A Box Full of Darkness (Wilson Book 5) (9 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Wilson woke with a screaming headache, and looked around the room. For an instant, he had no idea where he was. Slowly the outlines of his apartment appeared and he realised that he had somehow managed to make his way home. He was in the living room and there was a smell of curry in his nose. He looked at the coffee table and saw the remains of an Indian takeaway. He had no recollection of either ordering or consuming the meal. His mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot’s cage. He needed to rehydrate and quickly. He tried to remember the last time he had tied one on. It was a hell of a long time ago. Jock McDevitt really was becoming his best friend, or maybe just his best new drinking buddy. Another nuclear explosion went off in his head. He looked at his watch. It was fifteen minutes past seven. He wasn’t due in Dunmurry until nine, so he had the best part of an hour and a half to get himself into reasonable shape. It would require hot and cold alternating showers and a litre of coffee, but he would get there. He had been obliged to leave his car in town. He tried to remember exactly how many drinks he’d had but his brain had taken a holiday. He remembered McDevitt earnestly warning him to watch out for himself. Gradually, the details of the evening came back to him and he pushed himself up from his couch. The smell of curry was overpowering and he felt his stomach lurch. He moved as quickly as he could in the direction of the bathroom.

He arrived in Dunmurry at five minutes to nine and had performed a miracle by getting himself into a state that could loosely be described as semi-human. It was going to be a difficult day in more ways than one. He parked his car and made his way to his office. Once inside, he removed a plastic cylinder containing painkillers from his pocket and dropped two down his throat followed by a slug from a take-out coffee he had procured on his way. He wanted to blame Kate for what happened the previous evening but he was old enough to realise that what had been done to him had been done by himself. No one had poured the drink down his throat. He took out a pad of paper. There were several things he would need in order to proceed. One was someone to front for him with the FSNI in order to have a ballistics test carried out on the bullet and shell. He wrote down the names of everyone that would fit that particular bill. He put a line through the names of his former colleagues in the murder squad.  Then he crossed out McDevitt. He was left with two names: Kate McCann and Laurence Gold. Both might have a legitimate reason for requesting FSNI to analyse the projectiles. Neither would have to explain the basis of their request. And assuredly, Sinclair and Jackson wouldn’t hear a word about it. He would prefer to use Gold, but in reality he knew that he was going to have to ask Kate for her help. He wasn’t sure how she would respond but he would have to give it a try. He took out his mobile phone and composed a simply message “I need your help, please”, and sent it.  The trial didn’t begin until ten o’clock but he knew that Kate was probably already at court changing into her wig and gown. He prayed that she wouldn’t just cancel his message sight unseen. There really wasn’t an alternative. The bullet and shell would be useless without the analysis. He knew he had just spoiled his day. He would now sit around wondering if and when Kate would reply. He looked at the page and crossed out Gold’s name. He looked up when he heard a knock at the door and saw Jackson’s head appear closely followed by his body.

‘Sir,’ Jackson said. ‘What’s the plan for today?’

‘I need you to find someone for me.’ Wilson could see from the look on Jackson’s face that he was already aware of his mission. He decided to play along. ‘Mallon mentioned that there was an RUC sergeant in charge at the crime scene. I’m guessing that he was a uniform and I think if he’s available, we should have a word with him. Check who the first responders were. There’s got to be a log somewhere for that night. Find out the sergeant’s name and whether he’s still in the land of the living. If he’s not, find me someone from the RUC who was in Beechmount Parade that night.’

‘That might be a tall order, sir,’ Jackson said. ‘A RUC sergeant back then would be in his seventies or eighties now.’

‘Not for someone with your skill set. I think you’re going to be able to find me someone.’

‘I’ll try. In the meantime what will you be doing, sir?’

