The Cedar Face: DI Jewell book 3 (DI Elizabeth Jewell) (24 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Elizabeth didn't immediately recognise the man with his back
to her. He dropped the file he was holding and
spun around.

Neither of them said anything until Elizabeth summoned
up the courage. 'I'm awfully sorry Sir. I didn'
t realise anyone was in here.'

Assistant Chief Constable Steve
Reynolds bent down, retrieved the papers and placed them on
the desk. 'I should have locked the door,' he said.

Elizabeth waited. She could hardly scurry off like a guilty
pupil.

'Now you're here, we may as well bring
our meeting forward. Sit down and don't look so
alarmed Jewell. I don't bite.'

Elizabeth pulled up the
old Lloyd Loom chair before it registered. She gripped it
tightly trying to figure out why it should suddenly reappear.
To make sure it was the genuine article she ran
her hand over the seat and located the sliver of
bamboo. It was in exactly the same position. She sat
at an angle to avoid it and told a half
lie. 'I was on my way to the coffee machine.
The canteen was busy.'

Reynolds pulled out a chair. 'You
and Daly were very close. It must feel strange,' he
looked around at the office. 'All this renovation is definitely
not to DCS Daly's taste.'

'DCI Yeats is responsible
for the improvements. I want to apologise again. I shouldn'
t have come in.'

'Why did you?'

Elizabeth knew the
real reason. With Yeats away she knew she could. To
remember the good old days and have a rummage, she
thought.

Reynolds waited, he knew she was lying.

'I intended
to rifle through DCI Yeats' files,' she admitted.

Reynolds nodded. '
In one way I'm glad you decided to snoop.
I wanted to confirm a rumour. You're recent visit
to Anita Fleming.'

Elizabeth wondered why Reynolds should be interested
in her visit to Anita. 'I went to ask her
advice about DCS Daly. His sudden departure made no sense.
He's not the type to disappear, especially when we
were holding a party in his honour.'

Reynolds smiled but
didn't answer. Uncomfortable with the silence she stared at
Daly's coffee machine.

'I could do with a cup,
but haven't a clue how to operate it,' Reynolds
said.

Elizabeth was glad of something to do. She inserted
the sachets and found the expensive mugs Yeats had bought
to replace Daly's chipped and stained ones. While she
dealt with the drinks, Reynolds got up and went to
the filing cabinet. He slid the papers into an open
drawer and locked it. Thank God, she thought, that I
made the decision to own up.

She carried the coffee
to the desk and sat on the wicker chair. Reynolds
stirred sugar into his mug and for the first time
since she'd disturbed him he seemed apprehensive. She watched
as he spun the wet teaspoon on the polished surface. '
In a way,' he began, 'this chance meeting is fortuitous.
I'm forced into a decision, whether I like it
or not.'

Elizabeth searched for the right answer. This was
her only chance to engage him. 'I know Yeats isn'
t in Belfast, if that's any help.'

'I expected
you to contact Belfast earlier. You've shown remarkable restraint
considering the current situation. You're correct. DCI Yeats is
not in Belfast. Unfortunately, I can't disclose his present
whereabouts but what I can tell you is he's
facing a serious historical accusation.'

She felt no shock or
surprise. Only hours after Yeats had taken over in mid
February she'd soon formed an opinion of him. Granted,
she'd had no factual evidence to back it up,
just her typical hasty character evaluation. Thank God Patterson always
listened to her theories; dissecting them until he was satisfied
she was on the right track. Often he would scoff,
telling her politely not to venture into the realms of
fantasy but where Yeats was concerned he'd felt the
same vibe. Fortunately, for her, his reticence to break more
rules had saved her from ending up in the mire.
If Reynolds had caught her snooping she would have faced
disciplinary action.

'I didn't like him Sir. Call it
a gut feeling.'

Reynolds stood up closed the window and
pulled down the blind. Summer had arrived early and the
late afternoon sunshine had turned the office into a sauna.
Elizabeth dreaded the heat building up in the small room.
Already she could feel sweat under her armpits and down
her back. Reynolds too had started to perspire. He took
out a tissue and wiped his brow, his actions reminding
her of Daly. Then she remembered the fan.

She glanced
across the office. The door leading into a cloakroom and
toilet was open.

'Excuse me Sir,' she said, and went
over. Just inside the toilet door, she spotted a battered
box underneath a shelf. She was surprised Yeats hadn't
thrown it out.

'What's that?' Reynolds asked as he
removed his jacket.

