Deadly Ancestors: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery (Bernadette Callahan Detective Series Book 5)

by Lyle Nicholson

  The announcement came over the loudspeaker that all foot passengers were to disembark. His feet felt light as he almost bounced down the gangway and saw the terminal in sight.

  A row of taxis was waiting. He had his hand in the air to motion to one when a figure appeared at his side.

  “Welcome back, Cahal,” a Garda Policeman named O’Connell said.

  Cahal started, he looked at the policeman and smiled. “I think you have me confused with someone else. I’m a Canadian citizen. I will show you my passport if you like.”

  “I’m sure you could, Cahal. And we’ll be able to have you on a charge of entering the country on a false document. But you’re being detained on an international arrest warrant of aiding and abetting attempted murder in Canada. The Canadians have asked us to detain you.” O’Connell gripped Cahal’s arm. His grip was like a vise.

  “How on earth did you find me?” Cahal asked.

  “You triggered the facial recognition in Amsterdam,” O’Connell said. “We lost you for a time, but then found you again at the Paris station on British Rail. A Scotland Yard detective was on the train following you from your hotel this morning. He called us when you boarded the ferry.”

  “I’ll need to see a lawyer,” Cahal said.

  “I’m sure you will. Now, let’s have no trouble. Come along then.”

  Cahal’s shoulders slumped as he walked to the waiting police car. A policeman opened the back door; he had a broad face and cheery smile. The name on his badge was Flaherty.

  “There you go Mr. Callahan, we saved you cab fare into town,” Flaherty said as he closed the back door.

  Cahal Callahan sat in the back of the police car wondering if he’d heard the policeman say attempted murder or murder. He was afraid to ask the question.

  32

  “They found Burkov; he’s alive,” Evanston said as she pushed herself away from her desk.

  “Where?” Bernadette asked. She put down her fourth cup of coffee and looked over her laptop at Evanston.

  “Cahal left the rental at the Calgary Airport in the main parking garage with Burkov bound and gagged in the trunk. Looks like he wanted to get to his plane quickly. That’s lucky for Burkov, much warmer in there. He didn’t freeze to death. He was dehydrated and cold, but he’ll be fine after a short stay in hospital,” Evanston said.

  “I’m sure he’ll be back to usual nasty blogging after that,” Bernadette said.

  “I saw his latest blog. Apparently, he’s had a change of heart, especially about you. The Calgary Airport Police informed him it was your quick thinking that got him found so quickly.”

  “Really? I’m so glad. But I hope he doesn’t lose his lucrative cat food sponsors by going soft on people,” Bernadette said.

  “The good thing is we can add this to the list of charges against Cahal. The prosecutor is drafting it up and sending it off to Ireland today.”

  “That’s great. Maybe that will help us spring him from Ireland and get him back to Canada. Now, I’ve got to see about getting Chris sprung from hospital. That guy feels so hemmed in there, you’d think he was doing time in prison.”

  Bernadette wasn’t able to get Chris released from the hospital until late afternoon. The doctors wanted him to see the people in physiotherapy and do some exercises before they were satisfied.

  An orderly wheeled Chris downstairs to the lobby and into her Jeep. Sprocket was in the back of the Jeep doing a lot of woofing and whining to make sure Chris knew he was missed.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay, sweetie,” Bernadette said.

  “You’d think with all the cries of bed shortages in Canadian hospitals, they would have let me out sooner,” Chris said.

  Bernadette put her hand on his arm. “They wanted to make sure you’re okay. I do too. So, now we’re heading home and you can get some rest.”

  “Rest. If I were anymore rested, I’d be a slug. I’ve been lying in a bed for three days. I’d like to get moving. Maybe get into the kitchen and make some food. I’m sure you’ve been living on take-out.”

