Tell Nobody: Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘You’re having a laugh.’

  ‘Do you see me laughing? No, I am not. This is serious.’

  ‘Why are you telling me? Talk to your husband.’

  ‘I did, and he denied it.’

  ‘Talk to Lottie, then.’

  ‘I tried. She stared at me the way you are now. All innocent and disbelieving. But this is not baby brain.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘I know what I saw. And she needs to be brought up on it.’

  Boyd swallowed hard. ‘Lynch, listen up. If you saw what you think you saw, it’s a personal matter. You’d better sort it out yourself. I honestly don’t know what you think I can do for you.’

  ‘I just want to warn you. She’s a bitch. She’ll trample over all of us to get what she wants. She’s done it before. I know and you know. And this time, I’m going to make sure she pays for stamping all over my marriage.’

  ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’

  ‘She’s the stupid one, underestimating me.’

  With an angry toss of her head, she turned and walked down the corridor. Boyd watched her go. If what he’d just heard was true, what did that mean for his relationship with Lottie? She’d already told him that Lynch suspected she was having an affair with Ben. Why would she do that? So that he wouldn’t be shocked when Lynch revealed all? He didn’t know what to think.

  Bollocks!

  Seventy

  Lottie stood at the front of the incident room and watched as the team filed in. She felt refreshed this morning and hoped she could instil some of that energy into her detectives. She’d eventually got her car started with the help of a neighbour’s jump leads, and had arrived at the station just before McMahon.

  One glance at the incident boards and her mood deflated. Two young boys and a baby, and the only piece of evidence they had was a trace of saliva found on the waistbands of the boys’ shorts.

  Kirby ambled up to her. ‘Can I have a word before you start?’

  ‘You look like you slept in that suit,’ she said. ‘All okay?’

  ‘I didn’t sleep in it because I haven’t been to bed, which is more than I can say for some people.’ He winked, and she felt a blush creep up her cheeks.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I spent most of the night with the traffic-cam guys going over and over anything we could find for Sunday night. Looked at our own CCTV and that of the business owners who supplied us with discs for the relevant timeline.’

  ‘And you found something?’

  ‘Painstaking work.’

  ‘Put it up on the board.’

  He took a sheaf of papers from a file that he’d lodged under his arm. ‘These are stills I printed from the pertinent footage. Rather than trying to trace the persons of interest from McDonald’s on Sunday night, I tried to follow in the footsteps of Mikey Driscoll.’

  ‘And you found where he was abducted from?’

  ‘Not conclusively, but I think so.’ He pinned a series of grainy black-and-white images on to a blank board. ‘This first one is Mikey walking alone by the newsagent’s. You just catch him as he passes under the camera.’

  Lottie looked at the small boy, a kit bag on his back, shorts over bare legs. And was that the glint of his medal around his neck? Looked like it.

  Kirby continued. ‘This next one is from the pharmacy near the monks’ statues. You can see he stopped and looked at them.’

  ‘Right. It’s definitely Mikey,’ Lottie said, glancing at the colour photograph she’d got from Jen on Monday.

  ‘I know he walked along Friars Street, because the next piece of footage was taken from the travel shop.’ He pinned up another page.

  Lottie noticed his hands were now empty. ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Walsh’s garage on the bridge has three cameras. And Mikey doesn’t appear on any of them.’

  ‘He was snatched from the main street?’ Lottie said incredulously.

  ‘No.’ Kirby tapped his pocket for a cigar. A nervous tic, as Lottie knew he would never smoke inside the station. ‘At four o’clock this morning, I walked the streets along the route I believe Mikey took, and I now have evidence that he made a left at the pub just before the garage forecourt. He could’ve been heading for the short cut to Munbally Grove. Through the tunnel under the canal. I found this in a drain just before the turn for the supermarket.’

  He handed Lottie a plastic evidence bag.

  ‘A football boot?’

  ‘I’m sure we can confirm it’s Mikey’s.’

