by Sam Blake
She could see how that could push someone over the edge.
Quinn looked confused, like he’d forgotten Cathy’s question. She repeated it.
‘Did she say anything to you when you saw her in the kitchen? How was she?’
‘I don’t think she said anything, I was rushing, I needed to get to the meeting. I wanted to get Xavier to invest so I could divorce Orla, she knew that, she knew it was an important meeting.’
‘And where did you leave the phone, Conor? The one Lauren had called you on.’
‘Upstairs. I hid it in the bedroom.’
Cathy pursed her lips. Mira knew that house inside out. If she’d found the phone before, perhaps she’d originally thought it was Orla’s or an old one? Quinn probably had the sense to delete the messages off it as they came in. But once Mira had realised what it was for, and Quinn was out of the house, she’d come up with her own plan. Had she printed the note to make it look like Lauren committed suicide? She couldn’t have known that Lauren was terrified of water, that jumping off a cliff was the last thing she’d do.
Cathy was sure the note was part of an elaborate hoax. A desperate attempt by the killer to hide their tracks. They’d know for sure as soon as they checked the printers in the Quinn house; each one had its own unique set of characteristics. And the envelope was being tested for DNA – someone had licked the flap. DNA results took ages to come through. They were still waiting to see if Lauren had been the person who sealed it – but now they had someone else to check, and if Cathy was right, it would be very hard evidence to try to explain away.
‘And your cars, Conor – does Mira look after those?’
Quinn looked confused. ‘Of course, she does all the insurance stuff and the tax, makes sure all our cars are serviced.’
‘And the jeep?’
He sighed. ‘Yes, yes, like I’ve already told you, I’d asked her to organise for the garage to collect it for a service, it was overdue. The garage is very efficient. Ronan – Ronan Delaney – recommended them.’
‘Did you mention the brake problem to her?’
Quinn took a moment to think. ‘I don’t think so. It’s one of those intermittent things. I reckoned the garage would pick it up in a service, it was probably low brake fluid or something.’
‘And did Mira ever drive your cars?’ O’Rourke made the question sound offhand.
‘Yes.’ He drew out the word, realising its implications. ‘She has one of her own but she used the jeep more often, for the shopping and taking the dog out.’ He hesitated. ‘And one of the reasons I went up to the Vico was because she called. She said to hold off coming back for about fifteen minutes because she had a surprise for me. I lost track of the time . . . When I finally got home Orla had arrived, so I assumed the surprise would wait. Then the next morning we got the news about Tom.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘Was it her? Was she driving the jeep? She met Lauren and pushed her off the cliff? Oh my God, the stupid, stupid bitch.’
Cathy did a mental double take. Quinn seemed to be missing the fact that he was the catalyst for all this. What sort of an arrogant bastard was he?
‘It appears that Lauren’s death might not have been the only incident Mira was involved in that night.’ O’Rourke spoke slowly, taking his time. ‘As we explained, the paint chips we’ve recovered from the scene of Tom’s accident are metallic blue.’
Quinn looked at them aghast, his mouth open. He tried to speak but nothing came out.
‘There’s apparently no damage to the headlight casing on your jeep consistent with the glass fragment we’ve found, but there are scratches to the paintwork. We believe whoever hit Tom knocked him down, and then reversed to run over his body as he lay on the ground. That initial impact might not have caused huge damage to a vehicle as solid as your jeep. Our forensics team are looking at it now.’
Finally, Quinn found his voice, but it was little more than a whisper. ‘You think she hit Tom?’
O’Rourke’s tone was matter-of-fact. ‘We think there’s a strong possibility that she’d just pushed Lauren O’Reilly off a cliff, and it’s fair to say that she might not have been in a clear state of mind when she was driving home. Perhaps Tom witnessed something and she couldn’t risk him telling someone. We don’t know at this stage. What we do know is that the timing and initial forensics suggest that we need to consider it a strong possibility.’
