Liam lurched forward. “Aha! We can get him on tax evasion, then.”
Craig looked at him sceptically. “Well one, why would we want to ‘get him’? He’s a victim’s partner. And two, tax evasion only applies if we can prove Mooney actually earned some money.”
“He’s a bad one, boss. I knew it when we were at the house. It was a mess.”
Annette snorted. “Bad taste isn’t a crime, Liam, if it was…” She stared pointedly at his cartoon patterned socks.
Craig pulled them back to the meeting. “OK, so Julian Mooney’s odd and Liam’s gut is telling him that he’s something else as well. I tend to agree, so let’s dig a bit deeper.” He turned towards Mike Augustus, who looked completely bemused. “Mike, could you update us on Adrian Bell, please.”
Augustus looked disappointed that the banter had stopped but he smiled and removed a set of hand-outs from a folder that he’d brought. Craig watched him as he handed them out. Augustus was younger than John and him and as chubby as they were both slim. He had a thick thatch of mousey brown hair and a permanently child-like expression, despite the horrific things he saw all day, and he spoke so quietly that Craig always strained to hear. Craig pre-empted it now by requesting that Augustus speak up.
“Ah, yes. I know I mumble. I’ll do my best to be heard. OK, in your hand-outs you’ll see the results on Bell from both pathology and forensics. Des did the forensics report. Right, on page one is the post-mortem report. It shows that your victim was definitely Adrian Bell: he was identified from dental records. He was a healthy forty-seven-year-old male with no serious systemic illness. He was diabetic but it was well controlled. Death was instant and due to a single gunshot wound to the head. There was gunshot residue on his right hand that indicated he’d shot himself and prints that we’re running now. The bullet was a 9 by 19 millimetre Parabellum, full metal jacket, exactly the same as the one that hit John. Bell’s was fired from the Mauser C96 that was found at his scene…”
Liam leaned forward to interrupt and Augustus raised a hand to still him.
“Before you ask, no, the markings don’t match for John. Same type of bullet but your killer used a different gun. Bell’s bullet entered the skull at an angle above his right ear, pierced the parietal bone and travelled upwards at an angle of about forty-five degrees to emerge through the top of the frontal bone and lodge in the wall. Mr Bell left a note which Des said was identical to several others you’ve seen in this case. It was written in Bell’s own hand, as verified by other samples of handwriting found in the house. A USB in a key-shaped casing was found near the suicide scene, again as with earlier victims.”
Craig signalled to interrupt. “Were any other prints found in the room?”
Augustus nodded. “Quite a few. Mr Bell had a family so that was to be expected. Oh yes, the blood splatter and brain matter distribution were consistent with his head wound.”
On the words ‘brain matter’ Nicky blanched.
“All in all, the scene was identical to the others that John P.M.ed, with only one possible difference.”
The words were said so casually that Craig almost missed them. Augustus was about to start his next sentence when Craig motioned him to halt.
“One difference?”
“Possibly, yes. There’s a suggestion that there may have been physical coercion at the time of Mr Bell’s death.”
Craig leaned forward urgently. “What?”
Augustus nodded. “We can’t be certain but the pattern of the handwriting may indicate that the pen was being forced along.
“By another hand? You mean someone held Bell’s hand while he wrote the note?”
Augustus’ normally open face became cautious. “May have held. We have no definite proof yet. The handwriting expert only came back with this at three o’clock. They have to do a lot more tests.”
Craig’s mind raced. If their killer had had to pressure Bell to kill himself then they might have been in a hurry to finish him off. It was a big risk. All of the other deaths had been at arm’s length; their perp had deliberately kept themselves remote, outlining their victims’ instructions and why they should kill themselves in instantly wiped PDFs.
Something must have signalled Adrian Bell’s refusal and made the killer visit the scene to help him along. Was it just haste? Were they eager to complete this murder and then disappear? Or was a compulsion making them careless, and if so had it made them careless in other ways? Craig’s next question surprised them all.
“Mike, have you checked if all the prints on the gun and pen belonged to Bell?”
Augustus’ eyes widened and he instantly went to say ‘what for?’ He stopped himself before the words emerged and smiled.
“You clever sod, Marc.”
Nicky arched an eyebrow at the way he addressed Craig but Craig merely grinned.
“What do you think? Is it possible?”
“It’s very possible. Leave it with me. I’ll go back to the lab and check it now.”
