The Broken Shore (14 page)

“OK, I’ll meet you in the reception of Parliament Buildings at three-thirty. And can you tell Jake that Jonno Mulvenna’s exhibition starts at seven o’clock. I’m going home to change and I’ll meet him there.”

“Art exhibition, eh? I’ll tell him to wear a beret and a serious look.”

***

“You’re sure the man you saw was talking to Elizabeth Trainor?”

Jenna Farrelly screwed up her face in exasperation and repeated what she’d said.

“Yes, for the twentieth time. He was talking to the girl from the photo in the police appeal. She was wearing a pair of black shiny leggings and a woollen top, like some sort of fancy jumper.” She waved her hand in the air indicating some invisible fashion. “And before you ask me to describe it, it was just pink and fancy, like young people wear.”

Liam stared down at the woman. She was what most people would have called motherly. Small and round with short brown hair, she wore a long skirt and a woollen cardigan that she’d cinched in firmly with a belt. On her feet was a pair of short suede boots that he was sure he’d seen Danni wear a couple years back. That was the extent of his sartorial knowledge but her fashion sense seemed to support her vagueness about Lissy’s clothes.

He nodded; satisfied that she was a solid witness. She’d come forward saying that she’d seen Lissy talking to a tall dark man at around seven-forty-five on the Sunday night. Nothing he’d asked her in the past thirty minutes had shaken her from her version of events. He pulled over a line drawing of the promenade and tapped it.

“Can you show me where you saw them on this diagram?”

She reached into her handbag and pulled out a metal case so small that Liam watched with surprise as the contents unfolded into a pair of glasses that she perched on her nose. He’d need some of those soon. Danni was giving him hell about sitting so close to the TV. That would only leave Craig and Davy spec-less on the squad. Maybe he’d get a trendy pair, after all, sex symbols like George Clooney wore them and they still managed to pull the birds. And he still had all his own hair and teeth. He wasn’t looking for anyone but Danni but he still liked to attract the odd look.

He pulled his attention back to the map and saw Jenna Farrelly’s finger firmly planted on one spot. She was indicating the street outside a small specialist bookshop with a determined look in her eye.

“There, that’s where I saw them. They sat down on the bench opposite.”

Liam peered at the map and made a note. “You’re sure? No doubt at all?”

She shook her head firmly as he marked the map with pencil then folded it up, then she sipped at her coffee and slid a biscuit from the plate, Liam did the same with two of them and they chomped in silence for a moment. He drained his cup in a final gulp and restarted.

“OK, we know you saw Lissy and we know exactly where. Now, can you tell me any more about the man?”

She thought for a moment then closed her eyes for so long that he thought she’d fallen asleep. Just when he was about to tap her arm she opened them and waved a finger at his pen, instructing him to ‘take this down.’

“He was tall, not tall tall like you, but then very few people are I suppose. But he was tall.”

“How tall would you say?”

She thought for a moment then nodded, finding a comparator. “Like that young constable who showed me in.”

Liam strode to the door and opened it, yelling at the top of his voice. “P.C. Flood, come down here a minute, will you.”

At the sound of Liam’s booming voice, Ian Flood dropped the file in his hand and rushed into the room. Liam moved him to the middle of the floor and stood beside him. They watched as Jenna Farrelly walked around them for a moment then nodded once. Liam turned to the confused P.C.

“How tall are you son?”

Flood opened his mouth but Liam interrupted him before he could speak. “No, scrap that. Go and measure yourself against the chart in custody and come back.”

He nodded him out then turned back to his guest.

“OK, how old would you say?”

Jenna Farrelly scrutinised Liam’s face then shrugged. “Forty-seven or forty-eight?”

He looked at her in confusion then realised that she meant him. He was slightly put out that she’d got his age in one.

“Not me, the man you saw with Elizabeth Trainor!”

“Oh, him.” She screwed up her face in thought. “Between thirty and thirty five, I’d say. Towards the lower end probably, but he definitely wasn’t less than thirty.”

“Hair colour, eye colour?”

Flood re-entered and Liam motioned him to stand still while she thought.

“His hair was very dark, almost but not quite black. Not that coal black you see sometimes, but nearly. His eyes were brown.”

“You’re sure? Because that hair can go with blue or brown eyes.”

She shook her head firmly. “Definitely brown, I noticed because he was wearing a rust coloured jumper that made them flash, you know, when he turned round, and I like brown eyes. They were dark chocolaty brown. And he had a tan.”

Liam smiled. She was a gem. It wasn’t often you got a witness that would stick to their guns but this one would, he was sure of it. He noticed her glance at the clock behind him and hurried up.

