Sins of the Fathers

by A. J. McCarthy

  ‘Don’t touch anything. I’m calling the police.’

  He had his cell phone in hand, and he asked to speak to Inspector O’Reilly. He filled the policeman in on what had happened and hung up.

  ‘He’ll be over soon with a crew.’

  The man was true to his word, appearing at the door in less than ten minutes. He stood with his hands on his hips and looked around the room.

  ‘This must’ve put the heart crossways in ya, I suppose. Someone would rather ya head on back to where ya come from.’ He turned to face Simm. ‘I told ya I didn’t want to see ya getting inta trouble. Ya didn’t listen now, did ya?’

  ‘We came here looking for someone, and we intend to find him.’

  ‘By the looks of things, I don’t think he wants to be found. Anyway, I’ll have me men take a look at this. The doors aren’t banjaxed, so they had a key. We’ll have to talk to the manager and the rest of the staff.’

  ‘I suspect you’ll find a master key has been stolen.’

  ‘Most likely, but I’ll let ya know. Meanwhile, ya might want to find another place to lay yer heads, and either follow the advice written on the mirror, or be extra cautious with yerselves.’

  ‘Ms. Butler will be travelling back to Canada, but I’ll be staying.’

  ‘What? I’m not going anywhere,’ Charlie protested.

  ‘Can’t you see that it’s become dangerous now? You have to go home,’ Simm insisted.

  ‘No way, I’m in for the long haul.’

  She heard a short laugh coming from Inspector O’Reilly, and glanced over to see him looking at Simm with a glint in his eye.

  ‘Sounds like ya got a powder keg here. Ya might be in for a clip around the ear if yer not careful.’

  Chapter 46:

  ‘Are we changing hotels?’

  The cops had left at last. The rooms were dusted for fingerprints, the staff was questioned, and they were alone in the room. Simm threw his belongings into his bag.

  ‘There isn’t much point tonight. They’ve left their message. They won’t be back this soon. Tomorrow, we’ll move on, hopefully without them finding us. I spoke to the manager about giving us another room for tonight.’

  He zipped his bag closed and hitched it onto his shoulder.

  ‘C’mon, we’ll get your stuff together,’ he added.

  Charlie went through the same process in her room, and they took the elevator to another room on another floor.

  ‘It’s only one room.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Simm agreed. ‘And that’s the way it’ll be. We can’t be separated. It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘There’s just one bed.’

  ‘You have a talent for pointing out the obvious. This was all they had available. We’ll make do. Besides, it’s almost two in the morning. We don’t have that many hours to worry about.’

  Simm saw Charlie was uncertain.

  ‘You don’t have to worry. It’s been months since I’ve attacked a woman. I think I’m over it.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘Seriously, it’s a big bed. I swear I’ll be extra careful to stay on my side.’

  ‘Okay. Just for tonight.’

  Charlie looked in the closet and pulled out two extra pillows, which she then placed under the blankets in the middle of the bed, effectively creating a mini-wall. Simm stood with his hands on his hips, wondering if she would set up traps to catch him if he dared cross over.

  When the bed was protected and Charlie was in her pyjamas, they both settled under the covers.

  ‘Good night,’ Simm said, as he shut off the light and rolled onto his side, his back to Charlie.

  She responded in kind to his good night wish, but a few minutes later, the light on her side of the bed came on, and Simm felt her adjusting her position.

  ‘You’ve got to tell me. I think I’ve been very patient with you, but it can’t go on any longer.’

  Simm rolled over and studied her with a terrible feeling in his gut. She was on her side, facing him, her hand propping up her head.

  ‘God, what is it now?’

  ‘Simm.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Simm,’ Charlie repeated. ‘I have to know what your real first name is. It’s impossible for someone to name their child Simm Simmons.’

  ‘Simm is a short form of my last name. I thought that was obvious.’

  ‘It is, but the reason for not using your real name isn’t. What is it?’

  ‘I’m not telling you.’

  ‘Come on. It can’t be that bad. If I need to, I’ll hire another private investigator to find out for me.’

  Simm knew she would. There was no way to get past it.

  ‘Winston.’

  ‘Your name is Winston? Winston Simmons?’

  Her head went back and a full belly laugh came out of her mouth. She eventually doubled over in laughter. Simm saw she wanted to say something, but it wouldn’t come out lucidly. She controlled herself long enough to spurt out, ‘It’s a good thing you don’t have a lisp. Winthun Thimmonths. Oh God, that’s funny. Why would your parents call you Winston?’

  ‘It’s a family name,’ he said defensively.

  ‘You mean you’re Winston Simmons, the second?’

  ‘Third.’

  This produced more gales of laughter.

  ‘Winston Simmons, the Third. That’s pretty hoity-toity for a private investigator.’

  Simm didn’t comment, but he saw her expression change when realization struck.

  ‘Oh, I get it. You’re the rebel, the black sheep of the family.’