Augustus rose quickly and was across the floor before the rest of them could ask why he was leaving. They asked Craig instead.
“What’s so clever, boss?”
Craig smiled. “Well, I don’t know whether it was clever or I’m just warped, but I suddenly thought that if the killer had forced Bell to write his suicide note, why risk it? The only answer I could come up with was that they were in a hurry to complete the task, perhaps because Bell was the last and they wanted to get away. Or because this is a compulsion with them now, so everything had to be right. It had to look as if Bell had committed suicide.”
Liam smiled as he saw where Craig was going next and why Augustus had rushed away. “You think if our perp held Bell’s hand while he wrote the note...”
“He might also have held it when he shot himself.”
Jake interjected. “But what good is that, sir? Wouldn’t they have worn gloves?”
“Maybe, or maybe not. Compulsion can make people careless. If they didn’t wear gloves there could be trace evidence on Bell’s hand, on the pen he used, or even, if we’re very lucky, somewhere on the gun.”
“It’s worth a punt anyway.”
Craig nodded. Yes, it was worth a punt, but he wasn’t sure that would solve their case. “OK, good. That leaves us with Jake and Davy’s findings. Jake, can you start with the chat-rooms and then hand over to Davy.”
While Jake and Davy presented in tandem, the others’ jaws dropped, as their female killer morphed into a transgendered male. They’d even managed to come up with a possible name. James Mulhearn.
“W…We’ve got a bit stuck there, chief. I’m waiting for info to come through on Mulhearn but it’s the weekend now.”
Craig had another thought and kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier. “Davy, sex-change operations aren’t that common, even nowadays. Can you find out where they’re usually performed?”
Davy smiled smugly. “Already did. In the UK the main gender reassignment unit is at Charing Cross Hospital, overseas it’s done mostly in Holland and the Far East.”
“Good. Send James Mulhearn’s photograph to all of them, please, and outline why we need it I.D.ed.”
Liam interrupted in a subdued tone.
“You’ll hit a medical brick wall, boss. Doctors won’t give out patient information at the best of times, but it’ll be ten times worse in a sensitive area like this.”
Annette gazed at him in wonder. Liam recognising that something was sensitive was miracle enough, but resisting the urge to make jokes about it was a first. He knew someone transgendered, she was sure of it. She squinted at Liam, trying to imagine him as a woman; it was unlikely, he would have been the ugliest woman ever born. She asked the question.
“Who do you know who has been through the operation, Liam?”
Liam spluttered. “I don’t! Me? No way.”
Annette wasn’t backing down. “Yes you do. You’re being far too sensitive for you not to.”
Liam relented, nodding. “Aye well, yes I do. My first partner on the beat quit the force and no-one knew why. I met up with him five years later and he’d had it done.” He grinned admiringly. “He made a good-looking girl too. Fair play to him, that’s what I say. He’s married now as well.”
Craig cut in. “Where did he have it done, Liam?”
“Charing Cross. It’s not just the main place in the UK, apparently it’s the largest centre in Europe, or it was twenty years back.” He turned to Davy. “You should try there first, lad, but I still don’t rate your chances of breaking through the Hippocratic Oath.”
Jake rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think Liam’s right, sir. We can try to I.D. Mulhearn through the hospitals of course, but while we’re doing that perhaps the LGBT scene here might be willing to help as well. After all, if there’s a transgender killer on the loose they won’t be happy, and they may offer to help us.”
Craig nodded. “OK. Jake, you look into that with Annette. Davy will do the hospitals and pursue the code. By the way, John’s agreed to do a sketch of his shooter for us, so Nicky, can you get the sketch artist over to the hospital tomorrow morning, please.”
Nicky looked at him suspiciously. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Craig precisely when John had agreed, when she realised that he could have phoned him.
“OK, we’ll have John’s sketch of the woman and James Mulhearn’s image to face-match. Jake and Annette will ask around the LGBT community, and I’ll take Julian Mooney. If necessary I’ll get a warrant for his house. We’ll brief tomorrow at twelve.”
Craig glanced quickly at his watch. It was six o’clock on a Friday night and they had homes to go to, so he called the meeting to a close. As he was walking back to his office Liam tapped him on the shoulder.
“What are your plans for tonight, boss?”
“Why? Are you asking me on a date?”
“Nah, you’re not my type. But if you think you’re going anywhere without an armed guard now you’ve another think coming. Marlene’s busy watching Mike Augustus so you’ll have to make do with me.”