Something that certainly doesn’t involve you
, Wilson thought. ‘You may have heard that I’m currently a witness in a capital trial that’s going on, the Maggie Cummerford trial. I’ve been informed that I might be called to an interview with the prosecution and the defence. There are some points that need clarification.’ Just then Wilson’s mobile rang. He looked and saw Kate’s number on the screen. ‘It’s the defence counsel,’ he said pressing the button.

Jackson remained where he was.

‘Do you mind?’ Wilson nodded towards the door. ‘I’d like to take this in private. Find me that RUC sergeant.’ He saw the disappointment on Jackson’s face.

‘Ian,’ Kate’s voice was strained. ‘What the hell are you up to? If this “I need your help” is just a ploy for us to meet up, I’ll . . .’ she didn’t finish the sentence.

‘It’s no ploy,’ Wilson said. Inside he was happy to hear her voice. ‘I’ve got a problem with the case I’m currently on and you’re the only one I can turn to for help.’

‘What kind of problem?’

‘One I can’t discuss over the phone.’

‘Ian, I’m not ready for this.’

‘I respect your feelings but I genuinely need your help and I need it now.’

‘Meet me at court at one o’clock. Ten minutes, Ian. That’s all I can give you.’ The phone went dead.

Wilson sat back in his chair. How had it come to this? Yes, the loss of the baby was traumatic, but surely it was something they could have worked through. Yes, he was probably insensitive. For God’s sake, he was a policeman. He witnessed death and the destruction of lives on a daily basis. He swam with the scum and to survive he’d developed a thick skin. Sometimes maybe a little too thick. He was probably inured to the pain of loss. But this was his second bout with miscarriage, and he had lost both. Perhaps there was a message in there somewhere. Kate was the best thing in his life, and he’d managed to lose her. His job had been a poor second best, and he’d managed to lose that too. He closed his eyes. He was still feeling the effects of last night’s excesses. McDevitt was right. There was no point in seeking solace in the bottom of a bottle. He wasn’t about to lose control of his life. He would wait on Kate in the hope that their “break” would simply be that. Other people rekindle their relationships, so why shouldn’t he and Kate? He opened his computer and clicked on the email icon. He had five new emails. The only one that required opening was one from Harry Graham. The new serious crime squad still hadn’t been formed and Harry, Peter Davidson and Eric Taylor were still labouring away on trying to find Sammy Rice. There was no news from Interpol and they were beginning to believe that Sammy might be dead. Rumours to that effect were circulating in the Belfast underworld. But rumours of Sammy’s death might be exaggerated. McDevitt had also been right about the rise and rise of Gerry McGreary. Pieces of Sammy’s territory had already been ripped off by the McGreary mob, and McGreary was the new big boss in Belfast. Wilson thought of something to write back about his current situation but news of the investigation into a cold crime wouldn’t be of much interest to a crew at the coalface. He thought about the days when he had more than a hundred emails flooding into his inbox. He hated it then but he would give anything to be back in his old office, even if it meant being bombarded by idiotic emails. That wasn’t about to happen and he would have to learn to live with his new situation. He opened his word processor and started writing his report of the interview with Lafferty and Mallon.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Wilson arrived in the domed central room at the Royal Courts of Justice at exactly five minutes to one. There was the usual barrister-dance taking place as the legal eagles carrying handfuls of briefs flew hither and thither with their black cloaks flying. He sat down on one of the benches and observed the ritual movements. He was facing the corridor, which led to the court where the Cummerford trial was taking place. He was concentrating so hard on that direction that he didn’t see Kate approaching from the side and wasn’t aware of her presence until she sat beside him.

‘Kate!’ He turned to look at her. Her blonde hair was tied back as it usually was when she was at court in order to accommodate her wig. Her high cheekbones were more pronounced and she still had the pallor that was present since the miscarriage. ‘It’s so good to see you.’ He wanted badly to hug her. He needed to apologise to her for being such an idiot. But he knew it was the wrong thing to do. Rekindling their relationship would be a process and it hadn’t yet begun.

‘It’s good to see you too, Ian.’ Her voice was flat, emotionless. ‘I really do only have ten minutes and I do want to help you.’

