by Amy Cronin
She tried not to devour her food when it arrived so as not to draw attention to herself, but she was starving. The hotel she was staying in, if you could call it a hotel, didn’t serve food, and she had been too scared to leave for longer than necessary. She knew though that hiding under the duvet wasn’t a long-term option. She longed to leave Ireland and the Gallaghers behind, to join her sister, and forget this whole affair. The need to escape was palpable and growing in intensity every hour. With each mouthful she felt revived and felt her strength and determination return.
She had passed the Gate cinema on the short walk to the café and knew it was open. She wasn’t ready to call on Nick just yet and needed to further steady her nerves. The cinema would be warm inside, and more importantly, dark. She could sit in peace and think her plan through. Placing a ten-euro note on the table, she quickly left the café, making her way to the cinema, her eyes darting left and right, alert for anyone that looked like one of David Gallagher’s gang. They had a stereotypical “tough guy” look; tight hair and tattoos, and usually wore dark jeans and coats. They weren’t exactly subtle. She had socialised with some of them before while Natalie had been seeing David Gallagher. She would recognise them instantly if she saw them again, she was sure of it.
The wind stung her cheeks and whipped her scarf around her. This part of the city was busier; shoppers were out in droves, despite the cold. She moved between them to her destination, shivering with cold and tension, ready to run.
The cinema was as warm and dark as she’d hoped. She purchased a large coffee and sat in the back row, to be near the exit. The movie was a thriller of some sort; she made no attempt to follow the plot. She didn’t know if it was the coffee coursing through her veins, trepidation at what she was about to do, or trauma from the events of yesterday, but she felt pumped full of adrenaline. She could not sit still. Her eyes darted around constantly, and she shifted in her seat. The cinema was almost completely empty, just her and two elderly gentlemen, but still she could not relax. Images played in her mind, a horror movie of her own making. David Gallagher laughing as he punched and kicked, his voice screaming “I’ll fucking do it, I swear!”, the look on his face as he fell backwards, blood spurting from his neck. Try as she might, she could not erase her memories. And her fear. She had been part of David Gallagher’s life for many years now, and she knew what he had been capable of, what his family was still capable of. She needed to escape.
After the movie she freshened up in the ladies’. She took her time in there, although she knew no place would be safe from her attackers if they found her. She was aware she was dragging out the inevitable, the trip to the Mad Hatter. David Gallagher’s world scared her. Her reflection frightened her too – there were deep lines under her eyes, and she was deathly pale. Exhaustion and fear were taking their toll. She did what she could with her appearance, but she had haphazardly hacked off her long hair and it stood up in wispy tufts. She hardly recognised herself. The bruise on her jaw was getting darker. She had bought concealer together with the hair dye, and applied more now, desperate not to draw attention to herself. Her hands shook as she dabbed on the pale liquid.
Across the street from the cinema was a department store. She moved through the crowds of eager shoppers, browsing the hangers and shelves, hoping to go unnoticed. She purchased a knee-length black winter coat, a scarf and a hat, avoiding eye contact with the cashier. In a toilet cubicle at the back of the store she put on her new things, transferring her old ones into the large shopping bag – she would dump them as soon as she could. On the second floor she found a passport-photo booth and ducked inside. Before the camera flashed, she tried to arrange her hair into something that resembled a style. Pushing it this way and that, she thought that Natalie wouldn’t recognise her if she saw her now – her identical twin had never looked so different.
Realising she had no choice, and could no longer delay the unavoidable, she made her way to the Mad Hatter. She walked briskly and covered the distance within ten minutes. Steeling herself, she knew she would need to be extra-careful. She thought of Tom Gallagher, head of the family. His son was shot dead in her house – the man was certain to be looking for her. She hoped he was too preoccupied to do it just yet.
It was dark inside the Mad Hatter. The venue’s few customers were clustered at the long bar with pints of lager in front of them. It looked like they were settling in for the day. A few of them turned in her direction to check out the door when it opened but returned to their drinks and muted chat with disinterest. She took a deep breath and sat near the door, shoving her shopping bag under the table.
