‘But not the personal,’ Mannion said, raising an eyebrow.
‘Trust is an important part in any relationship.’
‘Image is an important part of an author’s relationship with her reader,’ Mannion countered. ‘Probably the most important part, after the book itself.’ He dropped the envelope on the desk and sat back. ‘We had no choice but to pull her books from sale.’
‘Guilty until proven innocent, eh?’
Mannion shook his head and tapped the envelope with one finger. ‘With these? I’m afraid not, it’s more a case of guilt by association and, unfortunately, even if she’s as innocent as a new borne, the association will last.’ He looked at the detective with a grim expression. ‘We’re talking about children’s books.’
‘Are you saying her career is finished?’
Mannion sighed. ‘The general public has the concentration span of a gnat, Sergeant West. One could be infamous one day and a nonentity the next.’ He chewed his lower lip and tapped his nail on the wooden surface of his desk, the sound loud in the quiet office. ‘If I may make a suggestion?’
West nodded.
‘Withdraw her novels from sale wherever she has them. Wait several months, or even a year, and then release them under a pseudonym.’
‘You’d stock them again?’
‘Under a different name, yes,’ he nodded. ‘But she’ll need to find a new publisher. I know Hugh Todd. He’s a very unforgiving man and is also paranoid about protecting the reputation of his publishing company.’ He shrugged. ‘There’s no way he’ll take her back.’
‘There are other publishers,’ West said.
‘There are, but you’re fooling yourself if you think they won’t know about all this.’ He nodded toward the envelope. ‘This is a very tight-knit business.’
West frowned and then remembered the sign on the door. Self-importance and image, they went together. ‘You’re the biggest book wholesale company in Ireland, aren’t you?’ He waited until the managing director nodded before continuing. ‘So publishers will listen to what you say?’
‘Of course,’ Mannion said and then smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, I see where you’re going.’ He held his hands up. ‘Yes, ok, when...and only when...she’s waited a few months and re-invented herself with a pseudonym, she can tell any publisher she goes to that I said we’d be happy to stock her books again.’ He shoved the envelope across the desk. ‘Tell me, sergeant, do you know who is responsible?’
West shook his head. ‘Not yet. But,’ he said, his eyes narrowing, ‘I’ll find out.’
Mannion smiled. ‘I have no doubt. Please, give Kelly my regards and apologies. And now,’ he stood and stretched a hand across his desk, ‘it was good to meet you but I really must get on.’
Minutes later, West was back in his car. Taking out his phone, he rang Fiona Wilson’s number. ‘I’ve got some more photographs,’ he explained after exchanging greetings, ‘he’s written on these and I’m hoping we’ll get lucky.’
‘Am I your go-to girl for private finger-print analysis?’ she said.
He could hear the smile in her voice and laughed. ‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘How about I bring them over now and afterward we go for lunch. There must be somewhere nearby?’
‘I know just the place,’ she said, ‘I’ll see you when you get here.’
The M50 was busy so it was just over an hour later that West pulled into the car park outside the Forensic Science building.
The receptionist had been told to send him straight through when he arrived. Fiona was sitting behind a desk in a large cluttered office that was obviously used by several people. Luckily, at the moment, she was alone, a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose. She looked up at him when he tapped gently on the open door. ‘Mike,’ she said, taking off the glasses and tossing them onto the pile of papers that covered one side of the desk.
‘Fiona,’ he replied, smiling across at her.
She returned the smile and held out her hand. ‘Gimme,’ she said. ‘I’m starving so will be motivated to get these done as soon as I can.’
The envelope handed over, she told him to take a seat and headed off to see if there was anything to find on the photographs or envelope.
West sat and answered some emails on his phone. Then, from curiosity, he Googled Elliot Mannion and was still reading about him when Fiona came back. He put the phone away and stood. ‘Anything?’
She shook her head. ‘Afraid not, he’s very careful. The writing is light and unsteady and I’d guess, although I’m no handwriting expert, that it was someone writing with their non-dominant hand.’
