‘We need to learn something, somewhere,’ West said caustically. They headed out to the car park together, Andrews grumbling about Clark’s laziness yet again, West with his thoughts firmly on the Moores.
Outside, it was a blue-sky day. It was a day for walking along Dun Laoghaire pier. For having an ice cream in Teddy’s. Instead, he returned to the Moores’ rather lovely home and once again knocked on their door.
This time it was Ben Moore who opened the door, his pleasant, amiable features hardening into a scowl when he saw who it was. ‘What is it this time?’
West held his hands up, a conciliatory gesture that had no effect on Moore’s expression until his wife appeared by his side. ‘Oh, let him in, Ben. It wasn’t his fault, after all.’
West followed the couple into a large cosy kitchen. A big pine table sat to one side, surrounded by matching chairs. At one end of the table was a teapot, half-filled mugs and a couple of open packets of biscuits.
‘Have a seat,’ Eve Moore said, pointing to a chair near the other end. ‘We were having a cuppa, will you join us?’
It was easier to accept and moments later, West, shaking his head to the offer of biscuits, clasped his hands around a large mug of tea. Behind the table was a large window overlooking a well-maintained garden. ‘It looks pretty out there,’ he commented and saw a sardonic lift of Moore’s eyebrow reminding him that this wasn’t a social visit.
He gave a half-smile and took a sip of his tea before putting the mug down and pushing it away. ‘I’m sorry to intrude again but something came up that made a visit necessary.’ He saw the couple exchange worried glances. ‘Did your son ever work here before he went to Dubai? While he was in university, maybe?’
Moore thought for a moment and shook his head. ‘He did talk about taking on a part-time job at one stage but nothing ever came of it.’ He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘He’s our only child and we wanted him to enjoy himself so there was never any pressure on him to find work. He studied hard, though, and came top of his year and, even before he qualified, he was offered that position in Dubai. Initially it was to be for a year, then he was going to look for something here, but it didn’t work out that way.’
West saw the sadness in their eyes. Their only son, a long way from home.
Moore seemed to brush aside the sadness as his expression turned belligerent. ‘Why are you asking?’
Time to get to the crunch. ‘The man who was murdered was using your son’s name. He was also using his personal public services number.’
‘His what?’
‘His PPS,’ West clarified. So many people used the initials without knowing what it stood for. ‘According to Revenue, our victim is your son, Ian.’
‘That’s bloody ridiculous!’
‘PPS numbers are assigned when a birth is registered. You say your son has never worked in this country, so he never needed it. All someone had to do was prove they were Ian Moore and they’d be free to use it.’ He waited until this sank in. ‘He’d have needed certain documents to get it though. A birth certificate, for instance. Is there any way someone would have been able to get hold of that?’
Ben Moore wiped a hand over his mouth, his eyes sliding to meet his wife’s. ‘We were burgled.’
‘When?’ West leaned forward. This was it.
Moore shook his head. ‘Nine, maybe ten years ago.’
‘Ten,’ Eve said emphatically. ‘Do you remember? It was the month before Ian went to Dubai. It was he who insisted we got our first dog. Not Sinbad,’ she said with a smile to West. ‘Our first dog, Whiskey. He was a brilliant guard dog.’
Moore nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Can you tell me about it?’
‘We were out for dinner, the three of us, when we got back the front door was open and the alarm blaring. Your lot,’ Moore said with a sniff, ‘arrived about ten minutes later.’
Eve Moore put a hand on her husband’s arm. ‘The burglars made a right mess. The guards thought there had to have been more than one person because they went through every room, methodically taking anything of value. They emptied drawers, boxes, files.’
‘Paperwork,’ West said. He wondered if that had been the reason for the break-in. Someone who knew Ian was going away, that he’d never worked and his PPS would be going a-begging. ‘Do you know if Ian’s birth certificate was one of the things that went missing?’
