The Sect (The Craig Crime Series) (17 page)

“Self-righteous. They think they have the moral right to stand in judgement and administer the death sentence. It’s biblical justice.”

“Christian?”

Jake shook his head. “Not necessarily. Look at Sharia law.”

Davy disagreed. “No, it has to be some sort of Christianity. Because of the link to the Inquisition’s w…words.”

Craig nodded. “I agree. And because Vulgar Latin began around the same time as Christianity. Sorry, Jake, but it’s definitely Christian self-righteousness that we’re dealing with here.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Great, just what we need. Pin the tail on the religious fanatic; that puts half of Northern Ireland in the dock.”

Craig shook his head. “Let’s be clear about this. What these people are doing has nothing to do with real Christianity or Christians; they’re just distorting the doctrines to suit their own ends. And on that point, everyone be diplomatic on enquiries, please. I don’t want a stream of complaints from people whose faith you’ve offended.”

There was silence while everyone thought of their respective religious upbringings. Whether you were Catholic or Protestant, hell fire and brimstone had been the order of the day in Northern Ireland at one time. Liam decided to stick his neck out.

“OK, I know someone will shoot me for saying this and I know that I’m going to hell, but I think we’re dealing with old school Roman Catholicism here, in all its confess and repent glory.”

He was dismayed when no-one disagreed.

“Here, isn’t anyone going to say I’m being sectarian? Gone are the good old days when I was able to shock.”

Craig laughed. “It’s pretty hard to be sectarian when you’re blaming your own side, Liam. Besides,
you’re
not insulting anyone’s religion; whoever is doing this is. These fanatics left God behind a long time ago.”

He scanned the team looking for disagreement. There was none, so Roman Catholic was added to the list on the board. He tapped the word ‘religious’ with his pen. “This isn’t necessarily limited to practicing clergy; we could be talking lay preachers, Theologists…”

“Latin teachers at religious s…schools.”

“Good point.”

After a moment when no more comments came, Craig nodded and returned to the routine briefing. Ten minutes later they had three names on the board: Bobby McDonagh, Sam Beech and Elena Boraks, with their ages and what they knew so far. The only common themes were their youth and that they’d been drowned, tattooed, bleached, wrapped and dumped soon after death. Liam raised a finger.

“Point of order. Does anyone know what religions the victims were?”

He was answered by silence.

“If we think religion’s part of this I suggest we check.”

Craig turned to Davy. “Do that please, Davy and let me know ASAP. OK, anything more on CCTV?”

Davy reached under his T-shirt and scratched at something on his upper back as he talked. “Nothing.” He gestured at the board hopefully. “But now that I’ve got the Vics’ names I can s…start looking for things in common. I’ll compile a list of people who fit the religious and language links as well.”

He scratched again and Craig rolled his eyes. If Davy had a new piercing he could live very happily without seeing it; if it was something worse he definitely didn’t want to know.

“OK, good. Ken. Anything more on the girl?”

Ken shook his head. “The father was too upset to answer many questions yesterday. I’ll go back today with whoever’s free.”

Liam raised an eyebrow curiously; Ken normally worked with Carmen. Come to think of it, where was she? There was only one answer. Something had happened and the boss had kicked her into touch. Craig was speaking again so he tuned back in.

“Jake, did you get much from Bobby McDonagh’s brother?”

“A bit, but I’ll get more today. It seems Bobby acted out for a while before he came out as gay. Confusion probably. I’ll flesh it out further and report back. There’s one other thing I think you should know.”

“Go on.”

“The snout who suggested T.J. as a possible source is someone that I’ve been using for five years; Rick Grundy. T.J. being suggested seemed like too much of a coincidence when it turned out to be his brother who was dead so I called Rick last night. He’s adamant that he only suggested T.J. because he knows everyone on the scene.”

“You think he might know something about Bobby’s death?”

“Not specifically, but I think he might have heard something about abductions on the grape vine. He’s not a killer, I’m sure of that. If I find out anything more I’ll report it.”

