Little Bones

by Sam Blake

  ‘So why did you slash Zoë’s clothes, the dress? To frighten Zoë? To frighten Lavinia Grant?’

  ‘That’s about it.’

  ‘And did it frighten Lavinia, did it work?’

  Hierra’s face went hard again, his jaw set firm. ‘I never talked to her.’

  O’Rourke nodded like he didn’t believe a word. ‘So tell us what you know about this baby, Angel.’

  Hierra laughed. ‘I’m not stupid. What can you offer me?’

  O’Rourke paused before replying, letting the silence grow like he was trying to decide. ‘Assuming your information is useful and can assist us in a prosecution, which I have to say I rather doubt, there might be something we can do.’

  ‘I’ve got written evidence. I can back it all up.’ Hierra sat forward in his chair, grabbing for the glimmer of a lifeline.

  Cathy felt O’Rourke stiffen beside her, but he continued to look relaxed, sceptical. ‘Assuming the information is bona fide, we can talk to the FBI on your behalf, see if we can’t come up with a plan. I’m sure they would be interested in your helping them with this Kuteli character.’

  There was something about his tone of voice that made Cathy glance at him. What had he been discussing with the FBI?

  Hierra’s voice interrupted her thoughts abruptly. ‘No way. Are you mad? I gave his guys the slip this morning, but if those two creeps have any idea I’m here, they’ll know I coughed.’

  ‘I doubt they know you’re here. If they’d been watching you today, don’t you think they’d have stepped in to grab the painting?’

  Cathy’s blood ran cold. In that second she was back there, at the top of the hill, her gun drawn. Had there been someone else there? Had the movement in the trees been her imagination? Hierra might have thought he’d lost them, but would this crowd really have let him out of their sights? She didn’t want to admit it, but she doubted it.

  Her mind reached for an answer. She’d only caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, had been sure it was a dog. Surely there couldn’t have been anyone watching, could there? O’Rourke had to be right about them intervening to get hold of the painting. But what if whoever was following him didn’t know he had the painting? It had been well concealed under his coat. Cathy almost crossed herself. Why the hell hadn’t she called for backup?

  Unaware of her thoughts, O’Rourke continued, ‘Worst possible scenario – assuming they saw you coming in – you can call them, spin them a line about helping us with our enquiries, pretend you hid the painting before we caught up with you, that you outsmarted us.’

  Hierra was still shaking his head. But it was slower, less convinced. ‘They won’t buy it. They’ll think it’s a sting.’

  ‘So reassure them. Why would we be interested in them? Las Vegas isn’t our jurisdiction. You contact them, tell them you got the painting, had it hidden before we showed up. I’m sure the FBI will be interested in picking up whoever turns up to meet you in LA when you go back to deliver it.’ Cathy flicked O’Rourke a look, impressed. He had it all worked out.

  Weighing it up, Hierra shook his head slowly. ‘It would be suicide.’

  ‘I think your options are rather limited at this point, don’t you? Why don’t we take a break while you think about it, and we’ll see what can be done?’

  44

  Back in the office, Cathy passed O’Rourke a steaming mug. The coffee was hot, fresh. Just what she needed. It had been one hell of a day and she was wiped. O’Rourke didn’t look much better, his skin pale. He took a sip.

  ‘Phew, that’s good.’ O’Rourke leaned back in his chair, loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt collar.

  ‘So are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to beg?’

  O’Rourke shot her a grin, like it was a tempting proposition, then said, ‘Most of what Hierra was saying is the truth, well, so far anyway. Kuteli is a big player. The Feds have been after his gang for years, are working with the LVMPD to close in on them.’

  O’Rourke took another slurp of his coffee, cradling the cup in his hands. ‘They want us to turn him, to implant the idea at least that if he helped them get Kuteli, they could help him out of the other stuff. Time’s running against them – there’s a big case about to start, and with Hierra’s testimony they can put Kuteli away for ever.’

  ‘But they reckon he’s killed two people.’

  O’Rourke nodded. ‘I know. He’ll have to do time for that, but the key for them is that this Kuteli has been implicated in a rake of unsolved crimes – murder, armed robbery, money laundering, witness intimidation, human trafficking. The whole lot. And he doesn’t take law enforcement seriously either – he’s nobbled juries and there’s evidence suggesting he was involved in an explosion that almost killed a judge.’

