Close Ranks

by Valerie Keogh

  Andrews took out his phone and the card Greg McGrath had given him. ‘Time to get to work,’ he said and quickly pressed the numbers.

  It was as though the man had been waiting with the phone pressed to his ear. It was answered immediately and his voice was hushed, conspiratorial. ‘Hello, Greg here.’

  ‘Mr McGrath, its Garda Andrews. You spoke with me and my colleague, Sergeant West yesterday. I’m parked outside your house at the moment. Is it possible to have a quick word? We don’t want to disturb anybody.’ Andrews hoped McGrath understood the light stress he had put on the word want. They didn’t want to disturb anybody but they would unless he co-operated.

  He was stupid but not that stupid. After the slightest hesitation when Andrews pictured him looking around to see who was in ear-shot, he replied, ‘Yes, of course. I can come out to you. Ok?’

  That would do for starters. Five minutes later, the front door opened and McGrath appeared trying ridiculously and almost pathetically to appear nonchalant. As if crossing the road at seven in the morning and getting into the back of a parked car were a normal event. Up close and personal his demeanour was anything but relaxed. Beads of sweat peppered the brow and top lip of a pale face. He chewed his bottom lip, smiled ingratiatingly and said, ‘Well, gentleman, how can I help you this morning?’

  Just as if he were selling used cars, Andrews thought, and swivelled around a bit more in his seat the better to give the man a sharp look. ‘As you are aware, Mr McGrath,’ he began, ‘we are investigating the murder of your brother-in-law. In the course of our enquiries, a number of issues have come to light.’ He stopped and let his words sink in whatever way they would.

  They had parked their car under a street light and in that dim light McGrath’s face went a more sickly shade of pale. Jarvis told colleagues later that he could almost see the man’s brain spinning, wondering what they knew, how they found out, what he could do. Damage limitations.

  ‘Issues?’ he said, trying for firm, in control. Failing miserably.

  Andrew nodded. ‘On the basis of which, we applied for and were granted a warrant to seize your computer.’ He reached into his pocket and took out the folded document and handed it to McGrath watching as the man unfolded and stared at the paper.

  After staring for a few seconds, McGrath turned the document around and stared again. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said quietly, ‘it says here you have reason to believe I am involved in activities which may impact on the welfare of a minor. What am I being accused of? For God’s sake, I’m a married man. I have children. I’m a teacher.’

  His voice rose with every word, loud in the small car. Andrews held his hand up. ‘At the moment you are not being accused of anything, Mr McGrath. There are issues we need to clear up. We have been as circumspect as possible which is why we have arrived at this early hour. Garda Jarvis will go with you now, take your computer. Discreetly. We will do our investigations; bring it back when they are complete.’

  The words circumspect and discreetly, deliberately used by Andrews seemed to have hit the mark. McGrath calmed down and nodded. ‘I can bring my laptop out to you. You don’t need to come in.’

  A pair of shaking heads told him this wasn’t acceptable. Not that they were afraid of his wiping any data, their technicians could quickly find that, but there could be more than one laptop in the house. They didn’t want him pulling a quick switch.

  Jarvis followed him into the house and minutes later he reappeared with the laptop in his hands.

  ‘Any problems?’ Andrews asked, starting the engine and indicating to pull out.

  ‘No, he had it in a bag. I checked, there were documents with his name on them so it was definitely his bag. He wasn’t too impressed with that,’ Jarvis grinned, ‘told me to get on with it. And that was it. Didn’t see anyone else.’

  ‘Ok, get it to our IT guys,’ Andrews said, ‘see what, if anything, is on it.’

  Traffic had increased in the short time they were stopped, already starting to tailback from lights and junctions. ‘Stupid bugger,’ Andrews swore softly as a car pulled out of a driveway causing him to break suddenly.

  Jarvis waited until they were once again stuck in traffic before asking, ‘You really think he might have had something to do with Gerard Robert’s murder?’

