You'll Get Yours, page 7
“Er, PC Burke, is it?”
“No, O’Shaughnessy, boss.”
“Sorry.”
“No bother. My question is this. She was on the city walls. As we all know, they were built in the seventeenth century to protect Derry from Scottish and English invaders. Could there be some, er, political angle? Did she have—I can’t believe I’m saying it in this day and age—but did this Regina Steps have any IRA connections?”
McLaughlin grunted. “If we disregard where she was placed and just look at the crime scene, the knickers and the thumb and what have you, I’m of the mind that this crime seems anything but political. All theories, all avenues of inquiry, but, have to be kept open.”
“Maybe,” PC O’Shaughnessy went on, “that thumb in her mouth is saying, you should have kept your bake shut. A way of silencing her. From the IRA.” Bake, mouth.
“I believe they had a different MO,” McLaughlin said.
Kneecapping, tarring and feathering.
“And,” Lyons called out, “if he wanted to show us she was a grass, surely he’d have just superglued her palm to her mouth?”
“Och,” O’Shaughnessy said with a scowl. “Catch yourself on, Lyons. Flimmin superglue?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Go on away with you!”
There was a flash of annoyance on D’Arcy’s face. This free-for-all wasn’t how she conducted her morning briefings. To fill her time, she was affixing a map of the city on the murder board. They’d be sticking pins into locations relevant to the investigation at some stage.
“Lads! Lads!” McLaughlin cut in, a glance at Lyons to be sure the lad wasn’t on the verge of leaping across the room to bash the copper’s head in. “Easy does it, now. And, actually, aye. The perp did indeed superglue the victim’s thumb to her tongue to keep it there.” He saw the ripple of shock through the room, especially on PC O’Shaughnessy’s face. “So placing the thumb there must mean something important to whoever did it. This aspect of the homicide must be kept strictly under wraps for now. It’ll help eliminate all the nutters that are sure to come forward, sure, have already come forward with their calls today.” There were exasperated nods around the room of those who had to answer, more fend off, the barrage of calls all day long.
One of the few female coppers raised her hand.
“Surely, but...strangulation is a crime of passion?”
“In many cases, aye,” McLaughlin said. “We’ve to cover all bases. Now if I may—”
Another hand.
“Do we think she was targeted? Or was it a random attack?”
This was indeed how McLaughlin liked his morning briefings, with a dedicated team. Though it was looking like this evening morning briefing would be longer rather than shorter, and he was getting hungry. And Catherine would be wondering where her daddy was.
Behind him, D’Arcy had taken the initiative to write on the board. MOTIVES, SUSPECTS, OPPORTUNITY, MEANS. Perhaps this would move things along. Under SUSPECTS, she wrote a large question mark. Under MOTIVES, she was now listing them. Gain, Jealousy, Revenge, Elimination, Conviction (Religious), Thrill, Sex, Hate.
“We haven’t a clue as of yet,” McLaughlin answered with a sorry shake of the head. “And, aye, that’s something we must find out. We conducted a door-to-door at the buildings around the crime scene this morning, but there are very few residents and none that seem to have been looking out their windows at that ungodly hour. We’re still waiting on CCTV footage and information from the database. Apparently, the lads in surveillance were doing an upgrade to the computer system and so there has been a delay in getting even the basics. We can’t locate her phone, but DC Hawkins, that’s her in the back,” Hawkins waved, “has gone through Regina’s laptop, and we’ll be soon handing it over to the tech department. Hopefully, we’ll know more tomorrow.”
There were moans and rolled eyes. The tech department was turning out nowadays to be as reliable as a cowboy contractor, always tomorrow.
“We are also waiting on the preliminary report on material found at the scene where the body was dumped.”
McLaughlin wasn’t hopeful. He’d had a glance at the plastic bags at the crime scene forensics had collected and had seen nothing intriguing.
“DC Hawkins has already found some intriguing tidbits. She was instrumental in us finding the victim’s car, abandoned at the Quayside parking garage. Regina had parked there at 8:12 last night. She never came back for it. But Dr. Keedy, the pathologist, has given us evidence that your woman probably went to the Omniplex.”
