The Broken Shore (22 page)

Craig put down his coffee and met his gaze. “I think Mulvenna was framed for Veronica Jarvis’ death by someone in the police here who wanted him out of the way.”

Flanagan didn’t blink.

“Because he was a terrorist, you mean?”

“No. There was a more personal motive, I’m sure of it. Mulvenna had been in the States on and off for two years, fundraising. He wasn’t top of the hit list back then. There were ten names before him that would have sprung to mind. He was chosen specifically.”

“And the motive was personal?”

“Yes.”

“What? Revenge, debt, fear or love?”

Debt hadn’t even occurred to him and he said so.

“Look into it then, but your gut says it’s one of the others.”

Craig nodded. Or a mixture. “I can’t shake the feeling that this is a lover taking revenge, sir. Or afraid of being outed.”

“Revenge for what? Because Mulvenna was unfaithful to them in the States?”

“Maybe.”

Craig watched the older man curiously. There was none of the shock that others had displayed at the idea a police officer could have had an affair with a terrorist. Flanagan read his mind.

“You’re thinking, why isn’t he more shocked at the suggestion of love across the barbed wire, aren’t you? And you were thinking it on Monday.”

“Yes, sir. Everyone else seems to be, so why not you?”

Flanagan leaned back in his chair and gazed through the window at the street outside. They were in the city centre but his look said that his mind was somewhere much more romantic. He held his silence for a moment then he spoke.

“I said before that people were young back then too, and feelings were running high. Well, it wasn’t just sex, young people fell in love in the seventies and eighties, just the same way they do now. And that was the thing about The Troubles. The people sitting behind desks in Whitehall might have been old men, but the foot soldiers, the men and women on both sides, weren’t. We were young and single and foolish and people fell in love with people they shouldn’t have done.”

Craig asked the question warily, knowing he was crossing the line. “You, sir?”

Flanagan smiled. “Me, the man beside me and the man across the way. None of us were immune to a pair of soft eyes and a winning smile.”

“Can I ask, were there many same-sex relationships back then?”

“As many as there are now, Marc, only much more hidden. Remember it was still illegal here until 1982 and the stigma lasted a lot longer than that. Add the macho atmosphere of the forces to the mix and you’ll see why if it did happen it would have been kept underground.”

“So you think my theory that a lover wanted personal revenge on Mulvenna is possible?”

“More than possible. But you have to ask yourself three things. What could it possibly have to do with the murder you’re investigating now? Who was the lover? And how could someone who was young enough to have been Mulvenna’s lover back in ’83 possibly be linked with the man DCI Cullen’s witness saw talking to Lissy Trainor before her death, if he’s linked at all?”

“I need to interview the ACC, sir.”

“Yes, you do. But I know Melanie Trainor well. You’ll only get one shot at her before she clams up.

“She may be able to shed some light on things. She has to be questioned properly.”

Flanagan nodded. “Agreed. But with one caveat. I want to be there when you do.”

“Of course, but may I ask why?”

“Because I knew Melanie back when she was a girl and we had a fling before we were both married.”

Craig’s eyebrows shot up at the confidence. Flanagan continued in a matter of fact voice. “Don’t worry Craig, it’s not a state secret. Melanie was a bit of a girl back then, so I was just one name on her list. It only lasted two weeks and there’s been no hard feelings since, but being someone’s lover teaches you things about them. The main one is that you can tell when they’re lying.”

He stared directly at Craig, holding his gaze. “Trust me, Marc, you want me in that room. She’ll think that I’m there to protect her interests and I will be, but I’ll tell you exactly when she lies and what about.”

“You’re sure she will, sir? Lie, I mean.”

“Aren’t you? ACC Trainor has got to the top in a man’s world. She’s very talented, don’t get me wrong, but that wasn’t enough in the bad old days. Do you think she got there on merit alone?”

“Why then? Contacts?” Craig already knew the answer, Hugh Trainor had told him when they’d met, but he wanted to see what Flanagan said. His next words surprised him.

“I know some people thought Melanie slept her way to the top, but that wasn’t all of it. She got there because she could lie, lie with the best of them. She lied about her lovers and she lied about her achievements, even when she didn’t need to. It might have taken her longer to get to the top if she hadn’t, but she would have got there all the same. She just got so used to lying that she forgot how to tell the truth. She’ll lie through her teeth to you, Marc. Unless I’m there.”

