The Broken Shore (5 page)

“Is that the voice of experience, Andy?”

Andy threw Craig a wise-up look. “Nah, not my cup of tea. She’s good looking but scary as get-out. I don’t fancy having my performance appraised in bed.”

Liam was about to drag the conversation down even further when John continued reporting about the Trainor’s viewing earlier that day.

“The father was very cut up, really badly. But Mrs Trainor’s reaction was nothing like yesterday’s. She just stood and watched him without a tear.”

“Maybe she wore herself out crying last night?”

John shook his head. “She didn’t look as if she’d been crying that much, but that’s no indicator of grief, plenty of people just shut down and don’t say a word. It was the way they interacted that surprised me most.”

“How so, Doc?”

“She just watched him cry. No attempt to comfort him, not crying with him, nothing. She just stood across the room and watched him break his heart.” He shrugged, dismissing his own report. “It probably means nothing. It takes all sorts.”

“He’s an MLA, isn’t he?”

“Yes, the Energy party, And independently wealthy too. His family own the Sandbank group of bars and hotels.”

Liam let out a low whistle. “If I owned that lot you’d never get me out of them.”

Craig smiled wryly at Liam’s nearly empty glass and beckoned the barmaid over to order another round.

“Does anyone know any more about him?”

Andy nodded and Crag smiled at him. Andy was a lightweight when it came to getting drunk and he could see the signs already. His tie was loosened halfway down his neck and his blue shirt had two buttons undone. It wouldn’t be long before he started singing. Craig had been out drinking with him before.

“He’s an MLA for East Dungiven and the surrounds, and not bad one I have to say. My Mum likes him and she’s wild hard to please. Says he’s a nice man too, she often sees him in the town and he’ll stop and have a yarn. His daughter was usually with him. They were very close.”

“Did they ever see the ACC out in town?”

He made a face. “Nope. Too posh. Well, that’s what my Mum says and she’s always right. So she tells me anyway.”

“OK. So ACC Trainor’s not exactly wife and mother of the year and we know she’s ambitious in the extreme.”

Liam wiped his mouth and interjected. “I hear that she only married him for his contacts.”

“And the money?”

Liam shook his head. “Actually no. Everyone pretty much agrees she wants power more than anything else. And she’s a stickler for the rules, on the job and off it.”

John smiled as the barmaid brought over their drinks and Craig raised an eyebrow as she flirted back. None of his business. John was a big boy.

“Do you have an example, Liam?”

“Just general things. Prissy about uniform – she put a mate of mine on complaint for wearing the wrong shirt one day. She goes to the opening of an envelope, always at church on Sundays, you know the craic.”

Buttoned-up. It was hardly a crime in Northern Ireland, even if it ought to be.

“It hardly fits with her promiscuity, does it?”

Liam sniffed and looked at them meaningfully, as if his next words would be the wisest they’d ever heard.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? It’s all about the front. She wants to look whiter than white because otherwise it might affect her career, but what happens behind closed doors…”

Andy leaned in eagerly. “And she’s strategic, hey. She only sleeps with men who can help her career. They won’t talk because they’re in senior positions and they’d have something to lose as well if it came out. Everyone’s keeping up the front.”

Liam nodded sagely and sipped at his beer. Craig gazed across the table at the two men, struggling to keep a straight face. They were like police Jedi, imparting wisdom to their Padawans. Andy was still on a roll.

“Mind you, good on her, that’s what I say. Men have been doing it for years.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to feminism, hey.”

Craig agreed with the conversation’s general gist. Melanie Trainor was all about status and power and she would do anything to gain it, and keep it. It explained the coolness John had witnessed between husband and wife. It was a status marriage, not a love one, at least not on her part.

“OK, let me tell you what we’ve got on the case in ’83. Veronica Jarvis was found in exactly the same spot on the beach as Lissy Trainor. She was badly beaten, strangled and buried in the sand. Perhaps only up to her neck or perhaps completely and the tide washed the sand away. There was no apparent sexual assault, so in every way except the beating, Lissy Trainor’s murder is identical. A known IRA terrorist was charged and convicted for Veronica Jarvis’ murder. John, ‘Jonno’, Mulvenna. He went down for twenty years but because it was charged as a terrorist offence he was released after fifteen under the Good Friday Agreement.”