“OK. Keep digging and call Andy if you need any help.” He gestured at the board. “Annette and Nicky are in London on the Greer case, so we’ll need someone working Sam Beech on the ground.” He turned to where Andy was seated, only to find a gap. He’d gone to brew more coffee and returned just as Craig was tasking Liam.

“OK, Liam, you and Andy work Sam Beech, please. Of them all he’s the strangest. There’s no sign of injury to his body and his lifestyle seemed low risk, apart from some possible past abuse by the mother’s partner. But there’s a reason he was chosen and I need you to find out what it is.”

He paused and a puzzled look crossed his face. Liam saw it first.

“You’ve just thought of something, haven’t you?”

Craig made a face that said he wasn’t sure. He stood up, signalling that the briefing was over, and beckoned Davy to follow him into his room, giving him something to chase that made the scratching analyst smile.

****

St Mary’s Healthcare Trust. The canteen.

Natalie Winter pushed her plate to one side and made a face. “We’re stuck here all weekend and look at the slop we get to eat! I’m ordering a takeaway tonight.” She nodded at Katy’s food. “For instance, what’s that stuff you’re eating? It’s not anything I recognise.”

Katy ignored her and put another forkful of cottage cheese into her mouth. She didn’t share Natalie’s obsession with food, in fact the only other person she knew who did was Liam. Come to think of it, in the right light and with Natalie on stilts they were more alike than either would ever admit. She took a sip of tea and turned to more important matters, retrieving an A4 pad from her bag.

“OK, how many men do we have for the party so far?”

Natalie perked up immediately and tapped the pad’s top page.

“Have you got all the sports teams down?”

Katy’s eyes lit up; she’d completely forgotten about the Trust’s rugby and football teams. Natalie hastily added a caveat.

“But no tennis players. They’re mostly women and we don’t need any competition when we’re trying to find Lucia a man.”

Katy rolled her eyes. “We’ll have to invite some women or it’ll look too obvious. Lucia and sixty men might give away what we’re up to, don’t you think.”

Natalie folded her arms and gave a grudging nod. “OK then, but just ugly ones.”

It was on the tip of Katy’s tongue to say ‘how the heck can we judge?’ when suddenly a chair was scraped back and a dark-haired woman joined them at the table. Katy gazed at her in surprise; Natalie glared at her preparing to say ‘take a hike’.

The woman brushed past both their reactions by extending a hand towards Katy, bumping Natalie’s elbow on the way.

“Sofia Emiliani, psychiatry. Pleased to meet you.”

Natalie opened her mouth to say what she was thinking but Katy cut her short by shaking the proffered hand. It was lightly tanned with perfectly manicured nails and Natalie instantly went on high alert. She wasn’t sure why but she knew that this woman was trouble.

“I’m Katy Stevens and this is Natalie Winter; medicine and surgery. Are you a new consultant?”

“Yes.”

As Katy made small talk Natalie scrutinised the woman from head to toe and she didn’t like what she saw. Everything was too perfect, from the thick black hair on her dainty head to the pale blue Jimmy Choos on her feet; even her teeth looked like they’d been cut from a magazine. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. This Sofia was after something and she wanted to know what it was.

“What do you want?”

It was out before Natalie had realised that it was more than a thought. The look on Katy’s face said that it had sounded just as sharp as it had in her head. Sofia Emiliani turned her dark gaze slowly towards Natalie and then turned it away again without a word, continuing her conversation with Katy as if she wasn’t there.

“I am seconded from the Maudsley Hospital in London for six months and…”

Six months too long in Natalie’s book. She didn’t even know the woman and she hated everything about her, including the languid, breathy way she spoke. Save it for the men, love, ’cos it’s wasted on us.

“…I have expertise working with the Metropolitan Police in cults and ritual murders...”

Nice for you. Hopefully one of them will finish you off.

“…I am told you know the Head of the Murder Squad here, Marc Craig. I think he may find my skills of use…”

It was all Natalie could do not to yell ‘Yes, she knows him, and in the biblical sense as well. Hands off, you tart!’ She signalled Katy frantically with her eyes but the helpful physician appeared not to notice and replied cheerfully.

