First Death In Dublin City (Thomas Bishop Book 1)

by Colm-Christopher Collins

  ‘Where’s the family computer?’ Asked Tommy.

  ‘In the conservatory behind me there.’ Claire said.

  ‘Amy didn’t have a laptop?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘No.’ Claire said.

  ‘Ok, Anne cmon, we’ve one last thing to check up on.’ Tommy said.

  Anne followed Tommy into the conservatory, and both sat down at the Apple Mac.

  ‘This case is a load of ass.’ Tommy whispered.

  ‘Amy’s still missing.’ Anne said.

  ‘Yeah, and soon to be found. I wouldn’t worry too much about her. Just got to check up on her phone and then we’ll go, leave this to the local police.’ Tommy said.

  ‘Check on her phone, how?’ Anne said.

  From his belt, sitting in beside his pepper spray, Tommy took out an official looking USB.’

  ‘Welcome to NBCI Sergeant O’Mahoney.’ Said Tommy, and he plugged it into the port.

  On the key was the standard malware program used by the cybercrimes division, when looking to get into every nook and cranny of a seized computer. Given some of the lengths assorted paedos and dealers went to to protect the info on their computer, the program was quite strong, and perhaps overkill for a standard home computer, but within five minutes Tommy had, up on the screen, the logs from Amy’s phone.

  Amy may have consistently swapped songs on and off her iPhone, but she had never consciously backed it up, so all they had was the six monthly auto-synchs. They glanced through the most recent copied files.

  ‘Anne, I’m not completely out of touch when I say that an eleven year old girl really shouldn’t have a boyfriend?’ Tommy said.

  ‘Boyfriend? I think I was fourteen before I first even talked to a guy who I wasn’t related to.’

  ‘So, if all these messages are correct, there’s a boy called Alex who Amy seemed to be very much involved with.’

  ‘It’s rare, but women as young as ten and eleven do become involved in preteen relationships.’ Anne said.

  ‘Yeah, but this Alex guy seems to be at least a little bit older, look, he’s talking about secondary school, so he must be at least thirteen.’ Tommy said.

  ‘Again, it’s rare but it’s not completely unheard of.’ Anne said.

  ‘Still, it’s curious.’

  ‘You want to work the case now?’

  ‘No, I don’t at all; I still think its ass. However, no harm in tracing the last steps are there? There’s a giant fucking pile of casework that Mousey would love to throw on us – Maybe we should use this to ease ourselves in and once she turns up we can go back to the well for a real murder?’

  ‘Yeah sure, it’s whatever you think yourself.’

  Tommy turned then to his car, a 2007 Ford Mondeo, standard unmarked Garda car. He opened the door and sat in, trying to imagine the route Amy would have taken to reach the LUAS station.

  ‘You have police family?’ Tommy asked of Anne

  The Ranelagh Station was nearest, just straight to the end of Castlewood Avenue and turn left; it would only take fifteen minutes to reach, but that wouldn’t explain why Amy was so upset. Tommy pulled out from the kerb and drove slowly down the street, glancing from sidewalk to sidewalk. There was simply no way that a man could forcibly abduct a girl on Castlewood Avenue; too public, and on a Tuesday morning? Forget it.

  ‘Two uncles served in Limerick, you?’ She replied.

  ‘My father was a Garda.’ Tommy said as they came up upon the LUAS station.

  ‘What are we looking for here?’ Anne asked.

  ‘Well, the messages were weird, so maybe we’ll look for something else weird around and about, and the two add up.’ Tommy said.

  ‘He still around? Your dad?’ Anne said.

  Tommy glanced over at her, and Anne began to go red.

  ‘I’m asking only like, coz mine died there a year ago.’ She said.

  ‘Oh Anne, I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, sure look it’s fine.’

  Tommy glanced over again and saw that she seemed to be in earnest.

  ‘I don’t actually know if my Dad’s still alive.’

  They reached the turn off at the end of the road and swung left; only two hundred metres and they would be at the LUAS stop.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Anne asked.

  ‘Back in eighty-eight my father was murdered by Loyalist gunmen; or so we’re told anyway: we never found a body.’ Tommy said.

