The Visitor (#3 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) (3 page)

He paused thoughtfully.

“Unfortunately his barrister is Roger Doyle - he’s a real Rottweiler. I’ve been up against him before. He’ll try to get the confession thrown out, but we’re solid there. Ewing confessed with his solicitor present.”

“I know Doyle. I encountered him a few times as an Inspector. He’s a bugger, so keep it tight. And I don’t need to remind you the media and politicians are all over this one. We need a good result.”

No pressure at all then.

“We’ll do our best.”

Craig paused for a moment, considering whether to brief Harrison on the case that wasn’t a case yet. Then he decided. “While I’m here, I need to tell you about a case we caught this morning, sir. It came in from Dr Winter’s office.”

Harrison sat up sharply. John was shit-hot and everyone wanted to be on his right side. Particularly operators like Harrison. Craig briefed him quickly, and when he’d finished Harrison shook his head in disgust.

“People aren’t even safe in hospital now. That’s a bad business. But it’s early days yet, so just keep me up to speed. And handle the media carefully. You know what they’re like on hospital cases. And with a young mum as well. They’ll be screaming negligence. Watch them -especially that bugger Mercer at The Chronicle.”

Craig nodded. Ray Mercer was a new low in the species ‘tabloid scum’. “I may need to come back to you on that side of things.”

Harrison puffed himself up importantly, convinced of his own indispensability and eager for any opportunity to show it in public. “Good. You concentrate on catching the bugger and I’ll deal with the press.”

That suited Craig fine, the farther away he was from journalists the better. He’d been trotted out for one too many photo-shoots, using his Italian half to show how ‘European’ the force was.

All of a sudden, Harrison’s expression morphed into what he thought was an engaging smile. It flattened his nose and showed his teeth, making him look like a Bull Shark.

Craig recognised the signs immediately. He wanted something.

“Now, let me ask you, Marc. How is your lovely mother?”

His use of the word ‘lovely’ made Craig’s hackles rise instantly. But not half as much as if he’d used it about his younger sister, Lucia. Harrison had a reputation for womanising, preferably with women twenty years his junior. And Craig’s retribution would be swift if he ever tried it with her.

“She’s absolutely fine.” His tone was cool but Harrison didn’t register the change in temperature. Instead he leaned back confidently, steeple-ing his fingers.

“Good, good. I was just wondering... How do you think she’d feel about playing at the Police Benevolent ball? And, maybe at the ceremony for the new Assistant Chief Constable?”

Craig smiled to himself. So that was what he wanted. He was tempted to mess him about, but he knew there was no point playing hard-to-get. His mother, Mirella, was a concert pianist, and she loved to play for charity, even more since she’d stopped touring.

She lived with his father Tom, a retired physics lecturer, in Holywood, six miles outside Belfast. Their marriage was a great one, their domestic bliss only marred by his father’s newly diagnosed angina. But he wouldn’t let it stop him doing anything, despite all their begging.

Craig knew his mother would want to play at both events, so he nodded at Harrison. “She’ll cook the food too, given half a chance. I’ll ask her to give you a call. Now I’d better head off to the lab.”

Just as he said it his mobile rang - Liam. Harrison nodded him out and he strolled into the twelfth floor’s carpeted reception, under the dry gaze of Susan Butler, Harrison’s regal P.A.

“What do you have for me, Liam?” Liam’s voice was as subdued as Craig had ever heard it. The case was getting to him. He had two children himself, the younger only three months old.

“They delivered her at four-twenty, boss. She was only twenty-six, so no-one expected problems. She was scheduled for Caesarean tomorrow. They checked her about midnight and she was grand. But when the midwife went back after four, she found her dead. And no one saw a thing, as-per-bloody-usual.” Craig nodded to himself. Good witnesses were rare. Most people walked through life in a daze.

“They took her to theatre and delivered the baby safely. But that just was sheer luck. Doc Winter was on call and he started the post-mortem about seven. I just spoke to him and he’s not a happy man.”

