by Sam Blake
‘True. Reckon he was having an affair with her? Maybe he had something to do with the video? Karen thought it was revenge porn. Perhaps Lauren wanted him to leave his wife, was saying she’d go to the press if he didn’t and he was using it to stop her.’
‘Everything is a possibility. He’s in the media, she’s young and impressionable. I can see how she could get drawn into something.’
As he spoke, Fanning stuck his head around the office door. ‘Will you be needing me, Cig?’
‘I thought you were bringing the coffee?’ Cathy looked at him questioningly.
Fanning grimaced. ‘Bit of a domestic to sort out.’
O’Rourke shook his head. ‘Go, you were due off at seven. Cat and I can chat with this Delaney character. If he’s on live radio I’m guessing he’s not a flight risk. I’ll just get finished up and we’ll head into town. That suit you, Cat?’
‘Yep, the sooner we can speak to Ronan Delaney, the better.’
‘Thanks, Cig. I’ll see you in the morning. Keep me posted?’
Cathy gave Fanning a thumbs up as he disappeared around the door. She could hear his shoes on the hard treads as he ran down the stairs. The details of his domestic had sounded hilarious as they’d unfolded this afternoon. He’d earned his nickname for getting involved with too many women, too close together, not for anything useful, like driving speedboats or saving the world.
She stood up, stretching, went over to look out of the window at the car park behind the station, leaning on the windowsill while O’Rourke sorted out his paperwork. As if he could feel her watching, as Fanning appeared out of the back door, skirting the base of the radio mast that towered above the station, he looked up at the office, and threw her a mock salute. She watched him stride across the car park to his own car, some sort of low-slung red sports car – a Honda NSX, someone had said it was. Probably one of the most ridiculous looking cars Cathy had ever seen, with its side yokes and gleaming spoked wheels, the go faster spoiler. But Fanning was into cars in a big way and thought he was the business in it. He revved it up and flashed her as he roared out of the yard.
‘Right, we’ll head into town in thirty minutes. Write up your interview and I’ll finish up here, and then we’ll go and have a chat with him, will we? Give him a call and tell him we’re on the way.’
Chapter 31
Sunday, 8.30 p.m.
Ronan Delaney hadn’t been at all impressed that they were coming to talk to him at work. He had blustered a lot when the producer had put her through to him, had deliberately kept the call short, saying he only had another two minutes of ads to run before he was back on. He’d tried to make a point about the press blowing the story up, but it was late and Cathy was pretty sure he wasn’t a big enough noise to have the paparazzi hanging about outside his door on a Sunday night. They’d agreed to be discreet when they came into reception. Cathy had smirked to herself as she put the phone down. While she might not look like your classic detective, there was no taking O’Rourke out of the job. Even in a suit he was unmistakable. It was something to do with the way he walked into a room and comanded the space. He did the same in the interview room. Ronan wouldn’t know what had hit him.
O’Rourke pulled his overcoat around himself as he strode out of the back door of Dun Laoghaire station. It was always roasting inside and the contrast with the January night was shocking. Cathy zipped her leather jacket up firmly to the neck, walking briskly behind him, the indicators on his sleek navy BMW 7 Series flashing as he approached. He turned the heating up full the minute she closed the door.
‘Jesus, it’s cold. Right, where is this place?’ Reversing rapidly, he skirted the side of the station and rolled up to the electric gates waiting for them to open.
‘On the Quays beside the O2 or O3 or whatever it’s called now.’
‘The Point?’
She smiled. ‘Yep, that’s it.’
The Point Depot had been built as a train depot in the 1870s, but redesigned as a music venue in the 1980s. Now its utilitarian red brick exterior hid several sound stages – and it had been rebranded several times, creating more confusion than clear message. It was like the Burlington Hotel in Donnybrook; it had been a Hilton and something else, but everyone still called it the Burlo. Dubliners weren’t good with change.
‘You still sure about the ERU?’
