Close Ranks: A Garda West Novel (Garda West Crime Novels Book 2)

by Valerie Keogh

  Andrews looked at him askance, ‘Have you any idea what that would cost for twenty-one kids? Give me a break.’

  ‘Give them a ring. I was wondering what to buy Petey for a birthday present; I’ll pay for the day.’

  Garda Sergeant Mike West had been born into a comfortably well-to-do family and had earned a high salary as a solicitor in Dublin before joining the Gardai several years before. While still a solicitor he had bought an apartment in the city for a reasonable amount of money, and had seen the price soar in the boom years. He’d sold at the top of the market but the houses he wanted were out of his league so he banked the money and waited, renting an apartment in Blackrock that was small but convenient. So it was he was in a good position to pounce when the housing market crashed not many months later and he picked up a house in Greystones – spotted by his eagle-eyed and adoring mother – for a song.

  ‘It’s a steal,’ the agent had said before remembering who he was speaking to and quickly changing his expression. ‘A song. An absolute song.’

  West, walking around the beautiful Edwardian semi-detached house on a leafy quiet road, thought the agent’s first words were correct. It was a steal. Even the necessary decorating and refurbishing – the big extension to the back of the house, big glass folding doors opening onto the garden – hadn’t damaged his finances. His only current expense was the little Chihuahua, Tyler, left in his care by an old friend who, last he had heard, was in Japan, having been unable, as he put it, to find himself in San Francisco.

  So, money, because he had it, and always had had it, was of little regard; a means to an end. Not something to worry about from one pay check to the next. Paying for Petey’s birthday party was an easy outlay for him and would serve to stop Andrews’ incessant comments about the weather which were starting to bore him.

  His offer hung in the air for a moment before descending and developing rabid tentacles of pride and offence that hung from Peter Andrews, dragging his face and shoulders down, making him look suddenly older. He didn’t envy West his money, never had, but he did resent the ease with which he could make that offer, resented the way he was made feel suddenly less than equal, a charity case for West to donate his largesse to. Him and his bloody Hugo Boss suits, Andrews thought irrationally. He felt bitterness rise to erode like battery acid, filling the air with a sudden palpable tension.

  Used to a comfortable silence, since Andrews wasn’t an overly talkative man, it took a few minutes for the tension to become obvious to West and it caught him by surprise before it punched him in the gut. He didn’t need to glance at Andrews’ suddenly severe face to know the damage his unthinking offer had caused and his immediate regret for offending this man who he had come to regard as a friend was genuine. What could he do? Withdraw the offer? Tell him not to be so bloody oversensitive?

  Damage repair was definitely required. West had been an exceptional solicitor before deciding his future lay in catching criminals rather than in their defence or prosecution. His quick thinking and adeptness had marked him for the partnership that had, ironically, been the impetus he needed and he had given his notice on the same day. The years in law had, however, honed his thinking to a needle-sharp quickness and he employed this quickness now to mend the hole gaping like a maw before him.

  He continued as if as an afterthought to the offer. ‘The law firm I worked for did some work for the owner, Manuel Armando, did I tell you? He’s Portuguese,’ he continued, keeping his voice light, chatty. ‘He’d originally wanted to call all the clubs Crianças, it means children in English. His general manager persuaded him that using a name children couldn’t pronounce and parents couldn’t spell would be bad for business and suggested using the more onomatopoeic Bang Bang! instead. It’s a very successful business; they’ve opened five to date around the country. All called Bang Bang! but the group as a whole is still registered as a business under the name Crianças. ’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Every time he’d meet anyone from the office he’d tell us to bring our children to his club. When we’d tell him we didn’t have any to bring, he’d say loudly, Bring your sister’s, Bring your friend’s! He’s one of those men you meet in business who feel they owe you a favour and are never happy till they have it paid.

