The Sect (The Craig Crime Series) (32 page)

“Which is better, sir; wait till they start asking questions or hold a pre-emptive conference?”

“Pre-emptive, although I’m not sure we can call it that now, thanks to The Mirror. Get in front of it quickly or they’ll hound you every day.” He gestured towards the door. “Nicky can set up a conference for tomorrow.”

“TV as well?”

He thought for a moment, exhausted by the thought of clamouring journalists. “Yes. Best to get it all over at once. If you draft a statement I’ll check it in the morning.”

“Great.”

They turned towards the sound of loud chomping. Liam was picking anchovies off his next slice of pizza while the one in his mouth was already meeting its death.

“What’s happening with the newspaper shops, Liam?”

He shook his head and swallowed with a gulp. “We changed the brief to The Belfast Mirror outlets but there’s no sign of Rustin buying any papers. Mind you, it was a long shot once it went online. They’d got what they’d asked for so why risk nipping out for proof?”

Craig shrugged. “Paranoia. Plus, ego’s stronger than common sense, so keep looking.”

Liam nodded and dropped a small slice of pizza into his mouth, swallowing it in one go.

“I’d hate to see your arteries.”

Liam grinned. “They’ll be well padded, just like the rest of me.”

Annette hadn’t the energy to tell him that wasn’t a good thing but she made a note to have a chat about his diet soon. She and Liam might have a love hate relationship but the love was stronger, so the last thing she wanted was him dying of a heart attack. Craig updated them on the other murder sites Davy had found.

“So it’s a cult, boss.”

“Sect fits better but actually I think it’s closer to a religious terror group. They’re killing anyone they deem a transgressor, and while it’s individuals at the moment there’s nothing to stop them targeting larger groups. We’ll have more information on the earlier killings tomorrow so Davy can see if there’s anything else that helps our case. Until then we’re working on Rustin, McDonagh and at least three other members locally, probably men. Meanwhile we have another problem; Ray Mercer. He could be a witness but if Liam or I question him he’ll clam up.”

“Aye, and there’s no way I’m letting you near an interview room mirror with him around.”

“I need to watch the interview even if I’m too far away to punch him.”

Annette took what she thought was a hint. “I could do it now. My sister’s staying with me, so she can keep an eye on the kids.”

Craig shook his head. “I was just thinking out loud, Annette. You’ve enough to do. Actually I think Andy and Jake might be a good match for him.”

Liam nodded. “Jake’s already at High Street getting McDonagh’s alibis. Andy’s outside eating.”

“Call him in.”

When Liam returned he was alone and wearing a grin. “He’ll be a minute.”

Craig shook his head wearily. “Let me guess, he’s chatting up some poor woman who doesn’t know his track record.”

“He is. A wee girl from Vice who came to collect a file.”

Craig strode out onto the floor, as much to ask Davy something as to check that Andy wasn’t giving the girl a hard time. He wasn’t. The girl had gone and he was looking crestfallen.

“Struck out?”

It was said with more sympathy than he would have got from Liam.

Angel nodded pragmatically. “It’s a numbers game.”

“That attitude could explain where you’re going wrong. Join Liam in my office, please. I’ll be in in a moment.”

He re-joined the group just as Liam was starting a fresh round of insults about Andy’s love life. Andy’s expression said he’d already had enough so Craig cut him off.

“Andy, I want you and Jake to interview Ray Mercer at High Street. We’ll head over there now. I’ll be observing.”

Andy eyed the last slice of pizza, earning a warning glance from Liam. “Who’s Ray Mercer?”

Liam answered as he grabbed the slice. “Lousy journo scrote. Used to be news editor at The Chronicle till he was booted out.”

Craig beckoned the thwarted seraph towards the door.

“I’ll brief you on the way. He’s the reporter who wrote the piece for The Belfast Mirror this evening, which means he may know something about our killers.”

“Happy to give any journalist a hard time, but why don’t you two want the pleasure?”

Liam stared pointedly at Craig’s right hand. “Let me tell you a story about a man and a pane of glass…”

****

Theodora Rustin scanned her smart-pad slowly, checking that everything she’d said to the journalist was there. As she read, the man watching her flicked slowly through a book, then replaced it on a shelf and lifted another one down. Finally he tutted.

“You’ve read that bloody thing fifty times. It’s all there.”

She rounded on him. “It might be on a screen but for all we know Mercer played us. It could be a dummy site, or it could be online but not in print. We need to see a real paper.”

The man’s relaxed stance changed to alertness and he banged his fist on the back of a chair.

“NO! That’s exactly what they’ll be waiting for. They know who you are. Your face must be pasted all over the North.”

She rose to leave. “I don’t care. I want to see it in print.”

The man moved swiftly, reaching the door before her to block the way. He grabbed her hair and pulled her face close to his. “I said no.” Then he threw her to the ground. “Do as you’re bloody well told.” He turned to an older man playing patience at a desk. “I told you we shouldn’t have involved a woman. They’re unstable.”

The second man’s tone was sanguine. “Do
you
speak Vulgar Latin? No. Do
you
know every historical site of worship in the world? No. But she does.” His tone changed to conciliation and he turned to where Rustin was picking herself off the floor. “It pains me to say it, Theodora, but he’s right. You can’t leave.” He raised a hand to halt her objection and a note of steel entered his voice. “He will go instead. They won’t be looking for him and he could do with the exercise.” He turned to the man with a sarcastic smile. “Buy all the evening papers. And make sure you get every edition.”

He beckoned Teddy Rustin towards him and drew out a chair for her to sit. “Join me in a game of whist, Theodora. We’ll be waiting for some time.”

With that he turned his back on the man, telling him exactly where in the pecking order he stood.

