Someone You Know (16 page)

Lucy glanced up to the left. She could see the flickering blue of the Fire Service vehicle lights intensify as it seemed to bounce off the gable walls of the houses beyond.

A sharp pop, followed by a cheer, brought her attention back to the scene in front of her. A petrol bomb had broken across the windscreen of the first Land Rover, leaving it ablaze. The driver turned on his wipers, scattering the fluid in flaming drops, to right and left.

She heard a faint whistle, then the body of officers moving silently behind the vehicles suddenly split, scattering in all directions. A moment later, a firework exploded on the tarmac where they had stood, in a ball of magnesium white. Another cheer from the crowd.

At a signal, several of the support vehicles drove around the front one and cut sharply towards the assembled kids, forcing them backwards, herding them down towards the Old Strabane Road, away from Kay's house, effectively hemming the crowd of youngsters in.

‘Let's go,' Fleming said.

He and Lucy moved up quickly through the gap towards Kay's house. The Fire Service had already reached the street and was pumping water into the house. Another crowd had gathered here; spectators this time, watching with macabre fascination as, one by one, the windows at the front of Kay's house exploded with the pressure of heat ballooning from within. Some, though, were clearly neighbours driven from their own homes due to their proximity to the fire.

On the front of the house, sprayed in paint, blood red in the blue wash of light thrown off the fire tenders, were the words ‘Paedos out!'

Kay's black dog, its fur soaked by the overspill from the flumes of water splashing against the window frames as the fire crew aimed their hoses, whimpered as it gingerly approached the front door of the house, then hastily withdrew before trying to approach again.

‘The poor wee dog,' Lucy heard someone near her say as she passed. ‘Someone should lift it.'

I
t was almost eight thirty before the blaze had been controlled to the point that the first fire crew struggled in through the remnants of the front door, the charred remains hanging off the still bright brass hinges.

The crowd had thickened now, including younger children stopping on their way to school gawping at the scene, necks craned to see past their parents who stood, in groups, commenting on the events, some in condemnation, many in quiet agreement with what had happened. Only the man who owned the house next to Kay's was receiving any sympathy from those around him.

After the first of the fire crew re-emerged from the remnants of Kay's house Lucy and Fleming moved across to where the men spoke with their District Commander, a man who Lucy had met once before outside the charred remains of Mary Quigg's home. If the man recognized her, he didn't show it. She, on the other hand, would never forget him.

‘Well?' Fleming asked.

The man shook his head. ‘One dead inside,' he said. ‘Looks like a male.'

‘That would be right,' Lucy said. ‘Any sign of how it started?'

The man nodded towards the front of the house. ‘Judging by the damage done to the door, it started there. I'd hazard we'll find it was petrol through the letterbox. The fire seems to have been most intense at the front of the house. We'll need to do a proper investigation once the whole place is clear, obviously, so this is just an educated guess.'

‘But definitely started deliberately?' Fleming asked again.

The Commander nodded. ‘Looks like you can add another murder case to your workload.' He pointed to the writing on the wall before adding, ‘You'll not have far to look for motive, though, judging by the graffiti.'

A
s she was making her way back to her car, Lucy noticed a heavy-bodied man, his hair thick and white, standing speaking with two of the officers on duty at the cordon, which had been set up near the junction to keep the rioters contained. He moved away as she approached.

‘Concerned resident?' Lucy asked one of the officers.

‘Community leader,' he replied. ‘That's Jackie Logue.'

Lucy shrugged. She'd heard the name recently, but couldn't place it.

‘He runs the community up here. He's been talking to the kids since we pushed them back. Most of the wee shits have buggered off home thanks to him.'

‘Ah,' Lucy said, remembering now that he was the one with whom Fleming had spoken about Sarah Finn in the youth club.

‘Oh, Jackie's a legend up here. Voice of moderation. He's the reason why we can usually come in and out of here without what happened this morning happening.'

‘So what was different this time?'

