Taken for Dead (Kate Maguire)

by Graham Masterton

  ‘What’s the story, Robert?’ she asked him.

  Detective Dooley gave her a cherubic smile and without a word dropped a computer printout on top of the file in front of her. It was a picture of a pouty blonde girl lounging on a heap of cushions, wearing only a red lace bra and panties, with the caption ‘Samantha New Girl In Town Will Give You The Massage Of Your Life With A Happy Ending’.

  ‘Recognize her?’ asked Detective Dooley.

  ‘Holy Mother of God,’ said Katie, peering at the picture more closely. ‘She’s wearing a wig, isn’t she, but I’d swear that’s Roisin Begley.’

  ‘Chalk it down. That’s our Roisin all right.’

  ‘But legally she’s still a child? She’s not seventeen yet, is she?’

  ‘No, not yet, although she will be in only three weeks’ time. Her birthday’s on November the nineteenth. But apart from her age – look whose website she’s advertising on.’

  Underneath the picture, the text read, ‘I am a stunning sexy blonde model lovely slim dress size 8 natural 34D pert breasts. I have an art of awakening and heightening second to none €150 per session.’ Beneath that there was a line which said ‘Brought To You By Cork Fantasy Girls’.

  ‘Would you believe it?’ said Katie. ‘Michael Gerrety’s website. But if she’s not seventeen yet – ? Michael Gerrety goes to any lengths not to advertise underage girls. I know that doesn’t stop him farming them out to other pimps. But he’s quite aware that we’ll be down on him like a ton of bricks if he does.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been hanging around Roisin’s school and chatting to some of her friends,’ said Detective Dooley. ‘They all say that she was ever the wild one, always messing around with boys, even though her parents thought she was Saint Roisin the Spotless. She never wore knickers to school and even gave one boy a gobble during geography. Strangely enough, he took up the priesthood after he left. But judging by what her friends said, I don’t believe that she was abducted at all, I think she went willingly with one of Gerrety’s talent scouts she met at some club.

  ‘One of her pals told me she was always making out she was older than she really was – like she pretended to be seventeen when she was only fifteen and a bit. Now, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if she’s told Michael Gerrety that she’s reached her seventeenth birthday already. You know – just to impress him, and to get herself on to his website, so she can make herself some decent money. A hundred and fifty for a massage, that’s a lot. Most of them girls are charging no more than fifty.’

  ‘That’s grand work, Robert,’ said Katie. ‘I’m really impressed you got those girls to talk to you like that.’

  ‘Oh, it’s my natural charm,’ grinned Detective Dooley. ‘My mam’s mam always said that I was a sexy biscuit.’

  ‘Modest, too. That’s what I like. Well, whatever, we have to set this up with the utmost care. We probably won’t get another chance to nail Gerrety for a long, long time – if ever – and we don’t want to blow it on a legal technicality.’

  ‘Gerrety’s always doggy wide,’ said Detective Dooley. ‘Cork Fantasy Girls never openly advertises sex services or sexual intercourse, and the site specifically warns the girls not to do it.’

  ‘I know that,’ Katie told him. ‘But what we have to do is to prove that Roisin is offering sex to her clients as well as a massage, and to establish that she’s using the money she makes to pay Gerrety for running her advertisement on his website – as well as anything else that he’s providing her with, like accommodation. She’s a schoolgirl, she can’t afford to be renting a flat of her own. More than likely, she’s staying at one of his places … and if it’s a brothel, we’ll have even more to charge him with. Reckless endangerment – “causing or permitting a child to be placed in a situation which creates a substantial risk to the child of being a victim of sexual abuse”. That means a fine with no upper limit if he’s found guilty, or ten years’ detention.’

  ‘First of all, I need to find out where she’s located,’ said Detective Dooley. ‘If she’s in a known brothel, then we shouldn’t have a problem. If she’s somewhere else, like a B & B or somebody’s private house, well, it could be more tricky. But if she goes out clubbing at all, I have a couple of girlfriends who might be able to meet up with her and wheedle something incriminating out of her. Like you say, though – softly, softly, catchee slapper.’

