The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series) (17 page)

Craig turned to him. “We’ll do that anyway. So what are you saying? That they drove or pushed the van and everyone in it into the lake and then left alone by foot?”

Liam shook his head. “Too risky. There was always a chance that they’d drown themselves. Once the van hit the water there’d be no predicting the whirlpool effect. Unless they were one hell of a swimmer they could have been killed.”

Craig smiled. This was why, for all his bumbling clown routine, Liam was so good. Experience. Thirty years of seeing people die in every possible way, including, it seemed, drowning.

“So they dumped the bodies and drove the van away.”

“You think they dumped all of them? Including whoever was still alive?”

Craig shook his head sadly and Liam knew that he was thinking of the girl. “God knows. There’s only one way to find out.”

He made the call and Liam turned on the lamps to guide the soon-to-arrive diving crews. Then the two detectives walked slowly back towards the house, for another hour’s debate on the fate of the Bwyes and to drink whatever booze Oliver Bwye had left concealed.

Chapter
Twelve

Thursday. 9 a.m.

At first Davy had just gawped at the weblink on his screen, scarcely able to believe his eyes. It was too much of a coincidence to be true; things like this only happened in the movies and even then only to Tom Cruise. He closed down the internet and returned to work, typing the names from Cameron Lawton’s list into the PNC. When he’d set the searches running and poured a fresh cup of tea he re-opened the browser that he’d closed.

Strictly speaking he wasn’t supposed to be checking the internet at work; there were memos about hackers in his inbox every day. Talk about paranoia. The government need to chillax. Besides, he had industrial strength firewalls in his browser, so if anything he should be worried about government viruses infecting him.

Just then an e-mail popped up. It was from Maggie and he smiled as he typed back a reply, thinking idly that now he was still going to have a salary, they should think about getting a place. Shuttling between family dinners at his mum’s with his granny constantly forgetting who Maggie was and having to run through the same questions each time, and nights of passion at her flat that made him feel faintly grubby when he went home the next day to change, was starting to get old. An immediate image of his mother crying and his granny looking lost filled his mind and he knew that he couldn’t move out without a papal dispensation or a ring, and marriage was still a long way away. He finished his e-mail, resigned to more family dinners, and turned back to the URL that had caught his eye.

It linked to a blog by someone making a name for themselves on Derry’s local scene; the wittily named Father Fred. Wherever he was he liked to check the local blogs, it was the best way to get to know a place. Davy scanned the site, glancing at the door occasionally as if he expected the IT police to burst in. The discussion topic running was wealth and its redistribution, and the question asked was ‘was it moral to rob the rich to give to the poor?’ The post had started normally enough the day before, talking about the inequalities in Northern Irish society and particularly in the northwest. As he read on, he ran a trace on the IP address. It was local, in Derry City Centre to be precise.

Halfway down, the post began to discuss whether six million pounds would be enough to redress the societal imbalance and hit a power broker where it hurt. Six million; the exact amount mentioned on the ransom call! It had to be more than coincidence. The more he read the more the hairs on his neck stood up. He decided he needed a reality check so he made a call. It was answered by Nicky’s husky voice.

“Belfast Murder Squad. Can I help you?”

“Hi Nicky. How’re things in the big s…smoke?”

Nicky smiled. Hearing Davy’s voice made her glance towards his empty desk and reinforce how much she missed him.

“Boring. We’re reading Joanne Greer’s case notes and trial transcripts with the lawyers, looking for ways to get her appeal thrown out. What about you?”

Davy gazed around him. “I’m in a s…study with a wall of books full of whisky. I’ll send you a photo.”

She adopted a maternal tone. “Just don’t send me a selfie of you drinking it.”

The chat continued for ten minutes until she had to go. Davy returned to his work, certain that he was back on planet earth. He checked all his searches and then returned to the blog, reading it again with more distance. There was no doubt about it; whoever Father Fred was he had to know something about the ransom demand. Six million was the exact figure he’d mentioned under the redistribution of wealth.

He was just about to call Craig when he and Liam wandered in through the back door, yawning as if they’d both been up all night. Craig’s urgent grab for the percolator said that they had. He greeted Davy between yawns and took a seat.

“Morning, Davy. Anything new?”

