A Box Full of Darkness (Wilson Book 5) (27 page)

Sinclair grimaced. ‘You think that you’re so fucking clever. Someone wants your hide badly. They might have fucked up badly this time but they’ll have learned from the experience. I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes. I don’t think they’ll bother with trying to break you next time. They’ll go further.’

‘Who are they?’

Sinclair laughed. ‘I’m a pawn. I have no idea who set this whole gig in motion. I had a job to do and I did it. You could squeeze me all you like with that photo but it’ll get you nowhere.’

‘It might get you fired.’

‘And it might not. Think of what went down as a con. You were given a story and a path to follow. Jackson and I were superfluous, but no one knew that you could go the distance on your own. You were supposed to crack, go all neurotic over your old man being a killer. Take to the drink and fade away. It obviously didn’t work. So end of plan A and on to plan B.’

‘Which is?’

Sinclair shrugged. ‘Damned if I know. Whatever it is it won’t involve me.’

‘Does Campbell know who he’s working for?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘What about Jennings?’ Wilson asked.

Sinclair didn’t answer immediately. ‘That’s a horse of a different colour. But he’ll never tell. He’s protected as long as he keeps his mouth shut. The day he opens it to you, he’s disposable.’

All Wilson could see was a blank wall in front of him. And yet he knew that there was someone, or several someones, behind that blank wall that wanted to do him harm. Whose applecart had he overturned? Where was Sammy Rice? Did Sammy have enough reason to want him out of the PSNI?

‘I think we’re done,’ Sinclair said.

‘In more ways than one.’

‘What about the photo?’

Wilson picked up the photo from the table and tore it into pieces. He saw the relief on Sinclair’s face. In reality, he didn’t want to get Peter Davidson into trouble. He stood up. ‘I’ve cleared my personal stuff from the hut. I won’t be returning there.’

‘It will be returned to its previous function now that we’re through.’

‘Campbell knows?’

‘I sent the box file over this afternoon.’

‘Did you add a report?’

‘No. I didn’t think that he would appreciate my opinion.’

‘Which is?’

‘It was a cluster fuck. They thought that you’d fold.’

‘And you think I didn’t?’

Sinclair didn’t answer. He watched Wilson turn and head for the exit. He thought about wishing him good luck but wasn’t prepared for whatever retort Wilson might make. He thought about calling Campbell to warn him but he didn’t owe the man anything. Wilson disappeared through the open door of the bar. Sinclair was glad to see the back of him. He wondered who he would see the next time he looked in a mirror. He knew he wouldn’t like to recognise the reflection. It wasn’t pleasant to have one’s moral values put under the spotlight.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

It was just after eight o’clock when Wilson drew up outside PSNI HQ in Castlereagh. He had phoned ahead while he waited for the taxi to arrive at Belvoir Park. Chief Superintendent Campbell would be happy to see him. Wilson spent some time reviewing his strategy for the meeting ahead. There were only two possibilities, belligerence or abjectness. The former would get him nowhere, but the latter might. Earlier in the day he had already made his choice. He was never much at acting but he thought he would be able to pull it off. 

Campbell didn’t bother to rise when Wilson entered his office. The box file containing the investigation into the deaths of Lafferty and Mallon was on the desk in front of him. He motioned Wilson to the seat directly facing his desk.

‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,’ Wilson said taking the seat. To get him in the right frame of mind he thought of the pain he had caused his mother.

Campbell looked at Wilson and could see that the man was diminished from the confident officer of a few weeks previously. His head hung and Campbell could smell drink on his breath. His body language was that of a beaten man. ‘I must say, superintendent, you did an excellent job on the investigation.’ He tapped the top of the box file.

‘Thank you, sir.’ Wilson tried to smile but it died on his lips. He was afraid that he might go too far in his charade-displaying dejection.

Campbell smiled. Things had turned out rather better than he had been led to believe. Wilson was a diminished force. ‘Yes, one could say an exemplary investigation. Who could have imagined the outcome?’

‘Sir?’

It was time to skewer the bastard. And no one was better at skewering, or got more pleasure from the pain of others, than Campbell. ‘I mean, your father being involved in the murder. In fact, it may have been your father who fired the fatal shots.’

Wilson hung his head. ‘Yes, sir, that was most unexpected. I never could have conceived of my father as a murderer.’

‘Neither could we. Although, it explains his suicide.’

‘I’m sure it was part of the reason.’ Wilson had decided against tears. They were difficult to produce on call and they might be considered over the top for someone like him.

‘The question is where do we go from here?’

‘Sir?’

‘Your father’s record with the RUC is clean. If we expose your investigation, we will have to amend that record to reflect his involvement in the deaths of the two young men. And, we may have to dig deeper, which could involve additional revelations. Your father’s reputation will be ruined. It might even have a reflection on you.’

