The Coercion Key (19 page)

***

“My God, you certainly do get them, Marc.”

Craig gave Chief Constable Sean Flanagan a rueful smile.

Flanagan continued cheerfully. “All my other teams get normal killings, with the odd strange one here and there. Domestic violence, death by dangerous driving, normal stuff. But you…”

“We get an episode of ‘Criminal Minds’ every other month.”

Flanagan raised a questioning eyebrow as he poured the coffee. “What’s Criminal Minds when it’s at home?”

Craig laughed, thinking of John. He loved American cop shows and he knew he’d be catching up on all of them now.

“An American TV series set in the Behavioural Analysis Unit at the FBI. It’s based on a real team. John loves it.”

“Ah, yes…I’ve been keeping track on Dr Winter. He’s on a ward now, so that’s excellent news.”

“Certainly is, sir.”

Craig sipped his coffee and glanced at the man across the desk. Flanagan was six-feet-five of amiable teddy-bear, except when he was pushed so far that he needed to growl. Then he did and his temper could rip people apart. It was a management style Craig could relate to.

“Right then, update me, Marc. And don’t spare the gory details.”

In the next twenty minutes Craig outlined their five victims’ profiles and methods of death, and his suspicions about the computer game. He rounded up with the missing PDFs and the possible earlier murder by their perp. When he’d finished Flanagan gave a low whistle prompting his curious P.A. Donna to peep through his half-glass office door.

“So you think that whatever coerced each of them to kill themselves was written in the PDF files?”

“It must have been, there’s no trace of anything else. And the pressure point was probably different for each of them. The clever part of it is that without the PDF all we have is a suicide note copied out in their own hand and a random six-digit number.”

Craig swallowed, wondering whether he should bother to say what he was thinking after Jake’s bad behaviour the day before. He chose yes. Jake would either have learned his lesson or he’d be off the squad in a week, today would tell, but that didn’t detract from his past good work.

“If Sergeant McLean hadn’t recognised the key’s design in the first place we would never have got this far.”

“Ah yes. Jake isn’t it? How’s he doing?”

“A bit rough around the edges, but OK. He’s a bright boy. It’s an asset having two younger members on the team. None of the rest of us play computer games, that’s for sure.”

Flanagan laughed. “If Liam Cullen can’t kick it, throw it or bang into it, it isn’t a game in his book. I remember playing GAA football with him back in the day. My God he was strong.”

“Still is. He nearly put my door in this morning.”

Flanagan grinned and drained his cup, setting it down in a way that signalled the meeting was almost at an end. He clasped his hands on the desk.

“What do you need from me?”

Craig had known the question was coming and he was well prepared. “We need to step up the close protection on everyone involved in the case. I don’t want another incident like John’s.”

“Done.”

“I need tracking on all of our phones: home, work and mobile. And enhanced computer support for Davy Walsh, plus dedicated use of someone to support him for a few days.”

“OK, and?”

Craig shook his head. “Nothing else yet, sir, but I think things are coming to a head. When they do we may need armed support.”

Flanagan nodded. Either their killer was going to disappear suddenly because their work was done, or Craig’s team would get to them before they did. His money was on the latter and that meant it could get nasty.

“Right. Just keep me up to date with everything and good luck. I want whoever did this locked away before there are any more deaths of any sort.”

Chapter Fifteen

Jenna Graham stared at the phone, willing herself not to be stupid. They were all dead now and Craig had no idea who she was. All she had to do was get on a plane and she was home free. She lifted the photograph from the table and gazed at it for minutes, tracing the couple’s outline with a long finger and trying to recall their voices. Her father’s, so deep and strong, echoing through the house when he sang. She remembered his baritone soaring towards the crescendo in The Toreador song, or ‘Votre Toast’ from Bizet’s Carmen, as she now knew it was called. Her childish ears hadn’t understood its beauty and instead she’d tried to block out the sound, squealing. “Stop, Daddy, stop. Too loud.” She’d give anything to hear him sing it now.

