First Death In Dublin City (Thomas Bishop Book 1)

by Colm-Christopher Collins

  ‘I’m looking for someone, do you mind helping me out? His mother’s worried sick.’ Said Tommy, and all around the light the lads nodded.

  A picture was passed around the group; it was one of the one’s Tommy had been given by Claire of Amy, where she was on a car bonnet beside her brother: Tommy, of course had cut Amy out of it.

  Not a flicker of registration passed along any the men’s faces, and Tommy sighed.

  ‘Did you notice anything strange last Thursday?’ Asked Tommy.

  ‘Shure, that was the night yer wan was dumped by the Ambassador’s residence; no?’ Said a slurry man who was rocking from side to side.

  ‘Yeah, you guys see anything?’ Asked Tommy.

  ‘You a Guard?’ Asked the youngest in the group, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

  ‘No.’ Said Tommy, but around the group suspicion was raised, and any warmth that had existed with the cigarettes and stories of missing young men was evaporated.

  Tommy finished the fag, hoping it was just this small group who would find out that he was a Garda, and knowing that he needed to play it cool. He dumped it into the mud and walked away, but as he went an idea hit him. He knew, of course, that the smarter move would be to keep flogging the picture, but still.

  He took his phone from his pocket, and hiding it best he could from the homeless around him, he opened up his browser and began searching, hiding the phone into his body. Anne looked at him inquisitively, but he tilted his head towards the rest of the Glen, indicating that he wanted her to wait. Tommy flicked, and flicked, and flicked, and eventually found exactly what he was looking for.

  ‘Mick!’ He shouted over to the group, and Mick O’Reilly looked up from his conversation and saw Tommy waving him over. Mick shuffled over slowly.

  ‘Sergeant.’ He said, and Tommy didn’t bother correcting him. Instead, he just placed the picture under his nose.

  ‘Know this fella?’ Tommy asked.

  Mick looked closely, putting his eyes right up to the screen.

  ‘Yeah, sure, shared a naggin with him a few times.’

  ‘In the park?’ Asked Tommy.

  ‘Yeah, in the park.’ Said Mick.

  Tommy’s pulse quickened. ‘When was the last time you saw him in the park?’

  ‘Last Thursday.’

  16

  Today, four of the Blackrock six were being released, and the media were talking about little else. Aoife found that little else.

  She was sitting at the breakfast table convulsed in manic laughter, as she had been doing since she had first opened up today’s Daily Star half an hour ago. Page four and five had written in bold letters HYPOCRITE, with the line beneath describing some kind of pun on the words penis and Dublin Ripper.

  The article went on to tell how he and Jennifer were having an affair, and wondering whether all the secrecy was affecting Tommy’s ability to catch the ripper. There were several livid descriptions of Tommy, and some of Jennifer; with a female columnist writing that she ‘understands why a TD, surrounded all day by grey haired suits, would want a blue collared hunk of meat; and oh, what a hunk he is.’

  Aoife had woken him up by reading the extracts, including too the passage that quoted Jennifer in the Dáil arguing against teaching about contraception in school; and now she just sat at the kitchen table and laughed, while Tommy remained in a constant state of red. Mostly the story wasn’t getting large coverage online, but for the right-wing rags and the voices of the far-left, delighted to see their mortal enemy brought down so low.

  ‘There you go.’ Said Tommy, putting down the French toast in front of her, and putting his beside and sitting down.

  Aoife was at this stage weeping tears of laughter, but she still managed to begin wolf down the slices of egged bread.

  ‘So how’s your boyfriend then?’

  Aoife’s face darkened. ‘I dunno if we’re going to work out.’

  Tommy had to stop himself from sarcastically saying ‘again’, Aoife was quite touchy when it came to her inability to maintain relationships.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Said Tommy.

  ‘Yeah, well I was actually going to ask whether I could move in soon enough; I think he’s cheating on me.’ Said Aoife, and Tommy laid a strong hand upon her shoulder; then hugged her into him.