“I’m sure Marc would value your opinion. John Winter, Natalie’s husband, is the lead pathologist and he’s trained in profiling as well. I’ll contact them both for you if you give me your number.”

Natalie cut in quickly. “John’s too busy to see anyone, and how do you know Marc’s name?”

Sofia ignored her again and before Katy could say anything more she was on her feet. “This Marc seems to be the person I should speak to. Tell me, exactly where does he work?”

“They’re based in Pilot Street, in the Docklands. Tall building, you can’t miss it. Would you like the exact address?”

The psychiatrist smiled distantly, reserving a much colder smile for Natalie. “Not to worry. I can find it. Thank you so much, Katy.”

With that she swivelled on her perfect heels and undulated out of the canteen, followed by the gaze of every man in the place. Katy took a sip of tea and turned back to her notepad, oblivious to what had just occurred.

“So, how am I supposed to exclude pretty women from the party, and isn’t that a bit cruel?”

Natalie didn’t answer. She was too busy glaring after the witch who was so obviously after her friend’s man.

Chapter Ten

The Lab. 3 p.m.

It was almost three when Craig reached the lab and he was surprised to see John and Des exiting as he approached the building’s main doors.

“Off somewhere?”

“It’s called lunch. We’re allowed it at the weekend.”

The tone was sarcastic, unusual for John.

“What’s eating you?”

Des intervened before the chance encounter turned into a fight. “Nothing that you’ve done, Marc.” He made a face. “Stormont’s sent another memo ordering budget cuts. We’re skin and bone as it is.”

Craig glanced at his substantial girth but decided against making a quip.

The scientist sighed dramatically and continued. “You’d think that they’d give us some peace at a weekend. Especially with their election only five weeks away.”

John sniffed derisively. “Too sure of their bloody seats, that’s the problem. I should run for election and give them all a scare.”

That one definitely required a pass so Craig turned back towards the car park, walking along with the two men. John raised an eyebrow.

“You’re joining us?”

“Even cops have to eat. I’ll buy as you obviously don’t have any money.”

Forty minutes of moaning and eating later, during which time John and Des slagged off every politician in Stormont’s Assembly as useless, something Craig had no problem agreeing with, they’d identified cuts that wouldn’t impact on the lab’s front line services but included no coffee and limited toilet roll for the coming year.

“I’ll bulk buy toilet roll if you get the
coffee
.”

“Deal.”

Craig chipped in with a year’s supply of decent biscuits and they had Northern Ireland’s budget crisis solved. He wondered aloud how much Parliament Buildings spent on refreshments for MLAs and the moaning started again. By four o’clock they were ready to head back and John was sufficiently mollified to ask what Craig had come to see them about.

“It can wait till we get to the lab.”

“And I make the last coffee the government will ever pay for.”

Ten minutes later they were in his office and Craig was outlining why he’d come. He turned to Des first.

“Anything more on the print you found?”

Des brushed some crumbs off his beard and shook his head. “It’s not on any database that Davy or I can find.”

As he squinted down, searching for more errant food, Craig was tempted to ask why, if his facial hair caused him such problems, he didn’t just shave it off. He’d done it before and it had made him look years younger. He’d grown a beard once but Lucia had said it’d made him look deranged.

Des returned to his point. “I found a second print on one of the other victim’s cling-film. Both were right thumbs.” He raised a hand, pre-empting Craig’s request. “It’s been with Davy since this morning.”

Craig sat forward eagerly. “So a different owner.”

“Definitely. I can confirm that you have at least two killers and by the size of the prints both of them were men.”

It was something.

Craig tested the theory. “Couldn’t one be a woman with large hands?”

Des shook his head as John topped up their cups. “Most times I’d say that was possible, but this time no way.” He held up his hand. “I take a size eleven glove and one of the prints I found was bigger than any of mine; the other was as large.” He took a gulp of coffee. “You definitely have two men, both big.”

It gave credence to their victims being carried to the scenes. Craig turned to John, readying to ask a different question when Des spoke again.