He’d swung her high in his arms and laughed, showing large white teeth, while her mother had bustled around chiding them to sit down for their meal. She strained to hear their voices nowadays, they faded with each year but they were still audible enough to make her tears flow, just as they were doing now. Sorrow and hate were the only feelings she had left and even the sorrow was numbed.

Jenna smiled down at the picture, remembering her mother’s dark curls and her father’s greying pate, then she fingered her own red hair, a legacy of her paternal grandmother just like her blue eyes. She glanced at her new passport, waiting to be used. Only one more day before she caught her flight. She thought for a moment longer then made her decision and headed for the door. Once she was in position she would call Craig and start the chase. What a day it was going to be.

***

The C.C.U. 11 a.m.

“OK, gather round please.”

Craig scanned the open-plan office as he grabbed a chair. No Jake. He’d given him a choice and it seemed that Jake’s ego had made him take the easy way out. He thought of his words to the Chief Constable. He’d meant them; Jake had a lot of potential but if he didn’t want to develop it in the murder squad then there was nothing he could do.

Craig had all but written Jake’s final report in his mind when he came bounding onto the floor carrying a white box. Liam recognised what it was and his ire from the previous day was instantly gone. He loped across the room and peered down at the box, waiting for Jake to open the lid. Jake gabbled nervously, desperate for approval.

“I hope these are from the right bakery. It was the only one I could think of nearby.”

He lifted the white cardboard lid reverentially, revealing a plethora of cream cakes inside, their number reduced by one as soon as Liam reached in.

“Help yourselves everyone, but before you do I’ve got something I’d like to say.” He swallowed hard and even Nicky’s anger softened as she saw a blush tint his ears.

“If you’ll excuse my language, I behaved like a complete dick-head yesterday and I’m very sorry.” He turned to face Davy whose expression gave nothing away.

“I’d especially like to apologise to you, Davy. I was rude and childish and my only defence, although honestly there isn’t one, is that I really want to do well on the squad. I was trying to prove myself so hard that it made me compete with all of you, but particularly Davy.” He turned to Annette. “And you, Annette.”

He fell silent then he caught the look in Craig’s eye telling him that he hadn’t finished yet. Craig willed him on, trying hard not to smile until he’d finished. Jake restarted, falteringly, staring at the floor.

“I…y…you’ve all been so welcoming and kind that it’s made me want to excel, but I forgot that this was a team and I started trying to score points at other people’s expense. It was wrong.” He glanced up pleadingly, almost afraid to read their expressions. “I hope you’ll give me another chance. And…and have a cake.”

On the word cake Liam interrupted. “That’s all grand and stuff, but there are cakes to be eaten so shut up lad and get out of my way.” With that he reached into the box and grabbed a second pastry as a chorus of “leave some for everyone else” and “thanks Jake” echoed across the room. Only Davy said nothing.

Jake put two cakes on a plate and carried them over to Davy’s desk, trying to catch his eye. It was a challenge through Davy’s hair.

“Davy. I’m sorry. I’m a prat.”

Davy glanced up shyly and smiled. “Yes, you are.” He reached his hand towards the plate then stopped in mid-air. “W…Which one do you w…want?”

Jake smiled. “I like cream horns.”

Davy grabbed the only cream horn and bit off a chunk. Craig laughed out loud as he did it, knowing he was telling Jake that his behaviour wasn’t that easy to forget. Jake smiled too and lifted the other cake.

“You’re a k…knob, Jake.”

Jake nodded, agreeing. The scene was disturbed by the phone ringing in Craig’s office. He gestured them all to be quiet and motioned Nicky to let the phone ring out. Only their perp could have bypassed everything to call straight to his office phone and they would ring again. He was right. After thirty seconds the sound restarted and Craig walked slowly into his office, beckoning everyone to follow.

“Superintendent Craig.”

A man’s voice came through and Craig listened hard, but not to the words.

