Two Kinds of Blood

by Jane Ryan

  I pictured the fierce Queen’s University Belfast team I had debated against in a pro-republican motion at ‘The Hist’ when I was at Trinity. My voice now needed the baked-in depth of conviction I’d had that day.

  My body inched its way out from behind Liam’s back.

  ‘Flannery doesn’t go in for human traffic – it’s not his thing,’ I said. ‘He makes the dealers stamp his stuff with a five-point star, or he won’t supply them. It’s called “red star” and users ask for it by name.’

  ‘He’s a right little marketeer, isn’t he?’ said a voice at the edge of the briefing.

  Laugher from the lads, but I wouldn’t be derailed.

  ‘Whatever’s coming in will move fast. Flannery deals at least forty-per-cent pure so his cutting time is less than other gangs and he keeps his operations tight. He’ll use a rip-on/rip-off system.’

  ‘For our civilian colleagues from CAB, please elaborate, Detective Harney,’ said DCS Muldoon. He gave me the level stare of someone who’d read my file, including the many psychological evaluations.

  ‘Rip-on/rip-off involves loading in the port of departure and recovering in the port of arrival,’ I said. ‘Fuentes had someone in Caracas when the cargo was loaded – this is the ‘rip-on’. Trusted operatives of Fuentes travelled to Bisson Guinea, a new port for drug traffickers, but it’s lawless and easy to use. From there, the shipment went overland to Morocco, using the old cannabis routes, too many for any organisation to police. Once in Casablanca it’s more difficult to find willing officials in the current climate, but Fuentes fixers will manage.’

  An educated guess was coming up, but I couldn’t look tentative in front of the dull burn of Niall O’Connor’s eyes.

  ‘Flannery’s people will check the cargo here and peel off in Casa, making their way back to Dublin, separate from the shipment. Flannery will have two or three people in Dublin Port. Could be security, crane operators or dockers and someone senior more difficult to pinpoint. Flannery’s people will be given access to the loading area prior to any checks and “rip-off” the shipment.’

  I knotted my hands together to stop them flying around.

  One of the Revenue Commissioners officials who worked in CAB looked at me with a-less-than-polite raised eyebrow. ‘You sound like part of his gang,’ he said.

  Before I could answer, one of my old colleagues from the DOCB butted in.

  ‘Flannery’s a bit of a hobby for our Bridge.’

  The room rumbled with laughter and I was grateful for ‘our Bridge’.

  ‘Anyone could tell you all that about Flannery!’ said O’Connor. He was all but baring his teeth.

  A couple of my colleagues at the front shuffled back.

  Someone said, ‘That’s good intel on Flannery.’

  O’Connor eyeballed his audience, searching for the source in the room of lowered heads.

  Emboldened by a nod from DCS Muldoon and wanting to take the heat off whoever had stuck up for me, I continued.

  ‘The Fuentes cartel will put in guns as a sweetener. Flannery favours the Glock 19. He doesn’t like the usual Walmart tat.’

  It was a gamble to bait O’Connor and I’d no way of knowing what to expect in a shipment – if the Fuentes didn’t have Flannery’s brand it could be a bunch of Kochlers and some pre-loved AK47s, something Flannery would never touch – but if the end shipment was destined for him then the Glocks were a possible identifier.

  ‘Flannery isn’t the only one to favour the Glock 19,’ said O’Connor. ‘You’re again looking to put value on your own theories.’

  DCS Muldoon took a half-step away from O’Connor.

  I gave O’Connor a flash of teeth and he looked as confused as a K-9 on the scent of a score the prevailing wind whipped away.

  ‘We’ll move out in tactical formation,’ said DCS Muldoon. ‘Two Drugs and Organised Crime Bureau detectives with every Armed Response Unit. Criminal Asset Bureau personnel travelling in unmarked Garda cars with armed detective protection.’

  I stood to one side as the briefing broke up. Teams formed, with detectives checking guns on hip-holsters, no impossible pulling out from under jackets or sweaty armpits. Everyone looked tense, an urgency pushing away rational thought. A sour rashness to the atmosphere, demanding momentum for the sake of action. I took a chewy sweet from a greaseproof wrapper and popped it in my mouth, releasing its peppermint oil. The sucking sensation helped me concentrate.

