And So it Began (Delaney Book 1)

by Owen Mullen

  ‘The odds are a thousand to one against.’

  I let my anger roll over him. ‘Maybe you should show them the photographs Rutherford was so keen for me to look at? Let them decide if a thousand to one sounds worth a bet.’

  ‘Catherine was laughing. It was a hole in the wall, some community centre over in Gert Town. Besides, she had to have read about Timmy Donald or saw it on the news.’

  ‘Danny, she was laughing because she doesn’t know what you know. She thinks that kid was an isolated case, and nobody’s about to let her into the secret. I’ve just agreed to use them. It stinks. So, don’t tell me about fine. I’m not fine and that’s for damn sure.’

  ‘So why say yes?’

  I didn’t reply.

  ‘Should’ve warned me. Given me time …’

  ‘Time’s overrated. You might have said no.’

  ‘Still might.’

  ‘No, you won’t, and I’m pleased.’

  ‘Yeah. Delaup said as much.’

  ‘I mean it. Hangin’ with the good guys. Could get to like it again.’

  Fitzpatrick had a short memory. Last time I’d looked, the good guys hadn’t been so good.

  Seven Years Earlier

  The name had been changed from Internal Affairs to Public Integrity Bureau. To protect the innocent? I didn’t think so. Otherwise, it was the same deal. A man was on a slab in the morgue, and the question that had to be answered was why.

  There were three of them in the room: two PIB officers on the other side of a desk and Anthony Delaup, off to the side with his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up, gazing at his shoes. When I came in, their expressions didn’t alter. I got it. They had a job to do. At the end of the day, they probably kicked-back and sank a few tubes in front of the TV like everybody else and wondered if re-mortgaging the house really was the best way to get out from under the mountain of debt that had been building for half a decade.

  An overhead fan moved air around without making a difference to the temperature, which had to be in the seventies even now. The PIB guys kept their jackets on, introduced themselves as Mortimer and Sands, and got to it. Nobody shook hands.

  Sands laid out the ground rules. ‘Just so you know, Detective Delaney, the tape isn’t rolling. You don’t need a lawyer, unless you think you do. We’ve read the statement you made and want to satisfy ourselves that what you signed off on corresponds with what you say now.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Okay. Start at when you got the APB and take us through it.’

  I did. When I finished, he changed his approach to asking things he already knew.

  ‘How long have you been with the NOPD?’

  ‘Fifteen years.’

  ‘And as a detective?’

  ‘Eight.’

  Mortimer made an unnecessary note; the information was in front of him. For the first time, he made a contribution with sweet talk meant to soften me up. ‘Your arrest rate is impressive, the best in the department, what’s your secret?’

  On the face of it, a straightforward enough question, except with these guys nothing was ever straightforward. Everything had an angle. I shrugged.

  Mortimer piled it on with a big spoon. ‘Got quite a rep. Practically a hero.’

  He read from my file.

  ‘Two letters of commendation for “outstanding work in the line of duty.” And a medal of merit. Impressive.’

  I let him tell it.

  ‘Obviously you’re an exceptional officer, Delaney. Wonder why it is you’ve never gone for promotion.’

  ‘I like where I am.’

  ‘You like where you are. Maybe that explains the downside to an otherwise stellar career. If you got promoted, you’d have to wade through the politics. Compromise. You’re a guy who doesn’t believe in compromise.’

  ‘Am I? First I’ve heard about it.’

  ‘That’s what we’ve been told.’

  Suddenly, I saw where this was this going and where it had come from. One look at Anthony Delaup’s face confirmed it. Sands said, ‘Cedric and Juli Boutte are animals. No argument. Nevertheless, they have rights just like every other citizen. Or do you disagree?’

  It didn’t deserve a reply, and I didn’t give one.

  ‘Cedric Boutte never fired his gun. It was still in the waistband of his pants. Given the situation, adrenaline would be running high. Is it possible you reacted too quickly?’

  He knew what I would say. So why ask?