  ‘You’re a smart one. You’ve got it all figured out.’

  ‘Let me guess. Your father wanted you to run the family business, which is…lumber…or a distillery…and you didn’t want to have any part of it, so you ran off and became a cop.’

  ‘Printing and real estate.’

  ‘Printing and real estate, that was my next guess. But, I’m right on all the rest, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. And I don’t get along with my father, and that’s why my siblings have been after me to reconcile with him.’

  ‘He didn’t want you to be a cop.’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Did you give up the police force and become a private investigator to try and please him?’

  Simm laughed abruptly and bitterly.

  ‘Not at all. There was no pleasing him. Not unless I went into the family business and was at his beck and call twenty-four hours a day.’

  ‘Then why did you make the change?’

  Simm sighed. ‘I guess I inherited a bit of his entrepreneurship. I wanted to be my own boss. It’s a simple as that.’

  ‘And now he’s sick?’

  Simm thought she was way too good at this game.

  ‘Apparently, but it doesn’t make any difference to me.’

  ‘But what if he dies, and you never get to see him again?’

  Simm shook his head and shrugged. He didn’t care.

  ‘Simm, my parents are both dead. I was angry as hell with my father for leaving me and my mother. I swore I never wanted to see him again, but when he became sick, I went to see him and we mended our bridges the best we could. And, I don’t regret it. I would’ve regretted it forever if he’d died before I could see him again.’

  ‘Those are different circumstances. I have no intention of seeing my father again.’

  ‘You’re making a mistake.’
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  ‘It’s my mistake to make,’ he said gruffly.

  Chapter 47:

  Charlie’s eyes were at half-mast when she stumbled into the shower the following morning. She wasn’t much of a morning person, which was a good thing, considering the business she ran. Add to that the jet lag and she wasn’t disposed to being good-humored. Simm didn’t seem to care about her humor and insisted they continue their investigation. Of course, his arguments made perfect sense. She was more than ready to put this whole experience behind her. But, why did it have to start so damn early?

  ‘Where did you say we were going?’ she asked Simm, when she came out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go.

  ‘Drink this. Maybe it’ll help your memory a little.’

  Charlie thankfully took the cup of coffee from him. It was almost enough to make her forgive him for waking her up.

  ‘I’m not at my best this early in the morning. Oh, this is nice and strong. Where’d you get it?’

  ‘Room service, of course. I asked them to add a little extra caffeine for you. There’s some pastry things too. I think they called them scones.’

  Charlie didn’t care what they were called. She was hungry, and they disappeared in seconds.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ she said.

  ‘We’re going to see Mr. O’Brien, the retired cop. It may be a dead end, but at this point, it’s the only end we have.’

  The man wasn’t hard to find. He lived in a small apartment near the center of Dublin, and he didn’t seem surprised to have two unannounced visitors knocking on his door. He stood at the threshold for a moment, looking them over, scratching his abundant stomach through his threadbare t-shirt. His sparse grey hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in a while.

  ‘Mr. O’Brien, we were given your name by Harry O’Shea. He thought you could help us,’ Simm said.

  ‘Is that right? Well then, you’d better come in and sit yourselves down. Don’t mind the mess. My housekeeper has been out for a while. Actually, she’s been out for about three years.’

  The old man laughed at his own joke. He shoved a pile of newspapers off the couch onto the floor to make room for them to sit, but made no effort to pick up or excuse the dirty plates and mugs on the coffee table.

  ‘My name is Simm and this is Charlie Butler. If you haven’t already guessed, we’re from Canada, Montreal specifically.’

  ‘I could tell you were foreigners, I could. I spent many of me years as a peeler. I can sniff out a foreigner a mile away,’ he said, tweaking his nose and chuckling.

  ‘I’m sure you can. We’re looking for someone, and Harry thought you may have had contact with him during the course of your career.’

  ‘And who might that be?’

  ‘Aidan Connelly.’

  His eyebrows rose and the corners of his mouth turned downward.

  ‘Now why would you be looking for that scum bastard?’

  Charlie sat back and let Simm tell the story. He didn’t leave much out. He described the letters Charlie had received, the details of the initial investigation that had led them to Ireland, and everything that had happened so far during their visit to the Emerald Isle. The only snippet he withheld was the fact that they were helped by an Irish Mafia boss.

  The retired cop didn’t interrupt. His facial expression never wavered, his years of service having perfected his poker face. When Simm finished telling the tale, the man sighed deeply.

  ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. The chickens were sure to come home to roost at some point.’

  He turned his attention from Simm and looked sharply at Charlie.

  ‘So, Jim O’Reilly, was it?’

  ‘You knew Jim?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh yes, I knew Jim. He was a real gentleman, despite his shady business. I always wondered how he tolerated such a desperate arse wipe as Connelly. I still do.’

  ‘What kind of business did they do together?’ Simm asked.

