‘The third or maybe fourth time he came in, he didn’t go upstairs at all. Instead, he hung around the notice board, taking his time reading the notices, writing stuff down. I noticed he’d look up when the lift door opened and watch as people came out. Drugs was my first thought, and I thought he’d approach some of what I considered the more likely candidates but,’ he shook his head for emphasis, ‘he didn’t. It wasn’t until a young woman came out, eyes red from crying that he moved. I don’t know what he said or what she said but seconds later he shook his head and walked off leaving her alone.
‘Next time he came in was a few days later. Again, he didn’t go upstairs, just hung around the notice board writing stuff down. Then just when I thought he was going to head off the lift opened and a beautiful black woman came out. She was stunning.’ He waved his hand in front of his face like a fan. ‘I’m talking smoking hot here. He followed her, stopped her outside and spoke to her for a long time. I watched her open her bag, take out something and hand it to him and then she put her hand on his arm and they went off together.’
West frowned. ‘Any idea who she was?’
The guard shook his head.
‘Did she come from the embassy floor?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ he said, ‘I didn’t see her come in. I’m the only guard here, they’re supposed to relieve me from the other floors if I need to take a leak but they never do so I have to leave the place unattended for a few minutes now and then. They don’t complain because each floor has its own security guard anyway. Since I didn’t see her coming in, I’ve no way of telling where she went, and I don’t watch the lift when it’s coming down. She could have been visiting any of the floors.’
‘Ok,’ West said, ‘thank you. You’ve been a great help.’ He started to walk away, Andrews at his side. They’d gone a few steps when something struck him and he stopped. He smiled at Andrews. ‘The lift has CCTV,’ he said.
They both took a deep breath. This was it; they were going to find her. And when they found her, they’d find out the name of the child in the suitcase. Finding out who killed Ollie Fearon would be an added bonus.
23
It took two days to get permission to view the CCTV cameras from the lift; the building’s management company citing privacy despite West’s assuring them that they’d no interest in anyone apart from one particular woman. Finally, a court order persuaded them to co-operate.
The security man, Bob Singer, was easily persuaded to come out to Foxrock when he was promised he’d be paid for his time. ‘A consultant’s fee, I assume,’ he said, and mentioned a sum that caused their eyes to widen in disbelief. He wouldn’t budge, guessing they’d never find one particular woman among all the females that visited the building in the course of several days. He was right, and despite Andrews’ protestations, it was agreed to pay him what he asked.
Singer wasn’t sure of the day or date but using Gallagher’s meeting with Fearon as a yardstick they decided a couple of weeks either side would give enough room for error.
They sat in the Big One and watched the discs one after the other. Copious amounts of coffee were consumed and several packets of biscuits munched before they heard what they’d been waiting for.
‘That’s her,’ Singer said, spraying biscuit crumbs over the table in his excitement.
West and Andrews leaned in and watched the woman as she stood impassively in the lift until the lift opened on the second floor.
‘The South African Embassy,’ West muttered.
She stepped out and vanished from sight. They checked the time on the screen and watched until she appeared again only six minutes later, her face now hard and grim in contrast to the expectant look of earlier.
‘It looks like she was quickly dismissed,’ West said. He pressed the repeat button and watched again as she arrived and as she left. The guard was right. She was stunningly beautiful. ‘Get some hardcopies,’ he said, ‘let’s see if we can find out who she is.’
Back in his office, hard copy in hand, he admired the woman’s bone structure. She really was lovely. Did that mean she would be easier to identify? He hoped so. He folded it in four and stuck it in his jacket pocket.
He sat thinking, chewing his lower lip.
Andrews came in moments later. ‘I’ve sent an email to all the embassies as before, to the refuge centre, to an immigrant woman’s support group and a few other places I thought might be relevant.
‘You’re assuming she’s not Irish then?’ West said with a raised brow. He laughed when he saw him lost for words. A rare occurrence for Peter Andrews.
