by Scott Hunter
Aine broke the silence. ‘Look, Brendan, I have no idea why Black wants me. We knew each other, sure, back in the day. But not well. And that’s the truth. I just know that whatever’s going down is not something I want to be involved in. Now give me the bloody phone…’
Moran’s reply changed to a curse as a speeding car failed to stop at a mini-roundabout. It caught their vehicle behind the passenger door on Moran’s side, slewing them to the right. Moran fought with the steering wheel, but it wasn’t playing. A low brick wall ended their unscheduled diversion and the engine died on impact. Moran’s head hit the steering wheel with enough force to trigger an airbag, had airbags been standard in the mid-Eighties when their car was manufactured, but it was just hard plastic. He saw stars, felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder. He was dimly aware of other voices – urgent, demanding voices, followed by Aine’s scream, then nothing.
Steam rose from the punctured radiator in a series of aggravated puffs. A diesel engine somewhere nearby burst into life, rousing Moran into semi-consciousness. A screech of tyres, a hint of burned rubber and it was gone. Moran tried to figure out the direction but his brain wouldn’t comply. The lights went out.
‘He never intended us to get to the rendezvous,’ Moran told Charlie. He was sitting in a bar two streets away from the scene of the crash. His head hurt like hell and he was holding a damp handkerchief to his forehead. The garda, fortunately, had dragged their feet getting to the scene, and after he’d come to Moran had been able make himself scarce, waving aside objections and offers of help from a small group of bystanders. He hoped the garda would file the crash under joyriders, but suspected that one or two upstanding citizens among the witnesses might offer a description. In which case, it wouldn’t be a great idea to loiter.
‘He wanted to catch me off guard,’ he told Charlie, ‘make sure I didn’t pull anything funny. He must have really wanted Aine where he could see her.’
‘But why?’ Charlie said. ‘I just don’t get it.’
‘Nor me. Not yet. But Black should be letting his man know that we’ve kept our side of the bargain. In a manner of speaking.’
‘Will he call you, d’you think?’ Charlie asked.
‘He may well,’ Moran winced as he shifted the handkerchief. The barman was regarding him with a mixture of sympathy and suspicion. Moran gave him a wan smile and raised his glass to his lips, took a sip.
Charlie said, ‘I’ll clear the line, guv.’
‘Yes, you’d better, and–’ Moran started as the sound of two muffled reports echoed through the handset. ‘What the hell was that?
‘Gunshots, guv. Inside the flat. Gotta go–’
The line dropped. Moran paled, dropped the burner in his pocket, sipped his whiskey. It did little to dispel the cold knot in his stomach.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bola had almost worn a hole through the squeaky-clean floor of the hospital corridor with his relentless pacing. Tess had been in surgery a long time. He looked at his watch.
An hour and a half…
That could mean anything. Something, or nothing. It was the not knowing that was killing him. And the guilt. The if-onlys had started the moment they had raced away in the ambulance. If only he had stayed at the rear of the building. If only he had sent Tess to meet the ARU. If only, if only…
The rubber doors flapped and a white-coated doctor appeared.
‘DC Odunsi?’
Bola found that he couldn’t respond. His mouth opened and closed silently. In the end he just nodded.
‘I’m Dr Keogh, Mr Harriman’s surgical registrar.’
Bola nodded again.
‘DC Tessa Martin isn’t in any danger,’ Keogh went on, ‘but she’ll be weak and groggy after the anaesthetic. I suggest you come back tomorrow morning. She’ll be more compos mentis by then, all being well. Hopefully we won’t have to keep her in too long.’
‘She’s all right?’ Bola felt relief sweep through him like a shot of amphetamine. ‘She’s really OK?’
‘She was lucky,’ Keogh said. ‘The shot missed her vital organs. Most of the damage was superficial, you’ll be pleased to hear. We had a good look around to make sure we didn’t miss anything. She’ll heal physically, but I suspect that the mental support will be more important,’ he added. ‘From colleagues, and friends.’
Bola pumped the man’s hand. ‘Of course, of course. Thank you, thank you.’
