The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series) (22 page)

McCann scanned Annette’s now long hair and fashionable clothes with a gaze that said ‘who do you think you are?’ Finally her eyes came to rest on Annette’s face.

“Did I say I hated them?”

“Not in words, but it’s obvious.”

McCann shrugged. “Them who has money pays and them who don’t works. They pay me to do a job. I don’t have to like them.”

“Do you dislike all of them?”

She shrugged again. “Bwye’s a bastard. The wife’s all right and the girl as well.”

There it was again; the gleam. This time Annette recognised what it was; pride! She replayed McCann’s last words, searching for the exact moment when the light had appeared. It was when she’d mentioned ‘the girl’. Jane. But why would Linda McCann feel proud of someone else’s child?

She met Julia’s eyes and saw that she’d worked it out as well. She’d interviewed McCann first and she’d been lied to; she should do the honours. But first Annette had a hunch to check out. She rose quickly and entered the study, re-emerging a moment later with a slip of paper. As Julia read it she smiled, first at Annette and then at the cook, watching as her arms tightened again.

“Where is your son, Mrs McCann? Where is Richard?”

Davy’s background checks had come up trumps. Richard McCann was twenty-two years old and the cook’s only child. He was in his early twenties; perfect for their ransom caller’s age. McCann’s sallow skin paled and her eyes darted to Annette, as if she blamed her in particular for discovering the truth. Julia continued, her questions gaining speed and force.

How long had Richard been dating Jane? Did Mr Bwye know? Did he think Richard was unsuitable, not good enough for his daughter? Is that why Richard had kidnapped the Bwyes; to pay them back?

Annette leaned in, pouring petrol on the fire. “When we find your son he’s going down for at least one murder. The only way to help him is to make him give himself up. The longer Richard’s on the run the worse it will be.”

The women kept going relentlessly until they saw Linda McCann’s defiance melt away and her shoulders sag, then she surprised them both by beginning to cry. Annette and Julia exchanged a glance. They sat back simultaneously and waited, hoping that when her tears subsided she would tell them where her son was. But first the cook decided to tell them something else.

“Richard and Jane love each other; always have done, since Jane was a little girl. They’ve known each other since she was five.”

If Davy’s research was right that made Richard McCann seven at the time. Linda McCann was still talking.

“I wasn’t happy about it so they tried to stay away from each other, even tried to date other people…” Her face contorted into a sneer. “…like Mr Important O’Hare. But it didn’t work so in July they stopped fighting it and, without my knowledge, they went and got hitched.”

Julia broke her silence. “Married! You’re sure?”

McCann nodded in a way that said the question was ridiculous. “Saw the certificate myself. But they had to hide it; else old man Bwye would have gone mad. He rules this house with an iron rod. Uses it on Jane and his wife.”

Annette’s eyes widened in realisation. Things were starting to make sense. Oliver Bwye had controlled his wife and daughter and he’d deferred Jane’s inheritance to keep that control. If he’d ever discovered that Jane had defied him he would have cut her off without a penny.

“Did Mrs Bwye know?”

McCann gave a small smile, the first they’d seen from her. “Jane told her after the wedding and she helped keep it a secret. She knew they loved each other and that my Richard wasn’t after Jane’s money. He’s doing his master’s degree.”

She was proud of her son, and of Jane; that was the gleam of pride Annette had seen. But none of that prevented Richard McCann being their killer.

“Where is your son now, Mrs McCann?”

The cook’s lips pursed tight but Annette forged on.

“Either he kidnapped the Bwyes, or he didn’t and the real kidnapper may go after him next. Do you want to risk that?”

McCann lurched forward so suddenly that Julia jumped back in her chair. “Richard didn’t kidnap anyone!”

Annette played another hunch. “But he mustn’t care that Jane’s missing or he’d be here helping us find her. He hasn’t lifted a finger to help the searchers.” She snorted derisively. “Some husband.”

McCann rose to the bait, practically shouting her response. “He already knows she’s safe!”

Annette smiled. Jane Bwye was alive and with her husband. Richard McCann had been the man Justin O’Hare had seen that night in the Mercedes and they’d burnt out the car together. If she was right, Richard McCann’s voice would also match the ransom tape. Her tone softened.

“If you’re right then they did nothing wrong, but you’re doing them no favours by letting them hide away. Tell us where they are and we’ll bring them in safely.” She paused meaningfully. “We’ll find them anyway, Mrs McCann, now that we know they’re alive. They’re only making themselves look guilty by evading the police.”