  ‘He’s such a piece of work,’ Andrews replied, ‘I want it to be him but...I dunno. It’s not really adding up. Somebody really had to have hated Roberts to have killed him like that. I don’t think McGrath has that level of emotion.’

  By late that evening they had even less reason to suspect Greg McGrath. Their warrant covered any information on his computer and, as luck sometimes has it, he banked on line and it didn’t take their IT people long to access his finances.

  ‘The idiot uses the same password for everything,’ Oisin, one of the technicians, told West. ‘Anybody with a bit of skill could have accessed his accounts. People just don’t learn, do they?’

  West smiled. He too had the same password for virtually everything. Including on-line banking. Just because he was an intelligent man who should know better didn’t mean he didn’t fall into the trap millions of others did and took the easy way out. He’d think of a new password when he had a minute.

  ‘Did you find anything of interest?’ he asked the still muttering Oisin.

  ‘Salary in, bills out, one pretty much balancing out t’other. A bit of money put by, but the rainy day better not last too long. A possibly less than healthy interest in pornography but nothing that rang great big warning bells. No under-age stuff. Actually he seems to have a thing for the older ladies. It takes all sorts, doesn’t it? Anyway, all pretty run of the mill stuff.’ He handed West a sheaf of papers, ‘I ran it all out for you.’

  West dumped it on his desk. ‘Thanks, Oisin. And the laptop?’

  ‘Gave it to Jarvis. He’s waiting outside.’

  ‘Ok,’ West said, ‘Thanks again.’

  Oisin left with a wave, leaving the door open after him so West could see Jarvis’ face peering around the door-frame. ‘Come in,’ he called, and picked up the sheaf of papers. ‘I have great faith in Oisin and the rest of the IT crew but it never hurts to double check. These are the printouts of all McGraths financial transactions and all the internet sites he has ever looked at. Go through them with a fine tooth comb; make sure we aren’t missing something.’

  Jarvis took the heavy sheaf of paper with a look of dismay.

  ‘Get someone to help you,’ West said kindly. ‘It shouldn’t take you more than a few hours.’

  Jarvis looked at the clock. It was just hitting five. He’d been thinking about going for a pint for the last hour. Damn it, he’d been up with Early-bird Andrews since cockcrow. He caught West’s eye and gave a nod of compliance. ‘We’ll get it done, Sarge.’

  Turning around he caught sight of Edwards in the early stages of packing up to head off. He approached him with a predatory smile.

  He wasn’t going to be the only one hanging around for a few hours more.

  19

  ‘They found nothing of interest, Pete,’ West said to Andrews a short while later. ‘An unhealthy interest in porn, Oisin said, but nothing else. And an interest in porn isn’t a criminal activity.’

  ‘He’s a teacher.’

  ‘Still not a crime. Masturbating in the secretary’s office while watching it, also isn’t a crime. Incredibly stupid, and would certainly warrant being suspended and more than likely fired. But it isn’t in of itself a crime.’

  ‘Blackmail is a crime.’

  West sighed. When Andrews got on his high-horse about something he knew from experience he could be difficult to pacify. ‘Ok, so we arrest him for blackmail. We’d have to drag Jim Reilly into it. Do you think that’s wise?’

  Andrews remained mulishly silent.

  ‘What we could do,’ West continued, ‘is to ask Mr McGrath in. Have a discussion with him about his excessive use of porn and the danger to his career if his proclivities bec
ame known. Tell him we’ll be keeping an eye on him and the slightest whisper of irregularity and we will swoop down on him.’

  ‘Blackmail is a big irregularity.’

  ‘He’s not going to do it again. I think we’re going to have to close on this, Peter. We’ve taken it as far as is wise.’

  Andrews frowned. He knew when West was pulling the I’m the boss card. He didn’t much like it but had to concede two things. West was right and he was his boss.

  West seeing the mulish look fade, smiled. ‘Go home Pete. Have your talk with McGrath tomorrow. Put the frighteners on him. Reilly will be ok.’

