Brian McGilloway - The Nameless Dead (Inspector Devlin #5)

by Brian McGilloway

  I walked down the drive again to confront the driver. It was Jimmy Callan.

  ‘Have you a minute?’ he said.

  Instinctively, I glanced around to see who else was about.

  ‘I need to ask you something,’ Callan said.

  I nodded and, moving round to the passenger side, climbed into the car. I noticed, taped to the dashboard, an aged ‘In Memoriam’ card for his son. I wondered at the depth of the grief that Callan carried around with him that meant he felt compelled to keep a constant reminder of his loss before him as he drove.

  ‘I hear Niall Martin went in the river,’ he said.

  ‘That’s right. You hear things very quickly.’

  ‘Always,’ he agreed. ‘Why did you go after him? Have you connected him with Declan Cleary’s boy?’

  ‘He’ll be helping us with enquiries in that area. Why?’ I said.

  ‘Why him?’ he asked, ignoring my own question.

  ‘We think it connects with the mother-and-baby home.’

  ‘St Canice’s? What about it?’

  ‘We believe that Martin’s father’s company was testing drugs on the girls there; acne drugs. It caused a number of the children to die before birth. They covered it up by burying them on the island. One child survived birth but was so badly disfigured they murdered her. Declan Cleary found out about it and threatened to go to the police unless the Martins paid him off. His girlfriend was pregnant, with Sean, at the time and he needed the money. We think that’s why he was killed.’

  ‘So he didn’t inform on Dominic?’

  I shook my head. ‘Not as far as we know. I think someone used Dominic’s death as a way to get rid of Cleary, by spreading the rumour that he had touted on your boy. They made him a target.’

  ‘So what about my boy? Who actually touted to the Brits?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. I paused before continuing. ‘But we’ve been told that Dominic was the one who murdered the infant.’

  He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening.

  ‘My turn for questions,’ I said. ‘Did Niall or Alan Martin kill Declan Cleary, or arrange to have him killed?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Listen, we can’t prosecute anyone on the Declan Cleary killing, it’s so tied up in legislation.’

  He considered my comment. ‘An individual went to some of those in charge at the time and told them that Declan Cleary had admitted touting on Dominic. He was treated accordingly by volunteers, based on the information they were given. I was told this when I was inside.’

  ‘So Niall Martin and Seamus O’Hara didn’t pull the trigger?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘But they put him in the frame?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that,’ he repeated.

  ‘Well, whoever told you he touted on your son, they lied,’ I said, getting out of the car.

  ‘Devlin,’ he said. ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘A woman who worked with the boys. She was lifted earlier. She told us it all.’

  ‘What was she arrested for?’

  ‘Nothing, in the end,’ I said. ‘We’re letting her go again.’

  He nodded absently. ‘We’ll not be meeting again. I wanted to thank you for allowing me to get to my son’s grave.’

  I nodded. ‘Stay out of trouble,’ I said.

  Debbie was still up, watching the end of the late movie on TV. ‘Other women worry when their husbands come home smelling of perfume,’ she said when I came in. ‘It would be sweet relief for me.’

  I stripped off in the hallway, bundling my clothes together and shoving them straight into the wash, then went and showered.

  Then Debbie made tea and toast for us both while I called McCready. Clark had headed straight back to the house at Drumaghill upon her release and had not left since. I promised to get to him as soon as I could and let him get home.

  I called Patterson next, to find out what was happening with Martin. It transpired that he was being held in hospital for the night. He would be released in the morning, when he would be taken into custody to be questioned about the shooting of Seamus O’Hara.

  ‘The other stuff can wait. We’ll look at the O’Hara killing first,’ Patterson said.

  ‘Any luck with the gun?’

  ‘They couldn’t get it. The tide is against us. We did find bags of clothes in his car. Forensics are testing them for anything that would place him at O’Hara’s. Failing that, we’ll have to hope he confesses.’

  I stopped myself from asking him about the child.

  It was almost 2.30 a.m. by the time I got on the road. I pulled into the estate at Drumaghill just before 2.45 a.m. McCready’s car was parked up, its two left wheels on the kerb, with an unrestricted view of Clark’s house.

  As I approached the car I could see McCready’s head pressed against the side window. I tapped a few times on the glass and he started. He stared ahead of himself for a second, blinking, as if trying to work out where he was. Then, using his sleeve to wipe his chin and cheek, he rolled down the window.

  ‘Sorry sir,’ he said. ‘I must have dozed off.’

  ‘Anything happening?

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ he said. ‘Someone came to visit her. They were here about midnight. They were in for a while.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘I don’t know. A single man in a red car. I got the registration.’

  I hardly needed to look at the numbers to know that the visitor had been James Callan. I told McCready as much.

  ‘When did he leave? Did she leave with him?’

  McCready shrugged sheepishly. ‘I don’t know. It must have been when I was sleeping.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake,’ I snapped. ‘All you had to do was stay awake until I got here.’

  I could tell he was embarrassed, but my anger would not let me offer him any words of comfort.

  I sprinted across the road to the house. The lights downstairs were still turned on. A sliver of light from the hall spilled onto the front step where the door lay ajar.

