by Melinda Colt
Her smug smile faded. She would have to fess up to what she’d done as soon as possible. That might not go well. What if she were reprimanded? Worse, what if the chief suspended her? Took her off the case? What would happen to her promises to Maddie?
Straightening, she stared outside into the darkness. That couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t allow it. The chief was a rational man. Once she pleaded her case, he would see reason and be grateful for the valuable information she’d obtained. She gulped—at least she hoped he would see it her way.
Eyelids drooping, Finn glanced at the clock. Almost two a.m. As she reached out to put the car in gear, her phone vibrated. It was a text from Bryan.
“Are you okay?”
Smiling, she swiped at the tears dribbling down her cheeks. He did love her. She just hoped their love was enough to help them heal and move on.
“Yep. On my way back now. Sleep.”
She drove home, unlocked the door, then went to the bathroom to change. The flat was dark, but Bryan had left a bedside lamp on for her.
She showered, brushed her teeth, donned her pajamas, then slid into bed, switching off the light.
“Are you okay?” he asked again, his voice sleepy, reaching out to pull her into his arms.
“More than okay. It went well tonight. I’ll tell you about it soon. Now, let’s get some sleep,” she whispered, kissing him gently.
Snuggled together, Finn’s last thought was that soon she would make sure Maddie had a warm, comfortable bed to sleep in, with soft sheets and a pretty, pink duvet, under which she would cuddle with her favorite dolls and stuffed animals, just like Finn used to do when she was a child.
* * *
Morning arrived much too quickly. As always, Bryan was up before the alarm. He made coffee, then brought Finn a mug, waking her for the second time. After thanking him, she drank the hot brew, aware that today, more than ever, she needed to be as sharp as a blade.
She still hadn’t finished dressing when Bryan kissed her goodbye and left. In her mind, she continued to evaluate all of today’s possible outcomes. Her behavior last night could make or break her career.
The coffee bubbled in her stomach as she drove to the Garda headquarters in Phoenix Park. It had stopped snowing, and the streets were clear thanks to the snowplows.
As soon as she reached the station, she headed over to the Technical Bureau of Investigation, the Garda’s crime scene investigators’ unit, comprised of fingerprint specialists, forensic technicians, and those who gathered evidence at crime scenes and processed it.
Nóirín Dempsey was one of the most experienced crime scene investigators, and Finn was relieved to see she was at work in the lab.
“Hiya, Nóirín. Are you free? I have something I need processed as soon as possible.”
Nóirín lifted her eyes from the plastic evidence she was studying. Magnifying goggles rested on top of her head, buried in the mass of blonde curls. One would never guess she was in her fifties—probably because of her flawless skin and rosy cheeks.
“I’ve got nothing urgent. What’s up?”
Finn handed her the bag with the thermos. “I need this fingerprinted and tested for DNA. It could be evidence in a child trafficking case.”
Nóirín raised her eyebrows, took the bag, and placed it on the white table beside her.
“Where did you get this?”
“From a stakeout last night. I bought the thermos yesterday and washed it well, so the only fingerprints on it should be mine and the victim’s. She drank soup from it, so you should be able to recover a DNA sample as well. The girl is British, and from what I understand, her own father handed her over to the trafficker. I’m hoping you can trace him through her DNA and the UK’s database. Do you think you can help?”
“I’ll do my best.” Nóirín put on a pair of latex gloves before opening the bag. “I’ll need a few days.”
Despite the fact that she’d expected as much, Finn’s shoulders slumped. “That long? Can’t you do it any faster?”
Nóirín sighed, staring up at Finn. “It isn’t up to me, you know. The fastest testing methods we have right now can take anywhere from twenty-four to seventy-two hours. I promise I’ll let you know as soon as I have something.”
“Thanks, Nóirín. You’re the best.”
As she walked out, Finn straightened her posture. She’d asked for a progress report meeting in the Incident Room at nine o’clock. It was time to face the music.
Chapter Five
“Ye did what?” Chief Inspector Simon McLean bellowed.
His icy cold glare froze Finn like a deer in the headlights.
“Sir, I assure you I took all of the necessary precautions.”
“Bollocks! You had no backup. No one knew where you were. You could’ve gotten yourself and those children killed. Did ye consider that?”
Finn felt her control slip. “I was armed. I would never risk—”
“But you did, McGregor! You took a huge risk of blowing our cover, destroying our case, not to mention bungling evidence. Do you realize what would’ve happened if that dosser had discovered you?”
“I do, sir, which is why I made sure he didn’t. I’m a trained Garda. I know how to do my job.”
“At the moment, I very much doubt that. Your job is to follow orders.”
“Aye, and I do.” Finn stood, straight and stoic. She had one chance of winning this argument. “My job is also to make decisions that will help save a victim. Because of my actions, we now know where the children are being kept. That alone will go a long way toward building our case. In addition, Nóirín has Maddie’s DNA and fingerprints. Finally, we have some idea as to how she got to Ireland. Her own father handed her over to Fraser. That should help prove her parents are unfit.” She clenched her fists and took a steadying breath. “The pieces of the puzzle are starting to add up. There’s something else. Until a few months ago, Fraser used to work in a pub. Maddie said she and the two boys were taken to a dark, cold, underground room filled with bottles. It sounds like a pub’s storage room to me. Maddie said Fraser told them that was their lucky night. It might not mean anything, but the pub where he worked was called The Lucky Pug. We need to take a closer look at Fraser’s ex-boss. And at last, Maddie is willing to testify.”
