by Sam Blake
A table for two became free at the back and O’Rourke nudged her.
‘Go grab that table. What are you having?’
‘Has to be a chicken salad, no dressing. Lots of salad.’
‘And coffee?’
Cathy looked longingly at the coffee machine. ‘A skinny latte, please.’
She made her way to the back of the cafe, nodding to Starsky and Hutch, who were sitting opposite each other nursing coffee and large chunks of cake. They grinned at her – they both looked far too big for the small table, bomber jackets slung around the backs of their chairs. The whole station had been keenly following the events in this case. After notifying the Quinns in the first instance, Starsky had been popping in to the incident room regularly to follow developments. Not that there had been a huge number of those until now.
Cathy squeezed between the chair and the table and sat down facing the wall. O’Rourke always insisted on sitting with his back to the wall so he could see what was going on. It made her smile. If anything happened, she’d be about twenty times faster than him to react, but she wasn’t going to bruise his ego by pointing that out.
She pulled out her phone and flicked through Instagram, not really looking at it. Sarah Jane had posted a picture of the ring at the Phoenix Gym and Cathy immediately felt nervous. Despite her swim and weight training this morning she was going to have to work really hard to catch up with the training time she knew she was going to lose this week. Fanning had put up a picture of a sleek yellow Maserati. Not much chance of him ever owning one of those unless he married into some serious money. She scrolled down the images, thinking about cars, about what Conor Quinn had told them this morning. Thinking about the map on the incident board.
Dillon’s Park really was an isolated spot to meet someone at night and the trees completely blocked the far end of the park, where they’d found Lauren, from view. Quinn must know the park well to think of it as a place to meet. That thought jarred with her. He really didn’t look the type to be taking long walks. Not when he had a choice of five cars to use.
But he had been just around the corner that evening, and there was a possibility that his car had hit Tom. Cathy flicked open her email. Traffic had sent through a copy of the video from Paddy Power’s CCTV. She could see a second email with the stills attached. She felt her heartbeat quicken as she clicked on the first attachment to download it. She glanced over her shoulder; O’Rourke was just at the counter making his order. The girl taking it was stunning and was smiling at him like he’d just beamed down from Planet Hollywood, but she could tell by his body language he’d hardly noticed. He was as preoccupied with this case as she was.
A moment later the video opened on her phone. She hit play. It was grainy and dark. The camera angle took in the Corner Note coffee shop opposite the bookies where it straddled the junction of Coliemore and Convent Road. At 23:07 a blue BMW jeep swung around the corner, its headlights dazzling as the camera caught it head-on, and then, the road clear, it headed straight down Convent Road, staying in shot for another few seconds. She hoped if they kept looking they’d find a clearer shot of the registration plate, but there wasn’t any question in her mind that it was Conor Quinn’s.
O’Rourke materialised beside her with a glass of water and a cup of coffee in his hands.
‘The video came through. It’s definitely his jeep. Look.’
O’Rourke quickly slipped off his overcoat, slung it over the back of the chair and sat down, taking the phone.
‘Here.’ She leaned forward and swiped it to start the video playing. He looked at her witheringly.
‘Do I look so old that I don’t know how a phone works?’
‘No, silly.’ She shook her head despairingly. ‘But my phone’s different to yours. Just look at it, will you?’
A moment later he was nodding. ‘Looks like his vehicle. We’ll get them to keep looking for a shot that shows the reg plate.’
‘I’m just not sure we’ll be able to see him driving – the light’s very bad.’
O’Rourke pulled his phone out from the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘Let’s see what they can do.’
As he spoke, at the nearby table, Starsky’s phone rang. Cathy looked across – he scowled and indicated to Hutch that they needed to move. They both stood up and Cathy caught his eye.
‘What’s up?’
‘Another yacht broken into at the marina.’ Starsky shook his head. ‘They’ve got the most sophisticated security system I’ve ever seen – their CCTV is as clear as Sky News and they’ve got a biometric entry system, but this is . . . what?’ He glanced back at Hutch. ‘The fifth yacht in the last month?’
