The Careless Word (#8 - The Craig Crime Series) (12 page)

Chapter Eleven

10 a.m.

By the time Craig reached the hospital Jennifer Weston was on the train back to Dublin, preparing to gather her uniform and belongings for her return flight to Pakistan. She gazed through the train’s pollen-smeared window and sobbed as she thought of the man she’d just killed.

Fintan had been different from the other men she knew; kind and uncynical, only ever wanting to help. It had led to his death. She wished that she’d never met him, just let him walk by in the student’s union that day. But something about his soft eyes and shy smile had made her stare, a stare that he’d felt and returned. What had she seen; gullibility or someone she could love? Probably both, but whatever it had been from that moment his fate had been sealed.

They’d been inseparable, just two young people in love, doing the usual romantic things. Long walks and cool swims, first in Belfast and then under a warm Pakistan sun. They’d made love tentatively at first, her sensing that it was his first time; until the pupil had become the teacher and he’d aroused her in ways that she’d never known before.

Jennifer sobbed before she could stop herself and glanced quickly around the carriage to see who might have overheard, but there was only a young couple there, both deaf to the world. Their heads were nodding in sleep and their bodies were intertwined, as if they were travelling home from some romantic night. The sight of them made her sob harder; she’d loved Fintan like that, really loved him. Oh God, what had she done?

How many times had she wished that she was just an ordinary girl, as Fintan had first thought she was? Young, free and doing good works. But she wasn’t and the works she planned on doing were a different world’s version of good.

To the others, Fintan had just been another asset that they could use, so they did. When he’d survived the explosion her orders had been clear; go to Belfast, finish the job and keep the movement safe. The movement. She wanted to spit the word on the floor but it was too deeply ingrained; seared on her heart since she’d been an undergraduate. She’d had to choose; her personal feelings or the greater good. Jennifer cast a final look at the young lovers and then sighed and turned her eyes towards the countryside. The greater good; it would win every time.

***

St Mary’s. 10 a.m.

Craig raced down the bright, white corridor, forcing his way through the crowd of nurses and police. As he pushed open the door of the side-room the sight that greeted him was even worse than he had feared. A dark-haired woman lay prostrate across the bed, crying racking tears. A stern-faced man, ashen but upright stood beside her, gazing down at the body of his dead son. Fintan Delaney lay unseeing amidst his parents’ grief, oblivious to the world that he’d just left.

Craig halted at the door, torn between his pity for the couple and his desire to shout “get out”; every forensic trace of Delaney’s killer would have gone by the time the C.S.I.s got there. Because if there was one thing that Craig was sure of, it was that this was no normal hospital death; Fintan Delaney had been murdered.

Craig backed out of the room quietly and spoke to the nearest officer; a middle-aged sergeant who he recognised. He was an affable Cork man called Joe Rice who punctuated his sentences with the word ‘so’, in the character of his home county. He and Craig always got on well but today there was no preamble and Craig’s tone was very far from warm.

“Why wasn’t this room sealed off, Joe?”

Rice stared at Craig, bewildered, as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “It’s a hospital death, sir. Why would we have done that, so?”

Craig’s jaw dropped in astonishment at the man’s stupidity and then he realised that he was the stupid one. As far as St Mary’s knew they were guarding Fintan Delaney because he might be a criminal or a witness. No-one, including him, had thought of Delaney as a potential victim who could be targeted.

“Do it now, please.”

As Rice cleared the side-room Craig’s mind raced with possibilities. Had Delaney been the real target of the bomb all along? Should he have foreseen that whoever had planted it would have come back to kill Delaney, or any survivor? Was there something that he’d missed? No, they had no reason to believe that Fintan Delaney had been the main target, everything pointed to it being something to do with Jules Robinson or his shop. Delaney’s record was clean; if anything he was a model citizen and it was too early to have disproved that. Craig berated himself for a minute about things that he couldn’t possibly have predicted, then he berated himself for not posting more guards outside Delaney’s room.

Suddenly something occurred to him. Where had the guard been when Delaney had been killed? He looked sharply at Joe Rice. “Who was posted here last night?”

Rice indicated a brown-haired young man three feet away. He was wearing a look of surprise. Craig beckoned him over, dialling his temper down a notch.