Craig sipped at his beer and Liam leapt into the gap.

“Was that why you asked about people being framed, boss? You think Mulvenna was?”

“Perhaps.”

Liam shook his head slowly and Craig knew he was on delicate ground. Liam had policed in Northern Ireland for almost thirty years, including during The Troubles, while the rest of them had been at university and working, either in Vice like Andy or like him, in London with The Met. Liam had buried scores of his colleagues and picked pieces of them off the ground after bombs. Mulvenna had probably killed some of them. Craig spoke quickly.

“Let me say something here, straight out. Mulvenna is a killer and he deserved to be put away. He should have served a lot longer than he did. I have no sympathy for the man, and Liam, I know this is too close to home.”

Liam face was reddening and his fist was clenched snow-white. Craig had never heard anger like it in his voice before.

“Mulvenna blew up one of my mates. Shuggy Nolan. Young lad with a baby under two. the bastard ran the squad targeting police and army in Belfast, and his only regret was probably that he didn’t kill more of us. They should have hung him for the things he did.” He glared at Craig. “And now you’re trying to get him off. Well you can count me out.”

He was standing now, looming over them all, six-feet-six of pissed-off cop. John and Andy froze, watching the exchange. It would have been comical if it hadn’t been so sad. Craig shook his head tiredly and waved Liam back to his seat. He couldn’t imagine how he felt, he’d only lost one friend to a shooting, on the North End Road in Fulham, but Liam had lost one practically every week. Craig spoke so quietly that the others strained to hear.

“Liam, I’m
not
trying to get him off. Be clear on that. But if Mulvenna
did
kill Ronni Jarvis then we have to interview him for this death as well. It’s too similar to be coincidence. If he did it then I’ll be happy to lock him up and throw away the key for killing Lissy, and every other death he caused. But if he didn’t…”

The look on Liam’s face said that he suddenly understood. He finished Craig’s sentence for him. “Then there’s a murderer on the loose who’s killed two women thirty years apart, and he’ll kill again.”

Craig nodded and updated them on what he’d found then he closed the case for the night and they tied on a well-earned drunk.

Chapter Seven

Lucia nursed her glass for so long that the ice inside it melted and her cold white wine became a lukewarm mess. Annette ordered her a fresh one then sat back in the booth in Ivory, the restaurant at the top of the House of Fraser, and waited for her to talk. After a few more minutes’ silence, Lucia reached into her pocket and withdrew a sheaf of papers, pushing them gently across the table.

Annette started to read the top sheet. It was a print-out of a long text sent from someone called ‘Watchin’ U’. Her eyes widened as she read it and her mouth fell open when she reached the sexually explicit description at the bottom of the page. The author was unambiguous about what he’d like to do to Lucia, but coy about his identity. She glanced at Lucia, taking in her tawny hair and pretty oval face and thanked God that she’d always had average looks. Beauty was a double-edged sword.

Lucia pointed at the page, speaking for the first time since they’d met. Her voice was a female version of Craig’s and Annette smiled at how alike they were.

“I’ve been getting them for four weeks now. This is just a sample. The latest ones are much worse.”

“Worse than this? Lucia, why didn’t you tell Marc?”

She shook her head and Annette saw tears brightening her dark-blue eyes.

“You know what he would have done, Annette. He’d have gone mad and then he’d have told the folks. The last thing they need after Dad’s heart attack is to have to worry about me.” She gave a wet smile. “Besides, you don’t know Marc’s temper like I do. If he found the man who sent them he’d kill him with his bare hands.”

Annette stared at her, her eyes widening in surprise. “Is this the same Marc Craig we’re talking about? Kind, rational and given to the occasional rant? Killing someone bare-handed?”

Lucia’s face was solemn.

“Annette, he may seem calm at work but he’s a typical Italian male behind it all. If someone hurts someone he loves …” She sipped at her wine then went on. “There was a man once, when I was about six and Marco was seventeen. I was playing in the front garden and he tried to open the gate lock. Marco was upstairs listening to music and Mum and Dad were out shopping in town.”

She hesitated, as if what she was about to say was a betrayal somehow.

“He got the gate open and came in. I didn’t know what to do so I started to cry and Marc heard the noise. He came running downstairs, just as the man picked me up and was starting to run away.”