‘Yep, second this week. And a bunch of tools were stolen over the weekend as well.’
Starsky pulled his jacket off the back of the chair and, glancing around the restaurant to make sure no one could hear him, said, ‘I was wondering if it’s one of their own, someone who owns a boat down there and can just breeze in and out. Or maybe one of the local scrotes who’s conned someone into registering their fingerprint on the system. If we can run their biometric data through AFIS we can see if anyone we know comes up.’
O’Rourke glanced up from Cathy’s phone. ‘It would be a good starting point if we had a match on our database. I’ll organise a warrant, you talk to the marina manager?’
Starsky gave him a thumbs up. ‘Will do, Cig, be nice to get this one tidied up. I get seasick just looking at a bloody boat.’
As Starsky and Hutch left, Cathy looked at the image again, replaying the video. She didn’t know what it was but something was wrong with the whole picture. Quinn had claimed he was in the Z3. Why say that when there was CCTV all over the place? Why drive one of the most distinctive cars available to meet your girlfriend in a secluded spot? It rather defeated the object of being invisible.
She opened her mouth to speak just as the waitress arrived with their food. O’Rourke had ordered a club sandwich that looked like it would feed about three people. She smiled as he picked it up; she often wondered if he ate properly at home. Not that he was ever at home, of course.
Picking up her fork, Cathy ran the video again.
And the pieces began to fall into place.
She wasn’t sure how her brain worked but when it did, it was like the domino effect. As soon as she got the first bit right everything else just followed suit. And she was sure she’d got it right this time.
Quinn had taken the call from Lauren at home.
That’s what had started this. He’d said himself he’d had to raise his voice to get her to calm down. Then he’d left the house. What if someone had heard him? If he hadn’t taken the phone with him, had someone found it, someone angered by the fact he was talking to his girlfriend? Had Tom sent the texts or . . . a woman walking a dog. The one thing their witness from across the road had seen. Anyone who regularly walked a dog would be very familiar with Dillon’s Park. And the Quinns had a dog. A big golden retriever.
Orla had been out that night, so that left one other person.
‘It was Mira. It had to be.’
O’Rourke looked up from his sandwich, confusion written all over his face.
‘What had to be?’
‘Mira overheard Conor on the phone. He left the phone in the house when he went to Xavier Ayari’s. She must have found it and sent the texts.’ Cathy looked at him, her salad forgotten. ‘That’s why there was no follow-up call to Lauren’s phone. Lauren assumed Conor was sending the texts so she followed them to the letter. But he said he needed time to process what Lauren had told him. He went off to his meeting and I bet he did go up to the Vico afterwards to try and work out the mess Lauren had presented him with. He was terrified someone would expose their affair and he’d lose everything.’ She hesitated. ‘Maybe he was looking to Xavier Ayari for investment because he was thinking about leaving Orla but couldn’t afford to. This is a man who likes his comforts.’
O’Rourke looked at her, astounded, th
e sandwich poised between the plate and his mouth. Before he could say anything, she continued.
‘She took the dog with her. Mira knew Quinn used the jeep as his second car, the keys would have been in the house. She took the jeep and the dog so if anyone saw her going into the park it looked completely natural.’ Cathy shook her head. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.’
O’Rourke took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. Her fork still poised above her salad, Cathy waited for his response. A moment later it came.
‘This is why you are amazing, Cat Connolly – because you just get it. Eat that salad and we’ll get Conor Quinn back in the interview room.’
Chapter 42
Monday, 3 p.m.
The interview room was exactly as they had left it, but after the bracing air outside it felt comfortably warm. ‘Bracing’ had been O’Rourke’s phrase as he’d urged her to get a move on. Fecking freezing was closer to the mark.
