Death to Pay (22 page)

‘Well enough, Sammy, you know the score,’ he winced when he tried to smile. ‘I’m glad to see you. The idiots you sent to pick me only know how to talk with their fists.’

Rice pulled over a chair and sat down. ‘We’re all a bit upset about Ivan.’

‘Understandable.’

‘I had to identify the body, Davie. Someone planted two rounds in his chest.’ He made his right index finger and thumb into the shape of a gun and pointed at Best. ‘Bang, bang. No way out, dead as a doornail. The questions are why and who?’

‘I can’t say that liked Ivan,’ Best said. ‘We weren’t exactly best mates. During the ‘Troubles’, we organized a few things together. That being said, I would never have hurt him. So why me?’

‘Never say never, Davie boy. This week I lost my mother and my head boy. Some people tell me that it’s a coincidence. Maybe that’s so but maybe someone is tryin’ to give me a message. If that’s the case, I have to respond. That’s where you come in.’

Best looked directly into Rice’s eyes. Sammy had the reputation of being a crazy bastard, but he also was an astute businessman. He didn’t need trouble. ‘Meet with Jimmy,’ Best said. ‘He’ll tell you to your face that he had nothing to do with either your mother or Ivan. He’ll even help you find the bastard who did both of them.’

Rice stared into Best’s eyes. He fancied himself as someone who could tell when a person was lying, and so far he could see no lie in Best’s demeanour.  Best was as cool and as a cucumber. ‘You remember that scene in the Godfather when they have the meeting in the restaurant, and the gun gets hidden in the toilet. I don’t think that Jimmy and me should meet right now.’

‘We were all in this together at one time,’ Best said.

‘But we also slaughtered each other from time to time.’

‘They were the hotheads, the psychopaths. You and Jimmy are about makin’ money. Think about it. There’s no real reason why Jimmy would want Ivan out of the way.’

‘Maybe he wanted Ivan to change sides and when he wouldn’t, bang, bang.’

‘It doesn’t gel. Up to now, no harm has been done. You top me, and you’ll start a war.’

‘I top you and I sink you in a bog hole, and no one can prove anything. Then Jimmy starts a war, and the Peelers rip his arse out. How does that sound to you? ‘Rice stood up and moved to the back of the warehouse where four of his men were standing. ‘Food and water for now. Did he have a mobile?’

One of the men took a smartphone from his pocket and handed it to Rice.

‘And no more rough stuff. If we have to top him, we will. ’

The Forensic Service of Northern Ireland is not a branch of the PSNI. It is an independent organization that works for the Police Service but also for clients, such as defence solicitors, who require forensic work to be carried out.  The laboratory buildings are located on the Belfast Road just south of the town of Carrickfergus. Wilson took the M5 out of Belfast and drove alongside the Irish Sea. It was a pleasant journey with the slate grey waters of the sea on one side and the abundant foliage on the other. It was still possible to find countryside just a few miles from Belfast city. In twenty-five minutes, Wilson pulled into the short lane leading to the FSNI Lab. The double gates were festooned with signs – ALL VISITORS MUST SIGN IN – ALL VISITORS MUST REPORT TO THE MAIN OFFICE – RESTRICTED ACCESS. They were only short of putting up a sign for abandon hope all who enter here. Wilson flashed his warrant card and was admitted by a security guard who motioned him in the direction of the Main Office. Even a detective superintendent from the PSNI was required to sign in. Wilson was told to leave his car where it was. The receptionist phoned George Tunney, who said he would pick him up within five minutes.

Five minutes later a short rotund man wearing a white lab coat entered the Main Office and made straight for Wilson. ‘Superintendent Wilson I presume,’ Tunney’s eyes sparkled behind his thick spectacles.

‘George,’ Wilson said taking his outstretched hand. ‘You can call me Ian.’ Tunney gave him a Masonic handshake that Wilson didn’t return.

‘Please follow me,’ Tunney led him out of the Office and towards a series of large barn-like buildings and the rear of the complex. ‘Like I said on the phone,’

Tunney legs were short and Wilson had to adjust his pace downward to stay beside the scientist.

‘The pathologist, Professor Reid, asked us to perform a series of tests. They were quite simple tests really but I thought I should show you the results. It’s always better to see with one’s own eyes rather than read some report or other. Don’t you think?’

It was one of those subjects upon which Wilson didn’t have an opinion, so he didn’t bother giving one.

