Once In, Never Out

by Dan Mahoney

  “No.”

  “And has this little chat enabled you to reach any conclusions?”

  “Just one I already knew. Joe Walsh, you are a big, fat windbag.”

  “I’m not that fat and you haven’t reached the proper conclusion. That might prove unfortunate for you in the event you meet up with this killer,” Walsh said, then turned to McKenna. “Brian?”

  “Don’t get into a gunfight with Mulrooney,” McKenna answered.

  “Exactly.”

  The scene around the corner on 73rd Street was equally crowded with cops, bosses, and detectives surrounding what was left of van 5988, lying on its side and badly burnt. The cars that were parked in front of and behind the van had also been destroyed by the explosion and resulting fire. Reporters and photographers were on the far side of the yellow crime scene tape and curious civilian onlookers were on the other side of the barriers.

  Lieutenant Finan had arrived and was at work inspecting the underside of the van. Dennis Hunt was also nearby, scraping samples from a sheet-metal piece of the van lying next to a tree that had been damaged by the fire.

  “Can you tell me what he used to do this?” McKenna asked Finan.

  “Nothing to it. He magnetically attached a small metal box containing C-4 to the side of the gas tank. Then he detonated it by radio. Not much C-4 in the device. Most of the damage you see here was caused by the gas tank exploding. Fitzhughs tells me they had half a tank.”

  “You can tell all that already?” McKenna asked, amazed.

  “Yeah, we got lucky on this one. We’ve got a good piece of his device,” Finan answered, and led them over to Hunt. “That’s a piece of the bottom of the left rear quarter panel,” Finan said. “What you see welded to it is the top of the device’s casing.”

  McKenna could see it, a rectangular piece of metal that had been welded by the heat of the explosion to the underside of the rear quarter panel. “How do you know it was C-4 he used?” McKenna asked.

  “I’ve been in this business a long time, Brian. It’s supposed to be odorless, but I can smell it,” Finan answered, touching his nose.

  “Really?”

  “Every time, but we’ve already done a field test on the residue left on that piece of metal. Burnt C-4,” Finan answered. He took a screwdriver from Hunt and used it to pry the piece of bomb casing from the sheet metal. It came off easily and Finan examined it, then gave it to McKenna. “Looks like we might be having quite a few of these explosions around town, he said.

  McKenna could see what he meant. Some of the black paint was still on the case, as well as the number 28. “You think he’s got another twenty-seven of these?” McKenna asked.

  “I think that’s a distinct possibility,” Finan answered, then bent down. Something small on the ground had caught his interest. He picked it up and examined it in the palm of his hand.

  McKenna was amazed that Finan had even seen the tiny piece. “What do you think it is?” he asked.

  “I know what it is,” Finan answered. “It’s the frequency chip from the radio receiver in the device. It’s burned and wrecked, but that’s what it is.”

  The frequency chip gave McKenna something to think about, a glimmer of hope. He had an idea, but he hadn’t fully worked it out when Sheeran arrived with Fitzhughs. “Is Gaspar working?” McKenna asked Sheeran.

  “Yeah, but he’s getting off at four. You need him?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but maybe. Could you have him hang around?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  McKenna told Sheeran what he had learned from Walsh and Finan, then presented a problem. “Cisco feels that Mulrooney’s arrogant enough to use his phone again. Captain Kotowski’s been cutting the manpower coming in at four, but maybe they should all come in and be concentrated in Midtown tomorrow.”

  “I agree,” Sheeran said. “I’ll make sure it happens. What next?”

  “I want to talk to the O’Reillys right now.”

  “Okay. Do you want Cisco to give you a hand?”

  “Sure. I could always use a hand.”

  “You want us to bring them into the One-fourteen?” Fitzhughs asked.

  “No. We really don’t have much on Jack and nothing at all on Dorothy, so I’d rather talk to them in their house. Are they still out here?”

  “Yeah, both of them. They’ve got their kids up and with them, too. You’ll spot her right away. She’s got rollers in her hair under a kerchief and she’s wearing a white robe with big red roses all over it.”

  “What routine do you want to use on them?” Cisco asked. “Good Guy-Bad Guy or Smart Guy-Dumb Guy?”

