The Broken Shore (21 page)

He was still thinking when Liam came back. He ran the confused idea past him. Liam rubbed his chin thoughtfully before he spoke.

“Aye. It’s possible. There weren’t that many Catholic officers back then, but the ones there were definitely wouldn’t have wanted it known they were related to a scrote like Mulvenna. They might have wanted him out of the way, right enough. I’ll have a dig around and see what I can find.”

Liam’s grapevine rivalled the windtalkers of World War Two. If it was out there then he’d find it.

“But what about the lover theory, boss? Have we abandoned that? And what would the link to the ACC be if Mulvenna had a relative on the force? Why kill Lissy?”

Craig shook his head. “I don’t know Liam. I’m just shooting in the dark. I haven’t abandoned the lover theory yet, but I’m not sure how to proceed there. I need to think about it.”

As Craig said the words a bizarre idea popped into his head. If Sean Flanagan was out of the way, Melanie Trainor would be next in line for the CC post. What if Flanagan had a secret she was about to expose? What if he was related to Mulvenna? People had killed for less. He shook his head, dismissing the idea as fantasy, then he realised Liam was speaking.

“You were right.”

“About what?”

Liam sniffed grudgingly. “You were right about Mulvenna not killing Ronni Jarvis, or Lissy. He didn’t do it.” He grinned. “If he didn’t cave in under your sarcasm it has to be true.”

A rueful expression crossed Craig’s face. “I’m not exactly proud of it, or of punching him.”

“Ah well, needs must. It was either his jaw or your neck and Nicky would have killed us both if you’d ended up dead.”

*
**

“How can one man have so many cousins and aunts? It’s like that movie with Steve Martin.”

“‘Cheaper by the Dozen’ you mean? I preferred the 1950’s original.”

Davy and Jake stared at Nicky as if she was Methuselah.

“I saw it on TV!”

Annette patted her on the shoulder in sympathy.

“It’s a sad day when being in your thirties makes you feel old, Nicky, but you’ve reached it. Time to start listening to rubbish music and dying your hair blue to pretend you’re young.”

She caught Davy winking at his partner in crime then realised they’d both been had. She pulled herself into an official pose and took back control.

“Right. If you’ve quite finished teasing Nicky, what have you found?”

Jake started reciting a long list of names in a bored tone. He finally ended with “And Maria McCallion” and sat back with a sigh. Annette joined him. Jonno Mulvenna had fifteen living relatives whose D.N.A. might have resembled his. She looked at the list and divided them the easy way.

“OK. Jake, you take the men and I’ll take the women, but let’s see if we can narrow it a bit more before we waste our time. Davy, can you check if any of these have emigrated, are in prison or comatose, please. Otherwise they warrant a visit.”

Davy smiled and glanced out the window at the torrential November rain then settled back into his chair, smug that he didn’t have to venture into the cold. Maybe being an analyst had its upside. He eyed the packet of Rich Tea beside Nicky’s percolator and she took the hint, pressing the ever bubbling coffee onto boil while he typed in his search. In the time it took the coffee to perk and a tray of cups and biscuits to land on his desk, he’d finished. He pressed print and handed Annette and Jake each a new list.

“S…seven of the names have gone, that leaves eight. Five men and three women.” He popped a biscuit into his mouth and continued to speak, much to Nicky’s look of disgust.

“Don’t you dare speak with your mouth full, Davy Walsh. You’re turning into Liam and one of him around here is quite enough.”

He blushed and took a quick gulp of tea, washing away the offending snack. Nicky nodded him to restart.

“S…sorry, Nicky. Anyhow. One of the women is eighty-four-years-old but the rest are between twenty and sixty; siblings, cousins or their kids. There’s nothing more I can do to shorten the list, s…sorry.”

“Thanks, Davy. Jake, give me one of the men’s names.”

She lifted a cup of coffee and then glanced at the time. “It’s five o’clock now. If Nicky gives us a location map we should be able to do a first sweep by seven.”

She drank her coffee quickly, watching as Jake picked at the letters on his mug. He set his cup down.

“Don’t you drink coffee?”

He shook his head. “Nope, it gives me a headache. I’m a tea man.”

