In Deep Water

by Sam Blake

  Killing Sarah Jane would bring so much trouble down on them, but they’d already murdered Daniella. Perhaps Daniella’s death had been an accident. It was looking more and more like Farrell was behind this; if he was rough with the girls at The Paradise Club perhaps he’d been a bit too rough with Daniella, and that was how all this had started?

  Sarah Jane was different: she could bring way more trouble to their door. Cathy felt a shiver run down her spine. Sarah Jane’s connections could equally make it essential she disappeared. Permanently. Cathy fought to focus on Irina, on what she could tell her. She needed to move forward, to keep moving forward.

  ‘So you got into the taxi . . .’

  ‘I thought I could tell the driver, ask him for help, but he was listening to something on the radio and then I thought he’d just tell Nacek. So I kept quiet. We went a long way, then got to some houses and he stopped. I did what I was told and got out and walked away. Nacek was right there, parked behind the taxi. I got into his car and he told me to wait.’ Irina pulled a strand of hair from her face as she spoke, ‘He locked me into the car and went up to this house. He rang the doorbell, but no one answered. He had a set of keys, and he let himself in. He wasn’t there very long, came out with a suitcase, one of those ones on wheels, but he was carrying it.’

  Cathy stopped her, ‘What colour was it?’

  ‘Pink, bright pink.’ Sarah Jane’s hand-luggage case. Cathy had given it to her one Christmas – it was a perfect match with her phone case, Sarah Jane had loved it. Why hadn’t they realised it was missing? Irina continued, ‘He threw it into the back seat and drove off, carefully, but I could tell he was trying to be fast. He kept looking in the mirror.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘He called someone, said, “It’s done”, I think, and then took me back to the club. He told me to undo my hair and change back into my normal clothes. She shrugged, ‘That was all.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you for telling me.’ Cathy’s mind was reeling. Normally she distanced herself from the victim, they all did, focused on getting answers rather than dwelling on the emotion and fear that was inevitably tied up with violent crime. But this wasn’t a normal situation. She moved as if she was about to get up.

  ‘Please don’t leave me.’ Irina’s voice was little more than a whisper, ‘What happened to them? To the girl and your friend?’

  ‘We don’t know for sure . . .’

  Cathy could see the fear in Irina’s face, felt her own anger surging. This is what men like Richard Farrell and the other owners of The Paradise Club did.

  J.P. had found out that the club was owned by a group of off-shore company directors, who probably had wives and mistresses and off-shore accounts, who lived in luxury while the women imprisoned here lived in constant, abject fear. Deep inside, Cathy felt like she was going to explode.

  They were clever, there was no doubt about that. But not clever enough. They thought they had Irina so terrified she wouldn’t give evidence, but they hadn’t reckoned on the side of her she’d obviously managed to hide while she’d been here. They were used to destroying lives, taking advantage of women whose lives were already damaged by emotional or physical abuse. Women who couldn’t fight back. Cathy gritted her teeth. If it was the last thing she did she was going to get justice for Daniella and Irina and the women like her.

  O’Rourke had been resolute when he’d got back to Dún Laoghaire after his first visit here today, his own anger tangible. That was exactly how she felt now, and Cathy knew she couldn’t let it go. The Boss called it her fight instinct. The raw emotion – aggression, if they were truthful – that made her a winner. Fight and win. Kill or be killed. And right now Cathy was ready to kill the evil bastards who were behind The Paradise Club and everything it represented.

  38

  There was no question in Cathy’s mind that Richard Farrell was the cause of a whole heap of trouble.

  Cathy glanced across the club at O’Rourke, the phone glued to his ear. He’d be putting out calls to get Richard Farrell and his sidekick Nacek taken into custody based on Irina’s testimony. It was looking a lot like one or both of them were culpable in Daniella’s death, and knew a whole lot more about what had happened to Sarah Jane than they’d indicated so far. Billy Roberts too.

  She’d had a text from 007 to say they’d discovered the cameras in The Paradise Club were linked to the CCTV room in The Rookery, just before they’d found cocaine in Billy Roberts’s office. They were bringing him in. She could imagine Roberts had been thrilled. He hadn’t seen anything yet.

