She nodded sniffily.
“Mr Yavarov you are free to accompany Mrs Deauville and render her assistance, or you are free to go. If you want to stay we’ll get you lunch too.”
“I will help Mrs Deauville with her statement,” he said.
I took Crabbie to one side. “When you let her go, have WPC Green drive her home, but get her to take her time about it. I want the house watched and I want the team to be in place by the time she arrives.”
“To what end?”
“If it were me and the police hadn’t found my lock-up garage full of drugs I’d want to slip out in the middle of the night and destroy the evidence. Or I might just want to fly the coop.”
“It’ll mean a call to Special Branch to get a covert team,” he said.
“It’ll be worth it if we can catch her in the act of destroying the evidence. Charge her with obstruction of justice and use that as leverage against her.”
“Leverage for what? I don’t think she knows anything about the murder.”
“Everybody knows something.”
A half dozen phone calls later Crabbie came back with a face even more sour than usual.
“What’s the matter?”
“Special Branch won’t do it. They say it’s not a priority.”
“They won’t help at all?”
“They say they can’t justify the expense of a team for a low-level drug dealer in Carrickfergus.”
“Well that’s odd. Thought they would have jumped at the chance. All right, no big deal, we’ll do it ourselves, then. Find a few keen reservists to watch the place.”
“It’ll be over-time. Inspector Dalziel—”
“I’ll pay for it out of my own pocket if I have to. Mrs Deauville will probably clock them and stay indoors, but at least our evidence won’t be destroyed and she won’t run for the airport.”
“Aye. OK. A couple of reservists to watch the house. Then what?”
“You and I are going to go to Larne to interview this Morrison bloke.”
I went to my office to get my portable tape recorder when there was a knock at the door.
The door opened and an ashen Chief Inspector McArthur came in with the early edition of the Belfast Telegraph.
“Page two,” he said.
I opened up the paper and there over the top half of page two was a picture of yesterday’s chaotic crime scene: the broken police tape, the crowd milling around the body, the goddamn goat sniffing at the victim’s denim jacket.
“Fuck!” I gasped.
“Read the story, Duffy.”
The story was, if anything, worse:
CROSSBOW CHAOS IN CARRICKFERGUS
By Stephen O’Toole
A murder case seemed to confound the officers of Carrickfergus CID yesterday morning. For much of the day this reporter watched as a parade of RUC men bungled an investigation into the death of a man in the Sunnylands area of the town. The victim, a Mr Francis Deauville, lay in his driveway at 15 Mountbatten Terrace for almost three hours while his neighbours milled around the body smoking cigarettes and a goat nibbled at the victim’s clothing. No effort was made to “secure the crime scene” nor were forensic officers summoned to the murder.
“Is this the way murders are always handled in Carrickfergus?” I asked one uniformed RUC officer who merely a grunted a response.
The head of Carrickfergus CID, Inspector Sean Duffy, could not be reached for comment. Duffy is a controversial figure at the Carrick RUC barracks. He has been disciplined more than once by the police tribunal and on one occasion was demoted a full rank apparently because of incompetence. This murder case seems certainly to have “made a goat” of Duffy and his fellow officers in Carrickfergus RUC. Local independent Unionist Councillor Leslie Hale told this reporter that he wasn’t surprised by the goat incident and that “Carrick RUC had been a joke for years.” Neighbours on Mountbatten Terrace were similarly distressed by the serial blunders from the local police. Chairman of the local residents’ association the Reverend William McFaul spoke of the “absolute foul language” and “rudeness” of one policeman whose identity this reporter was unable to confirm.
Forensic officers did not arrive on the scene until nearly four hours after the body was …
I let the paper fall to the floor.
I felt light, my head was swimming. I put an arm out to steady myself.
“Fucking hell,” I groaned.
“What happened yesterday, Sean?”
“What?”
“What happened yesterday, Sean?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Uncomplicate it.”
I took a deep breath. “Well, it was a little crazy at first, sir. The victim’s wife stabbed Sergeant McCrabban and Dalziel made him go to the hospital.”
“Where were you when this was going on?”
“I was on my holidays, sir. I was in Donegal in the morning. It wasn’t even my case!”
“Did you assume command when you arrived?”
“I had to. Because of Kenny Dalziel’s blundering only young Lawson was there. He sent everybody away.”
“Hmmm.”
“How badly am I fucked?”
“I don’t know. Chief Superintendent Strong has come down again, doubtless he’ll want a word with you.”