The Broken Shore (4 page)

Craig raised his eyes to heaven and smiled. Liam’s political incorrectness was legendary. It had been dialled down considerably in the run up to his recent promotion board but it was back now, alive and kicking hard.

“Seriously, Liam. Would it really have been that easy to frame someone for murder?”

Liam swallowed another laugh and attempted a serious voice. “I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t been tried, boss. There was a lot of frustration back then and the pressure was on to get these bastards off the streets. But…”

“Yes?”

“Unless there was some evidence, it would have been thrown out at trial. They’d never have been sent down if the evidence hadn’t been there. Who do you think was framed?”

“A Provo called Jonno Mulvenna.”

Liam’s tone changed to anger. “A cop-killer like Mulvenna was fair game. He would have been lifted as often as we could. What do you think he was framed for?”

Craig sighed. The more Liam said the more he became convinced that Mulvenna had been a dupe.

“The murder of Veronica Jarvis, back in 1983. I’ll update you later, Liam. Thanks for your help.”

Before Liam could say any more Craig cut the call and turned to see the objection on Andy’s face.

“No, Marc. We can’t do this, hey. We can’t re-open an old case. If Mulvenna didn’t kill Ronni Jarvis he killed plenty more. If we start questioning his conviction it will open a can of worms that will go on for years.”

Craig stared at the file and turned to a black and white photo of a twenty-something man staring unsmiling at the camera. They could see the naked hatred in his eyes. He was a killer without a doubt, but was he Veronica Jarvis’ killer? And if he wasn’t then why had he been convicted for her death? Was it just exhausted police work or had he really been framed?

He shook his head, trying to push away his doubts. The last thing he wanted was to defend a terrorist, but if he was innocent of this it had ramifications far beyond this case. If Mulvenna had been framed for Ronni Jarvis’ murder then Lissy Trainor’s murder mightn’t just be a copycat, the same man might have committed both. He could have been out there, running free for thirty years.. But if he had been free all that time then why hadn’t he killed between 1983 and now?

He looked at Andy and nodded, ignoring his objections. He didn’t have the answers but he knew that the questions had to be asked, whether people wanted him to ask them or not.

Chapter Six

The man watched from a distance as the woman in uniform climbed into the car and her husband indicated left at the end of the street. He knew where they were going, by the grave expressions their faces wore. To choose a way to remember their beloved child. Bury her or burn her, it didn’t matter. She was still dead. He smiled at the woman wearing her uniform. Nothing would get in the way of her career, not even her daughter’s death. Good to know that she hadn’t changed. She was still a cold, hard bitch.

He cast a glance around the street and then crossed it stealthily, slipping down the house’s driveway to push open the garden gate. The flowers stood upright in neat borders, the hedges cut back to within an inch of their lives. She even controlled her garden. No sentiment, disposing of anything that wasn’t of use.

He slipped a knife between the patio doors then entered the suburban house, wandering casually from room to room. A single picture of Lissy sat on a dark-wood desk in the study. Her husband’s desk. A smaller pine desk sat alongside, with only a book on top. The bitch didn’t even display a picture of her child. He wasn’t shocked; he just wondered how long it would take her to forget that she’d ever had her at all.

He lifted the photo and stroked the glass, half-smiling at the dark-haired girl beneath. He’d been sorry when she’d begged him to let her go and he was sorry about her death. She’d seemed nice, very nice, her whole life just waiting to be lived. But she’d had to die, or the truth would never come out.

***

Hugh Trainor fingered the pink silk interior then stroked his hand down the side of the coffin’s pale wood. Lissy would have liked it, it was pretty. Even in death she would have wanted style. He thought of her wide impish smile and her habit of calling him ‘Pops’, too old now for Daddy and always too much fun for ‘Father’ to pass her lips. He choked back a sob at the memory and pictured her when she was young. Dancing along the street and holding his hand. Gazing up at him as he if had every answer in the world. The sob became a tear joined by others and he turned his back hastily on his wife. She wouldn’t approve. An elected official crying in public, an MLA with genuine emotion. Whatever next?

He sniffed hard and wiped his face then turned back to the anteroom and nodded to the man behind the desk, ignoring the disapproval in his wife’s eyes. He wondered how long their marriage would last now that the glue between them had gone. Not long, if he had his way. He’d always known Melanie hadn’t loved him, she’d just thought him a ‘suitable’ match, an asset to her career. God forbid anything should get in the way of that. He would be no great loss to her; even less than Lissy was.

He pulled out a chair and sat down, as far from his wife as he could, then he filled in the forms to arrange the last party his pretty daughter would ever attend.

***

“I’ve s…sent you everything I can find, so far, boss. There’ll be more on Monday when everything’s open again. I found some stuff on the case in ’83, but there isn’t a lot. Record keeping back then s…seemed to be pretty thin.”

