The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series) (26 page)

Andy gave a low whistle. “This is a first for me. A concrete shell.”

Craig nodded. “It’s a first for all of us. You should write it up, Mike.”

He knew how excited scientists got about publishing unusual cases and this one was a doozy.

“I’m already planning to.” He glanced at Craig’s mug. “Drink up. What I have to tell you about Mr Bwye is best done where you can see him.”

Two minutes later they were staring at Oliver Bwye’s blue-white flesh and shivering so hard in the freezing morgue that Craig knew they’d all be the same colour soon. He gestured at the body.

“Make this quick.”

Mike obliged by inserting a probe through Bwye’s right flank, marking the path of a bullet.

“OK. You can see the gunshot wound in Bwye’s side. I’m sure the bullet will match the ones found in his wife. The wound is deep and the bullet nicked the liver, so there would have been considerable blood loss. I’d say that most of the blood in the study was his.”

“Presumably done to disable him. He’s big so they’d have needed him out of commission fast. It’s lucky the shot didn’t kill him; or did it?”

The pathologist shook his head emphatically. “Definitely not but I doubt that luck had anything to do with it. The wound would have been bloody painful but it wouldn’t have caused his immediate death; I think they planned it that way.”

Andy went to whistle again but blew out white air instead. “Someone with a knowledge of anatomy, then?”

“Or someone who could read a book and was a good shot. Either way, Bwye definitely wasn’t dead when they took him from the study.”

He paused and Craig knew what was coming. It was at moments like this that John would have taken off his glasses and wiped them on his coat. Mike made do with a grimace. “He wasn’t dead when they covered him in concrete either.”

Andy’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding! He was alive?”

“Very much so, judging by the scans. They showed that the concrete was thinner in the areas over his hands and feet, as if he’d tried to push and kick it away.” He swallowed hard. “There was also concrete in his lungs. He drowned in concrete.”

Craig pictured the image and shook his head. “Bwye was a big man. Why didn’t he fight harder?”

Mike lifted one of Oliver Bwye’s arms. There was a clear ligature mark around his wrist.

“There are similar marks around his ankles. I’d say he was shot and wounded badly enough to debilitate him and possibly render him unconscious, long enough to bind him and get him into the van. Then, when your killer realised they were leaving too much of a trail they decided to dispose of the bodies in the lake. They’d come prepared with the concrete and plastic sacks.”

“But not the stones.”

The other men stared at Craig, confused.

“They didn’t bring the stones that we found weighing down Diana Bwye; they came from the lake shore.”

“You’re sure?”

“I saw some identical lying there. Forensics will confirm it.”

Andy nodded, seeing where Craig was heading. “So…what? They hadn’t planned to kill Diana Bwye?”

“I don’t think so. I think Oliver Bwye was the target. We need to check if Mrs Bwye was expected to be at home that night. If they didn’t intend to kill her that might explain why they had to use the stones; they hadn’t brought enough concrete for both.”

Augustus shook his head sadly. “You’re saying that she needn’t have died. He only intended to kill Bwye, and torture him as well if his death is anything to go by.”

Craig nodded. “Oliver Bwye was the primary target and the sadistic method of killing points to real hatred. This wasn’t a random home invasion; this was well planned revenge.”

****

Annette stared through the custody cell peephole at Jane Bwye, while Julia did the same across the corridor at Richard McCann. They were a sorry pair. The girl’s eyes were red raw with crying and her husband was sitting with his head in his hands; his shoulders slumped as if he was carrying the worries of the world. Annette turned to Julia and rolled her eyes, dropping her voice to a whisper.

“What idiot put them so close together? They’ll have their story off pat.”

Julia nodded. They would interview them separately but it would be a waste of time now; they were sure to have been talking to each other through the cell doors. Fifteen minutes later the two inspectors were back in the staff room comparing notes.

Annette sighed. “Jane’s statement is practically identical to McCann’s, even though she cried all the way through.”

“About being in custody?”

Annette shook her head. “No. About her mum being dead. She’s really cut up.”

Julia sipped her tea and nodded. “He seems gutted as well; Diana Bwye was a popular lady. But he fits the ransom call; broad shoulders, west Belfast accent and all. He didn’t even disguise his voice when he rang. Arrogant or dim?”

Annette rose to her feet, not answering. She was focusing on the next step. “What do you say we have a go at them together? We can watch how they interact. It might tell us something.”

Julia gazed through the staff-room window at the increasingly heavy snow and pulled her jacket tightly around her.

“Anything that defers going out in that is fine by me. Lead on.”

Five minutes’ later they were in a warm, bright interview room with two bedraggled suspects and four hot drinks. Annette clicked on the tape and covered the formalities then she nodded politely for Julia to kick off. She began with Jane.

“Ms Bwye, or do you prefer Mrs McCann? Could you tell me exactly when you got married, please?”

Nice. She was establishing them as a pair.

Jane sniffed hard before answering and Annette reached into her handbag and handed a paper tissue across.

“The
eighteenth of July. At Belfast City Hall.”

“And how long have you known each other?”

They watched as the girl smiled at her new husband and knew that if they hadn’t been there the smile would have been accompanied by a squeezed hand.

“Since we were children. From when Mrs McCann started work at Rocksbury.”

Richard McCann cut in. “We used to play together.” His green eyes narrowed. “But you already know all this so why are you wasting our time.”

Julia’s blue eyes narrowed to match. “I’m checking some facts, Mr McCann. Would you rather return to your cell? We can continue without you.”

Annette smiled inwardly as McCann leaned back in his chair, subdued. Julia continued calmly, looking at her notes.

“So you’ve been close for years and have always done things together.”

A gentle underlining that what one said implicated the other now.

