The Careless Word (#8 - The Craig Crime Series) (19 page)

He turned towards John. He was frowning and shaking his head.

“There’s no point in the boy coming to the mortuary, Marc, there’s nothing left to I.D. It’s going to be a closed coffin.”

Annette cut in. “We’ll have to involve social services, sir. I don’t care if Zac heads up a criminal empire now, he’s under sixteen and both his parents are dead. Unless he has another relative, he’ll…”

End up in care. Liam groaned. They all knew what that meant; Zac might learn even worse habits than he already had. Even worse, with Sharpy gone and Zac still only a kid, internal rivalries would surface within UKUF. Liam vocalised his thoughts.

“There’ll be a leadership race and that’ll mean gang warfare.”

Craig nodded heavily. “I’ll notify Geoff Hamill in Gang Crime and get uniform to keep a presence around the headquarters. There’s nothing else we can do. Annette’s right, the boy’s welfare has to come first.”

The rest of the briefing passed in a flurry of reporting and conjecture until at five-past-five Craig was almost ready to wind up. He turned to the quiet man of the group and smiled. Davy was always quiet but never more so than when he had something surprising to report.

“Davy?”

The lanky Emo roused himself from his semi-recumbent position and lifted a set of hand-outs at his feet, passing them around the group. Craig flicked through the pages.

“What are we looking at?”

Davy smiled. “Images from the s…street cameras and CCTV around Papyrus. The back sheet is Fintan Delaney’s phone logs for the last six months. I’m still working on his computer.”

They peered at the grainy images, but even John’s extra strong glasses couldn’t see what Davy was looking so pleased about. Carmen caught his eye and smiled. She’d seen it.

Davy adopted a patient tone and started to talk through the shots. “In the first image you can see Gresham S…Street outside Papyrus at ten-past-five last Thursday morning, the day of the explosion. There’s a dark-coloured car parked up. Image two w…was taken at five-forty, thirty minutes later. The car has gone. Image three was taken at five-thirty-five, just before it left and s…shows two men climbing into the car. Yes?”

Everyone peered harder at the images and nodded, taking Davy’s word for the fact that the dark blobs were what he said.

“OK. Turn the page. You’ll see three more images that w…were taken in the alley at the back of the shop. They show two men walking down the alley towards Papyrus, then opening the back door and entering. They reappear twenty minutes later. They’re wearing balaclavas, s…so it’s impossible to see their faces.”

Liam cut in. “The back door was shut during the explosion. So how did they get in?”

Davy shook his head. “Des and I are s…still working on that, but it’s obvious that they did.”

Liam was about to ask something else when Craig glared him down.

“Go ahead, Davy.”

“OK. Now turn to your third sheet. It s…shows images taken inside the shop.”

It was Craig’s turn to interrupt. “How did you get these? Surely the CCTV in the shop was blown up with everything else?”

Davy smiled. “It w…was, but for some reason Jules Robinson had his CCTV on a back-up. It uploaded images to the Cloud every thirty minutes. W…We have everything from the moment the men entered the shop till the next day at two p.m. They’re not great images and I’ve only got as far as this first set but I’ll have the other images analysed for you s…soon.”

Annette leaned in. “Do you think Robinson was trying to compile evidence on his extortion by UKUF, sir?”

“Either that or he was very security minded.”

“He was a cop for thirty years, boss.”

“True, but I’m more inclined to go with Annette’s theory, Liam. Ask his wife what she knows about it, please.” He waved Davy on.

“OK, look at the images. The two men appear inside the s…shop at five-twelve a.m. on Thursday morning and stay at the back of the shop, in the area we know the bomb was planted.”

Carmen interrupted cautiously. “Can we back to the image of them breaking in, Davy? Is one of them carrying something?”

Craig scrutinized the picture for a moment then gave a triumphant yell. “Yes, you’re right. Look. There!”

Everyone looked where he was pointing. Carmen was right, while one man opened the shop’s back door the second one withdrew a package from a dark bag across his shoulder, so dark that no-one had noticed it before. The image inside the shop showed him depositing it beneath a tall bookshelf at the rear.

