The Careless Word (#8 - The Craig Crime Series) (6 page)

“Good. Let me know if you get anything. I’ll arrange a meeting with Major James as well. I also need a copy of the shop’s floor plan, its ownership history and everything you can find on its stock. Also the finances of all the victims.”

“W…What are you thinking of?”

Craig shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure yet, but there was a reason that shop was targeted and it can only be to do with one of the victims, the shop, its contents, or some other history we don’t know about. Smithfield might be OK now, but the area has had a variable past.”

Annette nodded. She remembered going there to collect her children’s school uniforms and the number of shops with blacked-out windows and furtive looking men outside had been substantial even then.

Liam yawned widely, wishing he’d gone to bed instead of sitting up till two a.m. watching his recorded football match.

“You thinking protection racket, boss?”

Craig shrugged. “Maybe, or maybe something else. We’ll find out when we start digging.” He sprang to his feet, preparing to leave, then stopped suddenly and scanned the room. “Jake’s still off with his root canal?”

“Aye. He should have stayed away from the dentist, that’s what I do. Brush and pray and you’ll be all right.”

“Not everyone has your faith in God.”

“Danni does the praying for me. I just brush.”

Craig resisted making a crack. “When are we expecting Jake back?”

Annette smiled apologetically. “I thought it was going to be today or Monday, but it seems I was wrong. Jake’s partner called me last night saying he was in agony. He’s got an infection so he’s likely to be off for the best part of next week.”

Craig made up his mind. “OK. Then we definitely need another pair of hands. Liam, chase up Aidan Hughes, and all of you get onto the other squads and see if anyone fancies a secondment to us, just for this case. We’ll recruit more formally after John’s wedding.”

He resumed his exit, beckoning Liam to follow and yelling “briefings at eight and four o’clock each day unless I say not” as they left.

***

Pakistan. 12 p.m. local time

Jennifer Weston gazed across the high yellow grass, made brittle and pale by the sun. Her blue eyes turned silver in the high midday light and she wondered where her lover was now; somewhere much better than this if what she’d heard was true. She thought of his dark-brown eyes and white unblemished skin, remembering how cool it had felt to touch; like stepping into a refreshing lake to escape the heat of the midday sun. He had been sweet, sweeter than any fruit she’d ever tasted, his innocent faith making him seem much younger than his years.

How long had it been since they’d first met? Only twenty months, outside the student’s union in Belfast. Belfast; so far away now and yet part of both their roots. She thought of him in his student uniform of jeans and T-shirt, eager and ready to learn in his new, exciting world. He’d viewed everything un-cynically and showed all the signs that would make him easy to snare.

And her… her what? What had she been? A visitor to her old college, steeped in knowledge that hadn’t come from any degree and seeking a willing pupil. She’d spotted his vulnerability quickly and moved to separate him from the crowd, making him hers and owning him from then on. It had been so easy.

So easy to impress him with her knowledge, wrap her ideals around his and then twist them into one thread. So easy to do to him what had already been done to her. To seduce him, physically and emotionally, until he was clay waiting to be moulded by her hands. Clay that would eventually become a weapon.

***

St Mary’s. 11 a.m.

By the time Craig and Liam arrived at the ED the white-coated consultant and her students were disappearing into the distance like a migrating flock. Craig dispatched Liam to ask when Dr O’Neill would be free to talk then he nodded hello to the P.C. by the side-room and pushed open the door.

Fintan Delaney was lying with his eyes closed, just as he had been the evening before, his pallor even stronger now than then. Could pallor be stronger? Craig asked and answered the question yes; Delaney’s skin was so pale that if he hadn’t been squeezing his eyes so tightly Craig would have sworn that he was dead.

He walked to the side of the bed and stared down at the boy, wondering if he had ever looked so young. He had of course; they all had once. When did it change; gradually or in incremental steps? Looking twenty for ten years and then overnight an older man, as if time had chased and caught up with them at some finish line. Craig’s reverie was broken by a twitch of Delaney’s hand. He looked on as the young man stilled it deliberately and then lay frozen, like a child who hoped that if they closed their eyes and didn’t move they wouldn’t be seen. Craig’s warm voice broke the silence.

“Mr Delaney, I know that you can hear me.”

