by Sam Blake
‘That’s what Saunders said. And it won’t matter who said they saw him if we have forensics that put him at the scene. The soil samples will be the final nail, with a bit of luck. And in the meantime, guess what’s turned up?’
‘What?’ Cathy glanced at him, her stomach doing a flip. What now? She pulled her necklace from the neck of her sweater.
‘The fingerprint guys have identified a partial print on the bottom of the banister in Sarah Jane’s house belonging to Nacek. Once we brought him in and ran a check it showed up. And he’s all over the European databases. He’s got a list of previous convictions as long as your arm – GBH, ABH, you name it – and a pile of outstanding warrants.’
Cathy ran her pendant along its chain, ‘That corroborates Irina’s testimony that he followed her cab to Sarah Jane’s and then went into the house before he took her back to the club.’
‘That’s it. She’s been very brave to confess to her involvement.’
‘But she won’t be prosecuted for assisting, will she, seeing she was under duress?’ Cathy could hear the anxiety in her own voice.
‘I’m not seeing the state prosecuting her as an accessory under these circumstances. We’ve got Nacek at Sarah Jane’s house now, which is excellent. There’s a lot more work to be done to tie him to Daniella, but it’s looking like he was involved at every stage.’
‘Sarah Jane’s old desktop must be somewhere – Irina said he came out with her suitcase?’
‘We’re looking. He’s probably dumped it, along with her keys, but it sounds like he let himself in, tossed her room and walked right out again. Her housemate is some plank, isn’t he?’ Cathy pulled a face. That about summed Slug up. He hadn’t told them outright, but she reckoned he’d been high as a kite that Sunday night. He hadn’t even been sure what time he’d got home from the pub after lunch. O’Rourke continued, ‘It’s looking like Farrell must have sent Nacek to search Sarah Jane’s room. I’m guessing he wanted to question her to find out how much she knew about their little operation – they were worried she was working on a story and had been gathering evidence, photographs, whatever, since she started working at The Rookery and had it all stored on her computer. I think he used her suitcase to take it out so it looked less suspicious if anyone saw him.’
‘And Aleksy?’
‘He’s being very helpful, and his work visas are all in order which is always a good start. He’s been compiling information on Farrell’s network since he got the job at The Paradise Club. He knew there was a lot wrong from the moment he walked in and he’d already made some friends in Pearse Street because he’d painted someone’s sister’s living room or something. Then Pearse Street needed an interpreter and none were available so they called him.’
‘So when he got the job at The Paradise Club, he had a chat to his mate in the station and the rest is history?’
O’Rourke rocked back on his heels, ‘That’s about it. The Criminal Assets Bureau were already sniffing about – looking at The Rookery, apparently, had their eye on Farrell. He’s got some dubious business contacts and the restaurant seemed to be making a lot a money. He popped up on their radar. Aleksy was a gift.’ He raised his eyebrows, ‘And he was helping Irina – she had some pretty heavy clients, and he gave her some sort of narcotic to knock them out so she didn’t get hurt. He had trouble sleeping himself apparently, got it from the internet.’ O’Rourke paused, ‘He thought she was Russian. He was worried about being watched so he didn’t get a chance to talk to her properly. He was quite surprised to find out she was from Belarus.’ O’Rourke raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
Aleksy had told him about her scheme to contact the MoneyGram recipient. Cathy looked at him deliberately innocently, ‘Really?’
She left it hanging there. It didn’t matter now. A part of Cathy started to relax. Perhaps her judgement about Aleksy wasn’t utterly flawed after all. But there was still a bigger question in her mind. ‘What about Sarah Jane? Did he know anything about her kidnap, or about Daniella?’
O’Rourke looked non-committal, ‘Apparently not. Nacek is the cagey type, didn’t let anything out.’ Cathy ventured a smile. ‘But Cat?’
‘Huh?’
‘Keep clear until the dust settles, yeah? You’re damn lucky.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘I mean it.’
O’Rourke pulled away from the wall and gave her one of his looks. He was her guardian angel. He’d once said she’d been his. His eyes met hers and held them for a moment. He cleared his throat and chucked her under the chin.
