by Amy Cronin
The storage cupboard on William Ryan’s floor didn’t seem to have a lightbulb, but there was plenty of light illuminating it from the main room. Anna stepped forward, pulled what she needed from a high shelf, and exited quickly, shivering involuntarily.
“I don’t know if you’re aware of this,” William was saying from his desk, “but all the sexual assaults are linked. The DNA collected at each scene is a match to all the other assaults. We’ve known for a while now we are dealing with one attacker. Unfortunately, we’ve no idea who we’re looking for.” William took the pen Anna offered him with a nod of thanks and gestured to her notebook as she sat back down. “Tell me what you’ve got.”
Anna perused her notes and leant closer.
“The first break-in on my list took place on 24th February 2016 at Number 4, Cherry Avenue, Lincoln Road. Some household items taken were recovered and an arrest was made two weeks later. The occupants of the house had no intruder-alarm in place and indicated to Gardaí their intention to get one fitted. There was no follow-up on that. Three days after the break-in, a woman living alone in Number 15, Sea View Close, was sexually assaulted overnight. The attacker had his face covered, so the victim wasn’t able to identify him, but he left traces of DNA at the scene. No arrest was made in connection with the sexual assault. I checked Google maps – Cherry Avenue and Sea View Close have houses that run back to back. The house in Sea View Close is within viewing distance of the house that was broken into in Cherry Avenue. The pattern continues six more times. There is a short time span of between three and eight days between attacks in the same geographical area, none of the properties broken into had security alarms, and the victims of the sexual assault were home alone at the time of the attack.” Anna met William’s eyes. “I think the victims were being watched. Either the victims lived alone or their partners or housemates were all out of the house for work purposes on the night. It seems to me the attacker observed the property and noted the comings and goings, making sure he wouldn’t be disturbed.”
She passed her notebook to William and he jotted down the remainder of the dates and locations she had written there. He was relieved her writing was legible, and he could feel the faint stirrings of excitement in the pit of his stomach. Anna Clarke had done some quality research and was definitely on to something. The geographical proximity of the two crimes was very close and one house offered a direct view of the other in some cases. If the robbery victims had actually installed intruder alarms from the same company, he might have grounds for a search warrant. If not, William found he could be very persuasive. Maybe the alarm-company employees could be persuaded to give a DNA sample – if they were innocent, they would have nothing to worry about.
“So, the most recent attack was just a few nights ago, in … Willow Rise,” he said. “Again, no house alarm. Time will be important here. If this pattern is true, an attack could take place within a few days.”
“Er … that’s the housing estate where I live, actually. And I live alone … so … this whole thing is making me a bit jumpy.”
William’s eyebrows shot up again. “I’m not surprised, I’d be jumpy too. Have you noticed any unusual activity in the estate? Any work vans with a company logo on the side?”
“Well, no, I’m at work all day so I wouldn’t see anything. I did have an unusual experience when I got home last night. It seemed I had left my back door open – a sliding door into the garden. It was slightly ajar. Also, and I could be imagining this, but the key bowl on my hall table had moved …”
William dropped his pen onto the notebook and gave Anna his full attention. The serious look on his face sent a shiver down her spine.
“Tell me about the key bowl. What keys do you keep in there?”
“I … just my daily keys, for the car and front door. And a spare set for …” Anna’s voice trailed off and she felt the blood drain from her face.
“Is the spare set still there, Anna?” William asked softly.
Anna could only whisper her response. “I don’t know.”
William wrote out his mobile number, tore the paper from the notebook and handed it to Anna. “I want to know about those keys as soon as you get home from work, OK? In one sense, if someone was in your house, they don’t need the keys, because they’ve already found a way in. But if the keys are missing it proves someone was poking around. And I want you to take a look at your sliding-door lock. Check the outside of the lock for scratch marks or any damage.”
“OK.” Anna was aware her voice was shaky.
