Shadow Sins (DCI Wilson Book 2) (16 page)

“I think that marks the end of that line of questioning,” Campbell said.

Gillespie and Coyle exchanged a look.

“OK,” Gillespie examined a notebook. “You accompanied DCI Wilson to the Worthington house in order to arrest Superintendent Worthington on the foot of a warrant issued against him for sexual assault and causing grievous bodily harm.”

“Yes.”

“Who authorised the arrest?” Gillespie asked.

“I was not privy to that.”

“Who decided to arrest the Superintendent at his home?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it DCI Wilson?”

“I already said that I didn’t know,” she was beginning to feel aggressive towards the two men, but she knew that would be fatal. She had to remain calm and collected although she would have knocked their brains out for ten pence.

‘Why didn’t DCI Wilson take Superintendent Worthington into custody immediately?” Gillespie asked.

“The Superintendent asked to go inside to collect his coat and DCI Wilson agreed. We were waiting in the hall for him to return when we heard the shot.”

“Why do you think DCI Wilson allowed Superintendent Worthington to commit suicide?” Gillespie asked.

“He didn’t ‘allow him to commit suicide’. He permitted him to go and dress himself as he wished.”

“You’re very fond of DCI Wilson?” Coyle asked.

Moira didn’t answer.

“That’s all for now, DC McElvaney,” Gillespie said closing his notebook.  “We may want to speak to you again. Interview terminated at,” he looked at his watch. “Eleven twenty-seven.”

Sergeant Campbell tapped Moira on the arm, and the two women rose to leave. Coyle and Gillespie watched them silently.

“Arrogant pricks,” Campbell said as soon as she and Moira exited the room. “I’ve heard of those two but that’s the first time I’ve seen them in action. A right pair of ballbreakers.”

“What the hell is going on?” Moira said.

‘They’ve been told to nail DCI Wilson,” Campbell closed her document case. “They’ll pull every lousy trick in the book to get him. And if they have to get you in the process, then that’s what they’ll do. I hope the DCI is up to the challenge.”

Wilson concentrated on his administrative duties while keeping an eye out for Moira’s return. She was still a bit wet behind the ears, but she was certainly no dummy. He wasn’t even slightly worried that she might drop him in it. This was a ‘get rid of Wilson’ plan, and it was hatched in the office of the DCC. He was making one last run through his e-mails when Moira walked through the door to the Squad Room with the Duty Sergeant in tow. She smiled as she passed his office.

“Your turn, Boss,” the Duty Sergeant said with a smile as he opened Wilson’s door.

Wilson stood up to his full six foot three inch height. “Lead on MacDuff,” he said.

“I heard she gave them hell,” the Duty Sergeant smiled.

“I can well believe it,” Wilson returned the smile.

DS Campbell was waiting outside the interview room when Wilson arrived. She extended her hand and introduced herself.

“I hear that DC McElvaney handled herself well,” Wilson said.

“Rather better than that,” Campbell said. “It’s Coyle and Gillespie from Professional Standards Division, I’ve heard about these two before, and they’re bastards of the first water. They want you. So keep on your toes.”

They entered the interview room where Coyle and Gillespie were already seated facing the door. Neither made any attempt to introduce themselves.

“Please sit down,” Gillespie said.

Wilson remained standing. “Maybe I’ve got this wrong, but I thought it was customary for a junior officer to stand when a senior officer entered the room.” He stared at Gillespie. “Also when you address me you will call me Sir.”

Coyle looked at Gillespie who stood up with some reluctance.

“Perhaps you would like to take a seat, Sir,” Gillespie said.

“That’s better,” Wilson said holding a chair so that DS Campbell could sit down.

Gillespie pushed the record button on the tape and introduced those present at the interview.

“I assume CI Coyle will be asking the questions since it’s my right to be questioned by an officer who is either my senior or of equal rank,” Wilson said.

Coyle leaned back in his chair and sighed audibly. “As you wish,” he said.

“I wish.”

“DCI Wilson,” Coyle’s tone was laconic. “You were given the job of dealing with the investigation into allegations of sexual assault made against Superintendent Joseph Worthington?”

“I was,” Wilson said.

“And how did you conduct that investigation?” Coyle asked.

“I held several interviews with Superintendent Worthington all of which were recorded while DC McElvaney took a statement from the complainant in the case.”