  McKenna didn’t like either of them. He thought Good Guy-Bad Guy had been overplayed, and he suspected the role Cisco had in mind for him if they used the Smart Guy-Dumb Guy routine on the O’Reillys. “How about Good Smart Guy-Good Smart Guy?” he asked.

  “Naw, that would never work. Far as I know, it’s never been done.”

  “Okay, we’ll do Good Guy-Bad Guy. Would you mind being the bad guy?”

  “Mind? Are you kidding? It’s my favorite role,” Cisco said. He turned and walked under the crime scene tape and over to the police barriers. There were four cops at the front of the barriers and a crowd of civilians on the other side watching the police at work. Dorothy was right in front, wearing her robe and standing next to her husband. Each was holding one of their children, two girls who appeared to be three or four years old.

  McKenna thought Dorothy wasn’t a bad-looking woman, but taller than most and big-boned with a swarthy complexion. On the other hand, Jack looked every bit an O’Reilly. He had brown hair, a ruddy complexion, but was a head shorter and twenty pounds lighter than his wife.

  One of the cops manning the barriers had a megaphone and Cisco took it from him. “Listen up,” Cisco ordered through the megaphone he held two feet from Dorothy’s face. “Which of you people knows the monster who murdered those two innocent people around the block and caused all this damage here?”

  From where he stood McKenna could see that Dorothy’s and Jack’s only reaction to Cisco’s question was a look of annoyance prompted by their proximity to the megaphone—they didn’t know what Cisco was talking about.

  “You’re not listening, people,” Cisco said, again into the megaphone. “What I’m asking is which one of you people knows that filthy, murdering Michael Mulrooney, Mike Mullen, or whatever he’s calling himself around here.”

  That got a reaction from both Dorothy and Jack. Their faces contorted into a look of sheer terror. Jack put his daughter down, but held the girl’s hand.

  Then Cisco closed the lid on them. “Dorothy, step forward. The great and powerful Oz wishes to speak with you and he will not be kept waiting.”

  Dorothy took a pitiful half step forward. Jack let go of his daughter’s hand, then turned and ran right into Detective Sullavan’s arms.

  The first thing McKenna did was place the O’Reilly children in the care of two female cops. Then they walked Dorothy and Jack around the corner to show them the bodies of Jessy Banks and Quenton Bachmann. The O’Reillys were still terrified, and the sight of the bodies of the two innocent victims added horror to their emotions.

  “Are you sure Mike did this?” Jack asked after McKenna replaced the blanket covering Bachmann’s body.

  “Certain,” McKenna said. “He ended the lives of these two people merely to create a distraction so he could blow up the van assigned to the detectives watching your house. He might’ve also caused another death here. The wife of this poor man had a heart attack when she saw what Mulrooney had done to her husband.”

  “Don’t be giving us that shocked act,” Cisco added. “You knew all along that Mulrooney’s a stone-cold killer. Known it for years.”

  “Sir, you’re wrong,” Jack said. “You’ve gotta believe me. I knew that years ago he’d been involved in some military actions against the British and might have killed some of their soldiers, but I never suspected he’d do something
like this.”

  “Yeah, I bet,” Cisco said sarcastically.

  “How long have you been watching us?” Dorothy asked.

  “Quite a while,” McKenna answered. “Watching and listening. We have a tap on your phone. Also have all the phones wired at the Pioneer.”

  The tap and the surveillance had actually been on for less than two days, but the O’Reillys had no way of knowing that. McKenna and Cisco watched as the O’Reillys’ minds raced over every phone conversation and every action of theirs since Mulrooney had arrived in the country.

  “That’s right. We’ve got you good,” Cisco said.

  “I don’t know what you could have me for,” Dorothy said. “Are we under arrest?”

  “That depends on you,” McKenna stated. “If you tell me that you’ll cooperate and if I believe you, then we’ll go to your house and have a long chat. You’ll tell me everything you know about Mulrooney and then you won’t be charged with a thing. You can put your kids to bed and go to sleep yourselves.”

  “Then there’s the other option, the one I’d prefer,” Cisco snarled. “If you decide not to cooperate or if I catch you in a single lie, I’m gonna clap the handcuffs on tight on both of you and drag you to Central Booking myself. Put those snotty-looking kids of yours in a foster home where they’ll stay while they’re waiting for you to get out of jail. If Mulrooney blows up something big tomorrow or kills anyone else, I can guarantee that they’ll be waiting a long time before they see Mommy and Daddy again.”