“It is a good idea to double-check all the doors and windows. Do you have a friend that could come and stay over, give you some peace of mind?”
Anna thought of Alex. He would insist she move into his house if she told him what was going on. She groaned inwardly – Alex always worried so much about her.
She nodded at William.
“Great! And leave this with me.” William tapped the notes he had taken and smiled reassuringly at her. “I think you’re on to something here, and I’m going to give it top priority.”
10
“Tell me again what you found at the house!”
Tom Gallagher and his associate Murray were in his office at the back of his mansion on the hill. It was Friday lunchtime, and Tom felt his agitation growing. It was almost forty-eight hours since David had been shot. And almost as long since John had gone missing. The situation was dragging on, and he wanted answers. He could feel tension literally choking him with every passing second. The top button on his shirt had long ago been opened; he opened the next one down and drew in a deep, drowning-man’s breath.
John’s severed finger sat in its cardboard delivery box on his desk, still wrapped in the blood-soaked handkerchief. Tom couldn’t bear to look at it, but it hovered on the edge of his vision, and never left his consciousness. His whole body ached to avenge his son’s mutilation. His right leg bounced as he waited for Murray to fill in the gaps in what he already knew.
Tom Gallagher was a careful man, always keen to avoid a list of enemies. A man was either on his side or out of the picture – it was safer that way. He could only assume it was the Meiers that had taken John. But the Germans had made no contact, nor had they sent a note with John’s mutilated finger, leaving Tom even further in the dark. Either this was new territory for them, or they were planning a more elaborate stunt to get his attention. Tom had yet to confirm where the Meiers had travelled to in Cork; it was as if they had disappeared into thin air. If they were in the city, and had taken his son, it was a move he couldn’t yet understand. They had never seen the need for a personal visit before.
David had been put in charge of their work with the Meiers shortly before his death. Tom realised now that that had been a monumental mistake. It seemed that as soon as he had given his younger son more responsibility, life had begun to spiral out of control. Now David was dead. Tom tried to focus his efforts into finding John; it was a powerful distraction from the realisation his youngest son lay on a slab in the city morgue.
And on finding Kate Crowley of course.
The Gallaghers were middlemen who had made their fortune holding goods where no-one would look. It was now merely a small part of their enterprise but it remained a lucrative one. A robbery in Dublin? Send the money to Cork, to Tom Gallagher and his sons; they would make sure it disappeared until the Gardaí had given up searching for it. A shipment of drugs bound for Belfast? Divert it to the quays of Cork, Tom Gallagher could hide it for a while. The Gallaghers took a holding fee, then returned the goods, whatever those goods might be. It was easy money, hiding the spoils of a crime they had absolutely nothing to do with.
The Meiers gave repeat business, a couple of times a year. Their reach extended across Europe and Tom was happy to facilitate them. He liked their set-up; it was much like his own, and they were careful too, never getting caught. The most recent job was so easy, so foolproof, Tom had given it to his son, to give him something to get his teeth into. It was
David’s apprenticeship, his training for working with John when the time came. Of course, John would take the reins; he was the logical choice. Calm and measured, John was a natural leader. Tom had planned on leaving behind a lucrative empire to John, and with David by his side, Tom was certain his legacy would be in good hands. Now one son was dead and another missing, being tortured, if the blackening finger on Tom’s desk was anything to go by. The growing dread that gnawed at Tom’s insides was unrelenting.
Ely Murray had come into Tom Gallagher’s employment when he turned eighteen. He had watched the man grow his empire, and Murray had never wanted to be anywhere but centre stage. Thirty years later, he had worked his way to fourth in command. Now he was second in line after the boss. Unless John turned up.
The Gallagher lifestyle suited Murray, and he had the scars to prove it. A particularly nasty scar ran from his ear to his lip – Murray liked that one. He had suffered a slash to the face at a brawl in a row over territory – many wannabes had encroached on the Gallagher’s territory over the years. Murray and the gang of loyal men he had amassed always set things straight – but there had been casualties along the way. Murray didn’t mind the scars that added to his reputation as a hard man not to be crossed – and the ladies didn’t mind them either.