  Bernadette glanced at him as she drove the vehicle out of the parking lot. “Normally that would be the case. But Harvey got home Sunday and every little lady that he’s ever dated or talked to has brought over casseroles and enough cinnamon buns that I’ve had to freeze some of it. Poor Harvey was beside himself. The food just kept coming, and so did they. He had to make room for it, so we have a fully stocked fridge.”

  Chris chuckled. “Great, from hospital food to tuna casserole supreme. Should be interesting.”

  They drove in silence for a while. Chris looked at the blue skies and the snow. He imagined what the Rockies looked like right now, they’d be covered in snow and looking amazing. To Chris they were the most beautiful things in the world, tall, majestic peaks that seemed to hold the white clouds in their grasp. He wondered how soon it would be until he could be walking amongst them.

  “I got a text from Emerald Lake Lodge this morning. It’s decision time. We either take it or we don’t,” Bernadette said.

  Chris turned to her. “Let’s take it. Being shot gave me a new look on things.”

  “Like what kind of things?”

  “Well, I’m leaving the police force for good. I won’t be doing any short time shifts and never going to consider it.”

  “Ah, you’re thinking of being a chef?”

  “I thought about that, but that means I’d have to organize people all day. As we know, people can be difficult.”

  “Totally, so what’s on your mind?”

  “I’m thinking of becoming a wildlife officer. I checked the prerequisites and one of them was a degree in criminology and law enforcement. I have that.”

  “Really, that’s great,” Bernadette said. “I think one of us ducking bullets and bringing down crooks is enough in the family.”

  They pulled into their driveway. Harvey’s driveway was filled with Toyota Camrys and Buicks. The little blue hair army was back to take care of him. Bernadette got Chris to sit in the big easy chair in the living room. She turned the television to a nature channel he liked then left him to rest.

  She picked up her cell phone, texted to the Emerald Lake Lodge that they accepted, and hit send. Only a slight feeling of panic went through her as she realized they’d set an actual date that was three months away and there was this thing called wedding planning to do.

  She put her phone down. “Come on girl, planning a wedding can’t be as hard as chasing criminals,” she muttered to herself.

  Her phone pinged with a text. The message was from Sullivan in Dublin. It read that they’d arrested Cahal on the charges of aiding an attempted murder. He was now in the Dublin jail.

  Bernadette called Durham. “Chief, I just saw that Cahal been arrested on attempted murder.”

  “Yes, that’s right. The Crown couldn’t link Cahal in the texts to the murder of Fredericks, only to the attempted murder of Dominic. We can’t keep it a secret that Dominic is alive. The legal world has few gray areas in dead or alive when it comes to warrants for arrest,” Durham said.

  “Okay, thanks, Chief, I’ll call Father Joe and let him know.” Bernadette put her phone away and let the whole situation sink in.

  Father Dominic was once again a target. How could they protect him? Cahal was in prison. How long would it take to get him extradited? And there was one other little problem niggling at her brain. She’d put a bond up for Cahal. His trial was in four weeks. If he didn’t appear, they could get a continuance, but for how long? Ten thousand dollars was the same amount she’d budgeted for her wedding.

  She went back to the living room to see how Chris was doing. He was fast asleep; she decided to work from home today and watch him. Sprocket decided to do the same. The big dog lay to one side of Chris and lifted his head from time to time to check on him.

  33

  Dublin, Mountjoy Prison

  Cahal Callahan sat across the table from his lawyer in Mountjoy Prison located in the center
of Dublin. The prison was nicknamed the Joy, obviously by those who’d served time and left.

  Cahal’s lawyer was a large man. He wore an expensive suit with highly polished shoes, his fingers were manicured, and he tapped a gold pen on a sheet of paper.

  The people Cahal was associated with had sent one of the best, but from the look on his lawyer’s face, a man in his fifties named Bryan Badderby, his case was not going well.

  He’d been before the judge already, the charges from Canada had been read and the extradition request made known by the prosecutor acting on behalf of the Canadian Embassy. Cahal thought he’d either be free in no time or his council would drag the case on for years and tie them up with countless appeals.

