by Dan Mahoney
Then Ferguson had her fun. “Excuse me, Minister. Detective Brian McKenna of the New York City Police Department is here to see you,” she announced in a loud, majordomo voice.
McKenna was sure that O’Bannion’s reaction was all that she had hoped for. He looked up from his desk, wide-eyed and with his mouth open as he stared at McKenna. The phone was still at his ear, but then he hung it up without saying another word. It took him a moment to regain his composure, but O’Bannion was a professional politician, among other things, and accustomed to being placed suddenly on the spot. He put a friendly smile on his face, stood up, and said, “Please come in, Detective McKenna.”
McKenna walked slowly across the room to the desk, unsmiling and keeping his eyes locked on O’Bannion’s face. O’Bannion’s smile remained set as he stretched his arm across his desk and offered his hand to McKenna. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you over the years and I confess that it’s a pleasure meeting one of Ireland’s most famous lost sons in person,” O’Bannion said.
McKenna looked down at O’Bannion’s hand and concentrated on putting a look of contemptuous disgust on his face. Just before he thought O’Bannion was about to withdraw his hand, McKenna took it and was gratified to notice that O’Bannion’s palm was sweating. “Lucky for you that I’m not here to hear your confession,” he said slowly, putting some pressure on O’Bannion’s hand as he shook it. O’Bannion’s polite smile vanished and his face assumed a look as hard and determined as the one McKenna was sporting. Then McKenna released O’Bannion’s hand and wiped his own on his pants leg.
“Then exactly why are you here to see me and what can I do for you?” O’Bannion asked.
“I want you to tell me where I can find Michael Mulrooney,” McKenna stated, watching O’Bannion’s face closely. He saw it, a flicker of fear in the man’s eyes.
“Who?” O’Bannion asked, then looked past McKenna at the door. “Thank you, Maggie. That will be all for now,” he said to Ferguson at the door.
McKenna kept his eyes on O’Bannion as he heard Ferguson close the door behind her. “Surely you’re not going to tell me you’ve never heard of the man whose brother starved himself in the Maze Prison a month after your own brother did the same.”
“That was a long time ago. I remember the name now, but I surely don’t know the man.”
“You’re lying.”
“What? Detective McKenna, do you realize where you are and who you’re talking to?” O’Bannion shouted, his voice dripping anger and righteous indignation.
“Certainly. I’m talking to one of the leaders of the Irish Army Continuity Council, probably the top dog. I’m talking to the man who planned the murders of the British foreign secretary and his wife in Iceland, the same man who then sent Michael Mulrooney there to carry out the plan.”
“This is preposterous! Detective McKenna, you’re obviously insane,” O’Bannion shouted, but his voice had lost some of its bluster.
“I’m mad, but I’m not insane,” McKenna retorted softly and evenly. “Fortunately for you, at the moment I’m not interested in hanging you with those murders. But I will be if you don’t see things my way. I want Mulrooney for the murder you didn’t plan. I want him for the murder of Meaghan Maher. Once you tell me where he is, I’m not mad at you anymore. I’m out of your life and you’re home free.”
“Preposterous,” O’Bannion repeated, but he wasn’t shouting and his voice had lost all bravado.
McKenna knew O’Bannion was thinking hard, searching for a way out and wondering how much McKenna knew. But then the fear took over and he made a decision. “Detective McKenna, I want you out of my office this instant.”
McKenna ignored the order. “Bad idea and not in your best interests,” he said. “Mr. O’Bannion, do you know who you’re talking to?”
“I’m aware of who you are.”
“Are you aware of my reputation?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going to show you my cards, but do you think I operate in the dark? Do you think I was searching around for suspects and happened to pick your name out of the Dublin phone book?”
“I don’t know how you arrived at your preposterous conclusions.”
“Then tell me this. Do you think I’m crazy enough to show up on the doorstep of the very powerful Irish minister for finance to threaten him with high crimes I can’t prove if you force me to?”