  ‘When I left the firm and moved to Greystones I never thought to see him again. Turns out he’s a neighbour. Well, not a neighbour exactly, he lives about half-way between my house and the parents’ house.’ Mike gave a short laugh and a quick look. Andrews’ face hadn’t softened but he could tell he was listening. ‘Every time I see him, he asks me the same thing, when are you going to bring children to my club? It’s become a standing joke to him. He laughs uproariously each time. It’s got to the stage where I avoid walking that way to steer clear of seeing him and take a long rambling detour instead. It will be a great relief to actually take him up on his offer. Maybe that will be the end of it then. I really don’t know why I didn’t think to bring Petey before.’

  Passing through the barrier to the police station he risked a quick look at the still silent man beside him. The carved ice look had thawed slightly and the tightness had gone from his mouth.

  ‘He’d hardly expect you to bring twenty-one children though, would he?’ Andrews asked relenting. West’s information removed the air of charity from the offer, but not yet the lingering feeling that their circumstances were so different.

  ‘From what I remember we saved him just over two million pounds, Peter, so I doubt very much if he is going to care how many I take.’ The legal company West had worked for had, indeed, saved Manuel Armando a lot of money, but the truth was that West had been a very junior member of the firm at the time and had not been involved in the case, and he had the feeling that the offer to take a child might extend to two or three but twenty-one was possibly pushing it. So maybe he wasn’t being completely honest, but West salved his conscience by considering it a version of the truth rather than an out and out lie.

  He had one last weapon in his arsenal and sneaking a surreptitious look at the other man’s face he decided it was worth using. ‘Of course, I don’t want to be in the way. You probably want to keep it in the family.’

  A perfect shot.

  Andrews looked at him. ‘Don’t be daft, you know Petey loves when you come to visit. And Joyce considers you family. You know that damned well.’

  ‘So you’ll let me organise that then?

  Andrews shook his head as if to shake away previous unworthy thoughts and then nodded. ‘Well, ok then, that would be great. If you are sure?’

  West, parking the car in his designated spot, smothered a sigh of relief and replied, ‘I’ll give him a ring as soon as I get into the office, make sure they have availability and let you know.’

  They walked into the station, as they had walked into the house earlier in the morning, lost in their own thoughts.

  4

  It took Garda Sergeant West twenty minutes of phones calls and a lot of patience and determination to get through to Manuel Armando but only five minutes to apprise the successful businessman of the situation.

  ‘It’s very short notice Senhor Armando,’ West said, ‘and, despite your frequent generous offer, I don’t expect to bring such a large party of children gratis but if you could fit us in at such short notice that would be a great favour.’

  ‘Mr West, I insist that Crianças would be delighted to accommodate your party gratis.’

  ‘No, really, I...’

  ‘Mr West, I insist. Your law company saved me so much money. It is a small return.’

  West laughed shortly. ‘Twenty-one children is a very big return, Senhor Armando. And I no longer work for that law firm, you remember. Even when I did, when your case was dealt with, I was a very junior member of the firm. This is a gift for the son of a friend. I would be happy to pay, or at least to make a contribution.’

  ‘Mr West, please, I must insist. You have been kind enough to have accepted my invitation. Please be so kind as to accept the
terms. As it happens, Saturday is a quiet day because of two cancellations and it will be of no problem whatsoever to accommodate your party. Unfortunately, due to prior commitments, I will not be there myself to welcome you to what I regard as Crianças’ flagship. But I will impress upon my manager, Ian, that you are an old and valued friend. He will treat you, your friends and the children accordingly.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Armando. You have been extremely kind.’

  A further exchange of civilities and West hung up with a phew. He looked at his watch in frustration, next time he’d just let Andrews moan about the weather and not offer any advice. He’d dug himself a very big hole, he just hoped it wouldn’t fill with water and drown him.

  Twenty more irritating minutes were spent filling Inspector Morrison in on the death of Gerard Roberts; twenty, not because there was much to say, but because the Inspector had a comment on every detail, several anecdotes from his past that had little, if any, bearing on the case, and advice as to how the sergeant should organise the inquiry, all of which West listened to intently as a good subordinate should, and proceeded to ignore before he had left the room.

