by Sam Blake
‘I arranged to speak to Olivier Ayari at twelve to get the scoop on Tom.’
‘I think we’ve pretty much got the scoop at this stage, don’t you? The scoop and the sprinkles and raspberry sauce. Check in with Frank and get him to reassign it. We need to stick with this one, Cat. That Master’s you’re slaving for has its uses, you know.’
Cathy fought a smile, then frowned. ‘Do you think Tom knew about his dad and Lauren? Maybe that’s why they were a bit awkward at the start of the semester?’
‘It’s possible, but we don’t know who was awkward with who. He could have been blissfully unaware but she found the whole situation a bit difficult.’
‘As you might.’ Cathy studied the floor for a moment while she thought about it.
‘Indeed. Fanning’s with the Traffic technical team down in Sallynoggin examining those vehicles. They’re sending the photos over so we’ll be able to see the scratches and damage repairs for ourselves fairly soon.’
O’Rourke pulled out his phone as if he was about to make a call. Leaning on the wall, Cathy shifted to face him, at the same time realising how close they were standing to each other. This wasn’t the moment to react or comment on it. She stayed where she was.
‘Do you reckon he really did meet Lauren? Tried to set himself up with an alibi by meeting Xavier Ayari first? Whatever happened to land her on the rocks had to be pretty bad. He’s jet-lagged, he leaves the scene and comes whizzing down Ulverton Road, sees someone on the pavement, tries to brake but hits whoever it is. He doesn’t want to stop because he might have to say where he’s been, that he’s just witnessed a girl fall to her death . . .’
‘And he couldn’t call it in because he’d have to explain why he was there? You could be on to something there. Let’s ask him, shall we?’
Chapter 37
Monday, 11.15 a.m.
When Anna Lockharte finally got back into the security of her office, she leaned against the firmly closed door, her heart racing. Had she been followed? Her head swam, diminishing her ability to rationalise. Surveillance helped to quantify the target, to note possible weaknesses and to begin to identify potential attack methods. Her CIA trainer’s words came back to her, cold, clinical. Factual.
She took a few deep breaths, focusing on the china blue carpet tiles, summoning images of Rob’s face and his little blue book with its woodblock prints into her mind. She imagined him putting his arms around her and holding her, breathing in his aftershave, feeling the crisp cotton of his shirt as he encircled her in a protective embrace. It took a few moments, but gradually her heart rate began coming down, slowly. Thank God. Breathing deeply, she counted each inward and outward breath.
Was she imagining things or was this a real threat? Or was she so rattled by the events of the week, of the memories they bought back, that her imagination was in overdrive? The past few days had been terrible and just proved that she needed to find a new counsellor; she couldn’t function with the threat of a panic attack looming over her every time she got worried.
But the feeling that she’d been followed from her office into Grafton Street had been overwhelming. She hadn’t wanted to turn around but she’d had that instinctive sixth sense that someone was watching her as she left the Arts block, had ignored it – to start with – walking briskly down the Tunnel out of the university. And then, as she’d crossed the road beside House of Ireland, she’d done what she’d been trained to do and scanned the crowds behind her in the reflections in the shop window. Tourists and students, many on their phones, not even looking her way. Nothing out of the ordinary. She’d tried to shake it off, but the feeling of being watched had persisted.
Disrupt the take-away. She could hear the CIA counter-surveillance expert’s voice in her ear. She had started to walk towards Grafton Street, but doubled back, instead headed down Nassau Street, dipping in behind the printer’s, skirting a car park and circling back to cut across Dawson Street to get to Dublin’s main shopping area.
It had been hard to take the security training seriously at first, but as it had progressed and she’d heard more examples of simple but effective ways that operatives could lose a tail – and ways to know that you were being tailed in the first place – the more it had made sense to listen. Now she incorporated the techniques she’d learned into her life without thinking, varying her routes to and from the university, shopping in different supermarkets, never sticking to the same routine. She’d been trained to analyse her route, to look for ‘choke spots’ – she hated that phrase – places where she could be ambushed.
Surveillance was about information gathering; anyone watching was doing it for a reason. If she felt she was being watched or followed, her trainer had explained that it was an early warning, that she should be ready for what might come next. And surveillance could come in so many forms, at any time. Keeping alert was crucial.
Rob hadn’t said it, but Anna had wondered whether the webcam worm might have been part of something more sinister than a voyeur’s website. But she knew he’d check, and she’d be the first person to know if he believed she was in any sort of danger.
This morning, as she’d looked out of her office window over the grassy quadrangle that connected the ancient university buildings with the concrete Arts block and library, the sun had peeked through steel-grey clouds and she’d realised how confined she felt inside, how she really needed to get some air before her tutor group arrived. She knew the guys would have lots of questions. Their focus would be on Tom and Lauren, and she needed to be in the right mood to help steer them through. It was going to be a heavy day.
To deal with it, Anna knew she needed to shut off completely and relax for a few moments. What did they say about shopping being therapy?