  “We don’t know what Michael’s planning,” Dorothy said. “Matter of fact, we don’t know if he’s even planning anything.”

  “I don’t believe a word of that,” Cisco said.

  “Wait a minute, Cisco,” McKenna insisted for the O’Reillys’ benefit. “She could be telling the truth. They might just be innocent dupes.”

  “You dopey enough to believe them?” Cisco asked, also for the O’Reillys’ benefit.

  “I’m not dopey. All I’m saying is that it’s possible she’s telling the truth. We should hear them out before I decide, and you shouldn’t jump to conclusions. You’re always looking to lock people up on every trumped-up charge you can come up with.”

  “Works for me. Gets me to Central Booking every day, making lots of overtime. The extra money I make locking up these two would just about cover the price of a new punching bag I’ve been looking at.”

  “Excuse me, sir. What would we be charged with?” Jack asked meekly, addressing McKenna.

  “I’d have to listen to all the tapes of your phone conversations before I decide, but I’d say harboring a fugitive and conspiracy to commit kidnapping for starters.”

  “Kidnapping?” Jack asked, confused, but Dorothy looked even more confused than he did.

  “Yeah, that’s what it’s called when you agreed to help Mulrooney take his kids from Kathleen Mullen, the lawful custodial parent,” Cisco said.

  “I didn’t think it was anything that serious,” Jack said. “This thing is just snowballing on us. Can I speak to my wife privately for just a moment?”

  “No, you can’t,” Cisco said. “Don’t want you two getting your story straight together, and I want an answer from each of you right now. What’s it gonna be? Central Booking for black coffee and salami sandwiches or your house for tea and crumpets?”

  “Will the IRA find out if we talk to you?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, but that’s not bad for you,” McKenna said. “Mulrooney’s no longer in the IRA and has been outlawed by them. Whatever he’s doing here he’s doing on his own. Do you know who Martin McGuinn is?”

  “Of course,” Jack answered.

  “Well, if you don’t believe me, we can call him up and you can ask him yourself.”

  “That won’t be necessary. We believe you,” Dorothy said. “If you don’t get Michael, will he find out that we talked to you?”

  McKenna could see that Dorothy was terrified at that prospect. “No, he won’t. I can promise you that you’ll never be called to testify in this case.”

  Dorothy and Jack exchanged a glance and a nod. “Let’s all go to my house for some tea and crumpets,” Dorothy said, stealing a glance at Cisco. “I don’t know much that will interest you, but I think my husband might have a lot on his mind that he wants to talk to you about. Then he has some explaining to do to me after you’re gone.”

  Thirty-Five

  McKenna believed the O’Reillys were going to come clean, but didn’t want them alone together until they did. With that in mind, Cisco and he accompanied them upstairs when they put their kids to bed. Then Dorothy made a pot of tea and, to McKenna’s surprise, actually warmed some crumpets. They filled the four chairs surrounding the square table in the O’Reillys’ small, neat dining room. Jack sat next to his wife at one corner, with Cisco facing Dorothy and McKenna facing Jack. Dorothy had set the table and the tea pot and crumpets were there in front of them.

  To ensure the O’Reillys’ complete cooperation, McKenna had a few minutes more of unpleasantness in store for them. Bad Guy Cisco administered the extra torture before they put anything in their stomachs.

  “Just in case you still have some sympathy for good old Mike floating around somewhere in the back of your minds, I want you two desperados to take a good look at what he does for fun when he isn’t blowing up things for Ireland,” Cisco said. He opened McKenna’s briefcase, took out the folder containing the crime scene photos of Meaghan Maher and the other victims, and passed it to Dorothy. “Take a deep breath and open it up,” Cisco ordered.