“I know. We talked earlier.”

“Aye. But here, there’s an extra complication. Her father is Tommy Hill. Evie Murray-Hill was the daughter.”

“Tommy Hill, the Maze release case?”

“Aye, that’s the one.”

Tommy Hill was well known to the police, for his exploits during the Troubles. He’d served ten of a twenty-year stretch for shooting four people on their way home from a wedding. He’d climbed calmly onto their mini-bus, killing three men and the driver as they tried to escape through the windows, and past him to the door.

It had earned him ‘urban hero’ status amongst his paramilitary pals. And twenty years in prison. But he’d been granted release in ‘98 under the Good Friday Agreement, despite widespread disapproval. Since then he’d apparently been a good little boy, working in youth-clubs, teaching young kids the error of his ways. Except that the Drugs Squad knew very different.

“He’s going ballistic up here. Threatening the staff with all sorts of hell.”

“Bugger.” Craig let out a low whistle, and a prim-looking woman by the lift glared over. He held a hand up in apology.

“OK. What’s the chance he’ll do something stupid?”

“Two hundred percent, I’d say. He’d to be dragged out of theatre last night by security. He punched Nigel Murdock, the surgeon. Happy Days.”

Craig smiled to himself. “Liam...”

“Aye right, not diplomatic. Sorry. Anyway, he’s calling the doctors bastards and threatening the midwives. Can’t you hear him?” Hill’s yells grew louder as Liam held out the phone.

“OK. Look, I know he’s a criminal, but it’s a real loss for him. So handle him carefully. But he can’t go around threatening people, so ask uniform to take him to High Street to cool off. Don’t charge him, just invite him firmly. I’ll see him there later. And get the doctor to check him- he’s had a shock.”

Liam shrugged. His sympathy didn’t extend to criminals, no matter what the circumstance. He acquiesced, grudgingly. “We’ll get him there now.”

“Fine. The ward-staff need to make themselves available for interview. And pull any close circuit footage Maternity has. Have the C.S.I.s arrived yet?”

“They’re here now.”

“What about Evie’s husband?”

“Young lad called Brian Murray.”

Murray-Hill. They’d hyphenated their names. Craig pictured the confusion ten generations on.

“He’s a real mess, apparently. Fell to bits last night, so Evie’s mother took him home with her. He doesn’t have anyone else.”

Craig raked his hair despairingly. It happened every time. One person was murdered and the whole family died.

“OK. I’ll see you both at the lab. Quick as you can please. I’m heading over there now.”

He re-entered the squad just as he ended the call, and walked over to Nicky’s desk.

“Nicky, I’m off to see John. Did you set-up that meeting with the Chief Executive?”

“No, sir. He’s not free until after four. He’s stuck in meetings all day and his secretary has refused to free-up his diary. She’s a real piece of work.”

“Keep trying please - I need to see him today. But leave that just now. Would you mind checking whoever’s in court on Warwick tomorrow? Make sure they’re prepared and call me with any problems. And I’ll need a statement pack at about five. Thanks. I’ll give you a call after I’ve seen John.”

He turned to leave and she called him back. “Sir.”

“Yes?”

“Come here a wee minute.”

Craig walked back to her desk, bemused. Nicky stood up and patted his hair down, as if he was her little boy. Then she handed him a takeaway cup full of hot coffee. He blushed, touched.

“Thanks Mum. I’ll be on the mobile if you need me.”

Chapter Four

When Craig reached the lab, John was hunched over his desk, reading a folder. Craig poured himself a coffee and took a sip, letting it wash down before he spoke.

“This is a bad one, John.”

“Even more than you know. Let’s wait till the others arrive before we start. There’s a lot to go cover.”

At that moment, Liam and Annette pushed through the double PVC doors, looking flustered. Liam started talking immediately. “Here, your man on the gate is a bit much isn’t he, Doc? He nearly strip-searched me.”

