by Kevin Fox
“Killian Collins.”
We both turned to see Sean, his hair too long and his beard looking as if he hadn’t shaved in a week or more. He was carrying a long-handled ax over his shoulder, wore knee-high rubber boots, jeans, no shirt, and had mud covering his entire torso.
“You know who I am?” I asked, confused.
“Sure enough. You’re the reason my Uncle Joe is gone,” he shrugged. “I heard you were a little mental. Didn’t go out in the rain or something?” We were off to a great start.
“And he heard you’re a flake who believes in conspiracy theories and travels the world looking for his lost love,” Kat volunteered.
“So, he’s the one who read my book?” He smiled and held out a hand. I shook it, starting to like the guy.
“No. He read the summary, but maybe I should read your book,” Kat said, offering her own hand. “Kat. And I’d love to hear about your work.”
“Well, then, good timing. I only got home two days ago. I was in—”
I held up a hand, stopping him. “To be honest, I’m not that interested. My father –”
“– I’m interested,” Kat piped in. “…A guy who’s not afraid to get wet and dirty and travels the world? Damn, Kill. Don’t stop him.” Sean grinned.
“Kat, there are two girls missing.” I stepped between them as I pulled out my phone and cued up the photos I’d taken on the yacht. “I’m here because my father sent me to talk to you. He seems to think you’ll know something about Uncle Joe, what his death had to do with Declan and Ireland and some woman who came looking for him.”
Sean looked around, uncomfortable suddenly. “Umm, right. Better come inside – this might take a while…”
The house Sean shared with his father, Joe’s cousin, Aidan, smelled of seawater and humidity. Sean took off his boots and wiped himself down with a towel, oblivious to Kat’s stare.
“You came to the right place. There are probably only about six or seven other people in the world that could tell you about the real truth behind gun-running during ‘The Troubles’ and how the Irish in Boston and New York – including the police – were complicit.”
“You mean there’s someone who knows more than you?” Kat asked, in her annoying and flirtatious way.
“Shocking, inn’t it? Someone has more useless information in his head than my son,” called out a voice from the living room. I turned to see what I had at first thought was an old grey cat sitting on the back of a recliner and realized it was the top of Aidan Corrigan’s head. I could see the bottom of a beer bottle tip up as I watched, confirming that it was a human being and not an ancient cat.
“Hello, Mister Corrigan,” I yelled over the television. He just lifted his beer in a half-hearted salute.
“Who’s that?”
“Killian Collins.”
“Well, bloody feckin’ hell. The flood has disturbed the ghosts of the livin’ dead. Your Da’s not dead, is he?” Aidan asked, never turning around.
“No, sir.”
“And yet you’re here. It’s a bad omen, inn’t it?”
“It’s fine Da. Go back to your show,” Sean called out, leading us into the kitchen.
“Sure. But the dead are restless son. Bad portents. Look at this weather, and look what happened to The Annex. Now that was a damn shame. Think of all that good liquor, washed away…” he kept talking as Sean opened his laptop. Sean ignored him, leading us into the kitchen. He lit the burner, filling a teakettle as he spoke, more quietly now so his father couldn’t hear.
“When I was in Ireland I met with the old rebels – the IRA guys who were involved in the seventies and eighties. One of them, Declan, filled me in on Uncle Joe,” he said, pulling out a box of Barry’s Irish Tea.
“What would he know about Uncle Joe?” I asked, wanting to hear it from an unbiased source.
“A lot. They were some kind of cousins. Aren’t they all? Anyway, Declan’s the one who told Uncle Joe that a splinter of the IRA – an even more radical group run by a guy named Jimmy Coonan – was setting up an arms shipment to replace the one intercepted on the Marita Ann.”
Marita Ann? Kat asked, confused.
“A ship with seven tons of arms hidden in the caskets of dead Boston Irish being shipped back home for burial back in 1984. The Winter Hill Gang, with a complicit FBI Agent, had sent it out, not knowing there was an informant… Tea?” Sean asked as the kettle whistled.