Nicky looked at him as if he’d committed treason then shrugged, making a mental note to add more teabags to her shopping list. She handed them each a map and an address list and waved them off her floor.

***

Jake was halfway through his list when his mobile flashed with a message to ring base. He drew a line through the two names he’d just visited and lifted his phone, thinking. The two men he’d seen had clean alibis and what was more important neither of them looked anything like Jonno Mulvenna. They hadn’t been the man Jenna Farrelly had seen talking to Lissy that day. They’d check their D.N.A. to rule them out but he didn’t hold out much hope.

The phone was lifted in one ring and Nicky’s husky voice broke through.

“What can I do for you, Nicky?”

“You and Annette can forget the women on the list. Dr Winter’s come back with the D.N.A.’s sex. It’s male.”

Jake nodded. It made sense. Violent murder was usually a man’s game. The lack of defensive wounds on Lissy backed up a male attacker too. Lissy hadn’t been big but she would have put up more of a fight against a woman, but all they had to say that she’d struggled some scratches she’d made herself and the hair beneath her nail. Her assailant probably didn’t have a mark. Nicky was still talking.

“He said the hair was virgin, too.”

“Un-dyed? He’s sure?”

“Definite. You’re looking for a man with naturally dark hair.”

It didn’t rule anyone in or out and Jake said as much. Mulvenna could have worn a real hair wig to cover his grey and whoever the killer was they could have changed their hair colour since the attack. Nicky sniffed, huffing.

“I’m only passing on the message. Working it out is your bit. I’m going now, to phone Annette.”

“
Don’t worry, I’ll do it, thanks. He smiled, mollifying her with his next words. “Thanks for the coffee earlier, Nicky, I’m sure it was very nice. It just gives me terrible migraines, that’s all.”

It was the right thing to say. He’d remembered Liam saying she got migraines and her immediate change of tone said he’d made a friend for life.

“Oh, they’re terrible, aren’t they? Do you think coffee makes them worse? Maybe I’d better cut it out and see. Thanks Jake, and thanks for telling Annette.”

He cut the call smiling and hit redial, waiting for Annette to pick up.

“Where are you?”

“On the Crumlin Road. Why?”

“Nicky’s phoned through. Dr Winter says the hair is definitely male and un-dyed. The natural colour is dark.”

“They could have dyed it since. We’ve no idea what colour they are now.”

“That’s what I said. And it’s definitely male, the D.N.A. says so. The hair was never grey so doesn’t that rule Mulvenna out?”

“No. He still has some naturally dark hairs, she might have just grabbed one of those. Or he could have worn a real-hair wig.”

She sighed and Jake knew she’d just wasted an hour visiting the women on her list. He offered a suggestion.

“That leaves us with three men to visit, Annette. Do you want to do them together? If one of them is our man it might be better for you not to question them alone.”

Annette smiled at his chivalry.

“Thanks, Jake. Who’s next on your list?”

“Mulvenna’s uncle. Fergal Muldoon. I’ll text you his address and meet you there.”

OK, let’s see if we can get through them today. It’ll give me a chance to update you about Lucia as well.”

***

Julia stared through the window of her office at the small car-park, wondering why she was digging in her heels. Limavady was pretty and the surrounding countryside had a lot to offer beauty-wise, but that wasn’t what was making her hang onto her job so hard. Not even her brother working as a doctor in the nearby South-West was playing a part. She only saw him once a week and she could easily commute from Belfast to do that, and her Mum was in England so if anything Belfast was closer for seeing her. So if it wasn’t her wanting to stay in Limavady what was stopping her from marrying Marc and moving in with him?

Was she really so wedded to the police that a year or so out until a vacancy came up would be such a chore? As soon as the question appeared she answered it, no. It wasn’t Limavady and it wasn’t the police, it was security. She needed to feel secure. She shook her head. No again. That simply wasn’t true. If security was what she needed then marrying Marc would give her that.

Perhaps she didn’t really love him? She smiled to herself. Yes, she did. It was the one thing she was sure of in this whole stupid thing. And yet she’d turned his proposal down. Why? Was it because she’d wanted a romantic proposal over dinner with him gazing into her eyes? NO. She wasn’t that childish. In the moment she had her answer. She knew why. It was because he’d only been prompted to ask her by having a problem to solve, and the solution had brought his chauvinism to the fore. Marry me, we’ll have a baby and you won’t need to worry your pretty little head about a career. He hadn’t said it in so many words, just in two; marry me.