  ‘Fuck, the disappeared?’

  They pulled up beside the LUAS stop, and Tommy got out onto the grey concrete.

  ‘Indeed, daddy Patrick Bishop was an immortal victim of the troubles. Immortal because no one will ever fucking know if he’s actually dead.’

  ‘Was that a joke?’ Anne asked.

  ‘It’s been twenty seven years, kind of long enough to be sad. What do you think of Amy’s rents?’ Tommy asked.

  The stop was empty bar a foreign couple petting beneath a ticketing machine.

  ‘I dunno, that Gary seems like a bit of a knob.’

  ‘Ah but Claire’s a fucking cracker though.’ Tommy said.

  Anne rolled her eyes.

  ‘Nothing here.’ Tommy said.

  ‘Nothing here.’ Anne agreed.

  So with rain icing their brows, Tommy and Anne walked back to their car, and Tommy decided to speak what was on his mind.

  Tommy decided to ask what was on his mind.

  ‘So, how much have you researched into me?’

  ‘What?’ Anne asked.

  ‘Cmon, your dad may have died recently but that doesn’t mean you reasonably ask about the death of my dad? You knew who he was – so what else do you know?’

  ‘Will you relax?’ Anne said.

  ‘Why did you request to be my partner so?’ Tommy asked

  ‘Well, I’ve read all the books about Operation Bell, and I guessed who you were.’ Anne took a sip from her can of Fanta that was lying just above the gearstick.

  In Operation Bell, due to the fact that they were investigating Dissident Republicans, each of the officers had been given monikers for filling in all their reports. The IRA had a long history of murdering policemen who stood in their way – in all reports Tommy was therefore known as Sergeant Black.

  ‘Oh, so you’re a fan. What else?’ Tommy said.

  ‘That you’re some kind of genius? A Garda with a masters from Cambridge?’ Said Anne.

  Tommy chuckled. ‘Those masters aren’t as difficult to get as you would think, they tend to give it to anyone who’ll pay.’

  ‘Really? And how much did you pay for yours?’ Asked Anne.

  ‘Well, it may have been free through a scholarship, but that’s neither here nor there.’

  ‘Rising tides seem to be the best ones to jump on, no?’ Anne said.

  Tommy shrugged. He parked at the same spot outside the Clancy home they had used upon arrival. The front door was open upon arrival, and in the living room Claire sat in the middle of her couch, her index finger resting on her forehead as if to attempt to rub away the wolves lapping at her consciousness.

  ‘Claire, I want you to show me something.’ Tommy said, knocking on the door to gain her attention.

  ‘Sure.’ She said passively, getting up off the couch, and following Tommy out to the driveway.

  ‘So.’ Said Tommy, pointing back the way he came towards Ranelagh Luas stop. ‘You directed her to go to the LUAS stop up there and..’

  ‘No wait.’ Interrupted Claire. ‘There’s no Luas stop up there?’ She said.

  Tommy frowned.

  ‘Or is there?’ Asked Claire, looking confused. ‘I never use public transport, so I wouldn’t know. I thought the nearest LUAS stop was in Miltown.’ She said.

  Tommy shook his head.

  ‘You told her to walk to the Miltown stop?’ Anne asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Claire said beginning to look upset.

  Tommy nodded and turned back to the car, but Claire’s tears made Anne stop and go back to her.

  ‘It’s my fault, a
ll my fault.’ She said.

  Tommy caught the eye of Anne, and nodded towards the sobbing Claire.

  ‘Look Claire, why don’t you go inside and make yourself some tea: we’re going to find Amy, wherever she’s gone to, but we need to work – and you need to be patient. There’s a reason children who stay missing make the news – it’s because they’re so rare. So, you let us get on with our job and we’ll have Amy home to you soon.’

  Watching her steering Claire back towards the house, Tommy judged that Anne had the situation under control, so now he finally turned back to the car.

  This time the drive was much more maze like, given that there were a number of ways that Amy could have gone, and upon Anne returning he and she debated on how best to proceed.

