‘You’re doing it again, taking yourself too seriously,’ Andrews interrupted him. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
West shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re too close to it. How about you leave it to me to sort it out?’
‘Leave it to you?’ If there was one person West would trust with anything it was the man sitting opposite. ‘Okay, why not.’ He held a hand up quickly. ‘Nothing illegal though.’
‘As if.’ Andrews grinned and got to his feet.
West watched him go feeling tension ease. If there was something that could be done, Andrews was the man to find out, and do it.
Putting the ring and the ramifications of it from his mind, West concentrated on the important matter of proving there was a link between the Checkley case and the dismembered bodies.
In the main office, he looked around. Jarvis and Allen were out dealing with a complaint. Drug dealing outside a local secondary school. They’d speak to the school head and organise a uniform presence for a period. They might be lucky and catch the dealers in the act. Chances were that they’d move on pretty quickly once they saw they’d been spotted. West made a mental note to warn his colleagues in Dun Laoghaire and Stillorgan. Drug dealers didn’t go away, they simply moved on.
With Jarvis and Allen temporarily unavailable, he zoned in on the two detectives who were hammering away on keyboards, expressions fixed and intent.
‘Good work, Mark,’ he said, drawing Edwards’ attention.
A final tap of the keyboard and the younger detective looked up. ‘I’d have given up, though, and would have missed it if you hadn’t pushed me to carry on.’
‘The important thing is that you didn’t give up and you found us what might be an important link between two odd cases. Any success with tracing Doris Whitaker’s relatives?’
‘I’m going through reports from the Central Statistics Office and Baxter is trawling through the births, marriages and deaths in the General Register Office. When we have everything, we’ll collate it and make a report.’ He tapped the edge of his keyboard. ‘It’s slow-going. Maybe in a couple of hours.’
‘Good.’ West checked his watch. ‘We’ll have a catch-up at 1pm.’ He passed Andrews’ desk as he slammed the phone down with unaccustomed irritation. ‘Someone annoying you?’
Andrews sat back and stretched his arms out. ‘I’ve been on the phone for the last hour trying to find anyone who would agree with Cara Donaldson’s claim that the science had to be wrong and that her mother either hadn’t been frozen at all or that it had occurred in a much tighter time frame.’
West sat on the edge of the desk. ‘And?’
‘And every one of them agreed with Dr Kennedy.’ Andrews brought a clenched fist down hard on the table. ‘Donaldson has to be lying to us.’
‘It’s a bit like one of those locked-room mysteries.’
‘Poe again?’
‘No, not this time. John Dickson Carr. He wrote The Hollow Man, one of the best examples of a seemingly impossible crime, one of which occurred in full view of witnesses who swore they saw nothing. It was solved by an amateur detective, Gideon Fell.’
‘Maybe you can ask him to come and give us a hand,’ Andrews said sarcastically. ‘Because this room is well and truly locked.’
‘As I said to Edwards on Friday… keep at it.’ West thumped him on the shoulder. ‘And look how that turned out.’ He stood and headed for his office, turning back to remind him, ‘We’ll have a catch-up at 1pm. See where we stand.’
Jarvis and Allen appeared before he’d sat behind his desk. ‘A quick word?’
‘Of course, come in,’ West said, hoping this wasn’t going to be trouble.
Both men stayed standing. Jarvis, his hands jammed into the pockets of his trousers, was first to speak. ‘We’ve been to the school and had a word with the head. She said she noticed two older boys hanging around the entrance on Friday morning. When she noticed the same boys there in the afternoon, she became suspicious but when she approached them, they fled. When they were outside the school again this morning, she decided to ring us.’
West frowned. ‘Had they approached any of the students?’
‘Yes,’ Allen said. ‘But according to the head, no money or drugs changed hands. They have a proactive anti-drugs policy, but she’s no fool: she knows if these lads keep it up there’ll be some idiots who’ll be lured into it.’
West knew she was right. ‘Fine, so what’s the plan?’