“Your very good friend DC McElvaney,” Coyle twisted his face into a leer.

Wilson’s eyebrows raised. “DC McElvaney, my colleague and a member of my squad.”

“You work very closely with her,” Coyle managed to convey something sleazy in what was a simple statement.

“I work closely with all my squad.”

“But you spend a lot of time with DC McElvaney.”

“No more than with the other officers in my squad.”

Coyle examined a note on the pad in front of him. “You were seen in the Crown Bar together on the day Superintendent Worthington died.”

“We were both shocked by what we’d experienced I thought a drink would be beneficial to both of us. I should also point out that in the past few weeks, I have had drinks with DCs Graham, McIver and Davidson.  I would have had a drink with DC Taylor but he won’t enter a public house for religious reasons.”

“Are you aware that there are rules concerning the fraternisation of senior officers with junior officers?” Coyle asked.

“Yes I am. I am also aware that officers are obliged to declare their membership of organisations the membership of which may compromise their ability to perform their duty. But that one doesn’t seem to be enforced either.”

“You have a reputation as a bit of a ladykiller.” Coyle said.

It was Wilson’s turn to smile. “Undeserved I assure you.”

DS Campbell smiled.  She knew several female officers who had fallen for Wilson’s charms, and having met him she didn’t blame them one bit.

“So you have never used your position as a senior officer to demand sexual favour from a junior officer?

“Never,” Wilson said. “I’m beginning to tire of this line of questioning. I understood that a complaint had been made to Professional Standards relating to the botched arrest of Superintendent Worthington. You people have turned what was supposed to be a serious interview pertaining to police procedure into a series of innuendos pertaining to sexual activity. Where are you going with this line of questioning?”

“I must agree with DCI Wilson,” DS Campbell made a note on her pad.

“We ask the questions here,” Gillespie said.

“Did you address me without saying, Sir, you miserable turd?” Wilson looked disparagingly at Gillespie.

Gillespie stiffened. Coyle put a hand on Gillespie’s arm before he could reply.

‘DS Gillespie apologises,” Coyle said quickly.

Campbell smiled. Wilson had them on the back foot.

“We do not need to explain our line of questioning,” Coyle said. “ After questioning Superintendent Worthington you allowed him to return home.”

“I took possession of his warrant card and his service pistol. The investigation was still on-going and until we established the sequence of events it was decided that he should simply be suspended.”

“And who made that decision?”

“Chief Superintendent Spence.”

“Okay, let’s move ahead to the decision to arrest of Superintendent Worthington. I don’t suppose that you had anything to do with that?”

“Since I had been commissioned to investigate the case, my squad prepared the file from the statements we took from the Superintendent, Constable Doogan and the two attending police constables. We included details from the hospital, including photos. As far as I was concerned the decision to go ahead with a prosecution, and the arrest was made at a higher level.”

‘So far you have had nothing to do with anything,” Coyle said. “A perfect Mister Squeaky Clean.”

Wilson smiled.

“Who decided to arrest Superintendent Worthington at his home?” Coyle asked.

“DCC Jennings.”

“He told you personally?”

“No, I was instructed by Chief Superintendent Spence.”

“Was anyone else present?”

“Fat… I mean CI Harrison.”

“And if CI Harrison says that such a meeting never happened and that you acted on your own initiative?”

“Then either he is mistaken, or maybe he might be lying.”

“Are you saying that your superior is a liar?”

“No, I am saying that if he doesn’t remember a meeting which took place only a few days ago he should either be tested for Alzheimer’s or he is not telling the truth.”

“You permitted Joseph Worthington to re-enter his house. Why?”

“He said that he wanted to put on more appropriate clothing.”

“Was the clothing he was wearing inappropriate?”

“Since the arrest was going to be high-profile and would show the ordinary citizen that the PSNI did not favour its own, I assumed that the press had been informed and would be outside the Station to capture the event on their cameras for posterity. Therefore, I thought that it would be best if a handcuffed Superintendent did not turn up in a pair of lounge pants.”

“You were so sure the press would be at the Station?”

“I checked later, and it was the case.”

Coyle and Gillespie exchanged another look.

“You allowed Worthington to re-enter his house where you knew he had a service revolver. Didn’t you think that he might commit suicide?”