  ‘We are going to the police station now?’ Irina interrupted Cathy’s thoughts, her voice betraying the strain she was under.

  Cathy smiled encouragingly, ‘Yes, you’ll be completely safe there, and a woman from an organisation called Ruhama, who help women in your situation, will come and talk to you. They have safe accommodation they can take you and the other girls to.’

  A flash of fear crossed Irina’s face. ‘I don’t . . . the other girls . . . I don’t trust them. If they realise it was me that caused all this they will get word to the men who were holding us.’

  Irina sounded like a lost child. Cathy could see the tears welling in her eyes again.

  ‘You’ll be safe, I promise. I’ll come down to the station with you. I just need a quick word with my inspector. Really, we’ll keep everyone apart.’

  ‘Will I be able to use a phone? I want to ring home.’ Irina’s voice cracked on the last word. Home must feel a very long way away right now.

  Cathy pulled her mobile out of the pocket of her hoodie, ‘Do you know the number?’

  Irina nodded, taking the phone in her hand like it was made of gold. ‘My mum keeps her phone switched off to save the battery, she doesn’t really understand phones, only uses it to text, but . . .’

  ‘Ring as many people as you need. Look, go over there,’ Cathy indicated a dark corner of the club, ‘No one will be able to hear you. I’ll be right over here.’

  Even with her back turned towards the room, Cathy could feel the emotion radiating from Irina. Her shoulders hunched, she curled up on the long padded seat that ran along the wall of the bar. It had to be the middle of the night in whatever place Irina came from, but Cathy could tell from her tears that someone somewhere was very glad to hear from her. She wondered if it would be the same for all the girls.

  While Irina was talking Cathy headed straight for O’Rourke. He was leaning back on the bar, his mobile clamped to his ear.

  ‘What?’ He mouthed the word, still listening.

  ‘Farrell set it all up, Irina was sure he was going to kill her unless she did what he wanted.’

  He put his hand over the mouthpiece, ‘Cabinteely are going to bring him in, and we’ve got an address for Nacek. I doubt he’s got a work visa. The security guys and a couple of the bar staff all share a company apartment – uniform from Store Street are heading there now. We need an ID on him, though. You’ve met him – can you get a still from one of the surveillance tapes? A good clear shot in colour and we’ll get it out everywhere. There’s a good chance he’s heard about the raid and will try to leave the jurisdiction.’

  ‘I’ll go and look at the footage now and drop Irina off at the same time.’

  O’Rourke’s nod was curt.

  From across the club Cathy saw Irina click the phone off and take a moment before she turned to look for her. Not seeing Cathy, a look of panic paralysed her face. ‘You’re needed,’ O’Rourke jerked his head in Irina’s direction.

  Cathy was back beside her a few seconds later, the relief clearly visible on Irina’s face at seeing her crossing the club towards her. She handed her back her phone. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You got through OK?’

  Irina smiled, ‘I’ve texted and left a message on my mum’s phone. Then I rang Meti.’ Then she suddenly broke down, sobbing like she was going to choke.

  Cathy moved to her side, sitting down beside he
r, putting her arm around her. ‘Who’s Meti?’

  Cathy could hardly hear the response, ‘My fiancé. He’s been waiting. He’s been staying with my mum and my little brother so he woke them up so I could talk to them. He said he never gave up.’ She gulped in a mouthful of air, ‘He’s been looking for me, trying to find out who placed the ad, to get the police at home involved. The money I wired to my Mum came from so many different places he didn’t know where I was. I was moving about too fast for him to come and try and find me and the police were no help. She paused, ‘I don’t know if he’ll still want me after . . . after so many . . . I’m not the same.’

  ‘You’ll work it out. It’ll be difficult for both of you. You’ve had a horrific experience.’

  ‘When can I go home? I need to give you your statement, then I want to go home.’

  ‘As soon as we have a statement from you about Sarah Jane, the bus and everything, you’ll be free to go. You don’t have to give a statement at all about working here straight away if you don’t want to, you’ve got sixty days to decide.’

