First Death In Dublin City (Thomas Bishop Book 1)

by Colm-Christopher Collins

  ‘You want full service?’ She asked.

  Tommy nodded.

  ‘That will be sixty euro half hour, one hundred for full hour.’ Ling said.

  Tommy reached into his slacks, but instead of pulling out a wallet like Ling expected, he took out his Sig Sauer. Ling’s eyes widened with fear.

  ‘Go get your guy.’ Tommy said.

  Ling just stared at him wide eyed, not able to take her eyes off the pistol.

  ‘Go!’ Tommy shouted, but the noise brought the guy anyway. He was a large man, Asian in origin, with rolls of flab seemingly everywhere on his person. His eyes flared when he saw Tommy with the gun, but it didn’t seem to frighten him, as he stepped forward to intercept Tommy.

  So Tommy took out his other weapon, the Detective Inspectors badge – and the pimp stopped short.

  ‘I’m a Garda.’ Tommy said. ‘Look outside if you want, my partners outside.’ And with that Tommy threw the Sig down on the bed.

  The Asian man shuffled past Tommy to the window, and he glanced out between the lace curtains, down at Anne smoking in a darkened car. He then shuffled back out, and after a minute Tommy heard him on the phone in the other room, shouting what sounded like Cantonese. Tommy glanced over at the prostitute still in the room, at her low cut top and long tanned legs; then he shivered and looked away.

  It took just five minutes for the actual pimp arrived, it made sense that he would live in the same building. This guy, again, was Asian, but he was barely over five foot in height, with greasy hair tied back in a ponytail.

  ‘Officer, what can I do fo’ you?’ He asked.

  ‘Just want to talk, is all.’ Tommy said.

  The man barked an order and the prostitute left.

  ‘We have you under investigation.’ Tommy said, and the pimp said ‘oh’.

  ‘Of course, we’re busy men, so we don’t need to be investigating legitimate businesses such as yours.’ Tommy said.

  ‘What do you want, money? Pah! A shake down.’ The pimp said.

  ‘No, of course not, are you suggesting we’re dirty? I resent such accusations. No, see, I said we’re very busy men; very busy men. Men being the operative word.’

  ‘Ohhhhhhhhh.’ Said the pimp.

  ‘There’s many a business in this city who give their wares to a Garda for free, sandwiches, chips, the like. Why should you be any different?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘So if you get to use my girls you’ll leave me alone?’

  Tommy nodded.

  ‘Then use when you like, use when you like.’ He said.

  ‘You’re very kind, there will be no more survaillence and so long as you guys don’t cause any unnecessary noise or bother, you won’t be disturbed by any police action.’

  ‘Very good sir. Would you like Ling to come back?’

  ‘No, I’m good for tonight. I do however want to speak to one of your prostitutes, named Yuan? I need her to identify a client, and if she does that, I’ll be on my way, and you’ll be free to run your business however you want.’

  The pimp looked unsure, clearly reticent about breaking his client confidentiality, but Tommy just raised his eyebrow, and he quickly forgot about the all-important confidentiality. Twenty minutes later, the girl named Yuan was before him in a pink dressing gown and slippers.

  Tommy took out from his pocket six polaroid’s and placed them on the bed before himself.

  ‘Which of these have used you before?’ Tommy asked.

  Yuan pointed straight away to one photo, and only one.

  ‘When did he last use you?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Last night.’ She said.

  The night Tanya was abducted and killed.

  His disappointment must have shown, because Yuan put a hand on his shoulder, but all Tommy could notice was the face of David Breen staring at him from a faded photo, an innocent man. He got up and left, not even talking or saying goodbye to the strange scene he had just left behind.

  When he reached the stairs, his disgust overcame him, and he debated what he could do, but then he realised, with there being no department to investigate prostitution, for either better or worse. So, really there was nothing to do but leave a report in the system tomorrow morning, and leave the scene as dust on his feet – he had a Ripper to catch and no leads to catch him with.

  ##

  Jennifer was smoking under the white station light.

  ‘Fags are so unlike you. Give it to me.’ And she did, letting Tommy take a long drag before placing it back into her mouth.