Craig nodded. “I know. Thanks Davy, that’s great. Now go home. It’s the weekend.”

“I’m happy to come back in if you need me.”

“Be careful of what you offer…”

Craig shut his phone and tapped the computer keyboard, pulling up the files Davy had sent. He pressed print and then sat back to read. He was halfway through the Jarvis notes when his phone rang again. It was John.

“Hi John, what can I do for you?”

He glanced at his watch. It was four-ten. They were meeting in under an hour. What couldn’t wait?

“Marc, I know we’re meeting soon but I just thought I’d let you know that the Trainors visited the morgue thirty minutes ago. I asked if they would speak to you but they said tomorrow would have to do.”

“How were they?”

“The father was as you’d expect. Really cut-up. But she barely blinked. There was none of yesterday’s emotion at all.” He paused, shocked by what he’d seen. “She was in uniform and he was driving her into work when they left. Can you believe that?”

Craig nodded. He wasn’t surprised. Melanie Trainor was very cool. He corrected himself. No, she wasn’t cool, she was cold and everyone knew it. She was bright but not that bright and there’d been questions many times about how she’d made it to the top. Especially from cleverer women who’d fallen along the way. Some of the complaints could be dismissed as jealousy, or chauvinism in a country where women spent too much time chained to the kitchen sink. But unfortunately he knew that the rumours were true. Melanie Trainor had used her pretty smile to take her places her brain couldn’t reach. She was promiscuous and strategically so; a strategic shagger, in the parlance of the day, targeting men of power who could take her to the top.

He’d worked opposite her on a case three years before, and watched as she’d spent late nights ‘in conference’ with businessmen and politicians. She’d dismissed any man that she didn’t consider useful and disappeared upstairs with the lucky lad, only to reappear with him at breakfast the next day. She was open about it, arguing that she was playing men at their own game. Perhaps she was, but she was already married to Hugh Trainor, a well-respected politician tipped for the First Minister’s post someday. How much higher did she need to go in Northern Ireland’s small pond?

“That’s not a shock, John. She’s very driven. She wants to be Chief Constable someday and she may well get there.”

“Her husband seemed like a nice man. He looked like he really loved Lissy. I have to say, they weren’t the warmest couple I’ve ever seen. Frozen waste as Natalie would say.”

Natalie Ingrams was John’s long term partner and Craig’s money was on her soon being his wife. She was lovely girl and a brilliant surgeon, but subtlety had never been her strong point. She and Liam had both gone to the JCB School of diplomacy.

“OK, thanks John. I’ll try to speak to them tomorrow.” He glanced at his watch again. “Listen, we’re debriefing at five. Fancy meeting before then for a quick drink?”

“Good idea. See you in the bar in twenty.”

Craig read for five more minutes then rolled up the Jarvis file and put it in his pocket. Then he headed for the hotel bar and a well-earned beer.

***

Annette wandered through Victoria Square’s House of Fraser and rifled through rails of clothes, searching for an outfit for her sister’s wedding in four weeks’ time. It was her second time round and she was holding it on the pitch at her husband-to-be’s rugby club, where they seemed to spend every Friday nights. Annette couldn’t see the attraction herself, but live and let live.

She was wondering idly whether she could persuade her to change the dress code to jeans and trainers when her phone rang, disturbing her thoughts. It was a number she didn’t recognise but then that wasn’t new. People from cases gone by often called her, long after she’d forgotten she’d handed them her card. She wandered into the lift area and pressed answer, giving plain ‘Annette McElroy’ as her name. The voice on the other end surprised her and for a moment she wasn’t sure it was who she thought. It seemed so unlikely that she would call.

“Lucia?”

Lucia was Craig’s younger sister by almost eleven years and they’d met many times at post-case drinks and family ‘do’s. They hadn’t spoken for months, not since the Britt Ackerman case had wrapped up. The quiet voice answered ‘yes’, confirming Annette’s guess. It was Lucia. She spoke in a nervous almost-whisper as if she was afraid that someone else might hear and Annette heard something in her voice that she’d never heard before. Fear.

She shook her head. It couldn’t be. Lucia was absolutely fearless, fighting for every underdog in the world. She was paid to do it nine to five in her work with a charity, but practically every weekend was spent marching for another good cause, much to the amusement of the uniforms and Craig’s red face. She remembered the time she’d had to be cut off the gates of Stormont and smiled, recalling his shocked look. He’d been purple with embarrassment but beneath it they could see his unmistakable pride.

“Annette, I…”

Annette heard the fear again. It was clearer this time. She stopped being plain Mrs McElroy, out shopping on a Saturday afternoon, and became an Inspector again, taking control.

“Where are you? I’ll come to you.”

Twenty minutes later she was clear about the reason that Lucia had called, and even more clear why she hadn’t dialled her big brother’s phone.

***

“Marc, where are you?”

