Baxter held a hand up. ‘Before you all go,’ he said, the colour flooding his cheeks, clashing with his ginger hair, ‘It seems appropriate to tell you in a church that we’re getting married. Tanya and me, obviously. Not till next year, but on Saturday we’re going to have a bit of a celebration to mark our engagement and christen the new house at the same time. And you’re all invited.’
‘A wedding! Now that will be nice,’ Andrews said. ‘And you know what they say about weddings, don’t you.’
‘What?’ Allen said.
West was about to say something cutting but he saw Allen’s blank expression. He really didn’t know. No doubt the others would hurry to enlighten him.
Baxter did the duty. ‘They say, going to a wedding’s the making of another.’
West glared at him. ‘Well I don’t know what they say but I know what Inspector Morrison will say! He’ll say, “When are we going to solve this case?” so let’s concentrate on that, shall we?’ And without another word, he turned and left
19
West drove back to the station. Most of the others would have taken his go at face value and headed for home but when he stopped at the traffic lights, he wasn’t surprised to see Andrews’ car behind him.
They were two of a kind in their approach to their work. He shouldn’t be too surprised that Andrews wanted their similarity to spread to their personal lives too. He had been happily married to the lovely Joyce for several years, and he seemed to think it was what West needed. Maybe it was. But the timing wasn’t right.
Back in the station, he decided it would be best to approach Mother Morrison directly. He gave a thumbs up to Andrews who pulled into the car park seconds after him and saw his nod and grin.
Morrison was standing outside his office door. He saw West and raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘You better be coming to see me with good news,’ he said, pushing the door open. ‘Well?’ He sat behind his desk and glared.
West had been going over what they knew on the short drive back to the station and had come up with a theory. He laid it out for the inspector. ‘We think that Moore was set up for the rape to punish him for something he did before he acquired the Moore persona. He only served eight months so maybe whoever set him up didn’t think it was sufficient punishment–’
‘And decided to make sure this time by killing him,’ Morrison interrupted. ‘You do get involved in the most complicated and far-fetched cases, West, but I’m inclined to think you might be onto something. We need to find out who our victim was.’
Why didn’t I think of that? ‘We’re going to look into everyone involved with the garage and restaurant. I think someone must know something.’ West leaned tiredly against the wall. One of these days, he was going to bring a chair with him when he came to see the inspector. ‘They may not even know they know so it’s going to be a slow, laborious process.’
A faint smile appeared on Morrison’s thin lips. ‘Sounds like policework to me.’
West nodded. It was the typical hard slog of investigative work. The questioning of every person with the remotest link in the hope that somewhere in the recesses of their brains they knew something important. ‘I’ll pay a visit to Laetitia Summers tomorrow. She’s the best bet. If Moore was set up for her alleged rape, she must have been complicit.’
‘I don’t have to tell you to tread carefully, Mike,’ Morrison said.
West smiled. ‘No. Rest easy, I’ll be cautious.’
Andrews was on the phone when he returned to the main office. He waited until he was finished, perching on the side of his desk.
‘That was the chaplain,’ Andrews said, hanging up. ‘He remembered Moore quite well. Said he was a troubled boy. It appears the chaplain offered confession but Moore refused.’
‘Damn! That makes our theory about him being lured into the confessional unlikely.’
Andrews smiled. ‘No, I don’t think so. The chaplain saw Moore not long before he was released. Again, he offered him confession. He remembers that Moore refused, but he did ask something strange. He asked if confession would cover sins in his past, things he’d never told anyone before.’
A smile lit West’s expression. ‘That’s more like it. Looks like we’re right. Something he did as a young man of–’
‘Eighteen,’ Andrews said. ‘Something so bad he ran and hid from it.’
‘But someone found him.’
‘And tried to punish him, but eight months wasn’t enough so they decided to finish it.’
It was exactly what West had decided on the drive back. He wasn’t surprised to see Andrews coming to the same conclusion. They were like clones.