Quinn looked paler and more drawn than he had done during their first session. As Cathy sat opposite him she could see how Lauren O’Reilly had been swept off her feet, how she’d lapped up his attention, how she’d slipped so easily into his bed. He had looks, power, money. Everything she didn’t have. The villa near Nice. That was something the cows on her family farm down in Longford didn’t see very often. Christ, he was the lowest form of life in Cathy’s mind. She could understand why relationships didn’t work, that people had affairs – she saw it every day in this job – but getting Lauren into the radio station so he could get to know her, giving her the impression he was going to leave his wife? That wasn’t a good place to be.
But perhaps Conor Quinn would prove her suspicions wrong.
Whatever her personal feelings were, this job was about being impartial, in finding the truth, no matter how unsavoury that might be. And unfortunately it usually was.
Quinn shifted in the chair in front of them and cleared his throat.
O’Rourke repeated the statutory requirements for the recording. Sometimes Cathy felt like it sounded like that safety message you got every time you boarded an aircraft: ‘You will find the emergency exits on the left and on the right.’ But there was no emergency exit for Quinn and the preliminaries meant that the tape stood up in law. There was no room for a mistake that the defence counsel could take and wave about the court room. They’d all seen cases where the guilty got off on a technicality generated by sloppiness. O’Rourke didn’t do sloppy. It just wasn’t his thing. But he didn’t arse about either. His first question got straight to the heart of it.
‘Tell me about your housekeeper, Conor.’
Quinn had looked like he was about to say that his solicitor had told him to keep quiet, but he hadn’t been expecting that question. He looked utterly perplexed.
‘Mira?’
‘Indeed – when did she join your household?’
‘Christ, I can’t remember, she started as Tom’s nanny. She’s from Sarajevo, she was there during the siege. It was very tough. She lost half her family in the war.’
‘But she came to Ireland?’
‘Yes, she escaped with her brother. She had to leave her parents behind and he was shot somewhere on the border. She spent the night hiding under a hedge in the snow and then managed to get across. She doesn’t like talking about it. I can’t imagine it was pleasant.’
‘How did she end up here?’
Quinn’s brow furrowed. ‘She had an aunt here – her English was good so she was able to talk to the authorities. She was under eighteen and a refugee. The Red Cross were able to make contact with her aunt and she’s been here ever since.’
‘And she came to work for you?’
‘Yes, Orla found her, she’d done well in school. She was looking for a job so she could work through college. She was exactly what we needed. She’d come from a big family – she was the oldest girl – so she was well able to look after Tom.’
‘And her role grew?’
‘Yes, I suppose so. She’s very organised and reliable, she looks after the whole household now.’
‘So take us back to Thursday night. Where was Mira when you arrived home?’
Quinn flushed. Only slightly, but Cathy spotted it. She nudged O’Rourke gently with her knee under the table.
It took a moment for Quinn to answer. ‘I think she was in the kitchen.’
It was so obviously a total barefaced lie that Cathy almost laughed. And she could tell from O’Rourke’s reaction that he thought so too. Whether it was the way Quinn said it so matter-of-factly, or the total change in his tone coupled with the rub of his nose, she wasn’t sure. But one thing she was quite sure of was that Mira hadn’t been in the kitchen. As Cathy watched him she remembered Fanning’s reaction to Mira. She was a very attractive lady.
‘Will we try that one again?’ O’Rourke frowned. ‘Were you in a relationship with Mira as well?’
Phew! Cathy hadn’t expected him to go in that fast. But Quinn blushed bright red.
‘No, of course not.’
‘She’s young, she lives in your house. Your wife’s out a lot . . . It must have been tempting . . .’ O’Rourke’s tone changed. ‘It really would be a good idea for you to be frank with us, Conor. You’re looking at a murder charge as well as a manslaughter charge for the death of your son at the moment . . .’
Quinn went white. ‘But I didn’t kill anyone, you have to believe me, I never even saw Lauren that night. And Tom? How can you think I killed Tom?’
