A Box Full of Darkness (Wilson Book 5) (4 page)

‘We feel that since you have specialised in murder investigations,’ Campbell continued, ‘that we need someone with a greater breath in term of serious crime to lead the unit we have in mind.’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘Therefore, you will not head up the new unit but we will reassign you to an area where your specific expertise will be best used. Starting next week you are assigned to a special task force, which will examine a particular historical crime. The paperwork has already been prepared and you have three days to prepare a report which will constitute a takeover of your current workload.’

Wilson looked across at Jennings and saw the look of glee on the DCC’s face.  For once, he managed to keep his mouth shut. In a few short weeks, he and his partner were on a “break” and now he had effectively lost his job. He would have preferred to fight for both but he wasn’t in the driving seat in either case. He turned to look at Spence and saw compassion in his friend’s face. Grave three dug and body deposited but no ground cover for the present. 
‘And what about
my team?’ Or what’s left of it,
he thought.

‘DS McElvaney will remain on unpaid leave.’ Campbell turned over another page in the file. ‘DCs Graham and Davidson will be assigned to the serious crimes unit and DC Taylor will join the intelligence unit.’ He closed the file. ‘The Chief Constable is very committed to change. He feels that officers become complacent when they’ve been in the same post too long. I hope you look at this new appointment as a challenge, Superintendent. Any comments?’

Wilson could see Jennings willing him to cut loose but both he and Spence sat in stoic silence.

‘Now Superintendent,’ Campbell said, ‘I understand that you have in your possession a written instruction from the DCC regarding permission for Maggie Cummerford to attend internal briefings concerning the Rice, Morrison and Boyle investigations. We require that you hand over this document forthwith. It is an official PSNI document and should not be in your possession. I assure you that it will be filed in the appropriate place.’

Wilson remained silent.  If he handed over the document, it would certainly be filed in the appropriate place; the furnace in the basement of Brooklyn House. After all, the culprit had already been found. ‘Fatboy’ had been reduced in rank and banished to Siberia, or its Northern Ireland equivalent. The letter had become a damp squib. He could not escape the logic that he shouldn’t be in possession of an official PSNI document. Displaying great reluctance, he withdrew the letter from his inside pocket and placed it on the table in front of Spence.  The Chief Superintendent slid the letter across to Campbell.

Campbell picked it up and opened it. He read the contents and then placed it in his file. ‘This is the only copy?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Wilson lied. He looked at both Jennings and Campbell. They were staring at him looking for the “tell” that would indicate the lie. Wilson remained sphinx-like.

‘Good, that concludes our business,’ Campbell said closing his file. He turned to Spence. ‘Then I’ll take this opportunity to wish the Chief Superintendent a happy and fruitful retirement.’ He extended his hand and Spence shook it.  Campbell turned to Wilson. ‘And I would like to wish you good luck with your new appointment.’ He extended his hand and there was an embarrassed moment when all four men wondered whether Wilson would shake it. 

After a pause of a few seconds, Wilson shook the hand.  He would have to find a toilet before he left to wash the ‘Gravedigger’s’ stink off.

‘Satisfied? ‘Campbell said as he led DCC Royson Jennings into his office on the top floor of Brooklyn House.

‘I won’t be satisfied until I see Wilson living in a homeless hostel.’ Jennings sat in the visitor’s chair facing Campbell’s desk ‘I wanted him to squirm. I wanted to see some emotion. I wanted him to rail against the fates.’

‘Perhaps he was railing against the fates inside.’ Campbell reminded himself never to get on the wrong side of Jennings. He produced a bottle of Bushmills from his desk drawer and held it out.

Jennings shook his head.

‘I forgot, you don’t partake.’ Campbell poured himself a large measure and tasted the golden liquid. He was well aware that Jennings didn’t drink, smoke, gamble or go out with women, or men for that matter. He had made it his business to know the weakness of every officer he dealt with. Jennings had only one weakness and Campbell had just met him. He heard that Ian Wilson was a formidable character but he was so much more than had been reported. Wilson was Jennings’ Achilles’ heel and Campbell wasn’t about to forget that.

‘I assume that damn letter is about to disappear,’ Jennings said. ‘That bastard Wilson has been holding it over my head for months. The sooner it’s destroyed the better.’

Campbell smiled and took another sip of his whiskey. ‘Don’t tell me that you bought that little piece of theatre associated with the handing over the letter.’ The smile turned into outright laughter. ‘Of course he’s made a copy, which he has somewhere in safekeeping.  He was lying through his teeth.’

