Shadow Sins (DCI Wilson Book 2) (26 page)

The Bishop stared into the man’s dark eyes. They were rheumy, and the pupils were fully dilated. The man was obviously a drug addict. The Bishop nodded.

The driver grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him towards an open door at the rear of the building. Carey was surprised at the strength of the smaller man. The driver would have weighed no more than ten stone dripping wet while Carey weighed in at a healthy seventeen stones. He had contemplated making a fight of it but realised that his sedentary lifestyle did not lend itself to confrontation. He needed to know why this was happening and to use his superior intelligence to obtain a resolution. He moved to the open doorway and noted what had been a door was hanging loosely from its hinges. As he entered the building, the Bishop was assailed by the smell of decay and ammonia. He felt a shiver running down his spine as they moved deeper into the gloomy building. The walls were covered in graffiti and were smeared with a brown substance the Bishop took to be dried excrement. For the first time in his life, Bishop Carey was scared out of his mind. He needed to get some control over the situation, but he was beginning to believe that if he tried to talk his way out of this predicament right now, he could possibly lose his tongue. He jumped as he felt something scurry past his feet on the floor. It had to be a rat. This was a nightmare.

“Up the stairs,” the driver prodded his back.

A set of rickety wooden stairs on his left rose from the ground floor to the first floor. He turned and walked gingerly as he ascended the stairs. The banister of the stairs had been ripped away and the boards creaked beneath his feet.  He let out a breath as he reached the top of the stairs. There were a series of rooms on the first floor none of which had a door. The driver pushed him into the room straight ahead from the stairs. The room was a good size something in the region of one hundred and fifty square feet. Carey eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom, and he could pick out a sleeping bag against the wall at the end of the room. A large plastic bottle of water sat beside the bed and a rucksack stood in the corner of the room. The only other item was an old wooden packing case. A Styrofoam box bearing a large red M lay on top of the packing case.

‘How do you like my pad?” the driver said and brushed the Styrofoam box onto the floor. “Very cosy, eh. You can have the best seat in the house, your Grace.” He looked into the Bishop’s face. The man was as white as a ghost. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

The Bishop remained standing and didn’t reply.

“My name is Noel Mulholland.” He waited for the Bishop to show some sign of recognition, but nothing registered on his bland face. ‘And if you don’t do exactly what I tell you, I’ll cut your fucking heart out while you’re alive and feed it to my pet rat. Do you understand me?”

The Bishop nodded. Where had he heard that name before? Noel Mulholland, the name ran around in the Bishop’s head. He tried to remember where he had heard it recently, but his mind was so fuddled that he couldn’t think straight. Then his mind suddenly cleared as though someone had shone a light bulb directly on it.

“You,” he said hesitantly. “You killed Gilroy and Reilly. You’re the boy from Dungannon who gave evidence against Gilroy.”

“If I had a cigar you’d have won it. Now sit the fuck down. I want to tell you how I fared since you saw me last.”

Wilson was elated. They had a name. The question now was, how would they find Noel Mulholland? He thought about the size of Belfast and the large number of derelict building that littered the city. Half the streets along both sides of the Peace Wall had houses that had been burned out and barricaded. Mulholland could have gone to ground in any of them. It was going to be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. But that was the job. He pulled out a map of Belfast and laid it on his desk. Where should the search begin? He would have to inform the uniforms and they would have to start a search of every derelict building in the city. That would make him a very popular boy.

The phone on his desk rang and he picked up the receiver.

“Wilson,” he said simply.

The Desk Sergeant’s voice said“ Monsignor Devlin is in reception, and if you don’t come immediately, I think the man is going to have a heart attack.”

Wilson dropped the phone on the cradle and rushed out of his office. He found Devlin in the Reception. Devlin’s eyes were wild, and he was pacing up and down.

“The Bishop’s gone,” the words came out as a series of rasps from Devlin’s lips. “The Bishop’s Housekeeper just found the driver half dead in the garage at the Palace.”