Tom Gallagher had two sons of course, and Murray had been under no illusions as to who Tom intended to take over the business, who he intended would continue when he retired. John was steady and controlled, and with his father’s deadly streak. David had been a different type of man altogether. David had been a hot-headed fool in Murray’s opinion, and Tom had made the right choice to keep David as second-in-line after John. David had brought the Gallagher family to the attention of the Gardaí too many times. Street fights, nightclub brawls, and beating the mother of his children … all drew too much attention. It wasn’t Tom’s style, nor Murray’s either; it wasn’t how to get ahead. Under the radar was Murray’s way; he was quiet, a man who measured his temper. He wasn’t loath to knife a man in the belly, but he would do it in the corners of a dark alley, not the busy dance floor of a packed nightclub. David’s death had left another mess for his father to deal with, and with John missing, everything was at stake.
“We searched the whole house overnight,” he said now. “A detective called Elise Taylor is handling the case by the way. We found hardly any clothes for the children or Natalie in the house – there’s no sign of any passports either. She’s done a runner. There was no merchandise to speak of – no cash, no drugs, nothing. You’re clean. But it begs the question – where is the gear David was holding for the Meiers?”
“Kate Crowley can answer that question, I’d bet my life on it!” Tom held a pen in his fist and clicked it, on and off, over and over.
The action irritated Murray, but he said nothing. His boss, normally so calm and measured, was starting to crack under too much pressure. There were spidery red veins running through the whites of his eyes, and his body jerked in little spasms every now and then. To be in the line of Tom Gallagher’s fire right now was surely suicide.
“We put the word about,” he said. “Fifty grand for Kate Crowley alive – that’s our preferred outcome.”
“And?”
“Lots of interest – it’s a lot of money – but so far nothing concrete.”
“She could be anywhere – she could have even left the country!”
Murray shook his head. “There’s a jumpy woman due at the Mad Hatter tomorrow night. It must be her – how many women go around looking to buy a passport? It’s not an everyday occurrence. A cop I have on the inside told me Kate Crowley’s passport was found inside her house, along with a packed suitcase. I’d bet she was leaving with her sister, except now she can’t because she needs documents. We’ll have her in our hands by tomorrow night.”
“Show me the photo again!” Tom demanded and held out his hand.
Nick, the club manager, was an old mate of Murray’s. He had texted on an image of the woman’s passport photos. Tom studied it closely; it could be her. Natalie, mother of Tom’s grandchildren, was her identical twin. The hair was different – short and dark – but that was easily achieved. It was the woman’s bright-green eyes that gave Tom certainty that Murray was right.
Tom nodded and threw the pen onto his heavy oak desk. Murray’s confidence was rubbing off on him – his dark mood was starting to shift.
“I’ll handle it myself,” said Murray. “I’ll take a few guys to the club and bring her in.”
Tom liked this plan; Murray was thorough and ruthless. If it was Kate seeking to buy a passport, she would be in his house very soon.
“Why haven’t the Germans made contact?” he said. “If they are the ones that cut off John’s finger, then why don’t they get in touch and tell me what the fuck they want?”
“I’ve no idea. We never deal with them directly – we always go through Ainsley.”
Tom sighed heavily; Murray was right. To further deepen the pool of deniability, the Gallaghers were only ever contacted by the Englishman, Alan Ainsley. He brokered the deals with the Meiers and a large number of other groups that needed goods to hide for a while. Ainsley kept everyone happy, and separate. Except, this time, everyone wasn’t happy – David was dead, John was missing, and Mae was drinking herself into oblivion. Tom didn’t know how to tell her David’s children were gone too – her granddaughters meant almost as much to his wife as her own children.
“We need to find the gear David was holding for the Germans.”
