The Sect (The Craig Crime Series) (9 page)

“What’s the principal’s name?”

“Mrs Davis. She’s on the third floor.”

They climbed the three flights in silence, as Craig thought of Sarah Beech identifying her dead son at the mortuary, and Annette thought of Pete’s years of teaching P.E. at a school exactly like this. At the top of the stairs she turned left and they walked until they reached a mahogany door. It looked out of place in the modern school and Craig realised they were in the original wing, built in 1921 according to the plaque.

He gestured at the door. “Impressive, but I thought you said her name was Mrs Davis.” The nameplate announced Dr Ruth Davis. BA, PhD, MBA – Principal. It sounded very grand.

Annette shrugged. “Shall I knock?”

“Unless you’re telekinetic.”

It was atypical sarcasm so she allowed it to pass; it had been a hard day and they still had a funeral to attend. She tapped the door twice and a formidable “come” emerged. The tone catapulted her back to being summoned to Matron’s office when she’d been a student nurse, with all the trepidation and panic that had accompanied such a command. It reminded Craig of occasions at school when he’d been dragged by the scruff of his neck to a room just like this. He’d been a good student and a cup winning jock, but he’d been too quick with his fists and it had earned him two suspensions and more detentions than he cared to admit.

Annette pushed open the door, expecting to see a harridan behind a large desk. She couldn’t have been more surprised; the most formidable thing about the headmistress was her voice. The body hosting it was slight and almost elfin, and the dark-doored office was bright and fresh; so fresh that it verged on pretty, with silver framed photographs of pupils on the wall and similar ones of her family on the desk.

Every available surface in the room was covered with flowers and ornaments, with a collection of antique perfume bottles taking pride of place. As Craig smiled at the room’s femininity the young principal walked towards him and her blue eyed smile had a disconcerting effect. To save his blushes Annette introduced them, sitting gratefully on one of the chairs the headmistress motioned them to. She felt tired suddenly, much more tired than her workload warranted. The stress of the divorce was obviously taking its toll.

As Craig regained his composure, via thoughts that said any schoolboy would deliberately commit infractions if a visit to the principal’s office meant this, Annette outlined why they’d come.

“We spoke on the phone, Dr…”

The headmistress shook her head. “Ruth, please.” She nodded solemnly. “Yes, Sam Beech. You wanted to know about him? May I ask why?”

Craig glanced at Annette, confident that she would be discreet. The boy was dead but no-one could tell the school that until Sarah Beech had agreed.

“It’s part of an ongoing enquiry. I’m sorry but I can’t say more than that.” She urged Davis on with “Anything you can tell us will be useful.”

Ruth Davis sighed and looked at a photograph on the wall. It was of a sports team and Craig knew that their victim was one of the smiling boys.

“I’m not sure what to say about Sam. He’s a nice boy; polite and attentive in class, although not particularly academic, he’s more the sporty type. He’s working towards eight GCSEs in June, but I don’t expect him to stay at school beyond that––”

Annette interrupted. “Because you don’t expect him to pass?”

The principal shook her fair hair, distracting Craig again.

“No, I actually expect him to get good grades, but…”

Craig knew exactly what that ‘but’ meant. He’d heard it said to his father about him after he’d ended up in yet another fight. He decided to add his two penny worth as an expert on adolescent boys; he still behaved like one at least once a day.

“Sam’s troubled, isn’t he?”

Davis nodded. “Yes. How did you know?”

Craig shrugged. “Teenage boys. Which particular variety of troubled is he?”

She made a face. “It’s hard to tell. I know there were problems with a step-father a while back; social services intervened to remove Sam from the family home for a while. Six months I believe, then his mother ended the relationship and he moved back.” She shook her head. “He wasn’t the same after that.”

“How so?”

“He was different with the younger boys when he returned. Bullying them.”

Craig knew from her reticence that there had been more. Annette asked the next question.

“During those six months, was Sam in a group home or with foster parents?”

