No Turning Back

by Sam Blake

  He put her through her paces, circuit training, then more pad work until the sweat was running off her. Then he pulled on his own gloves and hopped into the ring. She didn’t know how he had the energy.

  By nine o’clock she could hardly stand.

  ‘Good job, girl. Keep this up and . . .’

  ‘I’ll be dead, Boss. I’ll definitely be dead.’

  McIntyre laughed. ‘Don’t talk like that, you’re a winner. Now some bar work and you can go.’

  Balance was vitally important to success in the ring, but as Cathy looked across at the bar surrounded by crash mats she had no idea how she was going to find the energy to even get up onto it. On a good day she could dance across it, do cartwheels along its length. She took a step towards it but McIntyre stopped her.

  ‘I’m joking, girl, you get home and get some sleep. God, you’re all fight, aren’t you. That’s how we like it.’

  Cathy shook her head, smiling, a stray curl that had worked itself out of her ponytail falling across her eyes. Her gloves still on, she pushed it out of her face and spat out her mouth guard so she could speak properly. Not that she was really capable of forming words.

  ‘Here, let me help you with those.’ McIntyre pulled back the Velcro on her gloves and eased her hands out of them.

  ‘Thanks, Boss.’

  ‘Have a shower, early night, I’ll see you when you get back from London.’

  They fist-bumped and she headed for the changing room.

  Chapter 50

  Wednesday, 9 p.m.

  Cathy had only got inside her front door when the doorbell rang behind her. Throwing her kitbag down at the bottom of the stairs, she turned around and opened it to find O’Rourke standing on the doorstep, his hands deep in the pockets of his overcoat. He had his back to her, turned around as he heard the door open. Cathy was really too tired to care what she looked like but she was fairly sure it was pretty shit. She hadn’t had time to get her hair cut since she couldn’t remember when, and even madly curly it reached almost to her elbows. She was pretty sure she looked like one of the Witches of Eastwick. But right now she really didn’t care.

  If she looked horrific, he didn’t show it; instead he stepped up into the hall without being invited and headed for the kitchen.

  ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘Out, I guess, I’ve no idea. I’ve only come in myself.’ She almost added it’s not my job to keep tabs on them, but didn’t bother. He was looking annoyed.

  ‘What’s up?’

  She followed him into the kitchen, where he’d helped himself to a beer. He flipped open the ring pull and went over to the sink to throw it in the bin in the cupboard underneath. She watched him, feeling slightly dazed, but realising she was thirsty, hauled open the fridge door and pulled out a bottle of water.

  ‘Lounge?’ He waved his can in the general direction of the living room.

  ‘Be my guest.’

  Standing back into the hall she watched, slightly mystified, as he stalked into the living room and, putting his beer down on the mantelpiece, slipped off his coat. The room was in shadow, the only light, soft and yellow, coming from a lamp at the other end of the sofa, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He threw his coat onto the easy chair and, grabbing his beer, sat down on the edge of the sofa, his suit jacket sleeves pulled back, his elbows on his knees. He’d taken off his tie at some stage; knowing him, he had it neatly rolled up in his coat pocket.

  ‘So?’ She leaned on the door frame, exhaustion washing over her.

  ‘Thirsty found a print, one of Lauren’s, on the dog’s collar.’

  ‘Ooh.’ She started to perk up. ‘That’s good.’

  ‘The guys at the Park are checking the ink and print patterns on that note against the printers from the Quinn house, and I’ve put a rush on the DNA on the envelope now we’ve got a sample to compare it to. Now she knows we’ve got our sights on her, I’m concerned Mira could be a flight risk so we’ll keep hold of her for the moment while we wait for the results.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  Cathy had to sit down. Propelling herself across the living room, she flopped down onto the sofa beside him, and kicking off her Nikes, pulled her knees up, curling around to face him.

  ‘You been to the gym?’

  ‘Yup, The Boss nearly killed me.’

  ‘What’s he think about you applying for the ERU?’

  ‘That it’s good.’ She didn’t have the energy to repeat their conversation. ‘Is there any more news from the Americans on the video hacking thing?’

