by Arlene Hunt
‘It’s not like I could have done anything for her.’
‘You could have afforded her some dignity,’ Roxy said. ‘Shown her some respect.’
‘Respect?’ Falstaff reared back in his chair. ‘What about me, what about her respect for me? Huh? She could have helped me out. There’s a code, there’s supposed to be a code …’
‘Where are those photographs right now?’
‘At my place. I uploaded them onto my computer.’
‘Do I need a warrant to retrieve them, or are you going to play ball?’
Without warning, Falstaff shot forward and grabbed Roxy’s right hand.
‘If I give them to you, can we keep this to ourselves?’
‘What?’
‘Please,’ he said, pleading. There were tears in his eyes. ‘Please, you don’t understand. If this got out, it could ruin me. I’d never work in the industry again.’
‘What a loss to society that would be,’ Roxy said, extracting her hand from his and wiping it on her trouser leg under the table.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Noel Furlong lay prone on his belly, bleeding from a gash in his head that would probably need stitches. Standing beside him, bent double and breathing hard, was Officer Derek Gant.
‘Ow,’ Furlong said.
‘Shut up.’
Officer Gant held his right hand away from his body, trying not to get blood on his uniform from a wound on his thumb. With his left, he reached for his shoulder radio and pressed the button to speak.
‘Dispatch, this is Gant, badge number 3006, requesting backup. Please advise. I have a suspect, Noel Furlong, in custody; repeat, I have a suspect in custody.’
He listened to the reply, gave his location and put his radio away. More blood dribbled from the wound.
‘Goddammit,’ he said.
‘Can I sit up?’ Furlong asked. ‘I swear I won’t try anything.’
‘No.’
‘Come on, man, I’m breathing dog-shit fumes down here.’
‘Good, I hope you choke on them.’
Gant searched his pockets and found a bit of scrunched-up tissue. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. He wrapped it about his thumb as best he could and glared at the man on the ground.
‘If I let you up, you have to swear you won’t try to bite me again.’
‘I won’t, man, I swear.’
Gant helped Furlong to his feet.
‘That was completely uncalled for.’ He held out his bandaged thumb. ‘I’m going to have to get a tetanus jab now, and they bloody hurt.’
‘I’m sorry. Look, man, I didn’t know you were a guard. You scared the living shit out of me jumping out of nowhere like that. It was a natural reaction.’
Gant was not remotely swallowing this line of bullshit.
‘I identified myself.’
‘You have this all wrong anyway. I actually live in this house. I wasn’t trying to break in.’
‘You broke that window with that brick.’ Gant pointed to the damning evidence.
‘Only because I lost my keys. It’s my window.’
‘Registry says the house belongs to a Caroline Furlong; you don’t look like a Caroline to me.’
‘She’s my sister.’
‘So it’s her house.’
Furlong sagged. He’d only known Gant ten minutes, but it was clear the man was part mule.
He leaned against the garden wall and closed his eyes. He was tired and hungry, and his feet were killing him. Storm’s arsehole boyfriend had turned up at the flat while Storm was helping him shave his head; the next thing he knew, all hell had broken loose and he’d found himself tossed out onto the street with half-shaved head, no keys and no shoes.
Stupid, he had been so stupid. He’d known the Garda would have someone watching the house, but he hadn’t expected them to be watching the back lane as well.
Caroline was going to be livid about the window.
‘You got any cigarettes?’ he asked Gant.
‘I don’t smoke.’
‘Of course you don’t.’
They heard the sound of a powerful engine, and seconds later a black BMW pulled into the lane. Furlong squinted at it. It didn’t look like a Garda vehicle; come to think of it, the two behemoths that got out and began walking in their direction didn’t look like Gardai either.
‘You recognise them?’
‘No,’ Gant said.
‘Shit.’
‘What?’
‘Listen to me, whatever you do, do not let those men take me.’
‘What are you talking about?’
