“Hey, hey, hey… don’t judge me. I am off duty and I will be coming in late tomorrow. I deserve some me time after all the shit I just learned today,” Callaghan said waving her hands in the air.
Logue raised hands and said, “I’m not judging. You go ahead and enjoy your drinks. I like your style.”
Olivia downed the five shots in rapid succession and as soon as she was finished, Dale replaced the shots with a tall glass of orange juice.
Logue took a sip of his own drink and traced the condensation around the neck of the bottle with his finger.
“So, this case is going…”
Callaghan interrupted Logue and said, “Let’s not talk about the case. We have had enough of it for the day.”
While Callaghan’s words weren’t slurred, she was getting a slight buzz. Logue could see it in her movements.
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Callaghan asked.
Logue raised startled eyes at her and said, “Me?”
“Yeah. How do you like Boston so far?”
“Well, this is my first visit to Boston and I have yet to discover what it offers. One thing I did notice was that people around here seem to be in quite a hurry.”
Callaghan shook her head in dismissal and said, “That’s nothing. This city only comes alive right when the clock hits eleven at night. That’s when all the weirdos come out. I know it because I have been living here since I was born.”
“You haven’t been out of Boston? Ever?”
“Didn’t have the time to! I graduated early and top of the class. It was kinda hard to make friends in college but when I joined training, I found people I could relate to and that was a really big turning point for me,” Callaghan said as she took a sip from her orange juice and then popped a peanut in her mouth.
She traced the rim of the glass with her finger and seemed lost in her thoughts. Logue was more than happy to have this moment of silence. They both had been on the case since he arrived at the airport. Every bone in his body ached and all he wanted was to lie down in bed. But talking with Callaghan on a personal level was a new experience for him, and so far he was having a good time.
They remained quiet for a few minutes, when suddenly Callaghan spoke up. “I have never been to Ireland. How is it there?”
“I can’t possibly do justice to it with just words. One thing that keeps me grounded in Ireland is the greenery. It’s a lush land filled with so much beauty that every time I go out, I am awed by the place I am living in. It was this that convinced the five-year-old me that becoming a member of the Garda would be the best way to preserve my country’s beauty,” Logue said with a straight face.
Hearing his answer, Callaghan laughed so hard that she had to put the glass of orange juice down on the bar or risk spilling it. “What? As they say in Ireland, you are taking the piss, right?”
“Laugh all you want, but at that time it made perfect sense to me. I was going to put every single person in jail who tried to do anything wrong to the environment. Call it patriotic love, call it protecting mother earth, whatever you like,” Logue said banging his fist on the counter.
“That’s a pile of crap, tell me the truth,” Callaghan laughed.
“Okay, well here is the other version. When I was a young lad in Letterkenny, one of our neighbors, John Kenny, was murdered. He was this really nice old man. I used to mow his lawn and he would pay me a few pounds every Saturday.”
“What happened to him?”
“That’s the thing; the Guards were never able to find out. It was a break in, a burglary, but the murderer was never caught. The poor man was beaten to death over his pension money. The case was closed almost immediately because there was no evidence. That was when I decided I would solve the case, even though I was only about twelve.”
“So you became a Guard?” Callaghan smiled at Logue and looked at him in a new light. “You, Ray, are the only person I have met who pursued his career from the tender age of twelve. It’s quite impressive. Did you solve the case?”
“What?” Logue replied.
“Did you find out who murdered your neighbor?”
“No,” Logue said bluntly as he took one last swig of his beer and raised a finger to get Dale’s attention. Dale gave him a nod and disappeared to bring him another bottle.
“So, now tell me about yourself?” Logue asked.
“Well, my grandfather is from Ireland and my dad was a cop. He and my mother met on a case. It’s not your usual love story but every time my mother tells me how it went down, I feel as if I am hearing a fictional story.”
Callaghan smiled and then flipped her long dark hair over her face. “My mother is Italian.”
“Yea, that must be where you get your good looks.” Logue flirted.
“Gee, thanks Ray… I’m blushing now,” Callaghan said covering her face with her hands.
“Is your dad still alive?” Logue asked
“No… unfortunately not,” Callaghan answered, her eyes dropping to the floor.
Logue immediately regretted asking the question. “Sorry, Olivia.”
“It’s okay… I was eighteen when my dad died. It was a typical day and he went to work as usual. In the evening, me and my mom were watching the news and waiting for Dad. We always ate dinner together and he never once skipped it for work. Suddenly this news came up of a chase between two police officers and a suspect who had just robbed a convenience store.” Olivia went quiet and it looked like she was struggling to continue.
Logue placed his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze.
She took a deep breath and then continued, “They announced the police officers’ names and my dad was one of them. They believed that the suspect was on drugs and that’s why he was driving the car so recklessly. My mom went into this panicked mode and called the station. She talked to Sergeant Collins, who was our family friend, and wanted to know what was happening. He assured her that it was nothing but a teenager driving under the influence and there was no need to worry.”
Callaghan raised her eyes towards the ceiling and fought to control her tears.
