by Derek Fee
Moira’s head shot up. ‘There is absolutely nothing going on between Frank Shea and me.’
‘OK, keep your hair on. I’ve been watching the two of you all day and you’re giving off the vibe that there’s something goin’ on. Not my fault if I noticed it.’
‘Frank Shea is my partner’s best friend and I’m very much in love with the man I’m living with.’ The phrase ‘the lady doth protest too much’ ran through her head. Maybe there is something going on and she just wasn’t recognising it. Shea is certainly a physically attractive man. He is definitely better looking than Brendan but looks aren’t everything. She knew that Brendan would be sitting in their apartment waiting for her call. So, why was she avoiding it? She looked over at Carmichael whose eyes had closed. Although they all had their own rooms, Carmichael had decided the girls should stick together. Moira didn’t have the heart to tell her that the thing hanging off her scrotum was not consistent with considering herself a ‘girl’. She picked up her phone and went into the toilet. It was time to bite the bullet. She locked the door, dropped the lid on the toilet bowl and sat down. She hit Brendan’s number and waited for the explosion.
‘Where are you?’ Brendan said as soon as the line connected.
Moira started laughing. ‘Sitting on the toilet bowl in a room in the Mandarin Oriental in Miami.’
Brendan chuckled. ‘Maybe you should call back when you’re finished.’
‘I’m not doing anything, stupid. I’m just sitting here. My new best friend Jamie Carmichael is sleeping on my bed in my room.’
‘Who the hell is Jamie Carmichael?’
‘Gregory Gardiner’s secretary, I already told you we picked her up in Myrtle Beach. Look, I’m tired, why don’t I tell you all about it when we’re back in Boston.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘We’re leaving after breakfast tomorrow. It’s a seven-hour flight so we should be back in Boston early afternoon.’
‘You actually sound tired.’
‘I could sleep.’
‘Where’s Frank?’
‘Down in the business centre on a computer, the guy is like the Duracell bunny. I don’t think he ever sleeps.’
‘That’s Frank when he sets his mind to something, it’s total concentration. I miss you.’
‘I miss you too.’ She wondered whether she was just saying it or she really meant it. ‘I need to get some sleep. See you tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, sleep well. I’m looking forward to hearing about the advances on the investigation.’
‘Tomorrow.’ There was tiredness in her voice as she ended the call. She continued sitting for a few minutes. She was energised by the search for Gregory Gardiner and afraid of what might happen when it was over. Back in Belfast it had all been so ideal. She had her job in the PSNI and Brendan had his lecturing post at Queen’s University. She hadn’t spent three years at university and a year at police college to sit at home and attend coffee mornings with the other faculty partners. There might be some tough decisions ahead.
Moira was forced out of her reverie by the sound of knocking at her room door. She opened the toilet door and saw that Carmichael was already on her feet with a look of fear on her face. They were in the Mandarin Oriental for God’s sake. Nobody would attack them there. The knocking became more insistent. Moira went to the door and opened it. Shea rushed past her into the room with a large bundle of papers in his hand.
Carmichael let out a sigh of relief.
Shea dumped the papers on the bed and hugged Carmichael. He let her go and turned to Moira. ‘The mother lode, the goddamned mother lode.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
T he pilots had already done their pre-flight checks by the time the trio arrived at the airport for the return flight to Boston. It was another early start and the sun was just coming up over the eastern horizon as the Lear sped down the runway. Shea had organised for orange juice, coffee and smoked salmon bagels to be provided by the caterer at the airport. During the flight, he worked assiduously on the files he had printed in the hotel, making detailed notes as he worked his way through the large volume of paper.
Moira was tired. She had slept fitfully, bothered by what Carmichael had said. She was sure that she had done nothing to give the impression that something was going on between Shea and herself. But maybe Brendan was thinking the same thing as Carmichael and that’s why he had misgivings about her working with Shea. It’s inevitable that two people spending most of their time together begin to form an attachment. She had seen more than one case where a male and female partner became too close from working long hours together. Carmichael wasn’t exactly the Delphi oracle and she may have read more into Moira’s and Shea’s relationship than was actually there. Moira gradually relaxed and found herself drifting off to sleep as the jet made steady progress in the direction of Boston.