  ‘But you need to prosecute them, Nacek and his men, for what they did to us. And the man with the cowboy boots, he raped me. I need to tell you.’ She paused, ‘It will be on one of the security tapes, they record everything.’

  Cathy kept her face straight. Irina still had no idea what had happened to Daniella, how brave she’d been in contacting Sarah Jane, how much she’d risked. ‘The sixty days is to give you time to recover. If you can tell us everything now it’ll speed things up, but we’ll get them. With your testimony and hopefully statements from the other girls we’ll have lots to work with here – I’m sure there are work visa violations and revenue fraud as well. And the drugs team will come in and take the place apart.’ She paused, ‘The other investigations we’re working on are extremely serious. Farrell and Nacek are looking at a long time inside if we can successfully prosecute. Your testimony is crucial to that.’

  Irina closed her eyes for a moment, as if she was trying to get a grip on everything that was happening. ‘They have drugs too. I’ve seen cars with bags of powder, they made us carry some when we went on the bus and the ferry. I wrote it all down, everything I could see, registration plate numbers, everything.’

  ‘We’ll get them, don’t worry. We need to get down to the station quickly so I can get an ID on Nacek and notify all stations. Are you good to go now?’

  Irina’s eyes began to fill. She looked at the floor, then at Cathy, ‘Yes. How can I thank you?’

  ‘You don’t need to. You’ve brought us here, closer to where Sarah Jane was last seen. Without you we’d have no idea what might have happened to her, or to Daniella O’Connor. I should be thanking you.’

  39

  In Pearse Street Station the CCTV viewing room wasn’t much bigger than a broom cupboard. Cathy checked the time on her phone. She hadn’t wanted to rush Irina, but she’d got here as fast as she possibly could; O’Rourke had sent the discs on ahead of her so they were ready as soon as she walked in. She stood behind the young Guard who had been volunteered to go through the footage. She could definitely think of more interesting jobs you could end up with in the Guards, like watching paint dry. It was stuffy in the small room, and he had his shirt unbuttoned and cuffs rolled up, which wasn’t altogether a bad thing. At least the view was good. Cathy glanced at him, trying to still her heart. It had been racing since she’d spoken to Irina, but she knew she needed to keep calm, needed to focus and get this done.

  Flipping the discs they’d burned in the club in and out of the machine, scrolling through the various cameras, the young Guard worked at lightning speed, she had to give him that. He’d said he was a gamer, that he was used to rapidly moving images.

  Nacek had to be here somewhere – he worked in the damn place.

  ‘Stop! That’s him.’

  The lad on the control panel touched a switch, changing camera.

  ‘Better?’

  The second camera showed Nacek’s face clearly, his black T-shirt straining over his chest.

  ‘Perfect. O’Rourke wants that sent over to Interpol, and circulated to all stations . . .’

  Cathy started, her mouth open, the next sentence hanging. As the young guard had frozen the picture, Nacek had turned to speak to another man who had entered the frame. A fit-looking guy in a white T-shirt who looked like he had a cloth in his hand. A guy about six feet tall, his hair closely cropped, military style. A guy Cathy recognised, and not only from the clock tattoo on the back of his neck. What was Aleksy doing there? From the way they were talking, and judging by the cloth in his hand, it looked like he worked there.

  ‘Oh holy feck.’ It was out before she had time to get it back, and the lad swung around in his chair, one eyebrow raised. ‘Know him?’

  Cathy nodded slowly. She knew him all right.

  O’Rourke was going to skin her. She’d given evidence, without authority, to someone who could be a material witness in a murder invesitgation. Cathy felt her skin chill, and Aleksy had been at Johnny Fox’s, close to where Daniella’s body had been found, on Tuesday night.

  ‘I need to talk to O’Rourke. Can you get prints of those stills and get them out?’

  ‘No problemo.’

  Letting the door of the viewing room shut behind her, Cathy wished it was no problemo, but somehow she knew it was a fecking huge problemo.

