The Slowest Cut (4 page)

“How about the sun times?”

“Yes, I’ve got those. Sunset yesterday was at five p.m. and s…sunrise this morning was at eight o’clock.”

“That means theoretically the body could have been left there between five o’ clock last night and eight o’clock this morning. To be safe they probably would have waited until the locals were asleep, say eleven p.m., and the caretaker found her at six this morning. That gives a window of seven hours for them to bring Eileen Carragher to the school, kill and display her. ”

“The temperature dropped to zero over-night, so that would explain why she was so stiff when Dr Winter got her down.”

Craig made a face. “Damn. That’ll make death harder to time.”

Davy shook his head. “Dr W…Winter will be able to compensate. He’s used to it. The blood splatter at the s…scene was definitely arterial. If she spurted arterial blood then she was still alive when they cut her throat. Time of death had to be sometime between eleven and six a.m.”

Lividity showed that Eileen Carragher had been hanging for at least six hours after death, so that meant she had to have been killed no later than midnight. Craig raked his hair thoughtfully and Davy did the same. Nicky smiled at his mimicry then checked herself; she hadn’t forgiven Davy by a long chalk.

“This is a strange case. The note implied that Eileen Carragher was killed for something that she’d done to someone.”

“Revenge.”

Craig shook his head slowly. “Yes and no. It feels more like punishment. The way she was displayed was almost like a public hanging, as if they wanted to shame her as well as kill her. Anything on the note?”

“Nothing. Typed, standard font and paper that can be found in any office. I’m running the w…words to s…see if I get any hits on the phrasing, but I’m not holding my breath.”

Craig wasn’t holding his either. The note would give them nothing, he already knew that. He glanced at the clock. It was nearly six o’clock. He stood up briskly. “Go home, Davy. We need to come fresh to this tomorrow.” He glanced over his shoulder at Nicky. “And I’d advise you to run because that’s a paper knife in Nicky’s hand.”

Chapter Five

8 p.m.

Nicky stared at the pile of receipts in front of her, trying to make sense of the mess. Gary was a good husband and an excellent mechanic, but as far as managing their haulage business went, he was a non-starter. She sipped at her cold tea and screwed up her face, wandering into the kitchen to make a fresh pot. She gazed out at the garden as it brewed, and smiled as her son Jonny waved and then kicked the football back to his dad.

Gary looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world. She was no accountant but one look at his paperwork had told her that they were in deep trouble with the taxman. There was unpaid VAT going back for three years, and set against the meagre profits the business made it would almost wipe them out.

Nicky carried her cup back into the living room, sighing as she set it down, then she started dividing the receipts into two piles that she knew would divide into more. She prayed that her first impressions were wrong because if they weren’t then none of them would be smiling for long.

***

The C.C.U. Tuesday. 9 a.m.

“Right. Here’s what we’ve got so far. A woman, tortured by being slashed multiple times with a sharp blade then strung up by her wrists and finally killed with a single cut to her throat.”

Liam leaned forward, interrupting. “Do we know how long she was killed before she was found, boss?”

Craig shook his head. “Not exactly. John’s working on it but it was cold last night, so body temperature won’t be as much help as it should.” He gave a fleeting smile. “But he’ll get there. We know from Davy’s sunset and rise times that she was most likely brought there between eleven p.m. and six a.m. Death was definitely during that time, and Lividity says it was at midnight or earlier. Right now I’m less interested in the time of death than the method.”

Jake indicated to speak and Craig waved him on. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, sir. But this feels like full on torture. Punishment for something and humiliation.”

Davy nodded at Craig. “That’s w…what you said yesterday. That this was like a public flogging.”

Craig rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Punishment yes, shame after death, OK, but you really think humiliation of the victim was part of it?”

“Don’t you?”

“Maybe, but if humiliation was the main aim then the torture would have been done in front of an audience while she was alive, not in private before she was brought there.”

Liam joined in. “How do we know it wasn’t, boss? It might have been done somewhere else where people could have watched.”