  “I’m afraid you’re done for, my man.” Badderby said after shuffling the papers a few more times.

  “What do you mean, done? You saw what they’ve got against me in Canada. This would barely hold up in court here in Dublin, you know that. What the hell kind of lawyer are you?”

  “The one that sees the forces greater than the ones in this room, Dublin or the entire republic of our fair isle. I see the hand of the Vatican here. You were, as the charge read, involved with the attempted murder of a priest. Actually, the charge is a bit obtuse, there’s a note here that claims this priest was originally pronounced dead, and I received a message that he’s alive. But that’s aggravated assault.”

  “Father Dominic is still alive?” Cahal asked.

  “I have the reports, yes,” Badderby said.

  “I need to get a note to someone.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “How much is he paying you?”

  Badderby closed his eyes then opened them and looked down at his papers. “Pass it to me before I leave.”

  “Okay, then why is my case hopeless?” Cahal asked. He placed his hands on the table and hunched over. He wrote a note on a small piece of paper with his back turned to the guards.

  “Your case was fast tracked to the Minister of Justice. There’s a rumor the church got involved in this. They seem to have a problem with old priests being targets. He authorized your extradition. Wants you kicked back to the Canadians immediately.”

  “What about appeals?”

  “I met with my inside man in the Minister’s office. He said not to waste my time. They will fast track every appeal and shoot them down. You’ll be able to delay by maybe a month, two tops. The end result is you’ll be off to Canada soon. I hope you kept some woolies for the journey.”

  “Thanks for the travel advice, counselor, just see that note gets to my friends,” Cahal said.

  Badderby hoisted himself up from the table, nodded for the guard to open the door, and left the room. He made his way to his Jaguar SUV, driving at an easy pace to a pub on the outskirt of town.

  He walked into the pub, ordered a pint of cider, and passed the note with his money to the barman. As far as he was concerned his job was done. He hated the people who sent him to represent Cahal Callahan, but their money was good. It was almost too good.

  Ronan Bronaugh met with John Dunne later that evening. Dunne had left a message with his receptionist that there was vintage port in at his local wine shop. Bronaugh hated port, but it was a call sign to tell him where to meet Dunne.

  They met in the back of the wine shop where a room was set up for the very best customers to sample wines. Bronaugh sipped a twenty-year-old Burgundy by swishing it around his mouth and judging it to have gone past its peak. He poured it out and looked at Dunne.

  Dunne sat there with no wine and only a piece of paper. “Cahal sent a note that Dominic is still alive.”

  “Is it rumor or fact?”

  “Doesn’t matter. If it’s a rumor, we’ve no problem. If it’s a fact, I’ll have it dealt with,” Dunne said.

  “And what of Cahal. What do we do with him?”

  “We need to get him out of prison. There is no way he can be sent to Canada. They might turn him. He’s still useful to us,” Dunne said.

  “How soon can you make it happen?” Ronan asked.

  “Very soon.”

  They got up and left the room. Rain was falling in a torrent on the street. Ronan’s chauffeur stood outside the wine shop with an umbrella, escorting him to his car.

  Dunne walked out of the shop afterwards, pulled up his collar, and marched down the street like he was going off to battle. In his mind, he was.

  Cahal Callahan hated everything about prison. He’d never been in one, never visited anyone in one. From the small beds to the polished cement floors, the neon lights and the smell, especially the smell, he hated every moment of it.

  The smell was of men, sweat, and body odor; it floated in the air like a mist and mingled with the harsh woolen blankets and the acrid paint on the walls. From the moment he woke up in the morning to the time he went to bed, he tried to get the smell out of his nostrils, but he couldn’t.

  He lined up for breakfast amongst the other inmates that morning. He kept to himself. The best thing about him was his age. Old men in prison were no threat to the young ones. He kept his distance and they didn’t bother him.