  Thankfully O’Rourke answered his phone quickly. Standing in an endless corridor, offices opening off both sides at regular intervals, the walls between crowded with steel lockers, Cathy leaned on the fire exit door, hoping no one would come up the stairs behind her. She kept her voice level, but she knew from his reaction that O’Rourke could hear the urgency in it.

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Where are you?’ His response was staccato, like machine-gun fire. Was it the way she said it? There was no point trying to hide anything from him: sometimes she thought he could read her mind.

  ‘Pearse Street – meet you in the canteen?’

  He cut in before she could continue, ‘Is Irina OK?

  ‘Yep, she’s fine.’ Cathy reached for her necklace. ‘It’s something else. Something on the security tapes. We need to find the guy I was with in Flannery’s the other night. Aleksy Janosik, he’s Polish. I’ll explain when you get here, but we need to find him fast.’

  There was a pause, ‘I’ll get everyone on it. I’m on my way.’

  *

  As good as his word, O’Rourke appeared in the station canteen before her hot chocolate had cooled, his heavy navy overcoat flapping as he let the swing doors close behind him, his shoulders glistening with raindrops.

  Fighting to keep calm, Cathy was nursing her cup, and had a coffee waiting for him. Thankfully the canteen was almost empty; a couple of the tables were occupied by the night shift, their navy bomber jackets slung over the back of the chairs, GARDA emblazoned in gold on the back. He strode over to the corner she was in and pulled out a chair, spinning it around so he was sitting astride it. He didn’t take his coat off.

  ‘So what’s up? Who’s this Aleksy?’

  Cathy drew in a breath. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  Cathy bit her lip. Where did she start? From the beginning was always the best place. Then she couldn’t be accused of leaving anything out.

  ‘You know I went up to Enniskerry to question Jacob?’

  O’Rourke interrupted, ‘I thought this was about the security tape?’

  Cathy held up her hand to stop him, ‘It is, there’s just a bigger picture. So when we’d finished the interview I was chatting in the shop with his mum,’ O’Rourke rolled his hands like he didn’t have all day, ‘and this Polish guy comes in to collect some suits . . . Aleksy.’

  ‘The guy from Flannery’s?’

  ‘Yes, he works for us translating, he speaks a load of languages. I recognised him from Pearse Street.’ She cleared her throat, ‘So, remember I got a
look at those MoneyGram transfers that Irina was making home to Belarus? I wanted to get someone to find out where the money was going . . .’

  ‘And I told you to focus on the case and leave it alone?’

  Her smile of acknowledgement was weak, ‘Well, we got chatting, me and Aleksy.’

  O’Rourke raised an eyebrow, ‘Did you know he worked at The Paradise Club?’

  Cathy shook her head, ‘No, he said he did painting and decorating, translating – odd jobs while he looks for a full-time job. He’s a mechanical engineer . . . but I think he must be doing door or bar work too, I don’t know.’

  O’Rourke’s face creased in a frown, ‘Go on . . .’

  Cathy closed her eyes, ‘We went up to Johnny Fox’s for a jar.’ There were some details he didn’t need. This was the worst bit, the bit that had been making her feel physically sick since she’d left the CCTV room. She was sure she was wrong, but O’Rourke had to know. She turned her cup in her hands, ‘It was Tuesday, the day Saunders thinks Daniella’s body was dumped. He said he thought she’d been dead for about four days. If she was murdered on the Friday night when she went missing that all adds up.’

  O’Rourke winced, and paused for a moment before he summed it all up. ‘So now, on top of the head of security at The Paradise Club getting one of the girls to pose as Daniella O’Connor, we’ve got another member of staff – most of whom seem to be Eastern European ex-military thugs – in close proximity to the location of the decapitated body of a girl the same age and build as our missing waitress, within the crucial time frame? And you’re telling me you might form part of an alibi for this guy?’

  Cathy groaned inside; it sounded even worse when he said it than it had done in her head. O’Rourke tipped her chin and looked her directly in the eye. His look was hard but serious. ‘You think he might have had her body in his boot while you went for a drink, and then dumped it when you left?’