‘Relax, I’m kidding you, it’s a fair assumption based on what we know, but we could be wrong and need to look at the alternative. Perhaps she’s an Irish woman looking for assistance from the embassy, maybe to trace a young relative? They say they can’t help, she comes out, pours her sad story out to Fearon who’s been waiting for just such an occurrence and there you have it.’
Andrews pulled up a chair and sat. He thought for a moment. ‘Lots of refugees have made it out of their countries and gained refugee status wherever they land. But often they’ve left loved ones behind. That’s where people like Fearon excel. They find these vulnerable people and then they exploit them because they have no choice. Oh, and by the way, I had replies from all the embassies. Fearon was recognised by two of them. All he had to do was wait; someone would eventually arrive, desperate and willing to pay whatever he asked.’
‘Whoever this woman is,’ West said, ‘we’ll find her. Her face is not the kind you forget in a hurry.’
While Andrews busied himself sending the woman’s photograph to every conceivable group, West made a few phone calls. If the woman was trying to get a child into the country she might have tried the legal route first. He had a contact in the family court, a solicitor he’d been friendly with in a different life, and he didn’t mind asking for a favour.
‘I’ll send you her photo, Dominic,’ he said after several minutes on the phone, the first five of which were spent in catching up.
‘Great, I’ll have a look and send it to a few people I know who may be able to help. We must meet for a drink sometime, Mike,’ he said.’
‘I’d like that, Dom,’ West said, knowing they never would. The other man knew the same, the social intercourse of life. It had been much more prevalent in the law circle he’d worked in; he breathed a sigh of relief, not for the first time, at having left it all behind him. But he knew Dominic would do as he asked. It was a long shot but one worth trying.
Morrison would be happy with some movement in both cases. He just hoped the information led to a conclusion. But at least they were moving.
He gave a thought to Kelly’s case, smiling as he realised it had become that in his head. The Blundell Incident, Kelly’s Case, why did he feel the need to label things?
He tapped a finger on the desk. He’d expected something more by now. The arrival of the post in the morning made them both stop whatever they were doing and stare toward the hallway with a sense of trepidation. He’d pick it up and sort through it, breathing a sigh of relief when it turned out to be the usual glut of circulars and bills.
It was taking its toll. Kelly’s face had become drawn, her mood irritable. She’d stopped writing and, instead, sat around watching daytime television and, in the evening, she was reluctant to talk. Still mulling over her, he was startled when his phone rang, picking it up with a more than usually curt, ‘West.’
‘Mike, hi,’ a female voice said. ‘You sound busy, sorry for interrupting you but I’m in the area and wondered if you were free for coffee.’
‘Fiona,’ he said, recognising her voice immediately, ‘sorry, I was miles away.’ He checked the time. An hour out of the station would be just the thing to clear his head and give him room to think. ‘Yes, coffee is just what I need right now. Are you in Foxrock?’
‘I’m in Cornelscourt,’ she said, ‘I’d just pulled into the shopping centre when I realised it was not
too far to Foxrock and thought of you. Join me here; I’ll buy you a coffee.’
‘Perfect, see you in about fifteen minutes.’
He made a vague reference to meeting someone when he passed Andrews in the office and walked on before questions were asked. He wouldn’t believe there was nothing in it apart from a pleasant friendship so what was the point explaining?
He saw her immediately when he pushed through the doors of the cafe. She was sitting, one crossed leg gently swinging, as she watched the world go by. Her face was turned in the other direction so didn’t see him as he approached. He took the opportunity given and let his eyes drift over her. A gauzy black shirt was matched with a fitted black skirt. A chilly outfit for a very cold day. He guessed the dark cream leather jacket that had been thrown casually onto a vacant chair was also hers.
‘Hello,’ he said, bringing her eyes lazily back to him.
‘Hello yourself,’ she said and nodded toward the coffee on the other side of the small table. ‘It should be ok, I’ve only been sitting a couple of minutes and I did ask for extra hot.’