Moore stared at him blankly before turning to look at his wife. ‘Was it?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s not something we’ve needed to look for. Ian already had his passport.’ She got to her feet. ‘After the burglary, we tidied up as quickly as we could, trying to put it behind us, you know. I remember picking up the box where I kept all that sort of stuff and putting everything back inside neatly. There was nothing of monetary value so I never thought to check that everything was there.’ She headed from the room as she spoke and moments later, West heard doors opening and closing.
‘I’m sorry about all of this,’ he said to the quiet man sitting opposite.
‘Eve is putting on a brave face. That burglary really shook her. It didn’t help that Ian was leaving shortly afterward. Whiskey helped, of course–’ a smile flickered ‘–the dog, not the alcohol.’
‘Here we go,’ Eve said, returning to the room with a box in her hand that West immediately recognised. His mother had a similar one. An old Black Magic chocolates casket with a red tassel on the lid, probably thirty years old, maybe more. Eve opened it and began to take out the same sort of memorabilia that his mother kept in hers: old school reports, an old library card, a First Communion rosette, other bits and pieces that meant nothing to West but obviously did to her. She handled each item reverently.
‘It’s not here,’ she said, when the box was empty. She looked at West with a stricken expression.
‘And you’re sure it wouldn’t be anywhere else.’
Her headshake was emphatic. He didn’t doubt her for a moment, his mother too would know exactly where she’d put something so precious.
‘I haven’t needed to look for it,’ Eve said, as if trying to explain away her lapse.
‘You wouldn’t have,’ West agreed, his mind elsewhere. So that solved the puzzle of where their victim got the paperwork but it gave him a further puzzle. Who was the victim? And why had he needed to change his identity?
11
While West was coming up against more puzzles in Dun Laoghaire, Edel Johnson had taken a look at the miserable sales of her book on Amazon and in a fit of frustration deleted all the pages she’d written of what she’d hoped to be a sequel. What was the point if nobody was going to read it? And anyway, she couldn’t seem to get into the characters anymore and hadn’t written anything in days. When she’d started writing her first, a family saga stretching over generations, she’d been happily married and her world was innocent. Now she knew better and the words didn’t seem to want to come.
Maybe she should change genres. She sat in front of her computer and thought of what she’d been through in the last year. She’d told Mike that she wasn’t interested in writing about her experiences, and she meant it. She wasn’t interested in writing the facts of what had happened to her but perhaps she could use what she had learned and write a crime novel.
‘Or maybe give up and get a job,’ she muttered, closing the lid of her laptop with too much force but she was too fed up to care.
She had all day to fill. A quick search of the kitchen cupboards for biscuits brought no luck so she pulled on her coat, grabbed her keys and headed out to the local shops. Twenty minutes later, she was heading back with a plastic carrier bag full of biscuits and chocolate to help get her through the doldrums.
Her head was down, her mind elsewhere when she turned the corner onto the street where she lived. She was within a few yards of the house before she looked up and when she did, when she saw the man standing on the doorstep peering in through the glass panels of the front door, she didn’t stop to think. Instead,
she automatically turned tail and hurried back around the corner. There, sheltering behind a high garden wall, she caught her breath before peering around.
He was still there on her doorstep. She’d recognised him immediately. How could she forget the tall, elegantly-dressed editor who had treated her so badly? Aidan Power. What the hell was he doing on her doorstep? As far as she was concerned, he was partially to blame for her losing her contract with FinalEdit Publishing. He could have fought her corner with the owner of the company, Hugh Todd, and hadn’t done so.
What did he want with her now? Hadn’t he done enough?
It was a few minutes before she watched him retreat down their short front garden path, open the gate and leave. A red Volvo parked on the roadside flashed its lights as he remotely unlocked the doors and with a final look back at the house, he shook his head, climbed into it and drove away.
Edel waited until the car disappeared around the far corner before hurrying down the street, anxious in case the car returned. With a last look around, she pushed open the front door and shut it quickly after her, slipping the catch down on the Yale lock, and sliding the safety chain into place.