  ‘I had another chat to Rob Power after you left. Lauren O’Reilly is our link to these other cases and to the websites. Tom was the only one who seemed to know about the videos. I was wondering if he was actually running the sites and one of his minions hacked her webcam without realising he knew her.’ O’Rourke sat back into the cushions, his head resting on the back of the sofa. He was obviously tired too. He put his can on the arm of the sofa and twirled it thoughtfully. ‘What I don’t get is why this creep is hacking webcams and then demanding money from the girls if he can make a fortune by putting it up on that Discovery Quay site.’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s all about money. I think whoever it is has a personal interest in the girls. It’s about power, the need for dominance, and that’s always a strong feature in the psychological profile of a sex offender.’

  O’Rourke took a sip of his beer. ‘Rob Power said Discovery Quay is definitely a part of that Merchant’s Quay site – they use Discovery Quay as an advertising tool, pushing buyers to the multitude of vendors on Merchant’s Quay. You can get anything there. But he’s looked at the set-up and he thinks there’s one hacker providing all the footage on Discovery Quay – there’s no way for anyone to randomly upload video like there is on some other sites. It’s all locked in.’ He took another sip. ‘You know he’s had guys undercover for months trying to find out who is behind both sites. But as he said himself, he only needs one element of human error and he’ll blow it open. He thinks that print on the drugs you found in Lauren’s room could be key.’

  ‘I didn’t find it, Fanning did. It’s just so weird that it’s a match to that crime scene in Paris. Have they found out if that girl had her webcam hacked as well?’ He shook his head, and she continued, ‘Even if she didn’t, the connections are starting to show, aren’t they?’

  ‘I’ve got feelers out on that Xavier Ayari guy that Anna Lockharte is worried about. He’s squeaky clean, no previous here or in France. He’s lived here about four years, pays tax outside the jurisdiction, bought his apartment for cash.’

  Cathy pulled a face. ‘These cases are all interconnected, like a spider’s web, invisible when the sun’s on it, but when the dew falls, clear as day.’

  ‘That’s very poetic, you should write a book.’

  She stuck her elbow in his ribs and reached over to haul over the footstool so she could put her legs up. She was getting stiff.

  ‘Here, move up there.’ He kicked off his shoes and put his feet up next to hers.

  ‘I wonder how she was targeted? Lauren, I mean. And then Anna. Why them?’

  ‘Two very attractive women. But with these cases cropping up all over the world, it makes you wonder. Perhaps he travels a lot, finds the women randomly and, depending on the reaction he gets to his emails, goes to meet them?’

  Cathy frowned. ‘No, you wouldn’t meet someone you knew was watching you in the bath, you really wouldn’t, that makes no sense. It’s more likely to be the other way around – someone the girls knew or had been in contact with previously got their email and hacked their cameras because he wanted to know more.’ Cathy thought back to an essay she’d done at the start of her Master’s. ‘You know there’s overwhelming evidence that assailants who start as peeping Toms don’t stay that way. Their violence patterns escalate as their confidence grows and they need a bigger kick to get off. This hacking thing is the same – it’s just like a peeping Tom online.’

&nb
sp; ‘The evidence we’ve got, the fingerprint matches at the scenes, the similar MO, would suggest the same person is involved in the cold cases as well as ours, even if he does get about a bit. Maybe it’s someone who travels with their job?’

  Cathy took a sip of her water and pursed her lips, thinking. ‘Or a lecturer? Anna Lockharte told me she’d studied all over the place – in the UK, in London and Cambridge – and now she’s teaching here. Perhaps it’s someone like that? Someone in a position of trust the girls would go to for help. The girl in Paris was a student – well, a schoolgirl – and it was students that were targeted in London too.’

  ‘We’ll find out where the two girls in London were studying, get info on their backgrounds when we go over tomorrow. See if there’s any connection with anyone at Trinity.’

  Cathy ran her finger down the edge of her water bottle, her brain trying to process the information.

  ‘It’s awful to say it, but if Lauren hadn’t been killed we might never have made any of these connections.’