Conor Quinn shook his head slowly from side to side, his eyes unfocused. ‘The stupid, stupid bitch.’
Chapter 43
Monday, 4 p.m.
‘We’ve done it.’ Karim’s voice was low on the phone. He strained to hear him over the sounds of the traffic outside. It was only four o’clock in the afternoon but the Dublin traffic was already starting to snarl. His phone pressed to his ear, he pushed through the apartment building’s sleek rotating glass door and headed for the lift. He was so excited by Karim’s news that he’d already pushed the lift call button before he realised he’d lose the phone signal inside. Instead he strode to the far end of the glazed lobby and sat down on a leather chair overlooking a pond trapped outside between the angles of the building. Huge orange carp swam like sharks just below the surface. He pushed away the fronds of a potted palm as he leaned forward, listening intently to Karim.
‘Start at the beginning . . .’ He cut across him, couldn’t help the smile slipping onto his face. He was sure Karim could hear that same smile in his voice. But then Karim was his best friend, like a brother.
Better than a brother.
‘We’re in, we have full access. That little piece of code worked like a dream.’ He could hear the suppressed excitement in Karim’s voice.
‘I know, I developed it, obviously it’s awesome.’
At the other end Karim laughed, his voice echoing slightly. He sounded like he was in one of the empty offices he and his compatriots used. Unanimous, soon to be the world’s most notorious hackers. He couldn’t hear any other sounds in the background, guessed Karim was on his own. He’d probably sent everyone home to get rested well in advance. The type of disruption he was planning would require accurate timing and total concentration.
They’d discussed it, strategising, looking at every scenario. A core team would deliver the final plan that would work like a domino effect in different branches of the rail network, all creating maximum chaos. The rest of the team would already be out of the country, monitoring progress remotely. They would pick trains that were heading into stations where the speed was reduced – this wasn’t about casualties, it was about orchestrating a crash where it would cause the biggest problem and block up the network. The emergency services would be responding to one incident as another occurred on the other side of the city. It was like poetry. One team could deliver each blow and the chaos would grow. He felt a thrill deep down, but this was a different thrill from the one he got with the webcams. That was about total control. This was about world domination.
He could feel his smile taking over. His teeth clamped together, he sucked in, trying to stifle the need to laugh. This was his moment. His and Karim’s. They’d waited a long time, but now it had arrived. Everything was coming together.
His voice low, he spoke into the phone. ‘So what’s the plan?’
‘We need to move fast now – we might not have much time before it’s spotted. We’re going for Thursday evening, rush hour.’
‘That’s only three days away.’
‘I know, but moving fast has worked before. We’re the dream team.’
Karim chuckled and he knew exactly what he was talking about. It felt like years ago now, when they’d first met – Karim had come to stay as part of his school’s language exchange programme. They’d become inseparable, hanging out in the park in the evenings with the rest of the year group.
It had been the final goodbye party when it had all happened – more accurately, the hours after it when everyone had gone home and it had just been them and the girl . . . they’d all got a
bit carried away. Well, maybe he had got a lot more carried away. It had all been going great until he’d tried to lift her skirt, to get between her legs.
But Karim was a fast thinker and the bracelet he’d bought to take home for his sister had been a stroke of sheer genius. A slim gold-coloured chain with a gold disc charm dangling from it, the Eiffel Tower stamped on it. There were hundreds, probably thousands of them in Paris, impossible to trace. But it had done its job. Everyone had thought she was meeting some secret boyfriend who’d given it to her. They’d all been interviewed, but no one had seen anything. The whole investigation had focused on a missing stranger. A stranger who had left his fingerprints on the Eiffel Tower charm.
But they weren’t his fingerprints, or Karim’s. That was the best bit. That was the genius.
That night had sealed their friendship. But that was then; now they had business to do.
‘So how did you manage it? How did you get my beautiful code into the mainframe?’
‘On a USB stick. So easy. We’ve been monitoring a couple of employee’s computers for a few weeks, checking their searches. Just watching, you know, looking for leverage – got plenty of that – but in the end it was so simple . . .’