‘But someone met Lauren that night, Conor, someone who had access to your phone. And the only other person in your house at the time you took that call was Mira, so please answer my question truthfully. Are you now or have you ever been in a relationship with your housekeeper, Mira?’
Quinn licked his lips and shifted in the chair. ‘Look. OK, we have a thing. She wanted me to leave Orla, set up with her. I couldn’t do that financially, and Tom was too young . . .’
‘So you strung her along a bit, made a few promises about the future?’
‘No!’ His reaction was sudden, but then he calmed down. ‘Well . . . maybe.’
Cathy cut in. ‘So Mira, who had survived escaping from Bosnia during the war, seeing her brother shot, who had arrived in Ireland with nothing, who has built a life here, was pinning her hopes on a future with you?’
Quinn had the decency to look uncomfortable. ‘Maybe.’
‘And did she know about Lauren, Conor?’
Cathy was starting to see the bigger picture now. The hopes dashed, the burning pain of betrayal, the blind anger. No one Cathy knew who had served with the UN in Bosnia after the war had come back quite the same; it had scarred them all. She could only imagine the effect it had had on a young teenager.
And Cathy understood post-traumatic stress disorder like no one else, understood the see-sawing emotions.
Surviving the siege in Sarajevo would have hardened Mira to death. It was a different world with a value system that was about survival. And if Mira had seen Lauren as a challenge to her survival, how might she have reacted?
‘No, of course she didn’t know about Lauren, I wouldn’t have done that to her.’
Cathy wanted to ask if he loved either of them, but now wasn’t the time. She quite wanted to send him across the floor with a right hook too, but she knew O’Rourke might have something to say about that. She drew in a deep breath, focusing on calming her own anger.
‘So let me ask you again: where was Mira when you arrived home?’ O’Rourke was using his patient tone. It usually meant he was really mad.
Quinn had obviously forgotten his solicitor’s advice to keep quiet. ‘She was waiting for me. Everyone was out, that doesn’t happen very often.’
Cathy arched an eyebrow. What he was leaving unsaid was painting a very clear picture.
‘Is it possible that she overheard your conversation with Lauren? You told us that you told Lauren that you loved her. Is it possible that Mira overhe
ard that?’ O’Rourke sounded like he was speaking to a child.
Quinn looked like he was about to vomit. It was a pretty much instantaneous reaction. Cathy mentally shook her head; he was some prat.
‘Err, she . . . She was in the bedroom. I had a shower, but she’d gone downstairs to get coffee when the phone rang. I was tired, I had a meeting . . . She . . . I . . .’ He stumbled. ‘I thought she was downstairs. I told Lauren never to ring, the stupid little bitch. I told her.’
‘I don’t really think it’s Lauren’s fault that your conversation was overheard by your other girlfriend, do you?’ O’Rourke’s tone was sharp. ‘So tell me what happened after the call ended.’
Quinn shook his head. ‘I finished getting dressed. Mira didn’t come up with the coffee, so I went downstairs. She was in the kitchen.’
‘Did she say anything to you?’
Cathy could only imagine what was going through Mira’s head; he was lucky she hadn’t thrown the coffee at him. But maybe that would have been a better outcome. Cathy had a feeling Quinn wasn’t quite giving them all the detail on the call with Lauren. What had he said to her? ‘It’ll all be fine, darling, you know I’ll always look after you.’ She could almost hear the words coming out of his mouth. How many years had Mira been patiently waiting for him, running the household, living in the same house as his wife? When they entertained she was the one who made it all happen; when Tom needed picking up from school, she was the one who did it. And she was the one who was in love with Conor Quinn.
Cathy couldn’t imagine what her mental state was like after escaping a war zone and then finding herself in this situation. Thinking it was all fine, and that night, looking forward, no doubt, to Quinn coming back from New York, realising they’d have some time on their own, making love to him in his wife’s bed, only to have all her dreams shattered by one overheard phone call.
