Death in Foxrock Page 3

  ‘So you’d like the evidence processed sooner rather than later,’ she interrupted him, with a knowing slant to her chin.

  He gave a quick laugh. ‘Just what I was going to ask you.’

  She smiled. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Ms Wilson,’ one of the receptionists called, ‘they’re ready for you.’

  ‘I’ll be right there,’ she said to him before turning back to West with her hand extended. ‘It was good to see you again. Maybe we could have coffee sometime?’

  He held her hand in his for a moment. ‘I’d like that,’ he said and then raised his eyebrows as his phone buzzed. ‘I’d better get this. Whatever you can get us on the child would be much appreciated.’ A friendly smile and a nod and he was heading out the door and across the car park toward his car, answering the call as he walked.

  It was Inspector Morrison. ‘I expected to have heard from you by now, Sergeant.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘I’ve just left the post-mortem, sir, it was delayed. Dr Kennedy was unable to establish a cause of death but he did give us an approximate age, which should narrow our enquiries. She’s between two and three years old. They’ll do toxicology and DNA, but we won’t have the results for a couple of days.’ He waited a moment. When Morrison made no comment he continued. ‘I’ve requested the forensic department to expedite their processing of the evidence. They may be able to give us more.’

  ‘Right.’ The one word was stretched out to convey the inspector’s disappointment. ‘Well, keep me posted,’ he said, and cut the connection.

  West climbed into his car and tossed the mobile onto the passenger seat in annoyance before retrieving it to ring Andrews. With a few words, he filled him in on the child’s age and the meeting with Fiona Wilson. ‘She’s promised to do her best to have the evidence processed as soon as possible. We’ll just have to hope she has sufficient clout there to do so.’ He ran a hand over his face. ‘I’m heading back now but I’m hitting rush hour traffic. It’s going to take a while.’

  It was almost an hour later before he took exit fourteen off the motorway and joined the almost static queue of traffic that snaked through suburban roads toward the station. It was another twenty minutes of frustration before he pulled into the car park.

  When he entered the main office, Andrews was huddled over his desk, a pencil in one hand, ruler in the other. West shook his head but there was no point in saying, yet again, that using the computer would be so much easier. Andrews was stuck in his ways. He was aware his nickname was Detective Plod but he chose to see it as a compliment rather than a criticism of his methods. West agreed with his thinking. Andrews may plod his way through but he couldn’t think of a better detective. If there was something there, he’d find it.

  The rumble of his stomach reminded him that one good chicken sandwich didn’t make up for missing breakfast. Opening a packet of biscuits, he palmed several before pouring two mugs of coffee, adding sugar liberally to one and milk to both. He placed the sugared coffee in front of Andrews who automatically dropped the ruler and picked it up.

  ‘Well,’ West said, taking a mouthful of coffee and following it up with one of the biscuits. He waved one of the others at Andrews who shook his head.

  ‘No, thanks,’ he said, putting his coffee down to rifle through the pages on the desk. Picking up two, he scanned them before handing them to West. ‘It’s the underlined two,’ he said, ‘both from the UK. They’re the only children reported missing who haven’t been accounted for. One is twenty-six months old, one thirty.’

  He sat back stretching his arms out, then clasped his hands together behind his head before continuing. ‘Both are domestic cases, one London based, the other Cardiff. In each case the mother abducted the child, and neither has been seen since.’ He wagged his head side to side. ‘I suppose they could have come across on the ferry, hidden the child in the suitcase to prevent being spotted and just blended in. It wouldn’t have been difficult, not if they had a bit of money to tide them over.

  ‘Just the two?’ West asked, nodding to the pile of papers.

  Andrews dropped his hands and picked up the final sheet. ‘I’m just on the last page now. Most of the missing children are older.’ He looked up, his eyes bleak. ‘So many young teenagers are missing, Mike.’

  West wasn’t in the mood for a protracted conversation about missing children. ‘I’ve just got a few things to do,’ he said, moving away. Immediately, he felt guilty and stopped to look back. ‘Finish that, Peter, and I’ll buy you a pint when you’re done.’