“I will,” Kat answered. “Just don’t fuck it up by putting milk in it.” Sean nodded, then glanced at me.
“No, thanks – but why would Declan tell Joe? If he was IRA, I mean?” I asked, trying to follow the logic.
“Because Coonan was crazy – his whole family was. His brother Jerry blew up innocent kids because he believed that to end the conflict with the Brits – ‘the more blood the better’. Declan didn’t go along with killing kids, and wasn’t willing to deal with the Soviets –”
“Soviets. That’s where Markov comes in,” Kat said, thinking out loud.
“Markov?”
“The guy whose yacht washed up on Purdy Place,” I answered, not wanting to give him too many details. “– But why were they dealing with Soviets? And why were they coming through the States?” I asked, always confused by the convoluted politics of Ireland. Sean just shrugged, steeping his tea and breathing in the steam.
“The American sources of guns had been compromised by Uncle Joe and the Task Force. They needed a new source, but the smuggling routes from here were still more secure than from the Soviet Union. Besides, it was more lucrative to run things from here because this is where Coonan could get top dollar for what he was selling – he was paying for the arms with human traffic,” Sean explained, like a history teacher lecturing on a modern slave trade.
“The kids on the plane,” I said, watching Sean nod, solemnly.
“Exactly. Coonan took them from an orphanage or a mother’s and babies’ home in County Fermanagh or something, run by the church. Told the church he had homes for them in America.”
“He paid in people?” Kat asked, horrified, reaching out for the tea Sean handed her.
“It’s always been Ireland’s most precious export.”
“So, Declan told Joe about the kids and the Russians?”
“That’s how he ended up on that case. Declan also warned him that there was somebody on this side of the pond – in law enforcement – helping Coonan and his splinter group.”
“Damn,” Kat said, staring at Sean with a sense of lustful adventure. “Dirty cops, trying to free slaves, gun-running... I’m like a genuine thriller-chick, caught up in some Alistair McLean novel.”
“Alistair McLean didn’t have unbalanced women in his books,” I told her, wanting to get on with it.
“I can be the damaged type from a Travis McGee novel then –”
“Look, Sean, before she starts living out some twisted fantasy, I need to know why anyone thought there was a rat. Was there any proof of that?”
Sean sipped his tea, weighing his words. He glanced in to make sure Aidan wasn’t listening, then almost whispered, “Tompkins and Germanario.”
“The two cops that were murdered?”
“Exactly. Declan had told given Uncle Joe about a shipment leaving a pier in Brooklyn. Joe sent those guys to do surveillance –”
“– And somebody killed them. The only ones who would have known where they were going were cops – and some Feds associated with the task force,” I finished for him.
“You really think a cop would get involved with people who dealt in kids?” Kat asked, finding it hard to believe.
“Maybe not. Maybe they didn’t know. It was a triangle trade. Trafficked kids, guns, drugs – didn’t matter to the Russians. All that mattered to them was the money. Maybe the cop believed in the cause. Lots of old Irish cops did,” Sean shrugged, knowing more about the ‘Irish’ of it all than I ever would. There was still a major loose end, though, and I couldn’t figure out where it fit.
Sean shrugged, as if it made no sense to him either. “She showed up here one day, about two years ago. Asked for my father first, then Joe.”
“She didn’t know he was dead?” Kat asked.
“Didn’t know or didn’t care. Could be she was using it to find out what I knew about the plane crash. Them kids.”
“She knew about that?” I asked, trying to see bow it all fit together.
“Tell you the truth, she knew so much, I thought she was either involved or a Fed, opening up the old case. That’s why when I saw your dad at Aunt Nancy’s funeral, I asked if he knew her.”
Now I was confused. What was my father doing with the Corrigans?
“Your Aunt Nancy’s funeral? My father went to a Corrigan funeral?”
“Yeah. And our weddings, and baptisms, and funerals… You didn’t know?”
“No,” was all I could say. What the fuck? “Did he know the woman? Or talk about the case?”
“Not really. He just asked questions, and then shut down, like he couldn’t remember anything I asked about. I tried talking to him again at my Uncle Tommy’s funeral, but he acted like I was crazy. I thought maybe it was his ‘old-timer’s’ disease kicking in by then… How is he, by the way?”