Craig shook his head firmly. “You’re going home to your wife and kids, Liam. Get me a close protection officer, the one who guarded that Minister, Joe Watson, if he’s free. I think his name was Ian Sinclair. Mind you, it didn’t do John much good. And if it’s any of your business I’m heading to my folks. My mum will be tearing her hair out with all those armed guards around by now.”
An hour later Craig was in Holywood being proved entirely wrong. Lucia was tearing her hair out at the restriction to her social life but Mirella was as happy as a clam, preparing dinner for seven – the Craig clan and three close protection officers who had never tasted food so good.
Chapter Eighteen
Saturday, 11 a.m.
Saturday came too quickly for Jenna Graham. Her flight to Heathrow was due to leave just after three p.m. and she wanted to be on it, but getting Craig alone to kill him was proving a challenge; she should have just shot him when he’d driven past her in Holywood the day before. He’d been surrounded by family and armed guards since then, one of them had even sat outside his apartment all night. But bodyguards weren’t the problem. After all, she’d got to the pathologist when he’d had one. The problem was that Craig lived in an apartment block with a sheer river drop on one side and only one entrance on the other. It was going to be a challenge to kill him there.
She yawned widely and then checked herself. It was almost OK for a man to open his mouth wide but no woman would yawn like that. She tutted, frustrated at the slip; after all these years as a woman it was still the mannerisms that caught her out. She’d been fortunate that she’d been a slightly built man, some people might even have called her a wimp. Her fine features and small hands and feet had proved useful when she’d changed sex. Even her five-feet-ten height wasn’t out of the ordinary for a woman nowadays. Once she’d started the hormone treatment things had slipped nicely into place, with none of the large jawed, huge handed stereotypes of masculinity to spoil her gender change. Nine years earlier, after two years of hormones and living as a woman, she’d finally had all signs of her masculine past surgically removed and emerged as a woman. Better than that, with her long legs and fine bone structure she’d emerged as a beautiful one and men had fallen at her feet.
Jenna poured herself more coffee and smiled at how shallow men were, how stimulated by beauty and influenced by sex. She hadn’t thought anything of it when she’d been one. Normality always went unremarked. But now it gave her power over them everywhere she went. How fortunate that it was men that she’d always craved. Her sex change had changed her from a homosexual man into a heterosexual woman, except that she’d always known she wasn’t gay, just trapped in the wrong body for twenty years.
She gazed around the house’s pale-grey living room as she drained her cup. She’d never bothered to decorate the place because it had always had a temporary feel. She would leave soon and whoever lived there after her could stamp their life all over it, it had served its purpose in hers. She strolled into the back room to fill the last of her cases then she slammed the lid closed and set it neatly beside the others by the door. She could make her three o’clock flight or hunt down Marc Craig; it wasn’t an easy choice but she had to make it soon.
***
Annette rang the buzzer at Sarajevo’s side door, not holding out much hope of an answer. It was eleven o’clock on a Saturday morning and the club had been open until two a.m.; no-one would even be up yet, never mind at work. She tapped her foot repeatedly as Jake stared at a window above them, willing someone to appear. After five minutes of repeating the exercise they admitted defeat and Annette turned back towards the car.
“Everyone’s at home in bed. They’d probably been clubbing half the night.”
Jake shrugged; probably. He’s done it himself often enough. He smiled, remembering the night he’d met Aaron in the club. He’d just split-up with a guy he’d been seeing for a few months and been at a loose end, when Aaron’s wide grin had caught his eye across the dance floor and that was that. They’d been together for almost ten years now and they were very happy, so whoever said you never met a keeper in nightclubs was definitely wrong. Something occurred to him as Annette was starting the car.
“There’s a place that everyone goes to for Saturday brunch, we might find a few people there.”
“Where is it?”
“A café in Botanic Avenue. It’s called Buzz.” He glanced at his watch. “If we hurry we might still catch them.”
Annette nodded and pulled swiftly into the busy Saturday traffic cutting towards the river then on up the Ormeau Road. Five minutes later they were walking into a small, bright café whose menu of fruit juices and bagels made her mouth water. A mixed group in one corner turned as they entered, and Annette guessed that their Saturday morning suits had labelled them as police. She was wrong; the group had turned out of recognition. As they approached, a young man with a mane of thick black hair met them halfway and shook Jake’s hand energetically.