Carmichael shook her awake when they were about thirty minutes out from Lawrence. Shea was also napping. When they had checked out of the hotel at the crack of dawn, he’d looked like he hadn’t slept all night. Lying asleep like that he seemed vulnerable and alone. Moira could see how someone could be attracted by that vulnerability. Carmichael also woke Shea and all three prepared for landing at Lawrence Airport.
Brendan was waiting at the airport when the Lear taxied to a stop. Moira looked out the window and waved. Brendan smiled in response and made his way towards the plane.
Carmichael was off first, hefting her overnight bag like the man she was. She ignored Brendan and tossed her bag into the trunk of the waiting black Cadillac. Moira was next and found Brendan with his arms wide open to greet her. ‘It was only one day,’ she said before letting herself fall into his arms.
‘I know, but I missed you.’ Brendan kissed her.
Shea watched the scene from the top of the stairs. ‘Move it on you two. I’ve had about two hours’ sleep in the past twenty-four and if I don’t hit a bed soon I’m going to pass out. Under different circumstances I’d tell you to get a room.’
Brendan and Moira moved away from the bottom of the stairs and Shea joined them. ‘I suppose you have your own wheels?’
Brendan nodded. ‘Although they’re not as good as yours.’
Shea could see Carmichael already sitting in the back of the Caddy. ‘It looks like I’ve inherited Miss Carmichael.’
Moira started to speak, but Shea cut her off. ‘It’s OK, there’s plenty of room at the condo and it’s a lot safer than her own apartment.’
‘She looks interesting,’ Brendan said, glancing at the car. ‘Did you see the way she lugged that bag? I’ve seen longshoremen who’d have trouble doing that.’
Shea looked at Moira and laughed. ‘I’ll leave the explanation of that one to you. I’ve got to crash.’ He nodded at the sheaf of papers under his arm. ‘I’ll be in touch when I’ve been through these.’
‘My jalopy is in the parking lot.’ Brendan took Moira’s arm and started walking towards the terminal building.
Moira allowed him to lead her but couldn’t resist one glance back at the Cadillac. Shea was about to enter the rear of the car but raised his head first to look back at the departing couple. Their eyes met momentarily.
‘Bring me up to date,’ Brendan said as soon as they were settled in his Saab 92 and on their way to Cambridge. ‘Especially on that leggy bombshell.’
Moira smiled and began a debrief of the past twenty-four hours. While she was speaking, her mind was wandering to what Shea might be up to.
‘I don’t believe it.’ Brendan and Moira laughed together when she had finished the Myrtle Beach story. ‘She is one good-looking black woman,’ Brendan said.
‘And an equally good-looking black man. Now, that we’ve got that out of the way, I can fill you in on the rest of the trip.’
They were coming off the I-93 at Somerville by the time Moira finished her assessment of where the investigation currently stood.
‘I like the sound of this Halliday guy,’ Brendan said. �
��You can’t have missed the message that all the guys in law enforcement have told you to drop this investigation and leave it to the professionals.’
‘If we do that, this case will go nowhere. Gattuso is the lead detective and he’s probably been got at. He has the power to sink the investigation like a stone. That means the Gardiners will never know for sure what happened to Greg. If it was your father, would you want us to drop the investigation, or would you want us to go the distance whatever that turns out to be?’
Brendan was silent for a moment. ‘I understand where you’re coming from. But you appear to be playing with serious people and if your investigation threatens to expose them, there’s a good possibility that you and Frank will go the same way as Gardiner. Maybe the only way you’re going to find out what happened to him is if you all meet on the other side.’