D’Arcy placed a photo of the kernel of popcorn on the board and pointed at it. She couldn’t help but grin proudly. It was as if she’d performed the autopsy herself.
“Aye,” McLaughlin said. “A kernel of popcorn, so the cinema it is. And we also might have found a clue to the perp. If indeed there was only one.”
D’Arcy put up a photo of the black hair.
Nobody’s eyesight was good enough to discern what it was a photo of.
“Five black hairs,” D’Arcy clarified. “Maybe from the perpetrator.”
McLaughlin said, “We’re looking for a relatively fit person. Probably a male. Or, who knows, maybe two people.” He glanced at D’Arcy. “Maybe even two women.”
Another hand, female.
“Boss, wouldn’t that be a rather unlikely scenario, two women struggling to drag a corpse up the city walls, naked or not?”
“True, we need to keep an open mind, but let’s not waste time on things that are extremely unlikely. I just can’t envision a woman committing this crime.”
“It’s that he stripped her, boss,” the female copper chanced. “I don’t think a woman would do that to another woman.” She thought a bit further, then gave a vehement shake of the head. “No, not a Derry woman. I just can’t fathom it.”
“Nor can I,” McLaughlin agreed. He clapped his hands together. “Right! So we’ve that cleared up. We’re looking for one male at least, maybe more, presumably younger rather than older,” now he glanced at Lyons, “and stronger rather than weaker.”
Lyons raised a hand.
“After a word with Cahill, boss, I’ve come to my senses you might be relieved to hear. I suppose, the state of them, there’s no way them aged Yanks could’ve—”
He scowled as another copper cut in.
“What about these knickers, hi?”
McLaughlin raised an eyebrow. “What about them?”
“Well...he stripped your woman to her knickers. Why didn’t he just go the whole hog?”
“Aye,” said someone else. “All or nothing. You’d imagine she’d be either fully clothed or stark bollocks naked.” D’Arcy glowered. “This seems to be half one thing and half not.”
The copper next to him turned and said, “Aye, I get what you’re on about. It’s as if he wanted to be shocking...but not too shocking? Sure, it doesn’t make any sense.”
A second female copper raised her hand. “Might we say...he was of the mind to strip her fully, but some sense of, shall we say, common decency held him back?”
“Could he be a religious nutter?”
McLaughlin said, “Discounting something like...he somehow damaged her clothes, or something happened to them that would lead back to him, some sort of stain, then I agree. We are faced with something very curious indeed.”
Another copper scowled and said, “The whole scene, those photos of how she was posed there, it reeks of overkill. Don’t you think it’s all a wee bit too theatrical?”
“Sure, a sophisticated, fully formed murderer doesn’t spring out of nowhere!”
“Aye, and except for those strands of hair we think he left at the crime scene, this murder is so...accomplished? Is that the word I mean?”
“This can’t be the first time he’s done this.”
“He must have killed before.”
“Or must not be from Derry.”
Lyons perked up.
“All avenues, all avenues,” McLaughlin mused. “But now to reality. I’ve got to give out assignments for tonight and tomorrow.”
There were groans from those stationed at Twilight Road. The radiators clanked.
“No fear,” McLaughlin said, “it’ll be up to the new recruits, you lot from Strand Road, to handle what needs to be done tonight. I need those of you from here to go home and get some much-needed rest. As I need myself. So let’s move this along. We had a hunch, and I sent DCs Lyons and Cahill to check the security camera of the Rocking Mermaid.” One foot behind him on the wall, Lyons preened his mustache. “As you probably know, it’s right across the ramp that leads up to the city walls. There were some wheelie bins there, and maybe the perp used those to transport her body up the walls to the cannon.” McLaughlin smiled grimly. “Regina was knocked out, lay somewhere for an hour or two, we suspect now from the pub’s security camera that somewhere might have been in the killer’s van. Presumably, he stripped her to her knickers in the van. Probably superglued her thumb in her mouth at that stage as well. When the area was quiet, not a soul in sight, he drove his van to the ramp, took Regina out, put her in a wheelie bin and rolled it up and over Shipquay Gate and then put her on the cannon. If the van is indeed the perp’s—and we’ve no number plate or distinguishing features as only the top of the van was visible on the video—then this happened at, er...?” He looked to D’Arcy.