  He was about to leave when Katie’s phone warbled.

  ‘Liam Fennessy here again, ma’am. Gerry Doyle just called in from the hospital. Derek Hagerty was dead on arrival. He was shot point-blank in the head. Blew half his brains out. Gerry said that he never stood a chance.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Katie. ‘That’s just tragic.’

  She covered the receiver with her hand and said to Detective Dooley, ‘Derek Hagerty. We were driving him home and somebody’s shot him. He’s dead.’

  ‘Mother of God.’

  Katie returned to her conversation with Inspector Fennessy. ‘It’s unbelievable. There he was, totally refusing to give us any information about the High Kings of Erin, and they go and murder him anyway. It really makes me worried for Eoghan Carroll. And Pat Whelan, too, for that matter. Any word on Whelan yet? They haven’t rung Mrs Whelan back yet, have they?’

  ‘No, but the sound boys have wired up her phone and Detective Garda Callum’s in with her, as well as a female garda.’

  ‘All right,’ said Katie. ‘I suppose I’d better go and talk to Molloy about the ransom money.’

  ‘Well, you’re in luck, I’d say. You can talk direct to Jimmy O’Reilly, too. He came back from Dublin about an hour ago.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus.’

  Detective Dooley frowned at her, but Katie waved her hand at him to tell him not to worry and that he could go.

  ‘I’ll get back to you as soon as I find where Roisin’s at,’ he told her.

  ‘Thanks, Robert. I could do with some good news, believe me.’

  ***

  ‘So tell me, Katie, is this ever going to end?’ demanded Assistant Commissioner O’Reilly. ‘How many more times are you going to be coming to me, begging me for ransom money?’

  Katie glanced across at Acting Chief Superintendent Molloy for some sign of support, but he was prodding at his iPhone and pretending not to listen.

  ‘With luck, sir, this will be the last time,’ she said. ‘These High Kings of Erin are very ruthless and they’re making sure that everybody knows how brutal they are. I think that’s an integral part of their strategy, like. Nobody’s going to dare to give evidence against them if they think they’re going to be horribly murdered. But I have a number of ideas which I believe will help to entrap them.’

  ‘Oh! Well, that’s something!’ said Assistant Commissioner O’Reilly. ‘Can we hear these ideas?’

  ‘They’re not really complete yet, sir, but I’ll be holding a full briefing within a day or two. At the moment, though, I think our most urgent priority is arranging the release of Pat Whelan and Eoghan Carroll, preferably without their heads cut off or their teeth pulled out.’

  Assistant Commissioner O’Reilly sucked in his cheeks so hard that he looked cadaverous. He always reminded Katie of Peter Cushing in Star Wars. Even when he wasn’t throwing a togo about somebody’s supposed inefficiency, he always looked sour, with his grey hair slicked back from his bony forehead and his dead grey eyes and pinched-together lips. Every discussion that Katie had ever had with him had not only been short and unpleasant, but inconclusive, too. He seemed to think that every officer under his command ought to be able to read his mind, without him having to go to the bother of spelling out what it was that he required them to do. Then, of course, he would be furious if they hadn’t done it.

  ‘If I put in a requisition for this new ransom payment, Katie, that’s going to amount altogether to four hundred and fifty thousand euros of public money.’

  ‘I understand that, sir,’ said Katie. I can count.

  ‘That’s a further two hundred thousand we’re at
risk of losing, and that’s more than Kieran Fitzpatrick was given for his golden handshake – although not too much more.’

  ‘I’m very conscious of that, sir,’ Katie told him. She knew that he had been badly rankled by the lump sum paid to his predecessor as assistant commissioner for the Southern Region. He never failed to mention it every time they discussed anything at all, even drug-trafficking. (‘That package of smack might have been worth one hundred and eighty thousand euros, but that was less than Kieran Fitzpatrick was given for his golden handshake. Can you believe that?’)