West tapped the side of the desk. ‘A crime bad enough to have caused such a desire for revenge, it has to be on the books. Get the lads to start looking at every crime committed…’ he rocked a flat hand to and fro ‘…start at the date of the Moores’ burglary and work backwards for a year.’
‘What’re they looking for?’
‘Any crime where the perpetrators were young men. And you better make it solved and unsolved cases. If it was a gang crime, some of the perpetrators may have been arrested but not all; some may have remained unidentified.’
‘We’ll get on it in the morning,’ Andrews said, standing and stretching. ‘Time for home, dinner is calling.’
West sat behind his desk, switched on his computer, and waited for it to power up, thinking about the case. He tapped a few keys and brought up the details of the rape Moore had done time for. There was nothing that the team hadn’t told him. He reached for the phone and dialled a number. It was answered almost immediately.
‘Ms Summers, my name is Detective Garda Sergeant Mike West. Would it be possible to meet with you?’
There was silence on the line before a soft, high-pitched voice replied with one word. ‘Why?’
He didn’t want to tell her the details over the phone. Long experience had taught him that people’s facial expressions often revealed as much as their words. He went for the vaguely mysterious, ‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss it over the phone but I’m happy to meet whenever and wherever it suits.’
There was the distinct sound of fingernails tapping. Finally, on a heavy exhale, she said, ‘I’ve a morning off tomorrow. Here at ten.’ A tinny titter drifted down the line. ‘I assume you know where that is.’
‘Yes, Ms Summers, I do. Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow at ten.’
Edel looked up from the email she was writing when she heard the key in the front door. She’d finished it and shut her iPad before the kitchen door opened. ‘Perfect timing.’ She looked towards the oven. ‘It’s almost ready.’
‘Good, I’m starving,’ West said, leaning down to kiss her lightly on the lips. ‘Did you have a good day?’
‘Very good indeed,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you about it over dinner.’
Edel dished up the fish pie she’d made and put a plate in front of him. ‘Do you want a glass of wine?’
‘No, water is fine,’ West said, then tilted his head. ‘Unless we’re celebrating again. Are we?’
She laughed. ‘No,’ she said, sitting in the chair beside him. ‘But I do have news. Owen asked me for a brief synopsis of the first book in the crime series I’m planning to write. I wrote it this morning and sent it off. He was back to me within the hour.’ Excitement coloured her voice. ‘He loved it, Mike. Said it was the best thing he’d read in ages.’
West put down his cutlery and leaned forward to kiss her. ‘Of course he did. You’re amazing. Tell me about it.’
Edel pushed her plate away, propped her chin on her joined hands and gave him a summary of the book she planned to write. ‘And that’s book one,’ she said. ‘I’ve an idea for book two but haven’t got it completely in my head yet.’ She saw his flicker of relief and laughed. ‘Seriously! You really thought I was going to base a story on one of the ghastly experiences I’ve been through, didn’t you?’
West had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘I
suppose I was a bit worried about that, yes.’
She shook her head. ‘What is it Peter often says about you? Oh yes, “you take yourself far too seriously sometimes!” Relax, Mike, I have enough imagination to come up with plenty of crimes without touching on reality.’ She sat back, a smile lingering. ‘And now that we have that out of the way, tell me how your case is going.’
He finished his dinner and sat back. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I always did like talking things over with you.’ He filled her in on the case, the theories they’d come up with, his meeting with Laetitia Summers the next morning.
‘Sounds like a complicated case,’ Edel said when he’d finished.
West laughed. ‘Morrison thinks I attract them.’
‘And you’ve no idea who this poor man is?’
‘Not yet. I’m hoping Laetitia will be able to give us somewhere to go.’
Edel had met so many horrible people in the last year, she really shouldn’t be surprised by the depths some would stoop to. ‘You really think she helped set him up? Cried rape when it was anything but?’ Adam Fletcher came to Edel’s mind and she shivered. How could anyone pretend something so terrible?
