A Box Full of Darkness (Wilson Book 5) Page 3

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Chief Superintendent Donald Spence was sitting in his car in the station’s courtyard when Wilson pulled into his parking spot. Although it was early summer, light rain had started to fall and a vicious wind was blowing from the north. One could never depend on the weather in Ireland. Wilson struggled into a waterproof jacket as he exited his car. He covered the distance between the two cars in a few steps and quickly opened the door behind the driver. Spence looked like someone had just killed his favourite mutt. He was dressed in full uniform; never a good sign.

  ‘I heard about your evidence,’ Spence said tapping the driver on the shoulder.

  ‘I did my best,’ Wilson said settling back in the seat.

  ‘You fucked the DCC,’ Spence said simply. ‘You could have fallen on your sword but you’re too proud for that.’

  ‘It’s not pride that keeps me from returning to the beat in some Godforsaken dump in Fermanagh. For a change, I thought I might tell the truth. At least I didn’t have to produce Jennings’ written instruction. The little bastard will survive.’

  ‘Aye, but will you and I?’ Spence turned to look at Wilson. ‘Two months, Ian, I have two bloody months to go for retirement and one of my coppers goes and fucks the DCC. You’re one of the best officers I’ve ever worked with but the business between you and Jennings will do for both of us. Jennings has connections that we can only guess at.’

  ‘I thought that you were also a member of the peculiar handshake club.’

  ‘Touché,’ Spence’s serious face collapsed, ‘except I operate at a very junior level.’

  ‘I thought that you guys have your tongues cut out if you admit to being a member of the Venerable Order,’ Wilson said smiling.

  The car was approaching the collection of buildings outside Castlereagh that constitutes the headquarters of the Police Service of Northern Ireland. Despite the decrease in violence in the Province, the building housing the hierarchy of the police service had protection that would not have been out of place in the Green Zone in Kabul. Both Spence and Wilson showed their warrant cards as the Chief Super’s car glided slowly past the steel outer gates.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ Wilson said as they pulled up before Brooklyn House, the building containing the office of the Chief Constable.

  ‘We’re here to learn our fate,’ said Spence pushing open the back door before his driver had an opportunity to rush around to assist him. ‘So, there’s no plan, we’re not in control.’

  The first thing that Wilson noticed was that the Chief Constable himself was not going to be a part of their meeting. Being a detective had its uses and when he saw the Chief Constable’s parking space vacant, he drew the obvious conclusion. They entered the reception area where a uniformed female police officer was waiting for them. She led them to a conference room on the second floor of the building. The dominant feature in the room was a large mahogany table around which twenty or so chairs were placed. None of the chairs had an armrest except for one, which was located at the head of the table.

  ‘Ominous,’ Spence said as they entered the room. ‘When you don’t meet in an office it means they want a sanitised space in which to screw you.’

  Wilson moved to the windows and looked down into the courtyard. He imagined a guillotine and a coterie of old biddies knitting sweaters sitting around waiting for Spence and him to be brought out for their entertainment. As he was chuckling to himself, the door behind him opened and two men entered. Deputy Chief Constable Jennings was resplendent in full dress uniform with his cap under his left arm. Jennings’ bald pate looked like it had been shaved and Wilson noticed that the liver spots were more prominent on his face and head. He had his usual pallor but Wilson thought he could see something new. Stress lines were cut into his face. He looked at Spence and saw that he too was surprised at Jennings’ presence. Earlier in the day, Wilson had been informed that Jennings was out of the country. The second man was also dressed in full uniform and although Wilson seldom had business with the Assistant to the Chief Constable, he knew Chief Superintendent Brian Campbell by reputation. Campbell’s nickname was the ‘Gravedigger’ occasioned by the number of times he dug the graves of his colleagues before consigning their careers to the toilet. Campbell carried a buff-coloured folder in his right hand.

  ‘Chief Superintendent Spence, Detective Superintendent Wilson,’ Campbell said as he entered. ‘Thank you for joining us so quickly.’ He moved to the head of the table and looked at Wilson. ‘I’m Chief Superintendent Campbell, I don’t think we’ve met.’

  Wilson was not offered a handshake. ‘I don’t think so.’ He had already decided to keep his intervention to the minimum.

  Campbell sat in the chair that Wilson assumed was usually reserved for the Chief Constable. It was clear that Campbell was acting for his master in this meeting. He placed the folder on the table in front of him.

  Jennings didn’t greet either man and took the seat immediately to the right of Campbell.

  ‘Please,’ Campbell indicated the seats to his left.

  Spence walked forward and sat in the seat immediately to Campbell’s left. Wilson took the seat beside his superior.

  ‘The DCC has joined us today by special arrangement,’ Campbell started. ‘As you may know, DCC Jennings is currently attending a course in leadership at Stanford University in California. He’s only with us for today.’ He smiled in Jennings’ direction and then opened the file.

  Wilson smiled. Skewering was not a spectator sport. It was always preferable for men like Jennings to be present when the knife is finally placed in the back.

  Campbell continued, ‘The DCC will be taking up a new appointment with Cumbria Police when he returns from Stanford and will rejoin us here in a senior capacity at a date in the future to be decided.’ Campbell’s smile for Jennings widened and was returned. Campbell rubbed his hands together and turned to Spence and Wilson. ‘As you are both aware, the Cummerford trial poses several challenges for the PSNI. Firstly, there’s the issue of the botched investigation into the death of Francis McComber. We have some little leeway there since the event occurred in the middle of the “Troubles” when we were faced with literally hundreds of such cases.’ He looked at Spence and Wilson looking for some sign of agreement.

  Wilson wanted to intervene and explain what he had learned from DCI Armstrong who had tried to pursue the McComber case. But the die had been cast and there was nothing to be gained by pointing out that collusion probably played a part in the so-called “botched” investigation.

  Campbell flipped the cover of the file over and stared at the page beneath. ‘Secondly,’ he looked up, ‘secondly, there is the issue of Cummerford’s access to the investigation. We have carried out an investigation at headquarters and we have established that DCI Harrison was responsible for that particular debacle. He has been reduced in rank to inspector and reassigned to non-operational duties.’

  Wilson thought: one grave dug, body deposited and ground covered over, farewell to ‘Fatboy’ Harrison, another sacrifice on the altar of DCC Jennings’ unstoppable career.

  ‘The whole affair,’ Campbell continued, ‘and the absence of the DCC on an obligatory course has accelerated a reorganisation that the Chief Constable has had in mind for some time.’ He turned another page then looked up and stared at Spence.

  Wilson saw his superior swallow hard.

  ‘I understand you are about to retire,’ Campbell said speaking directly to Spence.

  ‘Two months,’ Spence said his mouth dry.

  Campbell said, ‘We have of course received your retirement papers and we have decided that there is no need for you to serve out the last two months. You will commence “gardening leave” at the end of the week. There will, of course, be an official function, but you will be ready to vacate your office in three days.’

  Wilson could see that Spence was about to object and put his hand firmly on Spence’s forearm. It was a fait accompli so no good could be done by arg
uing. Second grave dug and body deposited.

  The next page of the file was turned and Campbell faced Wilson who could see Jennings sitting forward in anticipation. ‘Superintendent Wilson,’ Campbell began, ‘you have done an admirable job as head of the murder squad. However, as I said earlier we have decided to accelerate a reorganisation, which has been under discussion for some time. The murder squad will soon be disbanded and will be replaced by a serious crimes unit.’

  Wilson could see some light at the end of the tunnel but all his experience told him that it was a train rushing in his direction.

  ‘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.’

&nbs
p; ‘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.