Wilson had difficulty holding himself in check. Campbell was scum and he needed a good punch, or six. Still, he had learned to wait. An opportunity would arise. ‘You must do what you think right.’

‘What would you like me to do?’

Campbell had set the trap neatly. If Wilson wanted the affair quashed, he would have to give a
quid pro quo,
and he knew that meant his resignation from the PSNI. If he insisted that the investigation go on the record, his father’s reputation would be ruined. But he had already decided that dead men don’t worry about their reputations. Robert Maxwell lay buried on the Mount of Olives while most of his former staff lived in poverty; so much for a ruined reputation. ‘I think the investigation should go on the record,’ he said after several minutes of feigned reflection. Wrong answer. He could see the disappointment appear instantly on Campbell’s face. The people he served would not be happy with that result.

‘Are you sure? The reflection on you?’

Wilson looked up. The abject charade was over and he pulled himself up to his full height. His face had a look of disgust on it. ‘I don’t think that a dead man cares much for his reputation and quite honestly I don’t give a fig for the effect my father’s activities might have on my reputation. I won’t forget that it was you who was behind this fiasco and neither will the people you answer to. My guess is that next week you won’t be sitting behind a desk at HQ. Someone is going to have to pay a price for the failure of your little operation and I think that might be you.’

Campbell had turned ashen. ‘Look here, superintendent. You can’t speak to me like that.’

‘Cut out the bluster although that’s all you have left.’ He withdrew two white envelopes from his inside pocket and placed them on the desk. ‘I’m going to give you a chance to save your job. I prepared these envelopes earlier this afternoon. One of them is a request for one month’s leave to assimilate all that’s happened to me. I have a mountain of leave already built up so there should be no problem there.’

‘And the other one,’ Campbell cut in quickly.

‘The other one contains my resignation from the PSNI.’ Wilson could see the light returning to Campbell’s eyes. There was still a chance of success. There was still a chance to save his job. Wilson picked up the two envelopes and shuffled them in his hands. ‘I have no idea which envelope is which.’ He placed the two side by side on the desk. ‘You can choose one. Or if you don’t want to, I can.’

Campbell stared at the two envelopes. He couldn’t be sure that Wilson didn’t know which one contained the resignation letter. He would make the choice. He could feel a droplet of sweat fall from the hair at the back of his neck. If he chose the right envelope, he would have accomplished the task he was set and his job would be safe. He didn’t want to think about the alternative. The people he served didn’t handle failure too well. ‘I’ll choose.’ He put the fingers of his right hand on one of the envelopes and then moved them to the other. They were exactly similar and why wouldn’t they be? Each probably contained only one sheet of paper. He had a fifty-fifty chance of picking the right one. That was pretty good odds. His hand hovered over the envelope on the right and he watched Wilson’s expression. It showed nothing. It was a perfect poker face. In fact, he looked disinterested. Campbell let his hand fall on an envelope. ‘This one,’ he said pulling it towards him.

Wilson picked up the second envelope and returned it to his pocket.

Campbell tore the envelope open and pulled out the sheet of typewritten paper. His eyes scanned the contents.

Wilson could see the disappointment in his eyes. ‘Which one is it?’

Campbell threw the sheet of paper onto the desk. ‘You request for one month’s leave is approved. Please get out of my office.’

Wilson stood up. ‘I think my father killed himself because he couldn’t live with the guilt of what he’d done. It would have been more honest to own up and face the consequences. But he was RUC through and through and he wouldn’t like to besmirch the reputation of the force. Whatever you decide to do with the file can’t hurt him, or me.’ He turned and walked to the door.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Wilson sipped his pint of Guinness and looked across at McDevitt. They were in their favourite snug at the Crown.

‘It’s a hell of a story,’ McDevitt said after Wilson had brought him up to date on his interview with Dixon and his trip to Nova Scotia. He finished off his story with the day’s happenings.

‘But one that will never appear in print. It’s all off the record.’

‘Lucky I don’t do human interest. What happens now?’

‘I take a month off and whoever’s out for my blood gets to lick their wounds.’

‘They’ll be back. And the next time they may not use the kid gloves.’

‘Or they may decide that discretion is the better part of valour and leave me alone.’

‘Fat chance. You shat on their doorstep and they want to rub your nose in it. Maybe this was your chance to make a dignified retreat, but knowing you, retreat was never really an option. So your old man is going to have his reputation ruined.’

‘His reputation was ruined the day he blew his brains out in a shed at the bottom of our garden.’ Wilson pushed the bell and asked for refills.

‘What would have happened if Campbell had chosen the other envelope?’

Wilson withdrew the white envelope and tossed it on the table.

McDevitt picked it up. ‘May I?’

Wilson nodded.