‘Aren’t you due in court this afternoon? Nifty Quinn?’
‘Ah feck. Totally forgot.’ She shook her head. They’d finally caught local burglar Nifty almost red-handed, and she’d been the toast of the station. Thirsty would be waiting for her.
He checked his watch, ‘Have a word with Thirsty now and the two of you seek an adjournment – you want to be fully focused in front of Judge McKenna. I’m going to talk to Billy Roberts, we’ve got him over in Pearse Street. When you’re finished come into town and we’ll head into Tallaght Hospital for a chat with this Richard Farrell character.’
*
Cathy felt a sense of relief as she left Thirsty’s office. But it was relief mingled with something else. Something was niggling her. She paused for a second as she pushed open the swing door to the recreation-cum-incident room, heading for the coffee machine. There was something about all of this that didn’t quite fit, something that didn’t feel right.
But Sarah Jane was safe and they had Farrell in custody. And it looked like she was in the clear with Aleksy. So why was she feeling like this?
The District Court was right next door to the station. Two coffees later Cathy grabbed a black tailored jacket from her locker, slipped it over her polo neck and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Judge Justin McKenna was a stickler for his court running like clockwork. Thirsty was waiting for her in the public office. They were in and out in half an hour.
As Cathy pushed open the front door of the station, she saw Sarah Jane was waiting for her in the lobby. Her hair, clean and shiny, was plaited over one shoulder, and she was wearing Cathy’s denim jacket over her black skinny jeans. Last night, on their way home, Cathy had got their driver to call over to Sarah Jane’s and had fished the jeans, a couple of T-shirts and enough underwear to last her for a few days, out of the mess of her room. She planned to get back to tidy it up properly as soon as she got a chance. Cathy had made Sarah Jane wait in the car; she could live without seeing her personal space violated on top of everything else.
‘Everything OK?’ Cathy kept her voice low, avoiding the inquisitive looks from the gurriers hanging about trying to look like they weren’t there for anything specific. Like signing in to satisfy their bail conditions. Sarah Jane nodded, her face grim, pale with exhaustion. ‘More questions to double-check everything, and I had to identify everyone from photographs. I just feel like such a total idiot, but it all happened so fast. Now I can see there were signs that something weird was going on.’
‘O’Rourke always says hindsight is a wonderful thing.’
‘He’s right.’ Sarah Jane grimaced, ‘Do you think they’ll need to keep my laptop for long?’
Cathy shook her head and yawned. Apart from her lack of sleep, at the end of any investigation she always felt burned out, and this one had used up all her emotional energy. ‘Not for too much longer. I’ll have a word and see what the story is.’
Sarah Jane bit her lip, ‘I didn’t know if he was telling me the truth – Givens, I mean. He told me how Dad had saved his men. They hit a landmine or something, but Dad helped them and they were all OK.’ Cathy put her hand on Sarah Jane’s arm.
‘I know, I heard Givens tell Farrell before he shot him. That’s not the sort of thing a soldier forgets. It’s way above and beyond. Your dad could have run with his cameraman and they would have both been safe. But he didn’t. He stayed. Givens will protect you and your dad for ever, yo
u know that?’
Sarah Jane’s eyes filled with tears, ‘I know.’
‘He was going to kill Farrell for you. Farrell’s not at all happy this morning, from what I hear.’ That brought a weak smile from Sarah Jane. As one of the lads had said last night, Farrell had everything coming to him.
‘I can’t forget her face, the girl in the shop – Irina did you say her name was? Her eyes were so intelligent, so hurt. And then when I saw her trying to run out the back door of that building . . . that guy just hit her so hard.’
‘She’s safe.’ Cathy could feel her own eyes stinging; a lot had happened in the past few days. ‘She’s safe now and she’s got people helping her.’ Cathy paused, smiling, ‘Have you called Vijay?’
Sarah Jane blushed, ‘I haven’t had a chance yet. I’m going to do it as soon as I get back to yours. I thought I’d see if he wanted to meet for coffee . . .’
‘Or a drink maybe?’ Cathy opened her eyes wide, feigning innocence.
Behind them they heard the door to the interview room swing open and Jacob’s voice. ‘But why doesn’t he wash his clothes or go in the shower, Mummy? Then he wouldn’t smell.’