  ‘Good work. Any security cameras down that way?’ Lottie asked, though she knew it was unlikely.

  ‘The ones on the apartment walls are smashed, so I put a call in to the supermarket, but they told me they have nothing trained on that road. Our only hope is that someone has a private security system. A team of uniforms are knocking on doors down that way as we speak. We’re stretched at the moment. There’s still a crew down at the tyre depot, and everyone else is searching for the boy Toby.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ Lottie said.

  ‘Okay then. When I’d finished that, I went back to scan the footage for any of the persons of interest or their cars. And I found this.’

  He opened the folder with more drama than Lottie thought necessary, but she was itching to see what he had discovered. She took the sheet of paper from him. Looked at the image of the car. Then at the fuzzy close-up of the number plate, and finally at the time captured by the camera.

  ‘Where is this from?’

  ‘The garage. As I said, I walked the route this morning, and the time fits. That car passed the garage on the way out of town just minutes after our last sighting of Mikey.’

  ‘Can you get the tech crew to enhance the image of the driver?’

  ‘They’re working on it, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.’

  ‘Really good work, Kirby. Thank you.’

  Lottie felt her heart lurch upwards and miss a beat, because even without a positive ID on the driver, she knew who owned that car.

  ‘Boyd. You’re with me.’ She noticed he had a sour look plastered on his face. What was wrong with him now?

  ‘What about the rest of the meeting?’ Lynch said.

  ‘Later.’

  She rushed out with Boyd trailing behind her, leaving Kirby to explain to the others what was going on.

  As Lottie left, Kirby remembered the last sheet of paper in his folder.

  ‘Boss!’ he called.

  But she and Boyd were gone.

  ‘What is it?’ Lynch asked.

  ‘Come with me.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  Kirby paused, and Lynch crashed into his bulk. He could feel the hardness of her baby bump against the small of his back. ‘Sorry, are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Lynch said. ‘What has you in such a rush?’

  ‘I need to find Bertie Harris. I scrutinised the club CCTV disc last night, and I think I know why he tampered with the footage.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me, or what?’

  Kirby glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Where do you think we’d get him at this time of the morning? At home or at the club?’

  ‘I’d chance home.’

  ‘Right. Let’s see what Mr Harris has to say for himself.’

  Boyd drove in silence. Lottie couldn’t figure out what was up with him. She’d tried conversation, even put her hand on his as he held the steering wheel. But he’d swatted her away as if she was a fly on cow dung.

  The house looked silent in the morning sunshine as she stepped out of the car.

  She rang the bell. No answer. Tentatively she put her hand on the door and pushed it inwards.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘You can’t walk uninvited into another house. You tried that with Butler yesterday. You need a warrant.’

  ‘Boyd, don’t tell me how to do my job. And I’d love to know what’s eating you this morning.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, and made to move around the side of the house
. ‘There’s someone back here. I hear a lawnmower.’

  She cocked an ear. ‘Come on.’

  Passing Boyd, she rounded the house, her feet crunching on the white gravel. The lawn was circular and large. A man sat on a ride-on-lawnmower, headphones clamped to his ears.

  She raised her voice to call above the din. ‘Dr Duffy? We’d like a word, please.’

  The noise stopped the instant the mower turned. The man pulled the headphones from his head.

  It wasn’t Paul Duffy.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ Lottie said.

  Seventy-One

  Bertie Harris lived above the Chinese restaurant on Main Street. Third floor. No elevator. By the time Kirby was standing outside the door, his breath was coming in bursts, and his usually bushy hair was flattened to his scalp with sweat.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Lynch said. ‘Don’t have a heart attack, because I can’t get you back down those stairs.’

  Kirby saw that she was as stressed as he was. ‘If I have a heart attack, you won’t be carting me anywhere. Let the paramedics do that.’ He pressed the doorbell.

  Lynch leaned against the wall, trying to get her breathing back to normal. ‘After this baby is born, I’m having my tubes tied.’