“Constable Flood, how tall are you?”

“Six-feet-one, sir. According to the chart.”

Liam turned towards Jenna Farrelly and raised an eyebrow questioningly. She nodded firmly and he waved the P.C. out.

“You say you saw them clearly?”

“Absolutely. They were chatting for at least five minutes.”

“Not arguing?”

“No. Talking. As if they knew each other.”

“Did the girl seem upset, or afraid in any way?”

She shook her head firmly. “Not at all. But they didn’t look like a couple either. There wasn’t that affection between them.”

“Which direction did they walk in when they turned away?”

“She walked east towards Strand Road and he walked west. He was throwing his car keys in the air, as if he was going to get it. I’m afraid I don’t remember any more than that. I was rushing to meet my daughter.”

“Did you notice anything about the keys? A logo maybe?”

She shook her head. “Sorry. Nothing stood out.”

That only left one thing to do.

“If I put you with a sketch artist, do you think you could tell them what he looked like?”

She looked at her watch pointedly and Liam leaped in. “It’ll only take thirty minutes and we’ll get you a car home afterwards.”

She gazed at him unflinchingly. “A plain one? I don’t want my husband seeing me pull up in a police car. He‘d have a coronary.”

“Whatever colour you want.”

She nodded, satisfied, and lifted her cup of tea, draining it. Liam called the sketch artist and then Andy, to find out how tall James O’Carolan was.

Chapter Seventeen

The man watched the police doing their door-to-door enquiries, not knowing whether to be angry or amused. Amused at their ineptitude, or angry that despite him practically leading them to the person responsible for their crime they still couldn’t see.

He lifted the heavy boxes one by one, stacking them outside the shop’s back door then thought about what he should do next. The police were making some progress, but it was all so bloody slow. Short of writing the culprit’s name in the sand he’d left them every possible clue. He thought for a moment about burying Lissy in the sand and shuddered. He wasn’t a killer and he’d liked the girl, but how else could he bring home his message, when he knew he’d be blocked by officialdom at every turn?

He pushed the stack of boxes aggressively into a corner and threw another box on top, painstakingly straightening them so they didn’t fall. He stared at the column thoughtfully for a moment then realised what he had to do. The little things in life were easy to control, now he had to think big.

***

By the time Craig got to Stormont Estate and parked, Annette was already inside Parliament Buildings, sitting in the high-ceilinged marble reception under the curious eyes of the guards. It wasn’t every day they had police there looking for one of their MLAs. They normally visited them at their home or constituency, in an attempt to be more discrete. Craig showed his I.D. and signed in, reading their questioning looks and their minds. He allowed himself a small smile, remembering Annette’s last trip there with Liam the year before. It had resulted in a Minister being taken away to ‘assist with their enquiries’. The guards’ stares said they wondered if they were about to have a repeat show.

They waited patiently for fifteen minutes until finally at four o’clock a young aide came to take them upstairs. They followed her through the maze of corridors until they reached Hugh Trainor’s room. The aide knocked quietly then melted away, leaving them outside a heavy oak door, waiting to be summoned. They didn’t have long to wait.

Hugh Trainor opened the door and smiled warmly, waving them into a small, bright room. The first thing Craig noticed was how relaxed it felt; the second that there were pictures of Lissy dotted everywhere, but none of his wife.

Trainor waved them to two armchairs beside a coffee table, in a corner that caught the sun. Craig glanced at him quickly, taking in every detail. He was a small man, as small as Annette, and handsome. His face was round and healthy, as if he lived an outdoor life. His hands were large and well-worn, matching. If it wasn’t for his bespoke suit and polite urban accent, he could have been a fisherman or a labourer. Craig warmed to him immediately. There was something decent about him.

“Tea or Coffee, Superintendent? Inspector?”

He took their orders and phoned them through, then joined them, sitting on a low settee. Craig spoke first.

“Thank you for seeing us as such short notice, Mr Trainor.”

Hugh Trainor shook his head. “I should have come to see you, Superintendent. But to be honest I’ve been putting it off. It’s…hard. You understand?”

Craig nodded and saw more in the man’s eyes than grief. A glance from Annette said she’d seen it as well. It was guilt, but guilt for what? They got their answer quickly. The aide brought in the refreshments then disappeared. After a moment of pouring and small talk Trainor started talking without a prompt.

“I loved my daughter, Superintendent, I always will. She was everything good in my life and we were very, very close.”