****

Ray Mercer’s interview was hardly worth the trip. After twenty minutes of saying nothing to make himself feel important he tired of the game and told them exactly what Maggie had two hours before.

He’d received a phone call from a woman, self-identified as Theodora Rustin, who’d read out a statement and asked him to print it, anywhere but The Chronicle. Calling Maggie had just been a dummy play to keep the police occupied. It was a safe bet that Mercer would have avoided The Chronicle even if he hadn’t been told to; no-one gives a scoop to the newspaper that canned them months before.

Andy had been wearing a bored expression as Mercer rattled on, now he raised a hand to interrupt.

“How much did they pay you?”

Craig rolled his eyes in the viewing room. Finally! It would have been the first question out of his mouth. Mercer gave a grin so sleazy it should have been a criminal offence.

“Wouldn’t you like to know. And before you go looking for bank transfers, it was cash left somewhere there were no cameras. Although feel free to waste your time looking.”

Jake shook his head in disgust. “You heard what they wanted printed. Didn’t any part of you think of contacting the police?”

Mercer stared at him. “Let me think about that for a minute.” After a long pause he grinned. “The answer’s no. I can honestly say that it never occurred to me.”

Jake sprang to his feet and Andy moved quickly to hold him back. Mercer raised his hands in mock horror.

“Ooh, I’m scared. Please don’t hit me, Mr Policeman.” He smirked. “Is this where you start the good cop bad cop routine?” He gestured at the glass with the unlit cigarette he’d been holding for half-an-hour. “Let me guess. You’re trying to impress the big boss. Craig’s in his hidey-hole watching ’cos he’s too shit scared to face me himself.”

He turned his chair to face the mirror and sat back, arms folded, as if daring Craig to appear. But Craig wasn’t rising to the bait. Months of physio and shrinks had taught him not to give Mercer what he wanted, and after ten minutes of arm folding the journalist finally got the message loud and clear.

He turned back to Jake and Andy and after ten more minutes of self-important rhetoric Craig’s rap on the glass told them to let him go, but not before spending a night in the cells, while Jack searched for his mysteriously lost paperwork.

****

Wednesday, 1 a.m.

Craig groped for his vibrating mobile and clamped it to his ear, then fell back into a semi-doze as John began talking about the case. His one a.m. calls were becoming a habit.

“Devaney’s stomach contents weren’t as well digested as the others’ so we think that they killed him quicker than the rest. And Des got a male print from his cling-wrap that matches one of the other two, but still no I.D. And before you ask, none of them match Philip McDonagh’s.”

He didn’t pause for queries, which was probably just as well. Craig was so tired he could barely think never mind form a coherent question.

“And, oh yes, your girl in the Quoile had the same stuff for her last meal as the others, but it was barely digested so she died very soon after eating. I’d say less than an hour. And it was definitely river water in her lungs not fresh.”

Craig woke up enough to query what it meant. The girl’s stomach contents were too much of a coincidence so she’d definitely been a rehearsal killing, but why had the group needed a rehearsal if they’d already killed elsewhere? The only answer was that they had some new members in Northern Ireland, or worse, that they were training up local teams.

He was too tired to work it out so he gave an exhausted “mmm” that he hoped would end the call. It was a vain hope. Natalie’s high pitched voice suddenly sliced through his doze, shocking his eyes open wide. He hadn’t expected John to phone again this late and he most certainly hadn’t expected Natalie to be on the call when he did. At any other time the double act would have amused him, but broken sleep and corpses were combining to make it a bloody week.

The surgeon was halfway through a sentence when Craig remembered that at one a.m. most sane people were in their beds.

“Are you two still at work?”

John went to answer but Natalie’s forcefulness beat him down. “Why would we be at work? It’s one o’clock in the morning!”

Craig didn’t know whether to answer her or laugh. He answered, more angrily than he meant to.

“Exactly! So why the hell are you calling me? Don’t you like sleeping?”

His attempts at keeping his eyes closed were being undermined by some bizarre need to make facial expressions as he spoke. He blamed his Italian half, but whichever half of him was to blame he was suddenly wide awake. He propped himself up against the wall and took a deep breath, cutting politely across Natalie’s tale of how she often survived on a mere three hours sleep.

“Natalie. Nice as it is to chat to you, could I suggest that one p.m. might be a better time?”

John interjected. “That’s what I said.”

Her icy tone cut him off. “No.”

No what? No, he couldn’t suggest it, or no it wouldn’t be better? She saved him the bother of asking, her doom laden tone insisting he paid attention to her next words.

“We called ’cos Sofia has got you in her sights.”

Craig wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “What? Like a sniper?”

John laughed. “That’s quite funny.”

Natalie tutted loudly, telling both men that she wasn’t amused.

“Don’t be stupid, you two. This is serious. She’s obsessed with you, Marc. From the moment Katy mentioned you she was plotting some way to meet you. After she did she talked about you obsessively to John, then she came back to the hospital and picked Katy’s brains again, for every detail she could get. And you know Katy; she’s so flipping nice that she told her everything. How that girl manages to navigate life beats me.”

Craig could hear John muttering “she’s right” and “mm” in the background, like the chorus of a rap song. He let Natalie continue for a moment longer then he silenced them both with one word. “So?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Anything less than ‘Oh my God’ told Natalie that he hadn’t understood the portent of her words. She started again in exaggerated tones. “The. Italian. Hussy’s. After. You. Do. You. Understand?”

Craig yawned loudly, forgetting to cover his mouth, making John laugh and Natalie purse her lips. He irritated her even more with his next words.

“I repeat. So? I’m sure you’re just being dramatic, but even if you aren’t what the hell’s the problem? She’s a woman not an axe murderer. I’ll just refuse to see her and she’ll take the hint.”