O’Rourke’s voice cut through her thoughts and Cathy realised that she had drifted off slightly, lulled by the soft leather of the seat and the smooth drive. It had been a busy day with a tough start in the gym.
‘Yes, sent in the application as soon as I finished it.’
‘You really want it?’
There was something in his tone that made her glance at him. His jaw was tight as he watched the vehicles braking in front of him, their tail lights flashing. If he could feel her looking at him, he didn’t acknowledge it.
‘I need a change, a bit of action. I think it’ll be fun.’
Cathy glanced at him again, smiling, trying to sound light. He was in a funny mood. Sort of tetchy.
‘I’m not sure “fun” is the word I’d choose.’
She shrugged. ‘I can’t stay in Dun Laoghaire all my life, and I need to expand my skills base. This makes perfect sense – it builds on what I’m already good at. That ERU inspector said—’
He cut her off. ‘That they were looking for more women.’ He glanced at her. ‘He called me as soon as your application arrived. He wants you in for interview.’
Cathy looked at him, stunned. She’d thought it would be weeks before she heard anything.
‘Really?’
She couldn’t think of anything else to say. O’Rourke braked at a red light and turned to look at her.
‘Why are you surprised? He wanted you to apply, especially after that whole thing in Wicklow.’
The ‘thing’ in Wicklow had had the makings of a major incident, but he was right. The ERU Inspector had phoned her for a chat afterwards, had made it clear he wanted her on his team. But the timing hadn’t been right. With O’Rourke on the move, though, it was now. Cathy felt the stirrings of excitement. She loved a new challenge, was always the first in the queue to try new things – whether it was a Taser or a new stab vest. And, assuming she got through the interview, moving to the ERU would keep her very busy. It was definitely better than feeling miserable about O’Rourke moving to Limerick. It wasn’t like they hadn’t worked in different divisions before, but since the explosion things had changed between them. Maybe not working together would be the thing they needed to get closer still. She could hope.
She realised she hadn’t answered him, cleared her throat.
‘I know, but I didn’t think they were that keen for me to join.’
He looked at her again as the traffic light changed to green, half-amused.
‘You’re young, you’ve huge energy and enthusiasm, you’re a national kick-boxing champion, you’re on course for a first in your Master’s. What’s not to want?’
There was something in the way he said it – the last word loaded with . . . She wasn’t sure what. Something that made her stomach flip and her heart beat faster. She looked across at him but his concentration was back on the road. That was perhaps just as well. She had no idea what to say in response.
Her phone started to ring. A moment later her ringtone was drowned out by O’Rourke’s phone ringing through the car’s internal system. She pulled hers out. It was Anna Lockharte.
‘You first.’
She flicked hers to voicemail as he depressed the button on the steering wheel to answer. It was the fingerprint expert calling from the Technical Bureau in Garda Headquarters in the Phoenix Park.
‘O’Rourke.’
‘Evening, Cig, we’ve got something interesting for you on the Lauren O’Reilly case.’
Still focused on the traffic, O’Rourke said, ‘Got you on speaker, go on.’
‘We found several sets of prints on the boxes of Modafinil in her room, non
e of which were hers, notably. We’ve several unidentified but one’s come up with a hit on the Interpol database.’
Cathy looked across at him, her eyebrows raised. What was that about?
‘Go on.’ He was still concentrating on the traffic.
‘No ID unfortunately, but there was a murder in France a few years ago, a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl was suffocated in a park near where she lived. She was wearing a gold bracelet, there was a partial unidentified latent lifted from it. We just got a match.’
‘Any suspects in their investigation?’
‘Not looking like it. We’ve got calls in to follow up, we’re waiting for the files.’
‘Good job, keep me posted.’
He clicked the phone off.
‘So we could be looking for someone with links to France?’
‘Sounds like it.’
Cathy thought for a moment; where had she heard France mentioned recently? Then she got it.
‘You know Tom’s family have a place in the south of France.’
‘Really? I think we’re going to need to have a chat with them again.’