Liam shoved a Danish pastry into his mouth and gulped at a cup of tea, then he repeated Craig’s question with a full mouth, scattering crumbs across Davy’s screen. Davy brushed them away in disgust.

“Possibly. How’s it going at the lake?”

He turned his screen away quickly, to avoid Liam’s next spray. Thankfully it was Craig who replied.

“It’s deep so it’ll take a while.” He gestured at the computer. “Lawton’s list?”

Davy nodded. “Yes. And s…something else.”

Craig raised an eyebrow, too tired to cross the room and take a look. They’d been at the lake with the divers until four a.m. and started again at eight. Four hours sleep was a new low, even for him. He motioned Davy on and watched, puzzled, as he kept glancing at the door.

“Are you expecting someone?”

Davy laughed nervously. “No…it’s just…”

Liam drained his cup and headed for a refill, answering Craig’s question as he did. “He’s been accessing outside internet sites and he’s waiting for the thought police to take him in.”

Davy gawped at him. “How did you know?”

Liam shrugged. “’Cos you’re always doing it. I never say anything because if you don’t know how to put up a solid firewall then no-one does.”

Craig watched the exchange through drooping eyes while he waited for Davy to say what he’d found. He seemed more upset that Liam had guessed his secret than anything else. Craig prompted him again.

“You said you found something?”

Davy glanced back at his screen. “W…Well…one of the things I do when I travel somewhere is to check the local blogs. They tell you about the local scene.” He changed tack suddenly. “Hey, did you know blogs and things outside the mainstream media are called the fifth estate, like the independent press is called the fourth?”

Liam gestured around him. “If they’re the fifth estate does that make this place the sixth?”

He was rewarded by a weak laugh. Craig motioned Davy to get back to the point.

“Well, when you’re abroad the local bloggers know w…where the best clubs are and things like that.”

“Does Derry count as abroad?”

Davy grinned. “That Glenshane pass is harder to cross than the Alps when it snows. Anyway, I w…was checking for a good restaurant to take Maggie to; she’s coming up tonight…”

Liam interrupted before starting on his second Danish. “That place we went for dinner last night was good.”

Davy glanced at Craig apologetically. “It w…was nice and thanks for dinner, chief, but it was…”

Craig finished his sentence. “For old people and you want somewhere cool.”

Davy nodded. “Anyway, I came across a blog by a guy called Father Fred.”

Liam guffawed. “Father Fred…like Father Ted. I get it.”

“Anyway, he was holding a discussion about inequality in Northern Ireland and the redistribution of w…wealth. Like, is it moral to rob the rich to give to the poor?”

Craig lids lifted.

“Then he mentioned a figure of s…six million pounds and asked whether it would be enough to redress the balance and hit a power broker where it hurt…”

Craig was suddenly wide awake.

“I thought it was too much of a coincidence so I checked his IP address. He’s somewhere in the centre of Derry.”

Craig was across the room in seconds. “Show me.”

Liam joined them, not quite sure what was happening but certain that it wasn’t good. They stared at Davy’s screen; reading for a moment as fresh comments appeared on Father Fred’s debate. Craig ran his eyes over the post. ‘Is six million pounds enough to redress the balance and hit a power broker where it hurts?’ It was far more than a coincidence.

“Narrow that IP down and get me a real name and address.”

“I’ll try, but bloggers like this use routers to prevent being traced.”

Craig wasn’t listening to excuses.

“And check the blogs’ archives for anything else relevant, before they catch on and shut it down. Ring us in the car.”

He headed for the door and then realised that Liam wasn’t with him. “Get a move on, Liam. We need to find who this blogger is before they shut down the site.”

****

Two hours later they admitted defeat. Davy had narrowed the address to Shipquay Street and they’d been the full length of it six times, no mean feat when it was one of the longest streets in the country and they were both half asleep.

Every time they’d thought they’d had the right address and hammered on the door, they’d found some innocent housewife surfing recipes, or some teenage boy googling websites his parents would have been very unhappy about. Father Fred was obviously piggy-backing other peoples’ Wi-Fi.

Craig phoned base. “Davy, if he keeps shifting routers how sure can we be that this guy is based in Derry at all?”

“Everything on the s…site is about Derry; restaurants, clubs, bars. He must be fairly young because the places he’s talking about are for students and the under thirties. W…When are you coming back?”