Craig nodded, it made sense. An honest woman would have been desperate to help them solve her daughter’s murder. She’d have told them anything there was to tell. He didn’t doubt that Melanie Trainor loved Lissy and yet she’d stayed well away from the investigation for days, not through grief but in case she let something slip that might damage her career. Secrecy and lies had become second nature to her. Craig went to ask another question, struggling with how to phrase it. He needn’t have worried. Flanagan had already read his mind.

“Don’t worry, Marc. I won’t say anything to interrupt your interview. I’ll just watch and tell you afterwards what I thought. Think of me as a human polygraph.”

“Thanks, sir. In that case, I’d be glad to have your help. In fact, I think the whole session might be better held here, at your invitation, if that’s OK?”

Flanagan nodded. “Very wise. She’s not going to refuse a meeting with me and by the time she sees you, it will be too late and too impolitic for her to run away.”

He tapped on his computer screen and pulled up a diary. “How does tomorrow morning at ten o’clock suit?”

“Great. I’ll be here at five past to give you time to meet and greet her.”

“Good. I’ll brief my secretary to show you in.” He smiled. “How’s Nicky Morris by the way? Bloody good P.A. I have to admit I was thinking of poaching her from you at one point.”

Craig smiled and Flanagan saw the challenge in his eyes. You can try…sir. They laughed simultaneously then rose and Flanagan extended his hand to shake. He showed Craig out, knowing he was already thinking of how to frame his questions for the next day. They had to be sharp enough to give Melanie Trainor no wriggle room and force her to either talk or clam up. Knowing that if she did the latter she was admitting she knew something that could have caused her daughter’s death, and that refusing to help was going to jeopardise her career. The one thing she really loved.

Chapter Twenty-Six

6 p.m. Belfast.

Liam gulped down his mug of tea and patted his stomach, satisfied. Hotel food was all very well but no-one could make an Irish stew better than Danni. He watched her as she moved around the kitchen unpacking the groceries without making a sound, her petite frame and delicate ways a stark contrast to his six-feet-six of noise. He crossed the room until he was standing behind her then leaned down and circled her waist with his arms.

Danni Cullen knew exactly what her husband wanted and she wasn’t playing his game. She had a toddler to collect from nursery and a baby who needed changed. She loosened his hands finger by finger then handed him two carrier-bags full of food.

“Make yourself useful, Liam. Put the cold things in the fridge and the rest in the cupboards please. And in the right place this time.”

She turned to leave the room.

“Aw, Danni. I haven’t seen you for days. Where’s your romance?”

“Upstairs crying because he needs his nappy changed.” She smiled at him coyly. “Unless you’d like to change him, that is?”

Liam turned back hastily towards the fridge and she shook her head.

“No. I didn’t think so. Well, I’m telling you now, D.C.I. Cullen, if you want any more babies you’re going through nine months of being fat and you’re changing every dirty nappy that there is.”

Liam grinned, knowing that meant they would be practicing later that night. He closed the fridge door and deposited the last of the tins in the cupboard then turned towards the small back room that he liked to call his own. Study was too grand a name for it, it was basically a cubby hole with a door, but it was good place to hide when the hoovering needed done, citing ‘work’ as his excuse.

He actually was working this time. Craig had asked him about Catholic officers back in the day and whether a member of Mulvenna’s family could have been one and changed his name. It was possible. Security checks existed back then but they weren’t as rigorous as they were now. Unless they’d known of the link few people would ever have thought to look.

He lifted a shoe-box down from a shelf and pulled off the lid. It was full of small notebooks, standard issue to every cop even now, although hand-held computers were fast taking their place. He sighed heavily, gazing at the fifty books inside, crammed in tight as a drum. A second box grinned down at him from a higher shelf. This was going to take him all night. Visions of his romantic evening were starting to fade when he glimpsed something that gave him hope. His old GAA kit was lying in the corner, long since abandoned in favour of the couch and remote control. It gave him an idea.

A lot of Catholic officers would have taken part in the sport, even back in the day. It would give him a list of young men’s names by year. Davy could eliminate them first then he’d start looking for the rest. If he was lucky he’d find Mulvenna’s relative amongst the teams. He didn’t want to think about the hours he’d spend flicking through his notebooks if he failed.

He pulled out a pile of fixture programmes and tried to put faces to the names as he compiled a likely list. He phoned them through to the C.C.U. for Davy to check against the Mulvenna link and sauntered back into the living room for an evening of TV.

***

At seven o’clock Liam’s mobile rang. Craig. He started talking without any preamble.

“I met the Chief Constable this afternoon. We’re getting Melanie Trainor in tomorrow morning.”

Liam made a half-hearted offer, hoping it would be refused. “Do you want me there?”

