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Authors: Catriona King

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BOOK: The Coercion Key
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Craig smiled at her polite invitation and shook his head, so Annette climbed out of the car and waved him away. As Craig drove to the junction and turned right towards town, he completely missed the car following three car lengths behind.

***

Jenna Graham really wanted to hear Victoria Linton’s exclamation when she inserted the key, and see the horrified look on her face. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t be in the room with her when it happened so she could only wait for the inevitable effect. And it was inevitable, just like Linton’s two weeks of skiing in the winter and her weekends spent sailing out of Cultra.

Graham smiled at how easy it had all been so far. She wanted it to continue until the end, needed it to, but the Murder Squad were getting nosy and she had to make them stop. Everyone had a weakness that could be used against them; she just needed to find out what Superintendent Marc Craig’s was.

***

9 p.m.

 

Craig threw his jacket on an armchair and loosened his tie. He slumped on the settee and flicked idly through the channels as he thought. Diana Rogan had no more wanted to kill herself than Cleopatra had. She had a loving husband, two cuter-than-hell kids and a job that she seemed to love. She was going to Disneyland for God’s sake; people who were going to Disneyland didn’t take their own lives!

Craig paused his thoughts like a DVD and skipped back several frames. Her job. Her husband had said that she’d loved it but her death had to be linked with her job in some way; there was no other possible source of stress in her life. He’d searched Conor Rogan’s face for signs of lies about their marriage. So had Annette and she said that Rogan was telling the truth, so he must be. He trusted Annette’s judgement of people even more than his own. They’d speak to the neighbours and Diana Rogan’s family about the marriage of course, but it would be a dead end, he was sure of it. But Diana Rogan’s job… now that was something else.

Craig made a note to get onto it in the morning then he wandered to the fridge to grab a bottle of beer, ignoring John’s medical lecture earlier that day. He sat back down on the settee and gazed around his small living room. It felt empty. It was empty. He was alone in life apart from his parents and sister, and pretty soon John would be married and living in domestic bliss. He rubbed his face in irritation, not at John but at himself. Why couldn’t he settle down like everyone else?

He took a swig of beer and gave himself a pass. He and Camille had split up because of her ambition. She was in New York now, acting on Broadway; she still sent him occasional postcards with tales of her exciting life. Good luck to her, he wished her well in the States, but it wasn’t the place for him. His parents needed him as they grew older and he loved his job. The job. Was that it? Was the job the reason he was still alone?

Craig shrugged and then realised he was sitting in total darkness. He reached over to turn on the light and an image of Julia filled his mind. He pictured her lying beside him on the couch with her red hair spread out and her blue eyes smiling. Why had it all gone wrong between them? He already knew the answer. Stubbornness and geography, just like with Camille. If it had just been his stubbornness he could have done something about that, but theirs he had no control over. And geography? Well New York or Limavady, there was no way to shorten miles, regardless of whether they were land or sea.

Career had been the reason he was still single, not just his but theirs. Neither of them had been ready to drop everything to be with him and he’d had no right to expect it. The same was true in reverse. What was interesting was why he was attracted to such career-driven women in the first place. And he definitely was; John was the same. Was it their intelligence or their ambition? No, it wasn’t ambition in any formal sense. He didn’t care if they didn’t have big titles or earn a lot. It was their drive. Intelligence and drive; it was a very sexy combination. He just wished he could find a woman with those qualities who wanted to live in Belfast, like John had managed to with Natalie.

Craig wallowed in self-pity for a moment longer then kicked himself up the ass and surfed the channels until he found a football match to watch. As he stared at the screen half-dozing, the image of a woman’s face floated into his mind and he smiled, realising that he might already know the answer to his prayers.

Chapter Five

 

Victoria Linton threw her briefcase in the corner of her large open-plan living room then rifled through her handbag for the padded envelope she’d opened earlier that day. She poured a large glass of Merlot and sat down on a leather couch with her laptop on her knee, turning the key over in her hand. She stared at it for a moment, wondering again who it was from. ‘I am from the past’, that was what the note had said. She snorted with laughter thinking of her exes throughout the years.

