the assailant might be or what the motivation for the attack might be. So, you‘re right, for the moment, we are wandering around in the dark.’
Jennings looked down from his desk. The DCC was short at five feet six but had arranged for his desk and chair to be elevated above his visitors. He pinched the top of his nose. ‘Perhaps nobody has told you that there are rioters on the streets. And there will continue to be rioters on the street until you get your act together. I want Lizzie Rice’s killer found and put behind bars before things on the street get out of hand.’
‘We’re currently looking for a lead to follow,’ Spence said.
Jennings looked directly at Wilson. ‘And what leads would they be, pray tell?’
Wilson would have preferred to let Spence carry the ball. ‘The crime appears to be centred on Lizzie so we need to know why the killer picked her in particular. I have my team trawling through her life at the moment looking for someone who might have a reason to kill her.’
Jennings sneered. ‘Try half the Catholic population of Belfast. The Rice family have been synonymous with attacks on Catholic homes. I assume that you have pursued this particular line of enquiry?’
DCC Jennings had never led an investigation in his twenty-five years on the Force, and Wilson was about to tell him so when he felt Spence’s hand on his arm again. ‘We don’t think that the crime was sectarian,’ he said simply.
‘But you can’t say for sure. I would be grateful if you pursued this line of enquiry at least.’
Again the pressure on Wilson’s arm. ‘Yes, Sir.’
‘I’ve been in contact with the coroner,’ Jennings said. ‘He’s already received the report from the pathologist, and of course he intends to hold an inquest. However, I have prevailed on him to release the body for burial. He can hold the inquest at a later date, but it’s important that we get this wretched woman in the ground as soon as possible. Maybe that will put an end to the riots.’
‘Fat chance,’ Wilson said quietly.
Jennings stared at Wilson. ‘You said something, Superintendent?’
‘Well done, Sir,’ Wilson said.
CHAPTER 15
Belfast, 1983
The woman held the young girl by the hand as they made their way along the Crumlin Road. The little girl skipped along. She was happy because she didn’t have to go to school. It wasn’t a holiday and she hadn’t been sick, so she had wondered why her Ma had kept her home. She didn’t like school, so she much preferred to stay at home with her Ma and play, or colour books. The other girls at the school didn’t like her. She knew it had something to do with her not having a Da. All the other girls had a Da and a Ma but she only had a Ma. So that had to be the reason that they didn’t like her. None of the other girls or boys would play with her. When she tried to join their games, they would push her away. Even when the teacher tried to get the other children to include her in their games, they cried and refused. She hated school. The girls used bad words when they spoke about her Ma. She didn’t understand the words, but she knew that they weren’t nice. The people on their street didn’t like Ma either. They never came to the house for tea, and they looked funny at Ma when she passed by. Maybe it was because Ma was getting fat. She could feel the pressure of her mother’s hand on hers. Ma was squeezing her hand tight, and it was starting to hurt. She wanted to tell her Ma to let her hand go, but there was a lot of traffic on the road and Ma had told her that she had to hold her hand, in case she ran out in front of a car. But she was a big girl now, and she understood that she had to stay on the path. Ma could hold her hand when they crossed the road, but she didn’t need to be treated like a baby when she was on the footpath. She was aware that the pressure from Ma’s hand was increasing, and when she looked into Ma’s face, she could see
Jennings looked down from his desk. The DCC was short at five feet six but had arranged for his desk and chair to be elevated above his visitors. He pinched the top of his nose. ‘Perhaps nobody has told you that there are rioters on the streets. And there will continue to be rioters on the street until you get your act together. I want Lizzie Rice’s killer found and put behind bars before things on the street get out of hand.’
‘We’re currently looking for a lead to follow,’ Spence said.
Jennings looked directly at Wilson. ‘And what leads would they be, pray tell?’
Wilson would have preferred to let Spence carry the ball. ‘The crime appears to be centred on Lizzie so we need to know why the killer picked her in particular. I have my team trawling through her life at the moment looking for someone who might have a reason to kill her.’
Jennings sneered. ‘Try half the Catholic population of Belfast. The Rice family have been synonymous with attacks on Catholic homes. I assume that you have pursued this particular line of enquiry?’
DCC Jennings had never led an investigation in his twenty-five years on the Force, and Wilson was about to tell him so when he felt Spence’s hand on his arm again. ‘We don’t think that the crime was sectarian,’ he said simply.
‘But you can’t say for sure. I would be grateful if you pursued this line of enquiry at least.’
Again the pressure on Wilson’s arm. ‘Yes, Sir.’
‘I’ve been in contact with the coroner,’ Jennings said. ‘He’s already received the report from the pathologist, and of course he intends to hold an inquest. However, I have prevailed on him to release the body for burial. He can hold the inquest at a later date, but it’s important that we get this wretched woman in the ground as soon as possible. Maybe that will put an end to the riots.’
‘Fat chance,’ Wilson said quietly.
Jennings stared at Wilson. ‘You said something, Superintendent?’
‘Well done, Sir,’ Wilson said.
CHAPTER 15
Belfast, 1983
The woman held the young girl by the hand as they made their way along the Crumlin Road. The little girl skipped along. She was happy because she didn’t have to go to school. It wasn’t a holiday and she hadn’t been sick, so she had wondered why her Ma had kept her home. She didn’t like school, so she much preferred to stay at home with her Ma and play, or colour books. The other girls at the school didn’t like her. She knew it had something to do with her not having a Da. All the other girls had a Da and a Ma but she only had a Ma. So that had to be the reason that they didn’t like her. None of the other girls or boys would play with her. When she tried to join their games, they would push her away. Even when the teacher tried to get the other children to include her in their games, they cried and refused. She hated school. The girls used bad words when they spoke about her Ma. She didn’t understand the words, but she knew that they weren’t nice. The people on their street didn’t like Ma either. They never came to the house for tea, and they looked funny at Ma when she passed by. Maybe it was because Ma was getting fat. She could feel the pressure of her mother’s hand on hers. Ma was squeezing her hand tight, and it was starting to hurt. She wanted to tell her Ma to let her hand go, but there was a lot of traffic on the road and Ma had told her that she had to hold her hand, in case she ran out in front of a car. But she was a big girl now, and she understood that she had to stay on the path. Ma could hold her hand when they crossed the road, but she didn’t need to be treated like a baby when she was on the footpath. She was aware that the pressure from Ma’s hand was increasing, and when she looked into Ma’s face, she could see
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