“Between 12:45 and 12:58, sir.”
“So we’re searching for an unmarked white van.”
There were groans around the room.
“Aye, the legendary unmarked white van. The usual suspect. Bloody typical, I know. There you have it, but.”
A hand went up. “I know from that mis per last month, and from the robbery of the jewelry store a few months before, there are 4,049 white vans registered in Derry.”
“Could people just wise up and not purchase them in different colors, then?”
“Or outlaw the sale of them. Would make our job that much easier.”
“Sure, I drive a white van myself,” O’Shaughnessy put in with a smirk.
There was gentle laughter.
“So I’ll need you to interview as many of the owners as you can get your hands on.” McLaughlin motioned to a group of officers. “I want you four to find out where these owners of unmarked white vans were last night between the hours of ten and two. Start with those known to us first, of course. Sure, you’ve still got the list from last month, I’m sure. And you,” he picked out two, “go to the Omniplex and see what you can find out. They must have security cameras, and interview the staff, show them her photo.” He motioned now to a group of three. “And you, it’s unorthodox, aye, but it’s given us results before, I want you to go undercover in all the pubs in the city center, just to listen in. I’ve the feeling somewhere in my, er, ample gut that someone somewhere in Derry, maybe quite a few, know who this woman was and that she’s been killed, but nobody’s willing to fill us in and let us know. Us, who need to know the most. And as for you,” the last of the new recruits, “I want you to go to Antrim Terrace and see what you can truffle out. Had she a husband? A partner? Wains? We’ve not a clue. She’s got to have parents, but. I’m hoping we’ll be able to break the news to her grieving relatives before they see it on TikTok or God knows what. There’s evidence she might have had some fella. Find out who he is. Did her neighbors notice anything out of the ordinary with her lately? Was there some kind of altercation recently? Some officers went door-to-door today,” he nodded at those officers, “but no joy.”
Those in the last group who had drawn the short straw grimaced.
One shook his head. “Antrim Terrace, but. The Moorside.”
“Aye, good luck with that, lads,” McLaughlin admitted. “Make sure you take off your name plates and have someone keep an eye on the patrol cars as per.”
“Half the people in that godforsaken place won't even answer their doors to us, sure.”
“And the other half opens them only to slam them shut in our faces.”
“After gobbing in them. The amount of tissues I’ve gone through in the Moorside!”
For the first time, McLaughlin’s cheery but determined face showed a bit of irritation. Few but Lyons and D’Arcy noticed it.
McLaughlin addressed them sternly.
“Don’t think I didn’t hear the moans and groans when I told you Regina was from Antrim Terrace. She may have had a difficult life that forced her to fall off the edge of respectability, caused her to find herself in such a hardened neighborhood, but she’s still one of ours.”
He was now slightly ranting, posing his paunch first to the right, then the left.
“Do your duty for this poor woman. Think of Regina Steps as your mammy or auntie or daughter. We must do our best to see justice served. At the moment, we’ve a Family Liaison Officer assigned to the case sat there twiddling her thumbs, sweet FA to do.” The FLO shifted uncomfortably on her orange chair as all eyes turned toward her. She grimaced and shrugged her shoulders, hands up as if to say, ‘what can I do?’ “This Regina Steps has got to have had a mammy and daddy, brothers and sisters.” They all jumped as he pounded the table with his hands and roared, “Flimmin find them!”
D’Arcy at his side heaved a sigh of relief as chairs were scraped and the masses got up en masse, the chatter rising to an excited roar that all but drowned out the clanking radiators.
“And be careful out there, lads and ladies,” McLaughlin called out over the clanking radiators. “We don't know what we're dealing with yet.”