She stopped speaking, gazing into Annette’s eyes as if she was eliciting her promise not to repeat what she said next. Annette nodded.

“Marco…he completely lost it. He pulled me out of the man’s arms and told me to go inside, but I didn’t, I hid behind the front door and watched. Marc started punching the man and he started to fight back but Marc was stronger and he won. He… he really hurt him Annette. There was blood everywhere. He broke his nose and arm and he was in hospital for a week. Dad took Marc to the police station and he was given a lecture, but when the circumstances were explained no charges were brought.”

Lucia paused and Annette filled the gap with a question, on automatic pilot while she thought about what she’d said. “What about the man?” Lucia stared at her blankly. “Was he charged?”

Lucia nodded. “Yes. It turned out he was a known sex-offender. They locked him up for years, although he’s probably out again now.” She looked pleadingly at Annette. “So do you see why I can’t tell Marc about these e-mails? If he lost his temper that way again it would ruin his career.

Annette nodded, thinking about what she’d just heard. It made sense. There’d been times over the years when she’d seen Craig holding something back. Keeping his emotions just a bit too tightly under control, almost as if he let go he’d never get the genie back into the bottle. Or the beast back into its cage... It was a side of him that they’d never seen, but now she knew about it she wasn’t at all surprised.

She nodded at the pages, back in Inspector mode. “Do you have any idea who might have sent them?”

Lucia shook her head, throwing her long hair across her face. She pushed it back with a half-smile, relieved that Annette was going to help, without Marc or her parents being told. She was a thirty-two-year-old woman but they still treated her as if she was five.

“None. I called the phone provider but the number’s an unregistered pay-as-you-go. I’ve racked my brains for old boyfriends, or men who’ve made me feel creepy, but there’s no-one who stands out.”

“Has anyone been hanging around your work or outside your flat?”

“I haven’t noticed anyone, but I’ll keep a look out.”

“I need to see the rest of the texts.”

“There have been letters as well.”

“Posted to your home?”

“Yes.”

“Any e-mails?”

Lucia shook her head. “They probably think they’d be too easy to trace.”

Annette thought quickly. “Right, I need to see everything you’ve received and I want you to take taxis or drive everywhere until we sort this out. Develop a leak in the ceiling of your bedroom, bad enough so that you have to stay with your folks for a week or so while it’s repaired.”

“But, I…”

“But nothing, Lucia. Those are my terms for keeping this under the radar. Tell me now if you can’t go along with them and I’ll hand the case over to Marc.”

Annette folded her arms stubbornly and Lucia could see from her expression that she wasn’t playing games. She nodded reluctantly.

“Meanwhile, I’ll get Davy to do his thing with the texts and letters and get patrols to drive past your flat and see what they pick up. Don’t tell anyone at your work about this, or that you’re staying with your folks.”

Lucia smiled, relieved. Annette made a good Inspector and she trusted her. She just hoped that Marc didn’t find out. Keeping this from him could put them both in his bad books for a long, long time.

Chapter Eight

Sunday Morning

Craig slumped down to breakfast nursing the hangover from hell, to see three other men feeling exactly the same. The only comfort was that Andy looked worse than all of them and he’d had the least to drink. They’d poured him into bed at three a.m. and continued their session in Liam’s room, trying to persuade John that he wasn’t in love with the barmaid and that death at Natalie’s hands would be far more painful than his imagined loss.

“How come none of you look as rough as me, hey? You drank the Bann dry last night.”

Liam nodded sagely. “Aye well, that’ll explain it then. We’re used to drinking the Lagan and it’s powerful stuff. The Bann’s like diet soda to us.”

Andy made a weak attempt at laughter then held his head and stared out at the sea. The hotel had views of the Donegal Peninsula and glimpses of Scotland as well. The whole area was stunning, including the beach where they’d found Lissy. It was known locally as the Strand, but whatever you called it, it was beautiful. Miles of pale clean sand dotted with people taking an early morning stroll. In the distance a few adventurous surfers were braving the North Atlantic’s unpredictable moods.

John was staring out the window as well, but he wasn’t admiring the shoreline. He was thinking of any forensics the C.S.I.s might have missed. Craig contrasted his focus with Liam and Andy’s morning craic, wondering who had it right. After ten minutes of coffee, toast and banter, he pulled them all back to work.