“Steady man,” Wilson said putting his hands on Devlin’s shoulders.

“You don’t understand,” Devlin’s eyes were wide. “The Bishop left with what the Housekeeper thought was the regular driver. I’ve been calling the Bishop’s mobile but there’s no answer. He was due at Saint Michael’s to-day so I called there, and he hasn’t arrived.”

“There may be a logical explanation,” Wilson said feeling a drop of sweat from his hair hit the back of his neck.

“The Bishop was due to have lunch with the Deputy First Minister. There is no way he would miss an occasion like that. He’s been kidnapped.”

Wilson grabbed Devlin and dragged him bodily with him as he made his way rapidly to the Squad Room.

“Moira get on to Traffic. We need CCTV footage from the Bishop’s Palace.” He turned to face Devlin. “What time was he due to leave?”

“Nine o’clock,” Devlin said.

“What kind of car?”

“Mercedes 350D.”

“Moira we need to follow a E-Class Mercedes from the Bishop’s Palace to it’s final destination. Now,” he screamed. ‘The rest of you get ready to deploy. Belfast is covered in CCTV cameras, so we should have something soon. Let’s just hope that it’s not too late.”

Bishop Carey’s senses were on overload. The smell of urine and excrement, both animal and human, assailed his nostrils. His ears were attuned to the scurrying noises, which seemed to come from every part of the room, and his eyes were red from trying to pick out what kind of creatures were making those noises. He knew they had to be rats although he had yet to see one.  He didn’t like rats. Rats tore peoples’ throats out. He watched as Mulholland removed a pillbox from his pocket, selected some pills and dropped them into his mouth. Mulholland was on dope and the Bishop knew that people on drugs were capable of anything.

“So life’s been good to you since you and me last met,” Mulholland said. He spoke in a rasping voice as though his vocal cords had been damaged. He was surprised that the Bishop hadn’t pissed himself yet but there was plenty of time for that. He tied the Bishop’s hands behind his back and his two feet together with tape. The Bishop was going nowhere until he was finished with him. “You got the big job and the big car. Oh and let’s not forget the big fucking house and the housekeeper. You’re fatter than I remember you. Aye, life appears to have been very good to you. On the other hand, things didn’t go so well for me. Some people didn’t think I did the right thing by ratting on Gilroy. I was sixteen years old and on the road. Then there were the brushes with the law, a couple of stints in prison. I’ve been a rent boy, that’s a male prostitute to a refined man like you, a burglar and a beggar. I have no house, no car, no job and no family. I’ve pushed every form narcotic known to man through my veins or up my nose and I can’t operate without pills. My brain is in mush, and my organs are so fucked up that were I to die nobody in their right mind would accept them. So you could say that you gained from meeting me while I lost.”

“You killed Gilroy and Reilly?” Bishop Carey voice quivered.

“Satan and his accomplice,” Mulholland said.

“Why?”

“Because Gilroy put his dick in my behind, and my mouth every week for six months, and nobody would believe me. Worse nobody stopped him. Reilly didn’t stop him, and you didn’t stop him and the other two members of the clerical enquiry didn’t stop him. I would have killed them too but they’re already in Hell. Where you’ll be joining them shortly.” He let out a rasping laugh.

“How did you know that Gilroy was back in Belfast?” the Bishop asked. This was going to be a delicate negotiation. He was aware that Mulholland had resolved to kill all those involved in the clerical enquiry.

“I’m a beggar. I was begging in Royal Avenue and he walked right past me. I recognised him but the bastard didn’t recognise me. I followed him to Saint Cormac’s. I thought that he had been unfrocked. I thought that you would have reported him to the police. I thought that you believed what he did to me and the other children. I was fourteen years old, and I put myself through hell just to get Gilroy. And you did nothing.“

“That’s not exactly true,” Bishop Carey shifted uneasily in his seat. He fought to get himself under control. “I reported to the Bishop on the result of the enquiry. Whatever happened to Gilroy was decided by the then Bishop.”