She turned suddenly to Jane. “How did you get on with your mother, Mrs McCann?”

Annette winced, waiting for the tears to flow again. To her surprise Jane merely sniffed.

“I love…loved my mother. She was the best woman I knew.”

McCann leapt to his wife’s defence, lurching so far forward that he almost hit Annette’s nose.

“They were always close. That bastard Bwye beat them both and Diana took most of it to protect Jane.”

Annette scraped back her chair and stood up. “Sit back, Mr McCann, or you’ll be returning to your cell.”

The young man looked bewildered for a moment, gazing first at her and then at his own position. He leaned back slowly and raised his hands in peace. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything. It’s just…” He gazed at his wife and finished the sentence in a weak voice. “Jane really loved her mum. So did I.”

Annette signalled to take over and retook her seat. “How long had Mrs Bwye known about your relationship?”

McCann nodded. “For years. She was happy for us. But…”

“But Mr Bwye wouldn’t have been if he’d found out.”

He shook his head. “He’d have cut Jane off without a penny.” He straightened up suddenly and Annette thought all that was missing was his chest being puffed out. “I didn’t care. I don’t want his stinking money, I never did.”

Jane placed a hand on top of his and shook her head. “Rick’s telling the truth. He never wanted my inheritance.” She jutted her chin out defiantly. “But I did; it would have given us a decent life and Mum wanted us to have it. She and I had suffered enough with that bastard; he owed us both.”

“You hated your father.”

It was a statement not a question. She hadn’t even asked how Oliver Bwye had died.

“I loathed him. He was a drunken, violent bully who ruined people’s lives, including my mother’s.”

Annette’s next question was slipped in; in a voice so soft that it caught the girl unawares. “Enough for her to kill him?”

The couple’s eyes widened and then McCann did something that shocked everyone. He laughed. He kept on laughing until Jane stared at him with filling eyes that pleaded with him to stop.

“What’s so funny, Mr McCann?”

“You are, with your stupid questions. Diana Bwye was the kindest, gentlest, most religious woman I’ve ever met, and heaven only knows why, because he didn’t deserve it with his violence and his whores, she loved her husband. She would never have killed the old bastard.”

Julia leaned in eagerly. “Your mother knew about the other women?”

Jane nodded sadly. “Everyone did, but Rick’s right. Mum loved my father anyway. She would never have hurt him.”

“What about you? You would’ve had to keep your marriage a secret until you’d inherited, or your father would have cut you off.”

The girl’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, but I didn’t kill him for it.” She shot them both a sharp look. “And I would never ever have harmed my mum. What was she doing there anyway?”

Annette’s eyes widened and she glanced at Julia. They’d been so busy finding bodies that everyone had forgotten the most obvious question. Was Diana Bwye supposed to be at the house that night? Annette answered the question with another.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that my mum did a lot of charity work and on Wednesday evenings she ran a committee meeting in town, for the local Vanquish Cancer branch. She never missed it. She stayed overnight with her friend Stephanie afterwards. She’d been doing it every Wednesday for years.”

Diana Bwye hadn’t been supposed to be in the house that night. So why had she been? Annette asked the question and immediately provoked fresh tears.

“Maybe she stayed home to tell my dad about us. She would have wanted me out of the way when she did.” Jane covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God. It’s my fault she’d dead. It’s my fault.”

“You can’t know that.”

But the girl’s howls of anguish drowned out her words. Annette gave McCann the nod to comfort her and they left them alone for five minutes. Ten minutes more questioning when they restarted only confirmed what they already knew. Jane had arrived home at six-thirty that evening in her Mercedes, the car that Bernadette Ross had passed on the drive as she’d left for the night. But she hadn’t entered the house then as they’d assumed, instead she’d stopped at her mother-in-law’s apartment, to meet her husband.

They’d only gone to the main house after eleven p.m., when everyone should have been asleep. Richard had helped himself to a whisky and that was when they’d noticed the open study door, checked the room and seen the blood. They’d assumed Oliver Bwye had been kidnapped or killed and feared that they would be blamed. There’d been no sign of Diana and no reason they would have expected her to be in the house at all on a Wednesday night.

The rest was history. They’d burnt out the car in panic and made the ill-considered ransom attempt, with McCann strengthening his childhood Belfast accent to throw people off the track. Stupid yes, but no judge would convict them of anything except wasting police time or fleeing the scene of a crime. They hadn’t followed through with the ransom demand and the money would come to Jane now anyway, with both her parents dead.

As the lovebirds were put back in their cages Julia wrote up their notes and Annette made a call to Craig.

“I’ll ask Davy to check the details of Diana Bwye’s charity meeting, sir. We need to find out why she didn’t go that night.”

Craig picked thoughtfully at the car dashboard as Andy turned off the Glenshane Road.

“Go and interview this Stephanie. She might have the answer. Meanwhile, what’s your feeling on Romeo and Juliet?”

Annette nodded gratefully as Julia put the kettle on to boil. “Julia and I agree, sir. They might be stupid but what actual crime did they commit? OK, they panicked and left the scene and they made that stupid ransom call, but they didn’t follow it up and Jane’s going to inherit everything now anyway.”

Craig shook his head, knowing that Annette’s desire for a happy ending was getting the best of her. Julia’s impending nuptials were obviously doing the same.

“That’s not our decision, Annette. Put the file together and let the P.P.S. decide. You’re probably right and they’ll dismiss it, but it has to be their call.”

Annette’s sigh said that she wasn’t pleased; it meant more paperwork and the McCanns being left to the vagaries of the prosecutors. Tough; romance didn’t excuse bad behaviour. If it did then every newlywed would have carte blanche to commit crimes. Craig threw her a placating bouquet.