The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series) (30 page)

Craig turned, shaking his head. “Not deep, just puzzled. Niamh McDermott said some interesting things. And before you ask, they can wait for the briefing.” He turned to walk back to the hotel. “Is Andy up?”

“No idea. We don’t sleep together, you know.”

The retort that sprang to Craig’s mind was too un-PC to utter, so instead they walked to the dining room for breakfast, where he continued thinking and Liam bantered noisily with the other guests.

****

8 a.m.

“This will be short and sweet. Last night Liam and I went to see the McDermotts; the family across the lake who own the boat that we believe our killer used. Mrs McDermott had some particularly interesting things to say. It seems Rocksbury belonged solely to Diana Bwye. It formed part of the D’Arcy family trust and was always passed through the female line.”

Annette cut in urgently. “Jane doesn’t know.”

Craig raised an eyebrow. “Did you ask her?”

“No, but it was obvious.” She paused, looking sheepish. “I’ll go back and ask the question just the same.”

“Good. Mrs McDermott was also adamant that Oliver Bwye would never have killed himself. His wife yes, but not himself.”

Liam interrupted. “That doesn’t stop him hiring someone to do it to him.”

Craig nodded slowly. “No, it doesn’t. But she said he was too selfish to give up one minute of his life for anyone, so I presume death by any hand wouldn’t have been top of his list. Also, if his family didn’t need money to save their home it removes a financial motive for suicide.” Andy went to object but Craig pushed on. “I know what you’re going to say, Andy; they might still have needed money for the estate’s upkeep and Bwye leaving his family secure was only one possible motive; his ego and legacy were two more. For that reason I’m not discounting the theory that Bwye might have arranged his own death, and that his wife was just collateral damage. We’ll pursue it but I’m still not convinced. His death was too bloody; a professional hit man would have made it quick and clean.”

Liam muttered under his breath. “Unless one of Bwye’s enemies hired him to make Bwye suffer.”

Craig nodded but parked the point for later.

Annette frowned. “So what else could explain things?”

“I’m still working on that. Niamh McDermott also said that it was very unlike Diana Bwye not to attend her fundraising meeting that Wednesday night. She’d phoned to say she was sick and couldn’t attend and Mrs McDermott attributed it to her suffering some injury at her husband’s hand that she couldn’t hide. Annette, Julia and Gerry, check that with Jane, the cook, Bernadette Ross and any of the other staff you can think of, plus ask Diana’s friend Stephanie Crewe. If Diana Bwye had obvious injuries that Wednesday somebody must have seen them. We’re probably talking about her face or hands, although I’m already convinced their answers will be no, given that no such injuries were seen post mortem.”

Annette shook her head. “That doesn’t mean she couldn’t have faked a visible injury for their benefit. It’s easy enough to mimic bruises with make-up.”

“Why would she fake it? She’d never missed a meeting before.” He carried on. “But we’ll find out when we ask. If the answer’s yes then the next question is, why fake it, unless she specifically wanted to stay home that evening for some reason, and that opens a whole new theory with Diana Bwye at the centre.”

He turned to see Davy frowning.

“I was just starting on Diana Bwye’s family trust, so I hadn’t got to w…what it contained yet. But doesn’t it seem s…strange that no-one else mentioned she owned the house? Especially Bernadette Ross if she knew Bwye’s business.”

Craig nodded as the others murmured to themselves. “It’s a glaring omission as far as I’m concerned. Check everything out with the family solicitor, and the trust solicitors as well. Andy, I want you to focus on the van and the forensics on the boat please, and keep checking on the divers. I want that gun.” He turned, to see Liam still muttering. “Liam, you and Davy work up the list of enemies Lawton gave us. The rest of you, I want you to go back to the family and staff members and raise the subject of the estate’s ownership, obliquely, but watch their faces. I want to know who knew about the female inheritance line and who didn’t. Pay particular attention to the McCanns, Bernadette Ross and Jane Bwye. If someone knew about this and could have told Jane, no matter how accidentally, we need to know.” He got ready to leave. “I’m going to the lab and then on to Belfast. Nicky called last night about the Greer case so I need to check on things there, and see Cameron Lawton. I’m meeting the C.C. at headquarters this afternoon so I won’t be back till five o’clock. You all know what you need to get on with.”