  ‘How’re you?’ She asked.

  ‘Exhausted, no sleep last night and probably not a lot tonight either.’

  ‘I heard, about Tanya.’ Jenny said.

  ‘It knocked us off the front page anyway.’ Tommy said.

  Jennifer chuckled.

  ‘You know I never really see you laugh like that.’ Tommy said.

  ‘The whole thing seems slightly absurd.’ She said. ‘Everything has changed in a week. Everything.’

  Tommy rolled his eyes. ‘Join the club.’

  And so they stood at the edge of the rainy night, on the precipice of the cold.

  ‘I like you Tommy.’ Jennifer said.

  ‘I like you too.’ Tommy replied without a second’s hesitation.

  ‘Fionbar was the one who made the story happen, the journalist works for one of his drinking buddies.’ Jennifer said.

  ‘Well who’s playing detective.’ Tommy said.

  ‘Tommy this isn’t funny, he might keep doing shit.’ Jennifer said.

  ‘Shit like tell the national media he’s been cuckholded? I think he came out worst out of the whole thing.’ Tommy said.

  ‘He came out worst!?’ Jennifer said.

  ‘Alright, after you then.’ Tommy said.

  ‘My fucking career.’ Jennifer said.

  ‘Your career will be fine, once you stop campaigning to have McGee repealed. That was a bit hypocritical.’ Tommy said.

  Jennifer glared, so Tommy kissed her quickly on the lips.

  ‘What to fucking do?’ Said she.

  ‘I’m no political aide Jennifer, so I dunno. But honestly I thought you were coming here to close the books.’ Tommy said.

  ‘Close the books? What? No. Wait.. That’s not what you want is it?’ Jenny said.

  ‘I haven’t thought about what I want, but no.’ Tommy said.

  ‘Good, because I’m not having Fionbar ruin another good thing for me. Fucking ass, forgive my French.’ Jenny said.

  ‘Sorry, but how are you two married again?’ Tommy said.

  ‘He was the only guy in college who would wait until we were married to sleep together.’ Jenny said.

  ‘Classic.’ Said Tommy through laughs. ‘Now that is absurd.’

  Jennifer suddenly grabbed Tommy’s hand in hers.

  ‘I want him to find us.’ Jenny said.

  ‘What?’ Tommy asked.s

  ‘For him to walk in on us, fucking like animals.’

  ‘Ehm…’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘I’ll think about it. I’ve a killer to catch though, so fetishes are fairly low down on my to do list.’ Tommy said.

  ‘Of course. The news sources said you might have arrested someone?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘It was nothing.’

  ‘So what now?’ Asked Jennifer.

  ‘We’re off to check up on the guy who gave us the lead.’

  Jennifer grabbed his hand. ‘Give up the case Tommy; you’ve been in hell since it started.’

  ‘What?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘You were happy before Amy Clancy went missing. But since then you’ve been a wreck.’

  ‘I’m the best detective there is, the best the Gardaí have.’

  ‘Modest. But insane you’re no use to them.’

  Tommy grabbed hard onto Jennifer’s shoulders.

  ‘I am going to find him.’

  ‘Then find him! Tommy I’ve known you for a little over a year and when I first met you, you were the most arro
gant man I know. You told me you’d solved every single crime you’d ever been given; they were never added to the long list. And now? What have you become? You think I didn’t see the tracks on your arm the last few times we talked?’

  Tommy stepped back, ashamed. ‘You.. You saw?’

  ‘Yes I fucking saw, and you know what? I couldn’t really care less; but would the old Tommy really have let a missing girl drive him to dope?’

  ‘It was the last straw.. The last few months I’ve been sliding.’

  ‘Yeah, well there’s a whole country who wants this thing solved, so you’re gonna have to shit or get off the pot – because I’d rather have Sergeant Tulip on it than you when you’re in this mood.’ Jenny said.

  Tommy stood and stared at her, unsure whether he wanted to hit her or hug her. In the end he went for the latter and then ran out into the rain where Anne was waiting in a car for him.