“So you’re not responsible,” Mulholland said.

“No,” Carey tried to smile.

“You fucking swore me to secrecy,” Mulholland screamed. “You made me swear that I wouldn’t say a word about what happened at the enquiry,” he put his hands to either side of his head and pressed. His mind felt like it was about to explode. He pulled the pillbox from his trousers pocket and fired the contents into his mouth.

Bishop Carey flinched as he watched the contents of the pillbox disappear down Mulholland’s throat. The man was seriously unhinged. He heard a noise to his right and turned to look into the face of the biggest rat he had ever seen. It’s tail swept around the floor in a giant S. Sweat started to run down his forehead and stung his eyes. He wanted to move his hands to wipe the sweat away but the ligatures wouldn’t permit it. The rat’s red eyes seemed to look right through him. He tried to return his gaze to Mulholland but found himself unable to. The red eyes held a fascination for him. He had to use all his mental force to look away from the rat but the noises that Mulholland was making made it a necessity. Mulholland appeared to be having some sort of fit. White spittle bubbled around his mouth and he had returned his head to his hands. He moved randomly up and down beside the filthy sleeping bag on the floor. Carey began to pray silently. He hadn’t sinned. He had simply done what had been required at the time. Gilroy wasn’t an isolated case, and he certainly wasn’t the worst abuser. There were others with bigger sins on their souls. It frightened Carey to think that he would have to pay in the afterlife for his attempts to protect the Church. He had had his doubts as to the existence of Heaven and Hell or certainly doubts as to the various descriptions of what one would find there. However, he had no desire to place himself before God at this particular time. “I’m sorry,” the words came out of Carey mouth hesitantly and without his brain being involved. He wasn’t sure himself whether they were addressed to Mulholland or to his Maker.

Mulholland turned and looked at Carey. His eyes were as red and as feral as the rat’s. “You’re fucking sorry,” he said spittle flying from his lips. He looked around the room and saw the rat sitting by the far wall. The creature seemed to be fascinated by the drama taking place in the room. Mulholland took the knife from its scabbard. “You only fucking think that you’re sorry. We’re soon going to find out just how sorry you are.”

Carey stared at the knife and Mulholland as he began his approach. His eyes opened wide, and he was apoplectic with fear.

The tension in the Murder Squad Room was palpable. The four members of the team waited anxiously to hear from the Traffic Division. Wilson had spoken with the Chief Superintendent responsible for Traffic and explained the urgency of their request. The Chief Superintendent had promised that he would put every available man on checking the CCTV footage.

The phone rang, and Wilson snatched at it. “Wilson,” he said immediately.

“Is it true?” the voice of DCC Jennings was one octave higher than usual.

“Is what true?” Wilson replied.

“Don’t screw with me,” Jennings screamed. “Has Bishop Carey been abducted?”

Wilson didn’t bother to ask how the DCC had found out. “Yes. We’re waiting for Traffic to pick up his car on CCTV. If we can follow its progress, we’re ready to roll.”

“If that man dies, you’ll pay with your warrant card.”

Wilson laughed. “I think we’re beyond the warrant card threat. We have the name of the abductor and we know why he was taken. I think you should leave us to see this case to its conclusion.”

“It’s your head on the line,” the phone was slammed down.

The phone rang again almost immediately. “We have the car,” the Chief Super of Traffic said. “ Its headed for the City. We’re rushing through the footage at the moment. Give us ten minutes.”

“We’re going mobile,” Wilson said and gave the Chief Super his mobile phone number.

“What about Tactical?” the Chief Super said.

“No time. We’ll handle it,” Wilson broke the connection. “Moira, Harry gear up. Vests and weapons. Car in two minutes.”

Moira and Harry were already on the move. “What about Harrison?” Harry asked.

“Forget him,” Wilson replied. “He’s history. If we gave someone like him a gun, there ‘d be a chance that he’d shoot himself or even worse one of us.”