No Memory Lost Page 12

  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 exami
ne 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.’

  * * *

  The rain had stopped, but surface water had the traffic moving slowly and it took over an hour to get to the forensic office in Phoenix Park. Fiona Wilson came to reception as soon as she heard he was in the building. ‘You sounded so mysterious on the phone,’ she said with a smile. ‘What’s so hush-hush?’

  ‘Can we go somewhere?’ he said with a glance toward the reception staff.

  Her smile dimmed slightly. ‘Of course,’ she said, placing a reassuring hand on his arm and directing him through the door. ‘We can use Steve’s office, he’s away.’

  The office she took him to was small and cluttered. ‘Have a seat,’ she said, pointing to the only chair in the room while she perched on the desk, one elegant leg crossing the other. ‘So, what’s the problem?’

  It was easier to show rather than try to explain. He took the envelope from his jacket pocket. She didn’t need to be told and pulled a pair of gloves from a box that sat precariously on a mound of papers to take it from him.

  Her eyes widened as she looked at the photographs. ‘I recognise her, of course. She’s being blackmailed?’

  ‘It’s not her,’ he said sharply, and held up his hands. ‘Sorry, I should have explained. These were sent to me. It’s not Edel; someone has added her face to those…’ He waved his hands toward the photographs.

  ‘They were sent to you?’ She looked at him, weighing him up. ‘Why?’

  ‘No idea,’ he said, standing to pace the small room. ‘But someone went to a lot of trouble to do this. They must have a reason; I just don’t know what it is yet.’

  She nodded. ‘There’ll be more.’

  Everyone was an expert. ‘That was my thinking,’ he said.

  She put the photographs back into the envelope and gave him an understanding smile. ‘Asking the fingerprint technicians in Foxrock to check for prints would be a bit awkward, I suppose. Give me a few minutes, I’ll see what there is to find.’ She left, shutting the door behind her.

  Relieved he hadn’t had to spell it out, he sat again and crossed his arms. There was a clock on the wall, its tick loud and annoying. After five minutes, he stood, took it off the wall, removed the batteries and put it back. He placed the two batteries in the middle of the desk where Stephen Doyle could find them when he got back. Maybe he found the tick soothing.

  Restless, he took a book from the small, untidy bookshelf and spent several minutes reading about tissue degradation before closing it and returning it to its place. He’d just sat back into the chair when the door opened and she came in, a frown on he
r face.

  ‘Not good news, then?’

  She shook her head and handed him the envelope. ‘Not a single print on any of the photographs. There are several smudged partial prints on the envelope, none good enough for identification. Anyway, whoever took such good care with the photographs was unlikely to be foolish with the envelope.’

  ‘You checked inside?’ West asked and shook his head in apology when he saw her eyebrow rise. ‘I’m sorry, of course you did.’

  Relenting, she put a hand on his arm again. ‘It doesn’t mean he won’t make a mistake next time, Mike. Come back to me if you get anything else.’

  Thanking her, he made his farewells and headed back to Foxrock. He couldn’t spend any more time on it. Not until something else turned up.

  Back in the station, he’d sat behind his desk when Baxter appeared in the doorway. ‘I got contact details for the two online purchasers,’ he said, brushing ginger hair out of his eyes as he spoke. ‘One lives in Kerry, the other in Westmeath, and both were able to offer alibis for the night in question without hesitation.’ He dropped the pages he was holding and shrugged. ‘Both checked out.’

  ‘Thanks, Seamus,’ West said. ‘Did you check that the knives are still in their possession?’ He saw by the suddenly arrested look on Baxter’s face that he hadn’t. ‘Just in case they were stolen, have gone missing, were loaned to a friend stroke ex-wife stroke lover.’ West grinned to lessen the implied criticism.

  ‘I’ll get back onto them,’ Baxter said, turning away.

  By the end of the day, the team had managed to contact everyone who’d bought a Wild Ranger from Outdoor Sport. West stood in the main office and listened to their report. Almost all of the purchasers had concrete alibis for the night of Fearon’s murder.