“I’m sorry, social services didn’t say.” The teacher reached into a drawer and withdrew a business card, handing it to Craig. “That’s the number for Louise McIntyre, Sam’s social worker. Perhaps she can help.”

After five minute’s more on the details of Sam Beech’s final days at school, they gave their thanks and left. As they walked towards the cars Annette said what was on both their minds.

“That step-father did something to him.”

Craig nodded. “And my guess is that the care system didn’t help. Chase up that social worker, Annette. I want to know what was happening with Sam Beech that got him killed.”

Chapter
Six

3 p.m.

Northern Irish funerals are rarely cheerful affairs, even when the deceased has suffered illness and death is a longed for end. There are few, if any, happy hymns sung, and bands playing and handclapping are definitely not de rigeur. Rather, such occasions smack of restraint and lengthy silences, hushed tones and solemn, Minor chords; interrupted only by tears being sobbed in a dignified way.

Philosophers speak of death as a happy release and clerics substitute blessed for happy and nod in an equally sanguine way, but who is it happy or blessed for? Do the dead see their expensive caskets and their mourners’ ceremonial black? Do they listen as they are eulogised, or even mythologised at times? Do they read their own obituaries or hear the prayers of loved ones wishing that they hadn’t gone; are they watching from some recess in the organ loft or wrapping their arms around the bereaved to ease their pain? Perhaps. Or perhaps the dead are dead from the moment their last breath hits the air and their pupils widen and fix ahead, as if there was something better worth gazing at beyond this life.

Maybe requiems were for the benefit of the living and the dead had quit the planet days before, their energy transformed and moving on to some higher plain. People of faith and quantum physicists certainly believed so. Or perhaps we simply fade to nothingness and all the atheists are right. None of us will know for sure until it is our turn.

Philosophers and theologians had struggled with such questions for centuries and Craig was very sure that he knew less than them, so he didn’t ponder the mysteries of death, he simply watched respectfully as one of his team lowered his grandfather into his grave.

As the mourners dispersed Annette glanced at him and they picked their way through the crowd towards Jake. He stood alone by the graveside, gazing at the ground as if willing his grandfather to reappear, well and young again. Annette waited for a moment then broke the graveyard’s quiet in a gentle voice.

“It was a lovely service.”

The young detective glanced up as if he was shocked that they were there, despite sitting in the pew in front of them at church. He smiled weakly and shook his head.

“It was for my granny. He wasn’t a religious man.” The smile strengthened. “Too many Gods. They can’t all be right.”

They knew they were his grandfather’s words; he sounded as if he’d been a character and Annette said as much. As her sentence ended Craig rested a hand on his sergeant’s shoulder; a gesture between two men. He left the hand there for a moment as they gazed at the ground, then he removed it briskly, a signal that it was time to go.

The silent walk to the cars was a pause in an otherwise busy day. Then they said their goodbyes as Jake left to help his grandmother, and Craig and Annette left to respect the other dead.

****

The C.C.U. 5 p.m.

Craig threw his jacket on a chair and perched on Nicky’s desk.

“Apologies for the late briefing, everyone.”

There was a communal “It’s fine” followed by a series of “How’s Jake?”

“As well as you’d expect. He won’t be in for a few days.”

He turned, signalling that the topic was closed, and rapped his pen against the board.

“OK, what do we have so far? In chronological order: one dead girl and two dead youths. The youngest confirmed as sixteen.”

Andy cut in. “Sixteen! Which one was that?”

“The second boy. He was still at school.”

The D.C.I.’s mouth opened to say more but Craig shook his head and wrote a large number one on the board.

“In a moment, Andy. Let me outline things first. Right, victim number one, the girl; and before we move on remember that the first victim often tells us something extra about the perp so we need as much detail on her as possible. OK, there’s nothing on her prints so she didn’t have a record in the UK. Street patrols are interviewing the homeless and visiting shelters and Des and Davy are checking passports, driving licences; the usual––”

Liam shook his head decisively. “You’ll find nothing if she’s not from here.”

