The Sect (The Craig Crime Series) (24 page)

Liam read his mind. “Sam must have repented and begged for forgiveness. The others must have told the killers to get stuffed, so evidence of their crimes was left to shame them when their bodies were found.”

Craig was about to explore the point when Davy interrupted.

“But w…why dump them where they did? They’re all nondescript rural locations, insignificant unless the killers live in Downpatrick. And all the victims so far came from County Antrim, so why not find a dump site nearer them?”

Liam shrugged. “You’ve said it. The killers may live in Downpatrick.”

Davy continued. “They could do. It’s called the nearness principle or RAT, relative activity theory. The killer balances their need for anonymity with the desire to operate in an area where they feel comfortable. W…White killers travel further than black, old further than young, but typically there’s a central buffer zone round where the killer lives.”

Craig shook his head. That wasn’t it but he wasn’t sure exactly what was yet. He changed tack. “That reminds me, how is that search for clinics and factories going?”

“I’ve found a few possibilities. I’ll get them to you.”

Liam returned to the earlier points like a dog with a bone. “And why leave them in the open air? Why not bury them? We wouldn’t have found them for years if they had.”

Craig didn’t answer, just stared into space, tapping a pen irritatingly against his teeth as he did. They were very white and Liam wondered how he kept them that way, given the amount of coffee and red wine he drank. Suddenly the tapping ceased and Craig grabbed Davy’s smart-pad. He realised instantly that Davy would work much faster and handed it back, urging him to pull up a map of Downpatrick as he talked.

“OK, I think they left the bodies above ground because they wanted them found. Simple as that. Although given the early Christian element, maybe that’s also how bodies were disposed of in those times?”

He glanced at Davy for an answer and the analyst shook his head. “Nope. Irish people were buried in tombs long before Christianity arrived.”

“OK, so they just wanted the bodies found quickly and they chose one area to leave them. Not the same location each time but very close by.”

Liam interjected. “We’d cordoned off the earlier scenes so maybe that’s why they had to shift to different spots.”

“Or maybe they would have done so anyway.” Craig pointed to the map. “Mark each of the dumpsites please.”

As Davy obliged, Liam returned to an earlier point. “But why Downpatrick when the Vics all came from Antrim?”

The answer was about to become clear. Davy tapped his smart-pad and four red crosses appeared. Craig’s eyes widened in disbelief; he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t seen it before but he couldn’t trust it just yet.

“Join them.”

Red lines appeared, forming an almost perfect square. Liam leaned in urgently.

“Enlarge it, lad.”

“W…What is it? What can you see?”

Liam’s pork sausage finger jabbed at the screen.

“There! Smack bang in the centre of the square.”

“The buffer zone where the killer lives?”

Liam snapped back. “No. Look, for goodness sake.”

The others peered at the screen, shaking their heads as Liam rolled his eyes.

“You mean you can’t see it? What sort of Irishmen are you?” He jabbed again and Davy swatted away his hand. “There, in the centre. It’s Dichu’s Barn!”

Craig made a face. “OK, you’ve officially lost me. Who the hell is Dichu?”

Liam tutted exaggeratedly, relishing the chance to show off. “Dichu was a pagan chieftain converted to Christianity in the fifth century by St Patrick. He gave him a barn to hold his services in and they called the whole area…” He gestured at the map. “…Saul, from the Irish Sabhall Phádraig, meaning Patrick's barn. It’s the modern name for a townland near Downpatrick.”

Light was starting to dawn.

“Anyway, the modern Saint Patrick’s Memorial Church is said to be built on the site of the original barn.” He jabbed the centre of the square. “Right there. They’ve only gone and drawn a square around the church using dead bodies!”

Davy eyes widened in awe. “That’s brilliant!”

Liam was still expounding. “It’s Church of Ireland nowadays but back then, pre-reformation, everything was the same. It’s a nice place; they have a round tower. Real wee tourist attraction. I took Danni down once when we were courting.”

Craig had already tuned out. He was too busy thinking about what it all meant to speak. By choosing Saul the killers had harkened back to the start of Christianity in Ireland, when belief was strong and people lived in the fear of God. They’d also mimicked the torture and execution of later rigid, pre-reformation Christians, the Spanish Inquisition. After a moment he tuned back in, to find the others engaged in a religious debate that ranged from Paganism to Christianity and back again. He interrupted.

“This is all fascinating but it’s not getting us any closer to catching them.”

“But we can s…stop them killing again, boss.”

“How?”

“Cordon off everywhere around the s…square. If they can’t dump there then maybe they won’t kill.”

For a moment Craig was tempted. It seemed simple and would show the brass and the media that they were doing something. Then he shook his head.

“All they’ll do is find somewhere else with religious history and there are plenty of those in the North. What we
can
do is mount surveillance to catch them next time they try to leave a body. Davy, what’s the perimeter’s mileage?”

He tapped for a moment before answering.

“About nine miles. Do you think the area round the church is the killer’s buffer zone? That they live or w…work there?”

“No, it’s the historical significance they’re after. Check the limits of the church grounds; I don’t want an argument over territory when we leave officers there. Wherever the property boundary is that’s where we start surveillance and we’ll end it on the other side of the red lines. My money says these guys are so obsessive that they’ll have to leave bodies along the lines they’ve already drawn.

Liam whistled. “Surveillance will take a hell of a lot of uniforms.”

“The locals can help and ask Jack for some men. Andy can run that side.”

Liam guffawed. “And the fact it’ll keep him twenty miles away is just an added bonus.”

Craig smiled. He loved it when a plan came together.

