The Dublin Murder Mysteries: Books four to six Read online

  ‘Sit,’ she said, ‘it’ll be ready in ten minutes. I’ll tell you about it over dinner.’

  He took the wine and two glasses to the table. Taking the far chair allowed him to watch her as she bustled about the kitchen. It was almost a year since he’d first met her; how pale and scrawny she’d been then. Now, she… glowed. It was the only word he could think of that suited.

  His mother was nagging him to meet her, as was his sister. He’d been reluctant, afraid to rock the boat or tempt fate. But it was different now. They knew where they stood with each other. He frowned. That was the second time he’d had that thought today. Was he trying to convince himself?

  He shook his head and caught her eye.

  ‘Everything okay?’ she asked.

  ‘Fine, I was just thinking about work,’ he lied.

  She placed a plate in front of him, curls of steam rising from the lasagne. ‘Well, start thinking about this instead,’ she said, putting a basket holding garlic bread in the space between them.

  Over dinner, she told him about her meeting. If the name Owen Grady was mentioned more times than he liked, he tried not to let his feelings show. He was just her agent, and he was new, so of course she was going to talk about him. It didn’t mean anything.

  ‘That sounds like a good deal,’ he said when she mentioned the royalty payments from overseas sales.

  ‘He certainly knows his stuff,’ she said, taking another piece of garlic bread and scooping some of the lasagne onto it before popping it into her mouth. ‘It’s good that we get on so well.’

  ‘Definitely,’ West agreed, knowing it was the correct response.

  ‘How did Kilkenny go?’

  ‘We went looking for information on one crime and came back investigating another.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘What? You’re kidding me!’

  He pushed his plate away and lifted his glass. ‘No, seriously,’ he said, smiling at her wide eyes.

  A few minutes later, she had the full story and was shaking her head. ‘Honestly, you and Peter are incredible. Most people would have just been grateful for that Whelan’s help, but not you two.’

  He held his hands up. ‘I have to admit I missed it, at first. It was Peter who pointed out that his helpfulness was just too…’ He searched for the correct word.

  ‘Helpful?’ she suggested.

  Smiling, he nodded and picked up his glass again. ‘Once Peter had said it, of course, I knew he was right. There was something a bit odd about it.’

  ‘You’ve got the unsolved case with the child in the suitcase, and the murder of Ollie Fearon to deal with. And just to make sure you never have a moment; you go looking for more crimes to solve?’

  ‘Like an ambulance chaser, you mean?’

  ‘Something like that.’ She swirled the wine around in her glass before lifting it to her mouth and taking a sip. ‘It looks like our couple of nights away together won’t happen any time soon, doesn’t it?’

  There was that guilt again, washing through him. He reached across for her hand and rubbed it gently with his thumb. ‘I promise, as soon as things calm down a bit, we’ll go somewhere.’

  ‘And there’ll be no dead bodies.’

  ‘An ambulance chaser and the angel of death,’ he said with a smile. ‘Are you sure you want to live with me?’

  Her hesitation wasn’t planned but it was there and they both heard it even as she tried to cover it up with her rushed, ‘Of course I do, I love you, Mike.’

  But the mood was spoilt.

  ‘There’s a programme on that I want to watch,’ he said, taking his plate and putting it in the dishwasher. He poured more wine into his glass and took it with him.

  ‘Damn,’ Edel said, pushing a hand through her hair. She finished tidying up, switched off the light and went into the hallway where she stood and listened to the rumble of the television. He’d be sitting on the sofa, one hand petting Tyler who would no doubt be curled up beside him.

  Suddenly, she felt like an interloper.

  18

  West didn’t know if she was asleep or pretending to be when he went up to bed after midnight. The programme he’d wanted to watch ended hours before, but he didn’t want to face into one of those we have to talk talks.

  He was being unfair. She’d never actually ever said that. But the hesitation, that was real. So, it wasn’t all as settled between them as he had been trying to convince himself. He lay quietly beside her, listening to her breathe, and wondered what had gone wrong. It wasn’t something he could solve, a bit like his current caseload. He did what he could, he fell asleep.