She’d ordered a gorgeous dress from L.K.Bennett online the previous night – one that wasn’t stocked in Dublin – and had arranged to collect it when she got to London. But she really wanted a smart top that she could wear with her jeans and boots on Saturday when she went out with Hope. It had only taken her a moment to make up her mind. She’d seen a fabulous blouse in Karen Millen’s online store, had checked to find that they had it in their concession in Brown Thomas, and she had an hour free before her students arrived.
She knew shopping wasn’t really the answer but it made her feel better, however temporarily. There were times, like today, when she wondered if she really was just going mad? This weekend would be good for her. She really did need to get away, to put some distance between herself and everything that was happening here at the moment. On top of the feeling that she was being followed, the webcam hack had really spooked her, and all in all, the last few days had been devastating. Now she was looking forward to getting away with Hope so much it was almost irrational. It was ages since she’d been back to London and she had so much to show Hope: she wanted to take her to Greenwich on the river taxi, to show her the London Eye and see a show. To show her the beautiful station at St Pancras and take her on the Underground, to show her the Shard. She knew Hope would love the city.
It hadn’t taken her long to decide. Even if it was only a quick distraction for this morning, she knew it was high time she spruced up her wardrobe. Since she’d moved to Dublin she hadn’t been out that much, only for drinks with her teaching colleagues, the occasional dinner, so she hadn’t really needed anything new. But London was a great excuse, and in all honesty, she’d wanted to cheer herself up after the grimness of the past few days. When she’d split up with Brad she’d bought loads of new clothes; she was sure it had been an effort to reinvent herself, to move on to the next stage in her life. She needed to do something similar now.
Which had seemed like a great idea until she’d got the feeling that someone was following her. It was like she could feel a shadow behind her, eyes boring into her back.
Disrupt the take-away. Doubling back on herself, winding through the back alleys, looking around her as if she was taking in the architecture, checking in every reflective s
urface, she’d been pretty sure she’d lost whoever it was. And then getting to Brown Thomas, heading upstairs on the escalator, she’d looked down, checking again. And her heart had almost stopped. Xavier Ayari was on the escalator coming up from the floor below her, heading in the same direction. And a black hole of anxiety had opened in her stomach.
Was he following her?
Brown Thomas was Dublin’s most prestigious department store; it was a totally obvious, understandably normal place for Xavier to shop. He was a postgrad student in Trinity. He came from a wealthy family. It was perfectly plausible on a Monday morning when the sun was shining that he might want to come into Grafton Street. It was total coincidence that he was there at the exact same moment that she was.
Hurrying on, she’d headed towards the women’s fashion floor. Karen Millen was tucked away at the far end of the designer brands room. He’d have absolutely no reason to head that way. Grabbing the blouse she wanted off the rail, she’d slipped into the changing area and closed the door of the luxurious grey carpeted booth. There was no way she was in the mood to try the blouse on now, but she was safe here, and when the wobble had gone from her legs she’d go and pay for it and leave via the couture floor, slipping down the spiral staircase and out of the shop’s side entrance.
*
Feeling her heart slow at last, Anna put her bags down beside her desk, shouldered off her coat, draping it over the back of her office chair, and, sitting down heavily, ran her hand over her eyes. She’d looked everywhere for Xavier as she’d left Brown Thomas, had been relieved that he had apparently disappeared. It didn’t matter; the feeling of being followed had passed, leaving behind it the stirrings of a panic attack that she was determined not to succumb to.
She glanced at the clock. It was too early to call Rob and her students were due any moment anyway. She’d call him later, tell him all about Xavier Ayari and his email, and see what he could find out about his history. Anna let out another deep breath. Having a plan was vital, even if it was only a plan for the next hour. It made her feel like she was in control. And right now, that was what was going to get her through the rest for the day.
Chapter 38
Monday, 11.45 a.m.
Conor Quinn looked distinctly rattled when he sat back down at the table in Interview Room 4. He ran his hand over his gelled hair and licked his lips, the bright overhead lights catching the silver bracelet of his Rolex as he put one hand apparently nonchalantly in his jeans pocket. It didn’t fool Cathy. He was anxious; good looks and designer clothes weren’t enough to hide it.
O’Rourke set up the tapes again, waiting for the dull buzz to indicate the machine had started recording. From his outward appearance, the visit with his solicitor didn’t seem to have calmed Quinn’s nerves.
O’Rourke went through the preliminaries for the tape again. Name, rank and number. Cathy watched Quinn carefully as he answered the statutory questions. She just knew they were on to something here. She was sure his solicitor had told him not to answer their questions, but there was a good chance he’d let something slip if they were lucky.
‘So, Conor, where were we? You’ve told us you got back from New York last Thursday night, arrived home just after eight in the evening, and then went out again to meet with Xavier Ayari. This was the evening that your son Tom was killed in a hit-and-run incident in Ulverton Road, close to your home,’ O’Rourke paused, ‘and a fellow classmate of Tom’s, Lauren O’Reilly, met with a very nasty accident off Dillon’s Park. Perhaps you can elaborate on your relationship with Lauren O’Reilly?’
Quinn shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Whatever his solicitor had said, he couldn’t contradict himself now. It took a moment for him to find the words.
