A young woman in black leggings and a baggy black T-shirt hurried over and cleared the table. ‘I’ll be back to take your order in a sec,’ she said, taking the tray of dirty dishes away. She was true to her word, back with a pen and pad in hand before they’d even looked at the menu.
Both hurriedly scanned it and gave their order.
West sat back and looked around. ‘Nice place,’ he commented.
‘Going to the library was a good move,’ Andrews said.
‘You caught it?’ West asked, unsurprised when Andrews nodded. Little escaped him. It had been something small, almost unnoticeable. When Debbie Long had described Ian Moore, she’d said was not is. So how did she learn of his death? From Laetitia, a woman she didn’t socialise with, or from someone else?
They’d hoped to find some answers that morning. Instead, they’d found more questions.
23
Lunch over, West looked across the table. ‘Since we’re out this way…’
‘We may as well, I suppose,’ Andrews agreed without waiting for him to finish.
‘Honestly,’ West said with a grin, ‘I swear you read my mind.’
Andrews stood and pulled his coat on. ‘No, we’re like an old married couple, we think alike. It makes sense to speak to Tedford, see if Baxter and Edwards did a good job.’
They decided to leave the car and walk to the garage. The day was cold with a biting wind blowing but it was dry, the sky a sapphire blue, and it was good to be outside for a bit. Ten minutes brisk walk brought them to Tedford Motors.
The service office was busy, a purple-haired, middle-aged woman behind the waist-high counter arguing loudly with a customer about the price of a service, two other customers behind listening and smirking as she lambasted the man. West and Andrews had no choice but to wait, no choice, too, but to listen. Finally, it was their turn. She looked them up and down. ‘Guards,’ she said. It wasn’t a question. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘We’d like to speak to Ronan Tedford,’ West said.
She picked up a phone and stabbed the keys. ‘Coppers to see you,’ she said. Listening a moment, she grunted and hung up. ‘You can go round. Out the door, follow the wall around the back. It’s the flat-roofed building. You can’t miss it.’
‘When people say that, I find it’s usually somewhere impossible to find,’ Andrews muttered.
‘And you call yourself a detective,’ West teased. ‘Anyway, this time she was right.’ He lifted his hand and pointed. ‘There it is.’
The door opened as they approached, an overweight man staring their way. ‘More questions?’ He stood back and waved them inside.
‘Just a couple,’ West said, taking the seat he was offered. ‘I gather from the officers who spoke to you yesterday that you were very fond of Ian Moore.’
‘I was, but I understand I was also fooled by him,’ Tedford said. ‘That doesn’t sit easily with me.’
‘His assumption of a new identity obviously wasn’t done to fool you, Mr Tedford. You were happy, after all, to keep him employed even after his prison sentence.’
Tedford linked stubby fingers on the desk in front of him. ‘He always struck me as a nice lad, a bit soft… if you get my meaning.’
West cocked his head. ‘It would be helpful if you’d elaborate, Mr Tedford. Soft in what way?’
Tedford puffed. ‘He wasn’t like the other lads: kept himself to himself, didn’t swear much or chat about girls. Now and then there’d be a bit of argy-bargy between the lads. Ian always kept out of it. I remember one of the lads called him a coward once when Ian walked away from a confrontation but instead of getting annoyed, he simply said, “Walking away doesn’t bring regrets, staying does”.’
‘You didn’t think that was a strange thing for a young man to say?’ Andrews asked.
‘In my line of business, you get to meet all sorts, hear all sorts.’ He shrugged. ‘I did think it was a bit odd, I even asked him later what he’d meant.’ Tedford smiled at the memory. ‘Ian laughed, said he was trying to sound profound, that it didn’t mean anything, but… I didn’t believe him.’
‘He never mentioned trouble in his past?’
‘He didn’t mention his past full stop,’ Tedford said. ‘He was eighteen when he started here, what reason could he have had for needing to change his name?’
A thought crossed West’s mind. ‘Did he have an accent?’
‘An accent?’ Tedford looked puzzled. ‘You mean was he foreign?’