  Three days had passed, and he hadn’t heard word from anyone. How much longer would he have to wait? A large man with a shaved head and tattoos butted into the line ahead of Cahal. He merely backed off and let him in.

  He would be docile here. Let them move him from one cell to another. Never make a fuss, stay in the background and bide your time—that was always his method. Things would work themselves out.

  The big man in front took a step back. He passed Cahal a small clear packet. Cahal had no idea what it was. He didn’t want to get in trouble. He put the packet into his tray and hid it under his plate.

  He received his breakfast and sat at a table away from everyone else. The big bald man came to his table and sat across from him.

  “I don’t want trouble,” Cahal said. “I don’t do drugs. Sorry lad, if you’re selling, I’m not a customer.”

  The big man leaned forward. He had tattoos on his face and two front teeth had been filed to look like fangs. “Listen, these aren’t drugs. I got a message from outside. You’re to take that with water and go back to your cell.”

  Cahal felt a feeling of dread come over him. If he didn’t take the packet, the big man would know, and he’d probably kill him. What was it? Had they decided to kill him in prison to silence him or was it a way to get him out?

  “What is it?” Cahal asked.

  The big man smiled. “It’s a lovely mix of an antidepressant to make your body sweat, some Viagra to make your face go flush, and Digitalis to make your heart beat irregularly. Enjoy!”

  Cahal’s hand shook as he took the packet from under his plate. His plastic water glass was full. There was no way he could refill his glass and dump the packet.

  He emptied the contents of the packet into his glass and stirred it with the teaspoon. He lifted it to his lips and hesitated.

  “Be a nice boy and drink it all down now. You don’t want me to have to send you to the infirmary the hard way,” the big man said, flexing his fists. His large biceps contracted in anticipation of the work they’d get on the old man if he didn’t comply.

  Cahal drank the entire glass and sat it down on his tray. He got to his feet, nodded slightly to the man, and headed back to his room. He lay there wondering, trying to feel every part of his body to see what the drug would do.

  Suddenly his heart began to race. He broke into a sweat. A pain shot down his arm.

  “Help, guard, I’m having a heart attack,” Cahal yelled out. He hoped someone heard him. His chest was exploding in pain. His last thought before he passed out was, so this is how they kill me.

  Three guards entered the room, one called the medical staff. A male nurse arrived, took Cahal’s pulse, and announced a cardiac arrest. He started chest compressions and gave him a shot of adrenalin.

  An outside ambulance team arrived. They were there sooner than expected.
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  “Lucky for this man we were in the area,” the emergency medical person said.

  They hauled Cahal out of the prison on the stretcher; two of the guards went with them. The guards jumped in the back of the ambulance. Neither of them noticed the extra medical staff inside.

  They didn’t see the chloroform-soaked rags come at them. They struggled for only a few seconds before their bodies went limp. The ambulance was found on a side street ten blocks away. The guards were okay but dazed. Cahal was gone.

  34

  Bernadette was feeling pretty good. The past three days had gone well. Chris had recovered from his collapsed lung. It was just as the doctors had said. He still had some bruising on his ribs that she had to be careful with. But other than that, things were getting back to normal. Even Sprocket had returned to his former self and was now galloping beside her on morning runs.

  She was back in the office, finishing off the reports from the incident with Cahal and the drugging of Mawer and Burkov. The warrants had already been done and sent off to Ireland, but she’d been behind on her paperwork. She was finally able to catch up.

  “Are you writing a novel there or a report?” Evanston asked as she walked by on her way to the coffee machine.

  “Smart ass,” Bernadette replied. “I’m just putting in all the details of the deeds of Cahal Callahan.”

  “Ah, yes, your nefarious uncle. Who knew you had such a black sheep in your family? Maybe you were destined for the police to make up for his bad karma.”

  Bernadette winced at the name uncle. “I still wish you wouldn’t call him that.”

  “Why not? How will you know unless you take a DNA test? Chris told me you were going to do one. Did you?”