“Can you guarantee that?”
“Yes, I can.” Finn prayed he couldn’t see beyond her bravado. “I’m confident I can get her to do so.”
McLean brushed a hand over his mouth, still staring at her. Finn didn’t move a muscle. None of the other officers in the room made a sound. Everyone watched the chief, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. They didn’t have to worry. Finn was the sole target here. She stood her ground, staring right back at the chief inspector.
Finally, McLean relaxed his posture. “When will we have the DNA results?”
Finn could have fainted in relief. She wasn’t going to get sacked—not now anyway. She probably wouldn’t get any praise either, but she wasn’t in this job for accolades.
“Nóirín said it may take a few days, but I hope she can get it sooner.”
The chief raised his index finger and pointed at her. “Keep me posted, and don’t you dare do anything that stupid ever again, McGregor. Don’t make me sorry I picked you to work this case.”
“I won’t, sir.”
“We’ll see.”
With that, he exited the Incident Room. Relieved sighs filled the area, and several detectives nodded encouragingly at Finn.
Detective Inspector John O’Sullivan—one of the best investigators within the Garda and the senior detective in charge—walked over to her and gave her a light fist bump.
“Nice work,” he said. “Don’t break the rules too many times, though. Ye have good instincts, and they worked for you, but next time ye might not be so lucky.”
She returned his smile, adding a bit of pride to hers. “It wasn’t just luck.”
“I never said it was, Finola. It’s your lead, but would y
ou like me to go with you to interview the pub owner?”
Finn was about to decline, then changed her mind. As much as she hated to admit it, two police officers, one of them a man of forty-something built like a tank, would make a stronger impression than a young police woman alone.
“I would appreciate that,” she said, then frowned. “What if he alerts Fraser, and he vanishes with the children?”
“We still have eyes on the children. I’ll send a couple of Gardaí to tail Fraser, and another team to watch the house. If he makes a move, we’ll bring him in for questioning. Don’t forget. We have his plate number, so he can’t get far. Either way, he’s going down soon.”
“Okay. Arrange it all, and then we’ll go.”
“Let’s take a panda.” John used the old-school term for a marked car, which these days had a yellow-and-blue stripe on the side. “Sends a stronger signal.” He winked at her.
Half an hour later, they had confirmation that a team of Gardaí was watching Fraser and another had the house under surveillance.
While John drove to the pub where Fraser had once worked, Finn did a background check on the pub owner and read the information aloud.
“His name is Cathal Maguire. He’s fifty-two, a widower, with two boys who live abroad—one in the UK, the other in Poland. The pub is a family business, inherited from his father, and he’s managed it since he was twenty-seven. Several years ago, he was fined because the place didn’t have a proper fire escape. Other than that, there’s nothing in his criminal record.”
“Hmm… Poland is one of the top countries from which women and children are trafficked. Could Maguire’s sons be involved in this, too?”
“It’s worth checking. Let me do a search on them.”
According to Finn’s research, Liam—the son living in UK—was twenty-seven and worked as a taxi driver, while Paul—in Poland—was thirty and an international truck driver.
Finn frowned. “What do you think? Is it a coincidence that they both work in transportation?”
“A good cop doesn’t believe in coincidences.”
“Agreed. We’ll need to follow up on this.”
Once they reached the pub, John parked in front of it, slightly on the sidewalk. Tricks like these often made the suspect nervous. It looked as though they had arrived in a hurry, ready to make an arrest.
They walked shoulder to shoulder into the pub. It was surprisingly crowded. People were drinking their morning coffee, or perhaps simply getting out of the cold and grabbing a hot snack.
Side by side, they headed toward the bar where a red-faced youth was pouring coffee into cups.
John showed his badge. “Hello. Detectives O’Sullivan and McGregor. We need to see Cathal Maguire.”
The young man’s eyes grew large, and he darted an anxious gaze between them. “Is there a problem, sir?”
“Do you work here?” John asked.
“Aye.”
“What’s your name?”
“Danny Byrne.”
“Then, Danny Byrne, is your boss around? We need to speak to him,” John repeated.
Finn couldn’t help but admire his serious, formal tone. Paired with his glacial, gray eyes, it could intimidate the hell out of anyone.
“He… He’s in the back,” the youth stammered. “I’ll go get him.”
Abandoning the coffee and the waiting orders, he dashed through the door marked Personnel only.
Finn glanced around as she waited. The Lucky Pug was a family establishment, with large wooden tables and comfortable chairs, decorated in rustic Irish fashion. Her stomach grumbled at the aroma of fried eggs, sausage, and fresh tomatoes. She suddenly realized she’d skipped breakfast and was starving, but this was not the time to think of food.
The door opened and Cathal Maguire stepped through. Despite his affable smile and friendly demeanor, Finn could see the anxiety in his blue eyes.