Red streaks engulfed Jennings’ face. ‘Get him back in. Make him hand over every copy.’

‘The letter is useless,’ said Campbell leaning forward. ‘And Wilson probably knows it.  Don’t worry it’ll never see the light of day.’ He was secretly delighted at Jennings’ reaction. It confirmed Wilson as a mechanism to twist Jennings’ arm if that ever became necessary.

Jennings’ colour was subsiding. ‘I’m not entirely happy about what is in the pipeline for Wilson. The man has a habit of turning a disaster into a triumph.’

Campbell said, ‘Your misgivings have been made known. However people higher up on the ladder than you and I have made this decision. It’s always better to leave it to those with greater knowledge to make the final decisions.’

‘Well, don’t say that I didn’t warn you,’ said Jennings.

‘The weather in California must be nice at this time of year.’ Campbell finished his glass and put it in his top drawer.  ‘Enjoying the course at Stanford?’

‘Yes,’ Jennings stood. It was down to Wilson that he had been banished to Palo Alto. He hated California and he hated Americans. And he would be forced to spend the next couple of years sitting behind a desk in Carlisle. He thought about his former mentor of the same name. He missed Jackie. So much of the bad in his life could be attributed to Ian Wilson. He would pray that the plan that had been conceived for him would bear fruit.

CHAPTER SIX

‘Your place or mine?’ Wilson asked as their car arrived at the station.

‘Your place is probably the Crown,’ Spence said. ‘And since I have no desire to appear in a Belfast pub in full dress uniform, and there’s a bottle of Middleton in my office that I’ve been keeping for just such an occasion as this. I think my place.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Wilson said as they entered Spence’s office. ‘Everything I touch lately turns to shit.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ said Spence walking to a filing cabinet and removing a full bottle of Middleton Irish Whiskey. He held up the bottle. ‘You wouldn’t believe it but I put this away the day I met you. I suppose I knew then that we’d crack it open one day when either one of us would be leaving the force.’

‘Like I said, I’m sorry.’ Wilson sat in the visitor’s chair and watched Spence open the bottle and pour two substantial glasses.

’It’s not all down to you.’ Spence handed Wilson a glass. ‘Cheers.’

‘Slainte,’ Wilson replied.

Spence took a slug of his whiskey and spent a moment savouring the taste. ‘I’m not blaming you. People like Jennings and Campbell can be found in every large organisation. They’re the climbers and the bag carriers. They follow their orders and they’d shaft their own grandmother if that’s what they had to do. They’re the same kind of guys who pushed the Jews into the gas chambers. I’m going to miss the police but I’m certainly not going to miss dealing with those creeps.’ He sipped his drink and smiled wistfully. ‘I always knew that the day would come. It’s just a bit of a shock that its come a little sooner than I expected.

Wilson could feel the taste of the whiskey on his lips. He felt like he could drink the whole bottle. ‘So you’ll be raising roses in Portaferry this time next week.’

‘No fear, I’ve been at the wakes of too many former colleagues who have kicked the bucket within months of leaving the job. I’ve lined up a position as a security consultant. The pay is better than the police and I’ll be able to fly business class for a change.’

‘Any room there for me?’ Wilson asked smiling.

‘You’d probably bankrupt the poor buggers if they took you on. They’d have more court cases on their hands than they could handle. Recommending you would be more than my new career is worth. Anyway, you’ve been tasked with solving one of the more than 3,000 unsolved murders that are still on the books.’ Spence finished his glass and filled a second. ‘If you manage that it’ll put a real dent in the unsolved crime column.’

‘Steady on, it’s a bit early for that.’ Wilson put his hand over the top of his glass. ‘Why the historical crime?’

‘Damned if I know. On the one hand they’re talking about suspending investigations into historical crimes and now they create a task force to look at one historical crime. It must be something damn important.’ Spence raised his glass and drank half of the contents. ‘Fuck the begrudgers.’

A strange coldness ran down Wilson’s neck. Spence was right. There were a lot of jobs they could have slotted him into but investigating a historical crime would be pretty far down the list. He finished the content of his glass and stood up. ‘I was never very good at attending wakes. Take my advice and finish it here.’

‘You’re right.’ Spence downed the contents of his glass and put the bottle away. ‘I’ve been a good manager at this station and I’m not going to spoil it by getting myself roaring drunk.’

Wilson came around the desk and shook hands with Spence. ‘I’m going to miss you.’

‘I’ll be around,’ Spence said.