“Don’t you want to know what else I found?”

Craig nodded him on.

“Your three victims’ stomach contents had an identical chemical composition, and before you ask, no I can’t say what it was yet, but it was fully digested which means they’d all eaten around three to four hours before death. Any longer than that and it would have passed into the small intestine.”

Craig said nothing; his mind was busy racing with possibilities. John voiced his as quickly as they came.

“Part of some sort of ritual? Maybe it was poison or sedation?”

Des shook his head. “There was no sign of poisons or sedatives in their systems; in fact, the only one with any chemicals on board was the girl.” He thought for a moment before adding. “As far as a ritual goes, I suppose with the tattooing that’s always a possibility, but not one that wears a forensic tag so you’ll have to chase it up yourself. Oh, by the way, your tattoo ink was just the usual stuff, nothing special to identify where it was purchased from. Sorry.”

John looked disappointed but Craig wasn’t. He’d learned something from his visit and with any luck the stomach contents would tell them more.

“Send me the chemical composition of the stomach contents, please.”

John asked first. “You have an idea?”

“I have a couple at the moment. In fact I wanted to ask you about the second one. Have you had any other drownings recently? Young people in particular.”

John frowned; the question rang a bell.

“There was one about a month ago but it wasn’t like your case. A teenage girl was found in the Quoile, washed up near the yacht club.”

Craig’s eyes widened. It had been a long shot and it might turn out to be nothing, but…

John was still talking. “But she had none of the markers you’re looking for. No tattoo, no cling-film and the water in her lungs was river water––”

Craig cut in. “Do you know where from in the Quoile, exactly?”

John shook his head. “Sorry, it wasn’t examined. There was no need. The algae was clearly visible and she was found washed up on the river bank, so––”

“Everyone
assumed
that she’d just fallen into the river nearby and drowned.”

John’s jaw dropped. “And you think––”

“I think that if you still have her lung and stomach contents Des should examine them and tell me what you find.”

****

As Liam and Andy drove towards the Demesne Estate Liam wondered idly about the collective term for D.C.I.s. Two of them were probably just a pair, but what about three or four? A Badge? A Baton? As he thought of appropriate collective nouns Andy’s thoughts were on something far more basic; women, or rather his lack of one. Anyone reading their minds would have been shocked to learn that Liam was no longer the least PC member of Craig’s team.

Andy’s last relationship had ended a year before and he was afraid that if he didn’t date someone soon he might lose his touch. He’d just concluded that such an idea was preposterous when Liam indicated left, taking them away from Sarah Beech’s home. Andy stuck his pointed finger under Liam’s nose, risking a nasty death.

“The Beech’s flat’s that way.”

Liam shoved his hand away without answering, his rationale becoming clear a moment later when they pulled up outside the brick building that housed the branch police station on the estate. It said everything about the Demesne Estate that it needed one.

Reggie Boyd had already been briefed on the case but Liam wanted to discuss Sam Beech with him in person. They were heading inside just as the uniformed figure of Sergeant Reginald Boyd appeared at the front door. The plus sized men greeted each other with a respect born of years on the job.

“Well hello, Dumbo. To what do I owe this honour?”

Liam guffawed. “Came to see the shambles you’re making of the place.”

The exchange was accompanied by slapped backs and offers of tea, while Andy trailed in their wake like a small child. Five minutes later, with the niceties over, Reggie cut to the chase.

“You want to know about Sarah Beech and the boy.” He produced a file an inch thick. “It’ll take a while.”

Liam’s eyes widened. “That’s all hers?”

“Hers, her men’s and the boy’s. Just your typical Demesne extended family.” He flicked open the file but it was clear the action was unnecessary; he knew its contents by heart.

“Sarah, known as Sadie, Beech. First encounter with us was when she was fifteen, for shoplifting. She moved on to petty theft, credit card scams and then graduated to benefit fraud in ninety-six. She did ten months in Wharf House and she’s been clean ever since. However…” He turned to a section marked in blue. “When it comes to her choice of boyfriends, there’s nothing clean about it. She’s dated most of the scumbags on the estate and a few from further afield.”