On his way out Bola met George McConnell on his way in. He grinned at the little Scot, an enormous good-to-be-alive grin. ‘She’s all right, George. She’s going to be fine. Can’t see her tonight, though, doctor’s orders.’
‘What the hell were you playing at?’ George’s tone was icy. ‘Leaving her to man the fort on her own?’
Bola’s face fell. ‘Now wait a–’
George jabbed a stubby finger in Bola’s chest. ‘You were supposed to be looking out for her.’
Bola took a step back. ‘George, have you been drinking?’
‘Are you my minder now?’
‘Come on, George, not here. We can talk outside.’ Bola touched George’s arm. This wasn’t good, not good at all. George had been off the booze for a while, as far as he knew, but–
‘Get your hands off me.’ George brushed him aside. ‘Now, are you going to tell me where she is or do I have to find out myself?’
‘George, this isn’t a good idea. You can’t see her right now. Look, she’s just out of surgery. And she’s going to be fine.’
George opened his mouth to reply but his mobile phone got there first. ‘McConnell.’ He instantly modified his tone on hearing the caller: ‘Oh, it’s you, boss.’
Bola watched George with mixed feelings. Would Charlie be able to figure out the state George was in?
‘Right. Got it.’ George signed off. He looked Bola up and down. ‘I’m wanted elsewhere, lucky for you. Standoff’s over.’
‘Over?’ Bola’s eyes widened. ‘So what happened?’
‘The girl’s all right,’ George said tersely. ‘She’s safe.’
A group of nurses passed them in the corridor and Bola stepped to one side to let them pass. George was already walking away. He hurried after the bristling figure.
‘George, wait. They’ve got the guy responsible? The gunman?’
George picked up the pace, striding ahead. He threw the answer over his shoulder. ‘Yes and no.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
George burst through the exit into the overcrowded car park where an ambulance was unloading its fresh cargo of misery.
‘It means,’ the Scot said in a louder voice, ‘that they have his body.’
‘They shot him? ARU never take a shot, unless there’s–’
George spun on his heels. ‘He blew his own head off, all right?’
Bola watched George stride away, unsteady and angry. ‘Go home, George,’ he called after the retreating figure, only to receive a rude gesture in return.
At least George wasn’t driving. And at least he wasn’t in uniform. Bola glanced at his watch. Eldon Square was a couple of minutes away.
He started walking.
Eldon Square was doing a good impression of a war zone: blue light overload, uniform on the perimeter, press pressing against the cordon, and the ARU packing up, relieved maybe not to have been called upon to fire. Not that that was going to happen anyway – a last resort, and only in very rare circumstances. Just one shot fired, and that from inside the flat. He caught sight of Charlie, talking to the ARU sergeant. He waited for her to finish before catching her attention. ‘Boss?’
‘Bola.’ Charlie scanned her DC’s expression and liked what she saw. ‘Tess is OK, right?’
‘Yep,’ Bola confirmed. ‘She’s going to be fine. Visitors tomorrow, the doc said.’
Charlie let her breath out in a long sigh. ‘Thank God for that. Have you seen George? He’s supposed to be on his way.’
‘Actually, he’s not well. Asked me to let you know. Gon
e home with a migraine.’
Charlie frowned. ‘Migraine?’ She studied Bola’s expression. ‘You’re a rubbish liar, Bola.’
Bola shuffled his feet. Damn. Now what could he say?
Charlie sighed again, this time in frustration. ‘OK, never mind. I’ll sort George out later. You heard what happened?’
‘Just the main points. The girl’s unhurt?’
‘Yep. She’s over there – back of the second ambulance.’ Charlie gestured to the main road where two ambulances had drawn up by the cordon. ‘Seems unfazed by it all. Quite a self-possessed young lady.’
‘So why did the gunman top himself?’
‘We’re trying to establish exactly what went on in the basement flat. I’m second in the queue after the medics. Want to join me?’
‘Sure,’ Bola said. ‘If you want me to.’
Charlie gave Bola a hard look. ‘Bola, I don’t blame you for what happened to Tess, OK? We’ll talk later, but don’t let it get in the way right now.’