CHAPTER 9
CHAIRS SCRAPED AND bulging duty belts were adjusted as the troops set out to scour the town with their particular assignments. Those duty belts weighed the officers down with their radio, handcuffs, baton, flashlight, Taser, latex gloves, handgun and spare ammunition. The PSNI was one of the few police services in the UK where officers were routinely authorized to carry firearms. This was due to the specific security situation of Northern Ireland, even after all this time. The Glock 17 semi-automatic pistol was standard issue, but few had ever had cause to put it to use.
With a satisfied nod, DCI Nix disappeared behind the blinds of his office.
McLaughlin was relieved his boss didn’t want another wee chat. He glanced at his watch. Half six. His stomach was begging to be filled, and his daughter Catherine would have by that stage already made her own dinner. But the girl loved fish fingers and there were some oven chips in the freezer she’d probably make use of. Anyway, she’d reached the age where she spent most of her time with her nose in her phone, not making idle chat with her father. Even so, McLaughlin felt guilty at leaving the girl to her own devices. He would have to take Catherine out to the arcades at Buncrana across the border once this investigation was over.
Yes, he was well aware she was at the age when being seen out with her father was mortifying, but none of her schoolmates would see her in Buncrana. And Catherine loved her arcades.
McLaughlin headed to his office, D’Arcy at his heels.
“Excellent work with that footage, son,” McLaughlin praised Lyons, hand on his shoulder as he passed and seeing Cahill hurrying up, “And you too, Hens.”
He addressed his team, “Right! I think that’s it for the night before we regroup tomorrow. I don’t know about you, but my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut. I’m famished. And knackered.”
“Aye, us and all,” Lyons said.
“Boss, but...” Cahill said. “Fern asked me to come get you. She’s found something on Regina Steps' computer.”
“Brilliant!” D’Arcy trilled.
McLaughlin’s shoulders drooped. Now that the initial flush of a new homicide had faded, and they were preparing to dig their heels in for the long haul, he was struggling to keep his mind alert. D’Arcy, Lyons, Hawkins, Cahill, they were all decades younger than him and had more stamina.
“Right you are,” he said. “Best make our way over there.”
They wound through the desks and the stragglers still to leave the station.
DC Hawkins beamed up from her desk as they once again all descended.
“Boss, I was trying to catch your eye as you were speaking to the troops,” she said. “Too far away. Anyroad, happy days. I got into the vic’s email, and I think I’ve uncovered where she’s employed. The city center branch of the Top-Yer-Trolley.”
Northern Ireland’s own supermarket superstore, similar to Sainsbury’s and the like.
D’Arcy took a sharp intake of breath, and Lyons and Cahill exchanged an excited look. McLaughlin raised an eyebrow.
“Let’s see what you’ve found out.”
They leaned over Hawkins’ hunched shoulders as she pulled up the email account on Regina Steps’ bulky laptop.
“I scanned her emails and found many from work, apparently group emails sent out to all employees. It appears Regina started working there four years ago. That’s when the emails started. They were signed by the manager of the shop, a Mr. Henry O’Toole.”
“When does the shop close?” McLaughlin asked. “Late, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” Cahill quickly put in. “It’s open to 10 PM.”
“Right.” McLaughlin scanned the almost empty office.
“Grab a couple of them fellas over there, boss.” Lyons pointed at the group who had been given the unmarked white van and were settling themselves at strange computers and strange desks to go through the owners.
“Hey! Lads!” McLaughlin called out.
Their heads shot up in the SIO’s direction.
“Two of you head to the Top-Yer-Trolley in the city center. You’re to interview the manager, a—”
He clicked his fingers at Hawkins.
“Henry O’Toole.”
“Apparently Regina worked there. Find out all you can about her employment. How long had she worked there? Was she a good employee? Any beef between her and the other employees? You know the drill.”
“Right you are, sir.”
There was hurried discussion over the desks, and two—one was that PC O'Shaughnessy—headed out of the station, determination in their steps.
“Also, boss,” Hawkins said, “there was direct deposit, so I’ve her bank account number as well. I myself can’t get into the bank, of course, without breaking more rules than I care to at the moment.”