The cook vacillated for a moment. They watched as her arms folded and unfolded and her face tightened and relaxed repeatedly, like a stuttering DVD; signs of the decision she was struggling to make. Finally she set her hands flat on her knees, signalling surrender, and croaked out an address. Annette nodded.

“You’ve done the right thing. We’ll bring them here first so that you can see them.”

She grabbed a radio and called a P.C. from the ground search to watch the cook, certain that as soon as they left she would change her mind and try to warn her son.

Annette had one last question for the grudging employee. “When did you move here from Belfast?”

McCann’s lips tightened again, as if she’d somehow insulted her. “I didn’t say I was from there.”

Annette didn’t have time to play games. Her voice grew hard. “Your accent did. When did you move to Derry? And what part of Belfast are you from?”

McCann frowned, looking for the trick in the question. Finally she shrugged.

“We moved here when I came to work for the Bwyes in ninety-nine. I’m from Divis Street.”

Divis, the lower Falls Road; the linguists were good. Richard had been seven when they’d moved to Derry so both accents might have been easy for him to use. There was only one way to find out.

Five minutes later they were in an unmarked car with Andy and a constable. An hour later Jane Bwye had been retrieved from the couple’s love nest off Strand Road and Richard McCann had been lifted from the university library where he was returning a book. They took them to the estate for an emotional reunion with his mother and then on to Derry Station and into custody.

As Annette called Craig to update him he stared out of his office window at the Lagan, smiling at the fact that she’d managed to find Jane Bwye and their ransom caller in less than four hours.

“What would you like us to do with them, sir?”

“Just what you’re doing. Separate them and get their statements, then confirm their alibis for that night. Get a voice sample from McCann so the linguists can match it, and check if his prints match the ones on the decanter at the Bwyes’. If his voice matches I want to know what the hell they were playing at making a ransom call.”

“Then what? Should we hold them?”

He squinted down at the icy river. It was a good question. Had they killed Diana Bwye? He doubted it, but he had to assume yes until it was proved otherwise. If not, then what had they actually done that was illegal: leave the scene of a crime, burn out a car and waste police time with a fake call. All minor compared to murder.

If they
were
innocent of killing Diana Bwye then someone else had done it; someone whose motive wasn’t money. Until they knew what was they had to assume that Jane was still at risk. Annette was wondering whether to repeat the question when Craig finally answered.

“Yes, hold them. They could still be our killers, but if not, Jane could be next. Tell them we want their help with our enquiries. If they say no then arrest them both on suspicion of kidnapping and murder and I’ll see them first thing in the morning.”

Annette was silent for a moment and he read her mind. “Take the girl to I.D. her mother’s body once Mike’s done what he needs to, and get her a bereavement counsellor.”

“Grand. I’ll keep you up to date.”

Craig could feel her ending the call but he had another question to ask. “Anything more at the lake?”

“Not yet, sir. They’re calling it a day soon and starting again at dawn.”

“OK. Good work, Annette. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Just as he set down the phone there was a soft tap on the door.

“Come.”

It wasn’t Nicky as he’d expected, but Carmen. He waved her to a seat but she remained in the doorway, looking uncomfortable.

“I’ll only be a second. Davy called and said he could use a hand with some of the IT stuff so…I just wondered…say no, if it isn’t OK…but, I just wondered if it might be worth me going to Derry with you tomorrow?”

Craig sat down, smiling to himself. He knew what her subtext was; rescue me from the Greer paperwork, please. It made sense that she was on site with Davy, and Ken was back the next day so he could help Jake with Greer, but he was reluctant to confirm it just yet.

“I’ll let you know in the morning, Carmen. First I need to see how far you’ve all got on the appeal. Pack a bag just in case.”

He waved her out and turned his chair back towards the river. The water was flowing sluggishly, slowed to a crawl by the winter cold. If it got much slower the Lagan could freeze solid like it had in 2010. He stared at it and then past it as he ran through the day’s developments in his mind.

Diana Bwye was dead; shot and strangled, weighed down with stones and dumped in the family’s lake. Shooting and the use of a ligature said impersonal, yet her uncovered face and lack of defacement confirmed that someone who knew and cared about her could have caused her death. Whoever had done it hadn’t hated her and nothing had been stolen from the house. So why take her at all? Had she just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, or had she recognised her husband’s attacker so had to be disposed of; was that it? What if she’d been a target all along? Finding Oliver Bwye would help them with answers.