‘An easy disguise,’ West agreed. ‘We can take it to an expert if we find a suspect. Some things are harder to change.’
As he spoke, Fiona took a raincoat from a coat hook behind her desk. ‘Let’s go before I die of starvation,’ she said. ‘I missed breakfast this morning.’
The day was cold and grey but dry. ‘We can walk if you’re not in a hurry,’ she said, when they’d left the building. ‘It’ll take about twenty minutes but driving can often take as long.’
Nodding in easy agreement, he fell into step beside her and they chatted about trivialities until they crossed Conyngham Road. He looked at her perplexed. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I thought I’d take you home,’ she said with a quick smile, ‘I made a quiche yesterday and planned to have the rest for lunch. There’s enough for two.’ When he said nothing, she turned to look at him. ‘There’s a pub we can go to if you prefer, but they do tend to be very busy around here and it’s hard to have a private conversation.’
He glanced at her and then smiled. ‘Quiche sounds fine.’
‘So real men do eat quiche,’ she muttered with a chuckle.
‘This man eats anything as long as it’s not still moving on the plate,’ he returned and then launched into a story of being on holidays in Indonesia as a student and being faced with a plateful of seafood one item of which started moving across the plate as he ate. Soon they were swopping horror stories of meals eaten in strange places and any discomfort West felt at eating in her apartment was dismissed.
They were only a few minutes from it when the rain started and, as it often did that time of the year, it came down in a deluge. She pulled up the hood of her raincoat, and quickened her step. ‘We’re almost there,’ she said, pointing to the apartment block in front of them.
It was only a few minutes, but the rain was heavy. Inside the front floor of the apartment, she turned and looked at him. ‘Oh my goodness,’ she said, ‘you’re soaked.’
West shook his head, sending droplets flying, and wiped his face with his hand. ‘I have a raincoat,’ he muttered, ‘shame I wasn’t wearing it.’
She pressed the call bell for the lift. ‘I’ll get you a towel once we’re inside,’ she said.
The apartment was a penthouse, spacious and bright with views over the River Liffey and the Phoenix Park from its wrap-around balcony.
‘This is very nice,’ West admired, as he dried his face and hair with the towel she gave him.
‘. I bought it off the plans, a few years ago,’ she said. ‘I was living in Terenure at the time and wanted something closer where I could walk to work if I felt like it. When plans were submitted for this development, I jumped at it.’
‘A wise buy,’ he said, combing fingers through his damp hair. ‘I lived in an apartment in the city for a while, but it wasn’t as nice as this.’
‘Greystones is nice though, isn’t it?’ she said, and then shook her head. ‘You can’t sit in those wet clothes. Hang your jacket on the back of the chair in front of the radiator and give me your shirt. I’ll throw it in the tumble drier. It will be dry in a few minutes.’
He shook his head, feeling slightly embarrassed. ‘I’ll be fine.’
She laughed. ‘Don’t worry; you won’t have to sit around in a state of undress. I’ve lots of scrub tops here. They come in handy. I’ll fetch one; you can slip it on and give m
e your shirt.’ She left the room as she spoke and came back with a scrub top in her hand, holding it out until he had no choice but to take it.
With a smile and a raised eyebrow, she left the room as he took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. He loosened his tie, took it off and tossed it on the seat of the chair. His shirt was wet particularly around the shoulders; he shook his head at the stupidity of leaving his raincoat in the car.
Stripping quickly, he slipped the scrub top on. It was tight but it covered him. It would do. Short-term, anyway. He could imagine the raised eyebrows if he wore it back to the station.
Fiona returned, took the shirt, threw it into the dryer and then busied herself in the kitchen. ‘Sit down,’ she said, indicating the dining area.
He sat, and admired the view. Even in the rain, the view over the park was stunning. On a summer’s day, it would be a delightful place to sit. He said so as she came over a plate in each hand.
She smiled. ‘Yes, you’ll have to come back then, it really is lovely. Ok, there you are,’ she said, putting the plate before him. ‘The aforementioned quiche, with some trimmings.’