  In the morning, he slipped from the bed without disturbing Edel. Showered and dressed, he headed downstairs, made a pot of coffee and stared glumly through the rain-lashed window as he drank. It wasn’t a good morning for a long drive.

  He turned when Edel came in. ‘Hi, did you sleep okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, taking a mug from the cupboard and pouring some coffee.

  It was a four-letter word he dreaded. A female weapon guaranteed to bring a man to his knees. He knew, whatever he asked that morning, the response would be the same. He was damned if he was playing into it.

  ‘I’d better get going.’ He nodded at the window as he emptied the remains of his coffee into the sink. ‘Traffic is bound to be heavier thanks to that deluge.’ He bent to kiss her on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, taking her mug to the table.

  He knew when he was beaten. With a last look in her direction, he left, picking up his raincoat on the way. The post was early; he picked it up from the mat, quickly looked through and removed his, and dropped the rest on the hall table.

  Traffic wasn’t as heavy as he’d expected and he arrived in the car park before Andrews. He thought about going inside but knew, if he did, he’d be waylaid by someone about something. So, he stayed in the car, turned up the radio and opened his post. The first couple were the usual rubbish that he tossed unread onto the back seat. The last, with his name and address handwritten in block capitals, looked to be more interesting ‘What’s this then?’ he muttered, tearing across the top.

  He hesitated when he saw the contents. Photographs. Three of them, he guessed, moving the top edges. No letter. Reaching over, he opened the glove compartment and pulled out vinyl gloves. Once they were on, he carefully extracted the photographs.

  There were three. And the subject was the same in each. It was Edel as he’d never seen her before, posing naked, legs splayed. They left little to the imagination.

  A car pulled up alongside. He put the photographs back into the envelope and shoved them and the gloves into his pocket just as the passenger door opened and Andrews climbed in. He was full of talk about some football match he’d watched the night before so West didn’t have to make conversation, the odd oh or really being enough to show interest and they were well on the road to Kilkenny before Andrews mentioned the upcoming search.

  ‘Edwards picked up the warrant early this morning, your pal Dobby had it waiting for him. He and Baxter will meet us outside the shop. I told them ten.’

  West nodded but said nothing. His head was spinning. Who would have sent the photographs? And to what end?

  By the time they reached Outdoor Sport, he’d stopped trying to work it out and pushed it to the back of his mind. He needed to concentrate on the job.

  Edwards and Baxter were there before them leaning on the bonnet of their car. West pulled up beside them and got out. ‘Here you go,’ Edwards said, handing over the warrant.

  Andrews had already filled the two men in on the previous day’s events. ‘Just keep your eyes and minds open,’ he said to them before he turned to West. ‘We might have company from Kilkenny, you know.’

  The same thought had crossed West’s mind; Whelan’s tame copper might indeed show up. ‘Let’s worry about that, if it happens.’

  The door opened as they approached and the nervous, acne-scarred youth of the
previous day peered out. ‘I thought we’d given you what you wanted yesterday,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps some of it,’ West said firmly, reaching the door and pushing it forward to step inside. ‘Is Mr Whelan here?’

  ‘In his office.’

  West left Edwards to tell the youth that he’d be helping them with their enquiries, while he, Baxter and Andrews went to break the bad news to Whelan.

  He was seated behind his desk, the initial look of panic quickly covered by an ingratiating smile. ‘Gentlemen, what can I help you with today?’

  When West handed him the warrant, he looked at it in horror. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said, his eyes skimming it, looking for a way out. There wasn’t one. Dobby could always be relied on to make sure warrants did exactly what they wanted.

  ‘We just need to look a bit deeper,’ West explained, ‘you can sit and relax, we shouldn’t be too long. It will help speed things up if we had your password for the computer.’

  Whelan hesitated, his eyes flicking from one side to the other.