As he thought of Bwye and his wife’s lack of disfigurement, the possibility of Bwye being a family annihilator faded away. An annihilator would have waited until Jane was there, killed her first to torture Diana and then killed Diana and himself; probably leaving his wife with up-close and personal injuries. They would have found all their bodies where they’d dropped; at home. Even if it was just his wife that Bwye had wanted dead, he doubted that her face would have been left unmarked.

OK then; what if Bwye had wanted to kill Diana and Jane but not himself? Craig shook his head. It still didn’t make sense. He would have waited for Jane to come home and then killed them both, but it was likely they would have been killed in a more personal way - manual strangulation, or having their faces blown off with a gun.

And where
was
Bwye’s Ruger? As he thought of it, Craig grabbed the phone and called Gerry, adding the gun as a priority to the divers’ search. Diana Bwye had been shot twice and either her strangulation or the shots had proved fatal, Mike would let them know which. Had she been killed in the study or just wounded there to subdue her, perhaps as a scare tactic? Any assailant must already have had a weapon to force Bwye to remove his rifle from the cabinet. Unless… had Bwye grabbed for the gun when he’d seen that they were being attacked and the kidnapper had managed to overcome him, taken the gun and used it to end both the Bwye’s lives? They’d find out when they’d finished at the lake.

Just then flakes of snow appeared outside the window and Craig watched them fall, shivering as if he could feel the cold. He could, but not from the weather, what was making him freeze was the idea that Richard McCann wasn’t their man. If it wasn’t McCann then who and why? Who had hated Oliver Bwye enough to kill his wife and dump her body so ignominiously in a lake? He prayed that Lawton’s list and Davy’s searches would give them the answer soon.

Chapter Four
teen

Howard Street restaurant. 8 p.m.

Craig stared at his glass until the dense Merlot inside became translucent and he could see images in it that weren’t there. When everyone had had enough of watching him commune with his alcohol John gave a quiet cough. Craig glanced up, surprised, and then suddenly remembered where he was.

John reached for the bottle to top him up. “Did it give you any answers?”

“What?”

“The wine. The way you were staring I was sure you’d invented wine reading.”

Craig gave a tired smile. “As if. The only thing it told me was that I needed to drink more.”

He glanced at Katy apologetically; aware that he’d barely said a word all evening. She was watching him, half concerned and half amused, always surprised by his ability to close out the world. He turned to Natalie to say sorry, but he needn’t have bothered. Natalie was carving pieces off her steak with a surgeon’s precision and gobbling them down efficiently one by one. She hadn’t even noticed the exchange.

About to change the subject to something light-hearted, John’s curiosity got the better of him; he was used to working on Craig’s cases and part of him felt like he was missing out this time. He adopted a casual tone.

“So…how’s Mike doing?”

Craig shrugged. “I don’t know yet. He’s doing the P.M. now. The forensic side has been fine.”

“Hmm…”

“Is that hmm…you’re worried that he’ll miss something, or hmm…you’re feeling left out?”

The pathologist laughed. “OK. You got me.” His expression changed to eagerness. “If you think I could help with anything, I’ve nothing much on at the lab this week.”

Natalie glanced up with a mischievous look on her face. “Take him to Derry if you like, Marc, then at least I can get into my house and see what he’s done.”

John’s eyes widened nervously. “On second thoughts, I’ve work to tidy up before the holidays. Mike will have to cope alone.”

Katy turned to Natalie, surprised. “You mean you haven’t been in the house yet? Who picked out the colour scheme?”

“John.”

“And the carpets and furniture?”

“John.”

Katy shook her head. “You’re a very trusting woman.”

Natalie popped the last piece of steak into her mouth, talking as she did. Craig smiled to himself; her manners bore more than a passing resemblance to Liam’s at times.

“I’m hellish busy at work and John’s got a better eye than me. Anyway, he knows what sort of things I like and they can always be returned if I don’t.”

John paled and Craig knew that’s exactly what would happen in the New Year if Natalie wasn’t wowed by his décor. But she would be; he’d seen the house, although it didn’t seem like a good idea to mention that he had.

The meal carried on in a lighter vein, all talk of murder ended, until eventually the couples went their separate ways. As Craig and Katy walked to her car through the now lying snow, she snuggled into him and brought up the case again.