  ‘Provided I can convince Dublin to approve it, I’ll sign off the ransom payment this time,’ said Assistant Commissioner O’Reilly. ‘I’m doing it with the deepest reluctance, though, I have to tell you. And before you make any arrangements for a handover, make absolutely certain that they really do have this Whelan fellow and that he’s still alive.’

  ‘I’ll insist that they give us some proof, of course, even if his wife can just hear him talking to her on the telephone.’

  ‘Very well. But I will also need to know how you’re going to make sure that these High Kings of Erin do release him, once the ransom’s paid, and how you intend to use the handover to catch them, if that’s what you’re planning to do. You do understand what the repercussions will be, don’t you, if they make a fool of you again?’

  Bryan Molloy glanced up from jabbing at his iPhone, and smiled.

  36

  By 8.15 that evening there had been no calls from the High Kings of Erin to Mairead Whelan or to Eoghan Carroll’s parents, so Katie decided to call it a night and go home. She was so tired that she felt as if all her joints had stiffened so that she barely had the strength to get up from her desk and walk down to the car park. Her back ached. She was hungry, too, although she thought that she was probably too exhausted to cook anything sensible. All she had eaten since breakfast was a pulled ham ciabatta from O’Brien’s and some ginger biscuits.

  At least it wasn’t raining as she drove home. She knew that Barney would want his evening walk up to the tennis club, but he would have to be satisfied with being let out into the back yard. Ever since John had left her, she had been wondering if it was fair to keep him, since he had to spend most of his day cooped up in the house. But John had given him to her after her black Labrador, Sergeant, had been killed, and she was too sentimentally attached to give him away. It would be like admitting that all of the happy times she had spent with John had gone for ever.

  She let herself into the house and Barney came bustling up to her, with his tail thrashing.

  ‘It’s all right, Barns,’ she said, tugging at his ears. ‘Mam’s just a little tired and hormonal, that’s all. You can thank Jimmy O’Reilly for that.’

  She unlocked the kitchen door to let Barney out into the yard and then went back into the hallway to hang up her raincoat. John’s raincoat was still hanging there and she leaned against it and smelled it, but it didn’t smell of him, only of raincoat. She could have cried, but her tears all seemed to have dried up. She went into the living room and poured herself a vodka and switched on the news on the television.

  As she sat down on the couch, the reports from the Middle East ended and Acting Chief Superintendent Molloy appeared, with the caption ‘Kidnap Victim Shot Dead In Cork’.

  ‘Oh, I don’t believe this,’ said Katie, out loud, and turned up the sound.

  Bryan Molloy was saying, ‘ – ambushed by two gunmen on Albert Street on his way, ironically, into witness protection. The kidnap gang calling itself the High Kings of Erin seem to be stopping at nothing to prevent themselves from being identified, and we openly admit that our detectives have been unable to determine exactly who they are. All I can say is that we’re now doing everything we can to put a stop to their abductions, although their silencing of witnesses has been so brutal that we can understand why anybody would be reluctant to come forward with evidence that might help us catch and convict them.

  ‘However, if you do have any information about the kidnapping of Derek Hagerty or if you witnessed the shooting on Albert Street this afternoon, we urge you to call your local Garda station or Crimestoppers on 1800 250 025. I can assure you that anything you say will be treated in strictest confidence. Even if you think that what you have to say is not particularly relevant, it may help to put our detectives on to the scent. Right at this moment, believe me, they urgently need your help.’

  He’s doing it again, thought Katie. He’s undermining me. He’s the only person I know who can turn a public appeal for help into a hatchet job. Or maybe I’m just being too sensitive. After all, everything that he said was true.

  She finished her drink, but she didn’t pour herself another one. What was the point of getting drunk on her own? What she needed was somebody to talk to. Barney was scratching at the kitchen door, but there was no point in talking to him, and in any case he hadn’t been outside long enough.

  She was still trying to decide if she wanted to make herself something to eat when her doorbell chimed. She stood up and went to the living-room door, but then she hesitated. She wasn’t expecting anybody from the station, or any of her friends, so there was only one person it could be.

  The doorbell chimed again. She went up to the door and called out, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Who do you think?’