Tunney pushed open a door of one of the large buildings and led Wilson into a small lab at the rear. ‘I’ve done a simulation of the Lizzie Rice murder,’ Tunney began as they entered the lab. ‘From the photographs taken at the autopsy, I have created a three-dimensional representation of Elisabeth Rice’s head. He tapped on a computer keyboard, and Lizzie Rice’s head appeared on the screen. It was lifelike enough, and the injuries were very clearly represented. ‘Then I’ve used the additional photos to create a three-dimensional representation of her body.’ Some more tapping on the computer and Lizzie Rice stood on the screen. ‘The pathologist had identified a hammer as the murder weapon and from the indentations in the skull, I have definitely established that it was indeed a ball hammer.’ More tapping and a ball hammer appeared in the corner of the screen. ‘Now we try to fit the ball hammer to the injuries.’ The ball hammer moved and lined up with one of the indentations on Lizzie’s head. ‘Now, let’s assume that a hand is holding the hammer.’ More tapping and a hand and arm appeared holding the hammer. ‘Now, let’s add a body.’ A few keys were tapped, and a body gradually grew out of the arm. ‘You see where we’re going,’ Tunney turned and looked at Wilson who was staring at the screen.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Wilson asked.

‘It isn’t rocket science. It was quite a simple exercise.’

‘What height would you say the assailant was?’

Tunney tapped a few more keys, and the answer appeared on the screen.

‘Five foot two to five foot four,’ Wilson read off the screen. ‘So it was either a woman or a very short man.’

‘I did some calculations of the force exerted on the head by the ball hammer and extrapolated that data to give an idea of the strength of the person wielding the hammer. The calculations are a bit rough and ready, but my conclusion is that the person who murdered Lizzie Rice was certainly a woman.’ Tunney let out a chortling laugh. ‘Either, that or a fairly weak man.’

‘Can you run this stuff off for me? I need a series of screen shots. Yesterday.’

‘They’ll be on your computer before you get back.’

‘I might have a job for you on another case.’

‘We’re here to serve. Where should we send the bill?’

‘Send it to PSNI usual address.’

‘I did this without a work order,’ Tunney said. ‘Next time make it official.’

‘You’ve met Professor Reid, I assume?’

‘Ah, yes,’ Tunney reddened.

CHAPTER 46

A woman, Wilson hadn’t thought of that possibility, and he could have kicked himself. He remembered Reid saying something about it but he couldn’t remember why he had excluded the possibility? Probably because women didn’t kill with a high degree of violence. Bashing in a victim’s head with a ball hammer was not a typical modus operandi for a woman. Wilson pulled in and stopped his car as soon as he got outside the gate of the FSNI complex. He took out his mobile phone and called Moira McElvaney. ‘Where are you?’ he asked when she replied.

‘On the way back to the office. The autopsy finished about fifteen minutes ago. Reid retrieved two bullets, both nine millimetre Parabellums. They’re a bit messed up, but I’ll get them over to forensic to see whether we have something on record. The injuries are classic. The first shot damaged the lung and chest wall causing a haemopneumothorax,’ she stumbled over the pronunciation. ‘He might have survived with immediate medical attention, but the second hit the heart and that was curtains for McIlroy.

‘If forensics find that the gun was used before we’ll at least have a lead.’

‘Is there anything else?’ she asked.

‘No I was hoping to catch you are the Mortuary. I’ll just have to call Reid.’

‘Careful,’ Moira said and closed the line.

Wilson sat back in the car and looked at his mobile. He scrolled through his contacts and chose Stephanie Reid. He pressed the green button and waited.

‘Reid,’ the voice was terse and agitated.

‘It’s Ian Wilson.’

‘It’s old scaredy-cat,’ she laughed. ‘Afraid to come to the autopsy, were we? Sent along our female Rottweiler instead. ‘

‘I had other business. That was a smart move of yours to ask FNSI to look at the height of the assailant. I’ve already kicked myself in the pants for missing that one.’

‘Modesty becomes you.’

‘It made me think about the McIlroy shooting. Have you looked at the angle of entry and exit of the bullets?’

‘I’ve marked it on a chart of the body.’

‘Anything unusual or should I make a request to FNSI?’

‘I didn’t note anything in particular. But if you are as thorough as your reputation, you’ll get FNSI to rig something up. They have all sorts of rubber dummies. It’s no big deal.’