The behemoths stopped a few feet away. The one on the right sported a crew cut and a squashed nose; the one on the left was wall-eyed. Neither of them was ever likely to win any beauty contests.
‘You got him then?’ Crew Cut said. ‘Nice work, Officer.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Quinn put you here, did he?’
‘No, sir, Sergeant Malloy.’
‘What a coincidence. We were talking to Sergeant Malloy a few minutes ago.’ He looked at his partner. ‘He said we could take it from here.’
Gant stiffened.
‘That’s right,’ Wall Eye said. ‘We’ll take it from here, lad.’
Gant looked from one man to the other. Something about them made his skin crawl and his testicles want to shrivel back inside his body for safe keeping.
‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’ve already called for backup.’
‘And here we are.’
‘I only sent the call a few minutes ago.’
‘We were in the vicinity.’ Crew Cut leaned his massive head a little closer. ‘What’s your name, lad?’
‘Gant, sir.’
‘On the job long?’
‘Six months.’
‘Thought so. Still wet behind the ears, no shame in that; we all started somewhere. So let me help you out, Gant. We work for your boss, which makes us teammates, if you will, and the best teams know how to play together, know when to attack and when to defend. You seem like a good lad, a good team man, so you’ll understand me when I tell you it’s time to pass this bleedin’ ball,’ he glared at Furlong, ‘to a different player.’
To his eternal credit, Gant, who was less than half the size of either man, stood his ground.
‘My orders are to bring Mr Furlong into the South Circular station.’
‘Ask them if they have identification,’ Furlong said.
‘Shut up,’ Gant snapped, but to the men he said, ‘Let me see some identification.’
‘No need for that,’ Crew Cut said. ‘My name is Lennox, and this is my associate, Fleming.’
‘You could be making those names up. I need to see some actual ID.’
The behemoths remained unmoved by this request.
‘Cut the shit,’ Fleming said, looking at Gant like he’d enjoy spreading him on toast and eating him. ‘We’re taking him. If you’re not happy about that, you can go and—’
‘File an official complaint,’ Lennox said.
‘I made the arrest,’ Gant said, standing firm even though his knees were practically knocking together. ‘This man is my prisoner. I am responsible for his well-being.’
He fumbled his radio from the shoulder holder, but before he could get to use it, Fleming stepped forward and slapped it out of his hand.
‘Hey!’
Furlong whimpered. It had occurred to him that these men were not the type of men who took no for an answer. Also, he didn’t like the way Lennox was scanning the windows of neighbouring buildings, making sure they weren’t being watched.
‘Gant,’ he said, feeling more than a little afraid. ‘Maybe we should move towards the street.’
‘It’s all right, kid.’ Lennox was still playing nice. He reached a huge red hand towards Furlong, who shrank back against the wall. ‘We’ll put in a good word for you, Gant, let our boss know you played ball.’
‘If you like,’ Fleming said, ‘we can make it l
ook like he got the jump on you.’
Gant licked his lips.
‘Come on, son, hand him over.’
Despite the odds, Gant found himself reaching for his Taser. It was, he would later tell his friends over a number of hastily organised drinks, like he was having an out-of-body experience. He could see what he was doing, even though he had no recollection of making the decision.
‘I think,’ he said, pointing the Taser directly at Lennox’s chest, ‘you should get in your car and drive away. I’ll wait here with my prisoner for the real backup to arrive.’
Furlong wanted to tell him he thought that was a splendid idea, but his mouth was too dry with terror to speak.
‘You’re making a big mistake here, lad,’ Lennox said, sounding perfectly calm. So calm that neither Gant nor Furlong noticed how he’d shifted his weight onto his heels.
They did notice how fast he was when he snatched the Taser out of Gant’s hand and clubbed him across the head with it. Almost as quickly, Fleming caught the young man as he fell and lowered him quite gently to the ground.
‘Out like a light,’ he said, impressed. ‘You know, that’s a hell of a technique you have.’