More silence and another twitch. Craig wondered if a touch would constitute assault and decided to take the risk. He rested his long tanned fingers on Delaney’s forearm knowing that the boy would feel the pressure and react. Delaney didn’t disappoint him. He jerked his arm away to avoid a further contact and in doing so he pulled his hand straight into Craig’s.

What the boy did next surprised Craig. Instead of pulling his hand away again he let it rest there, touching Craig’s as if he was seeking comfort, or giving up the fight. Whichever it was it was accompanied by hesitantly opening eyes. Brown eyes, just as Craig had guessed. His name was Fintan Delaney and he had black hair and brown eyes. The rest would come.

Chapter Six

The Lab. 11.30 a.m.

John Winter gazed around his lab and smiled. It had taken Craig and Liam to make him see what had happened but only five minutes after they’d gone for him to assert himself. Mary had responded quickly to his call the day before and a squad of painters and movers had been in overnight. Now his once-yellow walls were restored to their former glory and his dark-wood display cases were back in their rightful place. His lab looked like his inner sanctum again, instead of a tier of Natalie’s wedding cake.

John corrected himself quickly. His and Natalie’s wedding cake, although it often felt like hers alone. That was partly his fault. Once they’d set the date he’d been happy to hand planning the wedding over to her, partly from laziness and disinterest and partly because he hadn’t a clue what to do. He’d never understood why women got so worked up over a single day. All he wanted was to be married to her, not to have a party for the whole world. He’d also handed things over because he knew that was what Natalie wanted; to spend months fussing over colour schemes and details with her mother and Katy, and then to appear on the day, serene and beautiful, as if she hadn’t been running around like a headless chicken for months.

John poured himself a coffee and bit into a day-old scone, thanking God that they’d decided to get married abroad. They’d have people there that they knew and cared about, instead of thirty anonymous cousins and uncles who he’d never met. There would be sun, sea and hopefully the other ‘s’ as well, and it had still worked out cheaper than a marquee on the Ingrams’ lawn, not to mention hiring a castle for the day like some people did!

The soon-to-be married pathologist allowed himself a moment imagining his wedding night in a luxury beach-hut, with the scent of flowers and the sea mingling in the night’s warm breeze, then he turned his thoughts back to the case Craig had given him and enthusiastically returned to work.

***

St Mary’s.

By the time Liam re-joined them Craig and Fintan Delaney were sitting eye-to-eye, staring at each other. Craig held a pen and notepad in his hand and Delaney a pen in his. The pad’s top page was covered with two different styles of handwriting. Craig’s clear, elegant, half-print and a larger, rounder hand than belonged to someone young. Liam crossed the room noisily and grabbed the only remaining chair, sitting beside Craig and squinting suspiciously at their charge. After a moment’s more scribbling Craig set the pen down and beckoned Liam outside.

“He can’t speak.”

Liam scratched his chin and nodded. “Aye. That’s what the Doc said. Says she’ll be down for a chat in a minute. She’s on her last patient.”

Craig held up the pad and Liam read it quickly. The gist of the Q and A was that Fintan Delaney remembered nothing about himself or his life. He only knew his name because the nurse had told him. He wanted to speak, but every time he opened his mouth only air emerged, or, at a push, a dry grunt.

Liam sniffed. “Do you believe him?”

Craig hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “Yes. And no. He knows that something bad happened and I think he feels bad about it. That could mean he’s actually guilty of something, or just feeling guilty because he survived.”

Just then they were joined by a slim, white-coated woman whose perfectly coiffed hair and air of confidence said consultant louder than any badge. Craig thought about Nigel Murdock, a corrupt surgeon that they’d encountered on a previous case. He’d been arrogant and rude but this woman extended her hand to Craig and smiled warmly, underlining the fact that not all doctors were the same.

“Superintendent Craig?”

“Yes. Thank-you for agreeing to talk to us, Dr O’Neill. I know your relationship with Mr Delaney is confidential, but anything that you can tell us would be helpful.”

Janet O’Neill nodded and went to open the side-room door. “Just give me a moment.” With that she disappeared, to reappear two minutes later with a smile.

“I’ve obtained Mr Delaney’s written consent to discuss his case with you. Please follow me.”

They walked to a small office and she waved them towards two seats, then she started speaking immediately.

“Mr Delaney has global retrograde amnesia. He remembers nothing about his life before today, not even his own name.”