“After two hours, we got the call and I knew that something bad had happened. Turns out, the teenager had a gun and he accidentally fired it. The bullet hit my dad right in the chest and he died on the spot.”
Logue squeezed Olivia’s hand once again and said, “I am sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago and I had Sam to take care of me.”
“Sam?”
“Yeah. I joined the academy as soon as I old enough and it was there I met Sam Harper. He was an instructor then. We clicked, and we have been inseparable since then. He’s a great friend and an even greater partner. He kind of always looked out for me, like a big brother.”
Logue laughed and said, “Are we talking about the same Sam Harper I met today?”
Olivia shook her head and said, “I know, I know he comes off as a little hard ass, but his heart is in the right place. The thing is, we have been molded by loss, but Sam… he works hard to maintain a safe distance from this loss. His track record in catching murderers and especially serial killers is exemplary. He has caught four serial killers in the past six years. Have you heard about The Demon Killer?”
“Yes, it was in the papers back in Ireland. That man killed more than eighteen people, including women and children, and was then beaten to death by his inmate.”
“Sam was the one who caught him. In the beginning, we had no idea why women and children were being killed. They were always found with their throats slashed, whip marks on their body and a demonic pentagram on their forehead. Sam had been tracking him for six months. He got this anonymous tip that the Demon Killer was about to strike again in this small neighborhood near Charles River. He was planning to murder a child. The evil bastard. So, a trap was set, and we covered all the exits of the neighborhood. Somehow, he escaped and took the child with him. After hours of patrolling, they finally found the killer’s car parked in f
ront of an abandoned cottage.”
As Logue took a sharp breath, Callaghan sighed to herself and took a huge gulp of the orange juice.
“Can you imagine? The bastard was sitting right under our nose. Sam was the first to burst in and to say the sight was gruesome would be an understatement. The kid was lying on the floor with his throat slit, but alive. That bastard just stood there with a knife dripping with blood in his hand and he had this maniacal smile on his face. Sam shouted, and the police officers came rushing in. As much as he wanted to put that knife through the killer’s heart, he didn’t. He immediately got down to his knees and pressed his hand on the kid’s neck to stem the flow. Thank God the ambulance was already on the way and arrived just five minutes after the bust. They took the kid and for the next two weeks, Sam kept close tabs on him.”
“Did he survive? The kid?”
“Yes, he did. But Sam felt guilty that he was late to the scene and couldn’t prevent the agony the kid went through.”
“That would be hard to live with.”
“I know but that’s Sam in a nutshell. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.”
Logue had been so engrossed in listening to his partner talking that he hadn’t noticed the Heineken sitting on the bar. He picked up the bottle and took a large gulp. He now understood why Harper was so uptight, but he had some respect for him because it wasn’t often that detectives got to catch serial killers, and catching four was extraordinary. Logue decided that he would give Harper some space, so he could figure out himself that he was just here to help and not to tread on his toes.
“That’s actually quite impressive,” Logue said.
“I know, right? He likes to play the tough detective, but inside, he’s actually a softie.”
She slapped her hand on her mouth and looked wide eyed at Logue. She then leaned forward and grasped his arm and whispered, “Please don’t tell him I said that.”
Logue laughed heartily. He couldn’t picture Harper as a softie. “Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me.”
Callaghan took a huge sigh and then sat back on her stool.
“It’s just that this case took a different turn today thanks to you, and Sam won’t rest for a minute until he finds a way forward. I am pretty sure, while we are here drinking, that he’s still sitting in the office and working some angle.”
***
Callaghan looked at the clock above the bar and saw that it was quarter past nine. They had been sitting drinking and talking for more than three hours. She quickly finished her drink and turned to Logue. “I think it’s time to go. We have a meeting tomorrow and if I don’t turn in now, I will probably be exhausted… now where are my damn car keys?”
She looked tipsy enough that Logue decided it would be better if he drove the car. She clearly wasn’t as seasoned a boozer as he was, despite all her talk earlier on in the night about her drinking prowess.
“Found them,” Callaghan proclaimed.
The keys that she was gleefully holding in her hand had been sitting on the counter in front of her since they came in.
“Why don’t you let me drive the car? I will drop you at your house, park your car and then take a cab from there,” Logue suggested.
“What? No. I will drop you off at the hotel.”
To be honest you don’t look in great shape to drive.” Before she could open her mouth again to argue, Logue grabbed the keys and said, “I insist.”
“All right.”
After paying the bar tab and saying goodnight to Dale, they exited the bar and got into the car as Callaghan gave Logue directions to her house.
“It’s not too far from here, turn left at the end of this street, I’ll show you the way.”
Logue was a bit uneasy driving on the right-hand side of the road at first, but he gradually got used to it. Callaghan directed him through every junction and within fifteen minutes they had reached her apartment building. Logue parked the car, took his case out of the boot and accompanied Callaghan to her apartment door.
“I had a great time tonight Ray, thank you for that,” Callaghan said with a slurred voice as she kissed him on the cheek.
“You are welcome, Olivia. Goodnight.” Logue was half hoping she might invite him in, but he knew it could make things awkward, and anyway he wasn’t even sure if she was single, not that it would have stopped him in the past.