“OK. Liam, did you get anywhere with Lissy Trainor’s movements yesterday.”

Liam pulled a small notebook from his pocket and flicked to a page near the back. He shook his head slowly as he spoke.

“Saturday was a hard one to pin people down. All her classmates went home after they graduated from Uni in July, so that only left the local ones. I also went to the street where she lives with her Mum and Dad.”

He gave a long whistle and Andy covered his ears, wincing. “It’s up on the cliff near the convent, and man, you should see the house. Big as a barracks. That cost a fortune, you can bet on it. There was a boat in the drive and all.”

Craig interjected. “Did you knock at the Trainor’s house or just the neighbours?”

He already knew the answer. Liam was too long in the tooth to foul the path this soon.

Liam shot him a wry look. “Neighbours. I’ll leave the Mr and Mrs for another day. Anyway… the girl next door is called Billy Munroe, and...”

“Billy?” Andy was staring at him confused.

“God, you’re as old fashioned as Davy.” He ignored their questioning looks and carried on with a superior tone. “Billy’s her nickname. It’s cool for girls to take boys name these days, apparently. Mind you, her real name is Wilhelmina so you can understand why.”

Craig waved him on, as amused as Andy now. Liam could turn a simple report into an episode of Have I Got News For You. Sometimes it drove him mad but it was just what they needed today in their hung-over haze.

“Well, Billy says that Lissy hated her Mum but loved her dad and he was the only reason she stayed living at home. But she was planning to move in with her boyfriend in a couple of weeks. Excited about it too, then all of a sudden it was all off and there were tears every day. Billy had no idea why but she did say the boyfriend had been a bit of player at school.”

“Isn’t everyone a player at sixteen?”

They turned towards the question and saw John with a smile on his face. Craig had been to school with him and John was the sort who’d worshipped girls from afar, but if he wanted to pretend he’d been a player, who was he to ‘out’ him? Andy was staring wistfully into space, remembering.

Liam sniffed and moved on. He’d been too busy working on his parent’s farm at sixteen to play around, then he’d put on the suit and started getting shot at, met Danni and that was the end of that. Although he liked to practice flirting with Nicky to prevent rusting up.

Craig interjected. “OK Liam, keep going with the friends and get the boyfriend in for a chat. Let’s have him in at the station, it’ll focus his mind. John, anything more on the ’83 case?”

John shook his head. “The M.O. was slightly different. Ronni Jarvis was beaten then strangled before she was buried in the sand. I’ve a call out for any hair and sand fibres they had back then, but as you said yesterday, the case was thin. The bruises led them towards a punishment killing, but if they hadn’t been there it could have been put down as an ordinary murder. She wasn’t a small woman and she was fit. She used to play camogie for Antrim, and that’s not a game for the weak. There were no blows to her head and she wasn’t knocked out, so the strength required to bruise and then strangle her could only have been a pretty strong man.”

“Or men?”

John nodded. “Maybe. But there was only one set of hand prints on her throat. As you know, the IRA never claimed it and they usually did, unless they ‘disappeared’ the person. And leaving her on Strand knowing the tide was going to come in was never going to disappear her for long.”

He looked thoughtfully at Liam. He had the most experience of them all of The Troubles. “Liam, what’s your feel on this: terrorism or domestic murder?”

“By domestic you don’t necessarily mean husband or partner Doc, do you?”

John shook his head. “No. I mean anything non-terrorist. An ‘ordinary’ murder, if there is such a thing.”

Liam rubbed his chin and paused. He liked being asked for his opinion.

“Ordinary, definitely. The IRA claimed their kills. That was the whole point. ‘Look at what we can do and be very scared.’ Especially with people they thought might be informers. And they used bullets, not strangulation. With people they wanted to kill, like women, who they knew there might be a backlash against, they usually ‘disappeared’ them. My money’s on this being nothing to do with the ‘RA, but it made for a quick answer back then.”

“Or a handy cover.”

They looked at Craig questioningly. He took a sip of coffee and started to explain.

“OK. Let’s say that someone wanted to kill a woman, any woman.” He suddenly thought of something and turned to John. “John, Ronni Jarvis wasn’t sexually assaulted, was she?”