Craig rolled his eyes at Liam’s interpretation of ‘in a moment’ and went to carry on. It was Davy who interrupted next.

“Des called. Nothing on passports or driving licences for any of them.”

Craig nodded and moved on quickly, before someone else cut in.

“As Liam said we believe she may have been from Europe somewhere, probably Eastern, so Vice and Gang Crime are checking on possible traffickers and Davy’s in touch with Interpol. The lack of an Irish or UK passport doesn’t preclude any of that. As before – other signs suggest she could have been working as a prostitute.”

Liam went to add something but Craig cut him off.

“Carmen is working with D.C.I.s Hughes and Hamill on that aspect. Liam’s leading on the street patrols and liaising with Drugs. Anything on that yet?”

Liam shook his head petulantly.

“You’re allowed to speak now.”

“There’s nothing to say. The street patrols have been showing her picture round the shelters and homeless, plus any known dealers, but so far nothing. Karl’s never heard of her.”

Carmen nodded in agreement. “She’s not in any of Vice’s files and they know most of the street girls.”

Craig nodded. “That means she could have been working in a brothel, which strengthens the case for her being trafficked.”

“Hence the track marks.”

He turned at the sound of Annette’s voice, waving her on.

“It’s a classic way to subdue the girls and keep them under the thumb. They smuggle them into the country, ostensibly to become nannies or hotel workers, then they take their passports and tell them they’ve got to trick to pay back the cost of their passage, which of course they never manage. Anyone who objects is given a drug habit to keep them docile.”

“Heroin?”

“Usually. Heroin addicts tend to be more placid than Coke or Crystal Meth. Did Doctor Winter see any signs of other drugs?”

“Some Coke use but it could have been recreational. Heroin was the main thing.”

“That fits.”

“OK, let’s keep going on her I.D. Davy and Carmen, I want you to concentrate on that. Annette’s off to London tomorrow on Greer. Andy, split the street work with Liam please for victim two, and I want both of you working victim number three with me.”

He took a sip of lukewarm coffee and returned to the board, writing a large figure two.

“OK. Our second victim. Found early yesterday morning. Young male: same geographic area, same appearance, same tattoo, washed in bleach and then wrapped in cling-film. Confirmed drowned by Doctor Marsham, probably in the same domestic water source – yet to be confirmed. As we know, this victim may or may not have been homosexual but he was violated anally after death. New ideas anyone?”

Ken leaned forward. “What if it was punishment?”

“For being gay? If he was.”

“The punishment fitted the crime in the killer’s eyes?”

Craig shook his head in disgust. It was what Liam had first suggested.

“OK, let’s carry that through to the first victim. What was her crime? Prostitution or drug addiction?”

“Both, but they couldn’t kill her by prostitution so maybe they gave her an overdose before they drowned her?”

Craig shook his head, but only halfway. He turned to Davy. “Her tox-screen?”

“Not through yet. I’ll get Des to put a rush on. But…”

“Go on.”

“S…Surely giving her drugs before death would have been too kind. Diminished the element of punishment, if that’s what this is. I think if they shot her up it was post mortem – as symbolism.”

Craig nodded, agreeing; it was partly why he’d been reticent.

“So they injected her after death to indicate why she’d been killed. It makes sense.”

Annette shuddered, reminding him this wasn’t just an academic exercise.

“OK, so the boy was raped with the choke pear and the girl may have been given excessive amounts of Heroin, both P.M., possibly as symbols of their perceived crimes. Des and John can confirm if Heroin’s present and whether it was injected after death or not.”

As he scribed on the board Annette added something.

“If we do find Heroin it could help us, sir. What grade was it and what was it cut with? It might help identify the supplier and they could lead us to the buyer.”

He added the point to his list. “Very good. Liam, chase the Heroin with Des and then pick it up with Karl. OK, anything else on the girl?”