  He rotated his beer can again thoughtfully. ‘That is very true. And the guys up at the Park have worked out all sorts of models to prove she didn’t jump, so that’s something.’

  ‘I was absolutely sure her body was at the wrong angle. But after seeing her in action, Mira doesn’t strike me as the type to break down in the interview room and confess all. She’s more likely to claim Lauren did jump to get herself off the hook, so that evidence could be vital.’

  O’Rourke sipped his beer. ‘She’s a tough one all right.’

  ‘The war in Bosnia was pretty . . .’ Cathy was about to say pretty shit, but an enormous yawn escaped before she could stop it.

  ‘You need to get some sleep.’

  ‘I do, but I’m quite cosy here. I’m not sure I’ve got the energy to move.’

  ‘Here.’ O’Rourke leaned one arm behind her and dragged the rug off the back of the sofa. She leaned back on his arm and pulled it over her knees. ‘Curl up.’

  It was more of an order than a request and as she snuggled into his shoulder, he put his arm around her shoulders. She could smell his aftershave, feel the heat of his body through his shirt. Why was this happening when she was completely exhausted?

  ‘You definitely coming down to see me in Limerick?’ He smoothed her hair with his hand, playing with the ends.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘I might be going sooner than we think. They want me to go as soon as we’ve got this case wrapped up.’

  Shocked, she leaned back and looked at him. ‘That could be next week if the DNA results come back quickly.’

  He didn’t answer, but his eyes locked on hers. Cathy felt like the air had gone out of the room and they were suspended in a vacuum. He put his hand to the side of her face, pushing her hair back, and before she knew it he had leaned forward and was kissing her – or perhaps she was kissing him, she wasn’t sure. What she was sure about was that it was a very long kiss. She moved closer to him, twisting to face him, putting her arm around his back between his shirt and his jacket. She could feel the powerful muscles there as he ran his fingers into her hair, cradling her head. Feeling his lips on hers, she was back there again for a moment – lying on her neighbour’s lawn after the explosion, her emotions whirling inside her, overriding the pain. But this was so much better. She slipped her hand up to his shoulder, the cotton of his shirt soft on her palm, felt him move to hold her tighter.

  And then they heard a key in the door.

  Breaking apart, he smiled at her. ‘I had better go.’

  He kissed her again, a quick kiss, a let’s do this again kiss, and she sat back on the sofa, pulling the rug around her as he stood up to slip his shoes on.

  Had that really just happened?

  He reached for his coat and pulled it on. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. Nine sharp?’

  She smiled at him. Whoever had come in had gone straight into the kitchen, was crashing about taking crockery out of the cupboards.

  ‘I’ll let myself out.’ He started to go out of the door and then, as if he’d forgotten something, turned around and in two strides came back to the sofa and kissed her again, his lips soft on hers. ‘Get some sleep. We’ve a long day tomorrow.’

  And with that he was gone. Cathy heard the front door close behind him, followed by her housemate Eamon’s voice.

  ‘Who’s that?’ The next minute he stuck his head around the living room door. ‘Oh, you in here? Why are you sitting in the dark? Who was that?’

  ‘O’Rourke.’ It didn’t quite come out as she’d expected. She cleared her throat. ‘O’Rourke.’ She smiled at Eamon, praying he couldn’t see her blush in the dim light. ‘We’ve made an arrest in the O’Reilly case. I haven’t seen you since you got back, how was Galway?’

  Chapter 51

  Thursday, 9 a.m.

  Cathy could feel her nerves dancing the tango in her stomach as she pushed open the back door to the station the next morning. She’d been for a swim. A hard swim. She’d been so exhausted the night before she’d fallen into bed as soon as she’d been able to get away from Eamon. She normally adored hearing his crazy stories from his family’s farm, but her mind had been too busy to concentrate on anything. Too busy to let her sleep. Eventually she’d had to get up and go in search of the remainder of the tablets she’d been given by the doctor after she’d struggled with her last bout of insomnia. She’d broken one in half, praying it wouldn’t knock her out so badly that she’d be groggy in the morning. It had worked quickly, but now, even with sleep, her heart was pounding and her mouth dry as she headed into the station.