Craig heard his ploy and smiled. “Where are you?”

Liam tossed up whether to lie or not and decided to tell the truth. “At home sorting through my back files. I’m trying to find a Catholic officer who might have hidden his connections with Mulvenna back in ’83.”

“And?”

“I made a first list from the GAA teams back then. Davy’s running the checks now. If there’s nothing there then I’ll try a few other sports and start working my way through my old notebooks.”

It was a neat approach and Craig said so. Liam repeated his question about the Trainor interview.

“Sorry. I didn’t answer you. No, I don’t need you there, thanks. Flanagan’s offered to be my wingman. He’s not going to speak, just watch her reactions for lies.”

Liam whistled, impressed. It wasn’t often that the top brass offered operational support, even if it was going to be silent. Craig had stopped talking and Liam could tell from the silence that he was waiting for a reply to something.

“Sorry, boss. I missed your question.”

“I said, how would you like to stay in Belfast tomorrow to pick up on the GAA stuff and whatever Annette and Jake have managed to find? Call in on John as well if you would. Andy and I can handle everything back up north.”

“Excellent stuff. I’ll do that. I’ve had enough sleep.”

“I doubt that Danni has. OK, look, I’ll be at Headquarters tomorrow morning, let’s meet at the lab about twelve for lunch to catch up, then I’ll head back up North. I’ll warn John we’re coming.”

“Grand. Do that. He can get the kettle on.”

***

Annette looked at the list in her hand and struck through another name. They’d interviewed every male relative Jonno Mulvenna had and they all had alibis. Her heart sank. Three of them had agreed to the D.N.A. test and the others had dug their heels in, saying she didn’t have grounds to ask. They were right. She’d take what she could get but she didn’t hold out much hope of any of them matching the hair at their murder scene. She glanced at Jake expecting to see a fed-up expression on his face, but instead he was wearing a puzzled frown.

“Five pence for your thoughts.”

“That’s inflation.”

He fell silent again and Annette prodded him in the side with her pen

“What’s the frown in aid of? A wasted afternoon?”

He shook his head slowly. “No, not that. Did you ever feel something nagging at you but every time you tried to find it, it slipped away?”

“Every morning when I try to remember where I left my keys.”

He smiled and she noticed how young he looked. He was close in age to Davy, but Jake had an air of authority that made him seem older somehow.

“No, it’s not something I’ve forgotten, it’s something I don’t know yet. It’s like one of those magic eye photos that you can’t quite see.” He shook his head as if he was trying to clear it. “Ignore me, I’m talking rubbish.” He glanced at the list in her hand. “What’s next, boss?”

She smiled at the unfamiliar tag. She’d been the team’s junior forever. It was nice to have someone to give her, her rank for a change.

“Let’s get them D.N.A. tested tomorrow and see if anything comes from that.” She glanced at the clock. “But for now, let’s go home.”

***

Craig lay on the couch and flicked on his TV, staring at the screen but not seeing it at all. He stared at it for hours until the dim winter light outside deepened to black and his watch said ‘go to bed’. But there was no point going to bed, just to lie undressed in a different room instead of lying here. He wasn’t going to sleep wherever he was. His mind was too busy.

He tried to work out what was making it churn and finally settled on three things. The case, Julia, and a growing feeling that something was going on in his team that everyone knew about except Liam and him. He pushed the last one away and marked it for attention another day then turned back to numbers one and two.

Andy had ruled out all of Wasson’s rape victims after ’83 and any of their families who had a motive for revenge for Wasson being set free. It was a blind alley. No-one except James O’Carolan fitted the mould and he’d been working with Lissy to re-open the case. He definitely wanted her alive. Declan Wasson’s rapes weren’t the motive for Lissy Trainor’s death.

That left the boyfriend Conor Ryland and her stalker friend, Mary-Ann. No again; they’d both been ruled out by Liam’s nose for a perp or an alibi. So that brought him back to Doe. Jonno Mulvenna. Somewhere in Lissy Trainor’s death there was a link with Mulvenna, he was sure of it. She’d been buried in the sand in exactly the same way Veronica Jarvis had, a woman whose murder Mulvenna had been sent down for in 1983. Wrongly in his opinion; it was a frame, but they couldn’t ignore the link. Then there was the hair under Lissy’s nail, the D.N.A. was a familial match for Mulvenna and now they knew it was a man. And finally the thirty something man Jenna Farrelly had seen, her sketch of him a match for Mulvenna, looking almost thirty years younger than his age. A younger relative of some sort, but they were still trying to find out who.