Cathy’s phone pipped to indicate she had a message. She was so caught up in the implications of the fingerprint on a bracelet, the sound made her jump.
‘Who wants you on a Sunday night?’
‘Anna Lockharte.’ Cathy hit the redial on her phone and waited for Anna to pick up.
‘Professor Lockharte? Cathy Connolly, sorry I missed your call.’
‘Thanks so much for coming back to me.’ At the other end Cathy heard her pause, take a breath. ‘My friend in the US security services has been in touch about the email I received.’
Cathy glanced across at O’Rourke. ‘What did he find out?’
‘He wants to speak to you directly. His team have gone into my laptop remotely. That email contained a virus that gave the sender access to my webcam, as we suspected.’
‘Like Lauren’s?’
‘Apparently yes. Very like Lauren’s.’ Cathy heard Anna clear her throat. ‘The thing is, Rob’s team found a similarity in the code emailed to me to an open case in the US. I told him about Lauren and he did a check to look for any cases that involved webcam footage. There was a murder in Long Island a few years ago. The girl had images on her computer that the local detectives thought at the time she’d filmed herself, but someone was suspicious that she might have been hacked. The detective tagged the case but it was never properly followed up. Well, like Rob said, even if they had realised that she’d been hacked, the origin of the virus is untraceable. But the thing is, the Discovery Quay site was mentioned in emails sent to her too. He wants to check Lauren’s computer to see if it’s the same virus.’
‘He thinks that this case in Long Island could be linked to Lauren’s?’
‘Yes, he’s positive it is. He’s having every case where webcams were an element checked. But one of his guys was able to look at that girl’s computer, the one in Long Island. It was in storage but they were able to fire it up for him to look at remotely. There’s some sort of data fingerprint in the code it was infected with. His team say it’s linked to the worm that was used to access my computer. They are moving really fast because there’s an ongoing investigation into these websites, a really big one.’
Cathy caught her breath. Suddenly this case was taking on a whole new angle.
‘How did the girl in Long Island die?’
‘She was found in woods close to where she lived.’ Cathy thought she heard Anna’s voice catch. ‘She was assaulted and suffocated with her own clothing.’
Chapter 32
Sunday, 9 p.m.
Cathy hung up and looked at her phone for a moment. While she had been speaking they’d crossed the East-Link Bridge and slipped down the Quays, turning into the maze of narrow streets that spread like veins up from the river. O’Rourke had pulled the car to a halt.
He turned off the ignition. ‘That sounded interesting.’
‘You could say that.’ Frowning, Cathy unclipped her seat belt and twisted in her seat to face him. ‘Remember I told you Anna Lockharte has this friend in US Security who was looking at her computer?’ Cathy told him what Anna had just related to her. O’Rourke took the information in, his face expressionless, but Cathy knew his mind was in fifth gear, processing the information.
‘He’s suggesting the same hacker could have been involved with a murder in the US?’
‘Yes, he’s sure of it. Lauren’s stuff hadn’t been broadcast yet, but the threat was there. He’ll know for sure when his guys access her computer and take a look.’
‘OK. And we’ve also got forensics linking the drugs in her room to a murder in France.’
‘Yes, and both girls, the one in Long Island and the one in France, were suffocated. Both found in wooded parks.’
O’Rourke pulled his key out of the ignition. ‘We need to look at the files but the two MOs sound remarkably similar, which would suggest we have a very mobile killer.’
‘And somehow he knew Lauren, gave her the drugs and then hacked her webcam.’
‘Which means he must be here, on Irish soil.’ O’Rourke rolled his keyring through his fingers. ‘The hacker who wrote the code may have had nothing to do with the murders, it could be circumstantial. We have to be open to all possibilities, but I think we need to connect all these agencies, schedule a Skype meeting. Going after Lauren could have been his big mistake.’
‘But she wasn’t suffocated.’
‘No, but she was in a park. It’s possible he was planning to murder her and she jumped to escape him.’
‘What about the note in her pocket?’