  I stepped up and pushed the door open.

  ‘Hello?’ I called. ‘An Garda. Ms Clark?’

  There was no response. I was aware of McCready approaching behind me. I stepped into the hallway, half expecting to find Clark lying on the floor somewhere, like Seamus O’Hara. But the place was empty.

  We moved into the living room. The TV still played, but there was no one there. In the kitchen, the kettle was plugged in. A black purse lay on the worktop. But there was no sign of Sheila Clark.

  We searched the entire house, but it was clear that Clark had gone. Her clothes remained in the wardrobe, her purse and car keys lay downstairs. But she had simply disappeared.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  I showered again the following morning, certain I could still smell effluent on my skin. When I came down for breakfast, Debbie and Penny were in the middle of a heated row. Debs, it transpired, had borrowed Penny’s mobile phone to make a call, her own being out of credit. She had, unashamedly, checked through Penny’s text messages. There was a chain of messages between Penny and John Morrison, which had started two nights earlier, when he had sent her a video-clip. Debbie had played it, unprepared for what she saw. She replayed it for me when I arrived.

  The footage was brief, running for less than thirty seconds. The picture was grainy and out-of-focus, but there could be no doubt about what we were watching. Stephen Burke lay prostrate on the ground while he was beaten repeatedly with a baseball bat by an assailant whose face was not shown. They struck him several times in the crotch, then whoever was filming focused in on Burke’s face as he wept, and laughed.

  Debbie held the phone out, staring at me.

  ‘Dump that in the bin. Get it out of the house.’

  Penny, on the other hand, was furious that her mother had read her messages.

  ‘You were snooping,’ she shouted.

  ‘I’m your mother; I’m allowed to snoop
. To make sure you’re not involved in things you shouldn’t be.’

  ‘I didn’t ask him to send it to me,’ she said. ‘I can’t help it.’

  ‘He shouldn’t feel he can send it,’ I said.

  ‘That’s not my fault.’

  ‘Penny – you could get into real trouble for this. How many people has he sent this to?’

  ‘No one. Just me. He said he did it for me.’

  ‘How gallant,’ I said.

  ‘At least he did something about it,’ she spat back.

  ‘So did your father,’ Debbie said. ‘The right thing. He handed him over to the police.’

  ‘For all the difference that made.’

  Debbie gripped Penny by the shoulders. ‘Do you not realize what this means? If John Morrison did that for you, what will he expect in return?’

  Penny stared at her a moment. ‘Nothing he’s not already getting,’ she retorted.

  Debbie had slapped her across the face before any of us knew what was happening. Even Penny seemed shocked, both by the force of the strike, and the source of it.

  ‘That boy never gets near the house again, Ben,’ she said to me. ‘And you’re grounded,’ she added turning to Penny. By that stage, Penny had already made for the stairs, stomping up to her room.

  ‘Those people are going to bring us trouble,’ she said darkly. ‘I told you this would happen.’

  Then she too turned and walked out of the room before I had chance to respond.

  Shane was sitting at the table, his breakfast in front of him, his mouth open.

  ‘Not Miss Perfect anymore, then,’ he concluded, shaking his head, then spooning cornflakes into his mouth.

  I crossed the border before heading into work. I was not surprised to find Jimmy Callan’s house empty, with no sign of his car. I stood at the living-room window, peering in.

  ‘He’s gone again.’

  I looked across to where the neighbour I had met with Hendry stood, leaning over the hedge that separated the two properties.

  ‘Any idea when he’ll be back?’

  The man shook his head. ‘He asked me to cancel the milk for him. Indefinitely. I don’t think he’s planning on coming back.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ I said. ‘When did you see him?’

  ‘This morning. Just before eight.’

  ‘Was he on his own?’

  The man seemed puzzled by the question. ‘Of course. He’s always on his own.’

  ‘Clark must have been spooked by Callan and did a runner. Either that, or he’s done something to her,’ I explained to Patterson in his office an hour later.

  ‘You had a suspect followed without my permission,’ Patterson said incredulously. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’

  ‘I thought she might lead us to the child.’

  ‘I don’t give a shit about the child,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t care where it is or who has it, just so long as it’s not one more thing for me to have to deal with.’

  ‘I’m afraid that I do,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Regardless, I’m your boss, and you’ll follow orders. Is that clear?’

  I did not respond.

  ‘You know where the door is, any time you want to use it, Inspector.’

  He turned his attention to the papers on the desk in front of him, but as I stood to leave he looked up again.

  ‘By the way, Lennie Millar contacted me.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The feeling is that we’d not be successful in prosecuting anyone over the seven children. They were found as part of the dig.’

  ‘But they’re not Troubles killings.’

  ‘Regardless, it’s a loophole just waiting to be exploited. The DPP would only check with him if we tried to push for a prosecution, and he’ll have to tell them the same thing.’

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘Forensics have been working through the night on the clothes they recovered. They’ve got nothing.’

  ‘What about Martin?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Patterson said. ‘No gun, no evidence, Clark’s statement is useless if we don’t find her. Nothing connects him to O’Hara.’

  ‘We know Cleary called him the night they were both killed. And what about the other stuff, the kids and the drugs testing and that? The smuggling?’

