The Broken Shore (12 page)
Chapter Fourteen
“What have you got, Liam?”
Craig thought again then amended his question. “Look, it’s twelve-thirty, do you fancy an early lunch? I’ve just spent an hour with the ACC and I need a break.”
Liam grinned to himself imagining their exchange. She was a fierce one, right enough, but his money was still on Craig. He said as much.
“Craig five, ACC Trainor, nil points.”
Craig smiled at the reference to the Eurovision. “Isn’t that usually Luxembourg? Anyway, lunch?”
“Aye. That’ll do. I’ll give Andy a bell. He’s off pulling the rape files, he’ll need a break from that. See you there in twenty.”
Craig knocked off his phone and sat back in his car seat, thinking. He gazed at the Brewster Hotel’s impressive façade, not seeing anything but Lissy Trainor’s young face. It wasn’t much comfort that he was heading in the right direction. It might lead to the Jarvis murder being re-opened and Mulvenna’s conviction being overturned and no-one wanted that, including Jonno Mulvenna. And what comfort would it offer the Jarvis kids? Their mother was dead and if Declan Wasson was the guilty man he was dead as well and well beyond the law. What good would proving it do now?
He corrected himself. This was about catching Lissy Trainor’s murderer. They mightn’t need to actually reopen Ronni Jarvis’ case, just look as if they were. That might bring the person who’d framed Mulvenna out of the weeds. It was going to get dirty, corruption cases always did, but if someone in MI5 or the force had framed Jonno Mulvenna, no matter what their reasons, then they had to be caught. They might have caused Lissy Trainor’s death, even if they hadn’t killed her with their own hands.
He glanced at his watch. He had ten minutes until Liam arrived so he lifted his mobile and called the C.C.U.. It was answered by a voice that Craig didn’t recognise.
“C.C.U..”
“Hello. It’s Superintendent Craig. Is Nicky there?”
“No. I mean yes, but she’s gone to buy a sandwich, sir. It’s Jake McLean. Can I help?”
“Ah, hello, Jake. Sorry, I didn’t recognise your voice. Nice to have you join us. Are you settling in OK?”
“Yes, sir. Annette’s showing me the ropes.”
“Good. We’ll get a chance to chat later in the week, but for now could you give Nicky a message for me, please?”
“Sure.”
“Tell her I need to find out who Declan Wasson’s handler was in 1983. She’s to use all her diplomacy on this one. They could have been someone in the British Army, MI5 or the police, and no-one of them will want to give her the name.”
He heard Jake scribbling furiously and gave him second to take it all down.
“OK?”
“Fine, sir.”
“Right. Tell her to call me with any queries. I’m meeting Liam and Andy for lunch then I’ll try to see Jonno Mulvenna again.”
“
The
Jonno Mulvenna?”
Craig was surprised. The Troubles had ended when Jake was still at school.
“Yes, how do you know about him?”
“I did Criminology at Uni, sir. One of my assignments was on Terrorists and their reform. Mulvenna’s a successful artist now, isn’t he?”
“Seems to be.” Craig thought of something. “He has an exhibition in the Morena Gallery on the Lisburn Road tomorrow night. I’m going to see what I can find out. Do you want to come?”
“That would be great. Like seeing the theory in action. I’ll give Nicky your message.”
“OK, bye.”
Craig cut the line, smiling. McLean’s enthusiasm would make him a good addition to the team. He re-dialled, giving the Chief Constable an update on his meeting with the ACC and then headed into the hotel for lunch.
***
Lunch was a quiet affair, with Andy red-eyed and bleary from a morning spent reading dusty files and making a short list of people to interview. Craig updated them on what he knew of Bronagh O’Carolan’s case and Liam shook his head sadly.
“Six, three and one. My God, that’s young to lose your Mum. Who brought them up?”
Craig shook his head. “I don’t know. Their Dad I presume. The eldest, James, went to Queens I know that, so he must have done OK.” He turned to Andy. “I know it’s not strictly part of the case, but it would be good to know what happened to the other kids, Andy. And James will definitely need looking at. He’s been writing to Melanie Trainor for years asking her to re-examine Mulvenna’s conviction. I’ve got his letters here.”
He indicated the two files by his side then turned back to Liam.
“Liam, do you want to tell us about Conor Ryland? Then Andy can tell us about his list. I’ll update you my meeting with the Chief and John’s toxicology on Lissy, then I’ll come back to the letters.”