It was a good point.

“Good thinking. OK, let’s run with that for a moment. If she was tortured to humiliate her, then what sort of audience would it have had?”

“People who hated her?”

“Maybe. Anyone else?”

Annette leaned in to speak, averting her eyes from the photographs strewn across Davy’s desk. She’d signed up to maintain law and order, not be a C.S.I.

“People who the killers were sure weren’t going to rescue her, or go to the police.”

Craig stared at her, admiring the way her mind worked. She’d gone from the torture’s audience being passive, to them having an active, supportive role.

“Go on.”

Annette put down the handbag she was clutching on her knee and warmed to her theme. “Well, just think. The audience could have hated Eileen Carragher as well, which could go to the motive for her murder. Or they could simply be sadists who’d paid to watch tortured in front of them.”

Liam interrupted, earning Annette’s scowl. “You mean like some sort of snuff movie?”

“Perhaps, or perhaps not. I just think that until we find the reason that someone hated her enough to do this, we should keep an open mind.”

“So you think this could have been filmed, Annette? And distributed to a chosen few?”

“Or put out on the internet live for money, sir. Who knows?”

Craig turned to Davy. “Can you add that to your list, Davy? See if there’s a cyber-trail for this.”

Davy nodded and Craig smiled at the group. He loved this part of the job. Not the murders, and most definitely not the victims, but getting his team to think outside the box.

“So you’re saying that the motive mightn’t just have been something that Eileen Carragher did, Annette? There could be a commercial slant?”

“It’s possible.”

“And they decided to leave her in the playground because they’d found her I.D. and thought it would add to the after effect?”

“Mmm… I’d need to think that through, sir. The location seems a bit too strange unless she was chosen specifically. But even if she was chosen because of something she’d done, that doesn’t remove the possibility of a group audience.”

Liam raised his eyebrow sceptically. “If she was lifted to provide sport for a bunch of weirdoes who get off on watching people die, then we’re looking at some sort of cult, boss. How likely is that?”

Craig shook his head. “Before the trafficking ring we busted last June I’d have said that kind of group mentality was more likely in a country the size of the U.S., but now…”

“And if they’ve done it once with Eileen Carragher, sir, then they could do it again.”

“They could, Jake, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We agree Eileen Carragher was tortured in a way that feels like punishment, and whether she was chosen particularly or at random will come out in the investigation. We know it would have taken two people to suspend her in the playground, so even if we’re not looking for a group, we’re looking for more than one person. We know they knew her identity, either before they took her or after.”

Liam interrupted. “The note implied they knew her.”

“The note was so generic they could have written it about any woman, Liam. They could be trying to imply they knew her, which isn’t the same thing. OK. We also have a tight window for her time of death and we can’t rule out that her torture was filmed for private or commercial use.” He sipped his coffee and turned to Liam. “What did you make of the husband?”

Liam sniffed and pulled out his small notebook, shooting Annette a sideways glance. He didn’t mind people speculating up to wazoo, but when it came to getting the work done it was walking the streets that gave answers. Annette caught the look and so did Craig, strangely reassured that their sibling rivalry was still alive and well. They might have gone up in rank from their Sergeant/Inspector pairing to Inspector and D.C.I. but everything else was business as usual. Liam started reporting.

“Aye well, Ian Carragher. He was a pleasant enough being. Older than the wife by about ten years and no oil painting.” He pointed to his own full head of hair. “Had one of those comb-overs, a full-on Bobby Charlton. He was pleasant enough and seemed supportive of the wife’s career, went to her college reunions and all that stuff.” He sniffed meaningfully. “Mind you, he was way too broad-minded in my opinion.”

Jake interjected eagerly, in awe of Liam’s street sense. Liam could sniff out a perpetrator quicker than any dog and it was a skill he was keen to learn. “Why, Liam? Did they have sex parties and stuff?”

Liam’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline and Craig was certain he could see the beginnings of a blush. “Here, none of that, now, son. There are ladies present. I just meant he let his wife meet up with her men friends without him. Sex parties indeed.”