  ‘Your password, please,’ West asked again, his voice quiet but firm.

  ‘Outdoorsport,’ he said, shoulders slumping in defeat. ‘Capital O, all one word, followed by an exclamation mark.’

  Baxter nodded, and got to work on the company computer. Whelan hovered nearby, muttering to himself, until he was asked to wait with his staff at the front desk where Edwards had started downloading all the CCTV footage.

  Ten minutes later, Baxter looked up from the computer. ‘Money laundering,’ he said, nodding toward the screen. ‘Not a particularly sophisticated operation. They have a set of accounts for the auditor and Inland Revenue, and a second set that shows large amounts of money deposited at irregular intervals, which is then paid out as dividends at regular intervals.’ He tapped a few keys. ‘Not complicated, but it’s pretty lucrative. As a rough estimate, I’d say our friendly, ever-so-helpful pal Whelan, is taking home fifty to sixty grand a year.’

  Andrews whistled softly. ‘Not bad at all.’

  ‘Where’s the money coming from?’ West asked, peering over Baxter’s shoulder.

  ‘Some of the names receiving dividends are known to us,’ he said, pointing at the screen. ‘Mick Flannery, for instance, he’s got a history of drug dealing; and that one, Molly Davis, she used to run a brothel in Camden Street. Looks like she might have moved her business to Kilkenny.’

  ‘Whelan is using this place to launder money for the scum of Kilkenny,’ Andrews said. ‘And I bet one of the names on that list is our friendly neighbourhood copper.’

  ‘If it proves to be, we’ll leave Internal Affairs to deal with him,’ West said quickly. There was nothing more demoralising for the gardaí than to have one of their own go over to the other side. Internal Affairs could take that on board. He’d enough on his plate.

  Whelan, to their surprise, merely shrugged when they told him they’d uncovered the scam. He asked to make one phone call and returned to his office to make it. They assumed it would be to a solicitor, but it was, in fact, to the owner of the shop who arrived within half an hour, face pale and eyes on stalks.

  ‘I trusted you,’ Art Costello repeated, looking down on Whelan who sat, hands hanging between his knees, head bent. ‘And I paid you bloody well.’ He turned to the gardaí who stood around the desk where Baxter still tapped away on the keyboard unperturbed. ‘Will we be closed down?’

  West held his hands up. ‘Just temporarily, Mr Costello. We’ll take your computer away with us; it will allow the team to continue investigating. We’d also like to take all of the CCTV footage for the last year to assist us, both in this, and in the case we originally came here to investigate.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Costello said, spreading his hands out to encompass the whole office, ‘take whatever you want, take everything.’ He turned and pointed at Whelan. ‘Especially that bastard.’

  It didn’t take much longer to discover that the remainder of the staff were unaware of Whelan’s dealings. The acne-scarred youth who went by the name Buzz, looked at them in disbelief when asked if he knew. ‘He’s so strict, we couldn’t sell a knife to someone who was a day under eighteen. I can’t believe he did something illegal.’

  Neither could the other two members of staff who were on duty. Whelan had managed to keep his shady doings well hidden.

  They packed up the computer and took all the CCTV discs with them when they left an hour later. Costello was relieved to be told he could open the next day as normal and had his staff carry the boxes out to their cars.

  West and Andrews, anxious to examine the footage of the cash buyer took the discs, leaving the other two to take, not only the computer, but the grim-faced Whelan as well.

  Back on the road, Andrews suggested stopping somewhere for lunch, blinking in surprise when West shook his head.

  ‘Not today, Peter, I’ve just got too much on.’

  They still had to eat, Andrews wanted to say, he had, in fact, opened his mouth to say it when he saw the set look on his partner’s face. Something was wrong. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at West for a few minutes, waiting for him to expand on the too much that he suddenly had on that prevented them eating. Something had happened since yesterday. That had to mean personal. Edel. He sighed loudly. Since the two of them had met it had been one thing after the other.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ he said, when they’d travelled several miles in silence.

