I put the paper down. It’s what Strong wanted. He’d be happy, and a happy Chief Superintendent was a tide that would raise all the boats. But it didn’t get us off the hook, we’d still have to find out who killed him. I said as much to Crabbie. He nodded but we both knew the pressure would be somewhat alleviated. The police, the newspapers and the general public all knew that DAADD was an IRA front organisation. No one was going to come forward to testify against anyone from the IRA and no doubt, as the Chief Super predicted, there would be another IRA murder along in a few days to absorb the public’s attention.
I handed the article to Lawson. “Thoughts?”
“Uhm. I’ve looked into the statistics and if this is true, it’s the fifth alleged drug dealer the DAADD have murdered in the last twelve months; but this one is a bit unusual in its geographical location and murder weapon. They’ve never killed anyone with a crossbow before and only once before have they come into Protestant territory to kill an alleged drug dealer.”
“But they have come into Protestant territory before?” Crabbie asked.
“Yes. They went up Sandy Row in December to kill a cocaine dealer. Alleged cocaine dealer I should say. No formal claim of responsibility because it was enemy turf.”
“So if we know the group and why they did it, the only thing we have to explain is the murder weapon,” Crabbie said.
“They’ve used it twice now. Once successfully. Once unsuccessfully. It seems a very odd choice for an organisation that is awash with firearms,” I said.
“It could be a new tactic to set DAADD apart from the IRA proper, or it could just be the idiosyncrasies of one particular DAADD volunteer, I’ll look into it,” Lawson said.
“Good. But, Lawson, don’t use the word ‘volunteer’ – that’s their language. It’s an innocuous word which they have appropriated.”
“What should I say?”
“Anything else, but not that. It makes you think of the International Brigade going off to fight Franco, not some gangland hood driving about in a car shooting people out the window with his shiny new crossbow.”
“Who’s Franco?”
“Jesus wept. For a smart kid there are serious deficiencies in your knowledge, son.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Don’t apologise. Read some George Orwell. Homage to Catalonia would be a good start. Now, what about the Deauvilles’ theoretical/hypothetical lock-up garage?” I asked.
“Nothing from the people watching the residence.”
“Mrs D. didn’t leave her house?”
“Not yet,” Crabbie said.
“Disappointing. OK, Lawson, do me a favour and call up the shops selling crossbows and tell them we’re on our way over.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Lawson had gone, Crabbie walked me over to his desk and handed me a couple of newspapers.
“What’s this?”
“It’s about our case,” he said.
I shook my head. “They take us to task, do they? I don’t want to read it.”
“No! It’s good news. Neither the Irish News nor the Newsletter have followed up on the Belfast Telegraph story, so we may have dodged a bullet,” Crabbie said, handing me both morning papers which had only covered the story in capsule form:
CARRICKFERGUS MURDER
Francis Deauville, 43, a suspected drug dealer, was shot in the Sunnylands area of Carrickfergus on Thursday morning. Police are investigating.
MURDER IN SUNNYLANDS
A murder in Sunnylands estate, Carrickfergus, in the early hours of Thursday morning is being investigated by the RUC. The victim, Francis Deauville, originally from Bangor, was rumoured to have associations with drug dealers in the area.
Neither tabloid had run with the idea of Carrick CID’s incompetence, nor had they reprinted the photo of the unattended body lying in the driveway.
“This is fantastic!” I said.
“I don’t know what happened, Sean. You’d think after the Tele story yesterday the tabloids would have been all over us,” McCrabban said.
“I know what happened. Chief Superintendent Strong, or should I say acting Assistant Chief Constable Strong, said he was going to sort this out for me,” I exclaimed. “And it looks like he has. He’s used his influence and killed the bloody lede.”
“We owe him,” Crabbie said.
“We owe him big time, mate. Does he smoke cigars?”
“Dunno.”
“I’ll get him a bottle of whisky. Good stuff.” I looked at Crabbie for a moment and shook my head. “Not that it’ll make any difference in the long run if you’re quitting and I’m quitting, although I have to say that the prospect of getting a job with Beth’s father seems to have vanished.”
Crabbie nodded and kept his mouth firmly shut. He didn’t want to ask if there was more trouble on the home front and I didn’t feel like going into it just now.