The Sect (The Craig Crime Series) (27 page)

Craig interjected. “Des has narrowed the bread to unleavened; that means it had no raising agent.”

Liam nodded; unleavened fitted with his communion idea. He searched the group’s faces for signs of comprehension but they were blank apart from Davy’s and Craig’s. He tutted and carried on. “And three, they all had the tattoo, basically saying that confessions achieved even after torture are still valid.”

Jake leaned forward to interrupt and Liam nodded him on. Jake frowned, as if there was something he didn’t quite understand.

“It’s something that occurred to me last night.” Late last night judging by the bags under his eyes. “I understand the relevance of the Spanish Inquisition quote, it goes with the fanaticism of our killers and the whole judgement and punishment theme, and I get the early Christian links, but why bother using Vulgar Latin? Why not just write something about early Christianity in ordinary Latin, instead of being so obscure?”

Craig smiled. He’d wondered why no-one had asked the question earlier; luckily he’d thought of an answer. He waved Liam to sit for a moment.

“I asked myself the same question and came up with some ideas; you can tell me what you think. OK, we have a killer or group of killers who are judgemental and arrogant. Yes? They believe they’re morally right and probably that the rest of us are corrupt idiots. They’re also very well educated. What does that add up to?”

Davy answered first. “A s…superiority complex.”

Craig nodded eagerly. “Exactly. And therefore the rest of us are inferior. How better to demonstrate that than to play games with us, the plebeian police?”

Jake nodded. “So writing a straight Latin quote would have been too easy for us to work out.”

“Yes. And if we’d worked it out quickly we might have caught them quick-” He stopped abruptly as he realised what it meant. The tattoo hadn’t just been a demonstration of the killers’ arrogance; it had been a play for time. But time for what? To kill more people or to get away?

Liam watched as Craig retreated into his own thoughts and quickly took back the briefing.

“OK, back to torture. We’re pretty sure they deliberately left the choke pear with Bobby McDonagh to show us that torture had occurred, and not just to him. Ken’s already given us a few methods that wouldn’t have left marks, or where they would have faded quickly.”

Davy interjected. “Think about when the victims were last seen. Elena hadn’t been seen since early March, Bobby McDonagh’s parents thought he went to S…Spain around the same time and we know Sam Beech was abducted two weeks before his death. All w…weeks before they were killed, so what were they doing with them during that time? If it was torture then they had plenty of time for the marks to fade.”

Liam gave a snort. “With Devaney they went straight for killing him. He’d been out of Magilligan less than a week.”

Jake frowned as he tried to put everything together. He’d been brought up Presbyterian so high church rituals were unfamiliar to him.

“So you’re saying that they were all held somewhere for weeks, tortured to make them confess, given a last supper of bread and wine, and then drowned in some bizarre baptism?” As he was speaking realisation dawned. “You think Sam Beech
wasn’t
symbolically mutilated because he repented and the others didn’t!”

Craig looked up from his ruminations, pleased that he’d worked it out. “Yes. We think the others, maybe because they were older or more stubborn, refused to repent, so they were shamed in death by having their transgressions revealed. Sam was only a kid so he may have said that he was sorry, hoping to save himself, but I don’t think they ever had any intention of letting them go.”

“Why only keep Beech and Boraks for around two weeks, Devaney for less than one but McDonagh for almost three?”

“Perhaps some confessed more quickly. We’ll only know when we find the killers.”

As Craig finished the sentence something occurred to him. He parked it for later.

Liam remembered something. “We met with the father of the boy Sam tried it on with at the youth club. He said Sam attempted buggery on his son and some of the other boys.”

Craig nodded. “So we have our four perceived sins: drugs, homosexuality, paedophilia and rape.” He turned towards the screen. “There’s something else that appears to have significance to our killers.” A nod to Davy and the map lit up. “This is the area near Downpatrick where the four bodies were left. Add the markers please.” Four red crosses appeared. “These indicate the dump sites and if Davy joins them something very interesting shows up.”

The near square appeared and the team’s murmurs turned to gasps.