Liam interrupted. “How do you know he’s not faking it?”

O’Neill raised an eyebrow. “Thirty years of experience, Mr Cullen.”

Craig gave Liam a glance that said ‘wait’ and nodded the consultant on.

O’Neill steepled her fingers and stared at them in turn. “It’s quite common after trauma for the patient to have no memory of the incident itself, or of the few days before. Retrograde amnesia. It’s due to shock, particularly if there’s been a head injury. Often those memories never return; lost days. But global amnesia like this is much rarer.”

She paused and Craig leapt into the gap. “In your experience what does that mean? Survivor guilt, trauma, or shutting out memories of responsibility for the event?”

O’Neill gave a small smile. “Any or all of those, Superintendent. I believe that when Mr Delaney was found he was standing in the room filled with dead people, only two of whom even resembled people at all. That’s a horrific sight, even for someone experienced like us, never mind a twenty-year-old. Added to that Mr Delaney was temporarily deaf from the blast and probably couldn’t believe that he hadn’t died as well.”

“So he could simply be traumatised by what he saw and by the fact that he survived, without there being any culpability?”

The consultant nodded. “He could. Or he could have planted the bomb. I’ve seen people go into complete denial when they see the results of what they’ve done.”

Liam cut in. “How long are you going to keep him in?”

“At least a week I should say. We have to ensure that he doesn’t suffer any delayed reaction, physically or emotionally. He was caught in quite an explosion.”

Or he caused one.

Janet O’ Neill leaned forward. “In the meantime, can I ask your help with finding his family? He’s anxious to find out more about himself and familiar faces can sometimes help with that.”

Craig nodded and rose to his feet. “We’ll do that. In the meantime I’d like another quick chat with Mr Delaney, and on the off-chance that he is guilty, we’ll be leaving an officer here for the rest of his stay.”

***

Forever Bridal. Upper Lisburn Road, Belfast. 4 p.m.

Katy yawned exaggeratedly and pointed at the time, watching as Natalie twirled around in her fifth dress of the day. There was no question about it; everything in the shop was exquisite. Each dress was a triumph of silk or lace, chosen with experience by Leondra, the shop’s owner, on one of her buying trips abroad. Anything Natalie chose would be exponential improvement on the taffeta puffball she’d shown her the day before.

Natalie disappeared into the changing room, shooting Katy a sheepish grin and holding up one finger to signify that she had a final dress to try on. Somehow Katy doubted it would be the last but she smiled benignly at her friend. It wasn’t every day someone got married and it was a new experience to see Natalie behaving girlishly, or wearing anything much besides her surgical scrubs. Katy was pleased for her, but she also knew that the situation would have comic value for years to come.

Katy had just picked up a copy of the Ulster Bazaar and started to flick though its glossy pages when a loud squeal came from the dressing room. She jumped up, certain that Natalie had ripped something expensive then Natalie suddenly reappeared in an exquisite dress. Her eyes sparkled and her skin had taken on a glow that made it seem airbrushed. Katy had never seen her look so pretty and it was easy to see why. Wrapped around her petite form was a wedding dress so beautiful that it brought tears to Katy’s eyes.

Soft folds of silky white fabric fell like a waterfall from one shoulder, held there with by an elegant silver clasp. They reached the floor and continued the analogy, spreading out behind Natalie in a fluid train, long enough to announce the importance of the occasion but short enough not to swamp her tiny frame. Katy gasped as Natalie walked slowly to the mirror and turned, showing that the dress was just as beautiful from the back. She nodded for permission to touch the silk. It was cobweb light and cool and Katy pictured her friend walking towards John wearing it, with her long dark curls flowing down her back. The effect would be stunning.

Natalie gazed at herself in the mirror, wearing a shocked expression. She smoothed down the fabric and glanced at her friend with a hopeful question in her eyes. Katy smiled and just then Leondra produced a matching bridesmaid’s dress in the creamiest lemon that they had ever seen. Natalie would have her yellow and white wedding and they would both look lovely while she did.

***

Saturday. 7.30 a.m.

Davy was at work uncharacteristically early. He was already yawning at his desk when Craig arrived, having managed to slip through the morning traffic around St George’s Market before it built up. St George’s was a Belfast landmark; the last surviving Victorian covered market in Belfast, built in 1890. Its stalls traded in everything from gourmet food to art.