‘Don’t be one of those assholes who keep coming back for cups of coffee in the canteen. You’re much better than that.’

Spence smiled. ‘I don’t think Jenny will receive the news too enthusiastically. She’s already worried about me hanging around the house too much. The consultancy is only for a few days a week.’

‘It’ll work out,’ Wilson said leaving the room. He went straight to the squad room. Harry Graham and Eric Taylor were at their desks. He remembered that Peter Davidson was at court.  He’d probably slipped away for a few beers.

‘Evening, boss,’ Graham said looking up. ‘How’d it go?’

‘Could have been worse,’ Wilson said glancing around. He would be leaving this room and this station in three days, he thought. He remembered the first day he had walked into the room. He had just been appointed a detective constable and there was a long road before him. The room looked different. It was like he was looking at it with new eyes. It was more comfortable somehow. He felt safe here.  He had always thought that he would finish his career here but the best laid plans of man mean nothing to the gods. ‘Actually, Harry, I’ve been screwed twice today, once in court and once in Brooklyn House.’

‘I don’t like the sound of this,’ Eric Taylor said from his desk. ‘The rumour mill has been in overdrive over the past few weeks. I thought it was the usual bullshit but now I’m worried. Spit it out, boss. We’re big boys here.’

‘Reorganisation is on the way,’ Wilson said. ‘Everything is going to change. Spence is being pushed out the door and I’m off to some half-arsed task force at the start of next week.’

‘No way,’ Graham said. ‘And what about us?’

‘The murder squad is no more,’ Wilson answered. ‘It’s being transformed into a serious crime squad or unit as they’re now called.’ He looked directly at Harry Graham. ‘You and Peter are being transferred to the new unit. Eric is joining PSNI Intelligence.’

Graham looked downcast but Taylor had the opposite expression.

‘No more outside work for you, eh Eric?’ Wilson smiled. Taylor had been wounded in a shooting several years previously and had developed an aversion to pounding the pavements. The intelligence posting would suit him perfectly.

‘Who’ll head up the serious crimes unit?’ Graham asked.

Wilson held out his hands. ‘I wasn’t informed. But the good news is that it won’t be ‘Fatboy’ Harrison. He’s being made the fall guy for the Cummerford cluster fuck.’

‘A bit sudden, isn’t it?’ Taylor said. ‘Three days to clear out your office.’

Wilson was already thinking about what he would take from his office. He decided it might just fit in a little more than a matchbox, and a little less than a shoebox and would probably take all of five minutes to gather up. He wasn’t into mementoes.  He glanced at his watch. ‘I think it’s about time to knock off. ‘Don’t know about you fellows but I need a couple of drinks. Let’s call Peter and we’ll meet at the Crown.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was nearly midnight when Wilson arrived back at his new digs. He had made the mistake of giving the cab driver his old address and they had already arrived at Kate’s apartment before he realised his error. His current residence was an apartment in a new building in what was becoming trendy East Belfast.  It was close to the Titanic Quarter and was just east of Queen’s Quay. He was located on the fifth floor, which gave him an excellent view across the river with the Lagan Weir off to his right. The apartment was a two-bedroom unit and was considerably less luxurious than his former residence. But somehow he felt more comfortable in these surroundings. His rental agreement ran for six months and when he signed it he wasn’t aware that his working life was about to change so radically. The six months was intended as an interim to give him time to either rebuild his relationship with Kate, or if they decided to move on, he would try to find somewhere more permanent. It was yet another impermanence; another reason to feel uneasy about the future. His whole life appeared to be in a state of flux. He looked off to the left along the Lagan and he thought that he could just about see some light in the building that housed Kate’s apartment. He wondered whether she was looking out of her picture window at where he was standing. It had felt so right with Kate. He’d always appreciated that they came from different worlds and there was the issue of the miscarriage but he felt they could solve their problems. He really did think that they could get over the loss of their baby. He recognised that their feeling on the miscarriage would be different. Kate was young and would probably have other children. Therefore the miscarriage was not an insurmountable problem. He agreed that he lacked sensitivity but he was in a job where it was a liability to be too sensitive. He used to think that he could be two different people. One was the policeman who dealt with the dregs of society and witnessed the horrors that man can inflict on his fellows. The other person was the loving partner and the potential loving husband. Perhaps Kate saw through that fallacy and realised that the insensitive policeman would win out in the end. Whatever the reason, a chasm had opened between them and he wasn’t sure that the gap could ever be bridged. He pulled a chair over to the window and stared at the flickering lights of the city.