  And with a final wave West headed out into the fading day. Climbing into his car he sat a moment. Home, he supposed without much enthusiasm. Without much persuading his mind wandered to Kelly Johnson. He wondered what she’d be doing. Still doing her Offer work maybe. That group still irritated him. How on earth did she get involved with them?

  There was one way to find out. He took out his mobile and dialled a number he knew by heart.

  ‘Hello?’

  He was tempted to hang up, wondered if she’d recognised his number. ‘Hello,’ he said, not the most erudite of greetings but really all he could manage. ‘It’s Mike West here.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Not the most encouraging reply.

  ‘I was wondering if you were free for a drink,’ he rushed out, afraid she would hang up.

  A lingering silence made him afraid she had. ‘Hello?’ he said again, increasingly afraid he sounded pathetic.

  ‘I’m still here,’ she said. ‘Just wondering if I should say yes or no.’

  ‘I can’t really offer you objective advice,’ he said.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you can. Where are you thinking of?’

  Where? He’d no idea. He hadn’t planned this. He tried to think of somewhere smart to bring her, somewhere they could talk without being deafened by music. Somewhere...’

  ‘How about The Orchard?’ she suggested when he didn’t reply.

  ‘Yes. Perfect. What time suits you?’

  ‘I’m not doing anything. I could be there in twenty minutes.’

  ‘Perfect,’ West said again, wishing he could have used a different word. Wishing he could think of one.

  Hanging up he wondered if he had time to go home and change. He looked like a policeman. There wasn’t enough time. He did what he could. He untied and took off his tie, opened the top two buttons on his shirt, mussed his hair a little bit. Despite the chilly evening he removed his jacket, rolled his sleeves up a little. That would have to do.

  She was there before him, watched as he came into the lounge and looked around. She had chosen carefully, a seat where she could watch but not be so easily seen. Away from dead bodies, crime scenes of any sort he was a very handsome man. But he was still every inch a policeman.

  As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, West spotted her and with a wave moved over to where she sat. She had taken a corner seat so West had a choice. Takes the banquette seat beside her or sit on one of the stools opposite. He knew from experience the stools were uncomfortable for any long period of time so tossing caution to the wind he sat beside her.

  ‘I ordered you a pint of Guinness, Sergeant,’ she said with a smile, moving away ever so slightly.

  ‘You remembered,’ he said, inordinately pleased she had remembered this small fact about his likes.

  ‘And that Garda Andrews likes Heineken. It’s funny the things that stick in your brain.’

  ‘And you like white wine and blowsy tulips,’ West said.

  The blowsy tulips remark was unfortunate. It immediately triggered a memory of where they had both seen them. In the garden of the Inn in Come-to-Good, Cornwall, a place that would always be linked to the man she had married. In that moment Kelly knew she had a choice, she could choose to be annoyed or not. In that moment too, she knew she could reclaim some memories, that not all was spoilt. After all, she did like blowsy tulips.

  West watched anxiously. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he had regretted them. He was trying to show her he had remembered something she liked, remembering the context too late. He held his breath but then he saw it on her expressive face. It was going to be alright.

  ‘Unfortunately,’ Kelly said, ‘it’s the wrong time of the year for tulips of any kind, but yes, you are right. Blowsy tulips and white wine.’

  Relieved, West babbled. ‘No, it’s dahlias and rudbekias and suchlike now, isn’t it? I’m very lucky, I have the most amazing roses that flower on and on. Last year I had one in bloom over Christmas. Something to do with the road being in a hollow or something.’ He stopped. ‘Sorry, I’m babbling.

  Kelly laughed. Now, she thought, this is the man I remember. ‘Maybe a little,’ she said and they both smiled.

  Their drinks arrived and West, suddenly hungry, asked, ‘Are you hungry, I haven’t eaten yet. And,’ he added, ‘I didn’t have any lunch.’ He hoped she’d say yes, that it wasn’t just going to be a quick drink for forms sake and then bye bye, see you around.

  Kelly, suddenly hungry, was thinking exactly the same.

  It was a moment of enlightenment. They’re eyes locked and both took a breath, and then held it, as if what was happening was so fragile a breath could shatter it into a million un-put-together-ever-again pieces.