It was far too cryptic for Nathan; he’d been a concrete thinker. Correction, a leaden thinker. Nathan had thought creativity was something that should be vaccinated against. And as far as Robin was concerned, the idea of doing something as romantic as sending a key would have brought him out in hives. She reached up and loosened her chignon, letting her dark curls fall down her back. What about Julian? She imagined her impoverished partner being able to afford a platinum key and dismissed the idea instantly. And Julian wasn’t in her past yet. As soon as the idea occurred to her she shuddered, pushing it away. Julian Mooney was staying in her life regardless of what her family would think.

Victoria stopped speculating and took another gulp of wine. Whoever had sent it, the key would reveal them once she inserted the USB. She deposited her wine glass carefully on a side table, ensuring that she placed a coaster underneath, and pulled off the memory stick’s valuable outer casing, inserting it into her laptop. She watched while the computer scanned for viruses and when it was sure there were no contaminants she clicked to open the USB and reveal what lay inside.

Her eyes fell on a file with the title ‘Your future’ and she felt a bubble of excitement rise. This was it. Someone who had worshipped her from a distance was about to declare their love and whisk her away from her mundane life. She’d daydreamed about it of course, just as every woman had, but it was actually happening to her because she was special. She had no idea just how special. As Victoria Linton clicked open the file she had no idea that her life was about to change for good.

***

Tuesday, 4 a.m.

 

Craig was woken by the sound of a mobile phone ringing somewhere in his dream. As his dream was set in Rome during July he wasn’t amused to wake up and find he was actually in a freezing spring in Belfast. He grabbed the handset grumpily and banged it on.

“Yes?”

Craig’s voice was hoarse and if he sounded angry it was because he was. He’d glimpsed the time on the screen as he’d answered. Four a.m. someone had better have a damn good reason for phoning him in the middle of the night. It was John Winter and he had.

“There’s been another one, Marc. In the next block along the river to yours.”

Craig was confused. One minute ago he’d been in Rome, strolling through the Piazza Navona with an attractive blonde on his arm, and now this. Either the booze had finally got to him or there’d been another death. He sat up quickly, throwing his feet onto his bedroom’s wooden floor, then he raked his hair ruthlessly, trying to wake himself up.

“OK. Give me that again, John. What, who and where?”

“Another death; apparently suicide. A barrister called Victoria Linton. She lives in Stranmillis Quay.”

He was right. It was the next block along. Craig dragged a jumper and his jeans from a nearby chair and pulled them on as John continued talking.

“She was found in her car in the communal garage.”

“Carbon Monoxide poisoning?”

“Yes.” John paused and Craig knew what was coming next. He wouldn’t have woken him up at four a.m. for a suicide case, no matter how lonely he felt. “She left exactly the same note, Marc... I’ll see you there in ten.”

The line went dead and Craig slipped his mobile into his pocket and went to freshen up. He looked a shambles but he didn’t care, neither would Victoria Linton. He brushed his teeth sleepily as her name turned over in his head. He knew that name, he was certain he did. Then he remembered where from. She’d prosecuted a case of his six years before, when he’d first come back to Belfast. She’d been a snippy piece of work, but attractive. Craig wondered idly what she looked like nowadays then he remembered she was dead and chastised himself.

Ten minutes later he was staring down at her corpse, the familiar cherry-red discolouration of her skin confirming John’s diagnosis of a Carbon Monoxide death. Craig gazed at the woman’s face, remembering her from the courtroom. He could almost hear her voice. Cool but not unpleasant, like a BBC Newsreader in a vaguely pissed-off mood. It was her stare that had really wilted her opponents; fierce and unblinking, as if she could make them tell the truth by her sheer force of will. A tap on his shoulder told Craig that Linton’s apartment was ready to view and he nodded John to cover her face with the sheet.

“Pity. She was young.”

Craig nodded in agreement.

“Did you know her, Marc?”