“What’s your name, Constable?”

The P.C. stumbled over his words. “Con…Constable McCormick, sir.”

His nervousness softened Craig’s heart slightly, but not enough; he had a dead witness and a dead end in his case. Craig’s voice was cold. “Where were you last night?”

McCormick’s eyes widened. “H…Here, sir.”

He pointed hastily at a chair outside the side-room’s door.

“For how long?”

McCormick looked at Joe Rice pleadingly, seeking support. Craig repeated the question. “How long, Constable McCormick?”

“All night, sir. I came on at ten p.m. and never moved.”

“Did you fall asleep?”

McCormick was indignant and it made him forget his nerves. “No, I didn’t. You can ask anyone who passed by, or ask the nurses who were in and out of the room.” He folded his arms defiantly. “It was like a revolving door, there were so many of them in and out.”

Craig thought for a moment and then turned on his heel, barking “Stay there. We haven’t finished” at the young man. He strode to the nurse’s station and waited impatiently while a pleasant looking woman finished her telephone call, itching to cut her off.

“Can I help you?” The woman’s tone said that she wasn’t impressed at the chaos and her demeanour said that the ward was definitely hers.

“Sister?”

The woman nodded. “Sister McHenry.”

Craig extended his hand and she took it, surprised; relatives rarely shook her hand. Craig flicked open his warrant card.

“Superintendent Craig. I’d like to ask a few questions about the nursing care Mr Delaney received last night.”

The sister sighed, resigning herself to the chaos lasting another while. “What would you like to know?”

“How many times nurses were scheduled to enter his room.”

She reached for a small flipchart and ran her finger down a list of names. “Mr Delaney was on two-hourly observations because of his head injury. A nurse would have checked on him every two hours during the night. At one a.m., three and so on until nine this morning. That was when he was found dead.”

Craig’s heart sank; the P.C. had been telling the truth and he would have had no reason to prevent the nurses’ access to the room. Craig had a thought. His gaze shot towards the ceiling and then back to the nurse.

“Are there CCTV cameras on this floor, Sister?”

“Yes. I’ll show you.”

One minute later Craig knew the position of each camera on the floor and in the stairwell outside. He nodded his thanks then said the words that were guaranteed to make any ward-manager’s heart sink.

“I’m sorry, Sister, but this is a crime scene. I need the whole floor sealed off until further notice. A forensic team will be here soon.”

Craig ignored her widening eyes and made a series of calls, then he headed back to Delaney’s room. Jordan McCormick tensed as the senior officer approached but Craig’s apologetic smile said that he had nothing to be worried about.

“I owe you an apology, Constable McCormick. The sister has confirmed that Mr Delaney was on nurse observations throughout the night.” He paused to give the young man a chance to say something, good or bad, but McCormick’s shoulders merely slumped in relief.

“OK, I need your help. This is a crime scene. I’m going to talk to Mr and Mrs Delaney and in the next ten minutes the C.S.I.s will arrive to work up the room. We’ll need your help to I.D. the nurses who entered the room last night. Can you do that?”

McCormick nodded. “I checked every badge and they were OK, honestly. I remember what they all looked like.”

Craig’s eyes widened. Either one of the badges had been a fake or they were looking for a real nurse.

“OK. Good. In the meantime, clear the floor of anyone who isn’t police, seal off this corridor and impound last night’s CCTV tape from the ward. The sister’s been informed and she’s making arrangements to move the other patients elsewhere. Is everything clear?”

McCormick looked like he might faint. “He was murdered?”

Craig nodded. “I’m certain he was. The post-mortem will confirm it. Delaney was on the mend, there was no reason for him to suddenly deteriorate and it’s just too damn convenient.” He glanced towards the side-room door. “OK, let’s get to work. And Constable McCormick...”

“Yes, sir.”

“Apologies again. You did your job.”

***

Docklands. 11 a.m.

There weren’t many things in life that Liam Cullen admitted challenged him, after all, he’d dealt with bombs and bullets during the Troubles and long before that he’d shoed horses and birthed cows on his granny’s farm. That was enough challenge for fifty twelve-year-olds. No, he wasn’t easily fazed by life and he wasn’t easily deterred, but the five-feet-five, thirty-something woman standing in front of him could prove to be his nemesis yet.