‘It’s a theory,’ West said and as if he read her thoughts, he reached out to hold her hand. ‘Based not only on what Ronan Tedford said but also on what the investigating officer said. But it’s still a theory. Until we know otherwise, she is still a victim.’
For the next few minutes, while they cleared away and went into the sitting room where West switched on the TV to catch the nine o’clock news, Edel was thinking about Moore.
She was frowning when the news was over and West turned to her with some comment about world affairs which she dismissed with a casual wave. ‘I was thinking about Moore,’ she said, and watched his eyebrows rise. Before he could say anything, she lifted a hand to stop him. ‘Hear me out. When Cyril Pratt stole Simon Johnson’s identity and married me, he didn’t abandon his old identity, he lived a double life, right?’
With obvious reluctance, West murmured agreement.
‘Well I was thinking: if your victim stole Ian Moore’s identity, what happened to the old identity? He was only a boy, wasn’t he? Seventeen or eighteen. Maybe,’ she said, ‘whoever he was, he was reported missing?’
She saw West’s eyes widen and smiled. He hadn’t thought of that.
20
West was annoyed that he hadn’t thought that someone might be missing the lad who became Ian Moore. Because, of course, it made sense. For someone to acquire a new identity, if they weren’t living a double life – as Edel’s first husband had done – the first identity had to be killed off. The victim had been eighteen when he’d acquired Ian Moore’s identity. Someone had to have missed him.
‘You should have been a detective,’ he said and smiled at her look of pleasure. He leaned closer and kissed her. ‘I have no doubt that your books are going to be a huge success. I hope your crimes don’t give anyone ideas.’
‘It’s quite fun trying to think up a crime,’ she said. ‘I think perhaps I understand now why you love what you do. It’s the whole puzzle of it.’
He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. ‘Yes, it is. For instance, if Moore, as we’ll still call him, did something wrong when he was eighteen, why did someone wait until he was twenty-seven to get revenge?’
‘They couldn’t find him?’
‘Exactly. So, how did they find him now?’ West frowned. There was something at the edge of his mind, something tantalising. ‘Someone said something today,’ he murmured.
‘I’ll make a cup of tea,’ Edel said, uncurling from his arms and getting to her feet. ‘Tea and biscuits, guaranteed to get your brain working.’
The TV was showing some current affairs programme but West tuned out. What was it? Who’d said it? His mind went back over the conversations of the afternoon. It was something Edwards had said. His frown eased. The calendar! That was it, he was sure of it. The stupid lad had posed for a calendar. And what was it Edwards had said? It had got them much more attention than they’d expected and they’d never done another.
Maybe it had got Moore the wrong kind of attention. A blast from his past. When Edel arrived back with two mugs of tea and a packet of Kimberley biscuits, he told her.
‘What an idiot,’ she said, tearing the packet open with her teeth. ‘He goes to all the trouble of acquiring a new identity, then poses for a calendar. Why would he have been that stupid?’
West took a biscuit from the packet, bit into the ginger and mallow centre and sighed. ‘He was young when he started in the garage. He kept his head down, didn’t drink. Maybe for a short time, he wanted to be one of the lads. They probably coaxed him into it, maybe even told him it wouldn’t be seen by many.’
‘But it was seen by the wrong person.’
Two biscuits later, West drained his mug and put it down. ‘Baxter and Edwards thought Laetitia Summers walked past the garage because she’d seen the calendar and fancied her chances with one of the mechanics.’
Edel had reached for her third biscuit. ‘I really should stop buying these,’ she said, biting into it. ‘You think she was looking for Moore in particular.’
West linked his hands behind his head. ‘Yes, I think she was. I think someone from his past saw the calendar and recognised him. Someone who’d been looking for him.’
‘And lured the Summers woman in to help.’
‘Yes, Tedford wasn’t enamoured with her, I gather. Maybe he had reason.’ He dropped an arm around Edel’s shoulder and pulled her to him. ‘With me investigating crime and you writing it, it looks as if we’re going to have some criminally good conversations.’
