The Coercion Key (21 page)

Davy shook his head. “Not looking for it, probably. To be honest, chief, if w…we hadn’t looked for it I would never have noticed from the tape, w…would you?”

Craig shook his head. “No. Never. I just thought she had a husky voice.” He grinned. “Well done, Jake.”

Jake blushed. “Thanks, sir. I’ve met a few transgender males and females at Sarajevo, so it wasn’t such a leap for me.”

Sarajevo was a popular gay club in the centre of Belfast.

“OK. Good. So let’s have a look at that list again now that we know. So our perp had a male to female transition but they’re on Jake’s list of five screen names as a man.”

They stared at the list in silence for a moment before Craig spoke.

“OK… so in 1994 seven males in Northern Ireland were in the chat-rooms dedicated to the game. If John and linguistics have got the age right at early thirties then our perp would have been a boy anywhere from his early to mid-teens then. Obviously with liberal parents who let him play the game! Ten years later we’re looking at either males or females in their early twenties but still no girls. We’ve lost a player, that’s a list of six people in 2004. And now we have just five players from Northern Ireland.”

He scanned the lists. “Right, let’s just examine the first two lists. There were seven names in ’94 then six ten years later, all male. People came and went over that period but we have two names that match on that list, both from Northern Ireland; Harry Lamb and James Mulhearn. They’re both still on the 2014 list. Jake, do you have addresses for them?”

Jake rushed back to his screen to check. “Yes, but only one kept the same address for the whole twenty years. Harry Lamb.”

“Right, Davy. Check the family at that address.”

Davy typed for a second and then started to read. “Harry Lamb and his family. Parents George and S…Susan, sister Kate. They still live there. Harry is recorded as having married and moved to Enniskillen in 2008; he obviously forgot to change his address online.”

‘Forgot’ was giving him the benefit of a huge doubt in Craig’s mind.

“His driving licence p…photo is coming up now.”

The image of a slim Chinese man appeared on the screen and Craig shook his head. It wasn’t their perp. It was easier to change sex than ethnicity.

“OK, good. That rules him out. That just leaves James Mulhearn. What have we got on him?”

Jake and Davy typed away for a moment then Davy spoke. “James Mulhearn thirty years old. Lived on the Malone Road w…with his parents, Mary and Patrick Mulhearn until 1997 when he was thirteen, then nothing. The last record of him w…was in 2004 when he got his driving licence. He was twenty then. He gave his childhood address on it even though the house was demolished in 1999. His picture’s coming through now.”

Craig walked to the printer and tugged the hot page free impatiently. He stared hard at the image in front of him then shook his head, not because the answer was no, but because he didn’t know what the answer was. James Mulhearn was definitely a man and not a bad looking one. He was slight and fine-featured with straight hair and a beard that could have been brown or auburn depending on the light. Hair was easily grown and curled and beards could be shaved off, but they could still only speculate that the man in the photo might be a woman now.

Craig handed the picture around and turned back to the lists. Jake’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“James Mulhearn hasn’t been playing online for the past two days, boss.”

Craig nodded. “Like I said there could be all sorts of reasons for that.”

“Or it could fit with someone who wanted to keep a low profile because they were busy doing other things, like killing.”

Craig sipped at his coffee thoughtfully. “I think you’re right, Jake. It’s too much coincidence that your hunch about transgender was backed up by linguistics. We’re on the right track. We’re looking for a teenage boy who played this computer game and became a woman at some point in the past twenty years.” He gestured at the photograph of James Mulhearn. “I think Mulhearn’s our perp.” He turned to Davy. “Davy, just to be certain, get me the photograph of every woman playing anywhere nowadays.”

“It’ll take a w…while. Some of them might be foreign nationals. I’ll have to s…speak to the countries they play from.”

“Or routed through. OK, do whatever you have to do. We need John to see their photos and rule them out.”

Jake glanced warily at Craig. “Actually, sir, I’m pretty sure we’re on the right track with James Mulhearn and I’d like permission to start following that up.”

Craig nodded. “OK, go ahead. Davy, John’s on a ward now so he’s well enough to do a sketch for us. Get the artist over there ASAP then run the sketch through face recognition and see if the main markers match James Mulhearn’s driving licence photo. Meanwhile, Jake, find me everything there is out there about James Mulhearn, past and present. If you need any strings pulled just let me know.”