Liam considered having a moan but cracked a joke instead.

“And if the boss can’t get back up the Pass, we’ll hold the briefing in the bar at six.”

Cha
pter Sixteen

11.30 a.m.

Craig’s morning had been a waste of time; he just hoped that his team was doing better. He’d been back to the Northwest Path lab to see Mike but none of his answers had changed. Dead bodies were stubborn like that. Both the Bwyes had gunshot wounds but until they found the Ruger they could have been from any of the rifles in the province. So many country men in so few miles.

He’d arrived at the lab in a grumpy mood and left the same way. The icy drive to Belfast had honed it to an anger that hadn’t been helped by the sights that had greeted him when he’d entered the C.C.U. Nicky was painting her nails to the sound of John Legend and Jake was spinning round in his chair throwing paper balls into a bin. OK, it was the weekend, but they were still getting paid to work. The worst of it was that neither of them stopped when he arrived.

He hit the off button on the CD player and glared around the floor, wondering where everyone was. After a moment he realised he’d seconded everyone else but Ken to Derry, and given that the army was paying him he’d probably decided to have a weekend morning lie-in. Nicky stared at her silent CD and then at Craig’s face, on countdown to the explosion that looked like it was coming next. Before it did she squeaked in indignation.

“I was listening to that…sir.”

“You’re supposed to be working.” He swung round to face Jake. “Both of you! And when’s Ken gracing us with his presence?”

Nicky rose and Craig noticed she was dressed like a latter day Stevie Nicks; this week’s fashion adventure was obviously the ’70s. She drew herself up to her full five-feet-three.

“What do you think we’ve been doing all week while you lot have been gallivanting in the wilds?” Without waiting for an answer she waved at a tower of files. “
That’s
what we’ve been doing. Every file on the Greer case has been read, checked and categorised, ready for you to write your report for the appeal.” She grabbed a document from her desk and waved it at him. “Jake’s even had a go at the first draft because he knew how busy you were.”

She could see a faint blush of embarrassment rising on Craig’s cheeks so she emerged from behind her desk, pressing her advantage. The document became a pointer and its target this time was Jake.

“He’s worked ten hours every day; reading and highlighting.”

The hundreds of luminous green and red stickers protruding from the tilting tower emphasised her point.

“Ken’s helped too but he’s been called to the base today. And I’ve been making calls, lining up people you might want to re-interview after Christmas and I’ve…and…”

Craig could see that her ire was about to turn into something else, the glistening in her eyes warning him that he’d better eat his words very fast.

She gestured towards the corner and a large silver Christmas tree that he’d failed to notice came into focus, the pile of carefully wrapped parcels at its foot saying that while he’d been yelling at everyone in Derry, she’d been preparing a welcome home for them all.

Nicky got her second wind.

“…and now you come waltzing in here, barking because we’re taking a ten minute break!” She folded her arms defiantly. “Well, sir, you can just waltz right back out again!”

She sat down with a thud as Jake stared first at her face and then at Craig’s, uncertain what to say. He decided that solidarity was the answer and folded his arms as well.

Craig ran through a gamut of emotions. Anger, because that seemed to be his default setting these days with everyone, although this time it had a different target; himself. Anger also that they’d made so much progress with Greer when his murder case seemed to be going into reverse. It was irrational and petty and he knew it, but no-one had ever said that anger was highly evolved.

There was shame in the mix as well. Shame for shouting and shame for his assumption that they’d been lazy, when he’d never seen laziness from either one. Then more shame that it was almost Christmas, a time of year he loved, and yet he hadn’t given a thought to presents for anyone.