‘Perhaps he meant he was sorry, perhaps he’s had enough and wants help. He obviously infiltrated Lauren’s life – perhaps more than he did with the others.’ O’Rourke paused. ‘Let’s see how Ronan Delaney fits into all this, shall we?’
*
The offices of Life Talk FM were in a nondescript office building with no external branding. The road outside was cobbled, bisected by the Luas track. A few parked cars were scattered along its length but it was otherwise empty. Life Talk was on the third floor on the other side of a door entry system. A gust of freezing air blew up the road from the river Liffey, bringing with it the tang of salt. Cathy shivered as the door swung open.
O’Rourke strode ahead of her and, not bothering to look for the lift, took the stairs two at a time. She followed him. She knew from his posture that he was on a mission. She didn’t fancy Ronan Delaney’s chances if he was thinking he’d be able to hide the truth from them.
As he reached the top of the stairs, the huge Life Talk logo greeted them. O’Rourke pushed open the door into reception. Cathy was surprised to see that even at this time of night there was a girl behind the main desk, but then as the phone rang, Cathy realised that of course they needed staff on whenever a live show was going out. It was the interaction with the listener that was the success of this particular station.
The girl lifted her head and smiled. Her hair was chopped in a severe pixie cut that emphasised her high cheekbones and big brown eyes. Delaney had obviously told her to look out for them.
‘Ronan’s expecting you, would you like to come into the conference room? He’s just coming off-air now. Can I get you a tea or coffee?’
She looked at O’Rourke slightly strangely, like she wanted to ask who he was but didn’t dare.
‘Thank you, that would be great. Coffee for me, black, Detective Connolly has hers white, one sugar.’
The girl’s eyebrows shot up.
Behind her, Ronan Delaney appeared from a side office, his hand held out. Too late if he was planning on keeping their identities quiet.
‘Great to see you, come in, come in.’
Reaching for O’Rourke’s hand, Delaney clapped him on the arm with his other hand like he was an old friend, trying to sweep him into the conference room at the same time. It was a pantomime that wasn’t lost on O’Rourke. Cathy followed t
hem, watching Delaney, wondering what he had to hide.
As soon as the conference room door was closed, Delaney’s tone changed.
‘I really don’t know how I can help you. Tom worked for me. My wife and I are good friends of his parents. We were devastated when we heard about the accident.’
There was a pause that was slightly longer than was comfortable before O’Rourke spoke.
‘We’re aware that Tom worked for you, that he was regularly at your house. And that he worked here at the station last summer. We’re interested in talking to you about the night that he was killed. Perhaps we can sit down and you can take us through your movements that evening.’
O’Rourke pulled out a chair as pixie haircut came in behind them. She slipped a tray onto the table and hovered for a moment.
‘Thanks, Tamsin.’ Delaney was smiling but his tone was dismissive.
Cathy pulled out a chair and slipped her notebook out of the leg pocket of her combats. Unhooking the elastic, she flipped open the grainy black cover and slid out her pen.
She looked at Delaney expectantly as O’Rourke remained standing, his arms folded. Delaney got the point and, pulling out a chair, sat down, casually throwing one ankle over his knee, putting one elbow on the table like he didn’t have a care in the world.
‘Of course, I want to help as much as I can. I don’t know what I can tell you, but where would you like me to start?’
‘You were at Orla Quinn’s charity event at the Intercontinental Hotel last Thursday night?’
‘In Ballsbridge, yes, there all evening from about seven forty-ish. Usual thing, introducing the speakers, telling a few jokes, getting people to put their hands in their pockets for the raffle. It was a great night. I left just after Orla. Drove home. Back by about 11:15, I think.’
‘And on the way home did you see anyone walking down Ulverton Road?’
Delaney shrugged. ‘I really can’t remember, it was a long day, I just wanted to get home.’
‘We’ve CCTV that places you in Sandycove within the time frame you describe, which also means that there’s a strong likelihood that you drove past Tom.’