Just then Nicky entered through the glass double-doors, with her protection officer in tow, looking less than amused. Nicky was carrying a bag from a popular clothes store. She stared pointedly at Craig’s feet as she approached.

“Stopped pacing then? Or has he been driving you boys mad as well?”

Craig smiled at her cheek and then at the bag. “Don’t tell me… I drove you to retail therapy.”

“You did, so you can explain my credit card bill to Gary when it arrives.”

***

Diana Rogan had been well liked. The mood in her office was subdued when Annette and Liam arrived, even though no-one could possibly have known they were coming. It was even more subdued when they left. Everyone from Rogan’s secretary and boss to the tea lady had a kind word to say about her, and everyone testified to how much she’d loved her husband and kids. As pleasant office companions went Diana Rogan seemed to have ranked high in the charts. But cautious questioning revealed that none of them knew that her son wasn’t Conor Rogan’s, so that said something about how little people ever really knew about anyone else.

Victoria Linton didn’t rate quite so highly for popularity. Annette smiled encouragingly at the secretary in front of them, assuring her that anything she said would remain confidential. Natasha Nunes took Annette at her word.

“Linton was a bitch. A Class A, nine carat, hard-faced, money grubbing bitch, and I’m not surprised that someone killed her.”

Liam burst out laughing and Annette shot him a disapproving look. This was a victim they were talking about, after all. She arched an eyebrow and stared at Nunes again.

“It’s obvious that you didn’t like Ms Linton, but could you be more specific as to why?”

Nunes folded her arms across her thin frame and warmed to her subject. “She shouted at everyone and expected us all to work our asses off for her without even a thank you.” She sniffed. “She never even bought us a gift at Christmas like Mr Roche did. He’s a gentleman, but Linton was just in it for the money.”

Liam lurched forward suddenly. “Did you want her dead, then?”

Nunes jerked backwards then stuttered. “N…No, I didn’t want her dead! I was leaving anyway.”

“To go where?”

“To take a new job; working closer to home.”

“Are you still leaving?”

“No. Mr Roche has asked me to stay on. But…”

Annette smiled to herself watching the girl being wrong-footed by Liam’s quick-fire approach.

“But what? But you bumped her off so you didn’t have to leave?”

The girl stared at him, stunned for a moment by the suggestion, then she re-folded her arms and grinned. “Yeh, that’s right. I wanted to stay here so much that I bumped her off. As if!”

Her sarcasm irritated Liam and he rose to his full height. “Right then, that sounded like a confession to me. Come along Ms Nunes. Read her rights, Inspector.”

Natasha Nunes’ eyes widened and she spun to face Annette, who was trying hard not to laugh.

“I didn’t kill her, but there were plenty who wanted to. She’d made a lot of enemies though the years.”

Liam sat down again and leaned forward with an intense look on his face. “Like who?”

“W…Well, I’d have to look through the files, but she had a few who rang up regularly, calling her everything. I wasn’t allowed to put their calls through.”

Annette nodded. Victoria Linton was a prosecutor. That wouldn’t make her popular with the criminal classes.

“Criminals that she’d put away?”

Annette was surprised when Nunes shook her head. “Not all of them. She was a commercial lawyer before she turned to prosecution and she lost a lot of people compensation through the years.”

It was what they’d already suspected.

“What sort of companies did she defend?”

“All sorts. Insurance companies, pension companies, banks, anyone who could get sued really.”

Liam interrupted. “Why did she give it up?”

Nunes shook her head. “She didn’t confide in me.”

“Would Mr Roche know?”

The young woman shook her head again. “I don’t think so. He only became her partner last year. She was solo before that.” She thought for a moment. “You might try Mr Lover, Lover.”

Annette smiled at the reference to the old song by Shaggy. “Her boyfriend?”

“Julian Mooney. I spoke to him on the phone a few times. Not my sort, but he seemed nice enough. Too nice for her.”

“Why not your sort?”

“Too arty for me. I think he’s an architect or something like that.”

They really needed to interview Mooney.

“Do you have a list of the callers who you weren’t to put through?”

