to the staff-room, Liam spoke.

“Here, that was a bit short and sweet, boss. What happened to interviewing him?”

Craig shook his head. “I considered it, then I decided I didn’t want to be in the room with that scum any longer than I had to.”

Liam gave a wry smile. “Didn’t want to, or couldn’t have held your temper if you did?”

Craig shrugged. Six of one…

“Besides, Carmen already got Eddie’s statement and Annette will get the wife’s. We have images of the scars on Eleanor Rudd’s back and Carmen’s arranging for the son to be photographed. We have enough to make our case without listening to that sick bastard use scripture to justify why he had the right to terrorise his family.” He clicked on the kettle. “Get Jake to check Rudd’s movements on the day of his daughter’s death and the day before.”

Liam’s eyes widened. “You think he did it?”

“No. But we need to rule him out. Just crossing the ‘T’s. ”

Craig shook his head. There were very few crimes that shocked him and only one that made him want to kill the perps; abuse of anyone weaker, whoever they were. It covered child and elder abuse and domestic violence. In fact it covered a hell of a lot, and if he couldn’t do to the perp what they’d done to someone else, then he had to walk away. He knew it was a weakness, but thankfully one he could deal with by working in a team.

He poured the coffees and took a seat, glancing at the clock and wondering what to do next. It was one forty-five. The interview had taken twenty minutes – it was a record even for him. Everyone was busy working and they weren’t briefing again until four o’clock. He thought for a moment and then reached for his phone, dialling the C.C.U.

It was answered quickly but Nicky’s ‘Hello’ was nowhere to be heard, instead Craig heard her chatting in the background to someone else. He thought he’d got a crossed line and was just about to redial when he recognised the other voice. Nicky and Annette were discussing romance! Craig bellowed “Nicky” loudly enough for Liam to cover his ears and in a second she was on the phone.

“Sorry, sir. I picked up the phone then immediately forgot that you were there. Annette and I were chatting.”

“I heard. I was just ringing to ask you to move the briefing to three o’clock. We’ll be back before then.”

“Fine. Everyone’s here already, except Jake. Annette has Hannah Donard coming into the relative’s room, but they should be finished by three.”

“Good. Now off you go, back to your chat.”

As he clicked the phone off, the rangy shape of Karl Rimmins entered the room. From the back he could have been mistaken for Davy, tall and slim with flowing dark hair, but that was where the similarities ended. Where Davy’s eyes were guileless, thinking of computer bytes and his next Star Wars fest, Karl’s were like a hawk’s. They darted everywhere assessing real and imagined threats, and the years had hardened his glance. Where once his narrow black suit had looked like fancy dress on a student, its vampire like menace ruined by an innocent grin, now he wore it like the jaded look in his eyes wore him, eyes that had seen too much to view the world through a naïve lens again.

When he saw them Rimmins smiled, a small twist of the lips that didn’t show his teeth. Liam was the first to speak.

“Boyso, Karl. You look more like Dracula every day. Get some sun, lad.”

Rimmins twisted again. “And you look like a candle. A melting one.”

Craig let them banter for a moment then he cut in. “Are you here for Dr Cooke?”

The question seemed redundant but you never knew what other addicts might be lurking in Jack’s cells. Liam cut in, the opening too good to miss. He crooned.

“If your body’s had enough of me…”

It took ten seconds for Craig to catch on. “Very good, Liam. Dr Cooke the pop group, except that it was Dr Hook.”

Karl screwed up his twenty-something face. “Who?”

Liam shook his head. “What do they teach at school nowadays? They were a pop group, big in the ‘70s. I suppose that was before your teens.”

“It was before I was even thought of!”

Before Liam’s dismay got noisy, Rimmins turned to Craig. “Yes, sir. It’s Cooke. Have you seen him yet?”

Craig nodded. “Briefly, see what you think of him. A word of warning, his father’s Judge Patrick Cooke. He’s at the High Court.”

To Craig’s surprise Rimmins smiled more broadly than he’d done since he’d entered the room.

“How old is Cooke?”

Craig turned to Liam for the facts.

“Thirty-two. Why?”

“Because if Patrick Cooke’s his dad, then he was friends with my big brother Sean at school.” Rimmins shook his head. “Small world.” His eyes darted back to Craig. “You don’t think he committed your murder, do you?”