Liam swallowed hastily then talked as he ate. “Aye well. First, I went to that hippy shop, The Magic Box. Weird wasn’t the word for it. It was full of Tarot Cards and incense, all that sort of stuff. Anyway, there’s nothing there. Lissy was fine when she left there on Saturday evening and no-one met up with her after that. No crime, just weirdo central. There’s nothing there with Ryland either, boss. He loved her and they hadn’t split up, it was just a bit of malicious gossip spread by Lissy’s friends. Particularly Mary-Ann Eakin. She seems to have had a real thing about them.”
He gave them a knowing look and sniffed. “She lied. She wasn’t in Dublin this weekend; she was here, following them. Or rather she was following Ryland. He’d arranged to meet Lissy on Sunday night at Portrush Harbour at eight-thirty, but she never turned up. He says plenty of people saw him there. I’ll get uniform to check it out but I’m pretty sure it’ll be true. He said he saw Mary-Ann Eakin following him, so I’m going to have a go at her again.”
“Jealously? Or love?”
“No idea, but both have been a motive for murder plenty of times before. I’ll do a spot of cherchez la femme after lunch.”
“That’s two French expressions in one day, Liam. Is there something you’d like to tell us?”
Liam guffawed loudly then grinned. “Well spotted, Hercule. Danni’s got me learning it for our camping holiday next year. We’re driving down through France and Italy.”
Craig laughed. “Keep it up. I can’t wait till you start on the Italian. Andy?”
He turned to see Andy fighting a losing battle with a plate of spaghetti. He had tomato sauce on his shirt but Craig knew it would be replaced with an identical one after lunch. He shook his head.
“A morning buried in paper, hey. But at least I’ve got all the files now. I should have a list of possibles by close of play today. Davy’s being a great help.”
“He always is. I don’t know what we’ll do if he decides to move on.”
“Here, is that likely, boss? I’ve just managed to break him in and I was hoping to teach him to swear in French.”
Craig laughed. He thought Davy probably already knew all the swear words there were to know. “I hope he doesn’t go, but he’s very bright and we can’t pay him what he’s worth.” He took a drink and restarted. “OK. First of all, I updated the CC this morning and he’s aware of where this case might lead.”
“He’s OK with it?”
“He didn’t exactly do a happy dance, but yes, he’s OK. Just as long as I keep him up to date.”
Andy dipped a napkin in his water and rubbed at his shirt as Craig talked on. “John got back to me. Lissy Trainor died from a Morphine overdose.”
Liam gasped. “But I thought she was strangled?”
“It turns out the strangulation was carried out peri-mortem, to produce the bruising and petechiae, probably to mimic the Jarvis case. She was given a sedative of some sort orally in some ice-cream and cola, about an hour before death, judging by its digestion. Then she was injected with Morphine. A big enough dose to kill her quickly, within five minutes John said, judging by the blood level. She was strangled in those five minutes before death. John said she was probably given the Morphine when she was still asleep from the sedative, so she wouldn’t have known anything.”
“That’s something at least.”
Liam shook his head. “That doesn’t work, boss.”
Craig nodded. He’d spotted John’s rookie mistake as well.
“She fought him at some stage. She had scratches on her neck and that’s how her nails got broken, remember? She must have woken up while she was being strangled.”
“You’re right Liam. I spotted that earlier. She woke up while she was being strangled. Poor girl, she must have been terrified.”
An image of Lissy Trainor struggling flashed through Craig’s mind. He pushed it away.
“OK. We know she was killed somewhere where there were twigs on the ground and moved less than six hours after death, to be buried vertically in the sand. From Conor Ryland we know she didn’t meet him on Sunday night, so we can assume that she was kidnapped then. Liam, check if her outgoing calls and texts stopped then, just to confirm that she didn’t deliberately stand Ryland up. We know her body was found on Thursday so that leaves us four days from kidnap to discovery with her buried less than six hours after she was killed. What we don’t know is which day she was actually killed. At the moment it could have been anytime between Sunday and say Wednesday night, depending on how deeply she was buried in the sand.”
“Davy’s working on the tides to see if that will help.”
“It was definitely set up to mimic Ronni Jarvis’ death, then, boss?”
Craig nodded. “We can’t rule out that this was just about Mrs Jarvis, but my conversation with the ACC…”
Andy cut in. “I thought you were leaving that for a while, like you said to the Chief.”
“I was. She contacted me this morning.” He indicated the piles of letters under his hand. “She wanted to give me these and set me running in the direction of James O’Carolan.”
He handed Andy the two files.
“Letters written by Bronagh O’Carolan to ACC Trainor from her rape in ’84 to ’86 when she died, including one posted three hours before she killed herself. The second file contains letters from her eldest son James, asking for the Jarvis case to be re-opened.”