“You didn’t listen, Craig. You hunted me and now I’m going to hunt you back. I’ve finished with the others so it’s between us two now. I may have missed with the pathologist but I won’t miss with you. Enjoy your last day alive.”

The line went dead and Craig motioned Nicky to phone downstairs. She came back a moment later shaking her head.

“Re-routed again, through Rome this time.”

It was too much of a coincidence. Rome was where Craig’s mother came from.

“OK, I’m obviously next on the list or my folks are. Nicky, tighten the security on my parent’s home and call my sister at work and tell her I’ll be there in thirty minutes to collect her. I’ll take her to my folk’s place until this is all over. Davy, did we get it on tape?”

Davy rushed to his computer and typed. A moment later he nodded.

“OK. Then humour me and run it through the programme I asked linguistics to send you this morning.”

Davy typed furiously for a moment then beckoned them all to be quiet. He played the words Craig had just heard and then altered the tape incrementally, stripping away the artificial components until he reached a different voice. A woman’s. They listened hard as Davy played it three times, then Craig gestured for him to stop.

“Thanks, Davy. OK, opinions anyone?”

Liam spoke first. “There’s no partnership, only one perp. Female pretending to be male.”

“Yes. They used voice altering software.”

Jake spoke tentatively, gazing around to see if anyone minded.

“Young… I think. Early thirties at the latest.”

“You’re right, lad. And it’s a Belfast accent, but posh Belfast. Malone or Cherry Valley somewhere.”

Craig nodded. “Davy, there was something in the background. Can you enhance it?”

Davy muted the voice and drew up the background sound as everyone looked on.

Annette gazed at the computer screen. “Our Jordan would love that programme. He’s into making short films.”

Davy answered without looking up, engrossed in his task. “I’ll s…see if I can get him a copy.”

After a few seconds Davy sat back triumphantly and pressed play. They listened as the unmistakable sound of church bells rang out. Craig glanced at the clock. It was five past eleven. The bells had rung on the hour.

“Play it again and we’ll count the bells.”

Eleven. He was right. Their perp was calling from somewhere close to a church.

“OK. I want you all on this for the next hour. Ring every church in Belfast until you find out which one just rang the eleven o’clock bells and then get a sample of the sounds to Davy.”

“But that means we’ll have to get them to ring their bells, boss.”

Craig shook his head. “Most church bells are recordings, Liam. They only use bell-ringers for special occasions. They can probably e-mail the samples through. Davy and Liam, try the churches around Queens, the Malone and Stranmillis. Annette and Jake, you do the ones on the east side of the city.”

He headed for the door. “I’m going to my folks to explain why they’re on lock-down before my mother rings here giving you all grief.”

***

Mirella Craig was so excited to see her son and daughter appear for lunch that it wasn’t until after the Lasagne and Tiramisu that it occurred to her to ask why they were there. Craig’s father, on the other hand, had been staring at Craig intermittently since he’d arrived an hour earlier, bearing flowers for his mother and trailing his truculent younger sister in his wake. As Tom Craig started to form the question his son saw it coming and answered before it reached the air.

“I’m sorry everyone, but I’ve had to put you under close protection.”

Lucia already knew and she folded her arms firmly and glared, first at Craig and then at her father.

“I have plans for tonight, Marc. We’re all going out for Theresa’s birthday.”

“Sorry, Luce. She’ll have to celebrate without you. I wouldn’t be asking this of you if it wasn’t important.”

Mirella set down a coffee at her husband’s elbow and scanned the faces at the table with a puzzled expression. “What you talk about?” She squinted at her husband and then at Craig, suddenly noticing the undercurrent between them.

“Tom Craig! Why you look at Marco like that? He is my good boy. What is happening here?”

Craig senior smiled and grabbed his wife by the waist, pulling her onto his knee, much to Craig’s amusement. Lucia rolled her eyes. Richard had annoyed her on the phone the night before and she was completely off romance.

“What is happening here is that your son is basically telling us that we’re prisoners in our own house.”