Davy smiled. His slow reveal had been blown by Carmen’s eagle eye. He moved quickly to his computers and tapped on his central screen, fast forwarding Papyrus’ CCTV tape and then beckoning everyone to gather round. The video started with a man kneeling behind a tall bookshelf and setting something down, obviously the bomb. As he started to rise, he banged his head hard against a shelf. There was no sound with the image but the blow was so hard that they could almost hear it, and the expletives that followed.

But it was the next image that really shocked the group. The man rubbed furiously at his head and then, in a moment of pain and frustration, he ripped-off his balaclava, revealing his face. He covered his mistake quickly, pulling it back on, but not quickly enough to stop them all recognising him. It was Fintan Delaney! Delaney had planted the bomb in the shop!

But why had he returned the next day and risked his own death? And why was he later killed? Had he been supposed to die in the explosion and changed his mind? Craig sat silent amidst the noisy debate that followed, letting everyone speculate while he gathered his thoughts. Eventually he smiled and turned back to his analyst.

“Brilliant work, Davy. I presume Delaney’s phone logs confirm it?”

“Yes and no. From w…what we know so far we’d expect to see calls from Delaney to S…Saudi or SNI, if Delaney was taking money from them to plant the bomb.”

Craig shook his head. If he was sure of one thing it was that Fintan Delaney hadn’t planted the bomb for money or for SNI. Davy was still talking.

“But his only unusual calls were to Pakistan. S…So I’m confused.”

Craig caught Liam’s eye and they exchanged a smile. “OK, this is great work, everyone. Davy, that was outstanding, but we could sit here and speculate all night and learn nothing more. I have a theory but I’m not ready to share it just yet. Keep following the leads and let’s see where we get to.”

Liam went to say something just as Craig glanced at the clock.

“It’s almost five-thirty and Liam and Annette need to get to High Street. Des, thanks for coming; let me know what you get from the photograph. John, could you join me for a moment. Everyone else go home; we’re back in bright and early at eight a.m.”

Before Liam could voice his objection Craig was on his way to his office with John, and Nicky was clearing away cups and plates with deliberate noise. Liam harrumphed and shot Annette a look that said the discussion wasn’t over, but as the group dispersed he knew he’d have to continue it another day.

Craig entered his office and went straight for his ever-full percolator, flicking it on before he sat down. John walked past him to the wall of windows that gave the room a panoramic view of the Lagan and Belfast’s docks. The docks were busy and getting busier by the week as the powers that be finally realised that Bronze Age man had built Belfast by the sea for a reason, and that people had made their homes on either side of the Lagan for one as well. Rivers brought trade, travel and a sense of possibility. They could be thoroughfares or recreational venues, encourage movement and throw a city’s arms open to the world, saying come and see. The docks in Belfast had been buzzing once and now they were starting to buzz again. Cruise ships disgorged their visitors between March and October, ships and oil rigs came for repair and fitting out, using skills honed over centuries to make short work of the jobs. Even wind farms had their turbines built in Belfast nowadays and Craig had a window on it all.

“I’d kill for this view, Marc. My office is so closed in.”

Craig gave a rueful smile. “I think there’s been enough murder this week. Coffee?”

“Only if you’ve got some milk. Your coffee’s strong enough to give me lock-jaw.”

Craig pointed to a small carton behind the filing cabinet, the coolest place in the room.

“For the wimps.”

When they’d sipped their coffee for a moment John spoke. “Natalie’s being very secretive. I think she’s finally found her dress.”

Craig shook his head, knowing that his friend was fishing and that it was more than his life was worth to disclose what Katy had told him. “I’m saying nothing.”

John leaned forward eagerly. “Ah ha! That means you know something.”

Craig raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe it means I’m saying nothing because I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Huh! You know all right. Katy’s been with Natalie every step of the way. They have it all planned. Well, them and Natalie’s mum. Anyone would think I had nothing to do with this wedding!”

The increased height of Craig’s eyebrow said he was surprised that John had ever thought he had. Natalie’s mother Isabel was a force of nature. A tiny, dark-haired clone of her daughter, or vice versa to be more accurate. They had the same voice, the same mannerisms and the same dynamic approach to life. Together they could create a force of hurricane magnitude and it would be a very brave man who stood in their way.