“As you can see we have an almost perfect square. We originally thought that they’d changed dump sites because of the police presence but this symmetry shows that it was probably planned all along. Liam can tell you what’s at the centre.”

As Liam displayed his historical knowledge Craig scrutinised Jake’s face. He looked tired, more tired than he’d ever looked during his grandfather’s illness. It could have been grief but his sixth sense said that something else was up.

Liam’s lecture ended with, “And D.C.I. Angel’s there now, in charge of surveillance. So you could say that an angel’s watching over sacred ground.”

The groans that followed were Craig’s cue to signal a five minute break. He walked over to Jake.

“You look tired. Are you OK?”

The sergeant was taken aback by the question; he hadn’t expected his all night poker sessions to be so obvious. He hastily invented a respectable excuse.

“My grandmother hasn’t been great so I’m staying with her for a while. The bed’s lumpy so I don’t sleep much when I’m there.”

It would have been a cheaper reason for insomnia than losing eight hundred quid online to a bunch of strangers, and drinking vodka as he did. Craig knew he was only getting half the story but he let it lie and after a quick coffee he summoned the group back to work.

“OK. This is all theory so far but the out working of that theory is that we’re looking at academics and religious men. I’ll come back to them in a moment but first I want to know what more you’ve found on each of the victims. Anyone?”

Jake answered first. “I went to see Ronnie Carlton, Bobby and Elena’s therapist. Bit of a creep but long story short, Elena was heavily addicted despite several rehab attempts, and Bobby had been in therapy for two years to cope with fact he’d been lying to his dad about being gay.”

“That could be important. We’ll come back to it. Anyone else?”

There was a moment’s silence then Craig shook his head. “Has anyone but Jake been doing any work?”

Liam wasn’t about to let that pass. “Here, I was at the Deacon’s about Sam, and with Jake at Sadie Beech’s when she gave us Louise McIntyre’s name. Andy and I went to meet her; turns out she was the social worker for all of our first three victims.”

Craig raised an eyebrow but Liam shook his head.

“Don’t get excited; she deals with all the adolescents in Belfast. Turns out Sam saw a therapist as well, but it wasn’t Carlton because he was a kid. He was taken away from Sadie for six months and sent to a group home.”

“Did you ask Ms Beech why it took her so long to chuck Upton out?”

Liam shook his head despairingly. “She caught him in bed with Sam but made excuses till the damage was really obvious. Love is blind and all that guff.”

“So when Sam returned home he started attacking younger boys at the youth club and school.”

“Yep.”

Craig turned to lift his mug, just in time to see Ken smiling affectionately at Carmen. The man deserved a medal, to join the ones the army had already given him.

“OK. Good. Jake, anything more on Bobby McDonagh?”

Jake set down his coffee, the strongest he could tolerate to keep him awake.

“I went to see the McDonaghs and, as Carlton said, the father still seems to have no idea that Bobby was gay. He threw the older brother out of the house when he admitted that he was.”

Craig’s ears pricked up at “seems”.

“The mother Eileen knew; she paid Carlton’s counselling fees. Bobby became comfortable with his sexuality, but he still had to hide the truth from his dad at home and they were very close, so that must have caused him a lot of stress, hence the continuing therapy. T.J. said because he was a disappointment to his father Bobby couldn’t bear to be.”

“So you’re saying that Philip McDonagh could be a suspect?”

Jake shrugged uncertainly.

“I really don’t know, sir. He’s certainly very religious; he had rosary beads in his hands the whole time we talked. It’s just possible that he found out Bobby was gay and killed him; he wouldn’t be the first.”

It was something but Craig wasn’t sure what. Would someone really murder four people if they just wanted to kill their son? That would mean the other three victims had been a smokescreen. And had Philip McDonagh done it alone, or did he have links with fanatics and had told them about Bobby deliberately?

“OK, Jake, put McDonagh under surveillance for the next few days and let’s see what he does. Andy’s already watching the disposal sites so we’ll know if he appears down there.” He glanced at the time. It was almost six and his stomach was rumbling like he was sure everyone else’s was.