“I came up against her in court once. She was a criminal prosecutor. Pretty good as well. I don’t know if she was still doing it.”

“Her apartment will tell us.”

“Who found her, John?”

“A neighbour who was coming home late. He heard the car engine running and went into the garage to take a look. He pulled her out and tried to resuscitate her, but no joy. Uniform at Stranmillis caught the call.” John pointed at a young man who was leaning against a police car, holding a cup of coffee in his hand. He was shaking so much that he was spilling it all over the ground.

Craig walked over to him and extended his hand. “I’m Superintendent Craig, Mr…?”

“W…Wallace. James Wallace.”

Wallace’s voice was shaking as much as his hands and Craig smiled kindly at him. “It must have been a shock.”

The man nodded vaguely. “I knew her. Vicky. She used to come to the boat club the odd time and we’d all go to Cutter’s Wharf together.”

Cutter’s was a popular riverside bar in Stranmillis that Craig had been to many times. Wallace was still speaking.

“Why would she do this to herself? She had everything. Her job, Julian, her…”

Craig interrupted gently. “Who is Julian?”

Wallace stared at Craig as if he was looking through him, searching for something. It was probably his peace of mind.

“He’s her boyfriend. They’ve been together for a while. It was quite serious I think.” His mouth dropped open. “Oh God, maybe he dumped her? Maybe that’s why she did it?”

Craig shook his head. “There’s no point speculating, Mr Wallace. We’ll sort all that out later.”

Craig thought about going over the events with the young man again but a glance at his pale skin and reddening eyes said that he’d had quite enough for tonight.

“Thank you for being so helpful, Mr Wallace. I think you should go home now and get some sleep. A constable will contact you in the morning.” Craig turned to enter the apartment block then thought of something and turned swiftly back again. “Just one more question. How do people gain access to the development?”

Wallace stared at the high gates that separated the exclusive apartments from the road and then back at Craig. “Electronic gate opener.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a fob, holding it out to Craig. “We get them from the managing agents. Only apartment owners have them, although several people have rented their apartments out now, so I suppose…”

Craig finished the sentence. “Any tenant would have one.”

Craig smiled again and nodded Wallace to continue on his way. He walked back to where John was standing with a C.S.I.

“Ready?”

John nodded and they headed for Victoria Linton’s fifth-floor apartment. Penthouse would have been a better name for it. As they walked through the heavy front door Craig gasped. He’d seen some amazing homes in his time, especially during his years in London, but this was up there with the best. The door opened directly into an open-plan living area of over one thousand square metres. The back wall held a modern kitchen, with steel appliances and every gadget known to man. The front was made of ceiling-to-floor glass and gave a view over the river at Stranmillis that Craig could only dream he had. He smiled, thinking of his small two-bedroomed place. Quaint was how Julia had always described it, scruffy would have been nearer the truth. He was hardly ever there so it hadn’t seemed to matter, but…

John watched Craig’s face as he scanned the room and hoped he was doing more than admiring the drapes. He was, and something was niggling at him. Without preamble Craig crossed to a wide black desk by the window and scanned the items neatly arranged on top. Pens, in and out trays, a docking station and a computer mat. So far so ordinary for a professional of any sort. There was nothing out of place on the desk; in fact there was nothing out of place anywhere in the room. Victoria Linton must have had O.C.D. Then he saw what was wrong. Where was the computer that went with the docking station? Craig scanned the room and then turned to John.

“Has anyone taken her computer?”

“Yes. It was a laptop. Forensics are taking it back for examination.”

“Where is it now?”

John waved towards a white-suited C.S.I. in the corner and Craig crossed the room to her in three strides.

“Have you got the laptop from that desk?”

The girl looked up at him, her small face almost enveloped by the hood of her white jump-suit. “Yes, sir. But it wasn’t on the desk; it was on the settee when we arrived. Did you want to have a look at it?”