A waitress arrived shortly, with a laminated menu tucked under her arm. She looked to be in her forties, with smudged eyeliner and an impossibly short skirt. Her nametag read “Betsy”.
“You having food?” she asked, chewing gum and looking bored.
“Just coffee,” Kate answered. “Is Nick working today?”
Betsy looked her up and down, chewing, her eyes narrowed. She blew a large pink bubble-gum bubble and let it pop, before slowly drawing the gum back into her mouth, and resumed chewing again. Eventually she answered, “I’ll check”, and she moved away.
Kate gulped for air as she waited. This was so dangerous – it seemed she was making a habit of putting her life at risk. Her palms were sweating, and she rubbed them together under the table. Betsy had made her feel uncomfortable and she had a feeling her encounter with Nick wouldn’t go much better.
She had kept her coat, scarf and hat on – nausea crept up her throat as sweat began to pool on her upper lip. After a few minutes Betsy brought her coffee, then turned and strode away again, never mentioning whether Nick was in or not. She sipped the coffee. It was awful; she winced as she swallowed. Time ticked on, and no one approached her. But she was keenly aware she was being watched. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, and her heart raced to the point where she felt she would explode with tension. She almost fled – this was surely suicide? Nick could contact the Gardaí, or the Gallaghers, at any time! But she had no choice. She knew of nowhere else to get the documents she needed to leave. And she couldn’t go to the Gardaí and appeal for help – for a long time now she had suspected David Gallagher had a Garda on his payroll. Besides, they would surely arrest her the minute she walked into the station.
Eventually, a heavy-set man made his way towards her table from a door marked “Staff Only”. He had his eyes fixed on her, and walked slowly, like a predator sizing up its prey. His arms were huge, his muscles bulging below the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. Sweat glistened on his bald head. He sat opposite her.
“What do you want?” he asked in a flat, monotone voice.
She felt the room spin and gripped the edge of the greasy table.
“Are you Nick?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“What do you want?” the man repeated.
She took a deep breath and made eye contact.
“I want a passport. I can pay cash.” She slid her passport photos across the table.
Nick raised one eyebrow – he seemed to be assessing her, this nervous woman sitting in front of him, with her hair bundled into a hat, a heavy coat and scarf almost obscuring her completely. Perhaps he was worried she might be an undercover Garda.
Eventually, he picked up the photos and nodded.
“It will take two days. And it will not be cheap. Ten grand. Cash. This is risky for me, you understand?”
She couldn’t place his accent; she nodded to show that she did understand.
“Saturday night, ten o’clock. Sit here, order a drink,” he instructed, appraising her with his eyes, making her skin crawl. “Do not wear so many clothes. I’ll find you.” He smirked.
He picked up the photos and walked away, back through to the staff area, passing Betsy who was wiping tables nearby.
Once he was out of sight, Kate exhaled deeply. Her adrenaline now depleted, she felt completely drained. Dropp
ing five euro on the table, she abandoned the coffee, grabbed her shopping bag and made her way back outside. She longed for the sanctuary of the hotel again. She set off, eyes darting left and right for any sign of Gallagher’s men or the Gardaí. Her eyes stung from the biting wind and with tears of fear and frustration. Two days! She had no choice but to hope that wasn’t too long. She felt vulnerable and exposed on the city streets – but she told herself she had better get used to it. There was much to do.
In the back office of the Mad Hatter Nick was sitting with his phone in his hand. He had called it in. A young woman, looking for documents. Mr. Gallagher’s man Murray had given a description to all the clubs and bars and, although the woman had been almost completely covered in her winter clothes, Nick knew better than to ignore the possibility that this was who Tom Gallagher was looking for. He had texted a photograph of the passport photos the woman had supplied. He looked forward to his reward.