  Making his way back to the general detective’s office he saw Andrews at his desk, a phone attached to his ear by an uncomfortably positioned shoulder. He headed to the coffee percolator in the corner and filled two mugs, added two sugars to one and milk to both and putting the sugared one in front of the Andrews he perched on the side of the desk sipping the other until he was finished his call.

  When he did, Andrews put the phone down and picked the coffee up, draining half the contents before putting it down with a sigh, ‘I needed that. That was the vegetable shop in Foxrock. I was trying to find out what, exactly, Gerard Roberts bought there this morning. I may as well have saved my breath. That young one I was talking to shouldn’t be left in charge of a puddle, she might fall in and drown. The owner is on an extended lunch break and should be back in about an hour. Do you want me to go talk to him?

  West took a sip of the over brewed coffee and grimaced at the bitterness. ‘Bloody hell, this stuff gets worse.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Let’s get something to eat, we’ve had no lunch and I’m starving. Then we can both go and talk to him. I’ve just spent twenty minutes with Mother Morrison and need to get out of here.’

  ‘You never really got to know him before he went on extended sick-leave, did you Mike? He was the scourge of the division, honestly. Tough as the canteen beef. You know what the motor mouths are saying?’

  West shook his head, as a garda sergeant he was less in the way of station gossip than Andrews but it got to him eventually, usually elaborated and exaggerated. He always listened and usually managed to winkle out the kernel of truth that lay at the heart of it and discarded the rest. People who said they never listened to gossip missed out on one of the oldest and quickest forms of communication there was.

  Never loath to pass on what he heard around the station, Andrews continued. ‘They’re saying he joined one of those weird religious sects and that’s why he has become all interested and helpful and...creepy.’

  West laughed. ‘He can be as creepy as he likes as long as he stays in his office and doesn’t interfere, Peter. Ok, where do you fancy for lunch?’

  ‘Let’s go to the Lep Inn. Food’s always good and we should get parking at this time of the day. Plus, they do a good pint of Guinness, by all accounts.’

  ‘Ah,’ West sighed dramatically. ‘You’ve said the magic word.’

  West drove listening to Andrews’ recounting various titbits of gossip he had heard that morning. He listened to the tone of his voice more than the words, relieved to hear no lingering trace of his earlier solecism, thinking, not for the first time, how much he regarded Andrews and valued their partnership.

  He’d put his foot in it there, thank God for Bang Bangs! Now that was something he never thought he’d be thinking.

  They weren’t the only ones having a late lunch and found parking by luck, a car pulling out just as they pulled in. The Lep Inn was busy with the flotsam and jetsam of the many and varied offices in the vicinity. Girly groups and manly meetings vied for space. There were a few empty seats but the highly prized nooks and crannies that gave a modicum of privacy all seemed to be occupied.

  Andrews was a veteran and left West without a word, seconds later his arm appearing from a corner nook to wave the sergeant over.

  ‘How on earth did you spot this?’ West asked in admiration as he settled himself into an elaborate chair of vast proportions.

  ‘Because it’s behind this wall, it’s often the last to be spotted. Except by regulars like me,’ Andrews said smugly. ‘Thought I’d head straight for it and hope for the best and bingo.’

  ‘Well, done.’ West said and picked up the menu card. ‘That conversation with Mother has given me an appetite. Think I’ll go for a burger and all the trimmings.’

  ‘Yea, me too,’ Andrews agreed putting down his card and looking around for one of the serving staff, waving to one as she passed, her well-trained eye scanning, her pen poised even as she approached.

  The order given the men sat quietly until a pint was before each. West sat a moment admiring the black and cream before lifting and taking a mouthful of what was, he decided with pleasure, a really good pint. Andrews, to the sergeant’s disgust sipped a Heineken with evident relish and no shame.