His tone said they hadn’t yet plumbed the depths. Annette saw the men’s discomfort and glanced at Carmen, knowing that one of them had to say the words. Carmen obliged.

“OK, maybe she was drowned and given an O.D., but you
can
kill someone with gang rape.”

Ken was the first to turn away and it told Craig something. He’d seen rape used to kill before. He asked the question.

“Where, Ken?”

The hardened soldier shook his head. “Bosnia. Bloody animals. They should have been put down.”

Craig continued.

“Does anyone know why it’s unlikely in this case?”

Annette ventured a guess. “Doctor Winter didn’t find any signs of sex.”

“That’s true, but why was our killer unlikely to have done it anyway?”

Liam’s voice boomed from the corner. “Killers. Plural. You can’t have gang rape with just one man.”

He was right, but the lack of killers plural wasn’t what Craig had been getting at. Davy got it first.

“HIV. The killers wouldn’t have wanted to risk infection, even with condoms.”

Craig nodded. “Exactly. For a rape to be violent enough to cause death it probably requires more than one man and risks blood exchange, even with a condom. That wouldn’t have stopped them using objects, but, as we know, John found no signs. So what does that mean?”

Ken answered. “That they saw drug use as her main crime, hence the Heroin.”

“Yes. Good.”

Annette made a face and Craig backtracked.

“Sorry, not good, but a useful analysis. Right, back to victim two. Anything else on him?”

A voice echoed across the floor. “The local gay scene. He might have been known.”

It was Jake. Craig was surprised to see him.

“I didn’t expect you in.”

The sergeant shook his head. “My grandmother was tired so she went to bed. I nipped out for a few hours to clear my head.” He gestured at the board. “I meant what I said, sir. If he was gay he may be known. It makes sense that I canvas the scene.”

Craig nodded reluctantly. He didn’t like stereotyping; female officers too often got slotted into talking to relatives and holding children’s hands, while male ones went Rambo on the criminal’s ass. Sending a gay officer to investigate a possibly gay victim seemed trite, but it made sense if Jake knew the Belfast scene.

Jake pressed his case. “I know the local clubs and bars; it’s logical.”

“OK, but I want you to take Ken as well. He knows about the torture used.”

Jake sat beside Ken and nodded, looking relieved to be back at work. Strange when someone’s murder became a copper’s R and R.

“OK, that takes us to victim number three. Sam Beech. Annette can tell you about him.”

As Annette ran through how Des had made the I.D. and their interview at the school, Craig crossed to where Davy was sitting at his desk and tapped on his left hand screen. He’d expected to see the translation of their tattoo but he didn’t. As he heard Annette’s tone signal she was summing up he retook his seat.

“Thanks, Annette. OK, in my view Sam Beech is the victim that may help us break this case. The first two victims had something in their lifestyle that might have put them at risk, not high risk necessarily but risk all the same.”

Jake interjected. “You’re right. The gay scene isn’t all sweetness and light. Get two men in a relationship and what might start as a simple disagreement can often turn to blows. But that’s not what worries me here; it’s the weekend tourism that’s the real issue. The area around the Cathedral Quarter and Dunbar Link has seen the opening of a lot of clubs, bars and gyms that cater to the gay community. There are people coming in for sex weekends from all over Europe now and some of them are rough. Someone young who was new to the scene would have been a prime target.”

Craig nodded. “And if this had been a death accompanied by other injuries I would agree with you, Jake; assault linked death is commonplace everywhere. But this is something different. There were no general signs of assault on victim two or any of them; even their drownings left only slight indicators of being held down. This isn’t GBH by a weekend tourist, this is someone snatching people and meting out their version of punishment.”

Jake conceded the point. “OK. I’ll ask around. If there’s a vigilante out there someone might have heard a rumour.”

“Good. OK, back to Sam Beech. Davy can correct me on this but Des found absolutely nothing on his body, yes?”