  O’Rourke had kissed her. And he hadn’t left her in any doubt that he’d wanted to keep kissing her. Perhaps it was as well Eamon had come in. Who knew what could have happened?

  And now she had to behave like everything was normal, like nothing had happened, when deep down her emotions were whirling like the tornado that had taken Dorothy out of Kansas. If she clicked the heels on her ruby slippers, would she discover that it was all a dream, that he’d changed his mind?

  She didn’t think she could cope with that.

  But she needn’t have worried.

  When she got up to the detective office, humming now with activity, Frank was on his way out of the door heading for the cells.

  ‘Morning, Cat. O’Rourke’s been called into the Park, he said he’d emailed you details of the flights and he’ll see you at the gate in the airport. Someone can give you a lift there at 1.30, should give you loads of time.’

  ‘Cool, what’s the scoop now?’

  ‘A follow-up with the lovely Mira, you and me in Five. Starsky and Hutch have a gang of shoplifters in, have taken over half the place. When we’re done, you can shoot off.’

  ‘I’m right behind you.’

  She threw her kitbag into the corner of the office. Her swimming togs and towel were wet but they could stay there for the moment; she’d hang them up in the shower later.

  1.30 came far faster than she expected.

  *

  Mira had definitely wobbled a bit when Frank had brought up Ronan Delaney’s statement about seeing her in the jeep. On top of their news yesterday about the envelope, her perfect exterior was starting to show signs of cracking. She’d recanted her previous assertion that she’d walked with the dog to Dillon’s Park, admitting that she’d driven. Somehow she’d made it sound like she had just forgotten to mention it.

  Now they had Mira in situ with means, motive and opportunity. However, proving whether she had pushed Lauren or if she had jumped looked like it would be down to the mathematicians at Headquarters to prove beyond reasonable doubt. Cathy knew there was a case in Australia where a conviction had been made based on the very same type of evidence. A husband had pushed his new wife off a cliff and between the angles and her weight and the landing point of the body, they’d been able to create a computer simulation showing exactly what had happened. O’Rourke had sounded confident that they could do the same he
re.

  There was no shame in Lauren’s jumping, but Cathy knew for her family that would be hard to deal with, whatever the circumstances. And Cathy didn’t want to bring any more pain to her parents. If Mira had pushed her, they were going to nail her.

  Mira had had a horrible childhood, had witnessed things that no young teenager should ever see. She’d lost everything and she was faced with losing everything again. But her first stop should have been to challenge Conor Quinn, to work it out with him, not to push a nineteen-year-old – whose life was only getting started – off a cliff. Cathy felt a physical ache when she thought about Lauren’s death. She’d had some stuff happen to her, some pretty heavy stuff, she’d endured real pain, but through it all she’d known that there was a team of people who were all working their arses off to help her. If Lauren had still been conscious when she hit those rocks, she’d thought that the only person who knew she was there was Conor. What had Mira said to her? Had she told Lauren that Conor had sent her to end their relationship? How hopeless had Lauren felt as she had slipped from consciousness?

  Cathy had shivered thinking about it. She’d almost lost her life three times and every single one of them would have been preferable to that scenario.

  ‘You ready, Cat?’ Starsky stuck his head around the detective office door just as she hit Save on her notes.

  *

  Clicking her seat belt on, Cathy listened to Starsky calling in their destination, nerves fluttering in her stomach again. She wasn’t sure if she was nervous about seeing O’Rourke or about going to London. He was right that this would be good experience. They’d only be in New Scotland Yard for a few hours, but getting to see how the Met operated would be fascinating. O’Rourke’s opposite number had organised a case conference with as many members of the original investigating teams as he could find so they could swap information.

  It felt like it was suddenly all happening. Everything. All at once. She glanced at her phone. She’d half-expected O’Rourke to text at some stage this morning. But she knew something big must be happening to take him away from the station at this stage of the investigation.