Impostor

by L. J. Ross

  CHAPTER 33

  A brief phone call to the Hospital Director at Southmoor had bought Gregory three extra days in Ballyfinny, after which he needed to return to his duties and his patients back in England. It was frustrating to know that political intrigues and public relations held more sway with senior Garda officials than fact-based research—or hundreds of man-hours spent on the ground getting to know a community, as Niall and Connor had done—but he knew that, in matters of public perception, it was not only about doing the right thing; it was about being seen to do the right thing. For that reason, it was the right move to pull Niall and Connor Byrne off the case and to allow them to be eliminated from the list of potential suspects—or not, as the case may be.

  On his way back to the hotel, Gregory put another call through, this time to Bill Douglas.

  “Two conversations in one week? It must be my birthday,” Douglas quipped.

  “Is it a bad time?”

  “It’s a perfect time,” Douglas replied. “One of my tutorials was cancelled, so I’m unexpectedly free. What’s up?”

  “An order came from above to shake up the investigation,” Gregory told him. “I don’t disagree with it, since the basis of the case has changed fundamentally over the past week or so. In the beginning, when the Garda believed they were looking for an outsider, it was acceptable to have a local man and his brother running the show.”

  “But now they know it’s someone local, they need an outside task force,” Douglas concluded. “I wonder who had a word in their ear.”

  “I spoke to the superintendent in Castlebar first thing this morning,” Gregory admitted. “Neither of the Byrne brothers is being open about their movements and they both fit the profile. It was the right thing to do and will make for a more transparent investigation, going forwards.”

  There was a second’s pause, and then Douglas barked out a laugh.

  “You’re a cool one,” he said. “What’ll they say, when they find out you went over their heads?”

  “Niall and Connor won’t thank me,” Gregory admitted. “Neither will their mother. But, if the Garda don’t find who’s responsible and the killings just stop, as they sometimes do, they’ll forever have the Sword of Damocles over their heads. People in the community will always wonder, just as they will about the priest and every other person who fits the profile. This way, at least they can be investigated and eliminated. I’m trying to help them to help themselves.”

  He didn’t add that, with Niall Byrne suffering blackouts, he had separate concerns about that man’s welfare and overall capacity to do the job. Besides, he had a wife and child to think of—both of whom might be at risk themselves.

  Douglas leaned back in his desk chair, which overlooked the beautiful campus quadrangle at Hawking College, Cambridge.

  “All the same, they won’t like it.”

  “They don’t have to.”

  Douglas marvelled at his friend’s ability to shut out the noise of social convention, in order to do what he felt was right. It wouldn’t win him any friends, but it might stop a killer. To Alex Gregory, one was vastly more important than the other.

  “Are the Garda keeping you on, to consult?” Douglas asked.

  “Not formally,” he replied. “I’ve told the new superintendent that I’ll be staying on for a couple more days, if she needs me.”

  As Gregory entered the pine forest, the line began to crackle.

  “Are you any closer to finding the offender?” Douglas asked.

  “I understand them, and why they’re driven to kill. There’s still nothing in the way of useful DNA to help us, so it’s a case of closing the net by looking at other variables. We’re much closer than we were a few days ago, unfortunately, thanks to them having killed again.”

  It was a sad truth that, the more victims he was able to study, the more data they were able to gather, and the closer they came to finding the perpetrator. But that wasn’t much comfort to the families of those who had been lost.

  “Whatever happened with that woman—Emma, was it?”

  “Nothing you need worry about,” Gregory replied. “It turns out, she had an affair with one of the people on the suspect list, thereby giving him an alibi for the first murder of Claire Kelly. It’s another reason for Niall to take a step back; as her husband as well as the investigating officer, he can’t be impartial. It’s already prevented either Emma or this other man coming forward with the truth.”

  “Complicated,” Bill muttered. “Are you going to tell the Garda, or did Emma tell you this information in the context of a clinical discussion?”

  Gregory paused to give the question due consideration.

  “No, I think she was speaking to me as a friend, and as a profiler. She wanted me to know that this man Tom Reilly wasn’t a killer, but didn’t want to have to tell her husband about the affair. If Niall wasn’t a detective, she wouldn’t have needed to make the choice.”

  “But he is, so she does. And there’s only one right choice.”

  “That’s exactly what I told her,” Gregory said. “I agreed to give her a couple of days to come out with it. Now that Niall’s no longer on the case, there should be nothing to prevent her coming forward with the information to the new superintendent.”

  “Clever,” Bill approved. “You found a way to protect her. I wonder why?”

  Gregory thought of the child, Declan, and his father.

  And, yes, he thought of Emma.

  He opened his mouth to say something else, but found the telephone signal had cut out, taking his friend with it. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and, without Bill’s comforting voice at his ear, was suddenly very aware of how alone he was.

  He stopped for a moment and looked around him, at the various pathways diverging in the middle of the pine-scented wood, and knew that only one would be the right one.

  * * *

  Maggie Byrne was peeling potatoes for a roast dinner when a knock came at her door.