Moira didn’t need this. ‘I gave my word for a one-month investigation. If there’s any danger, the case will be immediately handed over to law enforcement.’
‘Frank was a bit quiet.’
‘He’s exhausted. He spent most of the night and the flight examining the papers he printed back at the hotel.’
‘Maybe he should have handed them over to the police.’
‘So that they can file them?’ Her phone beeped twice. She checked and saw that Ricky had sent them a batch of phone records. Shea was busy with the Gardiner papers so trawling through the phone records would be her job.
Brendan parked the car at the apartment and they went inside. He coughed nervously. ‘I’ve been thinking.’
Moira never liked that phrase. It had been a favourite of her husband’s and it generally meant he was about to propose something that they hadn’t discussed and that she would be uncomfortable with. She had a feeling that whatever was coming had something to do with her having a bit too much freedom. ‘Thinking is one of the problems with your profession. Can we discuss whatever you’ve been thinking later? I feel like I’ve been in these clothes for the past week and I desperately need a shower and a nap.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘It was sweet of you to meet us at the airport.’ She knew that she should have finished off with an ‘I love you’, but the words wouldn’t come.
‘Yes, later.’ Brendan held her. ‘You have your shower and your nap. I’ll rustle up some Thai food. And there’s a new detective series on Netflix that’s supposed to be good.’
She went into the bathroom, locked the door, put down the toilet seat and sat on it. She was confused and that didn’t sit well with her. She had come to America to be with Brendan and give their relationship a chance, but the fact that she had had to give up the job she loved had put a strain on their relationship. After the look that passed between Shea and her at the airport, she was sure that there was something there. Shea was a free agent, but she was in a relationship and she wasn’t about to hurt Brendan. What they had was special. She just wasn’t sure that it was special enough for her to slough off her old life. Would marital bliss, if such a thing exists, be enough to fill the hole in her heart that longed to return to Belfast and the PSNI? She needed to rest. Travelling the length of the east coast of America twice in twenty and some hours does have an effect. She stood up and flushed the toilet. Tomorrow, she’d deal with it all, tomorrow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
‘W e have a problem.’ Shea was talking to Moira, Carmichael and Ricky , who were seated round the table on the balcony of his condo. ‘This pile of papers on the table is only about half of the documents on the USB, but it looks like Greg was involved in some kind of scam.’ Shea looked at the three faces staring at him. Moira was on full alert. He had noticed her eyes on him the moment she’s walked into the condo. There was something in that look that excited him.
Shea wasn’t a vain man, but he knew that he was attractive to some women. He’d dated at college, but his studies came first. He wasn’t one of those guys who would get down on one knee at the commencement ceremony and produce a ring for his college sweetheart. Then working life at a major New York investment bank didn’t leave much time for dating, let alone a relationship and anyway, he was hooked on deal making. It didn’t take him long to work out that being an investment banker was not consistent with being father of the year. The situation became even more extreme when he started his own hedge fund. The business very quickly became his child and his mistress. If he needed a female companion for a dinner engagement or a social event, he hired one from the best escort agencies in New York and Boston. The women were uniformly beautiful and intelligent and sometimes they ended up in bed with him, but it was never more than a business arrangement. He wasn’t out there looking for his own ‘Pretty Woman’. Making money was far more exciting than a nine-to-five existence with a Betty Crocker wife and two point four children. Building the business had been a wild rollercoaster ride and he enjoyed every second of it. Then that world collapsed, and Devens Correctional Institution happened. Instead of having zero hours per day to reflect on where he was going, he had twenty-four hours to fill.