Nunes printed off a list of about ten names and Annette sighed, knowing that they’d have to eliminate each one. She rose to her feet and extended her hand to shake, gripping the girl’s and smiling. Nunes withdrew her hand swiftly before Liam offered to do the same and watched gratefully as they walked out the door. Then she stared at the list on her screen trying to work out which one of them had done the world a favour by bumping off her boss.

Chapter Seventeen

3.30 p.m.

Jenna swore at the tall C.C.U. building in frustration. It wasn’t for an audience; Pilot Street was deserted. The days when it was a bustling thoroughfare between the water’s edge and the rest of Sailortown, leading to food, alcohol and a warm woman were long since gone. Its cobbles had been shattered many years before by a developer’s jackhammer and St Joseph’s, the listed church that had served the area’s occupants and visitors since 1878, was boarded up and silent.

She remembered the campaign to save the little ‘Chapel on the Quays’, as the church had always been known. Catholics and Protestants had stood side by side every Sunday morning, trying to save it from the wrecking ball. They’d managed to save the building but now it stood boarded-up and unexplored, waiting for its protectors to restore its interior and open it again for the world to view. The church watched over the narrow dockland streets like a holy sentinel, as if it was biding its time, waiting for its rafters to ring again with voices raised in prayer.

Jenna imagined the silent chapel disapproving of everything about her life, from the games she played to the abomination its clergy would think her body had become. She shrugged, not caring. If there was a God then it was responsible for her creation, male and female. No use disapproving of me now, Supreme Being, whatever you call yourself, or trying to lay the blame at society’s door. I’m your child after all. She laughed, knowing that no-one would hear her and wonder who the madwoman was, laughing alone in the street. Then she turned her attention back to the C.C.U. and waited for her prey.

***

Craig had had enough of being under house arrest. He wanted to visit John and it was a Friday evening so he had to leave the office by seven anyway. Attendance at his mother’s Friday night dinner was a three-line-whip and she overcooked her pasta for no-one. He glanced at his watch, calculating that he could get to the hospital and back in under an hour, before Liam and Annette returned for the briefing at five o’ clock.

He walked to the door of his office and wrenched it open, watching as Nicky and Jake sprang into high alert. It wasn’t his elevated rank that did it, this wasn’t the military after all, it was the fact that they’d been tasked by Liam to stop him leaving and they were taking their job to heart.

Nicky squinted at him menacingly. “Where do you think you’re going… sir?” The appellation was an afterthought that came reluctantly after the pause. Craig knew what was running through her mind during the two second gap. You couldn’t call your prisoner ‘sir’, even if he was your boss. And that’s what Craig was after all, a prisoner. Under house arrest for his own good.

“I was thinking of having a sandwich in the canteen, if that’s OK with you?”

Nicky screwed up her face as if she was mapping out his possible escape routes from the seventh floor. There were too many for comfort.

“I can get one for you.”

Craig shook his head. “I want to eat it there and read the paper. I need a break.”

He caught Davy’s grin out of the side of his eye. He wasn’t sitting to attention like the others, but then he doubted Davy knew what the stance even looked like. He was a rebel, an artist, and his only possible partner in crime.

“I’ll be back for the briefing at five o’clock. But if it makes you feel any better, Davy can come with me to make sure that I don’t escape.”

Nicky thought for another minute, searching for the catch then she gave Craig a reluctant nod. He was up to something, she had no doubt about that, but she couldn’t work out exactly what. Craig nodded to Davy and he loped across the floor, then they started the long walk to freedom towards the lift. When they were out of Nicky’s earshot the young analyst turned to Craig.

“W…We’re not going to the canteen, are we?”

“Nope.”

“We’re going to s…see Dr Winter, aren’t we?”

“Correct.”

Davy rubbed his hands gleefully, feeling like a spy on a secret mission. They entered the lift and Craig pressed for the basement garage then Davy spoke again.

“Just one thing, chief. W…What about my protection guy? If he’s finds out that I’ve gone he’ll go berserk.”

Craig startled. He’d forgotten about the C.P.Os! He thought fast.

“He’s in reception, because that’s the way you normally leave. He won’t know we’ve got out through the basement. Give it twenty minutes then ring Nicky and pretend we’re still in the canteen and ask if she’d like anything brought back. That should throw her off the scent. By the time she realises we’ve gone we’ll be back.”