“On what basis, hey?”
“On the basis that Bronagh O’Carolan believed that her rapist Declan Wasson should have been put away for Veronica Jarvis’ murder. If he had been then she would never have been raped.”
“And three children wouldn’t have lost their Mum. “
Craig nodded as Andy flicked through the piles. “This puts him top of the list for revenge-killing Lissy.”
“Sadly, you’re right. If not at the top, then near it. But keep an open mind, Andy. This all feels just a bit too neat, especially the way Melanie Trainor basically handed them to me like she’d solved the case.”
“Sometimes the most obvious things are true, boss.”
“Yes they are, Liam.”
“But…?”
Craig laughed. Liam knew him too well.
“But, we need to look at the rape victims’ revenge angle, just as we need to look at Ronni Jarvis’ kids and Mary-Ann Eakin. But, I think this is a nasty can of worms and until I get to the bottom of it…”
“It’ll be burger, chips and a good night’s sleep by the seaside. Happy days!”
Chapter Fifteen
By three p.m. Andy had seven women’s names in front of him and a second list of members of their immediate families. He spilt his first list into two columns. Women in whose rapes Declan Wasson was the prime suspect but no-one was charged, and those where they’d managed to get him as far as court, only to have the case thrown out on one flimsy pretext or another. There were two in the second list and five in the first, but it didn’t matter whether they’d got to court or not, Craig was right. Someone had been watching Wasson’s back, someone with a lot of power. He shook his head. There may have been police involvement in framing Jonno Mulvenna, if he was framed, but Wasson had been Teflon coated by someone higher up. It had MI5 and government written all over it.
He read the women’s names aloud, trying to imagine their pain. Bad enough to be raped and brutalised, but to know who had done it and for them to walk free; how did anyone get past that? He imagined what he would do if it happened to a woman that he loved. He would want to kill to get revenge, but he would have directed it at Wasson, not the family of a police officer, even if they were somehow involved in getting him off. But then that was him and the police were his own, he could only speculate on what other people thought.
It wasn’t even as if Melanie Trainor had led one of the rape investigations and engineered Wasson going free, she’d led a murder case. Yes, Wasson might have been suspected of Veronica Jarvis’ murder, but without forensics they were on a hiding to nothing in putting him away. He shook his head, convinced that Lissy Trainor could have been murdered as revenge against her Mum, but not that it was revenge for one of Wasson’s subsequent rapes.
He’d say as much to Craig, but interview them anyway to rule them out. He picked up the phone and called the C.C.U.. Nicky answered cheerfully.
“Hello, Docklands C.C.U..”
“Hi Nicky, it’s Andy White here, hey. Is the boy there?”
Nicky laughed, wondering when Davy would be seen as anything else. “I’ll transfer you now.”
Davy was sorting through reams of print-outs of Lissy Trainor’s e-mails and calls, arranging them in two neat lines. The phone rang from somewhere beneath the papers and he rummaged for it, pushing them to one side in his hurry then staring balefully at the disarray. Now he’d have to start again. The annoyance showed in his voice.
“Yes.”
“Boyso, who hit you with the angry stick? It can’t be Liam; he’s up here making my life hell.”
Davy laughed then apologised “S...sorry, D.C.I. White. I’ve just knocked my filing system all over the floor.”
Andy stared at the files in front of him in empathy. “Aye, well, I have another wee burden to give you.”
“Fire ahead.”
“You know those rape cases Marc wanted us to look at?”
“Yes.”
“Well I’ve got a list of names for you to check. If I send them through could you pull up the summary sheets and e-mail them back to me. Just the summaries, not the whole file.”
Davy sighed, it would take him hours and he’d arranged to meet Maggie at five. They were going to the flicks to see Asa Butterfield’s new release, Enders Game.
“W…would tomorrow afternoon be soon enough? It’s just; I’ve a load of other things to do before I leave tonight.”
Andy heard his pleading tone and laughed.
“Tomorrow afternoon is fine for most of them, but I’ll be interviewing someone tomorrow morning so it would be helpful if you could send theirs through before then.”
“S…sure. Which one?”
“The woman’s name is Bronagh O’Carolan. She was raped in 1984 and she died in 1986.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, it’s a sad case. I need anything you can find on her children as well, especially her eldest son James. And Davy, could you transfer me to Annette?”
“That’s fine. I’ll get the O’Carolan information to you by close of play. I’ll transfer you now.”
He mouthed at Annette to pick up the call and turned back to his work. He knelt on the floor to sort out his files and swore under his breath, while Nicky put on the percolator, preparing for a busy few hours.