‘Thanks, boss. Appreciate it.’ Bola tried a smile, which didn’t come as naturally as he’d have liked. But the boss was on his side; that was a tick in the right box. George’s reaction, however, was more worrying. It nagged at him like a sore tooth.
‘Let’s get to work.’ Charlie spun on her heel and set off towards the ambulances, but then her mobile phone rang. ‘Guv? Yep, sorry. Here’s what happened…’
Charlie spoke quickly, gave Moran the salient facts. She finished with a question. ‘Should we tell Caitlin the latest? That her mother’s been abducted?’
Charlie listened to Moran’s reply and nodded. ‘OK. Straight bat. Agreed.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
‘Miss Hannigan? Can we have a quick word?’ Charlie asked the question as much of the paramedic as the girl. Both nodded, the paramedic dismounting from the ambulance with a brisk ‘All yours. Heart rate and blood pressure normal. But–’ he raised a warning finger, ‘a few minutes only, OK? – I’m obliged to take Miss Hannigan to the RBH for further checks. Just to be safe.’
‘That’s fine, thanks.’
Caitlin was sitting on the central trolley bed, back straight, legs neatly folded, hands clasped together. She looked calm and focused. Charlie gestured to Bola.
‘Miss Hannigan, this is Detective Constable Bola Odunsi, and my name is Detective Inspector Charlie Pepper. I’d like to ask you one or two questions, if you feel up to it? I understand you’re upset; that’s only natural, but this’ll only take a couple of minutes.’
‘Go ahead.’
Charlie perched on a low stool opposite the trolley. Caitlin Hannigan held her gaze and maintained eye contact. She was a strikingly attractive redhead, hair fashionably styled in a face-framing cut just above chin length which shaped and accentuated her well-defined, but feminine, jawline. A light dusting of freckles around her nose and cheeks added a gamine quality which, judging from Bola’s expression, wasn’t doing her any harm in the male-attraction stakes. Charlie shot Bola a cautionary look before addressing Caitlin.
‘First of all, we need to know as much as possible about your assailant.’
‘Of course.’
Bola asked, ‘What happened in the basement flat, Caitlin? Did he say anything to you? Take – or make – any phone calls?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘He only gave orders, like sit down. Or keep quiet, you know. He didn’t make or receive any phone calls.’
Caitlin’s Irish roots were only just discernible, her accent more southern counties than Southern Ireland. ‘Did he hurt you?’ Charlie asked.
‘No. He had a firm hold of my arm on the way from my flat, but that’s all.’
‘Or threaten you in any way?’
A head shake.
Charlie glanced at Bola. ‘In which case, I’ll tell you what we know.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Have you been in touch with your father recently?’
‘I spoke to him a few weeks ago, why?’
‘You didn’t get the impression anything was amiss?’
‘No. What is it? What’s happened?’
Charlie explained. Caitlin Hannigan nodded at intervals, ran a well-manicured hand through her hair. If she was upset, she hid it well. Shock, perhaps. Charlie had seen it before when breaking bad news, the recipient too numb to react.
‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Caitlin. Let me assure you that DCI Moran is doing everything in his power to find your mother.’
‘Why can’t the garda find out what’s happened?’
‘It’s complicated, Caitlin. DCI Moran is doing all he can.’
‘And this guy, today, I mean, he’s – he was – something to do with my mother’s decision to run away? What did he want? I don’t understand? Why would he want to threaten me?’
Bola frowned. ‘You said earlier he didn’t threaten you.’
‘Yes, sorry. Bad choice of words. I meant, what would he want with me?’
‘Are you sure he said nothing at all, Miss Hannigan?’ Bola was leaning forward, his voice low and encouraging. Charlie suppressed an approving smile. Bola was good at proactive prompting.
Bola continued, ‘He didn’t ask you about anything, ask you to do anything?’
‘No. As I said before, he just told me to sit down, keep quiet.’
‘And when he shot himself.’ Bola raised his eyebrows a fraction. ‘No warning? No reason? He just…’ Bola made a barrel with his fingers and pointed them at his temple. ‘Just bang, and that was it? He didn’t say anything before he pulled the trigger?’