  Wiping her hands on the edge of a tea towel, she thought about not answering it; afraid it would be more reporters clamouring for a story. Aideen McArdle was lying on a cold slab down at the mortuary in Galway Hospital next to her husband—side by side, even in death. But it was her family that bore the brunt of press speculation and intrusion, and she had a word or two to say about that.

  When she threw open the front door, the words died on her lips.

  “Oh, it’s only you. For a minute, I thought it was one of that lot from the Dublin Enquirer,” she muttered. “Come in, Alex.”

  Gregory wiped his feet and stepped inside, where he soon realised they were not alone.

  “Hi!”

  Declan appeared at the bottom of the stairs, carrying a small tub of Lego.

  “Want to build something?” he asked, and Gregory realised that he did.

  He wanted to sit and build towers and planes. He wanted to be young again and to see the world through a prism of unfettered optimism, where he no longer worried about what people had seen, what they had done, or what lay behind their eyes.

  He wanted to build Lego houses.

  But there were things he needed to say to Maggie; things that couldn’t wait.

  “I’ll come and build something with you later, if I’m able,” he said, and watched the boy trot into the living room with his plastic box.

  “Is Emma here too?” he asked.

  “She’s running an errand for me,” Maggie said. “Do you need to talk to her?”

  “Later,” he said. “It’s you I’ve come to see.”

  There was a catch to his voice that she didn’t like, but she led him into the kitchen, where she shook out a couple of tea bags.

  “This sounds serious,” she said. “What’s happened, now? Has there been another one?”

  Alex rested his hands on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

  “No, there hasn’t been another one that I know of,” he said, and then came to the point. “Maggie, you won’t
like what I’m about to tell you, and I’m prepared for that. But I want you to know two things before I say what I need to say. The first is that I acted with your best interests at heart, as well as those of your family.”

  She dropped the tea bags into two bone china mugs, then turned to look at him. But he saw no anger there, only concern.

  That made things even harder.

  “Go on,” she said. “You’re worrying me, Alex.”

  “The second thing is that it’s been a privilege to get to know you. Not only did you entrust me to help your community at a vulnerable time, you made me feel like one of that community and you invited me into your home. I’m grateful to you for that, and I won’t forget it.”

  “Alex, for God’s sake, what’s the matter?”

  “Superintendent Donoghue has taken Niall and Connor off the investigation,” he began.

  “What? Why?”

  She was incredulous.

  “Because I suggested it was the right thing to do, when I rang her early this morning.”

  Gregory watched the shock and dismay cross her face, but he held firm.

  “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Because it was in their best interests, and those of the town, but Niall wouldn’t have suggested it himself.”

  “How’d you figure that one out?” she asked, and he saw that she was the Mayor again, despite her casual clothes and the homely setting. By the regal look in her eye, she could have been standing at the steps of Buckingham Palace.

  “Niall and Connor won’t divulge their whereabouts last night,” he said. “The press is here in double digits, and they’re asking a hell of a lot of questions. Someone, somewhere, is going to start asking about the police and, when they do, questions will be raised about why nobody had demanded they provide a statement or at least eliminate themselves from the enquiry.”

  “Has—has anyone complained?” she asked.

  Gregory nodded.

  “Donoghue told me they’d had a couple of separate complaints, so it’s likely they would have removed Niall or Connor from the investigation, anyway. But I’m not trying to detract from what happened. I wanted to tell you this, and to explain why I made the recommendation.”

  “I think I’m beginning to understand,” she said, icily.

  He shook his head.

  “In many serial killer cases like these, where the offender is extremely careful and they leave little or no forensic trace, it’s unlikely that the police team will apprehend them. That’s basic fact,” he said. “Sometimes, the killings will stop for a period of time and nobody can work out why. It may be that the killer’s had a change of plan or life circumstance, has moved, or something else has interfered. If that were to happen here, I don’t want either Niall or Connor to be wrongly suspected of involvement.”

  “They wouldn’t be. Not so long as—”

  “So long as their Mama can watch over them?” he asked softly. “Maggie, you know that’s what people would start to wonder, just as they’d wonder about Sean Walsh, Padraig or any number of others who don’t have an alibi and who fit the bill.”

  Maggie turned away.

  “Say that’s true,” she said eventually. “There’s no need to have them taken off the case.”

  “You mean to tell me, not one person has raised the issue with you?” Gregory asked. “Nobody’s questioned the fact that Niall’s your boy, and Connor, too?”

  Maggie’s lips trembled. Of course, people had questioned it; as the death toll continued to rise, so too did people’s suspicions.

  “When people thought the killer was an outsider, there was no problem,” Gregory said. “But it’s different now. They know it’s one of their own, and Niall and Connor are part of that. In the interests of due process, they have to be eliminated.”

  She knew it was true, Maggie thought. And yet…

  “I’ve seen what happens in cases like these,” Gregory said, willing her to listen. “When the media get involved and the public get to know about the tragedy, they demand something new every day. They want to know progress is happening and, if it isn’t happening quickly enough, or in the direction they want, the tide turns. Soon enough the people who’d once been supportive turn out to be the greatest critics. They look for police failings, and then they hang people out to dry.”

  Maggie leaned back and folded her arms.