In her experience, more than a few people had something to hide or a reason to fear the police. She tried not to jump to conclusions. It remained to be seen why Maguire was so apprehensive.
“Morning, detectives,” Maguire said. “Danny here tells me ya need to talk to me. Would you please step over here where it’s quieter?”
Danny walked back to the bar, throwing cautious glances at them. Finn and John followed Maguire into the back, knowing he would prefer not to talk to the guards in front of his customers and employees. They walked through the kitchen where a couple of women wearing aprons were preparing delicious-smelling food. Maguire led them into his small office, simply furnished with a desk, a few chairs, and a corner filing cabinet.
“Please, have a seat, detectives.” Maguire arranged two plastic chairs in front of his desk, then sat in his leather chair behind it—a transparent power move on his part. “Now, what can I do for you?”
John and Finn sat. They’d agreed John would conduct the interview, and she’d speak when the time was right.
John introduced them once more in case the young bartender hadn’t mentioned their names.
“We have a few questions for you concerning one of your former employees, Seamus Fraser,” John said.
Sweat beaded on Maguire’s forehead, adding to its sheen. He had a fair complexion, curly, red hair, and flushed cheeks, which made him look younger than his years, but his foxy eyes betrayed him. He was no innocent, and the mention of Fraser’s name made him as nervous as hell. He knew something.
“Oh? Is old Seamus in some sort of trouble?” Maguire smiled, but it was more rictus than grin.
“We’re asking the questions, Mr. Maguire,” John said, pleasant but firm. “We understand he worked here?”
“Aye, he did, for about five years. He quit last summer.”
“Why did he quit?”
“I couldn’t say. We were just employer and employee. We didn’t talk much beyond that.”
“Really? Working side by side for five years usually brings people closer together,” John mused. “Do you know his current whereabouts?”
Maguire lifted his meaty shoulders. “I have no idea.”
“So you know nothing about the children he’s kidnapped and forced to beg for him?” Finn leaned forward.
Maguire backed away, his expression shocked. He probably was—not because he didn’t know about the children, but because he hadn’t expected the police to track all of this back to him.
He swallowed audibly. “I… I don’t understand what you mean.”
“It’s quite simple, Mr. Maguire,” John said, taking the lead once more. “In police terms, it’s called human trafficking, or modern slavery. Seamus Fraser has kidnapped several children and now, under duress, is forcing them to beg on the streets. He keeps whatever money they make. You know nothing about this?”
“Of course not! I can’t believe Seamus would do such a thing. I mean, he was no saint, but a… a human trafficker…” Maguire shuddered visibly as the magnitude of the words hit him.
Criminals never referred to themselves as such. It was a wakeup call to hear what those activities were called in legal terms.
“I’m afraid it’s true,” she said bluntly. “And he’s not doing it alone. He has at least one accomplice. We suspect more. Do you have a basement, Mr. Maguire?”
“What?” More sweat trickled down his temples, although the room was chilly.
“A basement, or an underground storage room if you prefer. We spoke with some of the children, and they were able to describe the space where they were kept when Fraser smuggled them into Ireland. They would recognize it again if they saw it.”
He mouthed a denial without making a sound, as though he was in desperate need of air. The pug seemed to be running out of luck. “Do ye think I… I’m somehow involved in this thing?”
“It’s our job to find out. And we will. If you have nothing to hide, you have no reason not to show us your basement, do you?” Finn pressed.
“You cannot just barge into my business and accuse me of something like
that,” Maguire said, seeming to recover a little. “Do you have any solid reason to suspect me?”
“One of the children saw you. The kid can identify you,” Finn said.
Chapter Six
Finn had no idea where the bluff had come from. She hadn’t planned to use it, but she thanked God for John’s excellent nerves. He didn’t even flinch at her easy lie. Maguire, on the other hand, had blanched and might be close to passing out. She had him!
She didn’t have time to worry or care whether her method was 100 percent ethical. There were human lives at stake. All that mattered was justice for the innocents and punishment for the guilty.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about! She’s lying,” Maguire stammered, his face now growing redder and redder.
“I never said the child was a girl,” Finn remarked calmly.
She sensed John’s approval and, dare she hope, admiration, as he sat quietly next to her.
Maguire gaped, eyes bulging, hands clasped in his lap. All of his boyish charm had vanished. He was little more than a fat rat in a trap.
Finn allowed him several moments of silence for the terror to sink in.
“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Maguire. If you speak to us now and tell us everything you know, we’ll give you points for cooperation. You do realize that it’s in your best interest to talk to us?”
Maguire rubbed his hands over his face, his shoulders slumping. Finn knew they had him. It was only a matter of handling him delicately.
“I never wanted any part of this,” he said, lowering his hands. “I have kids of my own, but Seamus promised those children would have a better life here than living in shit-holes in some third-world countries. Most kids who end up in this trade are actually sold into the business by their own fecking parents. That’s how little they mean to their families. Can it get any worse than that? They probably had to do the same back home, but couldn’t make any money in those dead-end villages they lived in and were constantly beaten. We gave them a chance at a better life.”