  The first would be to cut through lanes to reach Miltown, which Tommy just wasn’t feeling. No doubt Amy, who had been raised in so protected a home, had been told from a very young age that she was not to walk in the lanes at practically any time of day given that, even in Dublin 6, one could never know who was down them.

  The most likely route then? Given that Claire had pointed back towards Rathmines, the main road seemed to be the most likely. He drove back to the village, and at the Swan Centre turned left. There he pulled up to the kerb and parked on the main street of Rathmines outside the Copán.

  About a year ago a photo had been shared online of a Garda car parked illegally and since then parking illegally had been frowned upon by the Garda superiors; but in this particular case, with how famous Amy was going to become, Tommy felt he would get away with it.

  The clocks had just struck eight and so very little was open at this time of night; all he had to investigate really was the Centra. However the woman behind the till told him that the manager wasn’t in and that the shifts had changed since this morning. Tommy got back into the car and followed the road out of Rathmines, down past Mother Reilly’s on his left.

  ‘So, where’d you earn your stripes?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Rip and runs.’ Anne said.

  Tommy glanced over at Anne; and while she looked strong, she certainly didn’t look like any frontline Garda Tommy had met before.

  ‘You don’t think I’d be able for it?’ Anne said, having extrapolated from Tommy’s stare,

  They followed the road past rows and rows of three and four story red brick Georgian houses.

  ‘Sure, I’m not doubting you’re able to hold your own – but you really rolled around with the scum of Cork City?’

  ‘Sure did partner.’

  ‘Remind me to bring you next time I’m going to a bar fight so.’ Tommy said.

  Then it was a left check, and a right and he was onto an even wealthier and leafier road; that is, apart from the monstrous complex that made up the top of it: Trinity Hall, a thousand bed student residence.

  ‘Wait, why did you join NBCI then?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Why not?’ Anne asked.

  ‘Well, ripping and running you would have had a lot to do with drugs, so when you’re getting a promotion why didn’t you go to the National Drugs Squad – seems the logical next step.’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Yeah, I love the fight and all, but I’m happy being able to talk to more than ten people a week, and I also rather like not having to check my car for bombs every morning.’

  Tommy shrugged, it was a fair answer.

  As they cruised Tommy noticed that this road had that feeling to it. It was secluded and calm, gigantic oaks on the street that were taller even than the giant houses. If Amy was abducted, it happened here, in the ten minutes or so it takes to walk down Temple Road.

  Tommy finally reached the end of the road, and took in the scene. He knew this particular LUAS station well; four years ago he had been investigating a girl who had been bludgeoned and left for dead in the bushes. There of course wasn’t much mystery to the death, the boyfriend had mixed his vodka with his meth and had flipped out on the station and, upon hitting her, instead of getting her medical attention that would have saved her life, he dragged her to the bushes where she wouldn’t be found for fifteen hours. Tommy put it out of his mind, the boyfriend wouldn’t be a free man at least until 2030.

  ‘Nothing weird, huh?’ Anne asked.

  ‘Nothing. Fuck it, nothing to do but wait it out.’ Tommy said.

  ‘Back to the station?’ Anne asked.

  ‘No; it’s too late for a new case. Let’s pick up an old photo of Amy from the rents then call it a day.’

  ‘First day back Detective Inspector.’

  ‘First day.’ Tommy said. ‘Right, I’ve to go to talk to someone in the ‘Joy after this, so once we’ve got that photo we’ll split.’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  2

  A hulk of grey stone sat heavy near Mountjoy Square. At the front gate a blue and white sign told any who approach that this was a jail, and that it was a crime to interfere with the fencing or to enter without permission.

  Tommy’s ID got him waved through to the long driveway along which he cruised till he reached the front gate. It wasn’t visiting day, so the he had his pick of spaces in which to leave his Mondeo, from which he got out into the spitting rain. A prison guard was waiting for Tommy, and nodded to his ID.

  ‘Who do you want to meet Inspector?’ The guard asked.

  ‘John Ryan.’ Tommy said, and the guard nodded.