“Another ten minutes and we’ll wrap up. Davy, keep pushing the lab on our possible rehearsal victim and Devaney’s stomach contents. Liam, what did you find out at the diocese?”

“That there’s a few rogue priests out there. I’ve a list of twenty who were kicked out of seminary, unfrocked or are being supervised.”

“Not many compared to the thousands of decent ones. Anyone in particular stand out?”

“Not yet.”

“Annette can help you with those tomorrow. I went to see one of the Vice-Chancellors and left with a list of names and the distinct impression that she didn’t like academics.”

It earned him a laugh.

“If I was as disloyal to you lot as she was to them you’d be very worried. Davy’s got the names, forensics is working up the tyre track from Mearne Road and tomorrow looks like another day of interviews. Let’s just hope we don’t have any more deaths.”

Liam guffawed. “We’d better have or our little cherub will be sitting all night with nothing to do.”

Chapter
Thirteen

Downpatrick. 11 p.m.

It had only been a matter of time before the police set up surveillance, hoping to catch them in the act. The cops were stupid but not as stupid as they were painted in TV shows. It didn’t matter, they could sit there all night for a year and they’d still see nothing. Their mission was complete for now, and when they began again it would be at a different time and place. If the murder squad worked out their motives then they might really be onto something, but unless they did the investigation would run cold, the way that all the others had.

The suited man changed position and gazed at the round tower, thinking of a time when the fear of God had meant exactly that. Absolute, certain; unchanging with the mores of time and politics. A Christianity that didn’t bow to fashion or with every new vogue in Human Rights.

He made a small sound of disgust and edged slowly backwards across the field, watching as the patrol cars’ outlines faded and the church receded in the dusk. They would disappear now to rise again elsewhere and the police would eventually move on, frustrated by a trail gone cold. They’d reckoned without Craig’s team.

****

00.30 a.m.

It was past midnight when Craig fell into bed still damp from the shower, his mind ruminating on the case. It was a strange one, stranger than any he’d encountered for years. Murder was commonplace of course, more so amongst high risk victims like some of these, but murder as ritual was still unusual enough to excite the tabloids. He sighed and turned over, knowing that an encounter with the media lay ahead. At least Ray Mercer wouldn’t be at the briefings; now that he was no longer at The Chronicle.

He pictured the headlines: ‘Wrath of God Killers’, ‘Satanic Rites’; knowing very well that the journos wouldn’t distinguish between Christian ritual and Satanism. After all, why waste an opportunity to scare the public half to death? He punched a dent in his pillow and closed his eyes tight, trying hard to sleep. He was close to achieving his goal when his mobile rang, starting a rapid run-through of reasons why. By the time he’d answered he’d covered a fifth murder, one of his parents taking ill and, best scenario, Katy ringing to say that her on-call was cancelled and she was coming round. He definitely didn’t expect the voice that spoke.

“Hey, guess what?”

Craig squinted at the screen to see that it was almost one a.m.

“What the hell, John?”

John Winter was puzzled; Craig seemed far more excited by his question than it warranted. His next words explained why.

“It’s almost one o’clock! Why the hell are you phoning? I thought someone had died!”

“Oh.”

John’s tone said he hadn’t noticed the time and Craig knew immediately that Natalie was on-call as well. When he was left to his own devices John was like a kid who refused to go to bed, sitting up till the wee small hours watching boxsets of TV shows. If he’d called to tell him the plot of one he’d reach down the phone and grab him by the throat. John was contrite.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise it was so late. Were you asleep?”

“Trying.”

“Oh, OK. I’ll call you tomorrow then.”

Craig pictured his face; it would be the hurt one he’d worn when people had bullied him at school. He relented grudgingly.

“I’m awake now. What was it?”

John’s immediate recovery told him that he’d just been played.

“Have you met Sofia yet?”

“Who?”

“The psychiatrist who’s working the profile with us.”

Before Craig could answer he added an appreciative whistle that made Craig yank the phone back from his ear.