Craig threw his suit jacket in his small office and strolled out onto the floor, holding a percolator aloft in invitation. Davy nodded and loped across to Nicky’s desk to meet his boss. Nicky’s desk was a strange place; an unofficial village square where people hung out. The street corner that they’d all frequented as teenagers, knowing that it was the place to see and be seen if you were cool. It was where things happened first; phones rang offering exciting new cases and printers spat out the, literally, hot news. Nicky’s percolator held ever-bubbling coffee and her desk drawers were an Aladdin’s cave of sweet things. Above all Nicky’s desk was beside Craig’s office, the epicentre of the squad, where the coolest kid, the Fonz himself, hung out.

This morning Nicky’s desk was just the nearest coffee stop and the two men watched bleary-eyed as the brown liquid bubbled, until Craig finally deemed it fit to drink and poured them both a mug. He perched on the edge of the desk and considered Davy carefully; he saw his team members every day but he didn’t often look at them.

Davy had always been tall, well at least in the three years he’d been on the squad, but he seemed to have grown recently. His once reed-thin frame was broader and more adult and his almost pretty aquiline features were morphing into more masculine good looks. Craig knew Davy hadn’t even noticed; unless something had a code or cipher on it he ignored it completely. Craig completed his scrutiny, skimming past Davy’s shoulder-length hair and stopping at the tiredness of his face. Dark shadows had settled under his eyes like gathering storm clouds and Craig had noticed enough to know that they hadn’t been there the day before.

He smiled kindly. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Davy nodded slowly as if unsure how much to say. Craig said it for him.

“It was the book you gave your father, wasn’t it?”

Davy nodded and at that moment Craig was ashamed of how little he knew about his staff. He knew that Davy had been dating Maggie Clarke, a journalist he’d met on a case, for almost two years and he vaguely remembered a mention of a sister, but beyond that nothing. He knew he’d failed on the team part of his job but once he was focused on a case everything else ceased to exist, a point that every woman he’d been involved with had pointed out.

His voice softened. “Do you miss him a lot?” Hoping it would be enough to make Davy talk. It was. Davy nodded again, throwing his dark hair across his face. Craig wondered if being concealed somehow made it easier to speak.

“It’s funny, but w…when he died, I thought about him every day. And now….”

Craig smiled. “Now it’s only occasionally. That’s normal Davy. No-one can keep up that level of grief forever; you couldn’t live.”

Davy’s voice dropped so low that Craig could barely hear it. “I know you’re right, but…”

“He was a Professor of Literature, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. Early twentieth century w…writers mainly; Yeats, S…Shaw, Dylan Thomas… The book I gave him was a collection of Yeats’ works.”

“Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.”

Davy smiled. “That was one of his favourite lines. He used to read it to me w…when I was a kid.” He glanced away quickly. “I think he w…was disappointed that I preferred s…science.”

Craig shook his head and then realised Davy wasn’t looking. His voice became firm. “There is no way you disappointed your father, Davy. All parents want their children to love what they love. God knows if my Mum had her way I’d be playing the piano in some concert hall, not chasing criminals. But sometimes they love you more precisely because you’re different from them.” Davy stared at him. “Your father would have seen your gift and known that you had to explore it. He’d have been proud when you got your Masters.”

Davy grinned and the expression made him look like a kid again. “That’s w…what my Mum says. She says he would have loved that Emmie read English at Uni and that I was helping to s…solve crimes. Dad used to read crime novels all the time.”

Emmie; short for Emily or Amelia? He would get Nicky to check. Craig tucked the name away for future reference and was just about to ask Davy more about his father when a sudden vibrating of the floor said that Liam had arrived. His voice blasted across the squad-room like a town crier’s.

“Here, what’s happening? How come you two are in so early?”

Craig turned, with a deadpan expression. “We’ve been working all night and we’ve cracked the case, so we’re leaving you to do the paperwork while we head to the pub.”

Annette and Nicky entered just in time to hear Liam’s roar.

“What? That’s not right, boss. I know you wanted this put to bed before the wedding, but solving it yourself isn’t on.”

Craig raised his eyes to heaven, incredulous that Liam had believed him.

“We haven’t even started. We just got in early.”

Nicky’s husky voice cut in. “Did I hear the word wedding? Has anyone decided what they’re wearing yet?”