  ‘And they’re sure Hierra can give them Kuteli?’

  ‘He’s the missing piece they need to be sure they nail him. They want Hierra to testify against Kuteli and go into their witness protection scheme.’ He took another sip. ‘The idea is that we put someone on the plane with the painting. Hierra will have to come up with a story to explain why it’s not him making the delivery. Shouldn’t be too difficult. Then they’re going to raid Kuteli’s premises all over the state, as it lands.’ O’Rourke paused like he was considering the proposition. ‘We need to pull in the two guys on Hierra’s tail, keep them quiet while it all goes down.’

  ‘How are we going to find them?’

  ‘We’ve already got tabs on them – they turned up when the lads were checking the hotels for Hierra. The FBI gave us the heads-up that they might be coming our way. They aren’t exactly invisible – they’re a pair of real characters.’ He took a sip of his coffee. ‘Special Branch have been keeping an eye on them.’

  Obviously not a close enough eye or they would have come to help her on Killiney Hill.

  Cathy leaned forward. ‘And in exchange for helping Hierra, we get the information we need.’

  ‘Assuming there is any information.’

  O’Rourke checked his watch. ‘We can hold Hierra for six hours; we’ve already wasted five, so we better get a move on. Lacey’s primed to give Super’s permission to hold him for another six, and the Chief can give another twelve. The FBI guys will be here by then. We won’t have any trouble with extradition because he entered the country illegally, should have been stuck on the next plane home the moment he arrived by rights.’

  Cathy opened her mouth to speak, but O’Rourke was already sorting through the messages on his desk. He picked up one, studied it for a moment and reached for the phone.

  Cathy sipped her coffee considering what he’d said, as he introduced himself to the person on the other end. It took a moment for him to be put through to the right department, a few moments in which O’Rourke played with his mug, slowly turning it around with his fingertips. He nodded. ‘Thanks, you’re very good to process it so fast.’

  From his face Cathy could see that it was good news.

  Hanging up, O’Rourke rested his hand on the back of the phone like he was about to pat it.

  ‘That’ – he paused for effect – ‘was the carbon dating man. He’s back from his holidays, very apologetic. Reckons the bones are approximately forty to sixty years old. He thinks he can get a bit closer but wanted to give us his initial thoughts in case we were in a hurry.’

  ‘Forty to sixty?’

  ‘Yep, so . . .’

  Cathy continued for him. ‘That puts Zoë out of the picture . . .’

  ‘And it puts Lavinia and the sister right back in, and maybe Eleanor too . . .’

  ‘And Hierra’s father?’

  O’Rourke threw back the rest of his coffee. ‘Charlie boy? Hard to tell, but let’s face it, he knew both women, and he was obviously no angel, if you’ll forgive the pun. Let’s see what Hierra has to say. It’s a long shot but it’s possible he knows something.’

  Back in the interview room, Hierra was nursing an empty styrofoam cup, the smell of swea
t clinging to his clothes. He’d hardly spoken to the duty solicitor according to the custody sergeant, was obviously going it alone. He looked up sharply as they entered. O’Rourke glanced at him icily as he loaded three new DVDs.

  ‘Right, Angel, we’ve had a chat to our opposite numbers in the FBI. To make this work they want some help from you.’

  ‘Do you think I’m mad?’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll look after you. The FBI has an excellent witness protection scheme and you’ll be worth more alive to them than dead. You’ll need to discuss it with them, but I’m sure you won’t find it difficult to assume a new identity.’

  ‘Right.’ Hierra obviously hadn’t considered this possibility. O’Rourke didn’t give him much time to think about it.

  ‘So just to recap, you freely admit that you entered Zoë Grant’s house this morning and removed a painting’ – O’Rourke checked his notes – ‘A View of Kingstown Harbour, from its frame, with a view to taking it out of the country and passing it to a contact in Las Vegas in payment of a debt.’

  Hierra thought for a moment, ducking and diving, looking for a way out . . . but there wasn’t one.

  ‘That’s about it.’