“God, John, it’s not enough that you wake me up at one a.m. but you ring me up to tell me about some woman I’ve never met!”

John was undeterred. “You will tomorrow. She’s gorgeous. I can see why Natalie doesn’t like her.”

Even through his annoyance Craig knew that he was wrong; Natalie would never hate another woman because she was prettier. More intelligent, definitely, doing better at work, a cert, but not on the basis of something as trivial as looks. As far as Natalie was concerned good looks were a genetic accident and he had to say that he agreed.

But he admitted his interest about Sofia Emiliani had been piqued, although he still refused to start a discussion about her in the middle of the night.

“I doubt that’s why but I’ll tell you tomorrow. Is that all you called to say?”

The pathologist’s voice took on a huffy tone. “Yes.”

“Then bugger off and goodnight. Some of us need to sleep.”

He’d hung up before John could think of a suitable retort.

****

Egypt. Tuesday 31
st
March, 10 a.m.

Stevan Mitic scanned his laptop screen quickly then he pressed refresh and scrolled down it again, swearing quietly in his native Serbian. There it was, in size fourteen font; Joanne Greer, lawyer and business woman, had been granted leave to appeal her conviction. He had no idea why he’d suddenly checked the Northern Irish news, it wasn’t as if he did it every day; Belfast was just somewhere that he’d lived for a while, in what felt now like a different time. He’d barely thought of the place since he’d left in 2012, just as he rarely thought of his old life. He’d set down his SAKO rifle three years earlier, praying to God that he would never have to use it again.

A flash of bile filled his mouth at the memory of his last paid kill; at Greer’s behest a Russian mobster, Alik Ershov, had ordered him to kill an innocent wife and mother just to pull her politician husband into line. He’d hated himself for agreeing and even though he’d killed the Russian for it, time still hadn’t managed to erase his guilt. He squinted at the woman on the screen, tracing her fine features with his eyes. Joanne Greer: Ershov’s lover and the bitch who’d set up the job; the woman whose greed had caused his guilt.

A peel of laughter made him glance up from his screen and he smiled as he watched his sister Kaisa playing in the pool. She rested her hand gently beneath his infant son’s stomach and guided him across the water, a child again herself. He’d been sorry when his brief marriage had ended, but happy that he’d got custody of his son. Dejan would be the playmate that Kaisa had never had, in the belated childhood of which they’d both been robbed by war.

Since they’d lived in Egypt everything had changed and geography, sun and counselling had seen Kaisa’s gentler side re-emerge. But she was still damaged and if he did one thing before he died it would be to ensure that she was never hurt again.

He turned back to his laptop, surfing the Net till he found other articles on the Greer appeal. The more he read the more his heart sank. The papers said it had been granted because Greer claimed that her confession had been entrapped, but in his heart Stevan knew she would need more than that to win. There was only one other card she could possibly have to play; Ershov must have given her their real names before he died.

He felt a shiver run through him, suddenly cold in the hot morning sun. Interpol had been searching for them for years and found nothing, their new identities were watertight. But if Greer had something, anything that could break them, they’d have to abandon everything and start running again.

He watched as his sister placed the baby on the edge of the pool then clambered out and wrapped them both in a towel. She waved at him cheerfully, indicating that it was time for lunch and in that instant his mind was made up, even as his heart sank at the thought of what he had to do.

Memories of his finger squeezing the SAKO’s trigger came flooding back, and with it a steely determination from the life he’d left behind.

****

The C.C.U. Tuesday, 9 a.m.

When Craig arrived for the briefing he was yawning from lack of sleep, due to a combination of nightmares about the case and a grudging curiosity about the mysterious Sofia. The first person he saw was a pale Annette. The second was Nicky, holding her head in her hands.

“Hello, you two. Did you come straight from the airport?”

Annette nodded. “I’m exhausted.” She really was, far more than usual after a night on the tiles. In fact she hadn’t felt well for weeks.

Craig laughed. “By the look of you both, you were on the tear last night.”