  ‘Have you not been listening? There’s nowhere to go with them. No child, no gun, nothing.’

  ‘We need to at least push him on the O’Hara shooting.’

  ‘We can push, but I’d not be holding out much hope.’

  It was after ten by the time Martin was released from the hospital. His solicitor was waiting for him in Letterkenny station when he arrived. I’d met the lawyer before; Gerald Brown worked out of Strabane. My suspicion that he represented every undesirable in the area was tempered slightly by the knowledge that the town was relatively small and Brown was one of its most experienced solicitors.

  ‘Detective Inspector Devlin,’ he said, nodding solemnly.

  ‘Mr Brown, always good to see you.’

  He said no more until we were settled in the interview room. Martin had showered in the hospital; his hair was still a little damp and he swept it back from his face. His skin was flushed around his jowls, as if he had recently shaved.

  ‘I trust you’re feeling better, Mr Martin.’

  ‘My client would like it stated for the record that he has grave concerns about the way you have conducted yourself with regard to him over these past weeks.’

  ‘Grave? That’s an apt word.’

  ‘He feels you have attempted to intimidate him, you have visited his house out of jurisdiction, you have harassed his partner, and then last night you pursued him with a loaded weapon, while he himself was unarmed.’

  ‘I know you had a gun, Mr Martin,’ I said. ‘We will find it.’

  ‘It was dark, I understand. You may have been mistaken in what you think you saw. Furthermore, in future, if you wish to speak to my client, you will apply to have him brought across under the European Arrest Warrant. Though, of course, to do so, you will have to provide good reason to arrest Mr Martin, something which, as yet, you have failed to do.’

  ‘Sheila Clark made a statement to us last night that your father’s drug company tested skin cream on girls in St Canice’s home, as a result of which seven children were born with severe facial disfigurement. So severe, in fact, that six of the children died before birth. The seventh was found with evidence of violent death. Miss Clark tells us that you were aware of this and intimately involved in covering up the deaths.’

  ‘That’s nonsense.’

  ‘Yet you were involved in her illegal adoptions.’

  ‘No I wasn’t.’

  ‘She was living out of show houses on your estates.’

  ‘She was a sad old woman. She had no family and no home. I allowed her to live out of houses which I am unable to sell. It was an act of charity for an old friend. Had I known how she’d repay me I can assure you she’d have been out of those houses long before now.’

  ‘Can you explain to me again what you were doing in the property in Islandview?’

  ‘I was cleaning it out. Miss Clark left quite a mess.’

  ‘You were getting rid of evidence.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Your involvement in the smuggling of children, perhaps? What about the child in Drumoghill? Where is he now?’

  ‘There is no child. You should know; you already searched the place once.’

  ‘Illegally,’ Brown added.

  ‘A neighbour saw someone leave that house with a child. I believe it was your partner, Maria Votchek.’

  ‘Good luck proving any of that,’ Martin sneered, earning a reproachful glance from Brown.

  ‘Did O’Hara have second thoughts? When he discovered he was dying, did he regret what he had done, setting up Declan Cleary?’

  I could tell from Martin’s reaction that at least one part of my question was news to him.

&n
bsp; ‘You didn’t know he was dying, did you?’

  ‘I had no reason to know, having not spoken to the man since we happened to work together in St Canice’s.’

  ‘You are grasping at straws,’ Brown said. ‘I believe that we’re finished here.’

  ‘I know you did it,’ I said. ‘I know you covered up those seven kids’ deaths and used Dominic Callan’s killing as a way to target Declan Cleary. Did you have Dominic Callan killed too? Did he threaten you, too? We know he killed one of the children. Did you set him up with the army?’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Brown snapped, standing up. ‘You ought to be ashamed of your conduct in all of this. We will be lodging a complaint with your superintendent.’

  ‘He’ll expect nothing less, I’m sure,’ I said. ‘Before you leave, you’ll need to give a statement about the events of last night. While you’re here.’

  To be honest, I was being petty in detaining him any longer, for any statement would be of little material use.

  Martin was finally free to go in the middle of the afternoon, and Maria Votchek collected him from the station. Brown also left, satisfied that Martin was not being detained further. I contacted Jim Hendry and told him about how events had unfolded, in case the PSNI wanted to pick him up over the border.

  ‘We’ve nothing on him,’ he said. ‘We’ve searched the car and the house for forensics, but he’s clean.’

  ‘I believe he dumped the gun in the mudflats of the Foyle,’ I said.

  ‘Then so long as he keeps his nose clean, he’s in the clear for now,’ Hendry said. ‘Galling as that is for both of us.’

  I was packing up for the evening, when Joe McCready approached me. Whether by accident or design on his part, our paths had not crossed during the day.

  ‘I’m sorry about last night, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Forget about it,’ I said. ‘I should never have asked you to go out.’

  ‘I was knackered, sir,’ he explained. ‘I couldn’t stay awake.’

  ‘It’s fine. Forget about it.’

  He lingered a moment. ‘Any sign of Clark?’

  I shook my head. ‘Nor Callan. I went to his house this morning. He’s disappeared, too.’