The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series) (33 page)

Craig knocked on the modern office door, not expecting the woman who answered. The building was refurbished and bright, like so many others in Derry; a testament to the work done to move the city from its troubled past to the beacon of prosperity it had become. Derry was resolutely forward looking in a way that even the country’s capital hadn’t achieved.

But the woman at the door wasn’t modern in any way. Her hair was pinned in a bun at the nape of her neck, with occasional grey hairs peppering its native black. Her clothes were simple; a navy A-line dress from a catalogue, with flat lace-up shoes that matched. Only her face said that she wasn’t old; its absence of lines saying that she was probably younger than him. Yet she’d decided to present herself like a grandmother; Craig didn’t have the time to ask why, just whether her boss was in. Joshua Kelly, solicitor at law; the man that he’d come to see.

The woman smiled at the question and the smile lit up her face, shedding the years and making her look as young as she actually was. She waved Craig to a seat and lifted her coat before knocking on an inner door.

“Mr Kelly, I’m for lunch now. There’s a Superintendent Craig here for you. He’s your one o’clock.”

An innocent enough introduction in a solicitor’s office where the police were probably frequent visitors; inquiring about clients or seeking confirmation of court dates. But that wasn’t Craig’s purpose today. The secretary nodded goodbye as she passed, leaving him to stare at the inner door she’d left ajar. No man’s voice had said “Thank you” when she’d spoken and he’d seen no movement behind the door; nothing to say that the room’s occupant had heard. The two men waited on either side of the wood, until finally Craig heard a sigh and his name was called.

“Superintendent Craig, please come in.”

The man behind the door resembled his secretary in only one way; he looked much older than his years. Joshua Kelly, Josh to his friends, was barely forty yet he looked a decade more than that. Unlike his P.A his aging wasn’t a façade; it persisted despite his modern glasses and resolutely cool suit. Craig looked again and saw that he’d been wrong. Kelly didn’t look old; he looked exhausted, as if he was carrying all of his clients’ worries, plus his own.

Craig took a seat and scanned the solicitor’s lean face. Everything about Kelly was dark: black hair, black suit, tanned skin; everything about him but his eyes. They were pale grey, so grey that Craig wondered if they were lenses, until he glanced behind him and saw a photograph of an older man with an identical pair.

The lawyer gazed at Craig for a moment then his gaze dropped to his desk; steel and glass, loaded with tired beige files and well-thumbed books.

“How may I help you, Mr Craig?”

He asked as if the answer was inevitable and Craig knew that conversational preamble had no place here. He played his cue.

“How long were you and Diana Bwye lovers?”

Kelly gasped so loudly that Craig was uncomfortably surprised. Had he got it completely wrong? The gasp faded and the solicitor shook his head, in a way that said Craig had
almost
been right.

“In our heads, forever, but in reality we never even kissed. Diana was a good woman; she would never have broken her wedding vows.”

Craig wasn’t giving up. “But she loved you.”

The solicitor gave a weak smile. “She said so, but it obviously wasn’t enough for her to leave Oliver, no matter how bad he was.”

Honesty was working so far, so Craig decided to go the whole hog. Whatever Kelly said wouldn’t stand up in court, but he could interview him officially later; for now he really needed to know the truth.

“Did you kill Oliver Bwye?”

Instead of the indignation of an innocent, the dark solicitor gave a tired shake of his head. “No, but I wished him dead a million times.”

If wishing someone dead worked there would be very few people left in the world.

“And Diana?”

The question provoked a very different response. Kelly leapt from his seat and stepped forward, looming over Craig. Craig was unperturbed. Years behind a desk would have made Kelly soft and he’d long ago prepared himself for pain; it was a requirement of the job. The sad thing was the idea didn’t bother him nowadays; he would almost have welcomed a blow. At least then he’d be feeling something.

Kelly yelled in his face.

“I would never have harmed Diana, I loved her!”

“Enough to do whatever she asked?”

The younger man’s grey eyes locked on Craig’s dark blue so intently it was as if he was staring straight through him; seeing something else, something in the past. Without another word he fell back into his chair. Craig repeated his question, but he knew that he’d lost the man; Kelly’s thoughts were elsewhere. He’d have to abandon his questioning unless he arrested him and he had no grounds for that except a wine stain, Kelly’s admitted love for Diana Bwye and half a hunch. He left the office in silence, chilled by the sound of wracking sobs before he reached the outer door.

****

Liam banged the desk phone down so hard that it bounced and sprang back on its cable to whack him in the face.

“Ow!”

He banged it down again, more firmly this time. Annette glanced up from the page she was reading at the red mark on his cheek.

“Who was that on the phone?”

Liam rubbed his face, making the mark worse. “Nicky.” He searched for a mirror until Annette relented and gave him the one from her handbag. He squinted at the mark and made a face as she tutted sympathetically.

“That’s going to bruise.”

“Sodding phone.”

A lecture about his rough handling was pointless so she turned back to what had provoked his bad mood.

“What did she have to say?”

Liam looked blank.

“Nicky. Why did she call?”

He slumped in a chair beside her. “To make the boss an even bigger pain in the ass. Greer’s appeal’s been given the go ahead. They’ve decided not to wait for our report.”

Annette sprang to her feet, knocking her papers onto the floor. “What! But that case was solid! What grounds are they citing?”

“The fact that the money went through the Russian’s accounts, not hers. They’re saying they can’t link her directly to employing the hit-men and it was just the Russian’s word against hers. She’s saying she just said what he told her to say and he’s dead now, so…”

Panic filled her eyes. “You can’t tell the chief till this case is over.”

Liam gawped at her. “I’m not telling him at all! If Nicky’s got bad news she can bloody well tell him herself. He won’t yell at her half as much as he’ll yell at me.”