Lucia interrupted grumpily. “I’m not even in my own house!”

She turned to Craig and scowled. “I’m not staying here, Marc. I had enough of the Take That décor of my bedroom last November to last me for ten years.” She folded her arms more tightly. “Besides, you haven’t given us any explanation.” She turned to her father for support, releasing one hand to point accusingly at her brother. “He just turned up at my work and made me leave, in front of everyone! I’ll be lucky if I keep my job, with all this carry-on.”

Tom Craig arched an eyebrow sceptically at his daughter’s hyperbole and then turned to Craig with a mute request for information. Craig sighed, not knowing how much to tell them. If he told them that he was under threat of death and so by proxy they were too, his mother would run round the kitchen screaming that the end was nigh. If he told them about his team having been armed and under close protection for days and that John was lying in the I.C.U. seven miles up the road, it would get even worse. She would start praying and promising God unfeasible amounts of money for the church if they were all kept safe. So Craig lied.

It was a plausible lie, one that his mother would believe and Lucia would think twice about questioning. Only his worldly father would hear the truth behind his words and he would go along with his son’s version of the world to protect them all. Craig composed his face into a suitably official expression.

“OK. The squad has had a call from Dissidents threatening the families of everyone in the team. So, to be on the safe side we’re putting everyone under close protection for a few days. Until we get these Muppets under control.”

“Dissident who? Loyalists or republicans?”

Craig hadn’t anticipated Lucia’s question, so he grabbed for the first word in her list. “Loyalists.”

She gawped at him. “Don’t tell me they’ve started up again as well? Good grief.”

Whether they had or hadn’t was lost as Lucia and Mirella descended into a diatribe about the random elements on both sides of Northern Ireland intent on dragging them all back to the past. Tom Craig gave his son a nod that said ‘nicely done’ and they returned happily to their lunch, while Craig wondered exactly who the next target was going to be.

***

Jenna Graham watched Craig arrive at his parent’s Holywood house with a young woman in tow, then leave an hour later on his own. She scanned the un-marked police car in the driveway and the second one at the back on the house, knowing that the plain-clothed officers inside would be armed to the teeth.

Let them protect Craig’s family; she wished that someone had protected hers. Besides, the odds were against her ever reaching them alive with eight men in her way, and she wasn’t suicidal. She smiled at the irony in her thoughts and started up the car, trailing Craig down Holywood’s narrow High Street and back onto the M3 motorway, taking up position a comfortable three car lengths behind. It was Marc Craig she was after, not his family, just as he was after her. They would just have to see who reached their quarry first.

***

“If Adrian B…Bell was the last victim then this must be the full c…code. Des has just phoned the last six digits t…through.”

Craig squinted down at the paper Davy was holding, trying to make sense of the line of numbers. It was far too long for a National Insurance number and the wrong format for passport or driving licence. Besides, that would have been too simple for a killer this sharp. Davy read his mind.

“W…We’re running it now. It’s too long for lots of s…standard formats, like g…government I.D.s.”

Liam chipped in. “What about court case numbers, hospital numbers, bank codes and that sort of thing?”

Davy shook his long dark hair. “Nope. Again, w…wrong length and format.” He sighed. “I’m trying insurance policy and pension numbers and the rest. The Met’s code-crackers are on it as w…well. We’ll just have to hope that one of us catches a break soon.”

Craig nodded and grabbed a chair. “OK, thanks, Davy. Right. Church bells anyone?”

Annette nodded. “We got all the recordings from the areas you mentioned and the closest sound was a small church in Holywood on Downshire Road. I gave it to Davy a minute ago.”

Craig’s eyes widened. He knew exactly where the church was. He could picture it in his mind: small and made of white stone. The killer had phoned from outside a church less than a mile from his parent’s house! She’d routed the call through Rome knowing that it would set Craig running to protect them, exposing himself in the process. She could have killed him as he’d driven through Holywood if she’d wanted to.