“Hold on, I forgot, I’ll call you a cab,” Callaghan said and left her apartment door open while she went inside.
Logue stood outside and lit a fag. A minute later Callaghan returned to the doorway. “It’s on its way, they will pick you up where you parked my car in five minutes.”
“Okay, bye Olivia, see you in the morning at the station,” Logue said, walking down the steps.
***
By the time Logue reached his hotel, checked in at reception and was opening his bedroom door to his room, it was 10:30 pm. Without taking a shower, he removed his jacket and boots, hit the bed and lay over the covers. Within ten seconds he was snoring.
Chapter 11: Emotional Weather Report
Tuesday 24th November 2009
Mayfield Street Precinct
8:30 AM
Harper, Woods and Logue were sitting in the conference room waiting for Callaghan to arrive. She was half an hour late and wasn’t picking up her phone. Harper had called her a dozen times and every time, it went to voicemail. After waiting impatiently for a further ten minutes, Harper looked at Woods and said, “Let’s start.”
As Woods passed out the updated files, Callaghan burst through the door and said, “I am sorry I am late. Woke up late and then got caught in the traffic.”
Logue gave her a knowing smile as she rounded the table to sit next to Harper.
“So, guys. How you all doing?” Callaghan asked.
“Waiting for you,” Woods sniped.
“Ha, very funny Woods,” Callaghan responded.
As Woods passed another file to Callaghan, Harper made the introductions.
“Ray, this is John Woods. He’s our resident geek. He searches for people who don’t want to be found and then presents them to us in all their glory. John, this is Detective Ray Logue. He has come all the way from Ireland to lend us a hand in this case.”
They shook hands and then Woods nodded at Harper to begin.
“Yesterday, after you guys went to see Lea Winerman, I asked John to research that Irish guy, Donal Keane, you told us about, Ray. The boy wonder here I think has been very successful and has built up a useful profile on Mr. Keane. He appears to be the one and only suspect so far in our case. John found a man who matches our suspect’s description, but since we don’t know much about him, I was hoping Ray could fill us in.”
Logue picked up the file and started to read it. After five minutes he gave his observation.
“It all seems to fit the timeframe and it corresponds with what my superintendent told me. According to this, Donal Keane was born in Boston on May second, 1955. His parents were Irish, his father was Joseph Keane and his mother’s maiden name was Susan Power. The family moved back to Galway in 1961. What’s interesting is that right after the first murder happened in 1979, Donal returned to Boston. I think he was fleeing the scene of the crime but that’s just a hunch. For all we know, he might not even be the killer.”
“What was the first victim’s name again?” Harper asked.
Callaghan looked at the file and said, “Hazel Deveraux.”
“Ray, is there a connection between her and Donal Keane or Frank Rudden?” Harper asked.
“I don’t think so. Well, Jim Mulcahy wasn’t able to find one in 1979 and due to the lack of evidence, the case was closed,” Logue responded.
“Can I just get in here for a moment?” Woods said raising his hand in the air like a schoolboy eager to please.
“I traced Donal Keane’s tax records and that’s when I hit the mother lode. When he first arrived In Boston in ‘79 he got a job in the sorting room in
a post office. He lasted there for a year and then he got a job as a journalist for a small Boston Newspaper.”
“Where did he study, what qualifications had he?” Callaghan asked.
“He completed a degree in English from a University in Galway in Ireland in 1978. He got a job as a freelance journalist there just one year later. He had the experience, so getting a job here in Boston for a newspaper wasn’t that hard. There’s more, which I think will fit your killer’s profile. He has a Ph.D., which he secured through doing night classes while he worked as a journalist. This allowed him to apply for and get a job as a junior English poetry lecturer in 1988 at Madison College and he is now the head of the English department at the university. Get this, he has also published a number of books on poetry including one on American Gothic Literature, which focused mostly on the analysis of the work by Edgar Allan Poe. So, I am guessing you have got the guy. I firmly believe that Donal Keane is the serial killer because not only does he fit the profile, but he also has one thing in common with all the victims. Every person who died at this person’s hand studied at the university he is currently working at. So, he would know where they lived. He would have had access to their personal details.”
“How the hell did you find out so much about this guy in just one day, Woods?”
“Oh please, do you even need to ask that question, Sam.”
“He’s right, Sam. He is, after all, our resident boy genius.” Callaghan smiled as she rubbed the top of John’s head as you would a child.
Logue looked over the file once again and recounted all the facts to make sure they added up. He ran the information around in his head. It couldn’t just be a coincidence that Donal Keane was working as an English professor and was also a suspect in a serial killer case in which the calling card was a line from an Edgar Allan Poe poem. The timeline was a perfect match, the job description a dead giveaway and the fact that he fled the crime scene all those years ago was the final nail in the coffin. It all appeared to fit.
But now to catch him. They could either play this by the book or come up with some sort of plan to corner him. The latter sounded much more appealing because if Keane even got a hint they were onto him, he would bolt. The guy had been hiding in plain sight for thirty years so he must have an escape plan worked out. They had to proceed with caution.
Nine Lives Page 8