  He should go home but he wasn’t in the mood for the small talk that seemed to be what passed for conversation at home these days. Picking up the phone he rang Kelly. ‘I’m tied up here,’ he explained, ‘don’t cook for me, I’ll grab something here.’ He hung up with a sense of relief that worried him.

  Forty-five minutes later, Andrew appeared in the door. ‘Nothing in that last lot,’ he said, ‘so we’ve just the two potentials from the UK. Interpol are dragging their feet a bit but I should have something by tomorrow.’

  West shut down the programme he was using and turned the computer off. He stretched and yawned. ‘I thought we could go to the Lep Inn,’ he said. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘I can’t stay long,’ Andrews warned him.

  West smiled. He knew his partner’s domestic routine well. ‘I know, I know, Joyce has your dinner waiting but have a quick pint with me first.’

  ‘Why don’t you come home with me,’ Andrews said, ‘Joyce is always asking you to, and Petey would love to see you.’

  West stood, and slipped on his jacket. ‘Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not really good company these days.’

  Andrews said nothing until they were sitting comfortably in the Lep Inn. When they had pints in front of them and West had ordered enough food to keep him going until the following week, he thought it was safe to bring up one of two things he knew were on the other man’s mind. ‘You need to put it behind you, Mike,’ he said, deciding to broach the less difficult one first.

  West didn’t insult the man by asking what he meant. Instead, he took a long drink of Guinness, sat back, closed his eyes tightly for a second and then took another drink. ‘I don’t mind Morrison watching my every move for a few months while I prove myself to be a co-operative sub-ordinate. Honestly,’ he said, as Andrews raised an eyebrow in disbelief. ‘No, Pete, what annoys me, what damn well rankles and makes me want to hit my head on the nearest hard surface is that I was wrong. I made the decision to allow Denise Blundell off that assault charge and allowed her to go off on that, obviously useless, anger management course. Would I have made the same decision if she hadn’t been a leading paediatrician? No, I don’t think I would have done, and that bloody well rankles too. And there’s the gut-rotting guilt that a decent man is dead because I had the arrogance to play God.’

  Andrews frowned. He’d known West was cut up about Ken Blundell’s death but he hadn’t realised the half of it. He hadn’t been involved in the decision at the time, hadn’t been aware of anything until they heard about Blundell’s murder. Then it all came out, the late night arrangement to allow Denise Blundell off to protect her role as a well-regarded paediatrician.

  ‘If you’d gone to Morrison with it at the time, he’d have agreed,’ he said. ‘That’s why he...’

  West, his mouth twisting bitterly interrupted him. ‘...covered it up.’ He finished his pint and waved the empty glass at one of the waiting staff who was passing and then spotted the worried look Andrews gave him. ‘Relax,’ he said, ‘I’m just going to get a half, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I was going to say, that’s why Morrison was eager to ensure you weren’t held responsible,’ Andrews said calmly. ‘You made the right choice based on what you knew at the time. She admitted that the stress of her job made her lose her temper. Anger management should have helped. We’ve seen countless cases where it does.’ He put a hand briefly on West’s arm. ‘You did the right thing. You need to sto
p beating yourself up about it.’

  The new pint of Guinness arrived at the same time as a plate of beer-battered cod and fries with a side order of onion rings, mixed vegetables and garlic potatoes. ‘That might put a smile on your face,’ Andrews said, shaking his head at the amount of food.

  ‘I forgot how big the helpings are,’ West admitted. ‘Have a few chips, Pete. I won’t tell Joyce.’

  Andrews took a few chips, dipping them, one at a time into the tomato ketchup that West poured onto the side of his plate. ‘You’ll think about what I said?’

  West shrugged. ‘It’s nothing Kelly hasn’t said to me a hundred times.’

  It gave Andrews the opening to bring up the second subject. ‘How are things with Kelly? I haven’t seen her since Clare Island.’

  ‘Our glorious romantic get-away, you mean?’ West said, sprinkling sarcasm on each word.

