A Box Full of Darkness (Wilson Book 5) Read online

  ‘Good evening, new best friend.’ McDevitt’s voice was cheery.

  ‘Where’s the information?’ Wilson asked.

  ‘All business, eh!’

  ‘What else is there?’

  ‘Some of us have to work. I’ve just put tomorrow’s column to bed. So I’m all yours and I hope that might include a drink. I’ve got what you asked for and I think we should meet. Have you ever been to White’s?’

  ‘Yes.’ A drink with McDevitt suddenly felt like a very good idea to him. Maybe they were becoming new best friends. Maybe McDevitt was his only friend. ‘I can be there in fifteen minutes depending on traffic.’

  Sinclair expected Wilson to turn down his invitation for a drink. If he had accepted, he would have been in a right pickle. He had a prior arrangement that he was keen to keep.

  ‘So, everything is going to plan,’ Chief inspector Campbell said.

  ‘In as much as it can with someone like Wilson,’ Sinclair said. They were sitting in Campbell’s office in Brooklyn House. ‘Jackson and he haven’t exactly hit it off but that’s not unusual. He’s already starting to ferret around the Mallon and Lafferty business and I understand that he’s promised Lafferty to bring him something before he dies. The old fart has pancreatic cancer and might kick off at any moment but it’s another driver for Wilson.’

  ‘If he needs another driver. Do you have an interest in rugby?’

  ‘Not really, is it relevant?’

  ‘To Wilson, yes. I saw him play a couple of times. You never saw such tenacity. He scrapped for every ball whether he had a chance of getting it or not. Although his career was cut short, that tenacity is part of his character. We’ve tossed a bone in his direction and like a good dog he’s going to play with it until he devours it or gets fed up with it. I don’t anticipate him getting fed up.’

  ‘You have a hard on for this guy?’

  ‘I respect him as a fellow officer.’

  ‘And yet you’d screw him? Doesn’t sound like respect to me.’

  ‘We do what we have to do.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.’

  ‘Good,’ Campbell leaned back in his chair. The powers that be would be glad to hear that the plan was progressing. ‘And how is his demeanour?’

  ‘He looks like someone who’s just received a hefty kick in the bollocks. He hasn’t smiled in days. Am I permitted to know what the big picture is?’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody naive. Even I’m not permitted to know what the big picture is. Just play your part and leave the big picture to someone else.’

  Sinclair had spent long enough at the political end of policing to know that someone higher up was running some kind of operation on Wilson. He usually liked to know who that someone was but in this case he assumed it was some branch of the security services given that Jackson and he had been co-opted to keep an eye on developments. ‘Don’t worry about Jackson and me, we’ll follow our orders.’

  Campbell’s grey eyes bored into Sinclair. ‘Who said I was worried?’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Having had its licence to serve liquor granted in 1630, White’s Tavern is accredited with being the oldest pub in Belfast. The inside smacks of its age although it has surely been remodelled several times since its doors first opened. The long room that constitutes the main area features wooden beams, a feature fireplace and drinking paraphernalia that would do credit to an antiques shop. The relatively low height of White’s ceiling was one of the reasons Wilson was not a regular patron. When he entered, he saw that McDevitt was already installed at the table furthest away from the bar and next to the toilet. He was seated directly under a black and white photograph of the Titanic, and two pints of Guinness were on the table before him.

  ‘Guinness, alright?’ he said pushing a pint across the table.

  ‘Perfect.’ Wilson sat facing McDevitt and the photo of the ill-fated ship. He picked up the glass and took a deep draught. ‘I thought we arranged to communicate by email.’

  ‘I thought it would be nicer to have a little chat.’ McDevitt withdrew a folded sheaf of white paper from the inside of his jacket and laid it on the table. ‘The complete Chronicle file on the murder of Cormac Mallon and Sean Lafferty. My guess was spot on about the coverage. There was too much happening at the time. Murders were a dime a dozen.’

  Wilson unfolded the packet and found it consisted of three sheets each containing a copy of an article. The first was the largest and consisted of about six column inches. It was dated the day after the murders. He read quickly through the piece, which outlined the bare details of the killings. There was nothing new. There was speculation that the boys had been either in a fire fight or had been caught in the crossfire of a fire fight. The source of that speculation was attributed to the RUC but no particular officer was cited. The article on the second sheet was dated two days later and consisted of four column inches. The RUC made a statement that the killings had been random and sectarian in nature. There was no apparent link between the killings and other murders in the Province. The perpetrators were being sought. The final page carried a two-column inch piece on the funerals of Mallon and Lafferty. The funerals had been notable for the absence of tricolours on the coffins and paramilitary demonstrations: just two more victims of a murder spree that went on for years. ‘This is it?’ Wilson asked when he’d finished.

  McDevitt nodded.

  ‘It must have been a heavy news week,’ Wilson said.