Liam interrupted. “Who’s the boy’s father?”

Reggie shrugged. “Your guess is probably as good as hers. It says father unknown on the certificate.”

Andy interjected. “Great start in life.”

“Quite. Anyway, our Sadie comes across as sugar and spice when you meet her, but her choice of companions tells a very different tale. Addicts, thieves, one banged up for GBH––”

Liam interrupted. “Who was the one forced to leave the home?”

Reggie nodded; less in acknowledgement than in an impersonation of a hangman.

“Jim Upton. A class A scrote. One of those ones who make you want to scrub yourself after you meet.”

“Did he hit the boy?”

“Probably. And more besides. It had to have been bad for Sadie to chuck him out. We couldn’t prove anything but the word was he abused the kid, and I don’t mean with the odd slap.”

Andy nodded. “A nonce.”

“That’s one word for it. Pervert’s the one I’d use.”

Liam cut in. “Where’s Upton now?”

Reggie gulped down a mouthful of tea.

“Don’t know and I don’t care. Every district has his description and if he rears his ugly mug he’ll get lifted for questioning. The real problem is what he left behind.”

“She went off the rails?”

Boyd snorted in derision. “Sadie’s been off the rails since she could walk. I was talking about the boy.”

“OK. How?”

“He was a good lad before Upton, then he started bullying kids at the youth club.” And at school. “Always the younger ones. Boys. He didn’t seem interested in the girls.”

The hairs on Liam’s neck stood up. Andy asked a question.

“You think it was anger; lashing out for what Upton did to him?”

Reggie shook his head. “That’s what we told ourselves and the mum.” He paused, restarting hesitantly. “Then…”

Liam knew the reasons for his reticence. He pitied the boy, yes, but it was tempered with disgust. He finished the sentence before Boyd could.

“You’re talking about sexual abuse. You’re saying that Sam interfered with the younger boys.”

Interfered with; a delicate euphemism to sooth the mind. No onomatopoeia there. Oblique enough so that the casual listener could say they’d been mistaken in what they’d heard, and polite enough so that no-one could be offended by the words. God forbid that anyone should be offended. God forbid that they should face the truth; that a sixteen-year-old boy had forced sex on younger ones in the same way it had been forced on him. Reggie nodded.

Liam whistled. It wasn’t a cheerful sound. “You’re sure?”

The sergeant’s face said that he almost was. “I spoke to him once at home but got nothing. We were just about to lift him for official questioning when he disappeared. We’d had suspicions for a while then one of the younger boys’ dads made a complaint.”

Liam was thoughtful. “What are the odds? I mean how many abused kids go on to abuse, and so young?”

To his surprise Andy had the answer. “Some studies estimate ten per cent go on to abuse children when they grow up, and abused kids are nine times more likely to get involved in crime generally. But none of it’s inevitable; violence and neglect make things worse, counselling can make them better.”

The others stared at him, impressed. It answered the question of how he’d made D.C.I. when even sitting upright seemed like too much work.

Liam’s deep voice deepened further. “Kids abusing kids. It’s the last taboo.”

Reggie shook his head. “I’m sure there are a few more we haven’t thought of yet.”

“Tell us about the father who complained. Any chance he took the law into his own hands?”

“Kidnapped and killed Sam, you mean? I doubt it. He’s a Deacon at the local Baptist church.”

Liam snorted, lightening the mood. “I could tell you about a few clergymen who’ve gone off the rails.” He thought back to Paul Ripley, a church leader involved in a trafficking ring that they’d cracked two years before.

Reggie nodded. “Aye, well, I don’t think this one did but you can never tell.”

A religious man would fit their suspect list. Liam made a note to raise it with Craig and then stood up.

“Does Sadie know your suspicions about the boy?”

“No, we never got that far. Although she may have had fingers pointed at her around the estate. They’re not backward in coming forward around here.”

“OK, we’ll pay her a call. Meanwhile text me the Deacon’s address and let’s see what he has to say.”