A Box Full of Darkness (Wilson Book 5) (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Sinclair almost broke into a smile when Jackson related his earlier conversation with Wilson. They were supposed to be the experts in psych ops, but Wilson was the one who was pulling Jackson’s chain. He was becoming more despondent about their ability to complete the operation. In his twenty years in military intelligence and ten years in RUC/PSNI Special Branch, he had never been obliged to report a failure. He was very close to that situation now. He was not in the habit of considering his superiors as incompetents. A lifetime in the security services had given him total belief in the right of senior officers to direct the operation as they saw fit. But he was beginning to think that whoever was in charge of the “operation Wilson” as he’d come to call it, had their collective heads up their arses. He and Jackson were completely compromised. They had been reduced to simple watchers without any ability to direct events. The debacle in McHugh’s was simply the final nail in their coffin. Wilson had shown by his actions with regard to the bullet that he didn’t entirely trust them. At that point, there was still the possibility of redressing the situation if they had been humble enough. Passing on the intercept from Wilson’s phone to his former partner so that she could confront him had sealed their fate. Wilson was smart enough to know that his call was intercepted, and that Kate McCann had been informed. He and Jackson had watched the footage of the altercation in McHugh’s. You could almost see the wheels moving inside Wilson’s head. It was only a small step for him to conclude that someone with a high level of power had arranged to bug his mobile. It had been a large step to take and Sinclair was reluctant to agree, but it wasn’t his call. When the dust settled, if the operation were to be a success, there would be no word about the screw-up with the mobile. However, if the operation turned out to be a cluster fuck, then he and Jackson would be the fall guys.

‘The latest intercept,’ Jackson said and played the short conversation between Wilson and McDevitt.

Sinclair started to rub the point of his beard.

Jackson recognised the “tell”. His boss was about five seconds away from throwing a wobbly. He watched Sinclair’s face gradually redden.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Sinclair said at the top of his voice. ‘We might as well get rid of the intercept on his mobile. Did you hear him? He wouldn’t let McDevitt speak, and he didn’t give him a specific meeting place. The only information we’re going to get from an intercept that cost a fortune to set up is how he likes his takeaway pizza.’

Jackson knew better than to speak. He had plenty of experience of dealing with Sinclair. The storm was at its peak right now but it would soon blow itself out. Then they might be able to think their way out of this mess.

“I don’t like that little bastard, McDevitt,’ Sinclair said. ‘He’s an interfering git. I don’t like people who ask questions about me. You and I were well under the radar before we began this job. Now some journalist knows our names and has the connections to ask what we might be working on.’

‘We could always dissuade him from asking any further questions.’

‘That might become necessary.’

Jackson relished the possibility. He didn’t like journalists and given half a chance he’d make sure that McDevitt never asked another question.

‘You can ditch that thought,’ Sinclair said. ‘If it becomes necessary, we’ll dissuade him gently.’ 

‘You must be some kind of mind reader, sir,’ Jackson smiled.

‘I’m afraid your mind is an open book as far as dishing out violence is concerned.’

‘So, Wilson is meeting McDevitt,’ Jackson looked at his watch. ‘In fifteen minutes, we have no idea where and no idea what they’re going to discuss.’

‘There’s nothing we can do about the situation now. Get to work on the blue saloon. Try and drag up something from the records. It was used just the once so let’s toss Wilson a bone. But make it a genuine sighting. He seems to be able to detect bullshit at a distance.’

‘Shit,’ Jackson said not looking forward to another trawl through the records.

‘Shit, sir, sergeant,’ Sinclair said to Jackson’s retreating back.

‘Shit, sir.’

CHAPTER THIRTY

Wilson sat on one of the wooden benches set between the lines of trees on the approach to the waterfront. It was the same spot where McDevitt met him on his early morning run some months before. He stopped off at a coffee shop, and two cups of coffee were cooling on the seat beside him. He looked around. He was certain whoever bugged his phone had no idea of the meeting place, but he was still on the lookout for potential observers. There was the usual lunchtime crowd, some joggers, some cyclists and people just out for a stroll and a break from the tedium of the office. It was one of those early summer days with intermittent sunshine and clouds that lull the population of Ireland into thinking that they might after all have a decent summer. He saw McDevitt approaching from the roundabout on Lanyon Place. The journalist was huddled, and seemed even slighter than usual. He saw Wilson, and made directly for the seating area casting a glance behind him as he entered the central reservation.