“Do you think Bwye killed his wife?”

He turned to face her, watching as a snowflake landed on her hair and another fell on her nose. He kissed them off as he mulled over her question and then kissed her on the lips as the answer formed in his mind. The words were forgotten as he lost focus on anything but her scent. Finally they broke apart and walked on in silence, until Craig picked up the question as if the kiss had been a breath.

“No.”

“Who then?”

He shook his head instinctively and then suddenly stopped dead. Why was he saying he didn’t know when the answer was staring him in the face? It had to be someone who hated Oliver Bwye, hopefully someone on Cameron Lawton’s list. If not then the suspect pool would be endless and they might never get their man.

As they reached the car he said. “One of Bwye’s enemies.”

The answer satisfied both of them and they were too tired to discuss it anymore. Katy put on a favourite CD to play them from the city centre to her flat, through their love making and into a deep, deep sleep, so that they could both rise ready to start again.

****

Friday, 19th December. 11 a.m.

Craig glanced at the Audi’s passenger seat, used to seeing Liam there, but today it was Carmen’s red curls that greeted him instead. It wasn’t a testament to Liam’s chivalry, allowing the lady to sit in the front, but rather his desire to catch another hour’s sleep that saw him sprawled out across the back. That was one good thing about old cars; they didn’t interrupt your sprawling with fixed arm rests. Even so, Liam was struggling to get comfortable, the seat’s five-feet-ten finding his six-six hard to accommodate. He boomed irritably from the back as Craig drove up the A6, well rested and eager to solve the case.

“Here, boss, when you get a new motor, could you get one with more space.”

Craig answered him with his eyes fixed straight ahead. “Like a people carrier? I don’t think so. You’d be asleep every time we drove anywhere, never mind what it would do to my street cred.”

Liam tutted slowly. “Ah now, when you hear the patter of tiny feet you’ll have no choice.”

Craig refused to rise to the bait. “I’ll tell you what. When John has a few kids then maybe I’ll think about it.”

Liam perked up and leaned on the back of Carmen’s seat, tilting her forward and earning him a smack.

“God, can you picture the Doc’s kids? They’d be born carrying a scalpel and wearing glasses.”

Carmen joined in. “And they’d dress them in a surgical green Babygro.”

An hour of chat about people’s fantasy offspring began, ending just as they passed through Rocksbury’s gates. As they traversed the long drive it was impossible to miss the crowd by the lake, far larger than the group they’d left there the day before.

Amongst the liveried cars and diving equipment, Craig made out a dark van, and beside it Annette. He pulled off the gravelled driveway and drove across the frozen grass, coming to rest about twenty feet from the group. Annette came to meet them.

“We’ve found another body, sir. By the size I’d say it was a man.”

Craig glanced past her to where the slightly chubby figure of Mike Augustus was kneeling beside something black.

“Not by the face?”

Annette shook her head. “We can’t see the face. The body’s completely covered.” She paused and Craig knew what was coming next. “Concrete wrapped in plastic. Only the shape says that it’s human.”

Questions churned over in his mind. He only vocalised one.

“When did they find him?”

“They started diving again at dawn and found him about ten minutes ago.”

“He must weigh a ton; he’d have been right at the bottom. It was good diving to find him.”

Annette nodded. “It was a miracle. They were trawling the bottom and the net caught on him; they’d never have noticed him otherwise. It’s pitch black down there.”

“That’s what whoever did this wanted. Bwye was meant to disappear, they both were, but for some reason Diana Bwye wasn’t weighted down as well.”

She squinted up at him, shielding her eyes from the winter sun. “You definitely think it’s Bwye?”

Craig shrugged and began to walk towards their corpse. He paused beside it, staring down at the black shape. The height matched the missing newspaper mogul’s. He nodded hello to Mike and then turned back to Annette.

“Did they find the rifle?”

“Not yet.”

He turned back to Augustus, marvelling at how young the pathologist always looked. He was only four years younger than he was yet he still looked like a kid. Craig gestured at the shape then rubbed his hands together in the cold. He really needed to buy some gloves.

“Show me, please, Mike.”

Augustus obliged, elevating a torn edge of the black plastic. Beneath the heavy duty refuse sack lay grey-white concrete, its surface creased like the inside of the bag.

“Was the bag torn like that when it came out?”

“Yes. It caught on the winch when they lifted it.” The pathologist gestured at the shape. “It looks like they put him in the bag and then filled it completely with concrete.”