  ‘Stay out of O’Connor’s line of sight,’ said Liam, a lemon slice of amusement in his tone but hazel eyes intent. ‘You’ll travel with the CAB personnel. You’re back in it now, Harney, however you’ve managed it.’

  I tugged at his elbow. ‘This doesn’t strike you as odd?’ I magicked another sweet out of my pocket and handed it to Liam. ‘Let me check something first, will you? I would’ve said more at the briefing but –’

  ‘Yeah, I got that, Bridge, but I suggest you put a lid on it and make sure you’re available to the CAB people. Or do you want to stay in Sexual Assault for the next ten years?’

  I pulled him into a side office – the automatic sensors there weren’t working despite the dusk peering in at us.

  ‘You think I haven’t learned anything from last year? Running around when Flannery cracked the whip, thinking I was in charge because I got his girlfriend to be my tout and chasing down dead ends while he fed me information. What do I have to show for that time other than Kay’s death if I haven’t learned to question neatly packaged information? I’m going to ring my tout.’

  Liam’s eyebrows drew right down, a black hieroglyphic. He stood staring, stroking his dark goatee, as I punched the keypad on my phone.

  My call was answered on the fifth ring.

  ‘Thought it might be you,’ said a voice cracked from cigarette smoke.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Youse all tearing around getting ready to do the big man at the Port?’

  ‘Don’t be cryptic. It doesn’t suit you. Where’s the shipment?’

  ‘It’s in and gone. Flannery plays a mean game. Yizzer looking under the wrong shell, and it’ll tie youse up for at least ten hours. Stuff will be in the Farm and cut before yis have repacked all them containers.’ The voice gave a throaty laugh. ‘Love to see you lot fucked around.’

  The phone went dead.

  ‘So?’ said Liam.

  I shook my head. ‘Tout says the shipment has already been ripped off.’

  He banged the veneered desk, water tumblers and a finger-stained jug jingling in protest.

  ‘You believe this source, Bridge?’

  ‘Yes, it’s real. We’ve got to get out in front of this or it’ll be a mess. Muldoon will close down the Port and the media will get wind of it. If they haven’t been tipped off already. Viral videos of us looking like tosspots.’

  ‘What can we do? Do you know where he’s taken it?’

  ‘He’s taken it to a place they refer to as the Farm. It’s in Kilkenny. Tout told me about it a couple of months ago, but nothing when I went there to see other than an old man telling me to get off his property with a legally held shotgun.’

  ‘Nice.’ Liam was overheating in the small office and ran a finger around the inside of his shirt collar.

  ‘We need to stop them.’ I pointed at the pack filing out, jostling and blocking one another. ‘Who do we say it to? O’Connor or Muldoon?’

  Liam looked at the ceiling as if counting the Styrofoam tiles. ‘I’ll say it to Muldoon. O’Connor won’t listen. You stay in here and watch from the sidelines. Don’t get involved, no matter what.’

  He threaded his way through the exiting gardaí and tapped DCS Muldoon on his navy-suited arm. DCS Muldoon, not a short man, had to look up at Liam.

  Muldoon’s face gave no indication of his thoughts. DS O’Connor was a revolving radar circling them, trying to catch every word. I wanted to run and warn Liam. O’Connor shouldered his way into the conversation, his mouth chewing words. Muldoon was unreadable, and Liam cl
imbed in on himself as O’Connor’s eyes searched the room. I pulled back behind the door.

  The round-face clock on the wall squinted down at me and gave an uneven tock. I waited.

  Liam looked around the plyboard door into the darkness, his pupils pinpricks.

  ‘Where are you? I can’t see a flipping thing,’ he said.

  ‘Here,’ I said.

  ‘Well, O’Connor has offered the opinion that you’re certifiable, but the Chief Super is willing to let the two of us go to Kilkenny.’

  ‘He’s going to go through with closing the Port and checking all those containers?’ My voice was spiky.

  ‘Listen, Bridge, you’re bloody lucky. If it was up to O’Connor you’d be on a pushbike giving out litter fines.’

  ‘We can’t go down to the Farm with no back-up. Can we get uniforms from Kilkenny?’

  Liam’s pupils had widened to accommodate the darkness and he looked alien. ‘Now you’re talking. I can pull in a few favours.’

  We walked out of the meeting room and all but collided with DCS Muldoon. He looked down his knife of a nose at me.

  ‘Garda Harney.’