‘Tell me.’
‘So the guy we’re watching is searching for a memory stick on Amazon. He was looking for one with a big memory but they must have been all too expensive – he searched for cheap ones but they didn’t have the storage he needed. It was like giving candy to a baby. One of our guys gets on the tube with him and follows him. He goes to this coffee stand every morning on the way to work, takes milk and sugar. While he’s ordering the coffee, our guy’s over by the sugar and stuff. The minute he’s heading over, our man leaves a memory stick behind. The dude comes over, sees it, slips it in his pocket. Bingo.’
He laughed out loud. Human nature was a wonderful thing. ‘So he sticks it into his laptop?’
‘Better – he goes to work and sticks it straight into one of their computers to see if there’s anything on it. Sweet.’
He shook his head. ‘Unbelievable.’
‘So it’s all good but I need you here, man, will you come?’
He almost laughed. He’d been hesitant about going over before, everything he needed to do could be done remotely, but Karim wanted him there, wanted them to be together when it went down. And now the timing was perfect. Absolutely perfect. He knew exactly where he needed to be, to literally kill two birds with one stone.
He thought fast. The chaos couldn’t be a better cover. It wasn’t his preferred location but he didn’t have much time left to make this happen and he could be adaptable. He’d thought that it would have to happen around the university somewhere; he’d been looking at the architectural drawings to understand every nook and crevice.
How fucking sweet was this, though? Everything was coming together. This was totally his payday for the other fuck-up.
‘One proviso.’
‘What, man? Tell me.’
‘We do it from inside a station. Then we can see what’s happening in real time. And I’ve got another little bit of business to take care of.’
Karim didn’t speak for a moment. ‘OK.’ He drew the word out, obviously thinking about it. ‘Nobody’s going to be looking at two students on laptops. We’ll be hiding in plain sight. I like it.’
‘So it’s a deal?’
‘Deal.’
‘I’ll book a flight now.’
‘Let me know your movements, dude.’ He could hear the relief and excitement in Karim’s voice as he continued. ‘This is going to be the biggest cyberattack Britain’s ever seen. Never mind the NHS, those twats fucked up big time not registering the site for their kill switch. We’ve got everything worked out.’
He clicked off the phone, shaking his head. It was pure poetry.
Chapter 44
Tuesday, 8 a.m.
Totally absorbed in her own world, Cathy didn’t look at who else was hanging about in the lobby of the station as she headed in the next morning. They were bringing in Mira today; they had a full day of interviews ahead of them. She was making straight for the internal door, her kitbag thrown over her shoulder, when the desk sergeant stuck his head out of the hatch.
‘Cat, you got a minute?’
Her hand on the keypad, she turned to look at him, still not completely tuned in.
‘What’s up?’
‘You’ve got a visitor.’
The desk sergeant indicated the pine bench on the opposite side of the tiled lobby. She turned just as Ronan Delaney stood up. His mobile phone and a bunch of car keys were in one hand, he had the other deep inside his jeans pocket. He was wearing a pale blue shirt and navy V-neck sweater, a thick leather jacket looped over his arm. He looked decidedly uncomfortable.
‘Detective Connolly? I was wondering if I could have a chat. About the night Tom died. I think I have some information for you.’
*
Interview Room 4 was exactly as she had left it yesterday, only this time she had Frank Gallagher beside her instead of O’Rourke. The moment Delaney had spoken, her brain had kicked into gear and she’d called up to O’Rourke’s office, his line diverting to Frank’s desk. O’Rourke been called to a meeting in the Phoenix Park, and had told Frank he’d be back by ten to bring Mira in for questioning. They needed to get as much forensic evidence together as they could first, and Conor Quinn had made it very clear the night before that he never wanted to see Mira again. He was going to spend the night in the city so there was little danger that he’d tip her off. As soon as he heard she was out of his house, he planned to go back. Cathy wasn’t sure what Orla would make of all that, but if she’d had any suspicions that he was having a relationship with the housekeeper at any stage, she probably didn’t care whether he came home or not. She certainly wasn’t a lady Cathy would want to mess with. She was warm and courteous, but right from their first meeting Cathy had sensed a steel edge, her focus on finding whoever had killed her son like a laser beam. The type you used to guide missiles. She hadn’t been pushy but she’d been in constant contact with O’Rourke, looking for progress reports. Which was probably why she was so successful in business; you didn’t get to where she was without dogged determination and creating your own opportunities. Orla Quinn was used to getting results.