  ‘And do you admit to assaulting Miss Grant at her home last night?’

  ‘I bumped into her.’

  ‘Right. And you admit to assaulting Detective Garda Connolly when she attempted to apprehend you with this painting?’

  Cathy’s face twitched. O’Rourke was on a roll.

  Hierra was about to protest his innocence again but he took one look at O’Rourke’s face and changed his mind. Cathy could see Hierra’s mind clicking, wondering if he’d still get the witness protection deal if he didn’t admit the assault, considering his options. Finally he said, ‘Maybe there was a tussle.’

  ‘A tussle in which you punched Detective Garda Connolly and threatened her with a knife?’

  It took Hierra a moment. ‘Yeah, maybe.’ He sighed. ‘Yeah, that’s about it.’

  ‘Good, glad we got that straight.’ O’Rourke lined up the papers in front of him, squaring them off.

  ‘So, tell us about this baby. What do you know?’

  Under Hierra’s eye, a muscle twitched. Just once but Cathy caught it. He cleared his throat.

  ‘There was a letter.’

  O’Rourke interrupted him. ‘There was, or there is?’

  ‘There is.’ Annoyed, Hierra emphasised the word.

  ‘And who was it addressed to?’

  ‘Do you want to hear this or not?’

  ‘Just want to get the facts straight.’ O’Rourke threw him a charming smile.

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Hierra twisted in the chair. ‘There was a letter in my father’s stuff. With the Vanity Fair story and some other crap. It was addressed to Lavinia Grant. I can’t remember the date but it was years ago, right before my father met my mom. He was down on his luck around then, was smashed broke.’

  ‘How is this letter written?’

  ‘What?’ Hierra looked surprised, like it was a stupid question. ‘With a pen, obviously.’

  ‘Signed?’

  Hierra could suddenly see where O’Rourke was coming from. ‘Yes, it’s dated, signed by my old man, handwritten. It’s the real thing. Stamp is on the envelope.’

  ‘Grand, just want to be clear.’

  Hierra ran his tongue across his lips. ‘So this letter says that Grace Grant – Lavinia Grant’s sister – that she had a baby.’

  ‘Eleanor, we know.’

  Hierra shot O’Rourke a look. ‘It was his baby, my old man’s. He said he was seeing her, Grace, before he married Lavinia.’

  A penny dropped in Cathy’s mind. Hierra had grey eyes . . . Zoë’s eyes. It was obvious. Cathy had known there was something about him . . . if his father was Eleanor’s father that made them cousins, or second cousins or something . . . Jesus . . .

  Hierra sniffed. ‘Well my old man was there that night, when Eleanor was born. He doesn’t trust Lavinia, see, and he was mad about this Grace. So he hears the baby cry, goes in to see what’s happening, and there was some bitch called Trish there, in the room with Lavinia Grant and the sister, and aren’t there two babies? It was twins.’

  Cathy caught her breath. Twins. Jesus, why hadn’t they thought of that?

  Hierra continued, ‘Lavinia’s standing there holding one baby and this Trish has got the other one. There’s so much fuss going on, Trish doesn’t hear him come in, and doesn’t he see her holding a scarf or something over the baby’s face? Then she turns around, sees him and gets into a panic and says it isn’t breathing.’

  ‘So what did your father do?’ Cathy could feel the edge of the chair digging into her jeans as she sat forward.

  ‘Nothing he could do. Lavinia Grant didn’t see it, and she wouldn’t have believed him over this Trish – they were best pals he said. Maybe Lavinia told her to do it, he didn’t know, maybe they were going to do the both of them and he interrupted. He couldn’t go get the doc, so he hit the brandy.’

  ‘And you’re sure this letter was written by your father?’ O’Rourke, practical to the last.

  ‘Yep. You can get a handwriting expert to look at it if you like, fingerprint it, but he wrote it all right, I’d know his writing anywhere. Like I said, he was broke. He wanted money. From them both, Lavinia and Trish. He said in the letter he’d go to the cops if they didn’t pay up.’

  ‘So why didn’t he post it?’

  ‘He had a win. Must have been the next week. Big one. Big enough to convince my mom he was worth something. They got together and maybe he forgot about it, maybe he thought it was like an insurance policy if he ever got stuck again.’