  ‘DCS Muldoon.’ I felt a line of blonde hairs under my ponytail lifting. ‘Thank you for your support –’

  ‘Don’t thank me yet. You’ve made some large claims at the briefing. I hope for your sake you can back it up.’

  Chapter 3

  The dark evening cold snatched at me through my clothes as I made for the station car park. A squally wind caught us, grit lodged in my hair and found the corners of my eyes.

  Electricity charged around me, crackling on my skin, giving my movements a jerky quality, an over-eagerness for action to blunt the anxiety pooling inside me.

  ‘Who’s driving to Kilkenny?’ I asked.

  ‘You going to make an issue about this?’ said Liam. He looked at me with a vulture’s eye, leaning in until I smiled. The top of the key ring clicked around his forefinger and thumb.

  ‘If I say I’m a better driver you’ll take the hump,’ I said.

  My phone trilled, a birdsong ringtone I couldn’t change.

  The numbers on the screen spelled longing.

  ‘Paul?’

  Liam, not knowing his own strength, yanked the car door open and it groaned in protest.

  ‘I wanted to see how you are? There’s a lot of action in the Square today?’ said Paul.

  Despite extreme trepidation at the idea of chasing Flannery’s drug shipment, Paul’s voice pulled me up, out of myself.

  ‘Yes, it’s bedlam, won’t see my bed this evening,’ I said.

  ‘Is that a good thing?’

  ‘Are you flirting?’ Hope is a four-lettered word.

  ‘Nah, well, maybe. Stay safe, OK, Bridge?’

  ‘Sure.’

  It was enough. I got into the car beside Liam. His mood was as stultifying as the car air freshener was cloying.

  ‘Can we ditch the tree?’

  ‘Whatever you think best, Bridge.’

  I reached up to the green pine-tree cut-out hanging off the rear-view mirror and snapped the elastic.

  ‘What’s with you?’ I asked.

  His face was shuttered and he splayed his fingers on the side of my headrest as he swung round to look out the rear window, reversing the car. Swinging it in a wide testosterone arc.

  ‘Can we calm the Starsky and Hutch driving?’

  He ignored my question.

  ‘Why do you still have that stupid ringtone on your phone?’

  ‘Kay put it on before she died. Just to annoy me.’

  That quietened him.

  ‘You OK?’ he said after a spell and I nodded.

  ‘Look, I know you never open up, but I’ve put myself on the line a bit here, speaking up for you in front of O’Connor and Muldoon.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Liam,’ I said, tensing as I awaited what was coming next.

  ‘Fair enough, but are you ever going to tell me why you were transferred to the Sexual Assault unit and busted back down to Garda? When I’m talking to DS O’Connor I feel like everyone’s in the know except me.’

  ‘Joe never said?’

  ‘No, Bridge, he didn’t.’

  I chewed on a tatty piece of the bandage covering the nail of my torn finger.

  ‘It was the arm in the pig carcass in the docks. Turned out the arm belonged to Emer Davidson.’ I didn’t know how much I could dare to say.

  ‘Her other arm was found in Birmingham, that much I know,’ said Liam. ‘It’s what happened afterwards that I’m not clear on.’

  ‘You’ll remember the Burgesses, Anne and Mike? From Birmingham, with a second home in Dalkey?’

  ‘Of course. Go on.’

  ‘They had a son-in-law Declan Swan, married to their daughter Lydia. I liked him for the murder but it turned out he had an alibi. Emer Davidson was having an affair with Mike Burgess and Anne confessed to killing her. Moment of madness.’ I sidled a glance at Liam. ‘Seán Flannery was called in to dispose of Emer Davidson’s body.’

  ‘What! You never said anything about that! How in God’s name did Mike Burgess know Seán Flannery?’

  ‘They sailed together. Burgess had a yacht and Flannery crewed out of one of the Dún Laoghaire yacht clubs. He’s being doing it for years.’

  ‘Then why wasn’t Flannery charged?’ Liam’s square face stretched in confusion.

  ‘I lost the evidence needed to convict him.’

  I was lying, but it was better than the truth. I had planted evidence to implicate Flannery, which wouldn’t have survived a barrister’s cross-examination, so then had to lose it, letting Flannery walk away. Our Joe Clarke and Chris Watkiss from the West Midlands Constabulary covered up for me. But I couldn’t tell Liam. The words wouldn’t get past my leaden tongue. My face burned.