‘Maybe I should come with you tomorrow when you meet her,’ Edel said. ‘Give you another woman’s perspective.’
West tightened his hand on her shoulder. ‘You know I can’t do that, and before you say it, yes, I know you tagged along on that case on Clare Island but they were different circumstances.’
She pushed away from him and turned to look him in the eye. ‘I was joking.’ She shrugged. ‘Kind of. I don’t think you should go alone.’
‘You’re thinking of Fiona again, aren’t you?’ West laughed when he saw her nod. ‘Well relax, I’m going to bring Peter with me. This case is getting too knotty for my liking and he’s a good one for seeing through lies and mistruths.’
‘I like Peter. In fact, I like all your team.’
He remembered the party. ‘Good, Baxter has invited us to a housewarming-stroke-engagement party on Saturday.’
Edel sat forward. ‘A party! Excellent, I’ve been looking for an excuse to go shopping. Now I can buy a new dress, and a housewarming-engagement present. What should I buy, do you think?’
West had no idea, but he happily joined in a conversation about household appliances and paraphernalia that had nothing at all to do with crime and he felt the last of the tension ebb away. It was going to be all right.
21
West, as usual, was in the station sitting at his desk when the rest of the team ambled in.
‘Listen up,’ he said, standing in his doorway. ‘I was talking to Edel last night and she came up with an interesting take on our case.’ He filled them in, watching as their eyes widened.
‘Why didn’t we think of that?’ Jarvis said.
‘I suppose,’ Baxter commented, ‘she had up close and personal experience with identity theft.’ His cheeks reddened. ‘No offence meant.’
West shook his head. ‘None taken, you’re right, she looked at it from a different viewpoint and came up with something we should have thought about.’ He strolled over to The Wall, stared at a photo of the crime scene. ‘This case is developing legs.’ He told them his idea about the calendar.
Jarvis perched on the desk behind and folded his arms. ‘I thought of something last night too,’ he said, drawing all eyes to him. ‘It was something you said, Sarge, about maybe Moore coming from elsewhere. I don’t think Ricci or
his uncle would have noticed a regional accent but maybe Tedford, the other mechanics or Laetitia Summers might have done.’
‘Good point. I’m seeing Ms Summers this morning. Baxter and Edwards, you two follow up Jarvis’ idea since you were there yesterday. Jarvis, you and Allen start searching the data banks for crimes committed as we discussed… going back a year from the Moores’ burglary.’
‘That’s going to be huge,’ Baxter said with a shake of his head.
West turned to look at the murder-scene photo again. ‘Whatever he did, our perp didn’t think eight months in prison was enough.’ He turned back to Baxter. ‘Start with crimes that resulted in death of a family member, loved one or child where there was more than one perpetrator. If Foley gets free from robbery, get him to start the search on missing persons, same time frame. While you lot are doing that, Andrews and I will see what we can gently squeeze from Laetitia Summers.’
He was in the office preparing to leave when his desk phone rang. He picked it up, expecting to hear Morrison, surprised to hear the deeper voice of Sergeant Blunt.
‘Hi Tom, what can I do for you?’
‘It’s Mrs Bennet, we had to bring her in again. She was blocking the Parsons’ driveway.’
West sat on the seat behind him and swore softly under his breath. ‘I’ll come out and have a word,’ he said. ‘Is her husband on the way?’
‘He said he’d be here in fifteen minutes.’
West hung up. Some cases were sad for all involved. This will have been the fourth time in the last couple of months that the Parsons had rung. They’d recently applied for a barring order against Mrs Bennet. West knew it wasn’t going to have any effect. In October, Mrs Parsons had knocked down and killed Mrs Bennet’s only child, her son, Milo Junior. Mrs Parsons’ legal team refused to allow her to be charged, saying she was suffering from post-natal depression and was unable to answer questions. She’d spent several weeks in a psychiatric clinic before being released but was still under the care of doctors who refused to allow her to be questioned, insisting she was incapable of pleading.
The Dublin Murder Mysteries: Books four to six Page 35