“I had no idea that there was a revolver in the house. Don’t forget I took his service revolver and warrant card from him after his interrogation. They’re locked up in the Station safe.”

Another look passed between Coyle and Gillespie which sent Gillespie searching frantically through the papers in front of him.

“He shot himself with a Ruger Special Six,” Wilson said helpfully. “It has since been replaced in the Service by the Glock 17 which is the revolver I took from him. He had the Ruger in his house unofficially. He obviously didn’t hand it in when he was issued with the Glock. I couldn’t be expected to have known that.”

Game, set and match, Campbell thought and she screwed the top back onto her pen. “I think that we’re done here,” she said emphatically.

Gillespie finally found the paper he was looking for. His expression said that it confirmed Wilson’s evidence.

“You people should try a bit of police work sometime,” Wilson said. “It’s supposed to come with the job.”

Coyle looked at his watch. “Interview terminated at 12:19.” He leaned across Gillespie and knocked the tape-recorder off. He turned to face Wilson. “We’re not finished with you, you smart-arsed bastard.”

Wilson stood up. “I’d love to sit here and chat some more with you nice people, but I’m SIO on two murder cases, and I really don’t have any time to waste on arseholes.”  He pulled back Campbell’s chair and the two made for the door.

“That was well worth the admission ticket,” she said when they got outside. “You gutted them.”

‘They did it to themselves. Like the Boy Scout motto says ‘be prepared’”.

She handed him a card. “In case you’re ever short of a drinking companion. And I don’t give a bugger about the fraternization rules.”

He smiled and slipped the card into his pocket.

CHAPTER 39

Malachy Devlin had been poring over church records since the death of Father Reilly. He looked at the mass of paper laid out on the desk in front of him and despaired of the organisation that he effectively worked for. The hierarchy should at least spend some time in business school. They were managing a global business handling billions of dollars with liquid and fixed assets that were difficult to quantify and with many hundreds of thousands members of staff. However, the management tools they used would have been instantly recognisable to the Medicis. There should be a computer into which he put the names Gilroy and Reilly and it would immediately spit out the correlation between the two. Instead, they were following the system developed by some brainless Italian prelate in the Middle Ages who had evolved a method of reporting aimed at hiding facts rather than reporting them. What more could be expected from a business where the Chief Executive Officer was generally in his eighties before he was granted the top job. Add to that is the fact that the members of the executive suite were men of the same age, and you have the perfect set-up to continue the geriatric practices which were rapidly making the church irrelevant. The old men padding around the Vatican should have taken note of the rise of the new Christian churches in America. The hierarchy of those churches had attended Harvard Business School and marketed their business using the same principles as the executives of McDonalds and Starbucks. And the people were flocking to them in their droves. Not just in The United States but all over the world. Devlin had had several bouts of considering whether he really had a vocation. He did believe in Jesus Christ as the ultimate saviour of mankind but did he really need to serve him in an organisation that was as sclerotic as the Catholic Church. Bishop Carey had been his mentor, but the killing of Gilroy had seriously affected the prelate. It was apparent that Gilroy was his Achilles Heel, and it was Gilroy who could bring him down. Then Devlin would be without a mentor. He smiled to himself. That situation, were it to arise, wouldn’t last long. There was a certain cardinal he had met in Rome that would appreciate his kind of loyalty. The objective of the exercise was, therefore, to ensure that he would not be collateral damage if the Bishop went under. He was beginning to develop a grudging respect for DCI Wilson. He wasn’t the usual dumb copper and that meant that his theory about there being a connection between Gilroy and Reilly had to be correct. He continued sifting through the papers before him. Somewhere in this rats maze there was a paper linking Gilroy and Reilly. The trick would be finding it.