  And then that moment had passed and they were still there, looking at each other, their faces suddenly serious. West was first to break the silence. ‘Hello,’ he said softly, ‘my name is Mike. It’s nice to meet you.’

  ‘Kelly,’ she replied with a little laugh.

  ‘Will you have dinner with me, Kelly?’

  ‘I’d love to, Mike.’

  And the timing was right and the circumstances were different. For now, they were a man and a woman who liked one another.

  Later that night when each of them looked back over the evening they couldn’t remember what they had talked about, they’d hopped from this to that and back to this. A meandering nothing that allowed them to just be in one another’s company. And if each of them had a hundred questions they wanted to ask, neither wanted to break the spell to ask them.

  West insisted on paying. ‘After all it was my invitation.’

  ‘Next time, it will be my treat then,’ she replied.

  West, pleased that she was considering a next time, smiled and nodded. ‘Are you free Saturday night?’

  Her suddenly down-turned mouth told West she wasn’t before she said the words. He wanted to ask her what she was doing, who she was doing it with. Was jealous of whoever it was. He told himself to get a grip and asked if she were free on Sunday. This time her mouth curved in a sunny smile and she nodded.

  ‘Would you like to go to Dun Laoghaire in the afternoon, walk along the pier? We could get something to eat there or in Blackrock?’

  ‘Perfect,’ she said, happily.

  They’d both parked in the small car-park behind the pub. ‘I’m parked just over there,’ Kelly said, indicating a red Fiesta parked nearer the road. West walked with her, a companionable silence between them until they got to her car and she turned to him to say goodbye. Not sure how to end the evening, she held out her hand.

  He took it, kept it. And there was suddenly no longer anything companionable about the silence. It fizzed and crackled. And if there weren’t sparks flying around, there should have been. And the romantic music they both heard was probably coming from the pub they’d just left.

  With her hand held tightly in his, West moved closer. He pressed a kiss to Kelly’s cheek, kept his lips there a fraction too long for convention, inhaling the scent of her, resisting the temptation to move his mouth two inches to the left and feel her lips. And then the moment passed, he stepped back and released her hand.

  ‘Goodbye, Mike,’ Kelly said, wanting to put her hand out and feel the warmth of him, knew it was an invitation he wouldn’t refuse but, as he did, she resisted the temptation. There was time enough, she thought and turning, cl
imbed into the car, belted up and with a wave drove slowly out onto the road.

  West, feeling lighter than he had done in months, walked to his car. Sitting in, he remembered Saturday night and felt a pang of jealous irritation. What was she doing? Why hadn’t she said, I can’t go out with you because I am doing...? That would have been normal, wouldn’t it? Unless, of course, she had a date with somebody. Hell, he didn’t know if she were in a relationship with someone or not. They’d not spoken about anything personal. In fact, West realised, he knew no more about her now than he did this afternoon. What, the hell, had they talked about!

  His comfortable mood effectively ruined, West headed home trying to console himself by thinking of Sunday. A walk down Dun Laoghaire pier. Traditional courting stuff, that.

  Perhaps he would have been happier, if Kelly had told him she was unable to meet him on Saturday because she had committed her time to Offer.

  But it didn’t make any difference, really. By Saturday, circumstances had changed once more.

  Once again, West was a policeman and Kelly was a victim.

  20

  West had persuaded himself into a positive frame of mind by the time he arrived at the station Wednesday morning. By dint of concentrating on the positive – she was going out with him on Sunday, and last night had gone pretty well – he was able to put the unknown Saturday night out of his mind. Well, more or less.

  Five minutes after arriving he had more to think about. Inspector Morrison wasn’t happy about their lack of progress in the Roberts’ case and called West to his office to tell him so. No point in telling Mother Morrison he wasn’t too happy himself. Adding salt to wounds was always a painful exercise.

  ‘And what’s all this malarkey about Greg McGrath? So he watches pornography, so do half the men in the country,’ the inspector said.