“Have you found something else?”

“Yes, and the head of the lake search wants to talk to you as w…well.”

He paused, thinking of the lead diver’s face when he’d entered the study ten minutes before. His expression had said that they’d found something and that it definitely wasn’t good.

Craig read the silence and knew they would be returning to at least one body. Liam saw his shoulders droop and heard the flatness in his voice.

“We’ll be there in thirty minutes. Meanwhile, get the IT people to help you trace the blog. We need an accurate address.” His next words were tinged with amusement. “If they give you grief about surfing the Net tell them you were checking the local blogs on my say-so.”

He cut the call on Davy’s sigh of relief and they returned to the car in silence. He threw Liam the keys and sat back to think. They had a blogger who knew something about their case, no, more than that, they knew about the ransom demand and the exact amount. Who else knew that but them, Cameron Lawton and Vera Patterson? He trusted his team not to leak, so that just left The Chronicle’s staff. He dialled the number and Vera Patterson answered.

“Good morning. Mr Lawton’s office.”

“Mrs Patterson, it’s Superintendent Craig. Is Mr Lawton there?”

Vera dropped the magazine she’d been flicking through and straightened up as if Craig could see her. Clergy, head teachers and police officers, they scared her stiff, had done since she was a child.

“No, Superintendent…I’m sorry. He’s at a conference today.”

“Ask him to call me please, it’s urgent.”

Vera grew even more nervous. The tone in Craig’s voice wasn’t just policeman stern; it was very annoyed policeman stern. She screwed up her courage to ask why.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Yes, Mrs Patterson, there is. Who else besides you and Mr Lawton knew about the ransom call?”

She froze. His implication was clear; there’d been a leak.

“I didn’t say anything…I wouldn’t…I’m a confidential secretary.”

Craig let her babble until he was sure she was telling the truth.

“Well, unfortunately, someone did and only you and Mr Lawton knew the details of the call.”

Vera’s heart leapt in relief. “We weren’t the only ones.” It was out before she had time to consider that she was landing someone else in the shit.

Craig’s tone became icy and Liam knew that someone was going to get it in the neck. “Who else knew?”

“It wasn’t…they’re very young…they didn’t know not to…”

Craig was tired and fed up and he had no time to mess about; his voice reflected it all.

“Who else, Mrs Patterson? You’re wasting police time.”

She gave a small gulp before gabbling out a reply. “Rory Cahill. He’s our runner. He overheard me being interviewed by your W.P.C. and…and he told Ray Mercer, the news editor.”

The way she said Mercer’s name confirmed she hated him almost as much as them, but if Mercer knew about the ransom call then why wasn’t it on the front page? The detective answered his own question; because it was more than Mercer’s career was worth to print the contents of a police interview and he knew it, but that wouldn’t stop the bastard leaking it to a blogger and then sitting back to watch as word spread. Once it was in the public forum he could print his headline with impunity.

Craig banged his fist hard against the dashboard and Liam grinned, knowing what it meant; someone was going to get a roasting and for once it wasn’t him. Craig thought for a moment and then enlisted Vera Patterson’s help.

“Mrs Patterson, I’d like you to arrange a meeting for us this afternoon with Mr Lawton and Mr Cahill. D.C.I. Cullen and I will be there around two o’clock.”

Before she could say “I’ll need to check Mr Lawton’s diary” or “I’ve booked this afternoon off” he’d cut the call, leaving her in no doubt that the meeting wasn’t a request. If Lawton and Cahill weren’t there at two p.m. then the next time they met would be in a police station with very hard chairs.

****

As soon as Justin O’Hare appeared Annette smiled. He crossed the foyer of the modern office building with the energy of youth and the swagger of the arrogant. But that wasn’t why she was smiling. Her lips tilted because O’Hare was the very picture of an alpha male; oozing secondary sexual characteristics like a cheap cologne. His shoulders were broader than Superman’s and his jaw was as wide as it could be without him being an anatomical anomaly. She knew that when he spoke it would be in a deep voice, giving him the butch triumvirate. His age fitted their ransom caller’s as well so she mentally added him to their shortlist alongside Brendan Gordon. Andy was keen to hear O’Hare’s voice so he extended his hand, speaking first.