McDevitt tore open the envelope and read the contents. He laughed so hard the paper shook in his hands. ‘You absolute bastard,’ he said when he finally got control. ‘Remind me never to take you on. What if he asked to see the second envelope?’

‘I would have refused. Claimed he had his chance and it wasn’t sporting to doubt my honesty.’

McDevitt tossed the paper on the table. ‘I want to keep that, can I? I’ll frame it.’ He burst out laughing again. ‘Do you think that Campbell will ever figure out that both envelopes contained the same sheet of paper
?’

Wilson was smiling broadly. ‘Anything is possible.’

‘No recriminations about your father?’

‘That’ll take time. I need to reappraise our relationship.’

‘He was a man of his time. He wasn’t the only RUC man who broke the law. It might have been considered as being a loyal Ulsterman at the time.’

Wilson was raising his glass to his lips and he stopped. Where had he heard that remark concerning his father before? It had been a chance remark that he had brushed off. He replayed the remark through his memory cells. Then it came to him. Helen McCann had said that his father was a loyal Ulsterman. How had she known? He knew that she had researched him and she knew his mother was living in Canada. But how had she known his father had been loyal to Ulster? The answer was evident. Somehow she had found out that he had been involved in the deaths of Lafferty and Mallon. Helen McCann was one of the wealthiest women in Ulster whose tentacles spread throughout the Province. He remembered the way she had looked at him in court. He shook his head. He was becoming paranoid.

McDevitt looked at him quizzically. ‘You look like someone walked over your grave.’

‘It was something like that. Just a little post-investigation paranoia.’

‘How are you going to spend your month?’

‘There a woman I have to do a lot of catching up with. There’s a lot of hurt to heal. So first two weeks will be in Nova Scotia.’

‘Right time of the year for it,’ McDevitt raised his glass in a toast. ‘And then?’

‘We’ll see,’ Wilson clinked his glass to McDeviit’s.

‘And PSNI?’

‘That’s the big question. They might not want to have me back and conversely I may not want to go back.’

Kate McCann heard the crash from her bedroom and rushed into the living room. She found her mother standing and looking down at a mound of broken glass on the floor. Kate could see that her favourite set of Waterford crystal was no more. ‘What the hell happened?’

Helen McCann slipped her mobile phone into her pocket. ‘I was on the phone and I somehow managed to swipe the glasses onto the floor. Of course, I’ll replace them. I’m afraid I’m becoming a bit of a liability around the house.’

Kate could see from her mother’s pallid complexion that she wasn’t getting the whole story. ‘Are you feeling alright? You look very pale.’

Helen smiled wanly. ‘I just had some bad news about one of my projects. Things didn’t work out as I fancied.’

‘It’s only money.’

‘Absolutely.’ Except it wasn’t only money. Her plan to destroy Wilson had failed. Not only that but it would weaken her in the eyes of her partners in the Circle. She wished she had ordered his death but it was too late for that. It was time to regroup. She had made mistakes but she had also learned a lesson. She would not fail again.

Wilson sat in the apartment in Queen’s Quay. On the coffee table in front of him sat a glass of Jameson and an array of photographs featuring his father, mother and him. In the older photos his father smiled a lot, but there was a point where the smiling stopped and was replaced by a sombre or sullen expression. He would always appreciate the way that his father doted on him. He bathed in the attention and made the source of that attention the centre of his world. What some saw as his Achilles’ heel was in fact the source of his greatest strength. He realised that nothing had changed for him. He still loved his father, even with his feet of clay. He may have difficulty understanding why he did some of the things he did, but the love was still there. If it came to the push, would he give up loving his father to keep his job in the PSNI? Not a chance. His concentration now was going to be making things right with his mother. The only fool in this whole mess had been him. As with Susan and Kate, he was the catalyst of his own disasters. Blaming others was the road to no town. He drank from his glass and gathered up the photos. Whoever said that the past was another country had got it right. He couldn’t change anything that was already done. He was ready to cast off the past, and he had no idea what the future held. All he had was the now. The bell from the lobby rang and he went to the intercom.

‘Can I come up?’ the female voice asked.

Wilson hesitated for a moment and sighed. Then he pressed the button permitting entrance.



Author’s note 1

I hope that you enjoyed this book. As an Indie author, I very much depend on your feedback to see where my writing is going. I would be very grateful if you would take the time to pen a review on Amazon. This will not only help me but will also indicate to others your feelings, positive or negative, on the work. Writing is a lonely profession and this is especially true for Indie authors who don’t have the backup of traditional publishers.

Please check out my other books on Amazon and if you have time visit my web site (derekfee.com) and sign up to receive additional materials, competitions for signed books and announcements of new book launches.

Derek Fee is a former oil company executive and EU Ambassador. He is the author of seven non-fiction books.
Shadow Sins
is his third novel and the second in a series featuring Ian Wilson.

Derek can be contacted at
http://derekfee.com
.