Craig laughed and Annette gave ‘Chivalrous’ Cullen a sceptical look. Liam was only chivalrous when it suited him in her book, but he was an old-fashioned cave-man all the time. Liam was still talking.

“She’d gone to Belfast to meet this old friend called Gerry Warner, or something close. Carragher said he’d met him at a teacher training reunion so he was something to do with her college. Anyway, Carragher was expecting her back at seven and she didn’t come.”

“That fits with what George Harlston told me, sir. He said the husband told him that she’d be back at seven, but she wasn’t, so he waited until Monday, to see her at school.”

“Did the husband report her missing on Saturday night, Liam?”

“No, that’s the weird thing. He said that time must have run away with her and she was probably just talking half the night, catching up like, and she must have booked herself into a hotel in town.”

Craig threw him a sceptical look. “Instead of driving the three miles home?”

“Maybe she’d been drinking.”

“OK then, instead of calling a taxi home? Hardly.”

“Aye, well. The husband seemed to believe it was possible, although he didn’t say that she’d done it before. That’s what I mean about being broad-minded. If Danni ever…”

Craig interrupted before Liam started thumping his chest. “What time did he eventually report her missing?”

Liam squinted at Craig, peeved that he’d been interrupted mid-rant. “Two o’clock, Sunday afternoon.” His face brightened. “But here, we had a stroke of luck there. He reported it to Jack Harris at High Street.”

Craig and Annette smiled simultaneously. Jack Harris was well liked. He’d been the desk sergeant at High Street station all through The Troubles and there was nothing that he hadn’t seen. He was like everyone’s dad and he remembered enough about Liam when he was young to keep them all amused.

“Excellent. Go and see him and find out how Carragher seemed when he came in. Take Jake. It’s about time he heard all about your misspent youth.”

Liam laughed and the loudness of it roused Nicky from her day-dream. She’d been staring into space all morning. She normally joined their briefings but this time she’d stayed put at her computer and Craig knew she was thinking about something else. She gazed over at the group blankly, as if she didn’t really see them, and then turned back to her screen.

“Anyway, Carragher was fair cut-up when I said we’d found a body and it might be her. Nearly went berserk when I asked for her toothbrush for DNA.”

“Well you would, wouldn’t you? That could only mean she didn’t have a recognisable face.”

“And the rest. I didn’t give him any detail. Just said we’d be in touch. But he seemed genuinely concerned, right enough.”

Craig stared at him. “What does your gut say, Liam? Guilty of her murder or not?”

Jake gawped. The boss trusted Liam’s gut enough to base decisions on it!

Liam shook his head. “Not guilty of her murder, but God knows what else the pair of them got up to.”

“That’s my feeling too. We’ll play this as a punishment killing by two or more perpetrators, and investigate the random and audience aspects that Annette suggested. But my instinct says Eileen Carragher did something to cause this.”

“I don’t think the husband was thinking any of that when I saw him, boss. He looked pretty blank. Mind you, I didn’t ask him if anyone had a motive to harm his wife. Didn’t like to until we’d confirmed the I.D.”

“That’s fine, Liam. When we get Mrs Carragher I.D.ed we’ll interview him again. Meanwhile…”

Craig paused and they waited to hear what came next. Liam broke the silence, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

“Meanwhile, if Carragher’s not a suspect and someone else killed his wife, is that it over? Or is he going to be next?”

Chapter Six

John shook his head at the numbers in front of him, trying to calculate Eileen Carragher’s time of death. He knew it was at least six hours before she was found at six a.m. because of the Lividity, just not exactly when. The temperature had dropped to zero at midnight. That mean the body might have been in freezing temperatures for six hours before it had been found, complicating things. He shook his head. What did it matter anyway? They had a time range for her death. That would just have to do.