  Aoife, however, while being hugged, immediately began to laugh as her eye caught one of the photos on the newspaper page; it showing Tommy leaning on the bonnet of his car and talking to some random woman.

  ‘Alright, fuck this. Enjoy my toast.’ Said Tommy, getting up, and Aoife just guffawed some more.

  #

  Tommy threw the paper down on the conference table. ‘Anybody want to laugh, do it now.’ He said.

  There were a few smirks, but nothing too malicious, dead girls would do that for you.

  ‘I’ve something for you.’ Asked Detective Simpson, who’d been up all night at the CCTV footage.

  ‘Oh?’ Tommy asked, and Simpson began to take out photos while he narrated.

  ‘Tanya Higgins was abducted as she left Harcourt Street LUAS Stop at midnight last night. She arrives here with a group of friends, all who charge ahead to get to Harcourt Street before the midnight deadline for free entry. See her stagger, she’s drunk, that combined with her lack of athleticism means she get left behind by her group. Now, this here was the last LUAS, which tells us how well the Ripper knew what he would be doing, there would be no crowd coming after Tanya to interrupt him. Likely, he may have waited for the last LUAS full in the knowledge that he was going to abduct whoever got off that stop last. The abduction spot was selected by the Ripper very deliberately as well. It’s a complete blind spot, no CCTV cameras. Therefore we only got two shots of the Ripper’s vehicle.’ He said.

  Then Simpson threw the last two pictures on the table; the first was of a white Ford Transit Van, blurred as it did a U-Turn. the second was of just the back of the same van, except the back doors were open, and the registration plate was turned away from the camera.

  ‘Wait, this sticker on his back window, can you enlarge that?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Already have.’ Simpson said, and he took out the last grainy black and white photograph and put it down on the table. Everyone crowded around it.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ Said a rank and file.

  ‘I have. Look at it, a white background with a black circle, and inside the circle is a triangle. That’s very familiar.’ Tommy said.

  ‘All you need to do is add a wand and you’ve got that symbol from Harry Potter.’ Said a young kid in on his first investigation. An incredulous look from Anne soon quieted him.

  ‘The Illuminati?’ Said Simpson.

  ‘That dollar symbol?’ Tommy asked. ‘Though it does look like that, that’s not what I’m thinking of. You’re all distracting me, here we’ll get back to this. First though, new suspect.’ And he nailed a large photo of Amy’s stepbrother onto a board.

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘Thomas Sharpe, Amy’s stepbrother. He is in his teens, old enough to drive and, most notably, is on the spectrum.’ Anne said.

  ‘Does he match all the steps?’ Asked Tim.

  ‘The theory goes; Thomas wakes up one day and finds that his mother has a new husband and even worse he has a sister. For most people this would be emotionally turbulent, but for someone with severe Autism, this could cause extreme resentment. The theory goes therefore that he lashed out and murdered Amy.’ Tommy said.

  ‘How though? Where could he have held him?’

  ‘Thomas didn’t hold him, this guy did.’ And Tommy nailed another picture to the board.

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘His name is David Breen, and he is a case worker in a private company that provides one on one treatment for the disabled. His main client is one Thomas Sharpe; and he has been his case worker for longer than three years. He therefore could conceivably have been the one to write all the online posts, plus he lives alone: perfect place to kee
p women; and it’s within the catchment area we had set. Most convincingly however, is some actual proof in that some members of the homeless community have stated that they have seen this man in the Phoenix Park on the very evening of Aishe being dumped in the park.’ Tommy said.

  The atmosphere in the room changed, with everyone suddenly becoming more interested in what he had to say.

  ‘So how should we proceed?’

  ‘Well, Susan, what do you think of a warrant? Have we got the probable cause?’

  ‘Sounds enough right enough.’

  ‘Ok, I’ll find a Peace Commissioner. We’ll ring his company, and hopefully he’ll be in work and we can do the search this morning. Let’s get on it.’