‘No, I was thinking more of a country accent. Especially when he came here first.’
Tedford gave the idea some thought, a fat index finger tapping the desk. ‘He always spoke very softly, slowly even. I remember thinking when I first met him that he was a bit… you know… slow. He wasn’t: he simply thought before he spoke. So, I’m not sure about any accent. Most of the mechanics we’ve had over the years have been Dubs, northsiders, some have strong Dublin accents, but Ian didn’t.’
‘Okay, thank you,’ West said. ‘And one final thing, by any chance, do you have a copy of the calendar the mechanics made?’
Tedford pushed back from his desk, turned in his swivel chair and pulled open the lower drawer of a metal filing cabinet. ‘Here you go,’ he said. ‘Ian was February, June and October.’
West took it, flicked to February and held it out for Andrews to see. The photo they had at the station of Ian Moore didn’t do him justice. The man who posed bare-chested behind a motorbike was extremely handsome. ‘I can see why it was popular.’ West smiled, looking through the rest. The photos were well done, posed to show off the physiques of the men without tipping over into salacious sleaze.
Tedford laughed. ‘It was crazy for a while. The charity they did it for were more than happy with the proceeds.’
‘What about Ian? Was he happy with the attention?’
‘I think they all thought it was funny for a while, but then women, girls, auld ones started hanging around and staring.’ Tedford grinned. ‘It was a turnaround for the lads. They were used to being the ones doing the gawping, you know.’
‘Whose idea was it?’ Andrews asked, curious.
‘Toby, one of the mechanics – it was his girlfriend, Suzy’s idea. She’s a photography student and wanted some practice; thought doing a charity calendar would be good fun and give her exposure. She said it would only work if all four mechanics did three months each. I think she guilted Ian into it, to be honest.’
‘How many were sold?’
‘She made a hundred initially, then another hundred. A local paper heard about it and did an article on it so that boosted sales. I think the final number was two thousand.’
West caught Andrews’ eye. For someone who had gone to the trouble of changing his identity it must have been a nightmare. Not only the calendars but a newspaper article. ‘Was there a photo in the paper?’
Tedford grimaced. ‘There was and none of the lads were happy but it appears the girlfriend had copyright for the photos so she could do what she liked with them. I think she and Toby split up over it.’
There was nothing more to be learnt and taking their leave of Tedford, West and Andrews headed back to Foxrock.
Frustratingly, there was nothing new from any of the team either. West added the Summers’ family and the librarian to the growing list of people whose background needed to be checked and went to update Morrison, trudging up the stairs one step at a time.
‘Nothing?’ Morrison said when West had filled him in.
‘So far, we seem to have stirred up more questions than answers.’
Morrison scowled. ‘I’d hoped to have this solved quickly. The bishop has been in touch with his cronies. You know the way it goes.’
West did. The bishop would go straight to the top and speak to the commissioner and the commands would come swiftly down the rank. ‘It’s a complicated case,’ West said. He had a vague idea he’d said the same thing before. It hadn’t changed.
‘Well, uncomplicate it,’ Mor
rison said brusquely. ‘Preferably before the bishop decides it would be better to come here himself.’ His mouth twisted at the thought and he waved a hand at West in dismissal.
Back in the main office, West looked around. Everyone was either glued to a computer screen or on the phone. There was no point in him telling them they were under pressure to get results. If the results were there, they’d find them.
Back in his office, he sent Edel a quick text to say he’d be home at six. There was only so much he could do with nothing.
He held a brief meeting before the end of the shift. If he’d hoped to have any enlightenment, he was destined to be disappointed.
‘Nothing yet,’ Baxter and Edwards said almost in unison. Jarvis merely shook his head when he looked in his direction.
‘I found out something about Laetitia Summers,’ Allen said, drawing all eyes to him. He held a hand up as if to hold them back. ‘Don’t get too excited, it’s not much. Her parents moved to Portugal a year ago. They bought a bungalow in a place called Cascais.’