John sat back suddenly, astounded with himself for even thinking it. Accuracy was his middle name. Well not really, his middle name was much more embarrassing, but no-one, not even Craig knew what. But he’d never, in all his years in pathology, dismissed a time of death so casually. He must be sick. As soon as John thought it he knew that he wasn’t. He wasn’t sick, he was stressed. But by what?

He ran through the day-to-day stressors that affected every life. Work; no. Money; no. Family illness; no. His parents had died more than ten years before and he was an only child. Their death had left him with no-one but his elderly aunt Mamie in Dublin, who was so healthy that she played golf every day, and the Craigs, who had basically adopted him.

His health; no, he was fit as a fiddle despite Natalie telling him that he needed to jog more. As soon as John thought Natalie’s name his pulse raced and he had his answer. Natalie! Natalie was stressing him. She wasn’t even with him and he felt stressed.

Why? He loved her; he’d known that for months. She didn’t nag him, well not really, not unless you counted dragging him out of his hermit-like existence to parties where he might enjoy himself, or making him look up from his microscope at real life. He quite enjoyed all that, it made him feel normal, and loved. He could talk to Natalie about anything and everything, and she bore a disconcerting resemblance to his late mum Veronica who he’d loved; in looks as well as eccentricity. That was supposed to be good, wasn’t it? Dating someone who reminded you of a family member.

Natalie never dragged him clothes shopping on Saturdays, or pressured him for commitment like most women did, so what did he have to be stressed about? Nothing; that was what. So why was he?

The answer came to John with a jolt so sudden that he slid off his stool at the workbench onto the polymer floor, pulling a microscope down with him. He hit the floor with a thump then the microscope landed on his chest, giving him another one. As John lay there rubbing his head and his ribs in sequence he knew that there was no treatment for the stress he felt; it would gnaw away at him until he dealt with it.

He was feeling guilty about not making a formal commitment to Natalie. She might not be pressuring him to make an honest woman of her, but he was. He was feeling so guilty that John knew there were only two things he could do. Propose, or break up with her. He didn’t want to do either, so he would do what he always did at times like this, he would go for a drink with Craig.

***

Craig stared at the hand set, puzzled. It wasn’t like John to want to go drinking straight after work, well at least not at six o’clock. But who was he to complain?

“OK. Six o’clock at Bar Red. Let me know when you have time of death or anything else, John.”

Craig clicked the phone off, knowing that something was up with his friend. He shrugged. That was this evening’s problem, right now he had a murder to solve and an unhappy P.A. to deal with. He opened the door of his office and beckoned Nicky in. She dragged her feet, no mean achievement in five-inch heels, and sat down reluctantly at his desk. The look on Nicky’s face said she thought she was in trouble. Craig never summoned her; she usually anticipated his needs before even he knew them.

Craig read her expression and jumped in before Nicky had time to speak. “You’re not in trouble, Nicky. I just noticed you looking out of sorts and wondered if it was something that I’d said or done?”

She shook her head vaguely. “Nothing to do with work, sir. Just life.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No, not really. There’s nothing you can do.” Nicky stood up and pushed her chair against his desk. “Was there anything else?”

Craig scanned her face. It was blank; no hint of what was troubling her written there. There was no point trying to force it out of her. He would have to find out some other way.

“No. That’s fine, Nicky. Thanks for coming in.”

Nicky dragged her feet back to her desk and Craig watched her hunch forward over her work, her shoulders slanted in defeat. He knew that whatever was bothering her was none of his business, except that he was fond of her and she needed help. So she would get it, even if she didn’t ask for it. That made two of his friends who were having difficulties with their day.

***

“Gerry Warner.”

Liam boomed the name across the open-plan office as if he was announcing the winner of a Grand Prix. Davy took the bait.

“W…Who’s he, when he’s at home?”

“The bloke Eileen Carragher was having dinner with on Saturday night.”

“Right. I s…suppose you want me to run his name now?”

“Aye. You do that while I get us coffee. He trained at Brookville College between ’76 and 78’. He’s a teacher, don’t know what of, and he’s on the college fund-raising committee.”

“Fine. That’s all I need.”