Moira had spent the time that Wilson was in the interview room looking through the grainy footage from the CCTV disks. So far, she hadn’t seen anything that resembled the ‘homeless man’ but she still had half the disk she was working on and two more disks to go through. People flitted by, grey figures composed of black-and-white pixels floating across her vision. Despite her desire to produce a lead in the priest murder case, the content of her interview with the two assholes from Professional Standards kept replaying in her mind. They were trying to link her and Wilson sexually. She tried to convince herself that there was no basis for that contention, but she was wondering whether she was mooning over her boss or whether somebody was interpreting her desire to learn from Wilson as sexual tension. Who was she kidding? There was sexual tension there during the Dungrey business. And it didn’t go away. Wilson was with Kate McCann now and there was no way she was going to compete with her. It was time to move on. The thoughts of a return to dating filled her with apprehension. She was beyond that. She’d been married. Seen it upfront and nasty and wasn’t sure that she wanted to go that route again. Equally, she didn’t fancy the idea of spending the rest of her life alone. She had tried the bar scene after her divorce, but her friends had told her that she might as well have had the words ‘Piss Off’ tattooed on her forehead.  She’d seen the guys make a move towards her and then see the look on her face. Their swerves were something to behold as they suddenly realised that they should head for a point six feet to her left, or right. Now she was going to be fitted up for something that she hadn’t done, physically at least.

She started as Wilson entered the Squad Room. He had a broad smile on his face, and he made directly for her desk.

‘That was fun,” he said as he examined the time elapsed image on the screen.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” she clicked her mouse and the image froze.

“I hear that you gave as good as you got,” he said. “Always remember the truth is a weapon against shits like them.”

“They have an agenda and you’re it,” she said. “They did their best to suggest that there’s something going on sexually between us.” She was aware of her cheeks reddening.

‘Aye, they tried that one on me too,” he noticed her high colour and felt pleasure in it. He liked Moira and if Kate hadn’t come back on the scene, Coyle might have had something to go after. “Anyway I put them right and I’m sure you did too.”

“Absolutely,” she said.

“Any joy,” he said nodding at the computer screen.

“No joy but a couple of sore eyes and a dead brain. I’m only three quarters through the first disk and already I feel like eating my head.”

“Keep at it,” he said and he started back towards his office.

CI Coyle and DS Gillespie sat uncomfortably in front of DCC Jennings in his office at PSNI Headquarters. CI Harrison sat to the side of the trio.

“We thought that Worthington had killed himself with his service revolver. It turns out that he had never relinquished his Ruger Special Six. He kept it upstairs in his house. There was no way that Wilson could have known about it. We checked the safe at the Station, and we found Worthington’s Glock 17 and his warrant card just like Wilson said.”

Jennings was the praying mantis again. “I sent you to nail that bastard’s skin to the wall and you come back here to tell me that you can find no grounds to bring a case of dereliction of duty against him. I won’t accept that. Get back out there and start digging.  Wilson is not squeaky clean. There’s some skeleton in the cupboard somewhere, and I want you two to find it. Your future careers depend on it. Now don’t waste any more of my time.”

Coyle and Gillespie stood up and made for the door. Neither spoke.

“Idiots,” Harrison said as the door closed.

“I want Wilson,” Jennings said. “The balls-up at Worthington’s house was the perfect chance to get rid of him.”

“I’m willing to swear to anything that you want me to but Spence isn’t onside. That means that if I say that you never ordered the arrest to be made at Worthington’s home, Spence is going to say the opposite. Opening up the can of worms on the arrest will only put you in the firing line. It will be seen as an error not to allow Worthington to surrender himself at the Station.”

“What about the murder cases?” Jennings asked.

Harrison looked at Jennings. The DCC was normally pale, but his pallor seemed more intense. His face was a mask to scare children, a face from a poster for a scary movie. The fixation with Wilson was taking its toll on him. “I’m keeping a close eye on him. I don’t think he’s making as much effort on the motiveless killer theory as you might like. We’ve put the serial killer idea out there but so far only the press has run with it. ‘Priest Killer Strikes Again’ just sells papers. I can order Wilson what lines to follow but I can’t walk around with him every minute of the day and if he comes up with a murderer on this one, you’ll have to eat a mountain of shite. Forget about Wilson and start thinking of yourself.”

“Forget about Wilson, forget about Wilson,” Jennings roared. “I’ll forget about Wilson when he’s pounding a beat in Crossmaglen.”

“What the hell did he do to you, that causes you to hate him so much?” Harrison asked.

Jennings stared ahead without speaking. Silence took over the office.

Harrison wanted to break that silence but he dared not.

“Ronald, do you want to be a Superintendent one day?” Jennings asked in a cold voice.

“Of course I do,” Harrison replied.

“Then bring me Wilson’s head on a plate. If you don’t, maybe it will be you pounding the beat in Crossmaglen.”