“OK, that might catch them leaving future victims there, but we’ll have to cut them off at the source if we want to avoid more deaths.” He turned back to Liam. “Jake’s seen the therapist for Bobby McDonagh and Elena Boraks and he’s working on some things from that. Andy’s going to be in Downpatrick, so when Ken and Jake have finished whatever they’re doing they can start working their way down Davy’s list. Liam, you and I will focus on the main suspect groups; religious and academics. Guess which one you’re taking.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Just what I need in my life; more priests. OK, what are we looking for?”

“Even if our killers are finding their victims through the services Davy listed it’s unlikely that they began life there. These are highly educated people with knowledge of a rare language, religious history and symbolism, and my gut says they developed it in either the church or academia. It may even have got them kicked out. Look for any priests or brothers who were asked to leave, or who left voluntarily when their interests and the church’s diverged. Narrow it to men between the ages of twenty and fifty.”

“Why?”

“Statistics. The most common serial killer is male and their peak age at first kill is late twenties. Also, younger men would find it easier to move the bodies. Killers don’t stop when they hit fifty but they do decrease in activity, so if one of our killers is older I think he’ll be in a leadership role. It’s a blunt instrument but it’ll do as a first cut. I’ll do the same for the academics––”

Davy cut in. “They won’t necessarily have left the university, chief. There were plenty of weirdoes s…stalking the corridors when I was there.”

Craig laughed. “True, but hopefully these men are so strange they’ll stand out even in that rarefied environment. The people who’ll know will be the Universities’ Vice-Chancellors. But it’s a good point; Liam, ask about priests who are still practicing as well, but maybe under supervision.” He glanced at the clock. “You both know what you’re doing and you can find me at the lab and then at Queen’s. I need to see Carmen before I go. Send her in please, Liam.” As Davy turned to leave he added. “Care to tell us what your tattoo says?”

Liam screwed up his face. “Ach, you never went and got one of those, did you? I swear, if Erin or Rory ever––”

“By the time they’re old enough it’ll be something far worse.”

Davy set down his smart-pad and obliged by lifting his hair, to reveal a word Craig recognised tattooed in black ink.

“Curiosity satisfied?

Craig smiled but Liam was still in the dark.

“No. What does it mean?”

The analyst yanked open the door, smiling. “You know what curiosity did…”

****

Carmen’s defiance had obviously required a group audience because when she entered Craig’s office it was as timidly as a mouse. He beckoned her to sit then rested back in his chair waiting for her to speak. Several false starts and distracted gazes through the window later he gave up and started himself.

“I can phone occupational health for an update if you don’t want to tell me.”

It was a bluff, they wouldn’t give him any detail, but it was a bluff that worked. She shook her head so gently that he almost felt sorry for the recalcitrant Celt; but not quite. After a few seconds she began.

“The therapist said that I’ll need at least six months with them.”

The words were spat out pizzicato with her hands wound together tightly in her lap. Her whole posture smacked of resentment, but then resentment had been Carmen’s trademark since she’d joined the team and Craig’s sympathy with her moods had finally worn out. His voice was cool.

“When do you start?”

Her grip tightened.

“They’ve offered me sessions two evenings a week so that I can keep working.”

She glared at him, daring him to say ‘working where?’

Instead he merely nodded and leaned forward, lifting his pen. He drew a series of squares on a notepad as he spoke, each edge digging deeper into the page.

“You realise that you can’t work in the field.”

She opened her mouth to object but closed it again immediately, before she dug herself into a bigger hole. It didn’t matter; Craig had already read what she thought of him in her eyes.

“Which means you’ll be confined to the office for at least six months.”

A squint said that she’d heard him.

“But that won’t work either if you’re rude to members of the team.”

This time her gaze said ‘any other rules, Hitler?’ He ignored it; he had better things to waste his energy on.

“If you adhere to these conditions, support investigations well on the research side and receive a good report from the therapist at the end of your counselling, the matter will be completely forgotten. I won’t record it on your evaluation and you’ll remain on the team. If not, you’ll be leaving without further appeal. Do you understand, D.C. McGregor?”

Silence. He paused for a moment and then asked again. This time he was answered by a sharp nod and a ‘fuck you’ glance. He rose to his feet.

“Good. Think of yourself as having a broken leg that limits you to desk work. There’ll still be plenty for you to do.” He opened the door wide. “Now, goodbye. Davy could use your help on some background searches. I’ll see you at the briefing.”

When Carmen had left he walked to the lift, waited until the door had closed, kicked the wall hard and then pressed basement to leave the C.C.U.

****

Jake balanced the cup and saucer on his knee, mesmerised by the frantic signalling of Eileen McDonagh’s eyes. It was a mime that begged him not to discuss her dead son’s sexuality even now. He turned towards Philip McDonagh, assessing his strength and whether he could have drowned his younger son. His strong mechanics’ arms said that he could have, easily, but whether his homophobia was so strong that he’d committed filicide was a question Jake knew that he couldn’t answer by himself. Instead he asked the question made obvious by the rosary beads gripped in the bereaved father’s hands.

“Are you a religious man, Mr McDonagh?”

McDonagh bristled and gripped the beads tighter. “If I am, so what? It’s not against the law is it?”

Not unless it drove you to kill your son.

Jake’s tone was conciliatory. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I just wondered which particular religion you followed.”

It was disingenuous and he knew it, but he was following through an idea. McDonagh relaxed slightly, seeming pleased by the chance to talk about his faith.

“We’re Roman Catholics.” He glanced meaningfully at his wife, now seated slightly behind him, deliberately repositioned to shoot Jake covert warning looks. “We believe in the church’s teachings.”