She stared pointedly at Craig’s un-gloved hands and handed him a pair, then she extricated a sleek laptop from its sterile wrapping and opened it towards him, pressing the ‘on’ key. As it booted-up, Craig thought quickly. Forensics would work with Davy to dig into the deeper files, but it wasn’t something deep that he was looking for. Whatever had made Victoria Linton kill herself was either going to be obvious or it wasn’t going to be on her computer at all.

A moment later the computer’s desktop screen appeared, devoid of personal images. The only images on it were shortcuts to documents archived elsewhere. Craig stared at it for a moment then he shook his head and looked at the C.S.I.

“Was there anything else near where you found this? Anything at all?”

The girl went to say no then she stopped, remembering something. She placed the laptop carefully on one side and rifled through a pile of evidence bags. After a moment’s search she beckoned another C.S.I. across.

“Damien, you cleared this room, didn’t you?”

The middle-aged man nodded. “Yes. Why?”

“Did you find anything near the laptop?”

“Aye, loads of stuff.” He pointed to a plastic crate set in one corner then lifted a clipboard and ran his finger down a page. “It’s all in there; bags marked twenty-three to ninety-six.” He turned over the sheet and tapped the one beneath. “That’s the list.”

“Thanks.”

The girl turned towards the crate and Craig followed. John stood with his arms folded, watching the pair. Craig was like a dog after a bone and that usually meant that there was a bone to find. Two minutes later four evidence bags were spread out on the floor.

Their contents were curious. A white jiffy bag addressed to their victim at an office called Linton and Roche. So Victoria Linton had her own chambers now, well done her. A wine glass with a residue of red wine in it, waiting to be tested for contaminants. An open felt-tipped pen and a hair clasp. Anything that the C.S.I.s thought Linton might have touched immediately before her death.

Craig pictured the deceased woman’s evening. She’d come home from work and dumped her coat and briefcase beside the front door, then she’d poured a class of wine and sat down with her computer, loosening her hair. Was she at her desk or on the settee at that point? She didn’t strike him as the sort to drink at her desk.

He turned back to the C.S.I. “Where was the wine found?”

The girl turned to ask Damien the question but he was nowhere to be seen. She walked into another room and returned a minute later with an exasperated shrug. “Damien’s disappeared. I’ll check later and let you know for sure, but we cluster items by location and these are listed as being together, so I’d say the wineglass was found near the laptop. By the settee.”

Craig frowned, unconvinced by her conjecture. “OK, thanks.”

He returned to the story of Victoria Linton’s evening. If Linton had poured herself a glass of wine to drink while she sat on the settee looking at her laptop, it’s unlikely that she was working. The whole act implied relaxation. Was she going to surf the Net? Perhaps. But then why was something posted to her at work sitting nearby?

Craig seized the jiffy bag urgently and held it under a light. The postmark was April 4
th
; the Friday before, which meant that the envelope would have been delivered to Linton’s chambers on Saturday or Monday. So whatever it contained had been delivered to her office and she’d brought it home, then sat down at the computer with a glass of wine to look at it? Why would she have done that with something related to work? And then there was the hairpin. Victoria Linton had long thick hair that she tortured into submission for work, removing the pin said she was relaxing, or that someone else had wanted her to relax.

Craig turned to John. “John, was there any sign of a boyfriend here this evening?”

“None. There were no male clothes or shaving gear either, so maybe the neighbour was right and he’d dumped her.”

Craig frowned. Victoria Linton hadn’t struck him as the sort to kill herself over a man, but you never knew.

“OK.”

Just then Liam loped in, looking as if he’d been dragged through a hedge. Craig laughed at how they must both have appeared.

“Hi, boss. What’s up Doc?”

John rolled his eyes. “You love saying that, don’t you?”

“Yep.”

Craig’s voice was urgent. “Liam, I’m glad you’re here. Go and find out where Julian, the victim’s boyfriend, was this evening.”

“And hello to you too.”

“Hello. Now go and do it.”

Liam raised an eyebrow quizzically at John. John shrugged and shook his head. Universal shorthand for ‘God knows what he’s up to’.

BOOK: The Coercion Key
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