  ‘Now that’s a good question, it is. Connelly had his dirty little fingers in a few pies. Some of them were pies of his own making, and some of them were cooked up by our friends in organized crime. Ah yes, we have the Mafia over here too. It’s not Montreal that invented it, you know.’

  Evidently, Mr. O’Brien could figure out most of the details on his own.

  ‘Can you tell us more about these pies? Did you ever arrest Connelly for anything specific?’ Simm said.

  ‘Oh, Connelly was in and out of the clink more times than I can remember, and always for something new. It coulda been thievin’, or traffickin’, or any number of things. By Jaysus, he’d even steal the blessing from the holy water, if he had half a chance. But he had a specialty, hooverin’ it was.’

  ‘Hoovering?’ Charlie had heard of the British term for vacuuming, but couldn’t understand how anyone could be arrested for it.

  ‘Abortion. It’s illegal here in Ireland, unless the mother’s life is in danger. That’s the only circumstance that’s allowed.’

  Charlie was too surprised to speak.

  ‘Is he a doctor?’ Simm asked.

  ‘He liked to call himself a doctor. He was at one point, but he lost his license to practice medicine early on. That didn’t stop him from using the title. Many young women banked on him having the smarts to do a good job, and many of them didn’t survive to tell the tale.’

  Charlie was horrified. In her mind’s eye, she pictured a dirty back room in an apartment, and a man wearing a blood-stained lab coat as a woman lay dead on the table in front of him. She felt her stomach turn, and she prayed she would keep down the morning’s scone.

  ‘Why wasn’t he put in prison for life?’ she managed to choke out.

  ‘We couldn’t make anything stick. He had powerful connections, on both sides of the law. He could always pull in a favor.’

  ‘A favor? What kind of favors?’ she asked.

  ‘We don’t know. That was the big secret, and we could never get a handle on it, but it certainly served him well.’

  ‘How was Jim involved with him? I can’t imagine Jim condoning illegal abortions,’ Charlie insisted.

  ‘I got to know Jim a little. We had him in a few times for questioning, trying to discover a way to get at Aidan. They were acquaintances for some reason. I don’t think I’d go so far as to say they were friends, but they had business dealings.’

  He made quotation signs with his fingers when he said the word ‘business’.

  ‘But you never found out what kind of business they had?’ Simm said.

  ‘No, O’Reilly claimed they were just friends, distant relatives even. They were as different as a horse and a crow. I couldn’t see it.’

  ‘Neither can I,’ Charlie agreed.

  ‘But, I’m not a plonker. I checked out your man Mr. O’Reilly. I know he was connected back beyond. There was somethin’ between him and Connelly. I never found out what it was, and it’s bothered me ever since.’

  ‘Do you know where Connelly is now?’ Simm asked.

  ‘Don’t you worry. I’ve been keeping me eye on the gippo. He’s livin’ with a stick up his arse, all laudy daw, beyont in Arkwik, no doubt supported by some of those connections of his.’

  ‘Arkwik? Where’s that?’ Simm took his mobile phone out of his shirt pocket.

  ‘Just round the corner, it is. You’ll be there like shite off a shovel if you take the highway.’

  Chapter 48:

  ‘I’m not sure I want to be anywhere like shit off a shovel,’ Charlie commented when they were in the car.

  ‘I think he meant quickly.’
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  ‘I hope so. Interesting old lad, though, isn’t he?’

  Simm chuckled.

  ‘Yeah, he certainly is,’ he agreed.

  ‘What do you think about all this abortion business with Connelly?’

  She had her own ideas about the information given to them by Mr. O’Brien, but she wanted to hear Simm’s take on it.

  ‘I think it’s connected,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Think about the letters. They were written from the perspective of someone who would have liked to live in Montreal, or worked in a bar, or whatever. Like they never would have the chance to do something like that. Why? Because they never had an opportunity to live. They were aborted.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking.’

  ‘And the organs you got? Body parts? Embryos? It could all have significance.’

  ‘That’s a good point. I hadn’t thought of that one. But, I have one big question.’

  ‘Let me guess. What does it all have to do with you?’

  ‘Exactly. I never was involved with abortion. I don’t even know anyone who’s had an abortion. My parents were ordinary people. As far as I know, they didn’t believe in abortions. I don’t get it.’

  ‘I think the key is Jim O’Reilly.’

  ‘I know for a fact Jim was against abortion. We had the discussion once, and he said he would never condone it unless the mother’s life was in danger, the same as the law in Ireland handles it.’

  ‘I understand. But I still think he’s the key. He’s the connection between you and Aidan Connelly, the common thread.’

  ‘But why should there be a thread between us? Why am I connected in any way with Connelly?

  ‘I don’t know, but Sullivan knew. That’s why he threw us in this direction.’

  ‘Why didn’t he just tell us what it was about, instead of sending us on this wild goose chase?’

  ‘Again, I don’t know, but I suspect we’ll find out soon enough, when we get to Arkwik.’