Craig stared at his mobile wondering what Julia meant. “What do you mean? I’m at work.”

“But I called the office ten minutes ago and there’s no-one there.”

John watched as a look of horror suddenly covered his friend’s face. He mouthed ‘what’s up?’ and watched as Craig drew his finger across his throat, mimicking a knife. The look on his face said he was in deep shit.

“Where are you, pet?”

Julia gazed around Craig’s living room then stirred the pot on the cooker again.

“I’m in your flat. I’m cooking dinner and I just wanted to know what time you’ll be home.” She paused and sighed. “I met with the Chief Constable today and I need to tell you what he said.”

Craig didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He’d got so carried away with the case that he’d completely forgotten she was coming to Belfast that weekend. He could either tell the truth and be hanged for it, or drive home now and let Andy down. He chose the job.

John could hear Julia yelling from ten feet away as Craig left the bar quickly to continue the call. Five minutes later he returned, looking the worse for wear. He grabbed at his beer, downed it in one then ordered another. John said nothing, just waited until the storm had passed then shot him a questioning look.

Craig shook his head. “Don’t ask, John. Suffice to say I’ll be in the bad books from now until Christmas. Let’s change the subject.”

John did as he was told, grateful they weren’t going to have a deep and meaningful talk. They could both do without it. He took a drink and brightened his tone, even though the subject matter didn’t fit.

“You know Melanie Trainor?”

Craig nodded vaguely. “Not well, but maybe as well as anyone ever does.”

John raised his eyebrows and waved him on.

“I worked a case with her on a case three years ago. She was a Superintendent then and headed for the top.”

“And now she’s there. From Superintendent to ACC in three years. There’s hope for you yet.”

Craig shook his head, disagreeing. “She won’t be happy until she’s the Chief. Don’t get me wrong, that’s not a bad thing. Ambition’s fine, but…”

“But?”

“Well let’s just say Andy nailed it when he said she could cause a fight in an empty room.”

John laughed loudly. He hadn’t heard the Derry expression in years. Craig was still talking.

“She’s aggressive. With suspects, people under her, with life probably. That’s not the sort of person I would choose to run the force.”

“Any reason
why
she’s that way?”

Craig shrugged. “I suppose it can’t have been easy fighting her way through a man’s world. The old boys’ network is pretty dense.”

“So are most of the old boys. But you think there’s more to it?”

“I’m not sure, but sometimes it was as if she thought she was being chased. Like she was somehow waiting to be found out and told to leave.”

John nodded. “Imposter Syndrome. Waiting to be tapped on the shoulder and told that you don’t deserve to be here. It’s pretty common in people who lead the vanguard, and let’s face it; she’s one of the first female ACCs here.”

Craig shrugged again, conceding. “You’re probably right.”

“But…”

He laughed at John’s knowledge of him and his laughter was renewed by Liam and Andy wandering into the bar, already laughing about something else.

“Share the joke, lads.”

Liam shook his head. “Can’t. It’s far too rude for your sensitive ears. “He glanced quickly at Craig’s beer then beckoned the barman across.

“Another round of whatever they’re having, a pint of bitter and…”

He turned to Andy. He was perusing the cocktail menu, turning it over in his hand as if trying to make a choice. Liam grabbed it and pointed to the rudest name on the list. “And one of those for my young friend. He doesn’t get out much.”

Andy blustered not to bother and added another order for beer, but not before the waitress had laughed at Liam’s joke and he was satisfied the evening’s banter had begun. Craig motioned them to a table in the corner of the bar.

“OK, it’s a Saturday night and we’re stag, so we all know how this is going to go. But before we get too drunk to speak let’s get the business out of the way.”

Liam raised his beer glass. “Here, here. There’s nothing like a realist to tell it like it is.”

“John, do you want to start?”

John turned at the sound of his name, dragging his eyes away from the pretty barmaid carrying drinks across the bar.

“OK. Lissy Trainor definitely wasn’t raped. She was killed quickly by manual strangulation and there are signs that she struggled. Her finger nails were broken and there are scratch marks on her throat, my money’s on them matching where she tried to prise his fingers off. There was latex under her nails as well.”

“He wore gloves.”

John nodded. “Unless we’re very lucky her skin will be all we’ll find. There was very little blood, just around the scratches. The tide washed away everything else. The crime scene investigators collected everything they could find at the scene, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope.”

“Did her parents come in today, Doc?”

“Yes, and it was very odd. “ He turned to Craig. “Although it does fit with what you said earlier, about Melanie Trainor’s personality.”

Liam leaned forward eagerly. He had a white ring of foam around his mouth and Craig was tempted to tell him. A quick glance from Andy said they’d have more craic if they left it alone.

“What about her, boss?”

Craig repeated his earlier comments and Andy nodded. “Tough lady and not adverse to a bit of bed-hopping if it helps her get her way, hey.”