Elizabeth lifted it out of its box
and stood it next to a socket. She plugged it
in hoping it still worked. When she flicked the switch,
the fan started whirring, scattering small dust motes across the
room. Thin rays of sunlight shining through the blind highlighted
the tiny specks. Elizabeth watched them, hoping she was about
to hear the truth. She didn't have to wait
long.

'How much do you know about the troubles in
Northern Ireland?'

Elizabeth's knowledge was limited. She racked her
brain for the relevant dates. 'Bloody Sunday was at the
end of January nineteen seventy-two. The Good Friday agreement
was signed in April nineteen ninety-eight. I don't
remember all the atrocities; Brighton and Omagh stand out for
me.' She pictured the headlines. 'So many people died.'

Reynolds
got up and walked towards the fan. He stood in
front of it, his back to her. Elizabeth got the
impression he would rather be somewhere else.

He turned to
face her. 'Thousands of families both here and in Northern
Ireland lost loved ones. Many of them raised questions about
specific incidents. Unfortunately most never received answers.'

Elizabeth sipped her
coffee and knew whatever this man was going to tell
her would be worthwhile. 'Are you saying there were a
lot of cover ups?'

Reynolds loosened his tie. 'Don't
put words into my mouth Jewell. I can give you
the facts as I know them, nothing else. From the
mid-eighties Yeats was in the RUC's Special Branch,
working undercover gathering intelligence on the IRA. Like all Special
Branch officers, he had his informers. One particular character he'
d blackmailed into working for him. As you're well
aware, we try not to do that these days. For
legal reasons I can't name this informer, even though
he died years ago. Not a big deal in the
normal course of events except he'd made an unusual
will. The solicitors acting for him discovered he'd deposited
a dossier at a bank, which now belonged to his
heir. In his will, he explained why he'd kept
it hidden, as an insurance policy against his enemies. His
beneficiary was a distant relative living somewhere in Connemara. This
deceased informer's instructions were very specific. If he ended
up murdered, his relative was to pass the dossier to
a journalist friend who would expose the contents. However, his
relative, who was broke at the time, decided to sell
his inheritance to the highest bidder. The chief executive of
the newspaper group who bought it knew he had an
explosive story on his hands and wasn't renowned for
having a conscience. Imagine the shock when he did the
unthinkable and contacted the Belfast police. To this day, I
find that the strangest part of this story, a newspaperman
with morals. Had the distant relative not seen pound signs
every time he read through the memoir, Yeats' involvement would
never have surfaced.'

The old fan was so noisy Elizabeth
almost didn't hear the knock at the door.

'See
who it is,' Reynolds ordered.

Patterson was leaning against the
wall. 'No one knew where you were. I had one
of my famous visions which showed me the way.'

Elizabeth
wasn't sure what to do but before she had
a chance to ask, Reynolds moved towards them. He acknowledged
Patterson. 'Inspector Jewell, I need to make a few calls
so I suggest you and your sergeant go and eat.
I'll be busy for at least an hour.'

Elizabeth
knew she'd only heard a part of the story.
Surely he wasn't going to end it here.

'Does
that mean you don't need to see me again?'
she asked.

'I have to warn both of you. Anything
I disclose is protected from the freedom of information act.
It cannot be repeated or the consequences will be harsh.'

He turned to Elizabeth. 'I'll have to trust your
discretion. Find a quiet place where you won't be
overheard. Then you can update your sergeant.'

'I can keep
my mouth shut. He doesn't need to know,' Elizabeth
said.

'He does now that you're senior officer at
Park Road. It's my duty to explain why.'

Elizabeth
felt shocked, and could feel her body shaking. How long
was she supposed to carry on without a superior officer?
Reynolds had intimated Daly wasn't coming back. If that
was the case, she couldn't see a future at
Park Road. She'd have to leave.

Patterson took her
arm. 'We'll see you later Sir.'

Reynolds gathered up
his belongings and Elizabeth watched as he locked the office,
double-checked and pocketed the keys. 'A little knowledge can
be a dangerous thing,' he said quietly. 'It's better
if both of you know the facts.'

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Back in the incident room Elizabeth asked for any updates.

'
Right, last sighting of Jade Harper anybody?'

Eldridge put his
hand up. 'I've gone through CCTV footage from Grasmere
Road and nothing comes up remotely suspicious. Uniforms are stopping
drivers on Hart Lane but no one remembers seeing anything.'

Elizabeth tried to hide her frustration. 'You need a vehicle
to dump a body. It might not be a car,
so concentrate on other forms of transport.'

'There are two
farms off Hart Lane. Maybe the killer used a tractor,'
said one of Yeats' new recruits.