  ‘No, it isn’t.’

  ‘It isn’t possible?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘In your statement, you claim you warned him you were about to fire.’

  ‘I claim it because it’s true.’

  ‘But if his gun wasn’t in Cedric’s hand, you shot an unarmed man.’

  ‘He was strapped. He went for it.’

  ‘How did you know he had a gun?’

  ‘I saw it.’

  ‘How could you if it was behind his back?’

  ‘He was high. Dancing around. He turned.’

  ‘Where were you when this happened?’

  ‘Outside. Underneath the window.’

  ‘And you were certain it was a weapon?’

  I glanced away. One answer per question was all he was getting. Sands started to pace the room, a finger pressed against his lips.

  ‘I’m trying to imagine the scene. Help me out, will you? You’re hunkered down at the window, listening to what’s going on inside. You take a chance, sneak a look and see the woman and the brothers. At best you get two, maybe three seconds. But God’s on your side. You catch Cedric boogying on down in the right direction for you to make the piece stuck in his pants. That about right?’

  ‘Except for the God bit, close enough.’

  The PIB officer pulled at his jaw and made a face at his partner. ‘Awful lucky, don’t you think?’

  ‘Luck had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘He tried to outdraw me and ended on the losing side. Sorry if that complicates things for you. I’ll bear it in mind the next time some punk does the same. Never realised a dead cop was the preferred option down at Public Integrity.’

  Mortimer chimed in. ‘Don’t get snooty, Delaney. You killed a man who didn’t have a gun.’

  ‘He had a gun.’

  ‘Not in his hand.’

  ‘If I’d waited until it was in his mitt, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Can I remind you, they’d abducted somebody and were getting ready to torture her? Already made a start.’

  Sands sat on the edge of the desk with his arms folded across his chest. He shook his head. ‘Nobody here is unsympathetic to the situation you found yourself in, believe me.’

  I didn’t believe him.

  ‘But here’s the thing: when we catch Julian, he’s going to swear you killed his brother in cold blood. He’ll be the only witness.’

  ‘Again, can I remind you, in case it’s slipped your mind, there was another person in the room; the woman. Boutte slit her throat. That’s why it comes out his word against mine. What’s new?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s new. The NOPD can’t handle more bad publicity. Confidence is low. The public needs to be sure they can depend on their officers to enforce the law fairly, and at the moment, they don’t.’

  ‘So, you’ll hang me out to dry, that it?’

  He pursed his lips as if he was talking to a child who didn’t understand how the world worked. ‘In the long run, this will blow over. Meantime, you’re suspended without pay.’

  So much for informal. What had actually gone down with the Boutte brothers was neither here nor there. They intended me to take one for the force; without pay was the clue. Across the room, Delaup was still in a staring contest with his shoes. During the entire fiasco, he hadn’t uttered a word.

  Sands put it on the table. He said, ‘There are bigger issues than a dead scumbag. We have to be seen to be cleaning house. Don’t take it personally. It’s a matter
of trust. I have to ask you for your badge. You’ll be notified of the where and when.’

  ‘You can’t be serious.’

  Mortimer gathered his papers together and stood. ‘We don’t do jokes, Delaney. I’d lawyer-up, if I were you.’

  Something had ended for me in that room, and seven years on, the sense of betrayal was still with me. Delaup, the department, and the whole goddamned NOPD weren’t friends. Danny Fitzpatrick was the exception, and I was mad as hell at him. There was nothing to do but put the bad thoughts behind me and get on with my life.

  The week dragged by with not much to show. I hadn’t spoken to Stella since the last time we were together. She had to be wondering what was going on. Normally, we’d spend Friday night through to Monday morning together. On Saturday, we’d go to the gig at Mr MaGoo’s; on Sunday, if the Saints were at home, I’d go to the game with Cal Moreland and head over to Catherine and Ray’s for a while, while she visited some of her girlfriends. We’d hook back up later, at my place or hers – we both preferred our own. It worked, except here I was on Thursday, cancelling those arrangements. When I spoke to her, I heard surprise and disappointment come down the line.

  ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

  I lied. ‘Nothing. Just a shitty week. You’ll be better off without me.’

  ‘Shouldn’t I get to make that decision for myself?’

  ‘Absolutely. But whatever you decide, I don’t want you to come.’

  She kept her anger in check. ‘Then, I won’t. Give me a ring when you can fit me in, why don’t you?’

  She ended the conversation abruptly. Without knowing it, Harry Love had started a trend.

  I waited until Friday to call Catherine. A child had been murdered, yet she’d still taken Molly to one of those damned events. I was angry. And I felt guilty about how I intended to use her. When I’d calmed down, I went into my act. The phone unhooked from its cradle and banged on the wall a couple of times before anybody spoke. Molly. And her technique still needed some polish.

  ‘Hello?’ The small breathy voice created a question out of a greeting.

  ‘It’s me, Moll.’

  ‘Delaney, I won the pageant!’ She pronounced it with a big, exaggerated tee, making her sound very polite. ‘I won. I was first.’

  ‘That’s great, honey.’

  ‘I sang a song.’

  ‘Fantastic, baby. Put Mommy on, will you?’

  The telephone got beaten-up again. Catherine spoke, ‘Vince, hi.’

  ‘Hi yourself.’

  I was about to blurt out what I knew but caught myself in time. ‘Tried to get you earlier, but everyone must have been out.’

  ‘We were.’

  ‘Just wanted to check on Sunday. See what time you want me over.’

  One end of the line was quiet, too quiet, as they used to say in old cowboy movies just before the Indians attacked. Her voice was a monotone. ‘Whenever will be fine.’

  ‘The mouse seems excited. What’s all that about?’

  She hesitated. ‘Tell you Sunday.’

  Unease crept over me. ‘Tell me now. I want to sleep tonight. She says she sang a song. Won something. What’s she talking about?’

  Catherine let out a long slow sigh at the other end. ‘We let Molly sing in a competition. She won, that’s all.’

  ‘What kind of competition?’

  ‘A pageant. Just a local one. The kids sing a song, and somebody ends up the winner. Molly was the winner.’

  ‘A pageant?’

  ‘Only a local one.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Here. In the city. A community centre, no big deal.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Catherine. You can’t be serious? You knew about that Timmy kid, right?’

  Oscar-winning stuff.

  Catherine cut our conversation short. ‘You’ll hear all about it Sunday. I’ve got to go.’

  I put the phone down with Delaup’s words playing in my head. We’ve got a serial.

  Sometimes, I fooled myself into believing I was a pretty cool guy. Then, there were the other times, times like this, when I didn’t know what “cool” even looked like.

  7

  The club was cramped, smoky and dark, with tables at the back and a tiny square of dance-floor at the front. I turned up late, so they started without me; it was that kind of gig. Punctuality came well down the list. Nobody asked where I’d been or why I hadn’t made it in time. The band didn’t have a name, and everybody in it was a cop with the exception of me.

  I got my guitar out of its case and joined in on a number, warming up and getting in tune. At the other side of the stage, Danny sat folded over his Fender Jazz. He nodded to me and went back to the music. In the long run, we would be all right, although he was on my shit list and knew it.

  During the break, Danny strolled over and knocked his beer bottle against mine. ‘No Stella?’

  ‘Washing her hair.’

  ‘First gig she’s missed, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’

  He faced me. ‘Look, Delaney. I get it. Delaup sold you down the river, and you haven’t forgotten, but this isn’t about Anthony Delaup. It’s about stopping a child-killer.’

  ‘Let’s not go that road again, Danny.’

  ‘And I understand why no Stella.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yeah. Afraid lightning will strike twice.’

  He’d got it in one.

  ‘I offered to put a couple of men on you, and you turned me down. Okay, so what if I put two or three guys on Stella?’

  ‘Delaup won’t agree to that. Not with the pressure the department’s under right now.’