  Tommy was brought along a corridor, past the welcoming area, and then it hit him – the noise. It was quite unlike anything else in the world: the noise of a couple of hundred or so hyperactives shouting at each other in steel cages. The only thing that could compare was the monkey enclosure at Dublin Zoo – where the apes howled at each other oblivious to the world outside. Come to think of it, the comparisons between the Joy and Dublin Zoo didn’t just end at the noise.

  Tommy had to walk through a set of metal detectors, before which he handed over his Sig Sauer, and it was given back to him on the other side – NBCI Detectives were among the few people in the country allowed to bring weapons into a jail. Beyond the metal detectors were the visitor pens, twenty five or so stools before a glass pane through which a visitor could see and speak with someone on the other side. Tommy didn’t sit there, instead he was brought to one of eight ‘seminar rooms’. These were in the actual jail itself and were used sometimes for classes when the classrooms overflowed, but mostly they were to be used for meetings and seminars: NA, AA, and the like. Tommy was brought into one where, sitting chained to a chair, was John Ryan.

  He’d gone greyer, a lot greyer, than when he had first been arrested on that night in November – he no longer wore his insurance salesman suit, nor did he seem particularly dignified at all, shaking and jittering and wincing in his chair. Mountjoy wouldn’t have gone easy on the man in his late middle ages, nor would waiting for the trial for the murder of his wife, which was due to start in a month. Tommy would be called as a witness.

  ‘So, John, you said you had some information for me, and me only?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Ehm.. Yes, yes.’

  ‘Well what is it?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘I’m innocent Detective.’ He said, leaning forward in his chair to say it, as if it were the kind of golddust that would blow away in a heavy breeze.

  Tommy’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘You left me fifteen voicemails and dragged me all the way out here to tell me you’re innocent? That’s what the jury is for.’ Tommy said.

  ‘There was no DNA!’ John shouted after him, as Tommy had already begun to get up and go.

  ‘Save it for the trial.’ Tommy said.

  ‘My wife, she doesn’t exist!’ John shouted.

  ‘Yes, because you killed her?’ Tommy said as he turned to go, though he was beginning to doubt the sanity of this man before him.

  ‘Detective, just look up her PPSN. Please, just do it. Look up my wife’s PPSN.’

  Tommy frowned, realising that John was being completely serious. Noting that he’d have get onto the Central Mental Hea
lth Hospital in Dundrum, Tommy walked out of the room – John’s shouts mingling with the rest of the prisoners once he’d gotten a few steps away.

  ##

  The following morning, after the kind of sleep which had failed miserably to knit up the ravelled sleep of care, Tommy had met Anne at Harcourt Station, and after an expresso each and sharing a cigarette, they headed off together to Amy Clancy’s secondary school. They were let in the front door without much ceremony, but were left to stand there awkwardly for several minutes before anything happened.

  ‘Officers.’ Said the woman who approached them, and shook their hands. ‘I’m Leanne King, the principal here.’

  Tommy introduced himself to her, and Anne did the same.

  ‘It’s very worrying news, very worrying indeed I must say.’ Leanne said.

  ‘Did you know Amy?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Yes, yes I did. A quiet child, never gave her teachers a moment’s hassle. I wonder what’s motivated her to up and leave like that. Of course none of the kids know she’s gone, we don’t want any copycats, but the staff are worried.’ Said Leanne.

  ‘Of course.’ Tommy said.

  ‘Now, what can I do for you?’ She asked.

  ‘What class was Amy in?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Sixth, class 6B.’ Leanne said.

  ‘Well, Anne and I would like to conduct interviews with each of the pupils, to find which of her friends she’s staying with’ Said Tommy.

  ‘I don’t think Amy’s staying with a friend.’ Leanne said.

  ‘Statistics would show otherwise Mrs King.’ Anne said.

  ‘No, you don’t get me, Amy had no friends.’

  ‘It would be best if we conduct these interviews in this room down here, it’s right beside my office.’ Said she, leading them down the school’s hallway to a room with a glass door and inside four couches.

  ‘We use it when we’re meeting with a parent, or if a child is sick and needs to be away from everyone else.’ She continued.

  ‘It’s perfect.’ Anne said, and Tommy nodded his agreement.

  ‘Ok, so this will take a while, getting in touch with the parents and the like, will that be ok.’ She asked.