John shook his head, but it wasn’t a firm ‘no’. “The report says not, but…”

“What?”

“Forensics back then weren’t what they are now. Unless there was obvious semen a lot of rapes were missed. Add to that the fact she was given a bath every time the tide came in. Well, let’s just say that I wouldn’t be sure that she wasn’t sexually assaulted, no matter what forensics they couldn’t find. I’d like to go back and take another look.”

“At the samples or the body?”

“Samples and reports first, but body if I’m not convinced. We might be looking at an exhumation.”

Craig rubbed his eyes tiredly. “OK. Let’s just say that she might have been raped. If we add that in with Liam’s feelings about the IRA, then it makes Ronni Jarvis’s death much more likely to have been a sexually motivated killing than a terrorist punishment murder. That leads me on to my next question.”

He turned to Liam and Andy. “Jonno Mulvenna?”

Andy answered first. “What about him, hey? He’s a nasty bastard, have no illusions about that, Marc. If he wasn’t guilty of this, he just paid for something else.” His voice rose agitatedly and Liam reinforced his sentiments with a nod. “Overturning his conviction will do no-one any favours.”

“Except maybe Lissy Trainor.” John nodded in agreement and Craig waved Andy down.

“Look, as I said before I have no sympathy for Mulvenna but if he was framed for Ronni Jarvis’ murder, then why? And if someone wanted him banged up and out the way, why again? It might just have been because they thought he deserved it. OK, that’s the simple explanation. But what if it served another end? To get the real killer off? And if there is someone else out there who killed Ronni Jarvis, then did they kill Lissy Trainor? And if they did, then why her? Is it linked to her mother in some way? Or even her father’s job? There are a lot of unanswered questions here.”

John nodded more furiously with each question Craig asked and gradually Liam and Andy joined in.

“OK. Was there anyone else in ‘83 who was a suspect in Ronni Jarvis’ death? And if so why were they just a suspect; why did they drop out of the loop? Did someone want them protected who also wanted Jonno Mulvenna banged up? If we find the answers to those questions then we’ll be halfway there.”

Liam tapped his chin thoughtfully with his pen. “Of course there are two other things to consider.”

“What?”

“If it is the same killer then why not kill for over thirty years?”

“Yes, and?”

“If it’s a straight copycat, then why no beating this time? And you’re definite Lissy wasn’t raped, aren’t you Doc?”

“Yes. Positive.”

“OK, then why copy the strangulation and burial, but not the beating and possible rape, if it’s the same man? And if it’s not the same man then why just copy the most dramatic bits?”

Of course…

“To ensure the crime caught our attention.”

“And the media’s, boss.”

“The fact that it’s Lissy Trainor would catch the force’s attention at the highest level too, Marc.”

“And ACC Trainor’s in particular.”

Craig nodded thoughtfully. Liam was right, there were dimensions to this case way beyond the obvious. He smiled at the newly minted D.C.I. and tipped him a small salute.

“Well done, Liam. Now everyone knows how you passed the board.”

Liam blushed faintly and covered his embarrassment with a deep gulp of tea.

“OK. That leaves us with a lot of interviews. John, dig as deep as you can on the forensics on both cases.”

“Even if it means exhuming Ronni Jarvis’ body?”

Craig winced then nodded. It might have to be done.

“Andy, you and I are going to pay Mr Mulvenna a visit. I need to speak to the Chief Constable at some point as well. I don’t think Melanie Trainor will talk to us, unless she’s instructed to.”

“That’s interesting, hey. You’d think she’d be desperate to find out who killed her daughter.”

“Yes, you would. But remember the Jarvis case was hers and she can’t have missed the similarities. She may not want anyone digging around too much.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Tough. We’ll do what we have to do.” He turned to Liam. “Liam, chase up those interviews and ask Davy to find out anything he can about Ronni Jarvis’ life and if there were any other viable suspects on the case. If there were, then who had a vested interest in keeping them out of the nick?”

He beckoned over the waitress but instead of asking for the bill as expected he ordered them all another round of drinks and scones.

“This is going to be a long day. We need coffee and fortification before we start.” He scanned their pale faces. “And more than one of us needs our blood-alcohol to drop before we go anywhere near the street.”