Police at the Station and They Don't Look Friendly (Detective Sean Duffy #6)(8)

“How are you doing, Sean?” Beth asked and before I could answer added: “You shouldn’t look so gloomy, I think this will be great for you and your Dad.”

“You really want to know how I feel?”

“Is it going to be something positive?”

“I have nothing positive to say. Will you take two negatives?”

“No.”

“Jesus, Beth, I really don’t want to go on this bloody trip. I only agreed because I thought he’d forget all about it.”

“Sean! Phone!” my mum shouted from the living room.

I walked down the hall and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Sean, I’m really sorry to bother you on your holiday.”

It was Detective Sergeant McCrabban. I’d recognised his dour, sibilant Ballymena intake of breath before he’d said a word.

“That’s OK, Crabbie old son. It’s always a pleasure to hear from you.”

“How’s your trip going?”

“It’s all right, Crabbie. It’s pouring, but, you know, that’s to be anticipated in Donegal. Everything OK there?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

“Well, you told me to call you if anything interesting came up.”

“And has something interesting come up?” I asked expectantly.

“There’s been a murder.”

“What sort of a murder?”

“Someone killed a drug dealer.”

“Doesn’t sound so interesting.”

“No, but they killed him with an arrow. Shot him in the back with an arrow, so they did.”

“Injuns?”

“Well …”

“Or that miscreant from Sherwood Forest who gives the local law enforcement agencies so much difficulty?”

“Here’s the bit that I thought might get you intrigued. This is the second drug dealer that’s been shot with an arrow in as many days.”

“Two drug dealers. Both of them shot with arrows?”

“If you want to be technical about it – and I know you do – they were actually crossbow bolts.”

“From the same crossbow?”

“We haven’t removed the bolt from the second victim yet. We’ve only just discovered him.”

“I see. And this first guy?”

“He lived.”

“Well, that’s good. I suppose. Where was he shot?”

“In the back like victim number two.”

“Did he happen to see who shot him?”

“Maybe, but it’s the usual thing. He’s not telling us anything.”

“Of course not.”

“So do you want to come back for it? Or do you want me and Lawson to handle it? Up to you, Sean, but I thought I’d let you know. Our first murder in nearly a year, and a weird one at that …”

I lowered my voice. “Crabbie, just between us, you’re a total lifesaver, mate. Have you heard of a thing called St Patrick’s Purgatory?”

“No.”

“No, why would ya, you big Proddy heretic.”

I quickly explained the nature of the pilgrimage and what my dad wanted us to do.

“So you see, Crabbie, if I have to rush back to Carrickfergus to help solve this crossbow-wielding-vigilante-potential-serial-killer case I won’t have to go to that bloody island and get verrucae, mildew and trench foot.”

Crabbie, however, was not one to shirk off religious obligations lightly. “No,” he said reflectively. “I think you should do that thing with your father. It sounds very holy, so it does.”

“Crabbie, listen, I’m coming back. Saint Patrick and all the sinners in purgatory can wait.”

“All right, I won’t let anyone disturb the crime scene till you get there. When do you think that would be?”

“It’s a one and a half hour drive back to Carrickfergus. If the baby wasn’t in the car with me I’d be there in an hour, but as it is I’ll have to leave the wife and kid off first and take it easy on the roads. Be there in an hour and a half. Maybe eighty eight minutes, OK? Anything else going on?”

“Did you hear about John Strong?”

“What about him?”

“He’s moving on.”

“To the choir invisible?”

“To Assistant Chief Constable.”

“Same thing, really. Finally someone we almost like up at command level.”

“Aye. And listen, what do you know about Bulgaria?”

“Uhm, decent defence and midfield, lacks imagination up front. Why?”

“I’ll explain when you get here. 15 Mountbatten Terrace in Sunnylands Estate,” Crabbie said.

“Sunnylands Estate – why am I not surprised? All right, take it easy, mate.”

I hung up the phone and went into the kitchen with a downcast look on my face.

“What’s the matter, Sean?”

“Mum, Dad, I’m really sorry but I have to go back to Carrickfergus. There’s been a murder. Suspected serial killer. Maybe even a vigilante. It’s action stations at Carrickfergus RUC. Top brass have been on the phone. The BBC. You know how it is.”