  ‘Don’t blame me,’ McDevitt sipped his drink. ‘I was still in short trousers and had yet to develop an unhealthy interest in women. I don’t even think a reporter was involved. Probably a sub editor working off a press release.’

  ‘No human interest piece as follow up?’ Wilson asked.

  ‘It was a time when most human interest was confined to keeping themselves alive. You could go into a pub anywhere in Ulster for a quiet drink, and exit in a body bag.’

  ‘I’ve never seen a case where both the RUC and the Fourth Estate took so little interest in finding out why a kid’s football game was targeted.’

  ‘Come on. They weren’t exactly kids.’

  ‘They weren’t exactly adults either.’

  ‘It was years ago. You said yourself there’s no evidence remaining and probably most of the participants are dead. There’s zero chance of bringing the perpetrators to justice.’’

  Wilson thought of the old man lying on his deathbed in Beechmount Parade and the earnest teacher in Omagh. They were still alive, if only just in the case of Lafferty. ‘This isn’t only about justice, it’s also about closure.’ Wilson finished his drink and motioned in the direction of the bar for a refill.

  ‘I followed up on your other request,’ McDevitt said finishing off his glass.

  ‘And?’

  ‘If there was only one pond of shit in this province, you’d find your way into it,’ McDevitt leaned forward. ‘I have sources in most of the security apparatus.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I fed the names of your new colleagues into the black box.’

  The barman arrived with two fresh pints of Guinness and McDevitt automatically fell silent. Wilson passed over a £10 note and told the barman to keep the change.

  ‘To say that what came out was interesting would be an understatement,’ said McDevitt sipping his Guinness.

  ‘Are you going to tell me or do I have to beg?’

  ‘Your two friends are not just special branch. They belong to a unit that’s even special in Special Branch, if you know what I mean. They’ve done a lot of close protection of politicians. They have connections with the people who govern this province. Right now, their speciality is rooting out subversives. They’re into all sort of black operations, what the Americans call ‘psych ops’.’ He looked at Wilson and saw that he understood the term. ‘They are very heavy-duty operators. Which begs the question, what the hell are they doing working with you?’

  ‘It’s funny, I’m asking myself that question too.’


  ‘I tried to push for more information and I was told that digging deeper could be very bad for my health. And that was from people I’ve known for years. The bottom line was to keep away from these two individuals. And I was asked not to contact my sources for a very long time.’

  Wilson picked up his drink and took a long draught. For once in his life he felt boxed in. He had nowhere to turn. His only resource was sitting directly in front of him and had just been warned off. But warned off what? Jackson had declared himself from the beginning as former Special Branch. Sinclair had avoided the question of his past affiliations. Luckily, Wilson hadn’t made enquiries via his PSNI contacts. It was better that Sinclair and Jackson should be unaware that he didn’t trust them.

  ‘I can almost see the wheels in your mind spinning,’ McDevitt smiled. ‘I think you may have pissed off somebody with a hell of a lot of influence.’

  ‘DCC Jennings?’

  ‘Are you kidding? That little prick has as much influence as someone like me. He’s a gnat on the arsehole of the world. Whoever set these guys on you has real juice.’

  ‘So what do you think they’re up to?’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare speculate.’ McDevitt took a gulp of his Guinness. ‘If I did, you might not sleep too well tonight.’

  Wilson thought about telling McDevitt about the box that Mallon passed him. He didn’t like to feel like a pawn in someone else’s game. But first, he needed to find out exactly what the game might be. He took out his mobile phone and checked his messages again. Nothing from Kate. He closed the phone down.

  ‘She’s doing OK,’ McDevitt said. ‘There’s a few weeks to go, but my gut tells me she’s going to succeed in getting a reduced sentence for Cummerford. Probably more than she deserves. As your new best friend, don’t you think you could tell me what’s going on? I was on the lookout for you this morning on the embankment but you were a no show.’

  ‘I haven’t heard a word from Kate since the trial started. I’ve never been on a “break” before so I don’t have a script to follow.’

  McDevitt could see that Wilson was in pain. ‘It’ll work out. You guys were the perfect match. I often speculated on what the children you two produced would look like.’

  Genetically imperfect, Wilson thought, if the one they had already produced was anything to go by.

  ‘You’ll find a way back,’ McDevitt said. That really wasn’t his experience. He was two wives down and neither one had ended up a friend.

  ‘I’d be with her in a heartbeat,’ Wilson contemplated a third drink. Ah shit, he thought, and raised his hand to the barman.

  McDevitt smiled. ‘One of the great fallacies in life is that drink is useful for drowning sorrows. Dealing with loss is a process that can’t be speeded up by copious amounts of Guinness. Believe me, I’ve been there.’