“Hello. Annette McElroy.”
“Hey Annette, how are you?”
“Grand, sir. It’s lovely and quiet here without Liam, and you can tell him I said that. What can I do for you?”
“Davy’s getting some summary sheets for me and background on about twenty people. I don’t want to have to interview them all so I wonder if you could find out if they were in the country between last Sunday the 27
th
and Thursday the 31
st
when Lissy Trainor was found. And check their alibis for me? Anyone without a strong one I need to see.”
“No problem. I’ll get on to it tomorrow. Look, it’s just a suggestion and I’ll need to check it with the boss, but Jake and I are happy to help with interviews or anything we can. We can do it from here or go to you.”
“That’s very kind of you, but check with Marc before you go offering yourself. He may have other plans. Mr Craig works in mysterious ways.”
She laughed, knowing it was true, and signed off.
Andy stared at his list of victims’ relatives and then lifted the phone again, this time to Jim O’Neill.
“Jim, do we have anything on a local lad called James O’Carolan. Son of Bronagh O’Carolan who committed suicide in ’86.”
“I’ll check and get back to you.”
While he waited Andy read the last letter James O’Carolan had sent Melanie Trainor. It was dated the 6
th
of October that year and it was unambiguous in its tone. He hated her and the final paragraph of the neatly typed page said just how much.
“I hope that someday you get to feel the pain we’ve felt for years, and I hope that it’s soon.”
Three weeks later her only daughter was dead. Wish, threat or promise? When he interviewed James O’Carolan tomorrow he’d find out.
***
“The uniforms have found someone who saw Conor Ryland, boss, or someone very like him, at the pier on Sunday night. They were in the bar of a nearby guesthouse and they said half the bar was watching him ‘cos he was sitting there for so long they were sure he’d been stood up.”
“Good. Any sightings of Mary-Ann Eakin?”
Liam smiled. Once Craig had ticked one box, he was onto the next thing.
“Not yet, but they’ll keep asking. But here, there’s another thing.”
“Yes.”
Craig picked absentmindedly at the edge of the desk they allocated him in the station, waiting to hear what else Liam had found. Whatever it was it would be useful to the case. Liam wouldn’t mention it otherwise.
“Someone called the tip line and they transferred the call to me.” Craig could hear him flicking a page of his notebook. “A Mrs Jenna Farrelly. She says she saw Lissy on Sunday night standing in front of a shop on the promenade, talking to a dark-haired man. It was about seven-forty-five, which would make sense if she was on her way to meet Ryland at eight-thirty.”
Craig sat forward urgently. “Description?”
“Around thirty, tall with thick dark hair.”
“Were they talking or arguing?”
“Talking. She didn’t think anything of it until she saw Lissy’s picture on the news and remembered.”
Craig’s could feel himself tense. This was something, he was sure of it. But what? Would a killer who’d mocked up such an elaborate crime-scene really be stupid enough to stand on a crowded street with his victim just before he took her? He didn’t think so, but there were a lot of stupid criminals out there. It was something that surprised most cops who’d been weaned on the criminal masterminds portrayed on TV.
Something else occurred to him. Arrogance. Arrogance could have made their killer want to be seen with Lissy, especially if he’d thought they’d never find him. Or if he wanted them to.
“OK, Liam. This is important. I’m sure of it. I want you to interview Mrs Farrelly now. Get everything you can from her, you know what to ask. I’ve a couple of calls to make then let’s meet back at the hotel at six.”
He cut the call then dialled Nicky at the C.C.U..
“Any joy with Wasson’s handler, Nick?”
Nicky raised her eyes to heaven at Craig’s expectations of her speed. Just as well he was right.
“Yes, sir. Declan Wasson was a big fish apparently.”
It would explain why he’d been so protected.
“He’d been a paid confidential informant since 1975, and by all accounts he passed tips on the IRA as often as every other week. Helped crack a lot of crime.”
At what cost?
“Who ran him, Nicky?”
“Well it was hard to get through the usual secrecy and muttering about sealed files.”
“But you did.”
“Yes I did but I don’t want it taken for granted. You owe me big time, sir. I had to call in several favours on this one. Seems it was mainly MI5 who ran him, but the army and police both borrowed him occasionally as well.”
“How about in ’83? Who was his main handler then?”
“A spook called Roger Lowry out of Thames House in London. He was over here between 1980 and ’89.”
“Wasson died in ’89.”
“So maybe that’s why Lowry went back to London. If Wasson was his main man, then perhaps he chose that time to transfer.”
“That’s if MI5 had nothing to do with Wasson’s death.”