The uniform shrugged as he stepped away to speak to the driver of a car that had approached the tape, clearly hoping to be allowed access.

A
fter nine, Lucy and Fleming returned to Sarah Finn's house. The mood in the house seemed to have changed from the previous day. Sinead Finn sat at the edge of the seat now, her knee jiggling up and down, one hand clutching her dressing gown shut, the other holding her cigarette.

‘Was that pervert involved? The one they burned out down the road?' she asked, after Fleming had updated her on the previous day's events.

Fleming glanced at Lucy before answering. ‘We don't believe so, Mrs Finn. No.'

‘Well, where is she?' she asked, her hand extended, palm up, the cigarette clenched between her fingers. ‘What are you doing to find her?'

‘We believe she may be with your partner, Mr Doherty,' Lucy said. ‘We've followed up with his work and they tell us that he isn't in Manchester.'

‘What do you mean? Where is he then?'

‘We hoped you might be able to help us,' Fleming said. ‘Have you had any luck contacting him?'

The woman shook her head. ‘I'd have said if I had, wouldn't I?'

‘I noticed yesterday, when I was looking for Sarah, that Mr Doherty doesn't keep many clothes here,' Lucy began. ‘Does he have somewhere else he stays when he's not here with you?'

‘He's at work when he's not here with me.'

‘Not according to his employer. Can you give us the dates of his most recent trips?'

‘Did he take my Sarah?' she asked, one eye weeping against the smoke that twisted in the air off her cigarette.

Lucy sat, while Fleming moved across to the window again, glancing out. Lucy suspected he was a little on edge following the riot; two officers split from the rest of their team were easy targets.

‘We know Sarah went to the post office and withdrew £200. We know she lied to both you and her friends about where she was going the previous night. Both of those things would suggest that she was planning on going somewhere. Then your partner ups and leaves in the middle of the night, saying he's going to Manchester, but we know he's not. The lack of his possessions here suggests he has somewhere else where he stays. Either he has taken her, or else his leaving is purely coincidental.'

‘Experience suggests that generally these things aren't coincidence,' Fleming commented. ‘You must have some idea where else Mr Doherty might be. Where is he from? We have no records for him.'

‘He grew up in Donegal, I think,' Finn said. ‘I think he said he had a house in Foyle Springs, but I'm nearly sure he sold it.'

‘Do you know his date of birth, Mrs Finn? We have over four hundred Seamus Dohertys on the system.'

Finn angled her head in thought, then finally shook it. ‘He never told me.'

‘Even his age,' Fleming said. ‘That would be a start.'

Finn shrugged. ‘In his forties, maybe.'

A
s they left Finn's house, Lucy phoned through to H. M. Haulage again. The secretary who answered told her that she couldn't speak to Mr Martin as he had meetings all morning.

‘This is part of a child abduction investigation,' Lucy explained.

‘Mr Martin was very clear that he wasn't to be disturbed,' the girl explained, stuttering slightly. Lucy guessed she was young, afraid to annoy the boss, not confident enough to use her common sense.

‘I spoke with Mr Martin yesterday about one of your employees, Seamus Doherty. We're having trouble locating an address for Mr Doherty and we really need to find him. Would you have an address for him?'

‘I really think you need to speak to Mr Martin,' the girl said. ‘I'm not sure I can give that information out. How do I know you're a police officer?'

‘You can call my station if you want,' Lucy offered. ‘Look, tell you what, how about you give me his driving licence number? If I'm not police, there's nothing much I can do with that, is there?'

‘Wait a moment,' the girl said, and ‘Greensleeves' clicked into action. After a dozen renditions, the girl's voice cracked on the line.

‘There's no one else here,' she explained. ‘I'm not sure if ...'

‘Look, it's fine,' Lucy said. ‘All I need is the number.'

She glanced at Fleming who rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

‘We have GB5786345 on record if that's any good.'

‘That's perfect,' Lucy said, repeating it while Fleming copied it down. ‘Thank you.'