“Would you mind telling me how you intend to do that?”
“Yes, I would mind. If you want to know how I’m going to do it, then don’t tell me where Mulrooney is. If you’re that stupid, the first thing I’m going to do when I leave here is call my pal, His Eminence, the cardinal of the archdiocese of New York. He’s very interested in this case and even got me assigned to it. I’m sure he would love to hear about your involvement, but forget about that for a moment. I think he would be shocked to learn that the minister for finance in very Catholic Ireland is protecting a man who tortured and killed an Irish Catholic girl who happened to be a friend of the cardinal’s. By the way, you should know that Mulrooney is a serial killer, that the man you’re protecting has tortured and killed many young girls all over the world. He’s the devil incarnate.”
The wind left O’Bannion’s sails and he sat down in his chair so fast that for a moment, McKenna thought he had fainted. “How many?” he asked weakly.
“Four other girls that I can prove right now, along with two gay men. Tortured and killed for fun the same horrible way he murdered Meaghan Maher. Worse for you, I’m sure there’s more and I’ll find out about them, too.”
O’Bannion swiveled his chair to stare out the window behind his desk. McKenna decided to keep the pressure on, talking to O’Bannion’s back. “I imagine the cardinal will get on the horn right away to talk to all the cardinals and bishops here. They’ll be just as shocked to learn exactly what kind of man they’ve got running the Ministry of Finance. As I understand it, the Irish Constitution recognizes that the Catholic Church has a special position when it comes to formulating matters of policy. Besides that, there’s bound to be leaks to the press, both here and in New York. You’ll be headlines every day for the next month, at least, but you won’t be reading them in this nice office.”
O’Bannion slowly swiveled his chair back to confront McKenna. The expression on his face had changed so drastically that McKenna was reminded of Linda Blair in The Exorcist. He stared at McKenna with a look of pure hatred. Like Father Damian, McKenna decided to keep trying to talk the devil out of him. “Of course, the end of your political career will be the least of your problems. You’ll still have me on your tail, not to mention your old IRA comrades. When word of your caper and the man you hired to do it gets out, I predict that the IRA funding from supporters in America will dry up considerably. Think of how cranky that will make your old pals. Of all people, you should know how vindictive they can be sometimes.”
“Enough,” O’Bannion said through clenched teeth.
“I agree,” McKenna said. “More than enough. This is silly, isn’t it? Just tell me where Mulrooney is and I’m gone without a whisper. I promise that he’ll never know you gave him up and everything’s back to normal for you.”
O’Bannion’s face softened until he had assumed a countenance McKenna recognized. He had seen the same confused and vulnerable look on the faces of thousands of suspects in the countless interrogations he had conducted during his career. O’Bannion was ready to deal—almost. It was time for gentle prodding and assurances.
“What happens to this man if you catch him?” O’Bannion asked.
“He’ll be tried in Iceland, quickly convicted of three murders, and then he’ll be sentenced to three consecutive life sentences. The Icelanders won’t offer him any deals to talk and they won’t entertain any suggestions from anyone else.”
It appeared to McKenna that O’Bannion liked that scenario, but the minister wanted to know more. “I’ve read that you were in Iceland with Inspector Rollins. Does
he know about your groundless suspicions concerning me?”
“He knows almost as much about your involvement as I do, but I forced a deal out of him. As long as you tell me where Mulrooney is, he and his government will leave you alone. If not, you’re in the British sights bigger than Napoleon was.”
O’Bannion appeared to like that answer as well. He sat back in his chair, thinking, his face a benign mask. Then he opened his upper right desk drawer and stared into it.
McKenna instantly went on guard, his body tense and ready to pounce in the event O’Bannion came up with the pistol in the drawer. But the pistol wasn’t what was on O’Bannion’s mind. He took the two-page visitors list from the drawer, turned to the second page, and stared at it.