In Devens, he took part in encounter groups with fellow prisoners and listened to their stories. Like them, he had been set up. Like them, he was innocent. At the core of all their stories was one commodity – money – and the result of the quest for more of that commodity was broken lives. And the broken lives were not just those of the men sitting in the circle, their families also bore the brunt of their search for lucre. His best friends in Devens were a Cambodian computer hacker, the Italian head of a New York crime family, an Indian hedge fund manager and a redneck who had tried to emulate the Unabomber. They had all committed crimes to increase their personal wealth. Listening to their stories and the stories of other men, he began to see what he had sacrificed for money. By the time he left Devens, the Betty Crocker wife and the two point four children didn’t seem such a bad idea. And into this new ‘softer’ life walked Moira McElvaney, the partner of his best friend. She bore no resemblance to Betty Crocker, but something clicked inside him and he was wishing Brendan Guilfoyle out of her life. He was afraid that he was falling for Moira. The feeling was so new that it might not be genuine, but associated with it was the fear that he would lose either her or his oldest friend. Neither outcome was palatable.
Shea continued. ‘I’m not a forensic accountant although I know financial engineering inside out. The guy who planned this scam knows finance and he’s bright. It’s a con but no ordinary con, this one was orchestrated by a master. I already have the outline and Greg was the patsy.’
‘They call it the mark,’ Ricky interjected. He smiled at the black woman. He was imagining what she’d be like to fuck.
Shea ignored the intervention. ‘The whole scheme appears to have been operated through Greg. I won’t have the full picture until tomorrow, but if the con had been rumbled, Greg would have been the fall guy. He’s the one who would have gone to prison.’
‘Then why disappear him?’ Moira asked. ‘Why not leave him to face the music?’
‘I don’t know,’ Shea said.
‘How much money was involved?’ Ricky asked.
‘I’m guessing about fifty million,’ Shea said.
Ricky whistled.
‘Maybe more,’ Shea continued. ‘I suppose Greg was a loose end. That’s why he had to disappear. I’m becoming more and more convinced that we’ll never see him again.’
Moira thought for a moment. ‘Are you sure that Greg wasn’t at the centre of the scheme. Perhaps he was the originator? In which case there’s a good chance that he disappeared of his own accord.’
‘I love Greg to bits, but he’s not smart enough to have devised this,’ Shea said. ‘You’ve been through his life – do you see him putting an elaborate scheme together that defrauded more than a dozen clever investors? Because that’s what we’re talking about.’
Moira had to agree that the Gregory Gardiner she had pictured from the interviews with his family, friends and Carmichael was not that kind of man. ‘When will you have the full pictu
re?’
Shea looked at the papers. ‘Tomorrow at the earliest. Even then I may only have the bare bones, but we’ll have enough to proceed.’
‘What are you talkin’ about, brother?’ Carmichael said. ‘What’s with this proceed business? Maybe I don’t have your smarts and maybe I ain’t spent time in the police, but that USB is evidence and we can go to prison for holdin’ back evidence from the cops. Am I the only one who doesn’t want to do jail time?’
Moira removed a sheaf of paper from her messenger bag and placed it on the table. ‘Jamie’s got a point. These are Greg Gardiner’s home and business phone records. I’m not as up on US law as I should be, but I do know that an officer of the law would need a court order to procure these records. So I assume what Ricky has done is highly illegal. You can add that to your suppression of evidence charge.’
Carmichael stood up. ‘I’m outta here.’ She started towards the living room.
‘Going back on the run?’ Shea called after her. ‘If we found you, so can the people who disappeared Greg. Let us know how things works out for you.’
Carmichael stopped dead in her tracks, turned and walked slowly back to the table. She retook her seat.
Moira put her hand over Carmichael’s. ‘Jamie has a point. We’ve been going around breaking laws and committing felonies without any authorisation to back us up. We have created a house of cards that could collapse at any minute. And she’s right, we could all go to jail.’ She could see the look of disappointment on Shea’s face.
‘What happens when we hand over the USB to Gattuso?’ Shea asked.
‘It probably goes missing from the evidence locker,’ Moira said.
‘What if we print off the contents and then send the USB to Gattuso?’ Shea’s desperation to keep the investigation alive was almost palpable. ‘We can’t be accused of suppressing evidence then.’
‘Only tampering with evidence,’ Carmichael said.