Within minutes, they had called the number through to the station and been contacted to be told that Doherty's last recorded address was in Norburgh Park. They were also told that he had a record for assault following a bar brawl in Belfast in the late eighties. Beyond that, and a few speeding tickets in the mid-nineties, Doherty had stayed off the system.

T
hey pulled up outside the house twenty minutes later. Initially, they believed the place to be empty. Lucy banged on the door several times while Fleming skirted the perimeter of the house.

‘All the ground floor curtains are drawn,' he observed as he joined her at the front step.

‘One window up the stairs is the same,' Lucy said, nodding up.

‘So someone's probably home.'

Lucy nodded. ‘I've knocked a few times.'

‘Maybe he can't hear very well,' Fleming commented, hammering his fist against the door three times, so sharply it rattled in the frame.

‘I think the people in the next street overheard that,' she said.

‘And success,' Fleming added, nodding to where a figure could be seen moving down the hallway towards the door.

They heard the click of the dead bolt being drawn back, then the door opened slightly. The man who peered out through the opening allowed by the security chain between door and frame had black hair. He pulled a blanket around his shoulders as he hunched over, clasping the gathered corners at his throat.

‘Yes?' he asked, nasally, before sniffing audibly.

‘Mr Doherty?'

‘Yes?'

‘Seamus Doherty?'

The man shook his head. ‘No. Ian,' he said, straightening slightly. ‘What's wrong?'

‘You're not Seamus Doherty,' Lucy stated, though the young man misread the tone and responded.

‘No, I'm not. Why?'

‘We're sorry to have bothered you,' Fleming said. ‘We're looking for Seamus Doherty. We were given this address as his last known residence.'

‘You've the wrong Doherty,' the man said, standing taller now, his voice noticeably clearer.

‘Do you know the other Mr Doherty?' Lucy asked.

‘I bought the house last year,' he replied. ‘I know the last owner was called Doherty. There's some of his post lying in here. I gathered it up in case he ever called to collect it, but he never did. Junk mostly, I imagine.'

‘Can we see it?'

The man glanced backwards, hesitating, then finally closed the door, undid the security chain and allowed them in.

As Lucy followed him down the hallway towards the kitchen, she caught a glimpse of a second figure, female, turning quickly from the top of the stairs. She too had been wrapped in a blanket.

‘Your cold's improved,' Fleming commented, glancing around the kitchen as the man padded across to a black unit in the corner and began flicking through the piles of paper shoved into it.

‘I've thrown a sickie to be honest,' the man said. ‘I thought you were someone from my work.'

The creaking from the room upstairs as the man's partner climbed back into bed made it fairly obvious why he'd thrown a sickie. He blushed slightly as he handed them a pile of white and brown envelopes.

As he did so, Fleming's phone rang. He glanced at the screen and, excusing himself, moved into the hall. Lucy heard him begin the conversation with ‘Yes, ma'am.'

‘Can you remember who sold you the house?' Lucy asked as she glanced at the envelopes. The name on the address labels was Mr S. Doherty. ‘Was it an estate agent?'

‘It might have been,' he commented at last. ‘O'Day, or something like that.'

‘If you could try to remember, maybe you'd give me a ring,' Lucy added, handing the man her card with the PPU number on it.

Fleming reappeared in the doorway. ‘We're wanted back in the station, DS Black,' he said. ‘Thanks for your help, Mr Doherty.'

‘Bad news?' Lucy asked, as they made their way back to the car.

‘When your mother phones it's always bad news. They've been in Kay's house. They found his collection.'

T
he CID team was gathered in the incident room in the Strand Road when Lucy and Fleming arrived. A black bin bag lay on the table, on top of which sat a large metal security file box with a lock to the front. It had already been opened and some of the contents removed.

The vast bulk of the images already arranged on the table were Category 9 or 10. The young people pictured in the ones Lucy saw as she glanced across the collection were girls, all teenagers. They were engaged in a variety of activities, the men in all cases unidentifiable due to the angles at which the images had been taken.