‘Not talking about, Tomas,’ I said. ‘But, hey, great to know my fame has spread.’
Next, I rang the lab, explained what I had, and told them what I wanted: tests for every possible sedative that might have been used fifteen years before, along with alcohol and cola and DNA. Then I asked for a cost estimate.
‘You’re looking at nearly four for everything you’ve mentioned there,’ the lab representative said.
He didn’t mean four hundred.
‘Let me think about that and I’ll get back to you,’ I said.
At this point, any money I spent was going to have to be my own. For now, I couldn’t run any of this as an expense through the office: I was suspended in all but name. And, for the same reason, I couldn’t seek payment of the expense from the Carneys either – if I wasn’t officially working, they weren’t really my clients. Yet, to move the case forward, I had to do the tests. Like I had all along with this case, I felt compelled.
But there was more to it than that. Getting the tests done contained an element of self-preservation. If the tests revealed what I expected then, even though I was still a long way from proving Gill’s culpability, arguably I would have objective justification for my work on the case. I would be able to show the partners at work that there was real substance to Sean Carney’s suspicions. And, even though this first set of results would be inadmissible in any court proceedings, they would give me the solid ground I needed to pursue the case officially, with the full backing of the partners and access to the firm’s funds and resources. If I could show Gill’s DNA and Deirdre’s on the same coaster, I had a plausible argument to make that I had been right all along. And I’d no longer be at risk of dismissal.
Looking at it that way, even though I couldn’t afford it, the huge financial investment was the easy part. If I was right, I’d get a refund of the costs so far from the firm. If I was wrong, I was out of a job, but at least I would have given the case everything I had. And nobody would ever know about the tests.
But, coming at it another way, I was edging close to being disbarred for misconduct by getting the tests done at all. Gill could argue that I had planted the DNA. He might be believed: taking DNA without his consent was unethical, procedurally faulty, and illegal. Lastly, and most importantly, it was unconstitutional, in breach of his fundamental rights, his rights to privacy and bodily integrity, to start with.
Though Gill hadn’t cared about Deirdre’s constitutional rights, or Rhona’s, hadn’t cared about anything except getting as much as he could from them, discarding them afterwards like broken dolls. I told myself that the circumstances were exceptional – and that exceptional measures were called for.
Which was exactly the argument used to justify torture and extraordinary rendition. And the death penalty.
What had possessed me to use a stupid pen to steal Gill’s DNA without his consent? What I had done was legally and morally wrong. I would have to wait, make a formal request for the DNA, and obtain it by court order. Going ahead with the tests now was absolutely not the right thing to do.
And yet, it was the only thing to do, if I was to find out for sure.
‘Fuck it,’ I said.
On the walk over to the Carney house, I thought through the specifics again. I’d need to search for Deirdre’s DNA. Probably all I’d have for that was a hair sample from the brush I had seen in her bedroom. And I was also looking for male DNA that I hoped would belong to Jeremy Gill. I knew that there was a good chance he hadn’t touched the coaster, but if he had touched Deirdre, she might have transferred his DNA.
After talking to Rhona, I knew that I should be testing for alcohol and possibly a sedative too. DNA was remarkably persistent, as all the cold cases solved in recent years showed. I didn’t know how long alcohol and sedative traces might last but I knew enough to surmise that they could have deteriorated, and possibly disappeared, unless they had been refrigerated and kept at an optimum temperature. But if I could get proof of Gill’s and Deirdre’s DNA together, it would damage Gill, I was sure of it. The very request for Gill’s DNA might be the catalyst I’d need to force him to the settlement table.
I decided to bank on the DNA and forget about the drug and alcohol residue tests for the moment. It was worth a try. And it would cost a lot less than four grand.
While I was waiting for the Carneys to answer the door, I checked my phone. I had had it on silent and in the twenty minutes it had taken me to walk to Turners Cross, I had got seven missed calls from Sadie. Normally, if she wanted me to contact her, she sent one text, and never, ever, repeat-called. I walked backwards towards the garden gate, simultaneously phoning her. As Ann answered the door I mouthed ‘Just a sec’ and turned away.