  The barman arrived and put two pint glasses of Guinness on the table. McDevitt reached for his pocket but Wilson beat him, and passed over another £10 note. He could see from the barman’s face that the second tip was graciously received.

  McDevitt raised his glass. ‘We’ve already done your work life, and your private life.’ He touched his glass to Wilson’s and sipped the white head on the black liquid. ‘Have I told you that my ex-wife is trying to drag me through the courts again?’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Wilson woke with a screaming headache, and looked around the room. For an instant, he had no idea where he was. Slowly the outlines of his apartment appeared and he realised that he had somehow managed to make his way home. He was in the living room and there was a smell of curry in his nose. He looked at the coffee table and saw the remains of an Indian takeaway. He had no recollection of either ordering or consuming the meal. His mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot’s cage. He needed to rehydrate and quickly. He tried to remember the last time he had tied one on. It was a hell of a long time ago. Jock McDevitt really was becoming his best friend, or maybe just his best new drinking buddy. Another nuclear explosion went off in his head. He looked at his watch. It was fifteen minutes past seven. He wasn’t due in Dunmurry until nine, so he had the best part of an hour and a half to get himself into reasonable shape. It would require hot and cold alternating showers and a litre of coffee, but he would get there. He had been obliged to leave his car in town. He tried to remember exactly how many drinks he’d had but his brain had taken a holiday. He remembered McDevitt earnestly warning him to watch out for himself. Gradually, the details of the evening came back to him and he pushed himself up from his couch. The smell of curry was overpowering and he felt his stomach lurch. He moved as quickly as he could in the direction of the bathroom.

  He arrived in Dunmurry at five minutes to nine and had performed a miracle by getting himself into a state that could loosely be described as semi-human. It was going to be a difficult day in more ways than one. He parked his car and made his way to his office. Once inside, he removed a plastic cylinder containing painkillers from his pocket and dropped two down his throat followed by a slug from a take-out coffee he had procured on his way. He wanted to blame Kate for what happened the previous evening but he was old enough to realise that what had been done to him had been done by himself. No one had poured the drink down his throat. He took out a pad of paper. There were several things he would need in order to proceed. One was someone to front for him with the FSNI in order to have a ballistics test carried out on the bullet and shell. He wrote down the names of everyone that would fit that particular bill. He put a line through the names of his former colleagues in the murder squad. Then he crossed out McDevitt. He was left with two names: Kate McCann and Laurence Gold. Both might have a legitimate reason for requesting FSNI to analyse the projectiles. Neither would have to explain the basis of their request. And assuredly, Sinclair and Jackson wouldn’t hear a word about it. He would prefer to use Gold, but in reality he knew that he was going to have to ask Kate for her help. He wasn’t sure how she would respond but he would have to give it a try. He took out his mobile phone and composed a simply message “I need your help, please”, and sent it. The trial didn’t begin until ten o’clock but he knew that Kate was probably already at court changing into her wig and gown. He prayed that she wouldn’t just cancel his message sight unseen. There really wasn’t an alternative. The bullet and shell would be useless without the analysis. He knew he had just spoiled his day. He would now sit around wondering if and when Kate would reply. He looked at the page and crossed out Gold’s name. He looked up when he heard a knock at the door and saw Jackson’s head appear closely followed by his body.

  ‘Sir,’ Jackson said. ‘What’s the plan for today?’

  ‘I need you to find someone for me.’ Wilson could see from the look on Jackson’s face that he was already aware of his mission. He decided to play along. ‘Mallon mentioned that there was an RUC sergeant in charge at the crime scene. I’m guessing that he was a uniform and I think if he’s available, we should have a word with him. Check who the first responders were. There’s got to be a log somewhere for that night. Find out the sergeant’s name and whether he’s still in the land of the living. If he’s not, find me someone from the RUC who was in Beechmount Parade that night.’

  ‘That might be a tall order, sir,’ Jackson said. ‘A RUC sergeant back then would be in his seventies or eighties now.’

  ‘Not for someone with your skill set. I think you’re going to be able to find me someone.’

  ‘I’ll try. In the meantime what will you be doing, sir?’

  Something that certainly doesn’t involve you, Wilson thought. ‘You may have heard that I’m currently a witness in a capital trial that’s going on, the Maggie Cummerford trial. I’ve been informed that I might be called to an interview with the prosecution and the defence. There are some points that need clarification.’ Just then Wilson’s mobile rang. He looked and saw Kate’s number on the screen. ‘It’s the defence counsel,’ he said pressing the button.

  Jackson remained where he was
.

  ‘Do you mind?’ Wilson nodded towards the door. ‘I’d like to take this in private. Find me that RUC sergeant.’ He saw the disappointment on Jackson’s face.

  ‘Ian,’ Kate’s voice was strained. ‘What the hell are you up to? If this “I need your help” is just a ploy for us to meet up, I’ll . . .’ she didn’t finish the sentence.