‘I’m with this task force investigating a cold case.’ He was finding it hard to concentrate on his stupid job. He wished he’d appreciated how unimportant PSNI was before he and Kate broke up.

‘I heard that you’d been moved. It must have hurt to lose your job with the murder squad. Something about a reorganisation I hear.’

Not as hurtful as losing you
, he thought. ‘That’s what they say.’ The minutes were being eaten up but he didn’t really care.

‘Ian, you said that you needed me. I hope this wasn’t just an excuse for us to meet. I’m not ready to talk about us. I may never be ready to talk about us.’

‘I know it’s trite, but where did it all go wrong?’

‘Maybe it was all wrong from the start and we just didn’t realise it. When my mother and I talked, I realised that perhaps we came from different worlds and there was too much difficulty trying to force those worlds together.’

‘So Helen was involved in the “break”?’

‘I used her as a sounding board. It was my decision.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Five minutes.’

Wilson thought about the old man lying on his deathbed in Beechmount Parade and decided that he had to grasp this one chance to get the ballistics analysis. He removed the small box from his pocket, and slid the lid open. ‘I’m investigating the death of two young men in 1974. The original investigation was non-existent. There was no forensic collected at the scene or, if there was, it was never logged. I’ve got several new colleagues that I don’t completely trust and I’m afraid if I submit this bullet and shell for analysis, I’ll never see them again. So I can’t go the official route, and FSNI probably wouldn’t deal with me as an individual. You could ask them to do the analysis and find out whether the weapon used was employed in other killings. I’ll pay for the analysis myself.’

Kate smiled. ‘That’s something that I really appreciate about you, Ian. You are dedicated to what you do.’ She reached out and took the small box from his hand. Their fingers touched in the process and she quickly withdrew her hand. She held the box and looked at the two small cylindrical items sitting on the cotton wadding. ‘I’ll get them to FSNI today.’

‘Can you put a rush on it? I know it’ll cost more but I’ll handle whatever it is. There’s a guy at FSNI called George Tunney. I’ve dealt with him in the past and if you put it through him, he might be able to fast track it.’

She closed the lid of the box and put it in her pocket. ‘I’ll get it on the way. I really thought this was just a ploy for us to sit down together.’

‘And what would you have done if it was?’

‘I would have been angry and I would never have trusted you again if you asked for my help. You’re a good man, Ian. I’d be the first to recognise that and I really do love you. But I have a feeling that we’ll never be the way we were. And that makes me very sad.’

She stood up and so did Wilson.

‘Some day when the dust settles,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we’ll be able to sit down and discuss what happened rationally. Right now, I’m still angry and raw.’

‘What about the future?’

She didn’t reply and instead consulted her watch. ‘We’re over the allotted time. I really need to prepare for this afternoon.’

‘How is it going?’ He wanted desperately to continue the conversation.

‘Pretty much as expected.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘My secretary will be in touch as soon as we have a reply from FSNI.’ She held out her hand. ‘It’s been good talking to you.’

Wilson took the hand and held it a fraction longer than necessary. He would have preferred a kiss on the cheek but he knew he would have to be satisfied with touching her hand. He was profoundly sad. He realised, for the first time, that there was a distinct possibility that there would be no way back.

Kate turned and headed back in the direction she’d come. He watched her as she departed. He knew instinctively what the future held for them. In a few months, they would meet perhaps in Deane’s. They would talk about how happy they had been together and how that happiness hit the fault lines that ran through their relationship. Then they would decide that they would remain friends, but that a future close relationship was out of the question. Kate might even drop into the conversation the fact that she was seeing someone. It would be a pillar of society, a man on the rise, old money preferably. Someone who was comfortable at the dinners where the great and the good of the Province discussed events important to the 1%. Someone who had a holiday villa in Marbella, but most of all someone who could be useful in helping Kate become a Judge. He thought for a minute. And someone who would be acceptable to Helen McCann.