‘Why the urgency?’ Wilson handed McDevitt a cup of coffee as he sat down.

‘I needed to talk to you.’ McDevitt sipped the hot liquid, and looked back towards the roundabout. ‘I think I’m being followed.’

‘Why would anyone follow you?’ Wilson blew on his coffee. He didn’t like his coffee at boiling point.

‘The only thing I can think of is that I upset someone by asking questions about Sinclair and Jackson. You know that I’ve spent all my time lately on the Cummerford trial.’

Wilson nodded while he sipped his coffee.

‘Well, there’s this guy who’s always sitting somewhere behind me. Every time I look around he seems to be looking at me.’

‘You’re paranoid,’ Wilson said taking a chance to drink some coffee. The upper layer was sufficiently cool to drink.

McDevitt turned his head from side to side taking in 180 degrees of their surroundings. ‘You think? I’ve been in this business for more than twenty years. My antennae have been well and truly trained. I started twitching the day after I put the feelers out on Sinclair and Jackson. The guy in court put the tin hat on it. I’ve interviewed mass murderers, and it didn’t faze me. It’s people like Sinclair and Jackson that bother me. They do what the hell they like, and someone upstairs covers up for them.’

‘Why should someone be watching you? They probably know that I asked you to find out about them for me. Then they should be following me.’

‘Are you so sure that they’re not? These people have been trained in the same places that they train the spooks. Hell, they are spooks.’ He bent down and removed the same brown envelope he received the previous evening. ‘I was in the newsroom last night, and this young guy passed by and dumped this envelope on my desk. I didn’t recognise him and he muttered some shit about it being delivered to him by mistake. Except, today I went looking for this guy, and nobody remembers seeing him. He doesn’t work for the
Chronicle
, and the mail guy doesn’t remember any envelope being delivered with my name on it.’

‘So what’s in the envelope?’ Wilson asked.

‘This,’ McDevitt drew out the single sheet with the photograph, and held it out to Wilson.

‘I suppose it’s a bit too late to think about fingerprints,’ Wilson said taking the photo.

‘I bet there aren’t any. Other than mine.’

Wilson looked at the photo. It was obviously taken some time ago if the men’s dress was anything to go on. The eight men were dressed fashionably for the 1970s. The original was possibly a black and white but it was difficult to tell. The print was grainy either by accident or design. Each man held some form of weapon, and three of them cradled Sterling machine guns. They were standing in front of four saloon cars with two men on either side of the bonnet. All of the men had short military-style haircuts. ‘Who are they?’

‘How the hell am I supposed to know?’ McDevitt finished his coffee and crushed the cardboard cup.

‘It was sent to you. It must have some significance for you. Do you know any of these guys?’

‘Never seen them in my life.’

‘Think, Jock. Whoever sent this to you had a reason for doing so. It’s got to be something you’re working on.’

‘I’m telling you, somebody’s fucking with my head. My guess is that’s it’s your Special Branch friends. That’s their business, messing around with people’s heads. That’s what they do.’

Wilson turned over the sheet and saw the three letters in the bottom corner. ‘MRF, mean anything to you?’

‘Not a thing, I put it into Google and came up with all kinds of crap but nothing that means anything. To me, at least. What am I going to do?’

‘Calm down for a start.’ He turned the photo over and stared at it again. He was wondering if it were in colour, would one of the cars be a blue saloon. ‘These guys look like military types. I’ve seen some of the photos of the boys who were active in the Seventies and Eighties and long hair appeared to be the order of the day, even among the UDR.’

‘You have a point, although some of the gangs might have adopted military style. They were keen on the fatigues, the berets and the whole military look.’

‘If they were UDR, they would have been wearing balaclavas for a shot like this. It looks like a personal photo. There would have been limited circulation.’

McDevitt was right. The men could have been members of the UDR or some kind of murder gang. Wilson continued to stare at the photo. This time he ignored the men and concentrated on where it might have been taken. He was sure he had seen the location before but for the life of him he couldn’t remember where. ‘This the only copy?’

‘No,’ McDevitt pulled a sheaf of ten copies from his messenger bag. ‘You have the original in your hand.’

‘Can I keep it?’

‘Only if you agree that when you find out what it relates to, you’ll tell me first.’

‘OK, but what happens if you find out first?’

‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’

Wilson folded the photograph carefully and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket. He was wondering whether someone was genuinely giving McDevitt information, or were they trying to frighten him. “You’re sure you’re not working on one of these conspiracy theories of yours?’

‘I’ve been offered a sizeable chunk of cash to write a book about the Cummerford case, from the murders to the trial. I’ve even managed to get an agent. I’ve got to get it out within three months of the trial to benefit from the press coverage. People want to know the inside story. How Cummerford had the access she had to the police investigation. That’s something you could help me with.’

Wilson stood up. “Dream on, Jock.’

‘Remember, you find out who those guys are. I’m the first to know.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Helen McCann sat across from her daughter. They were lunching in Deane’s in Howard Street, Helen’s favourite eatery. Kate was surprised to learn that her mother was in Belfast, but Helen was like that. One never knew when she was liable to pop up. They never had much of a relationship. After Kate’s father died, she was shipped off to boarding school and as far as she could remember her mother had not been a frequent visitor. There was always some meeting or conference that interfered with a school event and Kate had been forced to watch the other parents fussing over their girls while she was introduced around as the spare. Then there was university, the King’s Inns and work, lots and lots of work. The only time Helen had stood up and been counted was after the miscarriage. Kate had to admit that Helen was a good deal more supportive than Ian. Maybe the difference in support was what convinced her that she and Ian should take a break. Now he was with that pathologist woman. Somehow she had to get through the Cummerford trial. The prosecution was about to close its case, and thankfully there was a short list of witnesses for the defence. She had a couple of expert witnesses who would explain her client’s state of mind and relate it to the gruesome manner in which she had dispatched her victims. Her final witness would be Maggie Cummerford herself. She wanted desperately to take another painkiller but decided not to do so in front of her mother. Helen McCann was watching her daughter with increasing concern. It was difficult not to notice the paleness of her skin, but it took a close examination to see that her irises were reduced to pinpricks. She also noticed that Kate’s movements were more jerky than usual. She was also considerably more lethargic. Helen had no doubt that the painkillers had taken a grip on her. This was all down to Wilson and that wretched embryo. She had trained Kate from an early age to be what she was today, one of the best lawyers in the United Kingdom. Kate was headed for the top of the legal tree. One day she would be the Attorney-General, and finally the Lord Chief Justice. But first Helen would have to get her off those bloody pills, and the sooner the better.

‘How are things between you and Ian?’ Helen asked playing with the food on her plate.

‘He’s hooked up with that pathologist woman, Reid,’ Kate couldn’t even bare to look at the food on her plate. The whole idea of food made her feel ill.

‘Surely not.’

Kate gave a fairly accurate account of the confrontation with Wilson the previous evening.

‘That was my fault,’ Helen said. ‘I should never have sent you that recording.’

‘You did me a favour. At least, now I know where I stand. Ian and I are finished.’ She looked at her mother who was making her sad face. ‘Yes, I am sad. I still love him. He’s a good, honest, decent person who just happens to be in a job that desensitised him.’ She could feel a tear exiting her left eye and running down her cheek. They had been so damn happy together. And they would probably have continued to be if she hadn’t lost the baby. Despite what he said, she knew that deep down he blamed her. That blame would only fester in time. She desperately wanted a way back but there was no way to reclaim time.

‘How is the trial going?’ Helen asked.

‘We’re almost there. A few more days before we close.’

‘Will you win?’

‘She’ll go down. There’s no doubt about her guilt, the prosecution’s case is airtight. All I can do is give the jury her mindset, and I think I’ve managed to do that. She’ll definitely get manslaughter but I’m hoping that the jury will recommend some psychological help. She might be out in as little as five years.’

Helen could see a flash of the old Kate. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so difficult to reclaim her. ‘I want you to come down and stay with me when the trial is over.’

‘I’m swamped with work,’ said Kate pushing away her barely-touched plate..

‘I won’t take no for an answer.’ She thought for a second of broaching the pill issue but decided against it. ‘A couple of weeks in the sun will work wonders.’ And so will a couple of weeks off the pills.

Kate pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘I’ve got to get back to court. We have a team meeting before the afternoon session.’

Helen remained seated. ‘I’ll make the arrangements. The day the trial ends you’re coming to stay with me.’

Kate nodded. She started towards the door. She needed one of those damn pills before the afternoon session.