Nicky smiled at his suspicious mind, it was exactly what she’d thought. Craig continued.
“OK. So Lowry was handling Wasson for MI5 in ’83. Where is he now?”
“Retired. He’s living in a place called Lowestoft up the Suffolk coast. Do you know it?”
Craig smiled to himself. It was a place that he and Camille had week-ended many times. A beautiful port town whose recorded history went back as far as the Doomsday survey of 1086. Not that they’d seen much of the local history, bed had had much more to offer them back then.
“Yes. It’s very pretty. Worth a trip. Who’s in charge of that section at Thames House now? “
“Someone called Peter Guthrie. I called but they insisted he needed to speak to you on a secure line. I’ve arranged it for tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”
She’d anticipated everything.
“Nicky, you’re a wonder.”
“I am. I’m glad you noticed, I have to remind Gary once a week at least.”
She laughed her loud navvy’s laugh and Craig started to laugh as well. Craig imagined her husband Gary doing exactly what he was told, and knowing just how lucky he was to have her. The noise drew Annette over to Nicky’s desk and she signalled that she wanted to speak to Craig.
“Where would you like me to take the call with Guthrie, Nick?”
“Portstewart station please, in a meeting room. It’ll be the most secure.”
“Fine. Thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome. Before you go, Annette’s hovering. She’d like a word.”
She handed the phone to Annette and shooed her as far from her desk as the line would stretch. She had work to do and she didn’t need people cluttering up her space.
“Hi Annette. What’s up?”
“We’re not busy here, sir, apart from doing background stuff for you and D.C.I. White. So I suggested that Jake and I could help him with his interviews, once he’s sure who he’d like them with. He said to check with you.”
“Good idea. Andy will have all the rape case interviews and Liam will generate a fair few as well. They’re mostly going to be to rule people out, but unfortunately they still have to be done. We have uniforms out canvassing the locals at the moment so if you could start interviewing it would be a great help.”
“Great. There or here?”
“Base it on where the interviewees live. You can get Nicky to arrange rooms in the local stations or interview them in their homes, whichever suits the mood. You’ll know when you speak to them whether they need a formal setting or not.”
“Great. I hear you and Jake are doing your art critic bit at Mulvenna’s show tomorrow night?”
Craig startled, realising the time. “Yes, thanks for mentioning that. I have to go. I want to catch Mulvenna again if I can. Bye.”
He dropped the call suddenly, leaving Annette staring at the line. She turned back to her desk and lifted the pile of paper Davy had handed her an hour before. Lucia’s e-mail traffic and phone dumps. Lucia’d said she hadn’t had any e-mails from ‘Watching U’, but there could be clues in there nevertheless.
She’d drawn a blank trying to think up a shortlist of men who could possibly be stalking her, but Annette had never held out much hope there. Lucia liked everyone; she wouldn’t spot a pervert unless he hit her over the head.
She glanced at the clock. Four p.m. She would give herself two hours to see if there were any patterns, then tomorrow she’d turn her full attention to Lissy Trainor’s case.
*
**
Lucia pulled down the shop’s shutter hurriedly and cast a glance around the deserted Belfast street. There was nothing to be seen except for the undercover police car parked on the corner, with a female officer at the wheel. She shuddered. Was this how some people lived their whole lives, followed and watched? Protected for their own good? She’d only had it for two days and already the lack of freedom made her want to scream, or jump on a plane and run away. No wonder some famous people went mad.
She shook herself for being selfish, knowing that she was very lucky someone cared. How many women had to deal with stalking alone? The small charity shop stood impassively, as if it was listening to her mental rant. Its cancer logo reminded her not to be such a child. That was real suffering; not this.
She turned and walked towards the city centre, with the car following close behind. Annette had told her to drive door-to-door, but it was a lovely autumn day so she’d parked a mile away. She smiled at the scene. It must have looked ridiculous, a woman with a car crawling after her down the early evening street. She felt like the star of some bad hooker movie.
She reached her car and threw her baggage into the boot, gunning its elderly engine and heading for the M3 and home. Not home now, but home back when she was a child. Whoever her stalker was had succeeded in making her one again.
*
**
Craig was driving to Mulvenna’s for another chat when a tearful call from Julia stopped him in his tracks. He sat in the car deciding what to do, then turned back towards the hotel. His heart had gone out to her as she’d sobbed down the line. She wasn’t a crier so he knew how badly it meant she felt. The Chief Constable had been kind, she’d said, but there was nothing that he could do, not without giving Harrison a direct order. That would guarantee ruining all their careers if it got out, and they all knew that Harrison would make sure it would.