West frowned. He knew the place. Very nice, and very expensive. ‘They didn’t sell their house here, though, so how did they fund it?’
Allen shook his head. ‘All I can tell you is that they bought a place there and have been there since.’
‘Do some more digging,’ West said. ‘Tomorrow. Go home, let’s pick it up again in the morning.’ He wasn’t surprised when Andrews followed him back to his office.
‘Mother not happy?’
West sat behind his desk with a grunt of frustration. ‘He wants results. The bishop has been making waves.’
‘We’ll get there,’ Andrews said calmly. ‘We always do. We’ve got all the pieces, now we need to see how they fit together.’
‘One of these days, we’re going to fail, you know that.’
‘Not this time. We need to find out who that lad was before he became Ian Moore and then everything will fall into place.’
West laughed. ‘Oh, that’s all, is it? So easy.’ He was still smiling when he climbed into his car, watching as Andrews sped from the car park. Not for the first time, he thanked his lucky stars that he had him as a partner.
Edel heard the car pull up outside. One final word, she saved her work and switched off the computer. It had been a good day. At this rate, she’d have the first draft written in about six weeks.
‘Hi,’ she said, coming down the stairs as the front door opened. ‘All the criminals in Dublin locked away?’
‘Almost all,’ he said, leaning in to plant a kiss on her lips. ‘Something smells good.’
‘Lamb casserole,’ she said, opening the kitchen door. ‘One of those handy dishes that you can throw in the oven and leave it to cook for hours.’ She checked the dinner, watching from the corner of her eye as West took off his jacket and tie, rolled up his shirtsleeves and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. It amused her: it might make him feel more relaxed, but he still looked every inch the policeman.
‘How’s the case going,’ she asked, putting a large helping of the casserole in front of him.
‘Peter and I went to look for answers today, came back with more questions.’
Edel laughed. ‘Well that’s no surprise! Honestly, you two can’t help but complicate things.’ Her laugh faded and she reached across and laid a hand on his arm. ‘I hope Inspector Morrison knows how lucky he is to have you and Andrews, men who don’t take the easy road, who will keep going despite everything until they get to the truth.’
West jabbed a fork in a piece of lamb. ‘I think he’d be happier if we got it solved. He’s not keen on the clergy.’
‘Tell me about the woman you went to see, Laetitia Summers.’ She tilted her head. ‘A great name, by the way, shame I can’t use it.’ She smiled at the look in his eyes. ‘Relax, I’m teasing you, Mike! But tell me about her anyway.’
By the time they’d finished their meal, Edel knew as much as there was to be known about the woman. ‘She sounds like a caricature of a very feminine woman with the breathy voice and her tiny size, but you make her sound hard, tough even. Quite a contrast.’
West put his cutlery down and pushed the plate away. ‘I didn’t take to her.’
Edel wanted to ask why, wanted to know more about this woman who’d taken her fancy but she saw a wariness creep over West’s face. ‘I’ll throw these in the dishwasher,’ she said, standing and picking up the plates. ‘Would you like a coffee?’
He shook his head and left and a moment later she heard the TV. He’d watch the news, waiting for any reference to his case and would take any criticism personally. They wouldn’t care that he gave heart and soul to his job.
As she cleared up and switched the kettle on to make herself a cuppa, her thoughts were on Laetitia Summers and she was still thinking about her when she took her tea into the lounge to sit on the sofa beside West. ‘Anything about it?’
‘No, luckily for us some politician was caught out in a financial fraud so the murder of one ex-con was never going to compete.’
She put her empty mug on the coffee table and reached for his hand, feeling his fingers close over hers, hearing his quiet sigh of contentment with a smile.
Perhaps West wouldn’t have been quite so contented if he’d known her mind kept drifting back to Laetitia Summers.
24
When Edel sat to write the next morning, her fingers froze over the keyboard. The main characters in her new crime novel were two private investigators, each with a complex background. They were easy to write and, thanks to her experience of the last year, she’d no problem with writing bad guys either. But the main baddie in her story was going to be a young woman… she thought about Fiona Wilson and shook her head, she’d been a cow but she wasn’t bad enough.