  “That’s what happened to you, three years ago,” she said. “It doesn’t mean the same thing would happen to Niall or Connor. They’re not strangers here, they’re—”

  She stopped abruptly.

  Part of the fabric, she’d been about to say. The same words used to describe a killer who was running amok.

  “Nobody is above suspicion, Maggie. Not even you. Do you think we didn’t consider you, as a credible suspect? The difference is, you have an alibi for the Friday nights and Saturday mornings in question.”

  Her mouth gaped open, and he almost laughed.

  “I—well, there’s a thing,” she said, for once not finding the words to describe the unique emotion that came with knowing her own children had considered her aptitude for murder. “I look after Declan most Friday nights, and Saturday mornings, to give Niall and Emma a chance to be alone and work on their relationship.”

  He nodded.

  “I know, and it’s a kind thing to do. The only problem is, Niall doesn’t always spend those Friday nights at home with Emma. She doesn’t know where he goes, and he won’t tell us.”

  Maggie sighed, and shook her head.

  “Always was a law unto himself.”

  CHAPTER 34

  It took more time and some persuasion, but, eventually, Maggie understood Gregory’s reasons for suggesting a change of Garda personnel. Part of her even admired him for doing it and, if it meant that her sons would be removed from the list of suspects who could have committed murder, that was all to the good. But, just as Gregory was eventually allowed to build a bridge—albeit from Lego bricks—things became much worse.

  Emma hurried inside the cottage and called out to her mother-in-law.

  “Maggie!”

  “What is it, love?” she asked, stepping back into the hallway. “What’s the matter?”

  “I just had a call from Niall. He says Donoghue had a tip-off from the press and she’s taking it seriously. The Tribune are saying they received an anonymous call from one of the locals here in Ballyfinny, claiming they saw Connor bury a plastic bag down by his boat hut—on the Saturday morning after Claire Kelly died. Maggie, they’re saying he looked agitated, and they think it could be suspicious.”

  “I thought he was manning the station that Saturday morning,” Gregory said, closing the living room door so Declan wouldn’t overhear.

  Emma swept her eyes over his face, and it was as though she’d touched him.

  Gregory looked away, his fist curving around the Lego brick he held in his hand.

  “He was at the station,” Maggie said, and failed to pick up on any nuance while her mind was occupied elsewhere. “If my boy said he was at the station, then that’s where he was.”

  “Where’s Connor now?” Gregory asked.

  “Niall says Connor’s taken the superintendent down to his boat hut,” Emma replied. “He’s adamant they’ll find nothing there, but Niall wants us to call a solicitor, anyway.”

  “If Connor’s certain he has nothing to hide, why do we need the solicitor?” Maggie asked, a bit desperately. “He’ll show this woman his hut and that’ll be the end of it.”

  “I think we should get down there, Maggie,” Gregory said. “You might be his mother, but you’re also the mayor of the town. It won’t hurt to be present, to make sure everything’s done by the book.”

  That put a different complexion on things, and she grabbed her handbag and keys, ready to hurry down to the lough. There was a moment when she might have asked Gregory not to come with her, but then it passed, and she jerked her head towards the door.

  “You
coming or not?”

  Gregory smiled, and handed the Lego brick to Emma as he rushed out of the house.

  “Tell Declan I said ‘goodbye’,” he said. “And that I hope he builds some good, strong bridges. You never know when you might need them.”

  * * *

  Sergeant Connor Byrne owned a small fishing hut on the banks of the lough, a half-mile or so away from the Kelly house, as the crow flies. It was accessible from the lough trail, which was a pathway that ran the entire circumference of the water and was met by a number of smaller pathways leading down, used by locals to access their boats. The hut itself was the kind of bijou affair that city folk paid a lot of money to visit for the weekend, being both small and quaint, with outstanding views of the lough and blue-grey hills beyond. It had been built near the water’s edge, just off the main trail, so dog-walkers and fellow fishing enthusiasts, as well as the occasional stray tourist, walked past on a fairly regular basis. But now, a team of Garda officers and a small forensic unit led by Superintendent Donoghue blocked the pathway as they prepared to conduct a search of what had once been Connor’s retreat, but would be no more from that day forward.

  Gregory arrived with Maggie soon after the search began, following a brisk walk down the woodland pathway from the road. It pained his mother to see Connor flanked by Donoghue and another sergeant drafted in from Castlebar, but she was encouraged to find Niall standing a short distance away, behind the police cordon but close enough to keep an eye on proceedings.

  “Niall—thank God, you’re here,” she said, and pulled him in for a hard hug. “Tell me what on Earth’s going on. How’s Connor?”

  “Putting a brave face on it, far as I can tell,” her son replied. “It was his idea to do the search.”

  “What’s this madness I hear, about him stashing away a plastic bag?” she asked. “It sounds crazy.”

  “No doubt, it is,” he agreed. “But, with things being the way they are, Donoghue can’t leave any stone unturned. Connor understands that, and he wants to clear his name. Neither of us want there to be any suggestion of special treatment because we happen to be Garda men.”

  Maggie glanced towards Alex, who nodded.