Cathy and Sarah Jane smothered laughter at Rebecca’s eye roll as she steered him into the large tiled hallway. ‘Why don’t we talk about this at home, darling? Look, here’s Cat.’
‘Hello, soldier. Have you and your mum been talking to my colleagues?’
‘They’ve got a digital recording system, it does three discs at the same time. Aren’t you the girl who got lost? Your hair’s different from the picture.’ Jacob looked critically at Sarah Jane’s lilac streaks, ‘You left your keys at my dad’s. You should be more careful with keys.’
Rebecca interrupted him, ‘Come on, darling, we need to be quick – we’ve lots to do.’
Sarah Jane smiled at Jacob, ‘I will be, don’t worry.’
Jacob cut in, ‘Are we going to see Daddy now?’
Rebecca’s smile was less than enthusiastic, ‘We’ll see, darling. Let’s get home first. Ciara’s coming over to do some baking with you – she says you make better chocolate cake than she does.’
Cathy almost laughed as Jacob’s face lit up, ‘Will you save some for me?’
‘Of course. Come on, Mummy, we better not be late.’
‘Let me just do up your coat, it’s cold outside.’
Jacob started to pull Rebecca through the crowded hall just as a man with a golden Labrador puppy walked in. Jacob immediately stopped to pet it. Rebecca stood back to let him, their hurry forgotten.
Cathy turned to Sarah Jane, ‘What are your plans for the day?’
‘Mum’s on her way up. I think she’s going to be here about nine. I want to go and see Jazz, but he said he won’t be up at Keane’s Field until about six.’ Cathy nodded. She’d finally told Sarah Jane about Daniella this morning, and it had been one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. They were still waiting on the DNA reports that would prove conclusively that the body was hers, but with the mutilation that appeared to be a deliberate attempt to hide her tattoo and the match with her rare blood group, it was looking increasingly likely.
Sarah Jane continued, stretching, ‘Right now I’m going to go back to yours and have a lie down.’
‘Pop over to the gym after you’ve seen Jazz? The Boss wants to see you, and I’m way behind with training – the semis start at the end of the month.’ Cathy grinned, ‘And you owe me a session.’ She paused, glancing at Jacob and the puppy, choosing her words carefully, ‘O’Rourke wants to interview our suspect this afternoon before he “forgets” anything. I’m going with him – we’ll see what he has to say for himself. And then I’m going straight to the gym.’
Cathy doubted Farrell would confess to anything – it would be down to them to gather the evidence. There was a forensic team starting on his house, but if they got a DNA match on the semen in Daniella’s oesophagus he’d have a hard time explaining his way out of it. And after Aleksy’s testimony, Nacek’s clothing was being examined. If he had disposed of her body, and it was looking very likely that he had, the forensics would be irrefutable. The soil samples from his flat were already being analysed and cross-matched with the area where the body had been found.
No doubt Farrell’s story would be that it had been all Nacek’s fault.
She turned to Sarah Jane, ‘How are you getting home?’
‘Taxi now, but J.P.’s lent me his car until I get mine back – he’s sorting out the insurance today.’ She smiled, ‘And Decko’s lent me his old phone. I got a temporary SIM card for it – I’ll text you so you’ve got the number. So I’m sorted. See you later?’
49
O’Rourke was quiet in the car on the way out to Tallaght Hospital. Farrell had regained consciousness last night once he’d been hooked up to a drip, and was, according to the doctors, sedated, but not enough that he wasn’t causing trouble with the nurses. Farrell was in a private room away from the general hospital population, an armed Guard in his room just in case he decided to do a runner, which would be a challenge given his condition, but O’Rourke wasn’t taking any chances that someone could come after him.
It had taken O’Rourke longer to get out of Pearse Street Station this afternoon than he’d expected. He’d gotten the superintendent’s permission to extend Billy Roberts’s detention and questioning; Irina’s statement indicated that he’d been complicit in creating a smokescreen to hide Sarah Jane’s disappearance, and knew more than he was letting on. Just getting him to admit it was proving time consuming.