  Ignoring the sergeant’s disdain Andrews took another deep mouthful of his beer and, his initial thirst quenched, he commented, ‘A bit of a surprise, wasn’t it, seeing Kelly Johnson today?’

  ‘A bit.’ Came the blunt answer and then with a quick, decisive change of direction, West asked, ‘Have you put someone doing a background check on Gerard Roberts?’

  ‘Yes, Edwards is doing it. I have reminded the lads this is a murder inquiry until we know otherwise and they are doing the usual checks. We should have the superficial information by the time we get back.’

  West checked his watch and frowned. ‘Ok. The day is pushing on. Hopefully that will get us somewhere.’ He took a mouthful of his Guinness and continued, keeping his voice casual. ‘Oh, by the way, I sorted Saturday. No problems, Senhor Armando was delighted I was taking him up on his offer at last. He won’t be there himself but said his manager Ian would look after it all. So you can let Joyce know.’

  Peter Andrews wasn’t a devious man and would have been surprised to have learnt the lengths to which the sergeant had gone to smooth his earlier gaffe. His smile was devoid of suspicion. ‘Hey that’s great. Joyce will be so pleased and Petey will be over the moon. You sure you won’t be bored?’

  West looked blank for too brief a moment to register with Andrews. He had forgotten his part in the story and now, could hardly back out. He’d have to rely on the demands of the Roberts’ case to keep him from spending a free Saturday afternoon with twenty-one screaming five year olds. The day after tomorrow. Surely something would turn up to throw a spanner in the works.

  Their burgers arrived with all the trimmings, the plates full to overflowing. ‘God, this looks good,’ West said, using two hands to lift and hold together the whole concoction, sinking his teeth in and letting out a small groan of pleasure.

  Andrews smiled, and said, ‘Good choice,’ before lifting his own burger and tucking in.

  Conversation was limited to guttural appreciation of good food until every mouthful was gone and the two men sat before well cleared plates.

  ‘A glass of red wine would wash that down nicely,’ West said.

  ‘Shame we have a case to solve, isn’t it?’ Andrews replied. ‘We should get a job in a nice office, eat like this every lunch time, drink wine and beer, float back to sit in our offices till five.’

  ‘Been there, done that,’ West laughed. ‘You’d hate it Pete. Come on; let’s see what the vegetable shop has to add to the equation.’

  It was only a few minute’s drive away to the centre of Foxrock. It wasn’t difficult to locate the shop; it was called, without any
claims to pretension, The Vegetable Shop.

  ‘At least they didn’t stoop to adding a pe to the end of shop,’ West murmured to Andrews, as they parked on the road outside.

  ‘No,’ Andrews replied with a grin. ‘Cos then they’d have had to add an olde and that would make it The Olde Vegetable Shoppe. And who wants to buy old vegetables.’

  West raised his eyes to heaven and shook his head as Andrews cackled at his own joke.

  The shop was laid out in the tradition of vegetable shops the world over. Trays of vegetables and fruit sat on tables outside the shop, green plastic baskets and paper bags handily set at both ends of the table for customers to help themselves. A multitude of signs gave prices. Per pound and per kilo West noticed, impressed by their marketing, remembering his mother complaining that kilos made no sense to her whatsoever.

  ‘They’re catering to their demographic,’ West said to Andrews with a nod to the signs.

  Andrews looking at the same signs was glad he didn’t have to feed his family from this shop. Thank God for Dunnes’, he thought, looking with disbelief at the price of an apple. Both men, with their wildly different view on the pricing, headed into the shop

  Inside it was poorly lit and cool, walls lined with racks and racks of vegetables and fruit. Like many other shops, a number of sidelines had been introduced to increase turnover. Eggs, sauces, tracklements, and a variety of utensils neither man could decide a use for, were set on a display table in the centre of the shop.

  Andrews reached for one metal object. ‘What’s this for do you think?’

  West took it, turned it over and shook his head. ‘Not a clue,’ He put it down and walked around the shelves, admiring the selection displayed.