Mike’s description of Laetitia Summers intrigued her. If she could see her, maybe speak to her, it would be such a help. It would fill out the character in her story, giving her body and three-dimensionality.
‘Don’t be daft!’ she muttered, reading back the last paragraph she’d written. But her brain wouldn’t co-operate. She sat back and chewed her thumbnail. Marino Library. She knew exactly where it was, right beside Wrights fish shop in Fairview. A DART from Greystones would take her directly there; she could visit the library and be back home in a couple of hours… maybe three, tops… then she could get back to work with a clear mind.
She was wearing her writing clothes. Stretchy sweatshirt and pants. Switching the pants for jeans, she slipped on a pair of lace-ups, grabbed a coat and was ready to go. In Greystones DART station, she decided it was karma that she found a parking space straight away and she was smiling when she jumped on the DART five minutes later.
There were plenty of free seats. She took one at the window. The track hugged the coastline most of the way as it trundled past Bray and Dalkey. When it passed Booterstown, she craned her neck to look up Booterstown Avenue. She’d lived there once, a long time ago, years before she bought a place in Drumcondra, a long time before Simon.
All that was behind her. She was in a good place now. A happy place, with a man she loved. Who would be very annoyed at what she was doing. She batted that thought away. She was going to look, that was all.
It would have made sense, of course, to have rung and checked Laetitia was working that day. Libraries were open late some evenings and she might work shifts. But Edel was on her way; it was too late now to be clever.
It was over an hour before the DART stopped in Clontarf Road station. It had been bright and sunny when she left Greystones. Here, a light rain was falling. Dark clouds low in the sky made the day dim and gloomy and told her clearly that heavier rain was on the way. Her umbrella was languishing uselessly in the boot of her car. She pulled up the collar of her coat, hunched up her shoulders and made a dash along Clontarf Road for the library.
As she dashed down the laneway to the entrance, the rain started to fall in straight rods of cold grey. She pushed through the wooden door and turned to lo
ok back at the rain. She’d planned to stay for only a few minutes, but she could linger and look at some books until it stopped. Maybe check out the competition. The idea made her smile.
The customer service desk was manned by a skinny young man. Edel glanced around. Some of the bookshelves were tall, the petite Laetitia, if she were working, could be behind any of them. Edel wandered up and down the aisles, picking up a book now and then. Undercover. A giggle bubbled at the thought.
This had been a crazy idea! She reached the crime section and all thoughts of Laetitia vanished as she took out one book after the other, reading the blurb, checking out the covers, narrowing her eyes as she compared one to the other, looking for trends. Women in raincoats and abandoned houses featured prominently on many. She decided she’d have neither on hers.
One book blurb really caught her attention. She was nodding at how well it was phrased and searched in her pocket for a pen to write the author’s name down so she could read it again later. Unfortunately, her pockets held a glut of paper tissues but no pen.
It was at that auspicious moment that a young woman holding a tall pile of books came around the edge of the bookshelf. Edel didn’t need to guess, a large name badge prominently displayed on her right chest declared the owner to be Laetitia.
Edel watched from the corner of her eyes as the petite woman dexterously shelved the books she was carrying; balancing and bending, her movements fluid and graceful.
‘I wonder if you had a pen I could borrow to write down the name of this book,’ Edel said as Laetitia straightened from putting the final book in its right place.
‘A pen? Yes, of course.’ She slipped one from the pocket of her shirt, handed it over and waited.
Colour flushed Edel’s cheeks. What was she going to write on? ‘How stupid of me,’ she said. ‘I don’t have paper either.’
She expected the woman to laugh, a mutual understanding of how we can all be a bit dotty at times. But Laetitia didn’t laugh and although the corners of her mouth tilted upwards in what Edel supposed constituted a smile, it was patently false, as fake as her helpful, ‘So you need some paper too.’
The Dublin Murder Mysteries: Books four to six Page 37