  #

  They circled around the block several times, taking in everything they could about the Walkinstown houses. David Breen lived here with his wife and no children, whom he had been happily married to for a number of years. They scoured the block as they drove, attempting to tell if anyone was home or likely to be home: so far nothing. Therefore, Tommy, Anne and three rank and files got out over a block away and jogged over to the house. They knocked several times, but no one came to the door. Tommy glanced around, searching for a way in that wasn’t smashing the door in. Left, right, he checked and finally he found it; a potted plant behind a bush.

  Tommy lifted it up, and flashing his badge at a neighbour nosily staring, picked up the key underneath. It fit into the lock snugly, and Tommy turned it and pushed the door open. A loud noise rang out in the hall and Tommy moved in. The annoying beeping was coming from a large white box in the hallway. Tommy knew it well, from Magnum Alarms, the same one he had in his own house.

  Tommy opened up his phone and found the number he had punched in earlier, and rang up Magnum Security.

  ‘This is Detective Insppector Thomas Bishop, I’m ringing about an alarm going off in number 12 Corwell Road. My badge number is 43451, and the codeword for the day is MangoWango. Could you please turn the alarm off?’

  There were some clicks from the other end, then. ‘Certaintly Inspector.’ And the ringing switched off.

  ‘Alright everybody, we need to comb through the house to quickly look for any room that could possibly hold a captive. After our quick search, we’ll be calling Matty in, ok?’

  Everyone nodded. Tommy went straight for the stairs. He bungled into three different rooms upstairs and the toilet, yet found nothing of note. He shouted down to their computer expert and told him that there was a computer and Tommy wanted him to examine it. Then, he moved to the hallway and looked above his head, finding above him a trapdoor. He jumped and knocked the door out of the way.

  ‘Dempsey.’ He said, and one of the rank and files came to him. ‘Give us a hoosh.’ Said Tommy, and then placed his foot into Dempsey’s cupped hands, and he pulled himself up into the dusty attic. It seemed that with every breath he was dragging more fibre glass into his lungs, but it was ok, he would shower once he got home.

  He climbed over crap to search for other crap, poking among old trophies and paintings and worn out books. Rather sadly, Tommy found a lot of abandoned baby stuff, and he wondered why it had never been used. There were bags that, when opened, merely revealed other bags. Nothing in the eaves or the main floor; nothing at all that would tell him: Tommy, a serial killer lives here. Still, that didn’t necessarily mean that there didn’t.

  After mentally cataloguing everything, Tommy returned to the trapdoor and hopped down; landing with a heavy ploof on the carpet. He walked back to the computer room.

  ‘Get anywhere?’ Asked Tommy.

  ‘Yeah, I’m in already. It wasn’t password protected.’ Said Mark Daly, typing away.

  Detective Cosgrave walked into the room, and Tommy nodded to him.

  ‘You manage to link any ultraviolent crimes to this?’ Asked Tommy, remembering that that had been the task he had been set.

  ‘The Blackrock six?’ He asked, half in hope. ‘That and a few other cases, most of which have the perpetrator firmly in jail or otherwise have holes linking to this case.’

  Tommy nodded.

  ‘Anything?’ Tommy asked of Mark.

  ‘Nothing, no connection. Can’t find anything incriminating here at all. I’m loading it all onto a USB so I can analyse it later, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope.’

  ‘Fuck.’ Said Tommy. David Breen had, it seemed, managed to evade them so far. ‘Alright, pack up and head out.’

  The cars outside were waiting, parked beside David’s large Ford Transit van.

  ##

  The school principal nodded and took Tommy and Anne with her. There was a soothing silence about the place, and it all almost looked like it was just a regular school. When they were let into their destination, an art room, Tommy and Anne sat down at the side and watched people draw. David Breen was sitting with a young boy, both of them trying to work a pottery machine together. Tommy waited until they got the nod from the principal before walking to him.

  ‘David Breen, would you mind stepping outside with me?’ Showing the care worker his identification. Breen nodded and got up, leaving the room with Tommy and Anne.

  ‘We’d like you to come with us to answer several questions, if you wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘Yeah, ehm sure.’