‘Thanks for the advice. I’ll get on it. Scan the autopsy report and get it over to me.’

‘Already requested by Miss Rottweiler. I suppose it is Miss, since I reckon I’m not alone in having designs on your body.’

‘She’s very efficient. I’ve got to go.’

‘We make a good team, Ian. See you soon.’

Wilson didn’t know whether he should smile or frown so he did neither. Stephanie Reid was definitely becoming a distraction, and he didn’t need a distraction. He started the car and headed back to the Station.

‘I had to put him in there,’ the Desk Sergeant pointed at the ‘soft’ interview room as Wilson entered the station. ‘An agitated Jimmy McGreary in the entrance hall is not something the average citizen necessarily wants to see.’

‘Send me in a cup of coffee,’ Wilson said as he made his way to the interview room.

Jimmy McGreary immediately terminated the mobile phone call he was making when Wilson entered the room. There was no point in telling him that the room was wired for sound and vision. Wilson would check the tape later.

‘Mr McGreary, what can I do for you?’ Wilson said as he sat down.

‘One of my boys has been lifted,’ McGreary said. ‘That wee bastard Rice thinks that I had something to do with McIlroy bein’ shot. Davie Best was lifted on his way home last night, and he hasn’t been seen since. If I don’t get Davie back in one piece,’ he let the sentence trail off.

‘The normal time period for reporting a missing person is twenty-four hours. At what time was Best last seen?’ Wilson asked.

One of the constables from the front desk entered and deposited a plastic cup containing a dark hot liquid vaguely resembling coffee in front of Wilson. He took one look at the contents and decided to forgo the pleasure.

‘As far as we can tell sometime around eleven o’clock last night.’

‘So technically he’s not a missing person until eleven o’clock to-night.’

McGreary leaned forward. ‘I’m not waiting for twenty-four hours. If we don’t do something now, he won’t just be missing at eleven o’clock tonight. He’ll be dead.’

‘And he wouldn’t just have wandered off? Maybe he met a friend on the way home, and they’re spending some time together.’

‘Aye, Davie a good lad, who always stays in touch. The smart money says that he’s been lifted.’

‘Have you spoken to Sammy Rice?’ Wilson asked.

‘Sammy’s gone to ground. He’s not answering his mobile, at least not the mobile number I have for him. I’ve put feelers out but so far nothing. It’s up to you now, Mr Wilson. You get to Sammy and tell him to let Davie go.’

‘So you have absolutely nothing to do with McIlroy’s death?’

‘Believe me or not. I have no interest in starting a turf war. I’ve seen what happened in this city when two groups go at each other. It just means wailing women and funerals. That kind of shite was for the mad dogs.’

‘McIlroy was autopsied this morning, and the pathologist pulled two nine millimetre Parabellums out of his chest. Those bullets were fired from the weapon of choice of the paramilitaries.’

‘I swear on my mother’s grave that I had nothing to do with Ivan’s death. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but that was just business. I’ll have a drink at his wake like everyone else.’

‘Then where should I look?’

McGreary sat back and thought. ‘I’m stumped,’ he said finally. ‘McIlroy was an experienced operator. He wasn’t the kind of guy who’d walk into a trap. My guess is that he knew the fellah who shot him, and he trusted him. Otherwise, he would never have been alone with him in that school.’

‘So we’re looking for someone McIlroy knew well and who he trusted. Why should someone like that want him dead?’

‘You’re the detective. Maybe it was Sammy who organized the hit. It’s no secret that Sammy’s been spendin’ more time in Spain than in Belfast. Maybe Ivan thought it was time he took over the reins. But this isn’t getting us any nearer to saving Davie’s skin.’

‘Sammy’s no fool. He knows if he harms Best, he’s declaring war, and I’m supposing that he doesn’t want a fight either. I’ll try to get to him and get your man back. I don’t suppose that there’ll be any recriminations.’

‘I understand where Sammy’s coming from. If Davie was found shot in some deserted spot, I might be reacting like Sammy. He wants to know what’s going down, and he thinks that Davie might have some of the answers. The problem is that he doesn’t.’

‘OK,’ Wilson said. ‘I’m on it.’

McGreary pushed himself out of the chair. ‘I’ll keep trying to get to Sammy.’

Let’s hope that we get to him before Davie Best is added to the list of corpses, Wilson thought.

CHAPTER 47