The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series) (9 page)

“Does it get busy here at night?”

The young man dragged his eyes from Annette’s limbs to look at him, and Craig noticed that one of his eyes was brown and the other blue: heterochromia, just an interesting anomaly, but it added to the bar’s almost surreal air. Late evening in a country hotel bar; it was the perfect setting for a mystery. After a long pause the man answered in a flat, tired tone.

“Nah.”

Craig marvelled at what three letters could do in the wrong hands and continued.

“Then you won’t get many more customers tonight?”

On a Monday evening in December, they were hardly expecting a marching band. The man continued rubbing the glass like it was Aladdin’s lamp and at any moment he expected a genie to appear.

“Nah.”

His intonation was deeper this time, implying a stronger negative.

“Could I see your manager for a moment, please?”

The man’s eyes widened for a second then the glimmer of curiosity behind them that said he was still alive, flickered out as quickly as it had come. He set down the glass and nodded, not bothering to waste a syllable this time, then he turned on his heel and walked through a door that Craig hadn’t noticed before. He returned a moment later with an older man, whose excited smile and gesticulation made the pair seem like night and day.

“Can I help you?”

Craig drew the manager to one side.

“We’re here on a police case and I’d like to hire a room for our briefing.”

They could have travelled the few miles to Derry Station, but everyone was tired and a lino floored room with neon lights was no substitute for a warm carpeted one with beer. Besides, they’d all had a drink, so he wasn’t letting anyone drive.

The enthusiastic man’s eyes ran over Craig’s face and then flicked quickly across his team’s. He frowned for a moment, staring up at the ceiling as if visualising every room in the small hotel. Finally he sighed. The sound held decades of frustration. It said ‘we don’t have briefing rooms because we’re not that sort of hotel. A hotel that hosts conferences in rooms filled with bottled water, spare pens and file pads headed with our name. A hotel that carries a crest so recognisable that its name springs to people’s minds as the place to be’.

Craig knew the sigh held even more than that; it was the sound of thwarted ambition and a failed career. He pictured the man at twenty, dynamic and hoping to run a large chain; preferably one with a capital ‘H’ or ‘R’ in its name. The manager’s next words were said with an embarrassment that bordered on shame.

“We don’t have briefing rooms. I’m sorry.”

They could have retired to a bedroom but that seemed too informal even for him, so Craig thought laterally.

“Then could we hire the bar for the rest of the evening? It would mean closing it to everyone else.”

The man’s eager look reappeared as if he’d spied an innovation, a money spinner that he could boast to his wife about. He nodded sharply.

“Certainly. Will you need George?”

George had returned to rubbing his glass.

“No thank you. If he could leave out a few bottles of beer and wine, and show me where the coffee percolator is, that would be fine.”

They agreed a price and shook hands, then George did as he was bid and left, gleefully locking the door and setting a ‘do not disturb’ sign outside, before he disappeared into the night to do whatever turned him on. Not much if the previous twenty minutes were any indication.

Craig returned to the group to a ripple of applause and Liam brought over the drinks as he readied to start.

“OK, I’m going to begin then we’ll go around. First, logistics. We’ve got additional uniforms on the search and the perimeter is now two miles. The C.S.I.s have been back to the house to go over the main room and the study.” He turned to Andy. “Is that almost finished?”

Andy nodded and gulped down a mouthful of beer. “They gutted the study last night and wrapped up the main room an hour ago.”

“Good. OK, all we can do now is wait for the forensics to come back.”

Annette rose to put on some coffee, talking as she went. “Mike says they’ve had to ask Des for help; their lab is busy on another case. The C.S.I.s are sending some of the samples from the Bwyes’ down to Belfast tonight.”

Craig nodded. “That will speed things up.” He nodded that he’d like coffee as well. “Was there a safe in the study?”

Andy nodded. “Under the floor. Nothing there except passports and some jewellery.”

“Fine. We saw Bernadette Ross again today. She seemed genuine enough but I want her to take another look at the house tomorrow, to see if she can spot anything out of place in the main room. Annette’s arranging that. Ross is definitely holding back information on the family dynamics. We know that Oliver Bwye ruled that house with a rod of iron and we think his wife and daughter were frightened of him. Ross admitted that Bwye had been violent to them in the past; hospital and possibly police reports should tell us about that.”

Liam cut in. “Already on it.”

“Good. Ross worked for Bwye when he was at The Chronicle and he poached her two years ago when he retired. Not that he has apparently; he’s still on two Boards and handling all his own stocks and shares.”

Craig could feel someone’s eyes boring through him so he turned in his seat; Davy was staring at him intently. Craig knew he was searching his body language for some hint of what his discussion with Sean Flanagan had produced, so he glanced at the clock so briefly that only Davy saw. The message was clear; we’ll talk later. He covered the exchange with a request.

“Davy, I want you to find out anything that you can on Bwye’s companies, Board duties and stock portfolio.”

Davy nodded. “I had a call about Jane Bwye’s car around s…six o’clock. They’ve found it.”

Craig leaned forward eagerly. “Where?”

“Burnt out just off the Fincairn Road.”

Craig leapt to his feet and Davy knew he was going to search for a map. He waved him back down and produced his smart-pad, tapping one up on the screen. The group crowded round as he displayed the long road. It ran from Drumahoe to Kilnappy and had two turn-offs near where the car had been dumped. They led variously to scrubland and open countryside and up towards the A2. Craig sighed; the arsonist could have gone in any direction.

Davy closed down the screen. “Forensics are out there now; maybe they’ll find s…something.”

Liam shook his head. “Fire is a forensic countermeasure. We’ll be lucky if they even find the number plate.”

Davy gave a small smile. “They did, in a field half a mile away.”