  ‘Hmmnn,’ Andrew replied, his mouth full of chips. He swallowed, took a mouthful of his beer to wash them down and tried again. ‘You were just unlucky.’

  West sniffed. ‘Seems to be my middle name these days. I take my girlfriend on a romantic weekend away and nearly get her killed; then a bad decision I made backfires and a man dies.’

  ‘Poor Mikey.’

  West choked on a piece of battered fish. When he recovered, coughing and wheezing, he looked at Andrews with a glint of laughter in his eyes. ‘Thank you very much! So you think I’m acting like a five year old, do you?’

  ‘What’s that expression about a cap fitting?’

  ‘So, I can’t feel a bit sorry for myself?’ West said, feeling a little aggrieved.

  ‘A little bit, maybe,’ Andrews said, taking another drink, wishing he could have a second pint, knowing he couldn’t. ‘But that little bit was used up about three weeks ago.’

  West downed a quarter of the half-pint of Guinness and put it down. ‘Is that the equivalent of a boot up the ass?’

  Andrews grinned. ‘Did it work?’

  West looked at him for a few seconds before a smile curved one side of his mouth. ‘Yes, I think it did.’

  The conversation turned to the less contentious issue of work before Andrews checked his watch and jumped to his feet. ‘Better go,’ he said, ‘you can pay for the beer. Payment for the free advice. He grinned again. ‘See you in the morning.’

  It wasn’t until he was sitting in his car that he realised West had never answered his question about Kelly. Perhaps, he thought sadly, it was a relationship that wasn’t meant to be. He started the engine and headed home to his family.

  4

  Kelly was beginning to think the same thing herself. Their relationship had had a rocky start. ‘Rocky,’ she muttered, ‘admit it, it’d been disastrous.’ Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. Before everything went wrong on Clare Island, she’d told him she loved him but he’d never returned the sentiment. Perhaps, he was having second thoughts about their relationship.

  She’d ignored his advice to stay in her apartment after Ken Blundell’s murder, and was waiting outside his Greystones house when he arrived home in the early hours of the morning. He seemed to take comfort in her presence but his involvement in the man’s death had taken its toll and he’d become distant and withdrawn. By the time his suspension was dropped only a few days later, a coolness had developed between them that still lingered.

  It didn’t help that she’d become irritable as she waited to hear back from her publisher. She’d written several children’s novels but it had always been her dream to write adult fiction and now she’d done it. But she was under no illusions. Her children’s novels were moderately successful but carried no weight in her ambition to enter the adult market. If it were no good Todd Publishing wouldn’t offer her a contract.

  ‘Let me read it when it’s done,’ Hugh Todd had said, ‘but I’m making no promises.’

  She’d finished the first draft months before, had worked through several more, changing this, deleting that, reading and rereading until she was sick of the sight of it. Finally, she decided she’d nothing to lose and emailed it to him. All she could do then was to wait.

  ‘No word from the publisher?’ West had asked when he’d arrived home the previous night.

  ‘Please stop asking me that,’ she snapped. ‘If I’d heard, don’t you think I’d have told you?’ They ate their meal in an uncomfortable silence that neither made the effort to break. West because he felt his question was showing an interest in her work and Kelly because, for the first time, she wondered if they had anything in common.

  ‘I’ve some emails to write,’ she said when they’d finished. Standing, she took both plates, put them in the dishwasher and left the room without a word. Upstairs, in the spare bedroom she was using as an office, she sat, opened her laptop and stared at the blank screen for several minutes. From downstairs came the distinct sound of doors opening and closing and then the faint sound of the television. He’d watch the news, and then some documentary about God-knows-what. Usually, she’d sit and watch with him, they’d hold hands and comment on whatever they were watching.

  She hit the on button of her laptop with more force than was necessary and brought up the next novel she was working on, reading the last few lines she’d written before starting to type. The buzz of her mobile interrupted her. With a grunt of annoyance she picked it up, the fingers of her right hand continuing to tap the keys.