‘Very nice,’ he said, waiting until she sat before picking up his knife and fork and tucking in. ‘This is very good,’ he said.
She nodded her acceptance of the compliment. ‘I like to cook.’
‘Your history professor is a lucky man.’
‘Isn’t he?’ she smiled, twinkling her eyes flirtatiously.
‘Which university is he with?’ he asked.
‘UCD.’
West grimaced. ‘Not an easy commute from here.’
‘Oh, he doesn’t live here,’ she said, spearing a piece of tomato with her fork, ‘he has a house in Clonskea, just a short walk from the university. We’re both used to our own space so it works perfectly for us. He stays over at weekends or I stay over at his.’
‘Mutually beneficial,’ he said, forcing a smile. It wasn’t something he understood. His space was better with Kelly in it. With a sigh, he pushed away his plate.
Fiona, hearing the sigh, assumed it was one of satisfaction and smiled. ‘There’s apple pie,’ she said, ‘and cream.’
He shook his head. ‘I really should get going, but thank you, this was very nice.’
‘I’m sorry I hadn’t better news for you about the photographs. I hope you catch whoever did this. Kelly must be devastated.’
‘It’s not easy for her,’ he agreed.
‘Or for you, I suppose,’ she said and reaching a cross laid her hand briefly on his before pulling it away and standing. ‘If you ever need to chat, you know where I am.’
His shirt was dry. Taking it out and shaking it, she handed it back to him. ‘See, good as new,’ she said.
As before, she left him to change, disappearing into one of the other rooms. It took him a few seconds to get the scrub top off, easing it over his head and having a moment’s panic when it became stuck. It would have been embarrassing to have to call for her help. It would also be embarrassing if she came back and found him standing there, hands up in the air and the top stuck tight. With a grunt, he managed to get it off without doing damage. He gave a sigh of relief when he put his shirt on and did up the buttons. He slipped his tie over his head and tightened it before checking himself in a wall mirror and nodding. Normal services resumed.
Despite the heat from the radiator, his jacket was still damp. It would have to dry in the car. Checking the time, he grimaced; it was time to get going. He looked toward the door to the hallway, wondering whether he should give her a call when she appeared, buttoning her coat. ‘Ready,’ she said with a tilt of her head. ‘It’s stopped raining but I’ll bring an umbrella, just in case.’
But they were in luck and the rain stayed at bay as they walked briskly back to the forensics building.
‘Thank you again for lunch,’ he said, as they reached the car park. ‘Next time it will be my treat.’
‘Next time,’ she said with a smile and tilt of her head before leaving him with a casual wave.
Sitting into his car, West checked his phone. There was a missed call from Kelly, but when he rang her it went straight to voice mail. He wondered how her meeting with Power had gone. It would be so much better if she left the detective work to him. He drove back along the M50 mulling over who could be responsible for the photographs and was back in Foxrock by four.
Baxter greeted him as soon as he entered the office. ‘I think I have something,’ he said.
‘Great, come into my office,’ West said, taking off his jacket as he walked.
‘Kelly is waiting in there; she arrived about an hour ago. I didn’t think you’d mind.’ He dropped his voice. ‘She looked a bit upset.’
West looked toward his office door, a slight frown on his face. ‘Thanks, Seamus,’ he said, ‘I’ll give you a shout in a few minutes.’
Opening the door, he prepared himself for tears but was surprised, instead, to find a very sombre Kelly sitting there, legs crossed.
‘I tried to phone you,’ he said, hanging his jacket on the back of an empty chair before sitting down. ‘You’re looking very navy,’ he said, looking at her. ‘Very business-like.’ Personally, he didn’t like the outfit. It made her look paler than usual. He looked at her more closely. She was paler than usual. ‘Are you ok? How did the meeting with Power go?’
‘I think they’re both in on it,’ she said, her voice brittle. ‘Aidan Power and Owen Grady. It’s some kind of conspiracy against me.’
West felt his heart drop. He sat in his chair and looked across the desk at her.
A conspiracy theory.
Just what he needed.
20
‘Tell me what happened?’ West said quietly.