Caitlin swallowed and looked down at her hands, toyed with a ring on her little finger, twisted it round and round. ‘No.’ At last, a slight tremor in her voice. ‘He just–’ Now the hand went to her mouth. ‘It was just like you said.’
‘All right, Miss Hannigan. Thank you.’ Charlie signalled to Bola – enough.
Caitlin brought herself under control with an effort. The hands were re-clasped. ‘I should call my father.’
‘Of course. But I’d wait till the hospital has given you the once-over.’
‘I’m all right, really.’ Her voice broke a little and she took out a handkerchief from her sleeve, blew her nose. ‘Sorry.’ The handkerchief flapped.
‘You’ve been through a traumatic experience,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ve been through something similar. I can empathise with how you’re feeling. You might feel fine now, but you may not later on.’
Caitlin nodded, and returned a weak smile. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’
‘Would you like someone to stay with you tonight? I can arrange a WPC. She won’t get in your way, just–’
‘I’ll be fine.’ Caitlin nodded again, this time more decisively. ‘I’m rather a private person. And there’s my boyfriend.’
‘He lives with you?’ Bola was onto that one, smartish.
‘No. He lives in Earley. He was coming over tonight, to help me sort things out – with the move, you know. What I mean is, he’ll make sure I’m all right.’
‘Very well. If you’re sure.’ Charlie got up and ducked instinctively as she remembered where she was. ‘I’ll arrange a car to take you from the hospital to your apartment. We have a specialist team onsite now – they’ll make sure everything’s fixed up for you – door, locks and so on, check everything over, make sure nothing’s been taken.’
‘I see. Is that absolutely necessary?’
Charlie caught the frostiness in the question. Rather a private person. Fair enough. It was no fun having a bunch of strangers poking around your apartment. A vivid flashback of the break-in which had almost cost her her own life caught Charlie unawares; the shattering of the front door glass, the desperate struggle with the knifeman, the sliver of window piercing his gut.
She shook the images away with a flick of her head, cleared her throat. ‘Well – for your security, yes, of course. They won’t touch anything they don’t have to, don’t worry on that account.’
A nod
.
Charlie took out her wallet. ‘Here’s my number. Call me anytime if you’re worried.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate that. But …’ Caitlin’s composure faltered ‘… it won’t happen again, will it? I mean, someone trying to break in, or–’
‘You’ll be perfectly safe,’ Bola told her. ‘We’ll keep an eye on the flats, don’t worry.’
‘Thanks. That’s very kind.’ She shot Bola a wider, more relaxed smile and Charlie sensed the electricity crackling between them, a thousand hormones lining up for duty. The boyfriend thing wasn’t something that would worry Bola. She might need to have a quiet word…
‘We may need to ask some more questions in a day or so,’ Charlie said in her best business-like tone. She indicated to the hovering paramedic that they had finished. ‘Thank you, Miss Hannigan. We’ll be in touch.’
They clambered down the ambulance steps and Charlie assessed the scene. The incident was being closed down. Police cars were departing with lights doused and sirens silenced. The ARU had left the Square; apart from the forensics team, only a brace of uniforms remained at the cordon. The gunman’s remains were being stretchered up the basement steps, a body-bagged, anonymous shape. It would be interesting to see what pathology came up with – her first job tomorrow, Charlie decided. But this evening the first priority was to keep an eye on Caitlin Hannigan – a task to which, she suspected, Bola had already assigned himself. A call to the guv was in order, too. He’d sounded pretty shaken up. But experience had taught her that it was a dangerous thing to shake up the guv; it only made him raise his game.
‘Want me to stick around, boss? Or–’
‘–Maybe pop up to the hospital?’ Charlie stuck her tongue in her cheek.
‘Yeah, er–’
‘Yeah, er… what?’ Charlie cocked her head, enjoying Bola’s discomfiture. She’d never seen a black man blush, but Bola was getting pretty close. ‘Keep an eye on her, DC Odunsi. From a distance, OK?’