They reached the garage and Craig gunned the engine of his ancient car. They swept out smoothly onto Pilot Street, completely missing the tall figure standing in Short Street as they drove past.

Jenna smiled as the car whizzed past her. Not because she had any intention of following, she guessed that Craig would be back soon enough. It was mid-afternoon and he had someone in the car; there’d be more work to do before he would head home for the night. No, Jenna smiled because she knew what it meant. Craig was a risk taker; he’d left his office without an armed guard and that meant he was careless and she would get to him soon. She liked people who took risks, as long as they were only with their own lives.

***

Sydenham.

Liam and Annette had one last person to interview before they collected Mike Augustus from the lab and headed back to the ranch for five o’clock. Annette scanned the list on her knee as Liam drove expertly towards Julian Mooney’s address. Natasha Nunes had been right. Mooney was an arty sort, but he wasn’t an architect, he was into interior design. Annette had always wondered what interior designers did, until she saw the warmth created by the décor in the Merchant Hotel and the cool stylistic elegance of the MAC. That’s what interior designers did. They took an empty room and made it feel like something more.

She glanced up from her list and pointed ahead. “It’s the second on the right.”

Liam ignored her. Back seat drivers. He knew Belfast like the back of his hand and Annette was from Maghera! He wondered why people said ‘the back of your hand’? Why not ‘your own face’? After all, you spent a lot more time staring at yourself in the mirror than you did looking down at your limbs. His thoughts changed swiftly as he noticed the name of the street they were in. ‘Marine Street.’ This was it.

Liam parked the car and clambered out, scanning the street cautiously. It was narrow and run-down, like the whole area was. It didn’t look like somewhere a barrister’s boyfriend would live. The semi-detached house at number 25 was as shabby as the street it was in, and they walked slowly up its untidy path to an unremarkable front door. Annette was disappointed, she’d prepared herself to be wowed by the house, thinking that a designer would live somewhere swish.

They knocked several times but no-one answered so Liam walked across the garden towards the rear of the house.

“I’ll look round the back. You keep knocking.”

But back and front doors yielded the same result. There was no-one at home. Liam peered through the kitchen windows, looking for some clues to Julian Mooney’s life. The room was sparse and cold looking, the only sign of life a newspaper spread across the table top. Annette wandered round to join him, just as he was pushing a window hard.

“Liam, stop that! Mooney isn’t a suspect.”

Liam frowned. Something felt very wrong. Julian Mooney was supposed to be a designer, the partner of a wealthy woman, yet he lived on a run-down street in a poor area and his shabby décor definitely wasn’t an attempt at Bohemian chic. The hairs on the back of Liam’s neck sprang up and he motioned Annette back to the car. As they drove off to collect Mike Augustus he scanned the street a final time for threats, certain that their perp had been there.

***

“God, I’m bored. Tell me what’s happening with the case.”

Craig shook his head. If Natalie found him talking to John about work he’d be a dead man. Davy gazed curiously around the hospital side-room then lifted the remote control, managing to find several TV channels that John had missed. One of them was FOX International which showed the best crime series on the box.

“Stop! Freeze it there, Davy and check what’s on tonight, will you?”

Davy flicked up the index and John beamed. Episodes of his favourite cop shows were being played back to back.

“I can die happy now.”

Craig winced. “I’d rather you didn’t die at all, thanks.”

He paused for a second, calculating how much he could get John involved with work before Natalie came after him with an axe. John had seen who’d shot him, and they would ask any witness to give a description, so a sketch should be safe enough ground.

“John, if I get the artist to visit you tomorrow can you do a sketch of the woman who shot you?”

John was still staring at the screen as the opening credits of ‘The Wire’ started to play. He answered Craig vaguely. “Yeh, sure, whatever you want.”

“What time is Natalie likely to visit?”

“In and out all day.” He motioned to Davy. “Davy, can you turn that up.”

“I’d like the artist to avoid her if possible. You know Natalie when she’s having a rant. ”

John’s gaze was fixed straight ahead and he reached out his hand for the remote control. “Yes, very wise. Good.”

They’d lost him to the joys of Baltimore’s finest and Craig recognised defeat. He motioned Davy towards the door and they left John to solve some of America’s heinous crimes.