  Dorothy did and she looked at Meaghan’s photo, but only for a second. She turned pale, trembled, then got up and ran for the bathroom. All could hear her retching, but Cisco didn’t want to waste any time waiting for her. He gave the folder to Jack. “Your turn, tough guy. The first one you’ll see is an Irish Catholic girl named Meaghan Maher. That sick monster tortured her for fun before he finally strangled her, just like he did with the rest of the victims you’re gonna be looking at.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph help us,” Jack said under his breath as he stared at the photo of Meaghan’s battered body. As he went through the rest, he too turned pale and his hands became unsteady. “I can’t believe Mike did all these horrible things,” he said as he closed the folder.

  “Believe it,” McKenna said. “He did it and I can prove it. It’ll be in all the papers tomorrow.”

  “Why would he do it?” Jack asked.

  “Like Cisco said, he’s a sick, cruel monster. He does it because he enjoys doing it.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Jack repeated, shaking his head, but McKenna could see that he did believe it.

  When Dorothy returned from the bathroom, she looked spent, pale, and weak. Cisco took the folder from in front of Jack and placed it in front of Dorothy. “Take a look,” he commanded. Dorothy ignored him, keeping her eyes front and her hands on her lap.

  Cisco reached across the table and opened the folder. “Look!” he ordered sternly.

  Dorothy looked down at Meaghan’s photo, but McKenna could see that her eyes weren’t focused on it. Cisco removed the photo, exposing the one underneath, but Dorothy screwed her eyes tightly shut. “I’ve seen enough!” she shouted.

  “I think she has seen enough, Cisco,” McKenna suggested.

  “I don’t think so,” Cisco said. “This is good reality training, like we gave the Germans after the war. They all had to go to the movies and see films showing all of the horrible things Hitler had done in their name.”

  “I know, but she’s had enough. Please, Cisco. Leave her alone,” McKenna said, playing his role to the hilt.

  “Okay. Have it your way,” Cisco said with reluctance in his voice. He closed the folder and put it back in the briefcase.

  “Is it gone yet?” Dorothy asked, her eyes still closed.

  “Yeah, Dorothy. It’s gone. You can open your eyes now,” McKenna said. “Let’s eat, and then we’ll talk.”

  Dorothy opened her ey
es to glare at her husband. “I can’t believe you let that man in our house! You even let him play with our children, for Christ’s sake! What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I’m sorry. You gotta believe me, I didn’t know about any of this. How could I know?” Jack said weakly.

  “How couldn’t you know?” Dorothy countered. “You’ve known him all your life, haven’t you? What kind of judge of character are you?”

  “Not a good one, I guess. I’m sorry.”

  Dorothy glared at her husband a moment longer, then got up and poured tea for everyone. The O’Reillys were deep in thought with Jack avoiding Dorothy’s gaze. McKenna had two crumpets and Cisco had three, but the silent O’Reillys didn’t touch theirs.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” McKenna said loudly, startling the O’Reillys. “I’m gonna question Dorothy first while you, Jack, wait in the bathroom until we need you. Just to keep things honest, I’m going to take you both down to headquarters tomorrow and have you polygraphed. If we come up with any lies or any inconsistencies in your stories, our deal is off. Understand?”

  “Yeah, we understand. But shouldn’t we be talking to a lawyer first?” Jack asked.

  “If you want,” Cisco said. “You can call him from your cell in Central Booking.”

  “No, that’s all right,” Jack said. He got up and Cisco escorted him to the bathroom. When Cisco returned and took his seat, McKenna began. “How long have you known Michael Mulrooney, Dorothy?”

  “A long time. I knew him when he was a cop and he was one of the ushers at our wedding, but I thought his name was Mike Mullen back then. He and my husband were always close and Jack used to be very proud of him.”

  “They’re cousins?”

  “Yes. Mike’s mother was Jack’s mother’s sister.”

  “When did you find out who he really was?”

  “After he got arrested and took off.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Jack’s sister came over from Ireland for a visit. We were having a couple of drinks one day while Jack was at work. She said she had seen Mike in Belfast, which surprised her because she knew he was wanted by the police there. I asked her what for, and she told me that Mike had been involved with the IRA when he was younger and had been wounded in a gunfight with the British army. He got away and was sent to Canada to hide out. His brother Patrick was also wounded, but he was captured. He was one of the hunger strikers, starved himself to death. Then I asked her how he could’ve gotten on the cops if he was a wanted man and I got her to tell me that Mullen wasn’t his real name. He was Mike Mulrooney.”