‘All in the wrist,’ Lennox said, returning Gant’s weapon to his belt. He grabbed the officer by the back of his shirt, dragged him to the wall and leaned him against it in a relatively upright position. Fleming caught Furlong by the arm.
‘Right, mate, easy way or hard way?’
‘Help!’ Furlong tried to wriggle free. ‘Somebody help—’
His knees sagged and he slumped to the ground.
‘All in the wrist,’ Lennox repeated, waggling his sap.
‘Nice.’ Fleming tossed Furlong over his shoulder and carried him to the boot of the car as if he weighed nothing at all.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Quinn and Miranda called at Estelle Roberts’ home, but there was no one home. A neighbour told them the house was rented to a number of ‘nice’ girls – nurses, he thought. One of them, Janice, worked at the Mater Hospital in Phibsboro.
‘Janice, nurse, Mater Hospital,’ Quinn was saying as he and Miranda entered Homicide. ‘Get someone over there now. I want to know everything we can find about Estelle Roberts. When you’re done, run a background check on Hugh Bannon and locate his next of kin. We need to be quick: the media already have people at the hospital trying to talk to Mr Bailey.’
‘What about—’
‘Sir!’
Quinn looked round. Sergeant Roxy Malloy and Sergeant Eoin Fletcher were walking towards him at speed.
‘What is it?’
‘We heard the news that the Sweetheart … er, the killer has struck again.’
‘Looks that way.’
‘Did you get my message?’ Roxy asked.
‘What message?’
‘We arrested Jerome Falstaff and he told us he—’
‘You did what?’
‘We arrested Jerome Falstaff. He lied to us about yesterday. He was inside Andrea Colgan’s apartment; he took photographs of her, sir.’
‘What?’
‘Photographs, he was planning to sell them to a media site.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Miranda said.
‘He’s got form for battery and assault,’ Fletcher offered with a shrug. ‘You should see his record.’
‘I don’t give a shit if he’s Jack the Ripper,’ Quinn snapped. ‘I sent you to get statements from the residents, not go off on some maverick spree. Bloody hell, Fletcher, her I understand, but I expected better from you.’
‘I thought you said—’
‘It’s wasn’t Fletcher’s fault,’ Roxy said, lifting her chin. ‘I told him I had spoken to you.’
Quinn narrowed his eyes. ‘You told him I wanted Falstaff brought in for questioning?’
‘No, I told him I’d spoken to you … and I maybe gave Sergeant Fletcher the impression that that was what you wanted.’
‘Lies of omission, Malloy; it didn’t work for the bloody Catholic Church and it won’t work for you,’ Quinn said. ‘Fletcher, get back to that building right now and canvass the rest of the residents.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And while you’re at it, locate those damned photographs, they’re evidence. After that, get your arse back here pronto; we’re going to need all hands to the pump on this latest killing.’
Fletcher gave Roxy a look and left.
‘What about me?’ Roxy asked. ‘What do you need me to do?’
‘You’re going to stay at a desk, Malloy, where I can keep an eye on you.’
‘A desk?’
‘Miranda, send her the list of Andrea Colgan’s colleagues.’ Quinn narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re going to go through every last one of those names and see if there is any connection, no matter how random, to anyone connected to the Dell/Kilbride case. I don’t care if they shared a manicurist; if it’s there, I want to know.’
‘But that could take days.’
‘Indeed it could,’ he said coldly. ‘So you’d better get right on it.’
Roxy slunk away and took a desk in the furthest corner of the room.
‘Taking photographs of a dead woman.’ Quinn looked at Miranda and shook his head. ‘People never cease to disgust me. Hyenas.’
‘You’re leaving her on Colgan?’
Quinn sighed. ‘You saw what I saw today, Miranda. There wasn’t a mark on Estelle Roberts’ body. It’s like he wanted her to be beautiful.’ He shook his head, face grim. ‘You might have been right.’
‘You’re having doubts that it’s the same killer.’
‘Doubts, yes, but I’m not willing to cut Colgan loose just yet.’ He glanced at Roxy. ‘Besides, she wanted to work on the case so let her have it; keep her bloody busy at least and out from under my feet.’