By the time Liam returned with two white coffees Davy had pressed print. He handed him a warm sheet of paper and Liam perched on his desk, reading it as they drank. Gerry Warner, Head of science at Maurena Grammar School in Lisburn, eleven miles away. He was sixty-four years of age, divorced with two kids, both grown up and away. Liam stopped reading halfway down the page and tapped urgently on Davy’s screen. Davy pushed his hand away protectively.

“Get your grubby mitts off my touch-screen. It took me a year to get the boss to fund that.”

“I need you to check something else for me.”

“W…What?”

“A hunch. Find out where Gerry Warner and Ian Carragher did their degrees.”

“Please.”

Liam squinted at him then squeezed the word out. “Pleeease.”

Davy’s fingers flew across the screen then he sat back and gawped. “How the hell did you know that?”

“Now, now. Watch your language. I’m a sensitive soul.”

Jake had joined them out of curiosity. Liam knew Annette was sitting stubbornly at her desk, dying to know what he’d discovered, but she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of showing it.

“Liam’s just found out that this guy Gerry W…Warner and Ian Carragher, the victim’s husband, went to Queens at the same time to do their Physics degrees. Warner went on to do a doctorate and teaching certificate, and Carragher became a s…surveyor.”

Jake beamed at Liam as proudly as if he was his Dad. “Well done, sir.”

“Well done for what, Liam?”

They turned at the sound of Craig’s voice and Jake beckoned him across the floor.

“Liam had a hunch, sir.”

“Another one! You’re batting one hundred today, Liam. What’s this one about?”

“Carragher lied. He knows Gerry Warner a damn sight better than he let on.”

“Update me.”

Liam ran through what they’d found, ending with. “He lied for a reason, boss.”

Craig nodded. “You’re right. There’s dirt here somewhere and both the Carraghers and Gerry Warner are involved. Get Warner in for interview, Liam.”

“What about Ian Carragher? He lied to me.”

Crag shook his head. “No, not yet. Not until we have his wife’s I.D. Even then we need to remember that he’s a victim’s relative. He could run screaming to the press about police brutality and we need that like a hole in the head.”

“Sir?”

Craig turned towards Jake, half-expecting him to raise his hand. “Yes?”

“If Carragher is a possible next victim then don’t we have to protect him, just in case?”

“It’s a valid point, but it’s just speculation at the moment that there will be any more deaths. All we can do is tell him to take care. Do that please, Jake, but subtly. Remember we haven’t even confirmed that our body is his wife yet.” He turned back to Liam. “Liam, you and Annette lift Warner. Jake will go back to see Carragher and put him on alert. But Jake...”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t give him any reason to think he’s a suspect. If there’s any evidence in that house I want it still there, if or when we get a search warrant. Emphasise the concern for his welfare aspect for now. Understood?”

***

Mai stroked the young man’s naked back and he turned towards her and smiled. He wrapped his muscular arms around her waist and pulled her close, feeling his excitement grow. She laughed and pushed him away, nodding at the clock.

“It’s nearly noon. We have to get up.”

He smiled down at her and ran a hand through her poker-straight black hair. He lifted the silky strands, burying his face in them and marvelling at their sheen; his own hair was coarse and dull in comparison. He smiled again and moved in for a kiss. Mai returned it gently then slipped quickly out of bed. They had work to do, and it had to be completed soon.

“Can’t it wait, Mai? Until the trail on the woman goes cold at least.”

Mai shook her head vehemently. “They aren’t stupid. They’ll realise soon and then they’ll come looking for us. Punish the innocent for punishing the guilty; that’s what passes for justice in this country.”

“We have time. They aren’t that good.”

She shook her head again, her black bell of hair swinging around her neck. “We have two days at most. Then we have to leave.” Her voice changed to a command. “Now get up, and don’t make me tell you again.”

***

Liam stared at the school’s modern façade and whistled. It was high tech all right; good to see his taxes were paying for something worthwhile. Annette gestured towards the sports hall, halfway across the recreation ground.