“Jake man, I haven’t seen you for ages. How’s married life?”
Jake smiled. “Yeh, it’s good.”
“You and Aaron must have been together for eight years now. Yeh?”
“Ten, but who’s counting?”
Jake laughed then indicated Annette. “This is Joe. We were at Queen’s together.”
The young man stared at Annette curiously for a moment then extended his hand. “Are you Jake’s mum?”
Annette laughed. She almost could have been chronologically. Jake intervened quickly in case she took offence.
“Joe, this is Inspector McElroy. We’re on duty and I wondered if you and the crowd could help us with something?”
The young man took a step back, suddenly suspicious. It was a response they saw often but something told Annette that it wouldn’t last long; there was something open about the man. Joe thought for a moment then shrugged assent.
“As long as you aren’t after any of us.”
He led the way to the table and explained why they were there. Annette was surprised when another man sprang to his feet and offered her a seat. She beamed at him, wishing that her own son Jordan had such beautiful manners. Jake was speaking quickly.
“OK, this is confidential and I’m asking you to keep it within this group please.”
He paused, waiting for them all to nod. Some did it more reluctantly than others but finally they all had.
“Right. We have a series of crimes, I can’t go into any detail about what they are, but we have reason to believe that a trans woman may be involved. We’ll have a sketch of her by this afternoon but for now the only description we have is tall, with long red hair and blue eyes. Does that ring a bell with anyone?”
Annette had been watching their faces as Jake gave their perp’s description and she could hear peels of bells playing inside at least two heads. One of the men glanced down quickly at the table and Annette knew he wouldn’t give them a name, but a slight girl near Jake nodded vigorously.
“That sounds like Jenna.”
Jake turned towards her. “Jenna? Do you have a second name?”
The girl shook her head. “No-one asks people’s second names nowadays, unless they’re really old.”
Annette smiled, watching Jake’s horror as he realised the girl regarded him as ancient. She was still talking.
“She’s a trans woman and lesbian as well. That’s how I know her; we go to the same all women’s gym.”
Their perp was lesbian! Annette didn’t know why she was surprised, but she was. Jake urged the girl on with a smile.
“Can I ask how long you’ve known her?”
The girl screwed up her face in thought. “Umm… I think it’s nearly two years. That’s when I joined the gym, but I think Jenna was there long before that.” She leaned forward enthusiastically. “She’s in the swimming team and she’s brilliant at it.”
“Do you know anything else about her? Is she in a relationship for instance? Or do you know where she lives?”
The girl frowned as she concentrated; she looked so young that Annette wanted to pat her on the head. Finally she nodded.
“Yeh, I remember her telling me she was seeing someone with a high-up job. Sorry, I don’t know her name. I think Jenna lives somewhere on the east side of town.”
Jake cut in. “When does the swimming team meet?”
“Dunno. It’ll be up on the notice board. I can give you the gym’s number if you want to check.”
As she reached into her bag Annette quickly scanned the other faces at the table. Two of the men were chatting to each other about something else and Joe, Jake’s friend, was ordering another juice. Only the young man who was gazing at the table looked uncomfortable.
Annette leaned forward and caught his eye. “Hello.”
He frowned at her and nodded.
“You recognised the woman’s description, didn’t you?”
He nodded again curtly. “Yes, but I won’t tell you anything about her. She’s always been nice to me.”
“I understand. But you must understand that we’re investigating a serious crime and we’re just trying to rule her out or in.”
He snorted, unimpressed. “You can do it without my help.”
Annette was interrupted by the girl thrusting a napkin into her hand with the gym’s number written on top. She pointed to a name underneath. Nadine.
“That’s me. Everyone knows me there. But you’re wrong if you think Jenna’s involved in anything bad; she’s really nice.”
“I’m sure she is.”
But not so nice that she hadn’t shot John Winter and blackmailed five other people into suicide. Annette nodded to Jake then she stood up and thanked the group. As they were walking back to the car she glanced at her watch.
“Let’s head back to the office for the briefing then I’ll check out the gym later on my own. It’s probably better if a man doesn’t visit a women only place.”
***
Craig’s trip to Julian Mooney’s house was fruitless. A search of the outside yielded nothing; there was only so much information to be gained by staring into an empty kitchen. He needed a search warrant. He drove back to the C.C.U. deep in thought, oblivious to the armed companion by his side. Why would Victoria Linton’s partner make himself so scarce after she died, unless he had something to hide? Especially when he’d been friendly to her neighbours beforehand.