McKenna knew that O’Bannion had found his name when he smiled and shook his head. “Wish I had looked at this earlier,” he said, smiling wryly as he shook his head. Then he turned the list over, removed a pen from his pocket, and printed: “You must believe me. I don’t know where he is right now, but I know he’s planning something big on his own.”
It was bad news, but McKenna almost laughed out loud when O’Bannion passed him the note. He realized that O’Bannion suspected he was wired and that the minister had said nothing during the meeting that could be used against him.
McKenna decided to play along. He grabbed the pen from O’Bannion’s hand, drew a line across O’Bannion’s note, and wrote underneath: “I believe you, but I don’t care. I’m staying at the Conrad Hilton. You have until 7:00 P.M. to find out where he is and let me know. Have a nice life.” He passed the visitors list back to O’Bannion, then turned and left the office. For effect, he made sure to close the door hard on his way out.
A changed Maggie Ferguson was waiting for him in her office outside. She was sitting at her desk with her long hair down and makeup on. McKenna was pleasantly surprised by her new look and suspected that it was intended to impress him, but he was a happily married man and never wandered. However, he did have to admit to himself that she was a very attractive woman.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet, but nothing can happen to your boss until after seven.”
“Nothing will,” she said innocently, then came up with a surprise suggestion. “Why don’t you take me out to dinner later on tonight. We can either celebrate your victory or mourn your defeat together over a good meal.”
Now, what does this very tricky lady have in mind, McKenna wondered. He didn’t know, but he wasn’t sure he could be comfortable dining with a woman who took such obvious pleasure at the imminent murder of her boss, no matter who he was and what he had done. Still, he was very curious about her double-dealing role in the affair and he had quite a few questions for her.
Ferguson noted his hesitation. “Don’t tell me. You’re a happily married man,” she said coyly.
“As a matter of fact, I am. Very happily married.”
“So am I, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Ferguson wore no rings and McKenna didn’t know whether to believe her. But she is on an undercover assignment and might be telling the truth, he told himself. Then a good reason for her sudden interest in him came to mind. “Am I to be your alibi while bad things are happening tonight?”
“Why, the thought never occurred to me,” she protested innocently. “Where are you staying?”
“The Conrad Hilton.”
“Good choice. They have a wonderful restaurant. If you trust yourself enough, meet me there at nine.”
She stood up, offered her hand, and McKenna took it. “Nine it is,” he said as he shook her hand.
“Good. You want to know the best thing I’ve seen in a long time?”
“Tell me.”
“This,” she said. She removed her hand from his and deliberately wiped it on her dress.
Twenty-Four
McKenna sat in an armchair in his room at the Conrad Hilton with the phone next to him and his eyes on the door, struggling with his conscience while he awaited news from O’Bannion. Twice he had dialed Brunette, but each time he had changed his mind and hung up before the first ring.
Brunette and McKenna had been friends for many years and frequently had talked each other through crises, both personal and professional. But not this time, McKenna decided. He knew Brunette well, knew his ethics and how he thought, and he felt sure that Brunette would reach the same conclusion as he had regarding O’Bannion and his fate. Therefore, McKenna saw no reason to burden two consciences with O’Bannion’s impending murder.
So McKenna sat and waited. It’s not our business and it’s not our fight, he told himself. If the IRA wants O’Bannion, they’ll get him sooner or later, so I’m right to stay out of it and not enormously complicate our position. It’s a kind of justice without law, the execution of a murderer.
After a while, that sounded all right to McKenna. But there was another thing bothering him; he knew who would be responsible for O’Bannion’s murder, yet he would make no move to bring them to justice. In fact, he would be having dinner with one of the conspirators while O’Bannion was being assassinated.
Once again, not our fight nor our business, he told himself. It’s a war nobody understands and there’s no justice in war—just casualties.