Liam stared down at Carmen McGregor and then back at Aidan Hughes, wondering how he’d managed to get sold such a pup. Not that there was obviously wrong with McGregor, if anything she was a looker. Petite, with fine features and the brightest blue eyes that Liam had ever seen, topped by a heavy fall of copper hair that he sincerely hoped she would tie back on a job. Nope, if looks were the criteria then they’d struck gold for two weeks; it was when McGregor opened her mouth that the fireworks began. She’d been sniping since Liam had arrived and he had a headache worse than a hangover now.

Liam glared at Aidan and received a look of feigned innocence in reply that Liam recognised as usually belonging to him. He nodded towards Hughes’ office and they entered it, with Carmen scowling at their backs. Once behind the firmly closed door Liam let rip.

“Too ladylike for Vice my ass, and ‘she had a crush on a colleague’, complete bollocks! You just wanted rid of her. Thanks for this, Aidan. I’ll do the same for you someday. How the hell am I going to explain this to the boss?”

Hughes perched on the edge of his veneered desk and grinned. He rearranged his long limbs to get comfortable, as best he could in a tiny office hosting two men over six-feet-four, and then he waved Liam to calm down.

“Ah, now, don’t get yourself in an uproar. Just tell Marc it was my fault and he’ll be as good as gold.”

Craig had known Aidan Hughes at school and too late Liam remembered his warnings about Hughes’ warped sense of humour.

“Only if I tape her mouth shut for a fortnight!”

Hughes waved Liam to a seat and poured two coffees that were a while past their perk-by date. His next words held an indignant tone.

“You only have her for two weeks, Cullen, then you’re off to Bali-Hi or wherever, for John’s splicing. Pity me; I have her all year round, and her tongue hasn’t blunted any in the past six months.”

He held out a packet of Jammy Dodgers and Liam seized one grudgingly, like a man doing him a favour by deigning to partake. Hughes kept talking.

“Look. McGregor’s a good officer, works her socks off and she even has moments of real inspiration; she’s just a bit… blunt.”

“Blunt! She nearly chewed my face off when I asked why she’d been christened Carmen. I just wondered if she had Spanish blood!”

Hughes raised an eyebrow sceptically. “Don’t kid a kidder, Cullen. You were about to launch into a chorus of ‘Agadoo’ and she knew it. Anyway, all she said was that her Mum chose it ’cos she loved opera.”

“Those might have been her words but her look could’ve killed.” Liam palmed his face and groaned. “The boss has just got Jake knocked into shape and everything peaceful and now I chuck ‘Hand-grenade McGregor’ into the mix.”

Hughes drained his cup cheerfully then he stood up and headed for the door. “Aye, well, that’s your problem. I’m just looking forward to peace and quiet for two weeks. I’ll have the hand-grenade back soon enough.”

They re-entered the Vice Squad’s main office to see Carmen McGregor with a notebook in her hand. She was scribbling frantically and Aidan whispered to Liam under his breath.

“That’s your list of transgressions so far. It’ll get a lot longer, trust me.”

He loped to the main door and pulled it open wide, smiling from ear to ear. “Bye, now, you two. Have fun and I’ll see you in a fortnight. If anyone feels the urge to call me before then, please don’t.”

***

A third pencil flew past Davy’s ear and landed on the floor beside him and finally he looked up resignedly from his screen. He would get nothing done until he’d answered whatever query Annette had, so he might as well get it over with. He’d just flicked his screen to the Planning Office’s database, preparing to talk about developers, when Annette’s question took him totally by surprise.

“What are you wearing at the wedding?”

Davy stared at her as if she was insane while Nicky perked up at her desk. He took so long to answer that Nicky decided to fill the gap. She crossed the floor in the prim manner she thought was in keeping with her chosen ’50s outfit of the day and started.

“I’m bringing every summer dress I own, so I can choose on the day. Gary’s wearing a linen suit.”

Annette nodded. Linen seemed wise given the likely heat. Except… “Linen creases, Nicky. You’ll spend all day following him around with an iron.”

Nicky snorted in a decidedly un-fifties manner. “He’ll be doing his own ironing. I’m there for a holiday and if I don’t come back with a tan, I’ll kill him.”