Craig saw Annette’s look. It said ‘how close?’ He understood her suspicion, especially now they’d seen Trainor’s guilt, but for some reason it didn’t fit. Trainor hadn’t abused his daughter, that wasn’t what his guilt was about. He was still talking.

“Lissy…” His voice broke as he said her name and he sipped at his tea, struggling to hold back the tears. “She… she didn’t get on with her mother. Oh, Melanie loved her, but she couldn’t show it. She’s a rigid woman.” He glanced at them with a wry smile. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that.”

Craig conceded the point with a smile of his own.

“She was very strict with Lissy growing up, Superintendent, overly strict in my opinion. She treated her like one of her men instead of a little girl. Lissy was a gentle child, she needed something more than Melanie could give, so it’s no secret that she was closer to me.”

He put down his cup. “Melanie has basically forbidden me to speak to you without her present, but I want to. There are things that I need to say and she would try to stop me.” He swallowed and guilt filled his eyes again. What he said next surprised Annette but it didn’t surprise Craig at all. He’d worked it out the minute they’d entered and he’d seen that there were no photos of his wife.

“I’ve been having an affair for three years, Superintendent, and as soon as decently possible I’m going to divorce my wife.”

Annette gasped and Craig shot her a warning look. An affair; that was the guilt they’d seen. Hugh Trainor had a reputation for being a warm family man, posing for happy pictures in the press. But people were rarely what their public persona portrayed.

“I’ve been unhappy for years, since soon after we got married. Melanie didn’t marry me for love and I knew that. She married me for my power and my family’s money. But I wanted her anyway and I hoped that her love would grow.” He shook his head. “Sadly that wasn’t to be.”

He stared at them defiantly. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret my affair. The lady in question is wonderful and I love her and want to make her my wife, but….”

Craig interjected gently. “You wanted your marriage to work and even when it didn’t you stayed for Lissy’s sake.”

Trainor nodded. “Yes, and I would still be staying if she was alive. But now…”

He fell silent and Craig let him think. After a long moment he restarted.

“I’m going to be very blunt now and you’ll be shocked. But it’s essential that you know, because I think that it may have led to my daughter being killed. Melanie has been promiscuous most of her adult life. Extremely promiscuous. She targeted several men I knew before we got together in 1988, when she was thirty. She slept with them all and they helped her rise in her career.”

Annette’s eyes widened but she kept herself in check.

“I knew she had a reputation when I met her but I thought marriage would make her change. Sadly it didn’t. Most of the men involved were very powerful. Titled, moneyed, in positions of authority. Men who could be useful to her in some way. But…she’s determined to be the first female Chief Constable and nothing will get in the way of that, so she would never divorce me. A scandal might wreck her precious plans. When I threatened to divorce her once, many years ago, she said she would stop me seeing Lissy. That was when I stopped loving her. The idea that she could trade her own child’s happiness to achieve her ambition was too much.”

He shrugged. “We’ve been leading separate lives ever since and as long as I didn’t rock the boat, Melanie was happy. But recently I needed something more, a relationship. That’s when I saw Darlene.”

Craig interjected. “We’ll need to speak to her.”

Trainor nodded. “Of course.” He handed him a card. “She’s expecting your call. She’ll confirm everything that I’ve said.”

Craig slipped the card inside his jacket, continuing. “You’ve said you believe your wife’s behaviour may have led to your daughter’s death? May I ask you how?”

Trainor leaned back on the settee and sighed. “The first thing you need to understand is that Melanie will deny everything. Every affair, every argument, she’ll admit to none of what I’ve said. The Belfast Chronicle got hold of something last year and she slapped an injunction on them to keep it under wraps. That’s how far she’ll go to look whiter than white. Secondly, watch your back. If you bring any of this out she’ll try to ruin your career, and she can do it, believe me. Her lovers are well placed in the police, judiciary and the political world, both here and in London. She will destroy you if she can. My advice would be to go straight to your Chief Constable and tell him everything I’ve said, to protect yourselves. I know Sean Flanagan and he’s as straight as they come, so he’ll keep you right. But be aware, Melanie has several senior officers here who are loyal to her. In fact she’s slept with most of them to make sure they are. And she helps their careers, so they’ll circle the wagons when this all comes out. She’ll threaten you with legal suits, the works.”

Annette interjected. “Aren’t you concerned for your own career, sir? She could try to smear you in return.”

Trainor smiled then shook his head slowly. “No, Inspector. For several reasons. My family is very powerful. We have a cohort of lawyers on retainer, so any damage that Melanie could do to me personally would be minimal. Lissy’s death has hurt me more than anything that she could ever do. And also, because I don’t care anymore. I’ve been an MLA for thirty years and I’m fifty-five now. My career in politics is nearing an end.”