Suddenly something occurred to Craig and he checked the time. Then he indicated left onto Oxford Street and headed for the Stranmillis road. Ten minutes later he was knocking on the apartment door of James Wallace, Victoria Linton’s neighbour. He listened to the sounds of confusion that heavy-handed knocking usually provoked. Doors slammed somewhere inside the flat and voices murmured, as if murmurs didn’t make any sound that could be heard. Finally someone approached the front door with a cautious “Who’s there?”
“It’s Superintendent Craig. I’d like to speak to Mr Wallace please.”
The door creaked open and the young man he’d spoken to four days before was standing in front of him, half-dressed and with a tousled look that Craig saw frequently in the mirror. Wallace smiled sleepily at Craig and waved him into a bright living room.
“Sorry, Mr Craig, late night. Would you like a coffee? I’m having one.”
Craig nodded and Wallace disappeared into the kitchen area. Craig gazed around the room as he waited. The decor was warm and comfortable and there were photographs of Wallace and a woman dotted all around. Two minutes later Wallace reappeared with coffee. The woman in the photographs was with him.
“This is Elise, my girlfriend. Do you mind if she joins us? She might know something.”
Craig rose and smiled, waiting until she sat down before retaking his seat. He cut quickly to the chase.
“Mr Wallace, you mentioned the other night that Ms Linton had a boyfriend. A Mr Julian Mooney.”
Wallace nodded. “Yes. I think he’s an architect or something like that.”
“When did you meet him?”
Craig glanced at the woman, noticing her bare feet. They’d probably been in bed when he’d knocked and their flushed faces said they hadn’t been playing tiddlywinks. He missed Saturday mornings like that.
Elise shook her head. “I never met him, did you, Jimmy?”
Wallace screwed up his face in thought. “Well no, I didn’t actually meet him, but I spoke to him once on the phone. Well, when I say spoke to him, I was talking to Vicky, inviting her to join a group of us up at Cutter’s Wharf and I heard Julian in the background. But she told me all about him.”
Elise nodded. “Me too. She said he was tall with a ponytail, like arty types have, and he did interior design.”
Wallace turned to face her. “I thought he was an architect?”
She shook her head firmly. “No, he was definitely an interior designer. Vicky probably told you he was an architect because she thought it would sound better.” She turned back to Craig. “She was a bit of a snob, Vicky, and she probably thought a barrister should be dating an architect and not someone barely scraping by, working in freelance interior design.”
Craig set down his cup and asked a question that he already knew the answer to. “Did status matter to Ms Linton?”
Elise gawped at him. “Matter? It was her middle name. Victoria Status Linton, actually no, it was Victoria ‘don’t disappoint Mummy and Daddy’ Linton. That’s more accurate. Her dad’s a high court judge in London you know.”
Craig hadn’t known.
“Vicky spent her bloody life trying to impress him. Perfect looks, perfect job, so she had to have the perfect boyfriend too, and if he wasn’t a lawyer then he’d have to be something else professional.”
“And an interior designer wouldn’t have been good enough as far as her parents were concerned?”
“Correct.”
Wallace interrupted his girlfriend’s diatribe and stared at Craig curiously. “Are you saying Julian’s done a bunk, Mr Craig?”
Craig said nothing.
“But he’s not a suspect in anything, is he? I mean, Vicky killed herself, didn’t she?”
Craig nodded. “She did.” With that he stood up and extended his hand. Wallace shook it hesitantly and walked Craig to the door.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t be of more help, Superintendent.” He shook his head sadly. “You never really know anyone, do you? And it’s not helped by living in anonymous apartments like this.”
Craig thought of his own development half a mile away and nodded. People could lie dead in their apartments and no-one would ever know.
***
12 p.m.
“OK. John’s still working with the sketch artist, so we won’t have an image of his attacker until this afternoon. Meanwhile we’ll have to work with what we’ve got. I’ll go round everyone in a moment but first I want to update you on what I found out about Julian Mooney from Linton’s neighbour, James Wallace.”
Craig saw Liam raise his eyebrows in surprise, and Nicky gearing up for a rant. He held up a hand, stilling them. “Before either of you start, I took the C.P.O. with me. OK? And the ones at my folk’s house have practically moved in!”