“Remind me – what was it again?”
“Cash and diamonds. Not a whole lot, less than a hundred grand.”
“Why pay a personal visit for so little? Why take John when they know we can cover it? If David fucked up and hid it somewhere we can’t find it, we replace it. Easily done. Why come here and take John?”
Murray could only shake his head.
“When will they release my son?”
“John?”
“David! He’s been on a slab for days now. Find out when the Gardaí will be finished with him. Mae needs to put this to rest. She needs to put one piece of this to rest.”
Tom ran his hand over his face and through his dark hair. Murray felt a stab of pity for his boss.
“Sir?” Jessica, the housekeeper, knocked softly on the half-open door.
Tom turned and raised his eyebrows – her creamy skin and soft curves were a balm to the soul.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt. It’s Mrs. Gallagher, sir.”
Jessica hovered in obvious discomfort at the door. Murray’s eyes roamed over her appreciatively.
Tom got to his feet. “Keep searching the streets. I want John back. The Meiers must be holed up somewhere. And Kate – I’ll take her dead or alive!”
Tom turned to Jessica and smiled tightly. “Lead the way.”
Jessica walked briskly to the front of the house, her low heels clicking on the tiled floor. Tom Gallagher liked to collect loyal people, and Jessica was one of them. He either bought or earned their loyalty, and in Jessica’s case it was both. She was an immigrant, a single mother with a teenage son – she needed a well-paid job where she wasn’t required to work the streets, where she could be paid off the books. Tom needed someone to run the house and keep her mouth shut. He had taken her off the streets and into his home; he paid cash and enough of it for her to stay loyal and stay quiet. She knew what would happen to her if she ever broke her silence and spoke to the Gardaí – Murray would be let off his leash for starters.
She led Tom to the living room and stayed at the doorway while he cautiously stepped inside. The smell of vomit and whiskey assailed him. Mae sat in a pool of her own filth, retching and crying in bursts.
“I want John!” she sobbed when she saw Tom standing over her. “I want my son! My David! I’m going to kill Kate Crowley – look what she’s done!” Mae vomited again onto the floor.
Tom bent down and stroked her hair. “This will be over soon, my love.�
�� He turned to his housekeeper. “Take some time off. Don’t come back until I tell you.”
Seeing the tense set of his jaw, one hand curled into a fist at his side, Jessica quickly left the room. She had never seen the Gallaghers like this before, and it terrified her. She was happy to escape the lion’s den.
She grabbed her coat and handbag from the hall closet and walked quickly from the house, without looking back.
11
Anna was grateful to be busy that morning as the threat of a sexual predator lurking near her house was thankfully pushed to the edge of her mind. It hovered there, waiting to pull her back into a state of anxiety. But it would have to wait.
The stack of files to her left resembled a very unsteady Leaning Tower of Pisa.
A new brown folder of handwritten notes had been positioned on her keyboard, with a yellow Post-it-Note on top, reading: Priority – to incident room asap, DS Taylor
She rolled her shoulders to loosen the knotted tension there. The fact that Detective Sergeant Taylor had put both “priority” and “asap” in one sentence left little doubt about how urgently she wanted to solve the case. Well, she needn’t have worried, she thought wryly; this was one case she was just as keen as the detective to see filed away and resolved.
She quickly read the notes. Just this morning Elise had received confirmation that Natalie Crowley and her two children had travelled to Paris on Wednesday morning. The tickets were purchased in person at Cork airport, just before departure. Anna felt her heart sink – Natalie had left the city in a hurry. But why had she left her sister behind? Anna felt sure the gap was firmly closed now between doubt and certainty that Kate Crowley was involved in David Gallagher’s shooting. She just couldn’t believe it was true – the girl she had known in school was kind and so … normal. But they were children then, Anna reminded herself. And with their involvement with the Gallaghers, Anna knew they would have found themselves in a world of violence and danger. A world where anything was possible.