Craig knew that his smile was for the science behind the explosion, but it irritated him all the same; they’d lost evidence because of those flames. Liam saw Craig’s temper building and stepped in before it turned into words. It did that far too quickly these days.

“Why take the car at all?”

Craig frowned. “Why not? It’s transport. Bernadette Ross saw Jane driving it towards the house on Wednesday evening so it’s odds on that the kidnappers saw it as well.”

“Exactly. They saw a small two-seater. If you’re a kidnapper dragging three injured people from their house, you’re going to use something large and enclosed, in case someone looks inside. You’re not going to ferry them using a sports car.”

Craig’s eyes widened. Liam was right and he’d missed it. So why take Jane’s car at all? Annette chipped in.

“Maybe they thought it was too valuable not to nick?”

“Then why burn it out?”

“Then…maybe one of them forced Jane to drive it?”

Liam was undeterred. “Why not just put her in the van with her folks?”

Craig interrupted. “That would mean there were at least two assailants.”

Andy screwed up his face, confused, then he nodded as he saw what Craig meant. “Ah, I see. One to drive the van and one to drive the car, hey.”

Craig nodded. “If they split up that means they were sure they had the Bwyes under control in the van.” He thought for a moment then nodded Davy to take notes on his pad.

“OK. Bernadette Ross said that she saw Diana and Jane Bwye on Wednesday evening when she left at six-thirty. Oliver Bwye was still up at the golf-club. We know from Liam’s conversation with John Ellis that Bwye got fighting drunk and returned home from the club in a cab.” He glanced at Liam. “What time was that?”

“Nine-twenty. I checked with the taxi firm. It’s a twenty-five minute ride.”

“OK, good. So we know that Oliver Bwye arrived home sometime around nine-forty-five on Wednesday night, drunk and fired up after his fracas at the golf-club. How fired up is the question?”

“You mean was he fired up enough to kill his wife and child?”

Craig shrugged. Family annihilation was still a possibility but not one by which he set great store.

“I doubt it but we have to look at the likelihood. So Bwye comes in drunk, there’s an argument with Diana and Jane and he assaults them both. Then he mocks up the scene to look like all three have been assaulted and disappears with the two women.” He glanced at the row of faces. “Comments or suggestions anyone?”

Davy was the first to reply. “I w…was going to tell you, chief. Bwye has alcohol stashed all over his s…study.”

Craig nodded him on.

“You remember the bookshelves? Well, every shelf has at least one book that’s a fake, holding a half bottle of whisky. I found nine of them dotted around and there are probably more.”

Liam let out a whistle and held up his beer. “Whisky beats beer any day.”

Annette leaned in eagerly, adding fuel to the fire. “Ross hinted that Bwye gets up to more than business in that room. She said ‘things’ when we interviewed her.”

Andy’s eyes widened. “Women?”

Liam guffawed. “Don’t sound so shocked, man. It has been known.”

Annette nodded. “We need to dig further. What if there’s a mistress and Bwye wanted to leave his wife but not give her any money? He could have killed Diana and Jane, faked their deaths, got rid of their bodies and then run off with the mistress. Bwye was the only one with a key to both the gun cabinet and the back door, and if the mistress helped then that could explain Jane’s car being driven away and destroyed.”

Liam gawped. “So he set up all these false trails to throw us off?”

Annette nodded sagely. “Bwye’s a clever man. It wouldn’t be beyond him.”

Andy jumped in. “They could be in the south of France by now!”

Craig had let them run with the theory to hear what emerged. Now he raised a hand, before it turned into the plot of a Bond movie.

“Let’s not get carried away. Annette’s raised some valid points. Bwye was an angry, violent drunk, and I’m positive we’ll find evidence of domestic abuse, but it’s a way from there to killing his wife and child. We need to find out if there was a mistress and if Bwye had told anyone he wanted out of the marriage; see where the forensics on the house and car lead and check the background on his business dealings and phone dumps. Bernadette Ross mentioned a secret boyfriend of Jane’s that Diana was worried about Bwye disapproving of; who is he? We need the interviews with the other staff members to put together a better picture of that night and we still have the searches and the possibility of a ransom call, so let’s not discount all of that.”

Annette was still reluctant to give up her theory of Bwye as a guilty man. Her own experience of domestic violence had resulted in a fractured hand and her husband Pete being held for trial. She had zero tolerance with violent men nowadays.

“But you’re not ruling out Bwye, sir.”

Craig shook his head gently, knowing what was fuelling her determination. “I’m not ruling him out or in yet, Annette. Your theory could prove to be true, but so could the daughter’s partner being responsible for this. And before you ask why, I don’t know yet. Maybe money. Equally this could have been a home invasion by complete strangers who wanted money and we could still get a ransom call, or maybe it’s a revenge attack by someone that The Chronicle hacked off. The fact is we don’t have enough evidence to rule on anything yet.”

Andy raised a finger to interject. Craig smiled at his politeness; everyone else just barged right in.

“Go ahead, Andy.”

“About The Chronicle. You know that Judge Standish gave us the warrant for the phone lines, hey.”

Liam grinned. “God bless him.”

Craig nodded. “Yes, I heard. Well done.”

Andy furrowed his brow. “Aye well, don’t get too excited. I’ve had a call from a mate at Laganside Courts. The Chronicle’s already filed an appeal.”

Craig sighed. Another court appearance that he didn’t need. “It was inevitable. When, and who’s appearing?”

“Someone called Ray Mercer’s going to court. Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

Craig sighed again; it was drowned out by Liam’s louder one.

“Is Mercer’s the only name on it?”

Andy shook his head. “Cameron Lawton; the editor-in-chief. You need to know that he and Standish have history. I thought the Judge looked very pleased as he signed the warrant so I decided to dig; he and Lawton went to school together.”