‘You don’t believe me?’ she accused him, running her hands through her hair.
‘Just tell me what happened,’ he repeated calmly.
She took a deep breath and started her story. He didn’t interrupt, although a number of times she went off on a tangent that left him confused.
‘Ok,’ he said, when her voice trailed off. ‘Let me get this straight. You went to see Own Grady and you showed him the photographs.’
‘Only to make him understand,’ she interrupted. ‘I was so sure he’d have already seen them that I was taken unawares and it was the easiest way...’ Her voice trailed off as her excuse sounded lame even to her. She sighed loudly. ‘It seemed like a good idea.’
‘And he mentioned me by name. You’re sure you’ve never used my name in conversation?’
She shook her head, loose hair swinging. ‘There was never any reason to. We’ve never met socially. Your name would never have come up. I don’t think even Hugh knows your name, why would he?’
‘Indeed,’ West said and looked down at his desk to hide his expression. When he continued his voice was cooler. ‘And then you went to meet Aidan Power.’
‘Yes, and don’t forget it was Aidan who recommended Owen as an agent.’
West nodded. ‘Yes, so you said. You mentioned to me before that you found Power pleasant and helpful as an editor.’
‘He is a good editor but on a personal level I found him a little too flirtatious, too touchy-feely for my liking, but today he was obnoxious and rude and he made it quite obvious that he didn’t like me at all.’ She blinked at the memory. ‘He doesn’t rate me highly as a writer either.’
‘And you think he lied about his relationship with Owen Grady?’
She met his eyes. ‘He definitely lied, and then he couldn’t leave fast enough.’
‘Why would he recommend him as an agent if he hardly knew him,’ he said, and then frowned slightly, ‘although I suppose he could have known him by reputation.’
Kelly sighed loudly. ‘I suppose.’
‘Although,’ West said interrupting her, ‘as Elliot Mannion said, the publishing business is a small one, it would be more surprising if he didn’t know him.’
‘Elliot Mannion,’ she said, her
eyes opening wide. ‘The MD of Books Inc?’
He nodded. ‘I went to see him to pick up those photographs. There was always a chance that whoever wrote on them might have got careless and left some trace, but unfortunately we weren’t so lucky.’
Kelly’s eyes were boring a hole in him. ‘You had no right. I haven’t made an official complaint.’
He shrugged. ‘I told you I’d look into it unofficially.’ He saw her mulish look grow and then quickly fade. She sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter I was going to ask you to make it official, Mike. They’re in it together; you’ll be able to find out why they’re doing it.’
He saw her wan look, the air of defeat that settled over her like a cloud. ‘If they’re responsible, we’ll get them. As it happens, I asked Baxter, this morning, to do some digging into all three men, Todd, Grady and Power. He just mentioned that he found something, so let’s get him in here and hear what he’s got to say.’
He opened his office door wide and used the spare chair to prop it open as he usually did. Baxter was perched on the side of Andrews’ desk chatting to him. Both men looked up as he came through. ‘Come on in,’ he said, returning to his desk.
Both nodded a greeting at Kelly. Andrews took the vacant chair. He was about to wedge some paper under the door to keep it open when he caught a look from West. Nodding, he let it swing closed. Baxter pushed paperwork from one corner of the desk and perched on the spot.
‘Make yourselves at home,’ West muttered, rescuing the papers that had been in an orderly pile. He shuffled them back in line and placed them in a drawer. ‘Right,’ he said, looking up at the younger man’s freckled face, ‘tell us what you found.’
‘There’s a lot available on Hugh Todd,’ Baxter said, ‘and having reading most of it, my conclusion is that he is what you see. A straight up, well-respected, conservative family man. In business, he’s regarded as tough but fair.
‘Aidan Power has worked for Todd Publishing for three years, before that he worked with Oisin Publishing for ten. He left after falling out with the owner with whom he’d had a seven-year relationship. From all accounts,’ he looked around the room, ‘and there are multiple, it wasn’t an amicable split. Power arrived home to find his partner in bed with a woman.’
Death in Foxrock Page 15