The question was tentative, as it usually was. No one really wanted to hear about a man who had been the epitome of smart and strong being reduced to staring out the window at the rain, wondering where he was or how he got there.
“He’s lucky if he can remember what year it is,” I answered honestly.
“Yeah… That’s rough. Sometimes memories are all you’ve got…” Sean’s voice drifted off as he saw my face and it hit him that he was talking to me. “Damn. I’m sorry, he mentioned how fucked in the head you are. I should know better.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I told him, turning back to the pictures. “So, this woman. You have any idea where to find her?”
“She lives right here on Staten Island. I did some checking into her. I was uh, interested in who she was, coming around, asking all these questions.”
“No need for excuses, Sean. You stalked her. She’s hot, right?” Kat asked, with a sour hint of jealousy in her tone.
“I didn’t stalk – no. She came here first,” Sean stammered. “And everyone on Staten Island knows somebody who knows somebody. I just asked around and found out she works at Saint Jude’s in South Beach with at-risk teens.”
“At-risk? Like trafficked?”
“Sure, I guess, but she lives right here –”
“– Don’t tell me, by Wolfe’s Pond?” I asked, already putting the pieces together.
“Actually, the house by Wolfe’s Pond is her old place. Now she lives in a little rundown house on Sharrotts Road, right where it goes through Clay Pit Ponds. Can’t miss it. Roof looks like it leaks and some of the faded cedar shake siding is missing.”
“But you weren’t stalking her?” Kat asked suspiciously. “So much for your long-lost love...”
“It wasn’t like that. I am trying to find my mo shonuachar—”
“Whatever that is, I bet you don’t need to stalk a hot hazel-eyed loon to find it.”
“For the record, I don’t think The Morrigan is a loon,” Sean said, turning a pinker shade of pale Irish, realizing too late that he was just digging himself in deeper.
“The Morrigan?” I asked, feeling a little badly for Sean. I completely understood how he could become obsessed. Kat wasn’t wrong. The woman was attractive.
“Sorry. It’s a bit of a joke. Her name is Morrigan Kelly,” Sean explained, as if that made it any more clear.
“I missed the punch line.”
“The Morrigan is from Celtic mythology. Morrigan means ‘Phantom Queen’, or the great queen. A sort of royal spirit of nightmares and a goddess of battle.”
“You’re saying she’s a royal bitch?” Kat asked succinctly.
“Not to her face. She goes by Rigan,” he finished, and I felt my stomach roil.
Everything Sean had said was validated by that one name.
Rigan.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. How many women with that name could there possibly be? What were the chances a different one called me to get me to show up at the Chistota, came looking for information about Uncle Joe and was most likely the woman who had gone to the High School looking for Alina and Dariya.
“Rigan is it? You know her nickname but never stalked her? I think our suspect might be lying. What do you think detective?” Kat asked with a smirk. It was clearly time to leave. Her romance had run its course.
“This was great, Sean. Thanks for the lead. Looks like I’ve got a woman to find.”
“Don’t we all…” Sean muttered, under his breath. I took Kat’s arm, firmly, and gently pulled her toward the door. Sean followed us out.
“Let me know what happens.”
“It’s a possibility,” I admitted, then grabbed for the door and stepped outside quickly, breathing in the air, thick with moisture. Kat was right behind me, quiet for once, probably reading my mood. She knew how frustrated I was. I had lived through those days when Uncle Joe was always at my house, discussing cases with my father, I had even been there the night he died – and I still knew nothing – about any of it.
It was all gone with my memory. All of it. My mind was as useless as my father’s, and I’d have to solve this the same way I solved the mystery of my childhood – with facts. I hurried down the sidewalk and was opening the door of the Nova when I looked up to see Aidan coming down the sidewalk in his bathrobe, sandals, and black socks, glancing over his shoulder as if he was afraid that Sean would see him.