  ‘I got you your stuff from the shop.’ And she handed over a packet of cigarettes and a can of Red Bull. Tommy glanced down at the smokes, and remembering what Jennifer had said, he threw them out the car window and into the rain.

  ‘Hey! What was that?’ Asked Anne.

  ‘I’m quitting.’ And Anne rolled her eyes in response. The Red Bull gave Tommy a hit he needed, as they drove off onto Ballyfermot Station. The traffic was heavy in the rain, and it took them an hour to make it, but they had phoned ahead so Peter Hayes was waiting outside for them.

  The battered old station’s graffitied lobby was full, thirty or forty people queuing up to talk to the exhausted Garda behind the desk. GNIB, visa renewal deadline was upon them again.

  Peter brought them with him, past the heavy wooden door that required a heavy shoulder to open.

  ‘Hasn’t been greased in yonks; only three months into the year and the station is already overbudget.’

  Peter brought them into the common office which was drowned in paper and sat down in front of them.

  ‘Well? What’s up? The Ripper case I assume?’ Peter asked.

  ‘The very same.’ Tommy said.

  ‘Must be great, being given that size of a budget.’

  Tommy huffed. ‘Well, this morning I got told that everyone in the team apart from Anne and me would be handed new casework; which basically means that I have no team anymore.’

  ‘Yeah, a team of seven nowadays seemed a little too good to be true. So what can I do for you?’ Peter said.

  ‘We had a tip off from a group of homeless men; turned out not to be true.’

  ‘First time ever a homeless man has lied to the Gardaí?’

  ‘Well, they didn’t know that it was the Ripper we were looking for, and even if they figured it out, they specifically pointed out someone as being guilty, who just so happened to be linked to the first victim.’

  ‘So you wanna check out what motivated them to lie so accurately?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Well, I have had a good bit of liason with them; in fact I’m a bit of an expert, but there are about six to ten thousand homeless in Dublin, and they are particularly difficult to find so unless you have some kind of name or something?’ Peter said.

  ‘Yeah, the evidence was given by a Mick O’Reilly; remember him? Him and his friends.’ Tommy said.

  ‘Yeah, beardy fellow; alcoholic?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Yeah, well, he and his crew are a particular difficulty for homeless services.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘There are four kinds of homeless in the city. Drug addicts, the mentally ill, illegal immigrants and victims of austerity. The last are people who are unskilled and unemployed; relied on the safety net in the boom and can’t support themselves on the reduced welfare payments; usually single mothers or just above handicapped. The first, drug addicts, are again easy to understand: they spend all their disposable income on dope or meth and then have nothing left for a house and food and family and so on. That group of homeless men you’re talking about are a mix of both the mentally ill and illegals.’ Peter said.

  Tommy thought back, trying to visualise again that group of men around a fire; and indeed some of them had very dark skin now that he thought about it.

  ‘The mentally ill, usually, are the most difficult to deal with. Junkies would steal their kid’s transplant kidney to score; but the mentally ill: whatever they do is really impossible to predict, their behaviours make no sense. Really, the only ones they hurt are themselves, and they really do hurt themselves. When going through their episodes, they often will forget to eat, forget to sleep, forget to drink water: these are the groups of people who really should be institutionalised in the state institutions that just don’t exist on this island.’ Peter said.

  ‘Yeah ok.’

  ‘It’s weird you should mention that crew of people because, they really exemplify what it is I am talking about. I got a call from Andrew’s Street Post Office one day, Mick O’Reilly, who lives in Cabra, had gotten it into his head that he had to collect his dole from town, so he had walked all the way in along the Quays, on and off the road. He’s not been in Andrew’s Street post office once before that.’ Peter said.

  ‘Mick lives in a house?’

  ‘Lives in is a broad term. He doesn’t live there at all: prefers the streets.’ Peter said.

  ‘Do you have the address, I’ll try and find him.’ Tommy said.

  ‘He won’t be there.’

  ‘So what? We have to look somewhere – and that means we look where there is some kind of evidence. The only thing I have to go on is that there is a deliberate false identification of a person close to the first victim. Maybe there was a motiviation?’