  ‘What do you want? It’s late.’

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Well, you can talk to me tomorrow. It’s late and I have nothing to say to you right now.’

  ‘I need to know what’s happened to Sorcha. I came home this evening and she’s not there. She’s gone. She’s even taken a suitcase and some of her clothes.’

  Katie waited for a moment, and then she said, ‘She’s safe, David. That’s all I’m going to say to you tonight. She’s safe and she’s being well taken care of.’

  ‘So you know where she is?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ll tell you tomorrow.’

  ‘If you can tell me tomorrow, why can’t you tell me now?’

  ‘Because tomorrow she’ll have a protection order against you and you won’t be able to go near her, that’s why.’

  ‘What? What are you talking about, protection order?’

  ‘That’s all I’m going to say to you, David. Now, go back home and I’ll discuss it with you in the morning.’

  There was a long silence from outside, but Katie hadn’t heard David leave and she was sure that he was still standing in the porch.

  ‘David – ’ she began.

  ‘Can’t we just talk about it?’ he begged her. ‘I know I’ve done wrong, Katie. I know I’ve treated Sorcha badly. But whatever she’s said to you, it’s not all my fault. Far from it.’

  ‘David, go home.’

  ‘I desperately need some help here, Katie. I don’t know how to deal with this situation at all. I don’t have anybody to discuss it with, because it always seems like I’m in the wrong. But if you had any idea what it’s like, living with Sorcha.’

  Katie waited, but it was obvious that David was going to stay outside until she agreed to talk to him.

  ‘All right,’ she said, sliding back the safety chain and unlocking the door. ‘I’ll talk to you. But for five minutes only, and I’m still not telling you where Sorcha is.’

  David was standing in the porch looking dishevelled. His dark curly hair was messed up and although he was wearing a brown tweed jacket, his crumpled shirt tails were hanging out. His eyes were puffy and as soon as he stepped into the hallway Katie could smell that he had been drinking. He lurched against the raincoats and then steadied himself by placing the flat of his hand against the opposite wall.

  ‘David, you’re langered,’ said Katie. ‘I hope you weren’t driving like that.’

  ‘Oh! I’m sorry! I forgot you were a detective superintendent and not the interfering slutbag who lives next door!’

  ‘I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,’ Katie told him. ‘Go home and get yourself sober
and I’ll come round and see you in the morning.’

  David stared at her. ‘Did I ask you to stick your nose into my marriage?’ he said. ‘You were all sympathetic to me when you were gagging for a shag, weren’t you? But now look at you? All high and mighty and judgemental! How dare you to think that you can come between me and my wife? What gives you the right, you supercilious bitch?’

  Katie said, ‘Go home, David. I’m not telling you again.’

  ‘And if I don’t? Then what? You’ll arrest me? What for? Defending a husband’s right to tell his psychotic wife to behave herself?’

  Katie grasped the sleeve of David’s jacket and tried to turn him towards the front door, which was still wide open. Immediately, David reached behind him and slammed it shut. His face was flushed and contorted, barely recognizable, as if he had suddenly been possessed by some demon. He pushed Katie back along the hallway with both hands, so that she staggered and lost her balance and her shoulder hit the frame of the living-room door.

  ‘You think – !’ David shouted at her. ‘You think that you can tell me how to treat my own wife! What gives you the right? What gives you the fecking right? You may be a detective, Detective Superintendent, but you’re still a slutbag, and I won’t be given lessons in how to behave by some slutbag! Do you hear me?’

  Katie backed into the living room, glancing behind her to make sure that she didn’t stumble over the coffee table. Her heart was beating hard, but she had faced up to drunken and violent men plenty of times before. As a young garda, she had patrolled outside Waxy’s and Rearden’s and Buckley’s on a Saturday night, and David didn’t make her feel afraid.

  ‘So what happened?’ said David. ‘Sorcha came around to you whining, did she? She always does that, wherever we are. “Oh, he’s been beating me! Oh, he gave me such a slap!” Don’t you realize that’s the only way that any human man could possibly deal with her?’