  ‘We’re no closer to solving Ollie Fearon’s murder or discovering who the child in the suitcase is,’ West said. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘So that’s a no then,’ Andrews said calmly. He saw West’s quick look in his direction and waited. A few miles further, he was more relieved than surprised when he heard the indicator signal they were pulling into a lay-by.

  19

  West parked, undid his seat belt and turned to face him. ‘I need your help,’ he said, smiling when he saw the immediate nod. ‘You don’t know what it’s about yet.’

  Andrews shrugged one shoulder. ‘Tell me.’

  West reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope. ‘Get some gloves,’ he said, nodding at the glove compartment.

  Andrews pulled a pair from his pocket instead and slipped them on before taking the envelope. Removing the three photographs carefully, he looked at them one after the other.

  ‘It’s not her,’ West said, hurriedly.

  Holding each photo up to the light, Andrews nodded. ‘No, but they’re good.’ He put them back into the envelope and took off the gloves. ‘Was there a letter?’

  West shook his head.

  ‘If this is blackmail, there will be. And maybe more photos.’

  It was what West had thought; it didn’t help hearing the confirmation.

  ‘You haven’t told her, have you?’

  ‘They only came this morning,’ West said, ‘but no, I won’t be telling her. She’s been through enough; the last thing she needs is this.’

  ‘But they’re not her, Mike,’ Andrews argued.

  West ran a hand over his head. ‘She has a new agent, a guy called Owen Grady. She’s had a few meetings with him recently, and do you know what my first thought was? That she was having an affair with him.’

  ‘But she’s not?’

  ‘No, of course she’s not. But it worried me that I thought it.’

  ‘You take yourself way too seriously, you know that,’ Andrews said. ‘Stop wallowing in self-pity. Who sent them to you, and why?’

  West felt some of the tension of the day leave him. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘There will be more.’

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ West agreed. ‘Someone went to a lot of trouble to do them. They have a reason; we just don’t know what it is yet.’ He started the car and pulled back onto the road.

  Back in Foxrock, they sat in the Big One and started on the discs they’d brought back. Each disc was clearly marked with the date and time and it didn’t take long to locate
their cash buyer. But if they were hoping that having sound would make identifying the man easier, they were doomed to disappointment. He spoke in a barely audible whisper.

  The one thing it did confirm was what they’d guessed from the earlier disc. Whisper or not, he asked for the Wild Ranger without hesitation.

  ‘He knew exactly what he wanted,’ Andrews said.

  ‘It doesn’t get us any closer, though, does it? Get one of the lads to check out the two customers who bought the knives online.’

  Andrews nodded. ‘I’ll chase contact details for the other three who bought in the shop too. It’s best not to leap to any conclusions.’

  West agreed, but they both knew this cash buyer was their man. ‘What about the CCTV footage from outside?’ he said suddenly. ‘We haven’t seen that.’ He reached into the box containing the discs. ‘If we’re really lucky, we might see his car.’

  But they weren’t lucky. After a frustrating half hour they managed to find a view of the suspect entering, and shortly afterwards, leaving. If he’d driven to the shop, he’d parked elsewhere.

  ‘It was never going to be that easy,’ Andrews commented, taking the disc out and putting it back into its container. ‘I’ll keep these two and give the rest to Baxter. He can have a fun time looking through them all to see if there’s anything else of interest.’

  West, leaving him to it, headed back to his office. At his desk, he put on some gloves and took out the photographs again. They’d used an image of her face from Facebook, he guessed. He was no expert, but he knew there were many ways of splicing photos together. There were, doubtless, hundreds of places where they’d got their hands on photos of women in such grotesquely lewd positions.

  He put them back into the envelope. The next step would be to take them into the fingerprint office and ask one of the lads there to dust for prints, but he couldn’t do it. The station was just too small.

  Picking up the phone, he dialled a number from memory. ‘Fiona,’ he said when it was answered, ‘I need a favour.’