  ‘Fuck him. I’m talking off-duty. There are plenty of officers who remember Vince Delaney and would be willing to help. All I have to do is ask. What went down before can’t be allowed to happen again.’

  Finally, he’d said something I didn’t disagree with.

  ‘Better than Stella thinking you’ve cooled on her.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’ve got it covered.’

  ‘As for Molly, she’s safer now than she was a few days ago with her uncle on the case.’

  It was true. At least, I hoped it was true. ‘Except I’m deceiving her parents.’

  ‘But in a good cause. Do you really think Catherine would want you to turn away from doing everything you could to catch this maniac? She wouldn’t.’

  Fitzy was on a roll; making sense.

  ‘Delaup’s a faithless fucker. The FBI isn’t asking you to do diddly for him. And for what it’s worth, I’d do the same again. Now, let’s get back on stage and kick it. Your audience is hungry for you.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  ‘Think I’m kidding. Take a look around. It’s you they’re here for, fella.’

  Maybe he was right, and maybe he was wrong. It didn’t matter; we played, got paid and went home.

  On Sunday, over at Catherine’s, the only person I talked to about the pageant was Molly. After dinner, she sang the winning song for us. Three times. All day, my sister was quiet around me. I guess I must’ve been the same, though in my case, it was guilt.

  At the door, for the first time, she mentioned what lay between us. ‘Look, Vince, we thought a lot about taking Molly to the contests. In the end, we decided to go. There are monsters everywhere; you can’t outrun them all. And we’re with her every minute.’

  Catherine turned the focus on to me. ‘She’ll be looking for you; you know she will.’

  I could hate myself later; right now, I needed to get on the team without causing suspicion. I played the man-at-a-crossroads routine. ‘I won’t let her down. I’ll come.’

  ‘That’s great. And thanks.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘You know.’

  I did know, and it made me feel like shit. I kissed her cheek. Back at my place, I showered, went to bed early and watched TV. Now and then, Lowell padded through: just checking on me. ‘She ain’t here, boy. She ain’t here.’

  He was
unhappy; he blamed me. I defended myself. ‘Don’t give me that. You know what this is about? It’s for her own good.’

  His eyes bored into me.

  ‘What choice do I have? Remember what happened the last time with this guy.’

  He still wasn’t having it, and left.

  I shouted after him. ‘Okay. Suit yourself. But I’m right. You know I’m right.’

  During the post-game analysis, I turned the volume down and thought about what I’d agreed to. In all likelihood, I’d never be called on to do anything harder than cash my new paycheques. It sounded fine. So why didn’t it feel better?

  Eventually, I switched off the television without knowing what I’d been watching. Darkness engulfed the room. It didn’t hide me.

  The crimes so far straddle five states; that’s an awful big playing field.

  It’ll only be local.

  Any idea how many of these take place every year in this country?

  In or out, Mr Delaney?

  I was woken by my phone ringing. It was Agent McLaren. His voice sounded far away. ‘Delaney? Sorry to call you so early. There’s been another attack.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Tulsa, Oklahoma.’

  ‘Pretty far travelled.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. I’m still at the scene with Jim Rutherford.’

  ‘Our guy?’

  ‘Looks like it. A seven-year-old girl, Mimi Valasquez. Familiar details: strangled, body dumped in an alley, yards from the hall where she was competing. Mimi got through to the final. Didn’t want to go with her mother to pick up her brother from his swimming session. Mrs Valasquez left her in the audience watching the other kids. She never got to perform again. When her mother returned and couldn’t find her, she became hysterical. The police were called and discovered the kid eight hours later. Missed it first time ‘round because the body was squeezed into a cardboard box. It’s our guy, all right.’

  ‘Don’t tell me?’

  ‘That’s right, no forensics.’

  I breathed out slow. Down the line, I could tell McLaren felt the same. ‘What kind of pageant was it? How big?’

  ‘Not big.’

  ‘Should make it harder to go unnoticed. How can a stranger come and go without attracting attention?’