Elizabeth despaired. 'Tractors don'
t go more than ten miles an hour. No killer
in his right mind wants a traffic jam behind him,
anyone else with a stupid idea?'

'Well she didn't
get there by herself,' Johnson offered.

Raucous laughter followed. Elizabeth
sensed none of them were taking anything seriously and she
knew why. No senior male officer. This was the first
time in Park Road's history that a woman was
solely in charge and they weren't happy with the
idea. She thought about the many high ranking women in
the force. Had they come up against pockets of opposition
as their careers took off, she suspected they had. Her
position was different, she hadn't earned it.

Eldridge smirked
as he spoke. 'He must have used magic to get
her there.'

'What an unusual piece of deduction.' Elizabeth couldn'
t wait to give him a piece of her mind.
Why had she stupidly believed he was on her side?
What the hell was the matter with him? Confronting him
before meeting Reynolds was out of the question, she didn'
t need any extra stress.

'Honestly, we've thought of
everything,' Eldridge added.

'Well go through it all again until
you figure it out.'

Knowing Eldridge as she did Elizabeth
doubted he would. She glanced at the whiteboard showing the
Academy's layout. 'What about the rear access?'

'Only through
Cresswell woods and you can barely ride a bike through
there, let alone drive a vehicle,' Patterson said.

She thought
for a moment. 'Eldridge, what did you say earlier, something
about spirited?'

'I said magic,' Eldridge said. 'You need your
ears checked.'

More laughter but Elizabeth ignored it. She felt
as if her brain was trying to dredge something to
the surface, but whatever it was kept slipping away. 'There'
s nothing wrong with my ears DC Eldridge, but I'
ll check them before I see you first thing tomorrow
in Yeats' office. 'Now, what other words do we associate
with magic?'

Eldridge had the good grace to say sorry
first. 'Conjuring. I got a conjuring set for Christmas once.'

Desperation sometimes spawned ideas. Elizabeth believed the simplest solution was
more often the correct one although there were always exceptions.
If she sounded stupid, then so be it.
'The
best word is an illusion, designed to give a false
impression in order to deceive. Maybe we're looking at
everything from the wrong perspective. With that in mind you'
ll all work until ten tonight. I should be back
by then.'

Out in the car park Patterson asked, 'Are
you okay?

'No I'm not, but I will be
once Eldridge's sorted. He's driving me up the
wall.'

'I've told you not to let him get
to you.'

Elizabeth's headache had started up again. 'If
he's not careful, I'll arrange for a transfer
.'

Patterson started walking. 'Come on, we haven't got much
time. Where are we headed?'

'That old pub tucked away
in Grey Street. The Viaduct,' Elizabeth answered.

'I've never
set foot in the place.'

'Then you're in for
a treat. It's very cosy and quiet. The best
part is they do a fantastic range of sausages, so
we can eat while we talk.'

Five minutes later, they
were away from the main drag and ordering from a
menu displaying twenty sausage varieties and the pub's famous
iced fruit juice. They found a table and sat down
among the mismatched wooden furniture.

'There's a secluded garden
if you'd rather sit out there,' Elizabeth said.

Patterson
looked through the window. 'Better not. It's too hot
and a family with three kids has taken it over
. I need to concentrate on what you're going to
tell me.'

Over their soft drinks and sturdy sausage sandwiches
Elizabeth repeated Reynolds' disclosure. 'My main problem is that I
don't feel confident to cope long term,' she admitted
.

'It won't come to that but in the interim
, you'll have to. There's nobody else.'

Elizabeth knew
he was right. Bringing someone else in would take time
. She'd have to face up to the situation at
some point so she might as well start now.

Ten
minutes later Patterson licked the ketchup from his fingers and
rubbed them with a serviette. 'I can't wait for
the next installment.'

Elizabeth couldn't finish her lunch. Apprehension
had crept in and taken away her appetite. She saw
Patterson eyeing up the remnants of her sandwich. 'Have it
,' she offered.

While he ate she hoped he understood why
she had questioned Yeats' character and background. The nauseous unease
she'd felt on Valentine's night had never left
her and wouldn't until she saw Daly again.

Patterson
pointed to his watch. 'Let's get back. Reynolds is
a decent bloke, I don't want to mess him
aaround.'

'I better use the ladies,' Elizabeth said.

A couple
of minutes later she stepped outside into the cobbled street
and made a promise to herself.

Reynolds was enjoying his
own meal when they returned.

