Shadow Sins (DCI Wilson Book 2) (28 page)

“We’re out of here,” Wilson said to Moira. “There’s nothing more we can do. The paramedics will deal with Mulholland and CSI will collect whatever evidence there is in the room and the car. I’ll leave Harry in charge here.”

They went downstairs through the rear of the building. Graham and Bishop Carey were standing together beside two police cars.  Graham was on the phone.

“Harry,” Wilson called and Graham spoke to the Bishop and then made his way to what had been the back door of the building.

“You’re in charge here,” Wilson said. “Get upstairs and make sure CSI goes over that room. I want every piece of evidence collected.”

“Right Boss,” Graham said.

‘What’s with the Bishop?” Wilson asked.

“I called him a taxi,” Graham replied. “It should be here in a minute.”

“Get upstairs. We’ll talk when you get back to the office.” Wilson stood aside from the doorway as the paramedics burst through carrying Mulholland on a trolley. Wilson followed them to the ambulance and when they had deposited Mulholland in the back. He pulled the older paramedic aside.

“What’s the story?” Wilson asked.

“The bullet wound isn’t a problem. It’s a through and through. We’ve patched it up but the docs will want to take a look at it. Looks like a major stroke. We’ll have to wait for a scan to see what the damage is but my guess is it’s substantial.” The paramedic turned and climbed into the ambulance which immediately moved off with siren sounding.

Wilson saw a taxi pulling into the rear of the building. He watched the Bishop climb into the back seat and depart without saying a word.

“The arrogant bastard,” Moira said. “You saved his life and he just buggers off like that. He never even thanked you.”

Wilson didn’t reply

“Anyway it’s a result,” Moira said. “We got him.”

“Did you see the state of the poor bastard?” Wilson asked.

This time it was Moira’s turn to remain silent.

“Do you think that’s the way he wanted life to turn out? Living in a shithole like this, sleeping in a room stinking of urine and shit. Did you get his smell? Can we even imagine the road that he’s travelled on his way to this dump? Gilroy played a part in what became his life. Reilly could probably have done something to stop his disintegration, and I have no doubt that Bishop Carey carries a large part of the guilt for what became of Noel Mulholland. I would give a month’s pay to know what was said in that room before we arrived.”

“Carey wanted you to kill him,” she said simply.

“That was his version of the final solution,” Wilson said moving towards their car. “With Mulholland out of the way the cover-up of Gilroy’s abuse of children would be complete.”

“And if Mulholland ends up a vegetable?”

“Then the Bishop skates as they say in the American cop shows,” Wilson said as he opened the car door.

Moira was about to take her place behind the wheel when her phone rang. She didn’t recognise the caller ID so she pressed the green button.

“Moira,” the Bostonian accent was unmistakable. “It’s Brendan Guilfoyle. We met in the pub last night. I was wondering whether you’re free for dinner this evening?”

“Brendan, I’m busy right now. I’ve got your number here so I’ll call you later.”

“But you’ll call, right,” he said.

“Yes, I’ll call,” she pressed the red button on the phone and climbed into the car.

Wilson looked at her quizzically and she reddened. Then both of them laughed together.

CHAPTER
52

The atmosphere in the bar of the Crown was jovial. Wilson bought three rounds of drinks for his assembled team. He had given the usual speech at the end of a successful investigation and had thanked each individual officer for their role.  By the end of the evening, Ronald, Harry and Eric would be on their ear. They fully deserved their celebration. Wilson had called Kate to invite her to attend the celebration but had only succeeded in reaching her answering machine.

Moira sat quietly at the edge of the group. She had agreed to meet Brendan Guilfoyle at eight o’clock and had announced to her colleagues that she would be leaving the celebration early. She was nervous but her male colleagues were so engrossed in the celebration that they took no notice of her.

Wilson sat beside her. “You did well,” he said and clinked his glass against hers.

“Thanks, but it was a team effort,” she replied.

“You’re a bit on edge,” he said. “It must be serious.”

She looked at him and raised her eyebrows.

“I’m a detective,” he said smiling. “And it doesn’t switch off when I leave the office.”

“It’s only a dinner date,” she said.

Now it was Wilson turn to raise his eyebrows. “The nerves are a positive sign. Forget it’s serious and enjoy the experience.”

“You forget. I’ve got previous. I’ve been down this road before.”

“That’s ancient history. Life goes on. You can’t allow one negative experience to dominate your life.” Wilson’s phone rang. He checked the caller ID and then answered. He listened for a few minutes and then broke the connection.

“Bad news?” she asked.

“The party’s over for me,” Wilson said. “They want to see me at Headquarters.” He finished his drink. “Given my current state of inebriation it’s got to be a taxi.”

“I’ll drive you,” Moira started to rise.

Wilson put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back into her seat “No you won’t,’ he said pulling a fifty-pound note from his pocket. “Keep the party going and don’t run away with the change.”