Nicky shot him a jaundiced look. “Do you have to shout?”

“Wait till Liam starts.”

“Wait till Liam starts what?”

It was a testament to all three’s grogginess that they’d missed Liam’s customary noisy entrance until he was standing by Craig’s side. One glance and he knew what was up.

“You drunken hussies. Alone in the big smoke for three days and you come back looking like death warmed up!” He saw the circles under Craig’s eyes and shook his head. “What’s your excuse?”

“John phoning me at one a.m.” He raised a hand to halt the inquiries. “I’ll tell you later. Liam, join me in my office, please.” He smiled at Annette. “I suggest that you two drink some coffee. It’s going to be a long day.”

As Craig filled the percolator Liam gazed out at the river. It was busy this morning, with ships docking and unloading and the warden’s small craft chugging slowly upstream. He broke the silence as he sat down.

“So what did he want, then?”

“Who?”

“The Doc. He must have had a good reason to call at that time. Was it a break in the case?”

Craig waved the question away and opened his door, beckoning Annette in. The next twenty minutes were spent updating her on their findings as of the evening before.

“We’ve a psychiatrist called Sofia Emiliani joining us, to help John provide a profile. She’s worked with ritual killers elsewhere so we’re hoping for some insight.” He turned to Liam. “Anything happen last night?”

“Well, I had dinner and played with the kids.” An arched eyebrow urged him on. “If you mean was there anything at the scene then no. Andy said it was as quiet as a church.” He guffawed at his own joke and turned, expecting Annette to smile. Instead she was frowning. Craig asked why.

“Well, it’s just…hasn’t anyone noticed the date?” She turned to Liam. “And before you say it’s the thirty-first of March, I mean the date that the first body was found. The seventeenth.”

Craig thought for a moment. “OK, so it was the
seventeenth. So what?”

She stared at him incredulously. “Given everything you’ve told me about ancient––”

Liam suddenly saw where she was going. “You’re right! And we all missed it! The first body was left on the
seventeenth of March; Saint Patrick’s Day. But that means…”

Annette nodded. “That means that not only was the site significant to the crimes but the date was as well. They’re linked. The bodies were dumped at Saint Patrick’s site starting on Saint Patrick’s Day.”

A sudden bang made them jump and they turned to see Craig thumping his desk with his good hand. “Damn, damn, damn. How could we all have missed this? Well done, Annette.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “Why so angry?”

“Because it’s bad news. The worst possible news and it fits with a suspicion I’ve had since yesterday.” He started to pace the small room.

“When?”

“When we were discussing why the tattoo was in Vulgar Latin. It wasn’t just showing off. They were playing for time to finish what they’d planned, and now they have.”

He picked up the phone to Nicky. She was scrubbing congealed coffee and crumbs off her keyboard and planning her revenge on everyone. She couldn’t trust them alone for three days without some eejit dirtying her desk. Her telephone manner reflected her mood.

“Murder Squad. What do you want?”

Craig stared at the handset and almost laughed. But not quite; he wasn’t in the mood.

“Call Downpatrick please. Tell them the surveillance will end tomorrow.”

Her face flamed; she hadn’t noticed it was an internal call. It didn’t cross her mind that answering an external one in the way she had would have been even worse.

“OK.”

She set down the phone grumpily, blaming the incident on whoever had messed up her desk, and cast a glare around the squad-room as she scrubbed and moaned. No-one looked back to signal their guilt, but she wouldn’t rest until she found the culprit.

As Craig set down the phone Liam stared at him, puzzled.

“Why withdraw the surveillance? They’ve dumped every body there.”

Annette shook her head. “Because they’ve finished. If the significance was in both the time and the place, it’s been two weeks since the first body was left, so Saint Patrick’s fortnight is over. They’ll move on to somewhere else with Christian significance on a different date. It could be months or years before they kill again.”

Craig nodded. “We’ll give the surveillance till tomorrow, just in case.”

Liam thought for a moment, his face glum. Suddenly it lit up with a grin. “It’s not bad news.”