  ‘I dunno Tommy, these guys, they’re not exactly known for their honesty.’

  ‘Gimme his address, and the address of all the hostels the rest of that crew stay in.’

  And Peter nodded, and filled out a sheet for them and handed it over to them.

  ‘Hope you catch him.’ Said Peter, as they left, and Tommy nodded.

  Outside the queue had grown, with stressed faces rubbing against one and another in the rush to get a Visa within the limit of some unforeseen deadline.

  Anne turned to him, once they reached the door.

  ‘Wanna stay in mine? Its almost midnight.’

  Tommy thought about it for a second.

  ‘Ok, after we’ve tried to find everyone though.’

  ‘Sure, we’ll drop by yours and you can pick up a bag. Then we can stay at it for ages tonight.’

  18

  The rain was falling heavily as the Clancy parents entered the conference room. Tommy glanced over and made eye contact with Claire, and drew in a sharp intake of breath as he saw what was hidden beneath her hood. She looked as if she had been hit by a truck, huge swollen black eyes, face out of shape, and a wincing breath. Of course injuries like that only came from a particular kind of truck – big, strong with powerful reaching arms. Tommy stared at Gary, yet the man didn’t look up.

  Gary was too busy with what was in his large hands, an even larger opened brown envelope. The envelope was shaking, as along with his shellshocked complexion Gary also seemed unable to stop his body from twitching.

  ‘What happened?’ Asked Anne who had obviously come to the same conclusion as Tommy that there was some kind of new development in the case.

  Gary swallowed heavily, his Adam’s apple bobbing against his skin. Then he threw the envelope down in front of Tommy and Anne, and the contents fell out all over the table. There were inside a crop of A4 photographs, eighteen in total. Each one was a photo of Amy Clancy and from them Tommy could see that the autopsy hadn’t lied, there had been no penetration; but he had been ultimately right too in saying that the lack of penetration didn’t preclude a sexual element: as in each of the photographs Amy was both asleep, unconscious, and naked. In each she was postured so as to be lying in some form of a suggestive position. In some, a pair of grubby hands were fondling her, in others she was wearing va
rious accessories: a sailor’s hat, a white gag, penny’s jewellery, sunglasses and even a clown’s nose. The worst of the bunch was in the middle of the stock which showed the ripper urinating on Amy’s chest. To send such an indictment of the horrors Amy’s final days to those who loved her most showed callousness that, in truth, Tommy had yet to see in ten years of being on the force.

  ‘I, guys… I’m sorry.’ Said Tommy, bereft of knowledge on how to remedy the situation. The photos were on the table so Tommy shoved them back in the envelope so both Gary and Claire wouldn’t have to look at them.

  ‘Get these down to evidence.’ Said Tommy, handing the envelope to Anne.

  They would run it for prints and check the photo for any kind of digital fingerprints but Tommy knew it was unlikely, the ripper simply wouldn’t have sent the photographs if they were traceable; so Tommy said it more just to regain authority over the room. Though Gary clearly was in pain, Tommy could sense waves of anger coming from Claire.

  ‘I need to go home and sleep.’ Said Claire bitterly, as she turned to leave the room and Tommy understood that to mean she was going home to pop some Xanex, something she had told Tommy she hadn’t done in weeks.

  ‘Claire, wait.’ Said Tommy and Gary simultaneously, but she waited for neither of them.

  Gary chased after her into the corridor, and Tommy heard Claire snap behind the door.

  ‘Piss off Gary.’ She said, and Gary walked sheepishly back into the room.

  ‘You ok?’ Asked Tommy, and Gary just shook his head.

  ‘Really need a fucking drink.’ He said. Tommy took him in; drinking during the day definitely wasn’t healthy but there were obvious exceptions to that rule: among them undoubtedly were the photos Anne had just taken to evidence.

  As well we need to have a conversation about Claire’s face.

  ‘Yeah, sure. Come with me.’ Said Tommy as he walked from the room.

  The headed out the door and jogged to the stairs. Glancing down Tommy could see Claire striding out the front door. He called after her but she didn’t check back.