Craig interrupted. “I’ve heard your name mentioned as a possible First Minister.”

Trainor laughed. “Yes, I’ve heard that rumour too but I’m not holding my breath. Look, I hope I’ve done some good in politics and I’ll continue to be involved with charity work, but I’ve been miserable for long enough. I want to enjoy life now. Let Melanie do her worst.” He smiled at Annette warmly. “But thank you for your concern.”

Craig smiled then gave Trainor a look that said he hadn’t finished his earlier point.

“Ah yes, how could my wife’s behaviour have led to my daughter’s death? Well, it’s very simple Superintendent. She’s used a lot of men over the years and they weren’t all happy when it ended. In some cases there were also very unhappy wives who’d found out.”

“But why not target the ACC herself? Why kill your daughter? She was just a vulnerable girl.”

Trainor’s eyes filled with tears again and his gaze moved to a picture of his daughter. She was around ten in it, half turned towards the photographer with a wide smile identical to her Dad’s. She looked happy and he could imagine Hugh Trainor taking the snap, saying ‘Lissy, pet, look at Daddy.’ Craig was sorry his words had made Trainor sad but his next words said he’d been right to ask. Hugh Trainor almost spat out his reply.

“Because Melanie was always well guarded, she made certain of that. Nothing was more important to her than her own security. And I was usually here, hard to get at. But Lissy was just a girl, out there in the world living a normal life. She was easy to reach, Superintendent. She was vulnerable. Through the years when things were really bad I begged Melanie to arrange a protection officer for her, but she refused. She said it would look like favouritism. Bloody favouritism, for her own child.”

He voice rose angrily. “Her job made Lissy a target for anyone who wanted revenge and then she stood back and let it happen.”

Suddenly he dropped his head and started sobbing. Annette’s eyes filled with sympathy as she watched his shoulders heave. Craig stood, motioning her to join him, then he laid his hand briefly on Hugh Trainor’s shoulder and they let themselves out. What Trainor had said had expanded their suspect pool hugely; now it was his job to narrow it down.

***

Andy wanted to chuck the files against the wall in frustration. He visualised their spines splitting open and sheets of paper floating to the floor. The image wasn’t half as satisfying as the reality would have been but it would have to do. He topped up his coffee and stared again at the list of Wasson’s victims that Davy had sent through. There were five names on it. Bronagh O’Carolan was one of them. Of the other four cases, all between fifty and seventy-five years old, two were dead and one was in a home suffering from dementia. That only left one woman he could even talk to.

He stared at the names, wondering how to approach the relatives of women who were long gone, or whether he even should. Was if fair to open their wounds again? And where did you stop? Were only their immediate families suspects in Lissy’s death, or was it wider than that? Did he rule out the husbands and grown-up children and stop there, or go digging deeper, into friends, work colleagues and more? He sighed in frustration. It was never-ending.

He took a deep draft of his coffee, tutting in irritation as a drop fell onto his shirt, then he dabbed it off and started again. Turning over the pages of each file in turn and making a longer list.

***

The man watched them tiredly as they went door-to-door, street to street, carrying photographs of the girl hopefully, as if people ever registered any face but their own. They had to do it of course, even if it was only to be seen to. To tick a box and strike out the name of another perfect stranger who’d never known Lissy Trainor at all. Unlike him. He felt as if he’d known her all her life.

He’d watched her play in her garden with her expensive toys since she was small and then at her posh private school. Every fashion fad and techy trend was satisfied as soon as she mentioned the word. And yet…he couldn’t say that she’d been spoiled. He’d seen her stop by each tramp in the street, giving them coins and even notes. He’d watched her volunteer with charities and carry shopping for the lady next door. Saint Lissy, destined for great things, a better human being than both her parents, especially her Mum. Mum, Mother, Mammy, Mom, he spat the words out at the thought of Melanie Trainor wearing them like a badge.

Her trophy child, the girl who’d had the misfortune to be born to such a bitch. He nodded in acknowledgement. It hadn’t been Lissy’s fault, or her choice, she was just an accident of birth like they all were. He had to give her credit for one thing. As soon as she could think clearly she’d chosen her Dad. Just in little ways at
first, like who she ran to when she cried; always him. Then when she was older, always standing closer to him in photos and in life, except when the bitch trotted her out for photo-ops for her career. Here is my perfect daughter and my perfect life, aren’t I wonderful, see what I did. Melanie Trainor, the perfect working mother. I work so hard, I have so much, now give me more. Make me the boss, make me supreme.