'I thought I'd better
eat. Have you eaten?’ he asked, as he cut up
a slice of chicken. A paper plate held a green
salad and new potatoes. A jar of Hellman's low
calorie mayonnaise stood next to it. He eats healthily, Elizabeth
thought, already regretting the greasy sausages.

'We did, thank you
Sir. We should wait outside until you've finished yours
,' she said.

'No need. I'll keep some of this
for later. My wife insists I graze. She believes in
the little and often theory and I have to admit
she's right. I've lost half a stone since
Christmas, though I wouldn't mind another coffee to fill
the void.'

Elizabeth set to work while Patterson made small
talk. She felt tiredness creeping in and prayed the coffee
would keep her alert.

Reynolds went into the cloakroom and
washed his hands. When he returned he took up the
story where he'd left off.

'I want to go
back to the mid-eighties and the relationship between Yeats
and his now dead informer. Working for a Special Branch
officer wasn't enough to satisfy this informer. He wasn
't earning much money and he had expensive tastes so
he carried on with his criminal activities. Special Branch didn
't care, if informers mixed with the underworld, all the
better until they heard they had gone too far and
needed to punish them. Yeats was in danger of having
his cover blown. He'd heard his informer was double
crossing everyone he dealt with, so Yeats planted drugs in
his house and the informer went to prison for two
years. Taking him out of circulation meant he couldn't
ruin any reputations because no one was likely to believe
his story and if any inmates did, the prison officers
knew how to suppress them. You have to remember prisons
were full of people who knew more than was good
for them, so staff plugged the leaks. How they did
it was questionable, but I'll leave that to your
imagination.'

Reynolds paused to take a drink giving Elizabeth an
opportunity. 'Surely that defeated their objective, especially for Yeats. He
would lose his informer.'

'Yeats wanted rid of him. He
felt the relationship had run its course and there were
others more than willing to step into his shoes. Yeats
continued his mission, trying to split various factions, hoping they
'd rat on each other over their gun suppliers. Few
people knew what methods Yeats used but he was successful
. Then his biggest problem caught up with him, his old
informer was out early for good behaviour. The reason, he
'd started writing his memoirs. He'd been far too
busy writing to get into any trouble.'

'And now you
know what those memoirs contained,' Patterson said.

Reynolds nodded. 'He
'd spent all his spare time compiling a three hundred
page document. His writing skills weren't up to much
, but the content would have made a best seller.'

'What
happened after he was released?' Elizabeth asked.

'We can only
speculate. This man had no real sense of loyalty and
prison hadn't persuaded him to go straight. He joined
the Ulster Defence Association, the violent loyalist paramilitary group and
Yeats ended up resurrecting their partnership. That's when everything
went drastically wrong. Innocent civilians were killed because of misinformation
and dodgy intelligence.'

'My God,' Elizabeth gasped. 'Are you saying
Yeats caused unnecessary deaths?'

'Their relationship had soured but they
were stuck with each other, so Yeats executed him and
yes, Special Branch covered it up.'

'It's taken all
these years to surface, ' Patterson stated.

Reynolds looked embarrassed. 'Fifteen
, if you want to be precise.'

'So the paper never
published the informer's memoir,' Elizabeth said.

'They didn't
because the government intervened. In our business, cold cases have
to wait until there is new evidence and forensic breakthroughs
. This case was no different, except for the intervention from
families of the victims. The questions began immediately after their
relatives had died, as you would imagine. Most of the
families weren't involved in the troubles and were extremely
suspicious of the circumstances surrounding their relative's death. They
formed a group to put pressure on the police to
reinvestigate and it wasn't until between two thousand and
two thousand and three the European Court of Human Rights
got involved. They'd received a number of complaints concerning
deaths and concluded the state were derelict in their duty
by not implementing an effective investigation to protect the right
to life. In other words, these victims suffered a violation
because of the state's failings. Now all this was
out in the open it was increasingly difficult for the
British government to deny any demands for a full inquiry
into the deaths. So here we are.'

'I don't
understand how this relates to Daly,' Elizabeth stated.

'The people
investigating Yeats needed to get him out of Ireland. The
man had powerful friends, not just in the IRA but
other organisations. Some of them owed Yeats favours. If he
'd found out what was happening they would have helped
him disappear. The unit dealing with these cases kept him
under surveillance for almost two years and discovered he still
occasionally met up with them. It was imperative to offer
him a transfer to the UK. He could hardly refuse
, as he knew it would appear suspicious. From what I
can gather, they half expected him to leg it out
of Gloucestershire. Had it not been for your murder enquiry
he might have.'