Craig nodded. He’d read about the technique; one of the drug cartels’ more inventive methods of disposal. In Hollywood movies they only used cement shoes. Economy.

“Was he alive when they did it?”

A look of horror flitted across Augustus’ face, saying the idea hadn’t occurred to him. Craig wished he still had such innocence to find comfort in. Augustus nodded reluctantly.

“He could have been, but he would have to have been unconscious or he’d never have lain still for it. He’s a big man.”

It made sense. If the body was Oliver Bwye then he’d been attacked and rendered unconscious at his house, rolled into the van and then, when it became obvious that he had to be dumped, he’d been put in the sack and covered in concrete. Craig had more questions. He walked around the body, finding one answer at its narrower end.

“The sack was tied here, at his feet, after the concrete was poured in.”

Mike stared at the bunching in the plastic. “Probably. I’ll tell you for sure after the P.M.”

“Will you be able to remove the concrete without destroying the body?”

The pathologist peeled off his gloves and signalled to have the corpse moved to the mortuary van.

“I’ll let you know tomorrow. I need to scan it first to see what we can do.”

Craig grimaced, imagining the images they would see. A body inside concrete, inside a plastic sack. With any luck there would be a weak point in the concrete allowing it to be shattered without damaging the man inside. He wandered back to Annette to see her laughing with Liam and Carmen.

“Don’t tell me. Liam’s just told you a joke about mummies.”

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

Craig climbed into the car. “I’m psychic. If anyone wants a lift to the house, hop in.”

Five minutes later they had their hands wrapped around mugs of hot coffee and Craig called the group to order. Everyone was there, raring to go.

“OK, Liam and I will start then we’ll go round in order: Julia and Annette, Davy, then Gerry and Andy.”

He sipped his drink and felt his hands beginning to thaw out.

“Liam.”

Liam had positioned his chair to rest his legs on the desk, six inches from Davy’s face. Davy’s expression said that he wasn’t impressed.

“Aye well. We had a bit of fun at The Chronicle’s offices. Long story short it turns out that a young runner overheard the ransom discussion and told a newsman who was in Ray Mercer’s pocket -”

Gerry interrupted. “Who’s Ray Mercer?”

“The scrote news editor.”

Annette ruled out any ambiguity. “Not a nice man. He and Liam don’t see eye to eye.”

Craig chipped in. “I doubt even his mother likes him.” He returned to his coffee, waving Liam on.

“Aye well. Mercer wasn’t allowed to write about the Bwyes’ disappearance, so he deliberately leaked the info about the ransom call to Davy’s mysterious blogger, Father Fred-”

It was Davy’s turn to interrupt. “We have a name. I locked it down last night.”

Craig leaned forward eagerly. “Good man. What is it?”

Davy’s tone held admiration. “Father Fred’s real name is Lauren Hayes. S…She’s a school kid, only fourteen.”

There was silence in the room. Annette broke it first.

“Fourteen? A teenage girl managed to evade you for this long?”

It was the wrong thing to say, even worse Liam added. “A wee girl! She probably has pink bows in her hair and all. You must be scundered.”

Annette smiled at Liam’s idea of a teenage girl’s fashion sense and pictured years of him fighting with his daughter Erin when she grew up. She might wear pink bows at four, but it would more likely be piercings and tattoos when she was fourteen.

Davy blushed to the roots of his hair. “S…She’s good, I mean
really
good. She routed things through Russia and New Zealand. If she doesn’t do IT at Uni I’ll be really s…shocked.”

Craig raised an eyebrow. “That’s if MI5 doesn’t recruit her first.” He turned to Annette and Julia. “When we’re finished here I want you to find her parents and interview her. She’s not in trouble; I just need confirmation of where she sourced the ransom information. Carry on, Liam.”

Liam shot Davy a final pitying look before he spoke. “Aye well, anyway, Mercer leaked the info so Father Fred could whip up interest on the internet so as, when it was out in the open, he could legitimately report on it.” He smiled proudly. “Except that we caught him out.”

Andy had been listening open-mouthed. “What happened then, hey?”

Liam grinned at Davy. “Lawton gave Mercer the push and Davy’s woman got his job.”

It was Davy’s turn to be open-mouthed. “Maggie’s the news editor of The Chronicle?”

Craig nodded. “As of this morning. Cameron Lawton suspended Mercer pending legal action.”