Sitting in the comfortable armchair, McKenna had almost talked himself to sleep by six o’clock. Then a sound at his door brought him wide awake and he watched as an envelope was slipped under it. He had no desire to see O’Bannion again, so he stared at the envelope for a minute before he got up and opened it. Written on a plain sheet of paper was: “He knows the IRA is looking for him and he’s very angry. He’s underground in New York and getting all the tools of his trade. That’s all I could find out.”
New York? Is that good news or bad news? McKenna wondered. He’s in my own backyard, but New York is a place he also knows well. An angry Mulrooney who’s loaded for bear and planning something big in New York has to be bad news, he concluded. Time to make some calls.
The first ones were to every airline serving Ireland, but McKenna hung up disappointed. He desperately wanted to get back to New York, but he couldn’t get a flight out until noon the next day.
Next was Brunette. McKenna caught him at his office and gave him the news on Mulrooney. Brunette took the threat to his city stoically, and even took the liberty of congratulating himself. “If I hadn’t sent you to Iceland, Mulrooney would still be here looking for trouble, but we wouldn’t know about it. Wouldn’t even know who he was,” he said. “Forewarned is forearmed and we’ve got Chipmunk’s and the cardinal’s interest in Meaghan to thank for that.”
“If we get him in time,” McKenna added.
“Yeah, if we get him in time,” Brunette agreed. “Of course, if we don’t and he manages to blow up something major, then we’re all gonna look like shit. But I’m not too worried, yet.”
“You know something I don’t?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Our surveillance on his kids turned up something interesting. Thirteen and eleven years old and they’ve got a cell phone. The older one had it in his pocket and they were walking home from school when they took a call. Both of them talked on the phone and they seemed real excited.”
We were right! His kids are Mulrooney’s Achilles’ heel, McKenna thought. He loves them and wants to keep in touch with them, so the phone had to come from him. “I take it we’ll be listening in the next time he calls?”
“You betcha. We’ve got Tavlin on board and he’s got all the equipment he needs in place in the Bronx. We’ll be listening in. Better yet, if Mulrooney stays on the phone long enough, we’ve got him.”
Brunette didn’t have to say more. McKenna knew that in a few words, he had just described an expensive and complicated operation that would involve hundreds of detectives and Emergency Service cops, not to mention some of Tavlin’s most sophisticated equipment. Once again, it was a big plus that NYNEX’s chief of security was also a retired NYPD chief a
nd a good friend. “Do we have an eavesdropping warrant, yet?” McKenna asked.
“No. We’re still not exactly legal, but now we’ll have enough to get one when you march before a judge and tell him what you just told me. When will you be back?”
“First available flight. Gets me into JFK at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’ll have someone there to pick you up and a judge standing by. Anything else?”
There was, and suddenly McKenna decided that it had nothing to do with conscience and friendship. As his boss, Brunette should know about O’Bannion. Whether to tell him or not was a decision he had struggled with for two days, but talking to him made it clear. Brunette was already out on a limb and authorizing illegal operations, so he had a right to know just how complicated the situation was. “O’Bannion’s gonna be checking out sometime tonight. His old pals have decided that he’s been a thorn in their sides for too long and too much of an embarrassment to them with the Iceland thing.”
Brunette didn’t answer for a moment and McKenna knew he was running all the implications of that information through his mind. In the end, it wasn’t his official position that concerned him, it was his friendship with McKenna and his faith in his friend’s judgment. “Have you managed to get comfortable with that?” he asked.
“Not entirely. Unlike me, O’Bannion didn’t know that I was questioning him in the last hours of his life. And what did I do? Did I give him any hint or warning? No, I threatened to snitch on him to the cardinal and make the rest of his life miserable solely to gain information in this case.”
“So what? Think about it,” Brunette said. “If it wasn’t for O’Bannion, his ambition, and his murdering ways, Meaghan Maher would still be alive. We couldn’t get him and maybe the Brits wouldn’t have been able to, either. I say good riddance and don’t lose any sleep over it.”