Miranda’s phone rang. She answered, listened, said, ‘Thank you,’ and hung up.
‘We have a situation.’
Quinn groaned. ‘Now what?’
‘Remember yesterday Malloy said she had an officer watching Caroline Furlong’s home—’
Roxy gave up all pretence of working and spun around in her chair.
‘That’s right, Derek Gant.’
‘He went back there today, called Dispatch twenty-five minutes ago to say he’d arrested Noel Furlong attempting to break into the back of Caroline Furlong’s house.’
‘He has him?’
‘Had him. When the backup unit got there for collection, they found Gant sparked out with a pretty sweet bump on his head, and Furlong gone.’
‘Is he badly hurt?’ Quinn asked.
‘I don’t know. Apparently he’s downstairs. He says he wants to talk to Malloy.’
Roxy got to her feet, looked at Quinn. ‘Sir …’
‘Go on. Miranda, you go with her. But listen to me, Malloy, this changes nothing. I still want a comprehensive run-through of the names on the lists, you hear me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The two women hurried downstairs to the infirmary on the second floor.
Gant was sitting on an examination table wearing his uniform trousers and a T-shirt, with the rest of his uniform draped across a chair. He was holding an ice pack to the back of his head and his thumb was bleeding. Doc Keaton was in the middle of adjusting a blood pressure cuff on his left arm.
Gant tried to get off the table when he saw them, but Keaton pushed him straight back where he was.
‘Sit bloody still, lad. If you won’t let me X-ray that bonce of yours, the very least you can do is let me check the rest of your vitals.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I heard what happened,’ Roxy said. ‘Are you okay?’ She looked him over, trying to see if he was injured anywhere other than his head.
He smiled sheepishly. ‘I’m grand.’
Miranda introduced herself. ‘Can you tell me exactly what happened, Officer Gant? Did Noel Furlong do this?’
Gant shook his head and began talking. When he was done, Roxy was see
thing and Miranda looked troubled.
‘Was Lennox a big hulking thing with a squashed nose?’
‘That’s him.’
‘You know him?’ Roxy demanded.
‘Not personally, thank God.’ Miranda grimaced. ‘Only by reputation. He was one of ours once.’
‘He was Gardai?’
‘Special Branch; part of a team that worked covert operations.’
‘So what happened?’
Miranda shrugged. ‘There were rumours of corruption. Next thing we knew he’d taken early retirement. He works in private security now, as far as I know.’
‘He was corrupt?’
‘Don’t look so shocked, Malloy, there’s good and bad apples in every barrel.’
‘And the other guy?’
‘Fleming, same deal: a brace of bastards.’
Miranda made a call. While she talked, she walked in a circle, one hand in the small of her back.
‘Quinn? Yeah, he’s okay, brave lad.’ She winked at Gant, who blushed. ‘We’ve got a problem, though. It was Lennox and Fleming. They’ve taken Furlong.’ She listened for a minute. ‘Copy that.’
She hung up.
‘You’ll be okay, Gant,’ she said. ‘Old Sawbones here will have you patched up and as good as new in no time, won’t you, Doc?’
Keaton waved a dismissive hand and reached for his stethoscope.
Miranda patted Gant on the shoulder.
‘Perhaps you’ll hold off on making an official report, though.’
‘Ma’am?’
Roxy could not believe what she was hearing. ‘Sergeant Lynn, what the hell are you asking?’
‘Officer Gant, when you’re done here, nip upstairs and have a chat with Inspector Quinn, would you? He’d like to see you. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Right,’ Keaton said, breathing on the stethoscope to warm it. ‘Now, I want you to take a deep breath when I count to three …’
Miranda jerked her head towards the door and Roxy followed her out.
‘What the hell was that? We need his incident report. We have to find those men, arrest them for assault and bring Furlong in for questioning.’
Miranda shook her head. ‘No we don’t. Besides, we know where Furlong is.’