  ‘You’re not under arrest or anything.’ But Breen, who had gone pale, nodded, as if he were used to the procedure.

  He turned even paler when he saw the method of transportation: a huge blue and white armoured van, caged in meshed steel to protect the van from projectiles. Used mainly for countering civil unrest and gang activities, Tommy had put a call in and managed to secure it just to put the shivers into their Ripper suspect. Inside, the narrow cages had been folded away, but Breen clearly blanched at the sight of such a militarised truck and required a persuasive hand on his back from Tommy to convince him to step into the hallowed back of the van.

  Upon arriving in Donneybrook Station, Anne got Breen comfortable in the interview room while Tommy filled out the paperwork, before finally they could begin.

  ‘Where were you last night David?’ Tommy asked.

  David shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘My wife complained?’

  Tommy was taken aback. Maybe it was the twenty four hours without sleep, but he had not been expecting that answer.

  ‘Not your wife.’ Tommy said with a grimace; well we had expected the Ripper to be insane.

  ‘In that case, I was just going for a drive.’

  ‘A drive?’

  ‘Yup, just a drive.’

  ‘So no alibi for last night?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘None.’ He said with a brief smile. Tommy was confused, it just didn’t make sense that he wouldn’t have at least some kind of alibi prepared.

  ‘Were you driving your car or your van?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘My van.’

  ‘Why do you have that again? You don’t work in a profession that needs it?’ Tommy said.

  David shrugged. ‘It was going cheap, so I said why not.’

  ‘Ok David, what were you doing when Amy Clancy was abducted?’

  ‘Working.’

  ‘With Amy’s step brother?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Yes, it was an easy day, we did what he wanted to do, and he just wanted to drive around the city.’ David said.

  ‘Why were you two home so late that evening? Surely you were called once Amy went missing?’

  ‘Phone was off.’ David said.

  Tommy took in this man across from him, so comfortable in an interview room. Something was off.

  ‘David, why did a homeless man put you in the Phoenix Park on the night of Aishe Petulengro’s death?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘The park?’ David laughed. ‘Detective, that is in no way my scene.’

  ‘Your scene? What does the dumping of your second victim have to do with a scene David?’

  ‘Dumping my what? Detective what is this?’ David now looking genuinely confused. There’s something inhe
rently wrong with this situation.

  Tommy got up and left the room, closing the heavy door behind him. To Anne’s puzzled expression he pointed to the computer, where he typed in David’s name into the PULSE system. Of course, they had done this before, but that was just a basic search for previous convictions, with two clicks, Tommy entered the part of the search where one just put in words and saw if they came up anywhere in the system. He typed “DAVID BREEN” and hit return.

  Due to how common the name was over a thousand hits came up, and Tommy just began scrolling, Anne looking at him awkwardly.

  ‘Keep him entertained. Say nothing.’ Said Tommy, pointing into the interview room, and she nodded.

  He scrolled through shit for some time, but fortunately the numerous David Breen’s in the country seemed to be in general uninvolved with the Gardaí, so after twenty minutes, he found what he was looking for: David had been a witness in a human trafficking trial, which in earnest only meant one thing. Of course, he may still be the Ripper, but his reticence was explained. Getting up, Tommy went and got himself some high caffeine stuff; then he returned to the door; and knocked lightly. Anne’s voice from the other side told him he could come in. He sat down again across from David and drained his cup of bitter liquid, feeling as it began to stay off the lack of sleep.

  ‘So, tell me about the whores David?’ Tommy said.

  But David was rattled. ‘Victims, Detective, you think I have something to do with this Ripper business don’t you? I know fucking nothing about those women.’

  ‘Well, David, let’s look at the evidence. Three girls murdered by one man; one of the murders was organized and seemed personal; the other two were disorganised, lustful and random. You have a history of using prostitutes, have no alibi for any of the murders and a personal link to the first victim. You were spotted in the park on the night of the second victim being dumped. So, what about Tanya? Why her? Was it you that carved piggy into her thigh? Do fucking tell.’ Tommy said.