‘What’s up?’ I said.
‘Something’s happened,’ Sadie said. ‘Something bad.’
She paused.
‘You can’t say it yet, the name hasn’t been cleared for public release. Word came down to us from Dublin this morning. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you but it’s Rhona Macbride. She’s dead. And, Finn, it looks like murder.’
26
Later, I would wonder how I had done it, how I had managed to carry on a conversation with the Carneys, collect DNA samples (as well as the hairbrush, Ann had kept a toothbrush) and give them a highly edited account of my progress. Rhona’s death meant I was able to say a lot less than planned. I had gone to the bathroom and thrown cold water on my face. Everything else had been pure autopilot. Or the ability to compartmentalise. Or guilt. Rhona was dead. Murdered. I didn’t know what had happened but I was sure of two things. That Gill had killed her. And that, somehow, I had led him to her.
After I left the Carneys, I texted Tina to say that I’d meet her in the Long Valley pub instead of at home and that I would email her with more instructions. It wasn’t good for her if she and I were seen together while I was on ‘holiday’ but, after what had happened to Rhona, meeting in a public place was safer. Maybe Gill had followed me to Rhona’s house. Or maybe he had had me followed. Or maybe he had always kept tabs on Rhona, but hadn’t felt the need to do anything about her until I had started asking questions.
The Long Valley is famous for its sandwiches, but I couldn’t eat. I ordered a pot of tea and sat at the large round table that, it was said, had come off a ship run aground by Roche’s Point on the outer reaches of Cork Harbour.
As soon as I saw Tina, Supervalu carrier bag in hand, I went down the back to the ladies and waited for her to join me. Tiny and cramped, there was barely room for two, but the door was lockable and, once Tina was inside, lock it I did.
‘Jesus, what’s going on, Finn? This is weird, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘Did you bring the box?’
‘I brought it, and the rest of the stuff you asked for. But what’s it for?’
‘A lot has happened since yesterday. I didn’t want you to be seen with me, for your own sake – work and all that. And there are, ah, other reasons as well.’
Your life, for one.
‘I want you to chase up Deirdre’s medical records,’ I continued. ‘They’re more important now than ever and the sooner we get them the better. You’ve already sent in the request, I know, but you need to follow up.’
‘No probs.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘But be careful, be discreet. I know it’s odd but I want you to go in a minute – get a sandwich somewhere, not here, and go back to the office. I’ll go out first and sit back where I was. You come out then and walk past me, as if you don’t know me, pretend you were just at the loo. Now – I need to get one of the exhibits out of the box and I’ll take all the documents you prepared. When you get back to the office, lock the box back in my drawer immediately. Do it before you eat your lunch. Please. I’ll explain everything later.’
‘It’s like fecking Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, Finn,’ Tina said.
I couldn’t smile. I had to tell her about Rhona before she heard it elsewhere.
Five min
utes after Tina had gone, I got up, paid for my un-drunk tea and left the pub. I crossed Oliver Plunkett Street to the GPO. Once inside, I walked at speed to the far door, exited on to Pembroke Street and crossed the narrow street to Mayne’s. The seats at the end of the bar, just inside the front door, were free. I ordered an Americano, left €2.50 on the counter, and sat in the second seat out from the wall. I could see whoever came in and went out. But, more importantly, I had space to deal with the package Tina had given me. I took the bagged coaster exhibit and labelled it with the sticky labels Tina had brought ‘DC1’. Next, I labelled the items that I had got from Ann with ‘DC2’ and ‘DC3’.
I tugged some of my own hair out by the root, put it in a bag, and labelled it ‘FF1’. Waiting for Tina in the Long Valley, I had realised that I had to submit a sample, in case Deirdre’s hair and toothbrushes didn’t yield enough DNA to extract a reading. As a fallback, my own DNA – that of a sister or a half-sister – could identify Deirdre’s. I would find out if we had the same father by default after all.