Her mobile phone was on the counter where she’d left it. She dropped her bag of shopping beside it and picked it up. She’d ring Mike, he’d sort it out for her. Tell Power to leave her alone. Ride to her rescue. The way he’d done so often. And she’d be a victim. All over again.
For the last year it had been one thing after the other.
She looked at the phone, feeling her throat thicken. It wasn’t fair. She put the phone down, took a packet of biscuits from the bag and sat at the table, tearing the packet open with her teeth. Within a few minutes, the biscuits were gone. They didn’t make her feel any better but the tears that threatened were gone.
Maybe it was the sugar jolt from the biscuits, maybe the memory of dealing with that conniving Fiona Wilson who’d thought Edel would be easy to destroy. She wasn’t sure, but whichever it was, she felt a new sense of purpose. No, she wouldn’t take the easy option of ringing Mike and asking for his help. She drummed her fingers on the table. This time, she’d sort things out for herself.
According to Mike, Aidan Power and her agent Owen Grady were in a relationship. She’d been ignoring Grady’s emails: maybe Power’s visit was something to do with that. Maybe it was simply that he was coming to apologise for treating her so badly.
There was one way to find out. She had no intention of darkening the doors of FinalEdit Publishing but she could visit Grady’s office in the city. Suddenly it seemed the right thing to do and within minutes, she was heading out to her car.
Roadworks in the city had made driving there a nightmare. Instead, Edel drove to the car park next to the DART station in Greystones. The electrified trains of the Dublin area rapid transport were popular and as a result their car parks were always busy, and frequently full. Edel wasn’t feeling lucky and drove around it listlessly wondering, after all, if this was such a good idea. It was on her second drive around, when she’d almost decided to give up, that she saw a car pulling out a short distance ahead. She quickly drove towards it and indicated to stake her claim.
Her luck held and only seconds after stepping onto the platform, a DART pulled up. It was a lovely day but the view out to sea as she travelled along the coast was wasted on her, lost as she was in thoughts of what she was going to say to Owen Grady. Trying to put him and Power out of her head, she let her mind drift to the other decision she’d made that morning. Crime novels… an idea was brewing in her head, she concentrated on it and by the time the DART stopped in Tara Street station, she’d a rough idea for a storyline.
She was still thinking about it when she walked into her agent’s office. The receptionist, Tina, surprised to see her, asked if she had an appointment.
‘No, but I really need to see Owen,’ Edel said, hoping her tone of voice conveyed the importance of the matter. The last time she’d been into the office she’d made a similar demand so she wasn’t surprised to see a faint uplift of an eyebrow in response.
‘You might be in luck,’ Tina said, turning in her chair to stand. ‘His last appointment was shorter than expected. Hang on and I’ll check with him.’
Edel hovered around the desk until the click-click of stilettos told her the receptionist was returning.
‘He’s on a call, he’ll see you in five minutes. For a minute,’ she added quickly, then, more kindly, ‘Why don’t you have a coffee while you wait.’
With a murmured thank you, Edel headed for the vending machine partially hidden behind the artificial plant in the corner and poured a cup, sipping it while she waited. She felt surprisingly calm.
It was ten minutes before a frowning Owen Grady appeared through a door to her right. ‘This is unexpected,’ he said, holding out a hand.
Edel found her hand grasped tightly and held while Grady’s eyes assessed her. ‘You look well,’ he said. ‘Better than the last time I saw you.’
That had been a little over a month before. The scandal of the pornographic photos that had ended her publishing contract. ‘That was a difficult time,’ Edel said simply.
With a nod, he dropped her hand and led the way to his office. ‘Have a seat,’ he said, taking his own behind the desk.
Edel sat on the edge of the chair. Now that she was there, she wasn’t sure what to say. It seemed the best thing to come straight out with it. ‘For the last year, my life has been in a bit of a turmoil. I’m not willing to allow that to continue.’ There, it was out. She raised her chin and looked at him. ‘I don’t know what he’s up to, but Aidan Power was on my doorstep only a few hours ago. I want to know what he was doing there.’