In the interview room, Ronan Delaney looked distinctly uncomfortable. Gallagher loaded the discs into the grey steel tower unit on the wall and waited for the buzz to indicate everything was working.
‘Present: Detective Sergeant Frank Gallagher and Detective Garda Cathy Connolly. Can you state your full name, please?’
‘Ronan Patrick Delaney.’
On the other side of the small table, Delaney kept his eyes on his phone, lying idle beside a cardboard cup full of steaming coffee. He wasn’t under arrest and Cathy had needed a few minutes to gather her thoughts so she’d got coffee for everyone. She needed it as much as Delaney looked like he did. He was decidedly pale. Cathy could see a hint of the movie star looks he was known for, but this morning his face was puffy. Perhaps it was working late nights on the radio that did it, but he looked like he needed a decent night’s sleep. She could relate to that. He picked up his coffee and took a sip.
‘You are here voluntarily, but you understand that this interview is being recorded and anything you say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence.’ Frank’s voice was clipped. O’Rourke had brought him up to date last night.
‘Yes, I understand.’
‘So, Ronan, you’ve something to tell us about the incident involving Tom Quinn on Ulverton Road last Thursday night?’
Delaney closed his eyes tight, rubbed his hand over them, and then opened them again.
‘I saw her. I saw Mira driving Conor’s jeep. She turned down Sandycove Avenue in front of me at the lights.’
‘You are absolutely certain it was Mira?’
‘Absolutely. I was the only car at the junction, she turned right
across me.’
‘Have you any idea what time this was?’
‘About 11.05, maybe 11.10? I wasn’t thinking about the time to be honest. I’d just done Orla’s charity gig in town and I wanted to get home, I was hosting the breakfast show early the next morning.’
‘And why are you only telling us now?’
Delaney shook his head, and shrugged. ‘I didn’t think it was important. I didn’t connect the events until now, until Conor called last night. He told me you were going to arrest her for Lauren’s murder. Then I remembered and I realised the timing . . . You seemed to think I’d hit Tom when you came to the radio station, that’s all I could think about.’
Saving his own skin, that would be about right.
Cathy had a hard edge to her voice when she spoke. ‘When you spoke with myself and Detective Inspector O’Rourke, we established that you drove past the scene within a few minutes of it happening but you claimed you didn’t see Tom lying on the pavement.’
Cathy knew she had to be beyond professional in the interview room but she didn’t like Ronan Delaney – hadn’t from the moment she’d met him. He was far too full of his own importance for her liking. He talked shite on the radio for a living and somehow that made him better than other people? Cathy wasn’t seeing it. It made him a prat in her book. She was starting to see why he and Conor Quinn were such good friends. They were quite a pair.
Cathy knew she wasn’t alone in her opinion either. From what she’d seen of his behaviour with his wife, Ronan was a control freak who used subtle emotional abuse to grind her down. Cathy didn’t have time for men like that. Unless they were confident enough to get into the ring with her – then she had all the time in the world.
Thankfully Karen Delaney was strong. She had her business and her own life, and she also knew she needed to move on, she just hadn’t worked out how yet. Maybe this was the push she needed. Cathy really wasn’t completely sure if Karen would be able to keep her affair with Tom a secret if the case came to court. If she was called to the stand she’d have to explain that he had popped in at 8 p.m. and why he was only popping out again at 11 p.m. Cathy could imagine the press speculation, the tabloid headlines.