For once in his life the normally rational detective didn’t know what to do. Anger alone would have triggered a fiery outburst; God knows he’d had plenty of those before and Nicky usually just shrugged and made him a coffee. Add shame to the anger and it would usually have triggered an apology to the undeserving object of his ire, but this time the combination was simply too much for him and Craig could feel tears pricking at his eyes. He was about to cry like a kid! What the hell?

He ignored Nicky’s widening eyes and turned swiftly on his heel, leaving the floor without another word and hammering the button on the lift until he’d reached the parking garage. He was halfway up Oxford Street before he realised where he was heading; John’s lab. When he arrived his mobile was ringing and the C.C.U.’s number was flashing on the screen. He ignored it and banged open the door to John’s office. The pathologist was at his desk reading a journal and he looked up, surprised. Craig was even more surprised that he was there at a weekend now that he was married, yet somehow he’d known that he would be; Natalie was on-call and John wasn’t one to sit home alone.

“I didn’t expect you. Need some help with the case?”

Craig didn’t answer, just slumped in a chair, struggling with whether to tell his friend about his outburst or fudge the visit as something to do with work. He swallowed hard and did the latter.

“I had to come to Belfast for meetings, so I thought I’d call in and pick your brains.”

John scrutinised Craig’s face and made a silent diagnosis, then he poured some coffee and nodded as if he’d believed every word of what he’d said.

“Good to see you. Mike says he’s hit a dead end. Two dead, gunshots, yet no gunshot residue on either victim’s hands to say that they’d fired the gun.”

Craig was startled. They hadn’t discussed the possibility that one of the Bwyes had pulled the trigger.

“Why did he look for GSR?”

John shrugged with the insouciance of a man who’d ceased to be startled by anything in life. “It’s standard practice in shootings, no matter how unnecessary it might appear.” Suddenly his eyes lit up. “Although I must say this case is an unusual one. I’m quite jealous of Mike.”

Craig pushed past his excitement. “The fact there’s no GSR doesn’t mean that neither of them fired it. Couldn’t they have worn gloves?”

John considered huffing at Craig’s rudeness then remembered the conversation he’d had with Liam and smiled instead, humouring him.

“They could have and maybe whoever dumped the bodies removed them. But even if they hadn’t, the concrete and water would likely have destroyed the residue anyway.” He topped up his coffee. “Anyway, this is all moot. Why would Bwye wound himself and then drown himself in concrete? And he definitely couldn’t have thrown himself out of the boat. Similarly I can’t see Diana Bwye wrapping herself in a plastic sack, weighing herself down with stones and then shooting herself in the chest as she jumped. That’s what she’d have had to do.”

Craig nodded hesitantly. He knew both scenarios were impossible, but…

“But her head was exposed. The sack was sealed at the neck.” He wasn’t sure why he’d said it; he already knew it couldn’t have made a difference. He was wrong.

John’s jaw dropped. “Mike didn’t tell me that! I’m going to kill him. That alters everything. She could have killed her husband then wrapped herself in the plastic bag up to the neck, filled it with stones and sealed it, then shot herself in the chest inside the bag.” He thought for a moment and then shook his head. “No, that doesn’t work either. At least one of her hands would still have to have been outside or the gun would have been found in the bag with her.”

“The sack was frayed enough to let the stones fall out, so maybe the gun-”

John cut him off. “No, none of the holes were that big.” He shook his head at his own stupidity. “And anyway, how could she have thrown herself in the lake if she was dead?”

Craig frowned, thinking. After a moment sipping his coffee he restarted. “Let’s say, and this is just speculation but humour me, let’s say that Oliver Bwye decided to kill himself that night for whatever reason, and he had it all planned with the help of an accomplice. Shoot to wound him in the study, leave some blood on the floor to make it look like an assault, get into the van…”

John could keep silent no longer. “Then drown him in concrete and dump him in the lake! There are easier ways to go. And what would have been the purpose of such an elaborate ruse?”

“To kill himself in a way that meant the family would get his K&R insurance.”

“It’s a bit drastic, to kill yourself just to leave someone else money, and why kill the wife as well?”