‘We were having an affair. Since she started working with Life Talk in the summer.’
Cathy could feel her jaw stiffen She wasn’t seeing contrition or loss in the man sitting in front of her, and that made her angry.
‘So take me through the events of Thursday evening again. This time with all the details.’
O’Rourke’s tone made it very clear that they knew more than Quinn was letting on, was designed to spook him. Bluff and double bluff, that was what poker was all about. Cathy could hear her brother’s voice in her ear. He was in Australia now, playing poker on some TV channel that also broadcast to the Internet. She’d taken a look but it had mainly been shots of his hands and scantily clad croupiers dominating the screen.
Quinn cleared his throat. ‘She called. Lauren did. We had a phone we used so she could contact me privately, but I’d told her never to call, just to text. So I got home on Thursday night and I checked the phone.’ He took a shaky breath, pulled his hand out of his pocket and crossed his arms, pushing his shoulders back. ‘We’d been emailing a bit while I was away but there were all these missed calls and a voice message when I got back and then the phone rang again. She was hysterical. She said someone had been filming her in her room, getting dressed . . .’ He flushed as he hesitated but didn’t elaborate. ‘She didn’t know how, but they’d sent her photos and a video and were threating to publish the whole lot online.’ He hesitated. ‘I’d only been to her room in Trinity once, we usually met at a hotel . . .’ He trailed off.
Cathy prompted him gently. ‘For sex?’
Quinn nodded. There was so much she could say about that statement, like asking how a shy, impressionable young girl really felt about that. Did she feel used, or was she in love with him – what had he promised her? Part of Cathy felt utter despair at the situation Lauren had found herself in. Whatever she had thought the eventual outcome might be, the reality was something very different.
‘And how did Lauren feel about that?’ She kept her voice low, unthreatening.
Quinn took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. For a moment Cathy thought his eyes had filled. Touching.
‘She wanted me to leave Orla, for us to live somewhere together.’
‘And had you given her the impression that that was a possibility?’ You dumb fuck. Cathy would have loved to have said it.
He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Actually, Orla and I haven’t got on well for years. She’s totally focused on her business. Lauren was a lovely girl.’
‘Young and pliable?’
‘No, she was very intelligent. She wasn’t cut out for all the crap in media, she was a thinker, she had plans to build her own company.’
‘So on Thursday. She called you?’ O’Rourke bought it back to the business at hand.
‘Yes, I was just out of the shower. I was in the bedroom. She was just sobbing down the phone. I couldn’t get any sense out of her.’
‘And what did you say to her?’
‘I just told her that I loved her and that everything would be fine, that it would all work out. I needed time to think. She wanted to meet but I said I couldn’t meet that night, that I’d work something out. She had this idea about us living together in the future. I said something about that, I can’t remember what, I was trying to calm her down. She just wouldn’t stop crying.’
‘But she turned up in Dalkey anyway. Did she call at your house?’
‘No.’ He looked shocked. ‘I told her I couldn’t see her. I didn’t see her. To be honest I was panicking a bit. I needed to talk to someone who understood this type of thing. I mean if the media got hold of it . . .’ a look of terror passed across his face, ‘it would be a total disaster. From what she’d said it sounded like someone had hacked the camera on her laptop – I mean it was the only way they could have taken the shots – she always had her computer open on her desk.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I needed time to think, to get Lauren to calm down so she could work out when it was filmed and if I was in any of the shots.’ He shook his head. ‘She said she knew a guy in college who was really good with computers, that she’d already asked him to come over and see what he could do but people kept calling on her and interrupting and he hadn’t had a chance to look properly.’ Quinn almost rolle
d his eyes, his face clearly showing his horror at that idea. ‘She said I wasn’t in any of the images that had been sent but, Jesus . . . I told her not to call him again, that I’d look after it.’
‘And then you went to see Xavier Ayari?’
‘Yes, I had to go straight out to the meeting, I’d arranged to meet him at ten. After I met Ayari I headed up the Vico for a bit. I wanted some peace and quiet to think, to work out what was the best thing to do. Then I came home. That’s it. I was wrecked, I’d been in the air half the day, and then with Lauren getting hysterical . . .’
‘And you sent the texts before your meeting, just after you’d left the house?’ O’Rourke had his patient voice on, the one he used when they were only getting half the story.
Frowning, Quinn shook his head. ‘What texts?’
Cathy leaned forwards. ‘The texts sent organising to meet Lauren at Dillon’s Park.’
She had to give Quinn full marks for his acting ability; he looked stunned for a moment.
‘I didn’t send any texts.’
Cathy opened the manila file in front of her and flipped the pages to find Lauren O’Reilly’s phone records. She ran her finger down to the night in question.
‘You admit that Lauren tried to call you several times on a pay-as-you-go mobile during the course of the afternoon, but got no answer because you were still on the flight from New York at that point. She then called the same number at 8.58 when you had the conversation you’ve just described. There are a series of texts from the same number starting at 9.30. The first one says “Sorry. V. tierd. Meet me at Dillon’s Park at 10.30. We can talk there xxxxx.” She replied, and you gave her directions.’