Smiling, he sat and sipped it. ‘Perfect,’ he said, sitting back with a sigh, ‘this was a good idea.’
‘You look like you could do with a break,’ she said, her eyes narrowing as she took in the slight pallor, the telltale redness of the eyes, the deeper lines around his eyes and mouth. ‘Personal or work?’ she said, her voice soft. ‘Remember, I told you I was a good listener.’
Personal or work? It was a good question. But the line between both was constantly being blurred. Time and time again, he and Kelly were put into situations where she was occupying the role of victim and he the policeman. After Clare Island, it was their turn to have a long period of calm, yet here they were again, thrown back into those well-dug holes.
‘No, that’s ok,’ he said, picking up his coffee again. ‘To be honest, it’s just nice to be away from all the mayhem for a while and pretend I’m just a guy having coffee with an attractive woman.’
She smiled. ‘Happy to oblige,’ she said and proceeded to chat about her upcoming holiday to Miami, telling him about the hotel, the friends she was going to meet there. She drifted from there to places she’d been in the past, her favourite cities, favourite restaurants. As she chatted, she noticed the lines on his face fading, his lips softening, and the twinkle returning to his eyes.
‘I’ve enjoyed this,’ he said, checking the time, ‘but, unfortunately, I have to get back. Maybe we can meet up again soon; you’re as good as a tonic.’
She walked out with him, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her leather coat. ‘Thanks for coming, Mike,’ she said when they got to her car. ‘I always enjoy chatting with you.’ With a smile, she leaned into him and pressed a kiss on his cheek. ‘See you soon.’
He watched as her car pulled out and gave a wave before heading to his. He felt better; his head was clearer, now maybe things would make more sense.
The look on Andrews face when he returned told him that his partner knew exactly where he’d been and he wasn’t happy about it. He ignored him and returned to his office. Resisting the temptation to close the door, he sat behind his desk and switched on his computer. With a clear head he could get that damn audit done in minutes.
Before he had a chance to open the programme, his phone rang. Swearing softly under his breath, he picked it up. ‘West.’
‘It’s Dominic, I need to see you.’
There was no disguising the urgency in the man’s voice. West gripped the phone tightly. ‘You’ve news about the woman?’
‘I can’t talk,’ he said, his voice a barely audible whisper, ‘meet me somewhere.’
‘How about the lobby of Randolph’s,’ West said. The boutique hotel near the courts was one he’d often used for meetings in the past.
‘Perfect. I’ll see you there in an hour.’ Dominic Masters hung up before West could argue that an hour was cutting it fine to get from Foxrock to the city centre and find parking to boot. It might just be one of those days, when he did what Andrews always wanted him to do and park illegally.
Thinking of Andrews, he looked up and saw the man hunched over his computer. It was probably a good idea to take him along. He knew he was giving him the perfect opportunity to complain about his meeting with Fiona but that would come regardless of how long it took. He was never one to forget when he felt he was in the right.
It was essential to have someone with him if Dominic had something important to tell him. He wasn’t going to be pulled into any old-boy’s network. He was a member of the Garda Siochana; anything the man had to tell him was going to be official.
Andrews nodded when he filled him in. ‘So you want me to come with you to this meeting?’
To West’s surprise, that was as much as he said about his meeting with Fiona. Maybe he’d decided it was as innocent as he’d said. More likely, he thought, Andrews had discussed it with his wife, Joyce, and she told him he was being stupid.
Whatever the reason, he was happier to have a peaceful drive through the usual mayhem of Dublin city traffic.
As he’d guessed, despite checking numerous side streets and car parks, there was no parking available. Seeing the clock tick past the hour, he gritted his teeth, parked illegally and put his Garda Siochana Official Business sign on the windscreen.
Ignoring the slight cackle that came from the passenger’s seat and the grin on Andrews’ face, he locked the car and stepped smartly toward the hotel.