Annette’s face set determinedly. “No-one’s telling him anything until we’re back in Belfast.” She grabbed the phone and waved it dangerously close to Liam’s face, making him rear back. “Just you leave Madam Nicky to me.”

****

Craig was preoccupied when he arrived at the Northwest labs. Joshua Kelly had loved Diana Bwye and his reaction had said that he definitely hadn’t killed her. That only left Kelly with two possible roles; mourner or accomplice after the fact. The former was more likely, based on his lack of reason for wanting her dead. As Craig entered the long corridor to pathology he stopped abruptly in his tracks. Damn! He’d forgotten to ask Kelly about the estate’s female inheritance line. He’d have to call him on the way back to the house.

He carried on walking till he reached a glass door and opened it without knocking. He’d expected to see Mike when he entered, but a leaner, more familiar face also smiled hello.

“John! What are you doing here?”

John’s smile creased his angular face like origami. “I take it you’re pleased to see me.”

“Yes. But…”

“Mike asked for a consult, and I can see why. It’s a tricky case.”

Craig grabbed a chair and sat down. “Not that tricky. Bwye was shot and disabled first, then loaded into the van, drowned in concrete and dumped into the lake. Mrs Bwye was shot and killed, possibly by Bwye but more likely by someone else, either their killer or…”

John raised an eyebrow. “That tone says you’re not convinced, and you’re right to be sceptical.” He gestured at Augustus. “We’ve found something that doesn’t fit. Let’s go to the dissection room.”

Craig talked as they walked. “The divers found the gun.”

“Good. Where?”

Mike’s higher voice answered. “In the lake, near where they found the bodies. It was in a black plastic sack weighed down with stones.”

John nodded. “OK. Now you can match the bullets, the stones and with any luck the perforations will show that the plastic sack came from the same roll as the Bwyes’. It’s doubtful we’ll find any prints on the gun. Forensics hasn’t found any but the Bwyes’ prints on anything so far.”

“The survivor’s from Lawton’s list drew a blank. We’re looking at their families now.”

John made a face. “I don’t think so.”

Before Craig could ask why not they’d arrived at the room and Mike was removing the sheet from Oliver Bwye’s jowly face. Craig stared down at him for a moment.

“What are we looking for?”

Mike shook his head. “You can’t see it so I actually don’t know why I uncovered his face.”

John smiled. “Showmanship. I do it all the time.”

Mike put the sheet back and turned towards the wall, flicking on an X-Ray screen. Images of a head and torso came into focus.

“OK, again, what are we looking for?”

Mike tapped the screen with his finger. “That’s Oliver Bwye’s head.” He drew his finger down. “And this is his throat and oesophageal tract.”

“Which they filled with concrete.”

“Yes.” He pointed to another film that showed Bwye’s throat. “This is an MRI scan of the concrete in his throat. Can you see the markings?”

Craig peered at it for a moment before admitting defeat. “It just looks like solid material.”

“It is, but I had a hunch so I asked the materials lab in Belfast to take a closer look.”

John interrupted. “That’s why I drove up. Des was going to email the report…”

“But you fancied a road trip? In this weather!”

John had a ready prepared excuse that sounded better than ‘I’m here to check you’re not making everyone’s life hell, or worse, about to endanger your own life’.

“Natalie’s hounding me to show her the house. I thought getting off side for a while would give me a few more days.” He smiled. “Not that I don’t trust her but I’ve hidden all the keys.”

Craig perked up. “So you’re staying here tonight?”

John shook his head, feeling instantly guilty. “Sorry, no. I’m heading back in an hour, but Natalie won’t know that. She’ll think I’m away for days. I can nip back and finish the house in time for the party without her ever knowing that I’m there.”

Craig hid his disappointment behind a joke. “You’re a dead man if she finds out that you lied.”

“I’m in the right job then.”

Mike’s patience was wearing thin.

“If you two have quite finished…?” He tapped the screen’s magnification, enlarging the concrete. “What you’re looking at here are micro fissures in the concrete. They formed as it dried.”

Craig was genuinely puzzled. “So?”

“So it tells us how quickly it set. It was quick-setting concrete, but even so the concrete in his throat dried first.”

“But didn’t that happen because it was poured into his throat first, to suffocate him?”

“Yes. Logic says that the area that’s filled first should set first, but not as quickly as it actually did.”

John cut in. “You’re going to like this, Marc, trust me.”

Mike’s eyes grew wild. “He will if you ever let me get it out! The materials lab confirmed that the fissures in Bwye’s throat don’t match the ones in the rest of the concrete.”

It was Craig’s turn to interrupt and Mike raised his eyes to heaven. “But isn’t that to be expected, given that the throat is internal and warm and the rest of the concrete probably set in the back of a cold van?”

Mike’s eyes lit up and he decided not to tell Craig off. “Yes, yes, you’re right, but that wasn’t the only thing that made the difference. Body heat alone wouldn’t account for it. The fissures in Bwye’s throat suggest that he was also in a warm external environment when the concrete there dried.”

Craig’s eyes widened. “It was poured down his throat while he was still in the house! Bwye was already dead when they put him in the van.”

“That’s what we think. Bwye was shot in the study to incapacitate him or maybe even to render him unconscious, and then finished off by having the concrete poured down his throat where he lay. Then he was put in the van already dead, covered in concrete to weigh him down and taken to the lake to be dumped.”

He turned back to the bodies excitedly and lifted the sheet from Diana Bwye’s face.

“Mrs Bwye died instantly from her second gunshot wound, to the chest, then she was put in a plastic sack and weighed down with stones. So I thought, why not cover her with concrete as well?”