meeting a client in Government later who is having trouble explaining away some of his expense claims. Apparently, the prosecution would like to lock the poor chap up just because he stole a lot of taxpayers’ money.’
‘How inconsiderate of the prosecution. Don’t they know the reason that most people enter politics is to rip off their fellow citizens?’
‘You’re a cynic. They enter politics to serve. What does your day look like?’
‘More of the same although I hope that we’ll be spared another press conference. Has the ‘Chronicle’ arrived?’
Kate retrieved it from the shelf under the bar. ‘I was hoping to avoid this,’ she placed the newspaper on the bar beside him.
The mini-riot in the Shankill pushed Lizzie off the front page of the ‘Belfast Chronicle’. Lizzie’s murder had, of course, been mentioned as a major contributing factor to the riot but the article pointed out that the spokesmen for the rioters voiced several other issues of concern to the Loyalist community. The report on the PSNI press conference had been relegated to page three, and the accompanying photo had been a stock shot of Wilson. That would not go down well with the powers at HQ.
‘Don’t forget that we’re expected at the opening of that new art gallery in Donegall Street. Seven o’clock, latest.’
Wilson closed the paper and put it away. He forked a piece of omelette into his mouth. ‘It looks like my day could be even worse than I anticipated.
CHAPTER 14
Wilson held a briefing at nine o’clock in the squad room. There was nothing new to report overnight. Moira had been put in charge of looking into Lizzie’s life, and she had delegated much of the work to Ronald McIver, who was the ‘Mister Research’ of the team. Peter Davidson was out on another round of house-to-house enquiries while Harry Graham was following up on the forensics report. Wilson was worried by the lack of progress. There were no sightings of people going in or out of the Rice house. There had been buckets of blood flying all over the place and there was no doubt that the killer would have got some of it on his clothes. The mace, pepper spray or CS could have been brought in from abroad or could have been manufactured at home from components bought at a local Tesco. The same could be said for the Taser so pursuing them would be a dead end. The only avenue of enquiry was Lizzie herself.
Just as Wilson was about to delve into the pleasures of his administrative tasks, his phone rang. ‘You and me are wanted at HQ,’ Chief Superintendent Spence announced. ‘I’ll meet you outside in five minutes.’
Wilson took one look at the e-mails on his screen and for once wished he had been left alone to deal with them.
A copy of the Belfast Chronicle sat on Deputy Chief Constable Jennings’ desk when Spence and Wilson entered. The DCC did not invite either man to sit, but Spence took the initiative and sat in one of the chairs in front of the DCC’s desk. He looked at Wilson, who was still standing and then put on a pleading face. Wilson understood and sat in the other chair.
‘First thing this morning I received a call from the Chief Constable,’ Jennings began. ‘The Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, and the First Minister, already called him. Then I received a call from the Minister for Justice.’ He tapped the front page of the newspaper. ‘They all want to know what we’re doing about these riots. All I can tell them is that my SIO is wandering around in the dark with his proverbial thumb up his arse.’
Wilson stiffened and Spence placed a hand on his arm.
‘I briefed you last evening, Sir,’ Spence said in his most moderate and diplomatic tone. ‘The whole resources of the Murder Squad and a large number of uniformed officers are committed to the investigation. So far, we’ve a drawn a blank on the house to house. The victim’s husband has been unable to provide us with any clues as to who
‘How inconsiderate of the prosecution. Don’t they know the reason that most people enter politics is to rip off their fellow citizens?’
‘You’re a cynic. They enter politics to serve. What does your day look like?’
‘More of the same although I hope that we’ll be spared another press conference. Has the ‘Chronicle’ arrived?’
Kate retrieved it from the shelf under the bar. ‘I was hoping to avoid this,’ she placed the newspaper on the bar beside him.
The mini-riot in the Shankill pushed Lizzie off the front page of the ‘Belfast Chronicle’. Lizzie’s murder had, of course, been mentioned as a major contributing factor to the riot but the article pointed out that the spokesmen for the rioters voiced several other issues of concern to the Loyalist community. The report on the PSNI press conference had been relegated to page three, and the accompanying photo had been a stock shot of Wilson. That would not go down well with the powers at HQ.
‘Don’t forget that we’re expected at the opening of that new art gallery in Donegall Street. Seven o’clock, latest.’
Wilson closed the paper and put it away. He forked a piece of omelette into his mouth. ‘It looks like my day could be even worse than I anticipated.
CHAPTER 14
Wilson held a briefing at nine o’clock in the squad room. There was nothing new to report overnight. Moira had been put in charge of looking into Lizzie’s life, and she had delegated much of the work to Ronald McIver, who was the ‘Mister Research’ of the team. Peter Davidson was out on another round of house-to-house enquiries while Harry Graham was following up on the forensics report. Wilson was worried by the lack of progress. There were no sightings of people going in or out of the Rice house. There had been buckets of blood flying all over the place and there was no doubt that the killer would have got some of it on his clothes. The mace, pepper spray or CS could have been brought in from abroad or could have been manufactured at home from components bought at a local Tesco. The same could be said for the Taser so pursuing them would be a dead end. The only avenue of enquiry was Lizzie herself.
Just as Wilson was about to delve into the pleasures of his administrative tasks, his phone rang. ‘You and me are wanted at HQ,’ Chief Superintendent Spence announced. ‘I’ll meet you outside in five minutes.’
Wilson took one look at the e-mails on his screen and for once wished he had been left alone to deal with them.
A copy of the Belfast Chronicle sat on Deputy Chief Constable Jennings’ desk when Spence and Wilson entered. The DCC did not invite either man to sit, but Spence took the initiative and sat in one of the chairs in front of the DCC’s desk. He looked at Wilson, who was still standing and then put on a pleading face. Wilson understood and sat in the other chair.
‘First thing this morning I received a call from the Chief Constable,’ Jennings began. ‘The Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, and the First Minister, already called him. Then I received a call from the Minister for Justice.’ He tapped the front page of the newspaper. ‘They all want to know what we’re doing about these riots. All I can tell them is that my SIO is wandering around in the dark with his proverbial thumb up his arse.’
Wilson stiffened and Spence placed a hand on his arm.
‘I briefed you last evening, Sir,’ Spence said in his most moderate and diplomatic tone. ‘The whole resources of the Murder Squad and a large number of uniformed officers are committed to the investigation. So far, we’ve a drawn a blank on the house to house. The victim’s husband has been unable to provide us with any clues as to who
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