The conversion of three old Victorian buildings into the Randolph Hotel had been done sympathetically and expensively. Not far from the law courts, it attracted a mixed clientele who could afford its exorbitant room tariff. In its Michelin-starred restaurant, wealthy criminal types, with and without their legal teams, dined shoulder to shoulder with judges and solicitors.
If the price of a cup of coffee didn’t deter the unwelcome, the doorman, who looked down on the undesirables with a supercilious air, certainly did.
West and Andrews ignored him as they ran up the steps to the entrance. He gave them a quick once-over and stood back.
Despite illegally parking, they were five minutes late and Dominic Masters was anxiously checking his watch as they walked in. He looked up in relief when he saw West approaching, the expression changing to annoyance when he saw he hadn’t come alone.
He wasn’t a fool, however, and acknowledged the presence of Andrews with a considered nod. ‘Official it is,’ he said. ‘Shall we go into the lounge? I could do with a coffee and it will be easier there.’
They found a corner seat, sheltered from others by the convenient placement of large leafy plants. Masters raised his hand and attracted the attention of a waiter. ‘Coffee?’ he asked, looking at them.
Both men nodded, Andrews wondering vaguely if he’d have to take out a payday loan to pay for it.
By unspoken agreement, they didn’t discuss what Masters wanted to tell them until the coffee came. While they waited, solicitor and ex-solicitor discussed mutual acquaintances. Andrews, sitting back, looked on and listened to this insight into the life West lived before he joined the gardai.
‘So you’ve no regrets?’ Masters asked, when the conversation had run its course.
West smiled and shook his head. He might have said more but the coffee arrived with great ceremony. To Andrews’ amusement, it wasn’t a simple cup of coffee, but a whole palaver of cups and saucers, tiny spoons, sugar-lumps with tongs, two pots, one with coffee, one with hot milk and then, just in case, there was a jug of cold milk.
The waiter, with great and unnecessary ceremony, poured a cup for each of them, asking each whether they wanted milk and sugar and then whether they wanted hot or cold, one lump or two. West caught his partner’s eye and gave a barely discernible shake of his head.
Andrews smiled. ‘Hot milk, two lumps,’ he said, before the waiter could ask his preference.
Finally, the waiter left them to it.
‘Was it always like this?’
West said, sipping his coffee.
Masters brow creased. ‘Like what?’
West put his coffee down. It wasn’t particularly good. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. It was he who had changed, not the Randolph. He couldn’t believe, now, that he’d actually liked the place. ‘Tell me what you discovered.’
Masters finished his coffee and sat back with a sigh. He shot a resentful glance at Andrews before he reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it slowly, he looked around before putting the paper on the table. It was the email they’d sent him, with the photo attached.
‘I didn’t have to ask anyone who she was,’ he said slowly, ‘I recognised her immediately.’
West and Andrews exchanged glances. This was better news than they’d expected.
‘Her name is Lesere Osoba. She is, or at least,’ he amended with a shake of his head, ‘she was Nigerian.’
‘Was? She’s dead?’
Masters bit his lip. ‘She hung herself, just a few months ago.’
West frowned. Where had he heard something similar? Recently. He closed his eyes briefly. ‘Bloody hell,’ he swore.
It was such a rare occurrence to hear him swear that Andrews looked at him in surprise. ‘What?’
‘Enda Careless’ wife?’ He looked across the table at Masters. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
Masters nodded. ‘I met her a couple of times at official functions. He absolutely adored her and was devastated when she died. It was worse, of course, because he was the one who found her.’ He met West’s eyes. ‘You didn’t say why you were looking for her.’
They hadn’t but they owed him an explanation. West gave him a brief summary, watching as the frown on his face deepened.
‘So you think Lesere might have hired this Fearon person to smuggle a child into Ireland?’
‘It’s our running theory at the moment, Dom,’ West said. ‘Do you know anything about her, where she was from, whether she had children, younger siblings?’
Death in Foxrock (A Garda West Crime novel Book 4) Page 19