Outside, Betsy was on her cigarette break. She leant against the wall, cigarette hanging from her lips, and pulled her thin coat around her. She thought for a few minutes, about how much trouble she could get in, but also about how much she owed. The woman looking for Nick haunted her – she was clearly terrified. It wasn’t every day a young woman came in here looking to buy a passport. Betsy knew the look of a woman in trouble – she had felt that level of terror before and had been given a second, even a third chance.
It didn’t take Betsy long to decide what to do. Pulling out her mobile phone, she selected the right number and waited. After a few seconds on hold the call was transferred and answered.
“Detective Sergeant Elise Taylor, how can I help you?”
3
At lunch, in the staff canteen, Lauren and Anna sat together as they always did. Lauren munched on her sandwich and filled Anna in on some of the office gossip she had managed to glean that morning.
“Your detective, the one with the appendicitis? He’s due back tomorrow from sick leave.”
She pushed her glasses back up her nose.
Anna nodded, feeling relief course through her. She would approach him first thing in the morning then. She had thought about requesting to speak to the Chief Superintendent, but Janet McCarthy was in meetings all day with the Special Events Team – no doubt pertaining to the latest crisis in the city. Anna surmised that the shooting and the political conference would be taking up all of her available time.
Lauren lowered her voice and leant closer to Anna. “There’s only one suspect for the shooting of David Gallagher apparently – a woman. He was found dead in the woman’s house and she’s missing. I don’t have any more details yet.”
Anna felt sure it wouldn’t take her friend long to have the whole story.
“It’s probably gang-related, you know what the Gallaghers are like,” Lauren said confidently.
Unfortunately, Anna did know what the Gallaghers were like. From her experience typing up and collating reports, a large number of the criminal dealings in the city were somehow linked to them.
Lauren brightened as she moved on to another topic.
“Have you seen the new guy from the Special Detective Unit? His name’s Myles Henderson. He’s down here from Dublin, doing some technical stuff for the conference. He’s gorgeous!”
“Aren’t you taken?” Anna asked, looking pointedly at the diamond that sparkled on Lauren’s ring finger.
“A girl can still look!”
Anna erupted into laughter. Lauren was always so much fun to be around.
As they made their way back to their desks, they passed Myles at his own, typing furiously, lost in the details of his report. Anna remembered his warm smile of support that morning. Lauren elbowed her in the ribs as they passed him, and Anna laughed and nudged her back.
“You’re such a child,” she muttered, laughing.
Her laughter quickly dried on her lips as she approached her desk, realising that Detective Superintendent Doherty was standing there. Beside him was Detective Sergeant Elise Taylor from the Protective Service Unit. Doherty was Elise Taylor’s supervisor.
Elise cut a smart figure, in a black trouser suit and sharp blonde bob. She appeared tired though; her eyes were red-rimmed, and her face pale. She had the appearance of a woman who hadn’t slept in a long time.
Anna couldn’t help but overhear their conversation as she sat down at her desk.
“The property is rented by a woman named Kate Crowley. It looks like a brawl went down at the house. We’ve checked all the hospitals but there’s no sign of any injured woman matching her description.”
“Right,” Doherty said with obvious disinterest.
The hairs on the back of Anna’s neck stood up and her hands froze over the keyboard. Kate Crowley. She knew that name. It was the name of one of her childhood friends. If it was the same Kate Crowley, she and Anna had been in school together, losing touch when Kate’s parents separated, and she and her sister moved to Dublin with their mother. However, the name was a very common one in Cork.
“We need to move fast on this,” Elise went on. “Gallagher’s own house looks like it’s been ransacked. I’m waiting on the forensics report but that’ll take some time – there’s a lot to go through.”
“Sure.” Doherty pulled a small plastic tub from his trouser pocket and shook out a tiny white pill. He ground it between his teeth.
“I’ve also heard John Gallagher is missing. I think it’s all connected.”
Detective Sergeant Taylor finally had her supervisor’s attention.
Doherty’s eyes bulged slightly.
“Tom Gallagher’s son?”
“Yes, his older son.”
“Well, maybe this Kate girl killed them both?” Doherty sounded smug as he said, “Kill two birds with one stone, eh?”