“Killian, hold on a minute,” Aidan called out, a little breathless from getting out of his recliner. “Look, I heard that nonsense you were talking about in there – gun-running and triangle trade and all that horse shit. Might as well be Leprechauns at the end of the rainbow. You can’t listen to Sean. He’s a bit touched in the head, you know that, right?”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“So, then you’ll drop it?”
“Hell, no,” Kat told him, reacting without thinking. She shrugged when I glared at her, mouthing the word ‘sorry’.
“I’m going to find those girls. Make sure they’re safe. That’s all I care about,” I reassured him, getting into the car.
“Well, whatever you do, drop this bit Sean was telling you about. Crazy women showing up looking for dead men. It’s all shite. And Sean, you know he’s full of all kinds of crazy ideas from drinking the piss water they have in all them foreign countries he goes to. For your father’s sake, I’m warning you – don’t end up like him. Promise?”
I’d gotten in the car, out of the rain, but Aidan had crossed in front of me and come to the driver’s window. I rolled it down as I shut the door.
“I’ll be fine. I don’t believe in anything I can’t prove with facts. I know how easy it is for people to think faulty memories are things that actually happened. Trust me.” I started the car, but he put his hand on the door, squatting next to me.
“Good. That’s good. No sense digging up the past. Might as well let someone else find those girls, too.”
“I’ll rest when I’m dead. Somebody killed those kids. I can’t let it go.”
“Right...” his voice trailed off and he looked away, unable to look at me for some reason. When he spoke again, his voice was softer.
“…That’s what Joe said the last time I saw him, too. Things were… different around here before Joe left us. You go digging around that, it’s going to hurt your mother, your father, and you.”
“I’ll handle it,” I said, putting the Nova in gear.
“You’re not a Corrigan. You don’t need to deal with it. Jesus, can’t one of you thick-headed kids trust me for once?�
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“Sure. As soon as you tell me what it is that you don’t want me to find.” Aidan looked up at me then, and for a second I thought he might tell me. When he smiled sadly, I knew he wouldn’t.
“If I told you, that’d defeat the purpose now, wouldn’t it? Let Joe rest. Don’t go off like Sean and fuck up your life chasing dreams. Trust me. Take your Little Miss Sunshine here out for some drinks and enjoy her while she’s young. From the looks of her, she won’t leave you wantin’.”
“Excuse me?” Kat piped in from the passenger seat, finally breaking her unusual silence.
“No offense, sweetheart. It’s meant as a compliment.” Kat flipped him off, obviously not taking it that way. Aidan smiled. It wasn’t bitter, just a Staten Island thing, a ritual establishing boundaries. I ignored both of them, pressing the point.
“Why should I drop it? Give me one good reason.”
“For your mental health, how about that?” he asked, trying again.
“Too late,” I told him, tired of the evasiveness. It was clear that I wasn’t going to get any more out of him, so I eased up on the clutch. “Thanks for the advice.”
The transmission engaged and I waved as I pulled away. Aidan was left there in the street, covered in a fine mist that had settled in his hair and on his bathrobe. I watched him in the rear-view mirror. He didn’t move, just stared at me until I turned the corner.
I knew he was telling the truth. I wouldn’t like what I found, but it would be mine. My life, my memory. I was going to get it back.
The bonus was that I could help Dariya and Alina in the process.
I knew where they were – with the woman who had those familiar hazel eyes. I just had to get to her before Markov – but I was already way behind. He’d had a twenty-six-hour head start…
Chapter Fourteen
“Get out.”
“Go to hell.”
Kat and I were parked in front of my house on Hillside Terrace, the windshield wipers squeaking and scratching out a rhythm that was starting to make me want to rip them off. Kat wasn’t helping, since she sat gripping the seat, refusing to get out of the car, acting like a five-foot nine-inch tall, pierced and tattooed toddler. We’d already been here for a full five minutes, and I was due to meet Lieutenant Burke at Rigan Kelly’s place on Sharrotts Road in less than ten. I was on sick leave and I needed him as official cover to investigate my own stabbing, so I had to involve him, especially with Charlie and Tony being kept busy by Hurricane Sandy.