Allen and Jarvis exchanged glances. ‘If we simply post uniforms, the two guys will do a runner and turn up somewhere else within a day or two. We’d prefer to catch these two and get them off the street.’
‘Okay. But take a couple of plain-clothes gardaí with you.’ He saw a flash of excitement cross their faces and held up a hand. ‘Remember your surroundings and don’t take risks, please.’
Then they were gone, muttering together as they planned their course of action. The two drug dealers would likely spot them before Jarvis and Allen had got out of their car and be gone, drug-fuelled energy taking them flying through the laneways. They’d turn up again though. Maybe somewhere nearby, giving Allen and Jarvis a second opportunity. But if the dealers were running, they weren’t selling.
West rang his contact in the drug squad. It was no harm to keep them apprised of dealers in their area and to find out if there was anything new they should be worried about.
Inspector Bob Phelan gave a gruff laugh when he was told there were two dealers. ‘Only two. You’d be lucky, Mike. Tip of the iceberg, I’m telling you, tip of the iceberg.’
Not what West wanted to hear. ‘Anything new on the street, Bob, or is it still our old friend, Zombie Z?’
‘Still Zombie Z, although I did hear a whisper that there’s something new.’
There was always something new, and always whispers. ‘Nothing we should be too concerned about at the minute?’
‘No, you’ll get the usual update if any concrete intel comes in. Let me know if you need a hand with your two dealers.’ Another gruff snicker before he hung up.
Phelan knew, as well as West did, that even one dealer was one too many. But he’d allow him his moment’s amusement. He knew from stories Phelan had told him in the past that there weren’t many of them.
It was almost 1pm but when West went into the main office, he saw Edwards and Baxter, their eyes glued to their monitors, fingers flying over their keyboards with a speed he envied.
Andrews was tapping away more in his style. Not quite two fingers, but not many more. ‘Anything?’ he said, hovering above him.
‘Nothing but a colossal headache. Coffee might help.’
‘Your wish is my command,’ West said and he crossed the room to the percolator. He’d finally remembered to buy some decent coffee for the station, the aroma making him sniff in satisfaction. He poured two mugs, added sugar to one and milk to both and brought them back to where Andrews was sitting back with fingers linked behind his head. ‘Here you go.’
‘Ta.’ Andrews slurped loudly before putting the mug down. It instantly left a ring on the desk which he ignored. ‘I’m not sure we should waste any more time on the Muriel Hennessy thing, Mike. It’s going nowhere. And yes,’ he said, lifting a hand to stave off what he guessed would be the answer, ‘I’m aware that Edwards succeeded when he persevered but he was looking into something. There’s nothing in the Hennessy case to look into. There is no motive. No reason at all to kill the old dear that I can find–’
‘Yet she was killed.’ West pulled a chair up and sat.
‘Or died of natural causes.’
‘And accidentally froze herself afterwards?’ West drank some coffee, wishing there was a large whiskey in it. ‘I hate giving up.’
‘I do too, you know that.’ Andrews waved a hand at the pile of pages he’d scribbled notes on. ‘But I’m chasing my tail.’
‘Give it to Jarvis or Allen when they get back. Maybe fresh eyes will see
something.’
Andrews didn’t take umbrage. It had happened before that fresh eyes had seen something one of the team had overlooked. It had, in fact, been Edel who’d given them the key for the last case. ‘You should ask Edel, she has a good mind for these things.’
‘I might just do that,’ West said. ‘Meanwhile, keep at it.’ Unusually, he had the last word and took his coffee back to his office.
25
It was almost five. West was reading a report that seemed to make little sense when his desk phone went and he lifted it absently. ‘West.’
‘Mike, there’s been a stabbing.’ Sergeant Blunt, the big, bluff desk sergeant who West had never seen anything but stoic, had a distinct tremor in his voice. ‘At the school. It’s Jarvis. It doesn’t sound good.’
West dropped the phone. For a second, he was unable to move or think. Then he picked up the handset again. ‘We’re on our way.’