When he arrived at PSNI HQ he was shown directly to the Chief Constable’s Office. As he entered the office, the Chief Constable rose and walked to greet him.

“Congratulations, good result,” the Chief Constable said as he shook Wilson’s hand.

‘Thank you, Sir,” Wilson looked beyond the Chief Constable to where DCC Jennings sat.

“Please join us,” the Chief Constable motioned Wilson towards the visitor couches at the rear of his office.

“It appears that it is highly unlikely that Mulholland will face trial,” the Chief Constable said. “He’s currently in a coma, and a brain scan shows that he will never fully recover his brain function. He’ll spent what’s left of his life in some institution or other. It means that a defence counsel could probably make a good case that he was not in his right mind when he murdered Father’s Gilroy and Reilly and when he abducted the Bishop. Still that’s not our problem. It’s the Crown Prosecution Service’s business now.”

“What about the evidence we uncovered about Gilroy, the cover up by the Catholic Church and the interference with the evidence by Monsignor Devlin. Are any of those our problem, Sir?”

“DCC Jennings has brought me up to date on these elements of your investigation.”

Jennings continued to sit sphinx like on his seat.

“Bishop Carey denies the existence of a clerical enquiry. There is no evidence in the Church records of such an enquiry taking place. As far as the Catholic Church is concerned, Father Gilroy was an exemplary priest with an unblemished record. Therefore, there was no cover up. Noel Mulholland was a deranged individual who blamed his religion for the disintegration of his life.”

“And Monsignor Devlin?” Wilson asked.

“Monsignor Devlin has had a nervous breakdown and left this evening for a monastery in Italy in order to recuperate,” Jennings interjected.

A nice tidy little package, Wilson thought. A result for the PSNI, no problem for Bishop Carey and a future hut in Africa for Monsignor Devlin.

“To more pleasant issues,” the Chief Constable said. “We have been discussing a restructuring in the light of Superintendent Worthington’s death. CI Harrison has already returned to us here at HQ and I have discussed the vacant Superintendent position with the Minister. We would like to promote you to Superintendent effective immediately.”

This was looking down the barrel of a gun for Wilson, more admin and less fieldwork. Was that what he really wanted?

“I would prefer to stay with the Murder Squad, Sir,” Wilson said.

“I’m afraid I hadn’t finished yet,” the Chief Constable said. “You will not be replacing Superintendent Worthington per se, you will be promoted in your present position. You will still be Head of the Murder Squad.”

“Then I will be happy to accept your offer,” Wilson said. He glanced at Jennings and saw pain on his face. “And the replacement for DS Whitehouse?”

“We have been thinking about DC Graham,” Jennings said quickly.

“I think it should be DC McElvaney,” Wilson said staring at Jennings.

The DCC’s face turned puce. “She hasn’t passed the examination,” he said haltingly.

“She’s a graduate,’ Wilson said. “The exam won’t be a problem.”

“Good,” the Chief Constable rose from his seat indicating that the meeting was over. “It’s settled then. We’ll make the announcement of your new appointment in the next few days, and DCC Jennings will put DC McElvaney’s promotion in the pipeline.” He extended his hand to Wilson who shook it.

As soon as he left the Chief Constable’s office, Wilson took his phone from his pocket and switched it on. He pushed Kate’s number and sighed when she answered.

“Where the hell are you?” she said the apprehension obvious in her voice. “I’ve called you a dozen times. I was worried.”

“I’m in Castlereagh,” he said. “I was in conference with the Chief so my mobile was off. Are you at home?”

“Yes,” she said.

“See you in fifteen.”

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too.”

Kate rushed at him as soon as he opened the door. She held him.

“I heard you shot someone today,” she said.

“Only in the arm. I’m not happy that I had to do it but I had no choice.”

She pushed back and held him at arms length. He looked tired.

“I’ve got some news for you,” she said.

“And I’ve got news for you,” he said smiling.

“I’m pregnant,” she said and looked hard into his face.

He grabbed her and lifted her face to his and kissed her hard.

“You’re happy about it?” she asked.

“Not happy, ecstatic,” he said.

“What’s your news?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not important.”

♯♯♯

Author’s note

I hope that you enjoyed this book. As an indie author, I very much depend on your feedback to see where my writing is going. I would be very grateful if you would take the time to pen a review on Amazon. This will not only help me but will also indicate to others your feelings, positive or negative, on the work. Writing is a lonely profession and this is especially true for indie authors who don’t have the backup of traditional publishers.

Please check out my other books on Amazon and if you have time visit my web site (derekfee.com) and sign up to receive additional materials, competitions for signed books and announcements of new book launches.

Dear Fee is a former oil company executive and EU Ambassador. He is the author of seven non fiction books. Shadow Sins is his third novel and the second in a series featuring Ian Wilson.

Derek can be contacted at
http://derekfee.com
.