Craig smiled as he thought of them together, organising the wedding down to the smallest detail, while Natalie’s father, the quiet, academic Bernard, clung on for dear life like Dorothy caught in the tornado. Out of control, powerless and never knowing where he was going to land. John was more like Bernard Ingrams than he knew, and just like Bernard he was signing on for the ride of his life.

John tried another few questions to get Craig to reveal what he knew, but if Marc Craig was anything, he wasn’t a fool. Disclosing details of Natalie’s wedding dress would carry a penalty worse that committing any crime; hours of earache from Katy. At least if he was arrested for a real crime he’d be locked up in peace. Craig changed the subject to something that would interest them both.

“I have a theory about this crime, John.”

John knew the subject was being changed and stared past Craig huffily. He held the pose for thirty seconds before caving in.

“What?”

“Well, that’s just it. It’s so far-fetched I don’t want to discuss it until I’m surer of my ground.”

“Now you’re just being irritating, Marc. You can’t bring something up and then be mysterious about it.”

It was on the tip of Craig’s tongue to say “can’t I?” Then he realised John was right. Playing word games was irritating.

“OK. I think that Jules Robinson had something in his shop that someone wanted destroyed.”

John rolled his eyes. “Well that’s obvious; otherwise they wouldn’t have blown the place up!”

Craig sighed. John was still huffing but he was right. So far all he’d stated was the obvious.

“OK, I mean beyond the building and the people inside.”

John leaned forward, showing that his interest was piqued.

“So you’re saying that none of the five people in the shop was the target and the fact that the building was destroyed, something that SNI had wanted for quite a while, was pure coincidence.”

Craig nodded. “Yes. Well, no, not entirely. The shop and people may have been a target, we can’t rule that out yet, but they were secondary. What if the real target was something in the shop and the rest was window-dressing?”

“To cover up the real reason they blew the place up?”

“Yes.”

John shook his head quickly then the movement slowed, as if he wasn’t as certain of his ground. Craig watched his formidable brain kick into action, all of his earlier chagrin gone.

“So there was something in the building that people, let’s call them group A, wanted destroyed. Fintan Delaney belonged to, or was acting for that group. Whatever the thing was, it was something important and something they couldn’t easily identify and get hold of, or Delaney would just have stolen it that night. Yes?”

Craig nodded. It made sense. If they’d known exactly what their target looked like and where it was then Delaney could just have removed it that night rather than plant a bomb. Unless…

“Unless they also wanted to punish Jules Robinson for even possessing it in the first place?”

John nodded uncertainly. “Maybe… but it seems a fairly drastic thing to do. Blow up a shop when they knew there would be other people inside, including Delaney himself. They could have taken Robinson out at any time; when he was alone in the shop.”

He was right. If they’d just been after an individual they’d have killed them somewhere quiet, not blown the place apart. Or would they? Craig leaned forward eagerly.

“OK, let’s say I agree with that, and I’m not saying that I do. There are some nutters out there who would have wanted a public execution, even if it did attract attention…”

John interjected. “Sorry, but I have to say this, Marc. Why Jules Robinson?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, just because it happened in his shop that doesn’t mean he was the primary target. They could have planted the bomb to destroy something, yes, but they could also have done it to kill someone that they knew was going to visit the bookshop that day. It mightn’t have been something in the shop at all; it might have been someone, like Sharpy Greer.”

Craig frowned and John hurried on.

“OK, let’s say that I’m someone who, for whatever reason, hates Sharon Greer. Perhaps her drug dealing killed someone I loved or perhaps her thugs had killed someone. Say I’d been waiting for a chance to kill her for a long time, but if I killed her in an obvious way like a shooting or stabbing, it would have been obvious that she was the target and traced back to me. So I pick a way to kill her where she’s just one of a crowd.” John’s voice rose in excitement. “Think about it. She’s just one body amongst five. It’s enough ambiguity to stop UKUF running off half-cocked to blame any particular group for her death.”

Craig went to disagree then stopped himself. John was right. Perhaps he’d been making it too complex; perhaps it really was about someone in the shop being a target. But if Sharon Greer was the one they’d wanted to kill then that made their suspect pool huge.