Grabbing his jacket, he stood in the doorway of his office. ‘Drop everything, we’re needed.’ His tone of voice along with his suddenly pale, drawn face left the rest in no doubt – something had gone wrong. ‘Baxter, you drive.’
Baxter grabbed his jacket and keys and hurried after West who was striding from the room.
‘It’s Jarvis,’ West said as all four climbed into Baxter’s car. ‘He’s been stabbed. Blunt says it doesn’t look good.’ Best if they were forewarned. It might help them to face whatever they were going to find.
Siren blaring, they made it to the school in minutes. Baxter pulled up behind a squad car, West, Andrews and Edwards clambering out before the engine was off.
‘There’s Allen,’ Edwards said, pointing towards the school gate.
Leaning heavily against the gate, Allen was so pale it looked as if his freckles were floating. His jacket hung open, the white shirt underneath streaked with blood. A paramedic was trying to persuade him to go with him but wasn’t having much luck. He threw his hands up and backed away when the four detectives approached.
‘You hurt?’ West asked. Lots of blood but he couldn’t see an injury.
‘No. The blood is Sam’s.’ Allen shuddered. ‘There was so much of it. I tried to stop it but my hands grew slippery.’ He held out two bloodstained hands.
West glanced back at the ambulance. If Jarvis were alive, the paramedics would be working on him and he would only be in the way. In any case, it was soon enough to hear bad news. ‘What happened, Mick?’
Allen dragged his attention from his bloody hands. ‘It all happened so quickly. The two dealers were already here when we arrived, but we parked on a side street and they didn’t see us until we were almost upon them.’ He frowned as he tried to remember the sequence of events. ‘Jarvis identified us as gardaí and asked them to come with us… then before we had a chance to do anything, one of them pulled a knife from his belt and lunged. It caught Sam right in the belly.’
‘Okay. Now–’ West crooked a finger at the hovering paramedic, ‘–I want you to go to the hospital and get checked out.’
‘I don’t need to, I’m fine.’ Allen was leaning heavily against the fence. West guessed he’d be unable to walk.
The paramedic had obviously come to the same conclusion. With a wave to his colleague in the second ambulance, a gurney appeared and trundled towards them. The detectives backed away to leave the paramedics to their job.
‘He’ll be okay when the shock wears off,’ Andrews said, watching as Allen was helped onto the gurney.
As it disappeared into the waiting ambulance, their attention was drawn to a paramedic who had stepped from the second vehicle and was proceeding to shut the doors. They quickly closed in on him. ‘Sam’s our colleague,’ West said. ‘How is he?’
The paramedic finished what he was doing as he answered. ‘He’s alive but he’s lost a lot of blood. We’re taking him to the Mater and he’ll be going straight to theatre.’ With a nod, he was gone and a minute later, sirens howling, the ambulance raced away.
A short, plump woman stepped through the gate and made her way across to them. ‘I’m Trina Newcombe, the school head,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry for what has happened.’
West couldn’t bring himself to utter the usual platitude, that it was all part of their job. The sound of the ambulance faded into the distance. He listened to it as long as he could… a siren meant Sam was still alive.
‘I’m sure you probably don’t want to hear this right now,’ Trina went on. ‘But a couple of the students filmed the whole thing on their mobiles. I’ve looked at the footage. The two drug dealers… their faces are clear.’
All part of their job and now it was time to get back to it.
The school head had been right. When they watched the footage, not only were the faces clear, but one of the uniforms who’d answered the emergency call asked for a closer look.
‘That’s Mossy Hayden,’ he said firmly. ‘I’d recognise that face anywhere.’
‘And the man with the knife?’ West expanded the picture as much as possible. ‘Recognise him?’
‘No, but Mossy hangs out with a few rough types. Could be any one of them.’
‘Right, pick him up,’ West said. ‘And all of his friends too.’
He didn’t have to ask twice. Both squad cars present took off, their combined sirens drawing all eyes for a few minutes before they drifted back to the detectives. The two plain-clothes gardaí who had arrived with Jarvis and Allen made themselves useful, moving on the voyeurs, and the students who hovered in the background.