  ‘Why don’t you get Ben to have the snip?’ Kirby jammed his thick finger on the bell again.

  ‘It’ll be more than the snip if he doesn’t behave himself.’

  ‘What? Is there trouble in chez Lynch?’

  ‘Ben … Well, he and the boss—’

  The door opened. A sleepy-eyed Bertie Harris was standing there dressed in a pair of trousers, belt hanging loose and no shirt.

  ‘Looks like we woke you up,’ Kirby said. He stepped into the apartment. ‘Sorry about that, but we need a little chat.’

  ‘Come in, why don’t you?’

  The door closed behind them and Kirby took in the cramped surroundings. A conglomeration of sports gear cluttered every available surface. He stood with his back to the only window, glad that it was open an inch.

  ‘What’s with all the kit, Bertie?’

  ‘I store the new stock here. It’s not safe at the clubhouse.’

  ‘Oh, I thought you had high-tech security installed there.’

  ‘I do … I mean, there is. But this is new kit, for next season, and I said I’d hold onto it. Can’t be too careful, you know.’

  ‘You mean, you’re supposed to store it but you sell it on and make a tidy profit. For yourself.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I think you do.’ Kirby watched as Lynch lifted up a pile of plastic bags containing football socks and placed them on the floor. Then she sat on the chair. Gosh, she was very red in the face. He hoped she wasn’t going to go into labour. ‘I know you doctored the CCTV footage you gave me.’

  ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Do you mind if I finish getting dressed?’

  ‘Stay where you are.’ Kirby lifted the sash window another few inches and welcomed the breeze that entered the room. ‘Do you live here alone?’

  ‘I do, but that’s nothing to do with you.’ Harris sat down on a chair, on top of a bundle of jerseys.

  ‘The timeline on the disc you gave me has about ten minutes missing on Sunday night. Care to tell me why that is so?’

  Harris shrugged.

  ‘Come on,’ Kirby said. ‘We have two murdered boys and another is now feared missing. ’Fess up.’

  ‘Missing? Who’s missing?’

  ‘Tell me about the CCTV from Sunday night. What did you cut out?’

  Harris seemed too big for the small room, especially now that there were three people in it. His eyes kept darting to a door. Possibly a bathroom, or maybe his bedroom. Kirby intended to have a look as soon as he got the information he wanted.

  ‘I didn’t cut anything from those tapes.’

  ‘If you didn’t, who did?’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘If you want to have this conversation at the station, I’m happy to arrest you.’

  ‘On what charge?’

  ‘Tampering with evidence in a murder case, for one. Impeding an ongoing investigation. Perverting the course of justice. Shall I go on?’

  Harris had a plastic bag in his hands. A pair of football shorts inside it. He was running his finger along the edge of the bag.

  ‘I did nothing.’

  ‘Who do you sell the kit to? Say, for instance, the piece in your hand. Who would be in the market for that?’

  The bag dropped from Harris’s hand, landing on the floor at his bare feet.

  ‘I don’t sell it.’

  ‘Who do you give it to, then?’ Kirby was getting fed up with the man’s obstruction.

  ‘I store it. End of. Can you go now?’

  ‘Not leaving until you tell us.’

  Harris bent down and picked up the bag he’d let fall. ‘I store it here. I was asked to.’

  ‘Who do you store it for?’

  ‘Can’t say.’

  ‘Oh, but you will,’ Kirby said. ‘On Sunday night, what was going on that you had to cut ten minutes from the security footage?’

  ‘I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong. Not really. It’s those rich feckers, Rory Butler and Dr Duffy, who buy the kit. I get paid a pittance. Barely more than a volunteer, I am. So you’re right. I make a few quid off the books. Sell it on here and there. To young lads, mainly. I don’t know what they do with it. Probably sell it on the streets of Dublin, making a neat little profit for themselves.’

  ‘Who did you meet on Sunday night?’ Kirby said.