  ‘It’s Hugh Todd,’ the voice said, causing her to stop, and grip the phone tighter. ‘I’m sorry to ring so late but I’ve been in meeting after meeting today.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ she said. Her heart was thumping so loud she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hear what he said; she pressed the phone tightly to her ear.

  ‘I’m sorry to have taken so long in getting back to you,’ he said, ‘but you’ll be relieved to know I’m ringing with good news. We love your novel. It needs some work,’ he added quickly. ‘One of my editorial staff, Aidan Power, has it at the moment. He’s going to send it back to you with corrections and suggestions.

  ‘As soon as you can get the changes done send it back to us. Once we’re all happy we can meet up to discuss cover, title etc and more importantly, we’ll discuss a contract. We’d like to sign you for two more novels. We’re really excited about this, Kelly.’

  She was shaking when she hung up. Still holding the phone in her hand, she went downstairs. West, as she’d guessed, was sitting on the sofa watching a news programme, Tyler curled up beside him.

  ‘Some good news,’ she said, coming into the room and perching on the seat beside him. She reached out to rub the little Chihuahua who gave her a lick of acknowledgement before dropping back to sleep. ‘The publisher loves my book. They’ve offered me a three book contract.’

  West who’d been sitting with his eyes closed, going over and over his decision to release Denise without charge as the news played out on the screen, managed to drag up an enthusiastic smile. He pressed the mute button. ‘Well done,’ he said. She deserved this. He wasn’t going to let his misfortune spoil it for her. He pulled her into a hug, annoying Tyler who got up and retired to the armchair. ‘Let’s celebrate,’ he said, ‘I’ll take you out to dinner at the weekend. We can have champagne.’

  Kelly kissed him. ‘Let’s wait until I sign the contract, Mike. I don’t want to jinx it.’

  He’d pulled her into the crook of his arm and they sat in silence for a while staring at the characters that flitted across the television screen, each of them lost in vastly different thoughts.

  This morning, he was gone as usual before she was up. He’d rung her during the day to tell her about the murder enquiry, ‘It’s a child, Kelly,’ he said, I’m probably going to be late home. Don’t wait dinner for me.’

  She was watching television when he arrived home, relaxing after a day spent editing her novel. It was tiring work and she was enjoying a sit-com that she’d seen before. Hearing his key in the front door, she pressed the mute button and waited for him to join
her.

  ‘Rough day?’ she asked, when he came in and sat into the sofa beside her.

  He ran a hand through his hair. ‘A young child, two or three. Her body was put into a suitcase and tossed away like garbage.’ He gave her a quick summary of the case, feeling himself relax as he did so.

  Kelly put her hand on his arm. ‘A tough one, Mike.’

  He nodded, and rested his hand briefly on hers before reaching for the remote to turn on the sound. They watched the end of sit-com silently. At ten, before the nightly news broadcast, West reached for the remote again and switched it off. ‘I don’t want to hear their interpretation of what’s happening with our case,’ he said.

  ‘They’ll have dragged in some psychologist to give an in-depth analysis of how a child can go missing without being reported,’ she said with a yawn. ‘It’ll be put down to a breakdown in society and family structure. That’ll lead to a hundred more discussions that will go nowhere toward identifying the child or who killed her.’

  ‘Such cynicism,’ he said, giving her a hug before pushing her away and standing up. He reached a hand out to her, she took it and he pulled her up beside him. ‘But, yes, that’s exactly what will happen. Hopefully, before they have run out of experts, we’ll have solved the mystery because their next step will be why haven’t the gardai solved the case.’

  ‘Now who’s being cynical,’ she said with a smile.

  Leaving him to settle Tyler for the night she headed to bed. She was asleep before he slid in beside her, and when she woke in the morning, his side of the bed was empty. For a moment, she wondered if he’d come to bed at all but when she moved her hand over, she found it was warm. He must just have got up. Listening carefully, she could hear him moving around downstairs and she relaxed.

  He came up to say goodbye a few minutes later, peering around the door, his face breaking into a smile when he saw her eyes open. ‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ he said, coming over to sit on the bed beside her, bending down to press a kiss on her mouth. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’