“Pete has to teach P.E. in a wooden hut.” Annette’s husband taught sports in a school near Newtownards. “He would give his right arm for facilities like this.”

“He wouldn’t be much use on the vaulting horse then.”

Liam laughed at his own joke and thanked God Craig wasn’t there to tell him off for being politically incorrect. Annette did it instead.

“Liam, that’s shocking, even for you.”

“OK, OK, don’t start giving me grief. I’ve enough to contend with, with Danni at home.”

Annette didn’t answer, just walked towards the school’s entrance and headed for the Headmaster’s suite. They needed to find out which class Gerry Warner was teaching, so they could wait for him at the end. She verbalised her thoughts and Liam shook his head.

“When we find out which class he’s in, we go in and get him. None of that ‘waiting for class to end’ rubbish. He’s being brought in for interview, not afternoon tea.”

“That’s not necessary and it’ll disrupt the kids.”

Liam raised an eyebrow at Annette disagreeing, “It might not be necessary, Inspector, but it’s what we’re going to do. I want Warner good and scared by the time he reaches High Street. Remember that a woman’s dead and he was with her the night before.”

Annette flushed red at his pulling rank and stormed ahead. By the time they’d reached the Headmaster’s office, the ‘Headmaster’ had morphed into a Headmistress and Annette face had cooled to a dull pink.

The woman that came out to greet them was small and round, with a cheerful expression that said years of recalcitrant teenagers hadn’t managed to wear her down. Liam led from the hip.

“Mrs…?”

“Willoughby. Ann Willoughby. And you are?”

Liam whipped out his badge, signalling Annette to do the same. “Detective Chief Inspector Liam Cullen and Inspector Annette McElroy. We’re here to speak to a Mr Gerry Warner in connection with a case. We hope he can provide us with some information.”

Willoughby’s smile dropped. Liam had managed to wipe it off her face where eons of children had failed.

“Dr Warner is in class at the moment, I’m afraid. Can’t you come back at the end of the day?”

‘Dr’ Warner. He’d forgotten about the doctorate. It made no difference. PhD’s were no protection against prison. Liam shook his head.

“No, I’m afraid not, Mrs Willoughby. This is a murder enquiry.” Her eyes widened in alarm but Liam ploughed on. “Can you tell us which classroom he’s in, please? And you should find someone to cover the rest of his day. He’ll be with us for some time.”

Annette tutted inwardly. Liam’s scare tactics might work but they weren’t very nice.

Ann Willoughby rushed to her secretary’s desk and studied a diary on the wall. “He’s taking double chemistry in Block A. Across the quadrangle, room sixty-one. But…”

Liam was at the door before she finished the sentence. “Thank you, Mrs Willoughby. And please don’t phone Mr Warner to try to warn him. That would be a serious offence.”

Liam was down the corridor and across the quad before Annette had time to object. She ran behind him, struggling to keep up with his long strides and finally caught up with him outside the room.

“Liam, Liam, slow down a minute. Remember there are children in there and they’ll be scared if you go crashing in. Let me bring him out.”

She panted, trying to catch her breath. Liam thought for a moment then nodded. Perps were fair game but kids were another thing. Annette wasn’t right about treating Warner gently, but she was right about this.

He dropped his voice to as close to a whisper as he ever got. “OK. Knock and go in. Say you’ve come from the Headmistress and there’s an urgent matter for him to deal with. Walk him to the end of the hall and I’ll meet you there. But if he tries to leg it the cuffs go on.”

Annette nodded then watched as Liam walked slowly back to the corner and stood in the shadows, out of sight. She took a deep breath and knocked on the half-glass door, entering on Gerry Warner’s “come in”.

The classroom was long and bright, with high wooden workbenches, strewn with glass flasks and microscopes. Boys and girls in their late teens were seated or walking around the room, working on some experiment and chatting each other up. Gerry Warner was seated behind the front desk, scribbling on a notebook from a pile beside him. It reminded Annette of her own school days and she wondered if anything ever really changed.