He was perfect for her, almost perfect, in every way except… She frowned, knowing that a million women would have jumped down the phone and into his arms the moment he’d asked. But she hadn’t. Why, again? Was it his assumption that his career would come first? Yes. As soon as she thought it she knew it was only half true. It wasn’t just his job he was putting first, but his family. It was a good point, not a bad one. If he did it for them he would do it for her later in life. And yet…

There was something else. When you scratched away the layers of good son and caring man, she knew that deep down Marc believed his job mattered more than hers, and that was something she couldn’t have. Maybe he didn’t realise it consciously, but it was true and she couldn’t live with it.

Years of army macho-men had made her a feminist of the older school. Brittle and overreacting to imagined slights. She knew she did it, but she couldn’t stop herself. She knew it was wearing for the men who loved her. Her brother often said it was. But was she really being so unreasonable expecting full equality? It didn’t matter if she was. She was who she was, and how can you be anyone else?

She turned away from the window and sat down at her desk, knowing there was no solution within her grasp. She lifted her cigarettes from her handbag and lit one up, knowing she was breaking the law and the building’s rules. She didn’t care; it would help her think and she needed to do that now. She sucked hard on the slim stick until it glowed then inhaled deeply, feeling the nicotine hit her brain. She felt more relaxed immediately, although she doubted that it worked that quick, then she focused on the problem in hand.

If she challenged Marc to give up his job and live with her, he could legitimately cite his parent’s proximity as an excuse. It made even moving midway to live near Lough Neagh nonsense. Plus, they couldn’t live on her salary alone, whereas they could live on his. So how could she get to the truth and find out if he was just being practical, or if he really was a chauvinist? And why did it matter to her so much? Was her feminism more important than love?

The only way to find out would be if she was a Superintendent and lived in Belfast, then it would be a straight choice of which of them gave up their career. She smoked until her cigarette burnt down and tried to make sense of things. That
was
the only way it would be an even choice, but it wasn’t the life they had. She put her head in her hands and started to sob, defeated. There was no solution that was going to make them both happy.

***

Craig parked his Audi in the allocated space at Headquarters and pushed through the revolving door. When he’d called Sean Flanagan to give him an update he’d suggested it would be better face to face. He was right. Phone conversations were within Melanie Trainor’s or MI5’s reach, and the more suspects they ruled out the more it pointed towards MI5 and police involvement in ’83 coming home to roost.

He nodded at the officer at reception and flashed his badge, waiting until he ran his fingers down a list and found his name.

“Please take a seat, Superintendent. The Chief’s staff officer will be down to escort you in a moment.”

Craig nodded to himself. This was no informal chat in the study with Mrs Flanagan bringing in the tea. It was getting official now and Craig knew that their meeting would be taped. It might never be used of course, but the Chief was starting to watch his back.

Five minutes later a young officer showed him up and Flanagan’s secretary nodded him to knock the door. It was opened quickly and Sean Flanagan stood there with a wide smile on his face. It wasn’t the frosty reception Craig had anticipated. He was surprised. Maybe he’d been wrong; maybe the Chief wasn’t joining the ranks of people eager to protect their backs.

He waved Craig cheerfully to a chair and Craig scanned his desk for signs of a tape. If there was one it was well hidden.

“Coffee, Marc? I seem to remember you mainline the stuff.”

“Yes, thanks, sir.”

Two minutes later the coffee was in front of them and Flanagan was munching a biscuit like a man without a care in the world.

“Right. Update me. I’ve been hearing on the grapevine that the case is turning out to be even more complex than we thought.”

Craig nodded. It could get even worse soon. He brought Flanagan up to speed on his conversation with MI5, Liam’s witness I.D., Mulvenna’s alibi and his complete refusal to speak.

Flanagan nodded. “I’m not surprised at that. I interviewed him once when he was interned. Stubborn bugger. Not the sort to give someone names away.” He stared at Craig. “You told me what you thought on Monday, Marc, but it was just theory then. Tell me what you think now you’re deeper into the case.”