I had the pen that I had given Gill to use bagged up already. I labelled it ‘JG1’. Then, I used a clip to attach all five exhibits to the covering letter Tina had typed for me, and signed the covering letter and my credit card payment authorisation. Finally, I put everything into the A4 padded envelope, pre-addressed by Tina to Setanta Forensic Laboratories, and sealed it. I fitted the envelope back into my handbag and wound the long strap around my wrist a couple of times. For all my precautions, it was impossible to tell if I had been followed into the pub. After all, I didn’t know who I was looking for.
I went to the back of the bar and entered the smoking area that connected Mayne’s with the Crane Lane, a permanently packed seven-night-a-week late bar, live music club and pick-up joint. Sadie says that there should be a motorway sign in the lane outside: ‘Wrong way, turn back’. But around midnight, if you’re still out on the town, the place has an irresistible draw.
Standing, back to the wall, I waited. Seconds later, the door swung open and a man burst through. He must have seen me, but he strode quickly past and on to the lane without looking in my direction. I only got a side view, but I recognised him instantly: the man I had collided with the previous evening in Dublin, the Herald-reading rude man, though now he was wearing a black leather jacket instead of a suit. It struck me then that he seemed vaguely familiar, and not just from the coffee shop.
I doubled back through Mayne’s and crossed Pembroke Street to the GPO, hoping I’d make it before the man had a chance to follow. I went straight to the parcels section, and registered the letter to Setanta Forensic. I had intended to drive but, after what I’d heard about Rhona, registered post seemed safer. Gill was powerful, but even he couldn’t have his tentacles in An Post, surely?
From the GPO, I crossed Oliver Plunkett Street and went into Penneys, via the back door. The shop was heaving, as usual. Good luck to anyone trying to follow me through that. I dashed out the front door, on to Patrick Street and hailed a cab to take me the short trip to Coughlan’s Quay Garda Station to meet Sadie O’Riordan.
By the time I got there, I had remembered where I’d seen the man before.
27
‘Don’t worry,’ Sadie said. ‘We won’t be disturbed here, not between shift changes.’
I cradled the cup of machine soup she had given me and tried to breathe. We were in the briefing room, off the station reception area, though reception wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t a waiting room, either. Coughlan’s Quay was Cork’s detective HQ. No traffic cops. No overnight drunk and disorderlies. But if you’d done something bad, you’d probably end up here. And you’d probably be coming in the back gate.
‘So this is what I know,’ Sadie said. ‘Rhona left her house …’
‘At Park View Mews.’
‘Yeah, that’s right. At approximately ten past eight this morning intending to walk to work.’
‘On Infirmary Road.’
‘Exactly. You’ve been busy since I last saw you, by the sound of it. But she barely got outside the gate of the development. An unknown assailant attacked her – we’re working on the theory that he might have got out of a car and come up behind her. He had a weapon – believed to be a screwdriver – and he stabbed her with it in the side of the head, the right temple area. He took her bag and walked, not ran, away. Nobody heard anything.’
‘No scream?’
‘He probably put his left hand over her mouth and used the right hand to stab her. Nobody saw anything either – the wall blocked the view from inside Park View Mews.’
‘The houses across the road, though?’
‘You’re right, the attack could have been seen from across the road, but no one’s come forward so far. The team in Dublin aren’t holding out much hope. People had either already gone to work or it was breakfast time and the kitchens are at the back in those houses. But a neighbour, inside Park View Mews, who was putting rubbish in her bin, saw a man in a dark hoodie crossing the gate, and then crossing back, a minute or two later at most. She thought it was unusual at the time but didn’t take any notice until the Gardaí arrived. She didn’t see the man’s face – though she’s sure it was a man. She thinks she remembers hearing a car driving off but doesn’t know if it’s connected. Another neighbour found the body – never regained consciousness – and called an ambulance. By the time it arrived, Rhona was dead. When our lads got there, they fenced off the immediate area and did a patrol car search of the surrounding district. Nobody answering the description of the assailant to be seen. That doesn’t mean much. He may be a local, might have had somewhere to go nearby. It’s being treated as a random drug-related mugging. Timing fits, early morning, money needed for the day’s supply. The extreme violence is less usual – but that depends on what he was on, and how desperate he was. The team in Dublin will check all available CCTV, but there’s nothing in the immediate area. Rossbeigh Road is a residential street. They’ll be able to pick up footage from traffic cameras on the North Circular and up on the Navan Road. Trouble is, if he escaped in a car, they have no idea what kind. Best hope is that someone comes forward. But at the moment the lads have nothing to go on.’