  ‘I didn’t sell anything Sunday night. They usually come here to buy. Too risky at the club.’

  ‘Why did you alter the CCTV footage then?’

  ‘There’s no cameras trained specifically on the area where the body was found, so why do you care?’

  ‘Humour me.’

  ‘He asked me to.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I told you already, I can’t say. But I looked at the time he asked me to delete and I swear to God there was nothing on it. Not a thing.’

  ‘You should have come forward with this before now.’

  ‘I thought you’d find out about the kit and … You said another boy is missing. Who?’

  Kirby eyed the man thoughtfully. Harris had lied. He had stolen from the club. Tampered with CCTV. But had he killed? He made his decision.

  ‘What do you know about Toby Collins?’

  ‘Toby? No, he can’t be missing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I saw him yesterday evening. He’d fallen over the wall. He’d been running like the hounds of the devil were on his trail. Damaged his ankle, I think.’

  ‘Where was this?’

  ‘At the soccer pitch. He was terrified. I brought him inside and got him a Coke. Called the doctor. I’d say if he’s not in the hospital, he’s at home.’

  ‘He’s not at home.’ Kirby looked over at Lynch. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Which doctor did you call?’

  And Bertie Harris told them what had transpired.

  Seventy-Two

  Max had a pain in his head. He didn’t know if it was from exhaustion or withdrawal. He hadn’t had a joint in hours. Not since his father had cornered him at the front gate and sent him out looking for Toby. He’d searched everywhere. Not a sign of his brother. He needed to put his head down. Away from here. An hour. Even ten minutes. It might stop the throbbing.

  As he walked from the underpass down towards the tyre depot, he stopped. Two squad cars were parked across the road, blocking the traffic. No, not Toby. His brother couldn’t have gone in there. Max started to run. As he reached the first squad car, he slowed down. Two uniforms were guarding the door to his hideout. His stash of weed and all his money was in there! No!

  He was on top of the guards before he realised it. One of them put up her hand and stopped him.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘I�
��m looking for my brother. He’s missing. What are you lot doing here?’ Max laced his voice with arrogance. They had no right to be here. None whatsoever. But what if Toby was in there? Had they found him?

  ‘And who is your brother?’

  Max shrank into himself. The guard was looking at him intently. What was her problem?

  ‘Toby,’ he said. ‘Toby Collins. Have you found him?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘You must be Max, the older brother.’

  ‘What if I am?’

  ‘I’ve been looking for you. Max Collins, you are under arrest for the theft of a sum of money from Wesley Finnegan. You have—’

  Max wasn’t hanging around for the remainder of the speech. He’d heard it before. He turned on his heel, ready to run. But his escape was blocked by another guard, who pulled his arms behind his back and snapped a set of handcuffs into place.

  ‘You pair of bastards,’ he spat. ‘I’m just trying to find my little brother.’ He felt a hand on his head as he was shoved into the back seat of the squad car. ‘I did nothing to that old Finnegan fag. It’s him you should be arresting. Going around molesting youngsters. That’s what he’s up to, you fuckers.’

  The female guard climbed in beside him and smiled. Max opened his mouth and roared.

  Lottie watched as Victor Shanley dismounted the ride-on lawnmower and walked towards her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

  Victor reached her, sweating through a vest top. ‘I cut the lawn here regularly. Once a month. I couldn’t just sit at home watching my wife disintegrate, so I decided to come and do some work here.’

  ‘Do you know the Duffys well?’

  ‘Just through the football team, you know.’

  Lottie said, ‘And you didn’t think it appropriate to tell us?’

  ‘My work here has nothing to do with Kev’s death.’ He paused, and Lottie could see he was trying to read her reaction. ‘What have you found out?’

  ‘Nothing I can tell you for now,’ she said. ‘Did Kevin ever accompany you here?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Maybe a couple of times. He helped me empty the grass into the compost. I miss my boy so much. I have to be doing something, seeing as you lot won’t release his body.’