Anna looked up and supressed a smile as she watched Elise’s face darken in exasperation. She clearly was in no mood for Doherty and his clichés. Doherty sounded bored; the gravitas of the situation was lost on him.
Elise pressed on. “One of my contacts informed me a woman has set up a meeting in a bar in the city with a man named Nick – he’s the manager there. She’s trying to buy a passport apparently. I’d like to station some men inside and bring her in for questioning. Not to mention catch the sale of illegal documents in the process. Perhaps it’s our shooter.”
“Why would she be looking for a passport?” Doherty sounded sceptical.
“Perhaps it’s because she just killed a man and needs a way out of the country!” DS Taylor sounded as though she was fighting to remain cool. She sighed audibly. “We have a chance to find out, if you give the go-ahead to bring her in. If it is our main suspect, she is mixed up with the victim’s family – her sister is David Gallagher’s partner, and mother to his children. Gallagher was abusive.”
Frank Doherty exhaled loudly at this. He did recall some details of reports to that effect.
“There’s something else,” she went on. “We received an intel bulletin Tuesday morning from the Federal Police in Germany. They have been tracking international movements of suspected criminals, including a family called the Meiers. They were observed boarding a flight to Cork Airport. It might have nothing to do with what’s happening with the Gallaghers, but with everything going on –”
“Here she is, our very own Nancy Drew!” Doherty had a habit of cutting people off mid-sentence when he was bored. He snatched the file from Taylor’s hand and turned to Anna with a sneer. “Type this up like a good girl.”
He flung the file onto her desk where it landed with a thump, toppling the stack of files to Anna’s left. Then he was gone, his large frame thundering through the open-plan room.
Elise watched her supervisor go, her face twisted in surprise and anger. She turned to Anna.
“Don’t let him get to you,” she said tightly, helping Anna to gather up the files.
“It’s hard not to!” Anna replied, aware her face was bright red. She wasn’t embarrassed, she was angry.
“I’m twenty-six years old! I’ve a BA in mathematics and a post-graduate diploma in statistics. And that’s twice today he’s called me ‘a good girl’!” She slammed the last of the files on top of the pile Elise had helped to create, almost toppling it again.
Anna met the Detective Sergeant’s eyes and smiled apologetically.
“I need these notes typed up and brought to the incident room when you’re done.” Elise eyed the pile of reports on the table. “It takes priority.”
Anna nodded. She had worked with Elise on and off over the last few years. The detective was normally polite, if somewhat aloof.
Elise ran a hand over her tired face and headed for the stairs.
Anna sat down again, only too eager to get into the heart of this story. This was the shooting Lauren had told her about earlier. The opening set of notes appeared to be the minutes of a meeting held between Elise Taylor, Doherty, Janet McCarthy, and several other detectives Anna was familiar with. She began to read, her horror growing with every sentence.
At a time to be determined, but sometime late afternoon the day before, as estimated by the State Pathologist, a man identified as David Gallagher was killed in a house in the city suburbs, in Brook Valley near Wilton. It appeared he had died from a single gunshot wound to the neck. There were signs of a struggle in the house – furniture was knocked over, glasses were smashed, and there was blood on several surfaces. There was also a packed suitcase and passport belonging to a woman named Kate Crowley in the hallway. The house, a three-bedroom semi-detached in a large housing estate, was rented by the same woman. Neighbours told detectives Kate had lived there for the last three years – the landlord was being contacted to confirm. The dwelling was empty when the Gardaí arrived, responding to a call from a neighbour after hearing what sounded like a gunshot. It seemed to Anna that Kate was unlucky enough to live next door to a “nosy-neighbour” type, Steven Smith. The pensioner seemed to have nothing better to do than keep tabs on the comings and goings of his neighbours – he told Gardaí that Kate had left the house before 8 a.m. but had returned just before lunchtime. Shortly afterwards, a car pulled into the drive behind her Volvo, and a man exited. That car was confirmed as registered to David Gallagher. Both cars remained in the driveway.