***

The C.C.U. 5 p.m.

“OK. We’ll go round for updates then open it up for discussion. Welcome, Mike, thanks for coming.”

Mike Augustus smiled and gazed excitedly round the squad-room, like a man who didn’t get out enough.

“Liam, you and Annette start us off.”

Craig motioned them on, ignoring Nicky’s glare. She’d caught him and Davy as they’d re-entered the floor and wagged a finger in Craig’s face.

“You weren’t in the canteen. I checked!”

Craig had tried for indignation but it was ruined by Davy’s loud laugh.

“We were… for a while.”

“And where were you then? Eh?” The wagging intensified. “If I find out that you left this building without protection and took this vulnerable boy into danger…”

The ‘vulnerable boy’ laughed so hard that Craig wanted to smack him one, but instead he smiled calmly. He calculated that Nicky would have taken the lift to the canteen and took his best shot.

“We went to the canteen and then walked back up the stairs. You must have missed us.”

Nicky squinted at Craig’s innocent face, suddenly uncertain of her ground. She’d taken the lift both ways, so she could easily have missed them between floors and Davy’s protection officer said they definitely hadn’t left through reception. The only way to prove her case was to speak to the gate officer in the garage. She’d been about to go down to the basement when Liam and Annette had arrived.

Liam started to report from memory as Annette checked what he said against her notebook. She gave up halfway when he didn’t put a foot wrong. Liam ran through their visits to Warner’s second family in Antrim and Diana Rogan’s office in one minute, basically filing them under ‘nothing interesting to report’. When he reached Victoria Linton’s P.A he stopped and nodded Annette on.

“It seems that Victoria Linton wasn’t well liked, not by her P.A. and not by some of the people she’d dealt with.”

“Criminals she’d prosecuted?”

“Not just them, sir. She’d been a defence lawyer for corporate clients before she took up prosecution and she made a few enemies there as well. Her clients were mainly banks, insurance companies and the like.”

Craig knew they were in the right ball-park.

“The P.A., Natasha Nunes, had a list of people that she wasn’t to put through to Linton if they called.”

“Did you get it?”

Annette nodded and tapped a file on her lap. “I’ll give it to Davy to cross-check. Then we went to visit the boyfriend, Julian Mooney. Ms Nunes thought he might be an architect. Turns out he was an interior designer but I have to say I wouldn’t fancy him designing my house.”

“Why not?”

Liam jumped in. “’Cos his own place was a shambles. Neglected house in a rough road and if what we saw was interior design then I’ll stick with my own taste.”

Davy’s timing was perfect. “Neanderthal chic?”

Craig smiled at his droll delivery and Mike Augustus laughed out loud; they never had this much fun at the lab.

Liam drew himself upright in his chair. “Here now, I’ll have you know…”

Craig waved them both down, laughing. “I’m sure your taste is impeccable, Liam. Annette, tell us what you saw at Mooney’s house.”

Annette shrugged. “To be honest Liam’s already said it all. There was no-one in so we had a quick look through the kitchen window and it was worse than most student flats. Chilly looking, sparse and dull. If Mooney’s an interior designer he’s not a very good one, unless the rest of the house is better. To be honest it looked more like a flop pad than a home.”

The group fell silent for a moment while Craig thought. “OK… Davy, check out Mooney please. We know he exists because the neighbour, James Wallace, met him. You two, go back to Linton’s development and speak to Wallace again. Davy will give you Mooney’s photo.”

“W…Well actually…”

Craig turned towards Davy, he‘d moved back to his computer and was typing something in. After a moment he nodded and returned to his seat.

“I just wanted to recheck something. I s…searched Julian Mooney on the computer when I did everyone else after Victoria Linton’s death and nothing came up on him. I parked it because he was only a partner of the victim and she was only one of several suicides, s…so he didn’t seem that important, but I’ve just run him again and there’s nothing.”

Craig frowned. “Nothing? Driving licence, passport, work history?”

Davy shook his long hair. “Nada. He’s the invisible man.”

“How is that possible?”

“W…Well, if he doesn’t drive or travel, it’s very possible he doesn’t have any passport or driving licence pictures available. And if he’s a freelance designer it might be a lot of cash in hand work.”