  Cathy cut in, ‘But you said you went hungry when you were a child. He must have needed money later – why didn’t he post it then?’

  Hierra shook his head. ‘Right after he met my mom he started working for Kuteli, had plenty of money. We had no food cos he was mean as shit. My mom had to go beg every week to get anything out of him.’

  ‘And where is this letter now?’

  ‘Here, with me. Well, with my stuff.’

  ‘You were planning to blackmail Lavinia Grant with it?’ Cathy could see the whole picture now.

  Hierra shrugged. ‘It was an insurance policy. She knew what happened. I reckoned as soon as I told her who I was she’d pay up.’

  ‘And did you? Did you tell her who you were?’

  Hierra’s face went hard again. ‘I told you, she died before I got there.’

  Cathy could feel O’Rourke tensing, fighting to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. ‘So you did. Did your father happen to mention how he ended up marrying Lavinia, not Grace, or why he didn’t report the death?’

  Sighing, Hierra smoothed his hands over his hair.

  ‘It was her idea to get married – Lavinia Grant’s. She found out Grace had gotten pregnant . . . there was a showdown. She’d found out that he wasn’t who he said he was, that he’d left a load of shit behind in London. She threatened him with the cops.’ Hierra paused, could see them looking for more. ‘He’d told everyone he was some French count and they all fell for it.’ Hierra shook his head like he almost couldn’t believe it himself. ‘He’d had enough trouble in London, reckoned he’d do better marrying her and sticking around where he could keep an eye on Grace than running again. Lavinia Grant had a good little business going – clients coming from the States to have dresses made, the whole lot – but she had plans to build it. She knew that being married, she’d do better with the banks, and with his name, the title, she’d attract the type of high-paying customers she wanted. He wanted a piece of the action.’

  Looking at his son, for a moment Cathy caught a glimpse of Charles Valentine as a young man . . . the chat, the movie-star looks . . . she could see how he’d be convincing.

  ‘But why didn’t he marry Grace, run it as a family business?’ She was curious now.

  ‘He reckoned it was all about co
ntrol. Lavinia Grant needed to be in charge. She took over the family finances when their father died, thought she controlled everything the sister did . . .’ Hierra smirked. ‘She got that wrong.’ He paused. ‘My old man said Lavinia always hated the sister – she didn’t want her to be happy. And there was no way this Lavinia wanted people to think she was left on the shelf. So she came up with this idea that he should marry her, and when the baby was born they’d pretend it was hers.’

  ‘But why did he go through with it? Why didn’t he take Grace and the baby away?’ Cathy fought to keep her voice level, practical. He’d watched Trish murder his child and he’d stuck around?

  Hierra laughed, put his head back to check out the ceiling before continuing, ‘Fuck knows. He was a shit, I told you. I’d say he thought he’d be more comfortable living off Lavinia Grant than trying to make it with Grace and a child in tow.’

  O’Rourke cut in. ‘Did he say what happened to Grace after she had the baby?’

  ‘Lavinia Grant sent her away somewhere, said she’d disgraced the family. That’s when he left, when she sent Grace away. He took what he could and came to the States.’

  O’Rourke was nodding. ‘We need to see this letter.’

  ‘The message wasn’t very coherent. I reckon Steve was on his bike from the sound of the traffic, but he said Trish just turned up at the gallery and blurted out the whole story.’ Cathy set her coffee spoon down with a clatter.

  ‘Who needs enemies when you’ve got friends like her?’

  Sitting opposite her in his office, O’Rourke took another bite of his bacon sandwich. Cathy could see it was cold, pretty crap-looking in fact, but then she knew he’d missed breakfast, had to be starving after the session in the interview room. He’d already sent a couple of men to pick up the letter from Hierra’s hotel, another team to pick up the two characters trailing him. Hierra was downstairs in a cell of his own contemplating his future, his shoes lined up neatly outside the door.

  Cathy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the smell of the sandwich making her stomach roll. ‘That Trish is unbelievable. She was categorical that Charles was dead, that Eleanor had gone to France. I remember the look on her face, like she had stepped in dog shit or something.’