‘You never read my emails, did you?’ Grady asked, folding his arms across his chest, and tilting his head slightly.
‘There didn’t seem much point. You wanted me to change my name in order to get another publishing contract and that was never going to happen. As it happens, I’ve self-published, so I don’t need a publisher, or, for that matter, you.’ She knew she sounded rude and didn’t care.
‘And how’s that going for you?’
She wanted to lie, to say she’d sold hundreds, thousands even, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Anyway, it would have been an easy lie for him to have discovered. A quick glance on Amazon would have told him how terrible her ranking was, and a terrible ranking equalled terrible sales. ‘It’s early days,’ she said.
‘That bad?’ His voice was sympathetic. ‘It’s a shame, it was a good story. Have you started the next?’
Edel sighed. She rarely got the chance to speak about her writing. Mike was supportive but it was an alien world to him. ‘My life has changed since I first wrote it so I’ve decided to switch direction.’ A smile wavered on her lips. ‘Actually, I’ve decided to try my hand at writing a crime series.’
‘Well, well! As it happens, I’m writing one myself. I had a great experience when I was taken into Foxrock station.’
Mike had told Edel how delighted Grady had been to have been brought to Foxrock station for questioning. It had, he’d said, added veracity to his writing. ‘I suppose your friend, Aidan will be able to put a word in with FinalEdit Publishing.’ She heard the bitter twist to her words and shook her head. ‘Anyway, I’m not here to discuss my writing career, that’s no longer any of your business–’
‘Actually, it is.’ Grady held a hand up to stop her. ‘You signed a contract, remember. I still represent you.’
Edel sat with her mouth slightly open.
Grady leaned forward. ‘Listen, I know you went through a rough time, but you obviously haven’t read any of the emails I sent you. If you had, you’d know two things… why I am still interested in representing you, and what Aide was doing on your doorstep.’
12
West drove into the car park of the apartment block where their victim had lived and saw Andrews standing by his car, leaning on the open door. Pulling into a designated visitor’s
parking space alongside, he climbed out and stretched. ‘I wasn’t sure I was going to make it on time.’
Andrews straightened and shut his car door. ‘How did it go?’
‘As we’d suspected. The Moores were burgled ten years ago. Mrs Moore hadn’t had any reason to look for his birth certificate since and hadn’t been aware it was missing. No doubt, whoever our vic is, he took it and enough additional paperwork to enable him to steal Ian Moore’s identity.’
Andrews frowned. ‘He had to have targeted that house in particular. Maybe someone their son knew?’
Exactly what West had been thinking on his drive over. ‘It’s a possibility. He’d finished university shortly before: perhaps it was someone he’d met there. We’ll pull up the paperwork on the burglary when we get back to the station, see if anything leaps out.’
They were leaning against West’s car mulling over the case when a bright yellow sports car pulled in at ten minutes past the hour.
A dark-haired, attractive woman jumped out, extending a hand as she hurried to their side. ‘Laura Bonini, so sorry for being late,’ she said with a charming smile that elicited a similar response from both men.
It was an effective tool and West guessed she used it a lot. ‘You’re the landlord?’
Her smile grew. ‘I prefer the term property manager but according to the Property Register Association, yes, I’m the landlord.’ She lifted a hand as if to bat away a fly. ‘I don’t let these outdated notions worry me.’
West had seen the steely look in the woman’s eyes despite her friendly smile. She was a woman who used every trick in the trade. He’d met her type before. Fiona Wilson immediately popped into his head, making his mouth twist in distaste.
Andrews was frowning. ‘Your secretary referred to you as he.’
‘People make assumptions based on sex, I try to invalidate them,’ Bonini said, pulling a large bunch of keys from her shoulder bag.
Andrews wasn’t impressed, the frown staying in place as he shot West a glance.
The Dublin Murder Mysteries: Books four to six Page 30