  ‘Happens to all of us.’

  The gruff sympathy in Liam’s voice acted like a can-opener and made me want to talk, but there was more than one neck stretched on the block of that story, so it wasn’t mine to tell.

  The silence condensed inside the car until the windows were fogged from our breathing. Liam turned on the fan to relieve the pressure.

  ‘Let’s have your grand plan – how are we going to catch Flannery?’ he said.

  I knotted my hands together. How to explain all the tentacles of Seán Flannery’s grotty empire, the machinations of dealing with him, the twisted roots he dug into the soil of his community. Flannery was the definition of a man with a plan.

  ‘First off, we’ll need regional back-up,’ I said.

  Liam’s head swung towards me.

  ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ I asked.

  He threw up a hand the size of a butcher’s steak. ‘I’m relieved, is all. I was afraid you were trying to go it alone. Right. Muldoon sent word to Kilkenny saying we’ll be in contact, and I have a mucker down there. I’ll call him when we get closer.’

  ‘A mucker?’

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘If I said that, Liam, I’d never hear the end of it.’

  ‘Tell me what you expect to happen and not the sterile version you’d give Muldoon.’

  ‘I haven’t got a plan, Liam. I’m going for an “emergent strategy” on this one.’ I was rewarded with a smile. ‘My tout is reliable.’

  ‘What are you paying him?’

  ‘The usual, so it’s not about money. This person wants to get out from under Flannery’s thumb. Someone desperate to keep their own family from going under. Prison. Escalating violence.’

  Liam rubbed the cracked-leather steering wheel. ‘It’s gone up a notch all right. Since the cartels started shipping direct and sweetening everything with automatic weapons. It’s a circus. Where are we headed?’

  ‘M9 southbound. The Farm is in Kilmacow, about ten miles outside Kilkenny town.’

  ‘Kilkenny is a city,’ said Liam.

  ‘Is it? It’s not a county town?’

  ‘No, you Dublin jackeen!’ The air pressu
re in the car lifted as he snorted with laughter. ‘I hope we find something, or Muldoon will be justified in handing us over to O’Connor and I can’t take that man. Self-promoting article. He’d want to shave off those strings of hair. He looks like a clown.’

  ‘Possibly his new wife asked him to let it grow.’

  A sideways smile from Liam, then seriously, ‘I’ve taken sergeant’s exams.’

  I sat up, the old seatbelt jammed and flung me back. ‘You’re going to leave the Square?’

  The vehemence of my reaction surprised me.

  ‘There’s nothing so great about the Square, Bridge. That’s you all over, thinking it’s the epicentre.’

  His comment niggled me, aggression coming first as I pushed away the unexamined panic.

  ‘So you’re going to go to a station in To-mee-var-ah?’ I lengthened the rural vowels. ‘Getting on your bike at lunchtime and looking at the lovely girls playing camogie?’

  ‘Not everything in the countryside is an episode of Father Ted, Bridge – and you can be condescending when you want.’

  ‘Well, there’s a putdown! And if you don’t mind me saying you’re married to the DOCB and will go stir-crazy in some local station.’

  ‘Maybe so, but I want a life outside the job, you know? Have a relationship.’

  My eyes darted to the left as my brain accessed coils of memory. ‘What about Mary? Marie?’

  ‘Evie,’ said Liam.

  ‘I was close.’

  ‘Miles off. Didn’t go anywhere. It doesn’t if you have to keep on breaking dates because of work. We spent more time on the phone than in person.’

  ‘Sorry.’ And I was. He’d liked Evie. I remember him being teased about dating a nurse and the hoots of laughter when he’d admitted they’d met in Coppers. ‘We’re a right pair! We should be out at forest bacchanals, not going home to a favourite hob-ring and meals for one.’

  He chuckled. ‘You?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘What about yer man, Paul?’

  ‘Oh! I’m not sure we’re off the ground yet. He does like me, but I’ve no idea how to be in a relationship.’

  I shut my mouth, mortified. The lulling motion of the car, the darkness outside and the comfort of knowing you couldn’t do anything for two hours had made me loose-lipped – but Liam wasn’t a gossip. The truth was, my spell in the Sexual Assault Unit hadn’t kept me front and centre with any of my old colleagues and DS O’Connor had used his praetorian guard to isolate me.