Dead Men

‘Funnily enough, I am. They’re not as cerebral as Five, that’s for sure, but they get the job done.’

‘You won’t be there for ever, you know. You’re far too valuable to be playing cops and robbers.’

Button sipped her wine. ‘Nice to know I’m wanted.’

‘You are, very much so. At some point I’m moving up, and when that happens there’ll be a slot at the Joint Terrorism Analysis Centre.’

‘I’ve only just got my feet under the table at SOCA.’

‘It’s a stepping-stone, Charlie. Don’t think of it as anything other than that.’

Button picked up the menu. ‘So, are we eating?’

Shepherd sipped his coffee as he looked out of the sitting-room window. His mobile rang. It was Button. ‘Good morning, Charlie,’ he said. ‘Are you in Belfast?’

‘I’m at home, actually,’ she said. ‘I’ve a couple of meetings and will probably be back in Belfast tonight.’

A black Vauxhall Vectra crawled up the hill towards Shepherd’s house.

‘But don’t worry, Amar’s listening in,’ said Button.

‘I feel like I’m in the Big Brother house,’ said Shepherd, ‘but without the chance of eviction.’ Two big men were in the car, peering at the house numbers. There were no markings on the vehicle but it was obviously police. Less than a year old, with a radio aerial on the back, no dealer stickers. Official transport. Shepherd realised it was the car he’d seen when he’d been in Elaine’s house, searching the attic.

‘The reason I’m calling is that someone’s just run a check on Jamie Pierce. Have you come across a Superintendent John Maplethorpe?’

‘He’s a friend of Elaine’s,’ said Shepherd, ‘Robbie’s best man at their wedding.’

‘Well, he ran a check on you through the Police National Computer.’

‘Probably just looking out for Elaine,’ said Shepherd. The car stopped outside her house and the two men climbed out. ‘She’s got visitors,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll call you back.’

He cut the connection and moved to the side of the window so that the two men couldn’t see him from the road. They walked towards the front door, their eyes watchful. They were well over six feet, one a little taller than the other, in their mid-forties and slightly overweight. They pressed the bell. Shepherd picked up the financial brochures Elaine had given him and hurried outside. As he went across the garden, she opened her front door and began to talk to the men.

‘Hi, Elaine, is everything okay?’ Shepherd asked.

‘Hi, Jamie. They’re police. At least, they say they are.’

‘Who are you?’ said the taller man. He had a strong Scottish accent.

‘I’m a neighbour,’ said Shepherd, and indicated his house.

‘We’d like to talk to Mrs Carter, if that’s okay with you,’ said the second. He was broad-shouldered with a hairline that had receded more than half-way across his skull. He also spoke with a Scottish accent, probably Glaswegian.

Shepherd looked at Elaine. ‘I can stay if you want,’ he said.

Elaine nodded. ‘Please.’

‘We don’t need an audience,’ said the second man, more aggressively this time.

‘Can I see your warrant cards, please?’ said Shepherd.

‘What?’

‘Your warrant cards. I want to see them.’

‘Are you a lawyer?’

‘No, I’m not a lawyer. But you two are claiming to be police officers and you sound Scottish to me. This is Belfast so it’s a fair enough request to ask you to identify yourselves.’

The two men looked at each other and the taller one nodded. They pulled out small black wallets and flipped them open. Shepherd peered at the two warrant cards. The taller man was Colin Staniford, a detective inspector. His companion was Sergeant Stevie Ferguson. Both warrant cards had been issued by the Strathclyde Police.

‘You see, we’ve got a problem right there,’ said Shepherd, pointing at the cards. ‘You don’t have jurisdiction here.’

‘You sure you’re not a lawyer?’ said Staniford.

‘I’m a website designer,’ said Shepherd. ‘But that’s not the point. The point is that you two are from Strathclyde. And this is Northern Ireland.’

‘We’re on secondment to the Police Service of Northern Ireland,’ said Staniford.

‘Do you have something to back that up?’ said Shepherd.

‘What?’

Shepherd gestured at the warrant card in Staniford’s hand. ‘That just says you’re a police officer. It doesn’t say you have the right to be in here asking questions.’

‘And you are?’ asked Staniford.

‘Pierce,’ said Shepherd. ‘Jamie Pierce.’

‘And you live next door?’

‘That’s right.’

‘What’s your date of birth, Mr Pierce?’

‘Are you planning to send me a birthday card?’

‘I’d just like to know your date of birth.’

‘That’s none of your business,’ he said.

‘You won’t tell me your date of birth?’

‘I won’t help you run a check on me, that’s for sure.’

Staniford nodded slowly. ‘Okay,’ he said. He pulled a wallet from his trouser pocket and handed Shepherd a business card. It bore his name and rank, the crest of the Police Service of Northern Ireland and the address of the Historical Enquiries Team in Lisburn, County Antrim.

‘I haven’t heard of the Historical Enquiries Team,’ said Shepherd.

‘We’re tasked with investigating deaths that occurred during the Troubles,’ said Staniford.

Shepherd held up the card. ‘Can I keep this?’

‘Go ahead,’ said Staniford. He looked at Elaine. ‘Do you mind if we ask you a few questions now, Mrs Carter?’

‘Please, come in,’ she said. They followed her down the hall to the sitting room. Shepherd closed the door and went after them. Ferguson took off his overcoat, draped it over the arm of the sofa and sat down, Staniford next to him. The sergeant fished a notebook out of his overcoat pocket and rested it on his knee. Shepherd positioned himself in an armchair at an angle to the men. ‘Can I get you tea or coffee?’ asked Elaine. She stood by the fireplace, her arms crossed defensively. The picture of her with Robbie and Timmy was at her left shoulder. Shepherd wondered if she’d consciously chosen to stand next to it or if it was coincidence.

‘We’re fine,’ said Staniford. ‘Please, Mrs Carter, sit down. We’re just here for a chat.’

Elaine went to the chair where Shepherd was sitting and perched on the arm. ‘How can I help you?’ she said.

‘Did your husband have any diaries, Mrs Carter?’ asked Staniford.

Elaine’s brow furrowed. ‘Any what?’

‘Diaries. Work diaries. Or notebooks. We’re trying to pin down his movements during the five years before he died.’

‘Are you here about Robbie’s murder?’

Shepherd realised she hadn’t answered the detective’s question. She must know about the diaries in the trunk in the attic, which meant that she was deliberately evading it.

‘It’s the years prior to his death that we’re interested in, actually,’ said Staniford.

‘Why?’ asked Elaine.

‘Just part of our enquiries,’ said Staniford.

‘But Robbie’s death has been resolved,’ said Elaine. ‘The men were found guilty and sentenced. We know who did it. Why would you reopen the investigation?’

‘It’s part of an ongoing investigation, Mrs Carter,’ said Ferguson.

‘Investigation into what?’ asked Elaine.

‘I’m not at liberty to reveal that,’ said Ferguson.