Annette’s eyes widened. “God forbid! Liam’s exaggerating as usual, but he was pretty unpleasant.”

John laughed. “Yes, sorry about that. He’s new. I should have warned you, they’ve decided they don’t like visitors these days. They prefer us in splendid isolation.”

The newly built Northern Ireland Pathology Labs were set in a Science Park on the Saintfield Road, two miles from Belfast’s city centre. They shared the park with valuable research facilities, whose high security and alarms were a condition of the huge grants they received. Stormont had signed them up to it. Now they had to make it work.

Just then Liam noticed his surroundings, and his mouth dropped open in surprise. The lab looked like a brothel! It was a cavernous space, with steel instruments and tables like most dissection rooms, but that was where the comparisons ended.

John had always hated ‘NHS green’; he thought it was the colour of public toilets. So when Stormont had given him a naive young manager ‘to keep an eye on him’, he’d brought her to the lab on her first day and swept his hand around dramatically.

“Now...tell me Mary. What do you see?” Given that there’d been a dead body on the table, she’d been speechless for the five seconds he’d allowed her to answer.

“I’ll tell you what you see...it’s cold and lonely. Don’t you think the dead feel bad enough, without the place looking like a public lavatory? Does it have to be quite so stark around here?”

She didn’t stand a chance. So after completing forms in triplicate, the ‘NHS green’ walls were now a soft, dark-rose colour. And alongside the laminated health and safety notices hung Manet prints and countryside scenes. There were plants in John’s office, the blinds had been replaced by draped curtains, and music played softly throughout the floor. The whole impression was one of incongruously inviting warmth.

“I’d forgotten that you haven’t been here for a while. They did it while I was away.” John had just returned from a three-month research post in America. “How do you like it?”

Liam just kept staring, until Annette shot him a warning look.

“I hadn’t noticed it either, John. But you’ve surpassed yourself. It’s like the Folies Bergere.”

Winter laughed. “That’s what I was aiming for. Relatives don’t see this area and we have to work here all day, so I thought I’d make it home. It gives the medical students something to talk about. Apparently they think I’m eccentric.”

Craig glanced at his friend’s blue shoes. “I wonder why.”

Liam tentatively touched the red-pink wall.

“Careful Liam, it’s still wet. It took several pints of blood to get that colour right.”

He jumped back and then realised he was being wound up. “Aye...dead-on Doc. Very witty.” The lab echoed with laughter and then John brought them back to more serious business.

“Everyone grab a drink and a seat and let’s make a start.” He turned on his laptop, and lifted two slim post-mortem files from his desk drawer.

“You’re aware of what happened this morning. I’ll cover that first, but there’s a lot more to tell you. I’ve had concerns since my return last week, but nothing concrete until now.” Craig’s eyebrow rose questioningly.

“Mrs Murray-Hill first. Why do I believe this is more than just a medical incident? That would be the natural assumption, because of the location and circumstances of death. And I expect that’s exactly what the killer would have liked us to believe.”

He clicked open a file while he talked. “I’d have been happy to be proved wrong. But that’s a lost hope, given the little gem that came through at eight this morning. This is why I called you, Marc.”

He turned the slim screen towards them. It was logged onto the Pathology Lab Intranet.

“What is it?”

“A preliminary blood test. We need more detail, but basically her blood shows high but non-lethal levels of Pethidine and Insulin. We know she was on the Insulin because she was given it by a Dr Katy Stevens, the consultant who diagnosed her diabetes.”

“But?”

“But she wasn’t prescribed Pethidine, not at any stage. Not on the ward or during the operation. I’ve already checked with the pharmacy. It’s nowhere in her charts or notes, but it is in her blood.”

“Which means she was given it by someone else. Whoever killed her?”

“Exactly. Pethidine’s a controlled drug and very hard to obtain legally.”

“You said it was a non-lethal dose.”

“Yes. Bear with me and I’ll explain. It’s early days, but this raises some major questions. Especially in light of the others.”