O’Rourke glanced in his rear-view mirror and eased the car into the bus lane as they swung out of Pearse Street. He was looking as tired as Cathy felt. He obviously hadn’t had time to shave since yesterday, and the day’s growth made him look rugged rather than exhausted. Rugged and very sexy. Cathy tried to focus on the traffic. Maybe it was the relief that Sarah Jane was safe and that they had a suspect in custody that was causing her hormones to start hopping. She wasn’t sure – one day they would actually be in line with the appropriate moment, and this wasn’t it.
As she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, O’Rourke scowled, focusing on the back of the blue and yellow bus ahead of him, his mind obviously processing the information they’d been gathering.
‘Roberts have anything interesting to say?’ She interrupted his thoughts and it took him a moment to answer. When he did, he made a snorting noise that summarised his feelings towards Billy Roberts.
‘Billy Roberts reckons he only runs The Rookery, doesn’t know anything about The Paradise Club. Said Farrell owns them both, that he’s the boss. He claims Farrell sent Givens to collect Sarah Jane when he found out she wasn’t feeling well. Roberts thought he was taking her home.’ O’Rourke raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
‘And he thought we’d swallow that? Really?’
‘He says Farrell told him to get a cab for Irina on Sunday evening – he didn’t know who she was or why. Was too busy to ask. He reckoned that he’d got mixed up when we questioned him the first time – he has a lot to think about, apparently, and organising cabs for people isn’t a high priority. It had been a busy day, he was under pressure with Sarah Jane being sick and he was a bit under the weather himself. He got mixed up about who went in which car.’
‘Confused? Right . . .’ Cathy’s tone said it all.
‘What I don’t get,’ O’Rourke measured his words, ‘is how Farrell managed to keep The Paradise Club and The Rookery going with no one realising his involvement in them both. It’s a big operation, and from all accounts he spends half his time in the bar or schmoozing at celebrity events. Did he come across as a criminal mastermind when you questioned him with 007?’
Cathy shook her head. That bit had been bothering her too. ‘Far from it. He’s a pretty boy, but his brains are in his trousers.’ She wrinkled her nose, ‘Maybe Billy Roberts was the one pulling the strings? I think he’s a damn sight sharper than he looks.’ O’Rourke f
rowned as she continued, ‘I reckon Farrell was the face all right, but remember J.P. said there was a board of directors – perhaps Farrell’s just a front man?’
‘I think you’re right. And you could be right about Roberts. I’ve got the team doing searches through the Companies Registration Office now, we’ll see what they turn up. The other directors all seem to be non-resident, but this type of operation is international so we shouldn’t be surprised by that.’
‘Rebecca said Farrell had a place in Spain, and that’s where he was taking Jacob. Maybe start there?’ Cathy shifted in the seat, thinking hard, ‘And someone put Farrell in touch with Givens. McIntyre heard on the grapevine that Givens was in the North, so perhaps that’s it. Someone up there is controlling things here. The Rookery and the casino at The Paradise Club are the perfect places to launder cash – nice little businesses, especially with Farrell providing the gloss to keep prying eyes away.’
O’Rourke slowed, glancing into his mirror as he filtered into the lane that would take them onto the M50. ‘That could be exactly the place we need to look. I think we need to have a chat to the PSNI.’
*
Cathy hated hospitals. The moment she walked through the doors and was hit with the too-bright lights and clinical smell she was right back to those weeks after the explosion that had felt like years. Trapped in a bare room, all hard edges and hard surfaces, when she’d first come out of sedation she’d stared at the wall trying to get her head around what life would be like if she couldn’t box, if she couldn’t get back to the job.
Desperate to escape herself as well as the four walls of her room, she’d discharged herself early but still had to come back to be checked out, to have her pain medication monitored, her scars and skin grafts examined. She found hospital a tough place to be, meeting people daily who were in a much worse state than she was . . . She was a fighter, and once she’d been given a road map to recovery she’d astounded her doctors. It didn’t heal the mental scars, though, the sleeplessness, the nights spent lying alone grieving for her past self, for her baby, for everything that could have been. The memories were still raw – she’d done the obligatory counselling to get back on the job, the bare minimum, but every time she walked back into a hospital she was right there, all over again.