‘And the weapon?’
‘From the shape of the wound, it looks like a screwdriver, like I said, but as to what type or where it was bought, nothing yet. Maybe nothing ever. He might have had it for years. It’s not CSI, Finn. We won’t be checking every Woodies and B&Q in Ireland.’
‘It’s not a random mugging,’ I said.
‘I thought you might say that,’ Sadie said. ‘Talk to me. Fast.’
‘There’s a lot to tell – come up to my house? It’s all on my computer.’
‘I’ll get a car to drop us,’ Sadie said.
‘Great.’
If Jeremy Gill’s security guard was still following me, a Garda car might frighten him off for a while.
‘I think you’re on to something big,’ Sadie said. ‘Coincidences happen, of course. But, based on what you’ve told me, I need to pass on this information to the murder team in Dublin. Jeremy Gill is a suspect in Rhona’s murder. Has to be. You’ll have to pull back now, though – this is an active investigation, Finn, and you can’t do anything to prejudice it.’
I said nothing.
‘Are you listening to me, Fitzpatrick? I said you’re going to have to back off.’
‘I will. I know I can’t have anything to do with the criminal investigation – but I have to keep on with my own work, my civil case for the wrongful death of Deirdre Carney.’
‘You’ve spent the last hour telling me that Rhona’s murder is inextricably linked to Deirdre’s death. You’ve told me Gill had a man following you up to Dublin and back again. How can you possibly think it’s okay for you to continue with your investigation? A woman is dead, Finn. You’re out of your depth and you’re too stubborn and pig-headed to admit it.’
‘I see your point.’
‘Thank God.’
‘But I have just a few more things to do. Cork-based, mostly. Backgroundy things. I can’t just let it drop.’
‘Come on, Finn. What about your job? Your job that you were so worried about on Wednesday night? Has it even crossed your mind today?’
‘It’s less of a priority, actually.’
‘You’re impossible,’ Sadie said.
‘I know,’ I said.
‘If you’re right about Rhona and Gill … what I’m saying is that if Gill’s killed once, he could kill again. You could be in danger.’
‘I don’t see it that way. Now that I think about it, I’m in no danger whatsoever.’
‘I like your confidence.’
‘Look, this Twitter debacle is like health insurance for me. I’ve been all over the web, and the newspapers. I’m connected to Gill. So is Rhona. She’s been killed in a so-called random attack. If something happens to me, it’s going to look a lot less random. It’s going to point a finger at Gill. I’m not going to take any stupid risks. But I reckon he needs me alive.’
‘Assuming that’s how he thinks. The guy’s a psychopath, remember? Arrogant. Egotistical. Above the law. As far as he’s concerned, normal rules don’t apply to him. By the time he figures out they actually do, you might be dead.’
‘Okay. That is a good point,’ I conceded.
‘Which you’re going to take no notice of.’
‘I promise that if I find myself straying into territory that might be part of the criminal case, I’ll call you immediately. And I’ll back off, for definite.’
Sadie sighed.
‘Remind me why we’re friends again? I’ve forgotten.’
‘Sadie,’ I said. ‘Rhona’s death … her murder … I have blood on my hands. Not literally, I know. What I mean is, it’s my fault.’
‘Oh, Finn. It is not your fault. It’s whoever killed her, it’s their fault.’
‘Gill.’
Darkest Truth Page 19