‘Take the names of all the students who were around when it happened,’ West told them. They already had the names of the two students who’d filmed the attack. They’d get statements from them later.
‘They’re badly shook,’ the head said, approaching West a few minutes later. ‘Their parents are coming to pick them up, and the school will arrange counselling. If you could leave off speaking to them until tomorrow, that would be for the best.’
‘Tomorrow will be okay,’ West said. Tomorrow they’d probably know if they were talking about an assault on a garda or the murder of one.
‘We need to contact Jarvis’s parents,’ Andrews said as she moved away. ‘Before they hear about it from that lot.’ He indicated the news reporters who had arrived and were already standing with their microphones poised and their cameras filming the bloody stain on the pathway.
‘Yes, I know.’ West dragged his eyes away from the reporters. ‘Best if we go around.’ He turned to Edwards and Baxter. ‘I’ll take your car, Seamus. Get a lift back to the station, wait for the suspects to turn up. Everything by the book, okay.’ He waited till they agreed before he took the keys Baxter offered and headed towards the car, Andrews a step behind.
Neither spoke as they drove to Stillorgan where Jarvis’s father ran a general practice from an extension to the side of his home.
‘We need to speak to Dr Jarvis,’ West said to the receptionist, holding forward his identification. The reaction was automatic: a widening of eyes, quick pallor and indrawn breath.
‘Sam?’ The receptionist held a hand over her mouth before getting to her feet and hurrying away. She returned less than a minute later, her face pressed into lines of stress. ‘He’s with a patient and will be with you in just a minute.’ She pointed to a door on the left. ‘Dr Wilson isn’t in this morning; you can wait in his office.’
The small room was windowless and low-ceilinged and the two detectives almost filled what space remained between the overlarge desk and door. They remained standing, neither finding words to fill the silence.
Bringing bad news never got easier but bringing it about a colleague wasn’t something either had had to do before. Their very arrival was a forewarning, though, and Dr Jarvis, when he entered a couple of minutes later, didn’t need to be told.
‘Is he alive?’ His question cut straight to it.
‘He was stabbed in the stomach.’ West remembered Allen’s bloody hands. Could anyone survive that much blood lo
ss? ‘They took him to the Mater where he’ll be going straight to theatre.’ He hesitated before adding, ‘There was a lot of blood.’
Dr Jarvis swallowed loudly. ‘Okay. I’ll go and tell my wife and we’ll get in there.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Sam is young, fit… tough. He’ll make it.’ Words of reassurance for himself or the detectives, it didn’t matter, they all hoped he was right.
Back in the car, West sat with the engine running. He would have liked to go to the hospital and wait while the surgeon battled to save Jarvis but if they managed to pick up Mossy Hayden, his place was in the station.
26
Sometimes things went their way. When the uniformed gardaí arrived at Mossy Hayden’s house and rang the doorbell, it was opened almost immediately by a middle-aged, tired-looking woman who heaved a sigh when she saw them.
‘Good, I’m glad you’ve come. Saves me the trip to the station. Mossy told me what happened. I warned him if he got involved with that idiot Anto it would end in trouble.’ She blinked a tear away. ‘My son is not very bright but he’s not taking the rap for stabbing a guard.’ Leaving the gardaí on the doorstep, she turned away and yelled up the stairs. ‘Mossy, get down here. Now.’
The figure that came down almost immediately was a more subdued character than the one the gardaí had seen in the mobile phone footage. ‘It wasn’t me.’ The age-old cry of the juvenile.
Both gardaí had heard it before. ‘You need to come with us, Mossy.’ They read him his rights while his mother, arms folded, stood looking on with a resigned expression on her tired face. When they were finished, she reached behind to where a pile of clothes hung over the newel post of the stairway and pulled a jacket from the top. ‘You’d better take this.’
Garda Mackin watched as Mossy dragged it on over a distinctly scruffy sweatshirt. ‘It will work in your favour, you know, if you tell us who your friend with the knife is.’
No Easy Answer Page 13