If it was a relative of Mulvenna, why kill Lissy? The only thing that sprang to mind was that her mother had put him away for twenty years. A grudge? If it was a grudge it wasn’t one Mulvenna held, he was sure of that, but someone had definitely wanted to punish Melanie Trainor. Had she framed Mulvenna in ’83, and if she had then why had she done it? Yes, people high up had wanted Wasson freed and she might have been acting on their wishes, but why choose Jonno Mulvenna to fill the gap? Who had fingered him and why? Mulvenna seemed a random choice, two years after he’d last been active.

Choosing Mulvenna felt personal and Craig’s mind wandered back to someone wanting to silence him about an affair; gay or straight. He shook his head immediately as if there was someone there to see the gesture. No. Locking Mulvenna up wouldn’t have silenced him, only his own discretion had done that. He’d been locked away for some other reason, to get him offside, to keep something quiet, and someone in his family had been pissed enough about it to kill Lissy Trainor thirty years after the fact.

Craig rubbed his eyes hard then wandered to the fridge to pull out another beer, knowing he’d all but exhausted every train of thought. Lissy Trainor had been killed to punish her mother for her part in framing Mulvenna thirty years before. Now he had to find out why Melanie Trainor had done it and who was avenging Mulvenna now. That was the direction his questions would take tomorrow morning but he didn’t hold out much hope of her answering.

He sat down heavily on the couch and rested his head against its back, turning his thoughts to his other dilemma; Julia. Half of him wished that he’d gone on to Limavady, had the inevitable tearful scene and then ended up in bed. At least he wouldn’t be sitting alone tonight. Except that he would still be sitting alone eventually. Next weekend, and every other weekend and weekday after that, unless one of them transferred.

He’d been here before. A loving relationship pulled apart by two careers, neither of them giving an inch. They were only jobs so why couldn’t any of them let go? Camille with her acting, him with his murder squad, Julia with her role in the North-West. What made them all cling on so hard? Was it money? Status? Power? Or the fear that without their roles and titles they were really no-one at all.

He shook his head. He didn’t know the answer but he knew the impossible decisions that lay ahead. He’d been naïve with Camille, believing that their feelings could weather the distance when she’d first started working in the States. He’d been wrong. The realities of life had broken them up.

He smiled to himself in the dark. Maybe it was his Italian half that made him believe that love could conquer all. Romeo, Romeo, and a balcony in Verona. But it didn’t. Life always intervened. Elderly parents who needed his proximity and care, a team he loved working with, and the chance to put killers away and protect people. He was good at it and he’d get even better, given half a chance. Would he get that sitting in an office in Limavady, working on burglaries or some other crimes? Or would he turn into another Terry Harrison, more worried about politics and protecting his back than anything else?

An image of Julia filled his mind. Her soft blue eyes and cherubic smile widening whenever she saw him walking her way. Her red curls flowed down her back, slim and pale when they were making love. He smiled to himself at the thought of her grumpy little moods, so fierce and defensive when they’d first met, but softer now and more playful. Lasting only a minute or two and then becoming giggles that pushed her frown away. He loved her. Perhaps that was why he’d proposed to her on the phone, the words rushing out before he’d had a chance to think. Did he want to get married right now? No, not really, but he would if it solved their dilemma. But she hadn’t said yes. She’d got angry instead.

As he thought of it he realised that he was hurt. Hurt by her anger and suspicion of his motives, and even more hurt that she rejected his proposal. He’d only asked one woman to marry him before; Camille. She’d said yes and they embraced each other and their secret for months in their little flat, until life had intervened. He remembered her face when he’d asked. Her smile had spread and reached her eyes, making them dance and sparkle until she’d cried. But Julia…

He shrugged off his hurt, refusing to let it cloud the love that had prompted him to ask. He loved Julia. Suddenly another feeling slipped into the mix and he recognised it from the moment before he’d proposed. It was desperation, and it was ugly. Not desperation to get married, God no, not that. He was like most men, postponing the inevitable as long as he could. Marriage was forever, the final step; it could wait a while in his book. This desperation had been different; the desperate desire to solve a problem, but more than that. Desperation born of fear. Fear of reliving the pain he’d felt when he’d split from Camille. That was what he’d felt today and that was why he’d proposed. And it was no basis to marry anyone on, no matter how much you loved them.

He drained his bottle of beer and potted it in the bin, then went to have a shower. Maybe it would clear his head and maybe it would help him sleep, but it wouldn’t answer his questions, he was damn sure of that.