Craig shook his head. “Bwye was already dying and she was collateral damage. She was supposed to be out at her charity committee like she was every Wednesday night.”

“Dying of what?”

Craig realised he’d omitted important information. “Sorry. Terminal prostate cancer. He had a few months at most.”

John nodded slowly. “Mike didn’t say. So he was killing himself rather than go through the pain and to get a quick pay out? But why K&R, why not life insurance when he died naturally. He wouldn’t have had to wait long.”

“His life insurance excluded prostate cancer; he’d had a history of prostate disease for years.”

“So if he was abducted and murdered, K&R would have left his family secure. Nice.”

Craig made a face. “Except it turns out they didn’t really need the money because Diana Bwye owned Rocksbury, and Oliver Bwye definitely wasn’t an altruist. The people we’ve spoken to say he wouldn’t have given up one second of life for anyone else. Andy thinks Bwye wanted to leave the money so that people would think he was loaded when he died.”

“Kidnap and kill yourself for the K&R just to impress the world with your wealth when you’re dead! Tell Andy he’s talking rubbish.”

“My thoughts exactly. Especially not if it meant suffocating in concrete.”

John thought for a moment. “OK…so that brings us back to someone who hated Bwye enough to kill him, and the wife as an unfortunate witness. Someone who knew where he kept his rifle…”

“And knew where the gun cabinet’s key was. The lock wasn’t smashed.”

“OK, so either someone who already knew where it was or someone that Bwye had told or given the key to.”

“Deliberately told, as in someone that he’d hired to kill him? Or accidentally told because he had a big mouth? Or was it just someone who knew because they were so close to him, like his favourite escort, Mavis Brown?” Craig shook his head in frustration. “Except that a woman couldn’t possibly have done all this alone; even if the van had had a hoist to get them into the boat it would have taken a strong man to tip bodies over the side of a boat into the lake.”

John opened his mouth to interject then closed it again when he realised that he had nothing sensible to add. Craig had a serious puzzle on his hands and he didn’t have all the pieces yet. They could spend the next ten minutes going round in circles or he could change the subject. He was tempted to say what was really on his mind, but Craig’s furrowed brow said it wasn’t the time for a meaningful discussion, so instead he turned the conversation to DIY.

“I’ve almost finished the kitchen. Everything should be ready for Christmas Eve.”

Craig’s mind was still on the Bwyes so he answered vaguely. “Good…” Then he realised what John had said. “What’s happening on Christmas Eve?”

“Well, apart from Santa coming down the chimney, which will be a challenge with the fire being lit, it’s the house-warming party. Remember?”

Craig gave a weak smile. “I’m sure it will be great.”

It was John’s turn to frown. “You sound like you’re not coming.”

Craig nodded distractedly then stood up to leave, repeating his last words. “It will be great.”

As John watched his friend leave he made up his mind. There was a conversation coming soon that had nothing to do with work and it wasn’t one that either of them would enjoy.

****

Cameron Lawton’s Offices. The Belfast Chronicle.

“You’re certain these are the only possibilities?”

Craig gestured at the three names in front of him. One he recognised as belonging to a local councillor, Brian Ormond, who was knocking on for seventy years old. A man so small and thin that if Oliver Bwye had sat on him it would have extinguished his life. The other two names he didn’t know, but ‘Harold’ and ‘Solomon’ didn’t convey images of strong young men.

Cameron Lawton nodded. “I asked around and, between myself and conversations I’ve had, these are the only three left alive who hated Bwye enough to kill him. Your computer boy already has their details.” He tapped the list. “Bwye accused Ormond of embezzlement, which was later proved false but Bwye only gave him a short apology on the back page. With Solomon Ronson he covered his son’s arrest for drug dealing with unnecessary zeal; I’m talking front page colour spread.”

“What about the last one, Harold Clinton?”

Lawton screwed up his face. “Nasty piece of work. He deserved everything he got. He’s a paedophile, still in prison. Bwye used his case to start a fundraising campaign for a child abuse charity, one of the few decent things that he ever did.”