“It’s me. Can we meet up, later? At the usual?” Jimmy Sullivan asked.
“Yeah, about eight-” but the call ended before he could agree the time. He glanced at the screen with a puzzled expression.
“What was that about?” Hunter asked.
Caslin shrugged, “No idea.”
“What was with the cryptic call, earlier?” Caslin said, necking his scotch and turning his attention to a pint of bitter. Sullivan sat opposite him, in a booth, downstairs in the cellars. The journalist nursed his own beer which, Caslin judged, had gone flat some time previously. “How long have you been here?”
“A couple of hours.”
“What’s up?” Caslin asked, concerned.
“Someone I know has been in touch, about Emily,” he said quietly, eyes flitting around the pub as he spoke. “She was asking a lot of questions about one man, in particular.”
“And he would be?”
“Paraic Nelson.”
Caslin shrugged, “The name means nothing to me. Should it?”
“A proper nasty bastard,” Sullivan said, lowering his voice. “But there’s more. We’re not the only ones asking about her enquiries regarding Nelson.”
Caslin was intrigued, “Who?”
Sullivan shrugged, “They didn’t know or wouldn’t say.”
“Which was it?”
“Look. It wasn’t anyone they recognised. Certainly not someone local, from the old country.”
“Mainland?” Caslin asked. Again, Sullivan indicated he didn’t know. “This has got you rattled, hasn’t it?”
Sullivan nodded, “At first I thought she was investigating a kiddie-fiddling priest. Then, I hoped it was a gang knocking out wraps on street corners but now it turns out she’s poking someone like Paraic Nelson, with something of a big stick. Personally, I wouldn’t go near a guy like him without some serious back up. Now there’s this other guy.”
“You don’t know who it was,” Caslin argued. “It could’ve been another journalist. Maybe she wasn’t working alone.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this one, Nate,” Sullivan said, shaking his head. Lifting his glass, he saw off half a pint, in one go. “I do know this. In Belfast, asking unwanted questions about Nelson doesn’t go unnoticed, for very long.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Jimmy?” Caslin asked, taking a twenty out of his wallet and rising. Draining the remainder of his pint, he signalled the barman to set up another round. “What’s gotten into you?”
Sullivan locked him with a stare, “You don’t know your Irish history, like I do. Oh yeah, everything’s a damn sight better, these days but from the late seventies and through the eighties…if you had cause to come across Nelson, he’d be the last thing you ever saw.”
“You think he killed her?”
Sullivan stared into the bottom of his empty glass, “I don’t know…maybe. Whoever else is digging, was asking the same questions as Emily had done only weeks before. If he was tracking her…and followed her here, to York. I don’t know…I really don’t.”
“You’re scared-”
“Too fucking right, I am,” Sullivan snapped, drawing attention from those people seated nearby. “Too right,” he repeated, lowering his voice, “Nelson. Root around and find whatever it was she did…I expect then you’ll know what got her killed. And to answer your next question, yes, I am worried I might be next.”
“Why should you be?”
“Emily asked me for some contacts, back home. I gave her a few names.”
“Without asking why she wanted them?”
“Last I saw her, she was writing restaurant reviews, okay?” Sullivan said curtly. “I had no idea she was into…anything…like this.”
“But you don’t know anything,” Caslin countered.
“Yeah, I wonder if Emily said the same?”
“What is Nelson to you?”
“Back then, I left well enough alone,” Sullivan stated, with a sigh. “You don’t have that option. Not if you’re going to do your job properly.”
Caslin turned and made his way to the counter, handing his money over in exchange for the drinks waiting for him, on the bar. He’d never seen Jimmy Sullivan this spooked and he’d made his name crawling through gutters where no-one else dared. Drinking his scotch whilst the barman cashed the note, he looked back but the booth was empty. Catching sight of the journalist’s back, climbing the stairs to the exit, Caslin drew breath. Despite his closeness to the deceased, Sullivan still couldn’t open up.
“Cheers,” Caslin said to the barman, pocketing the change.
Taking both pints, he walked back through the bar, up a flight of stairs and out into the walled beer-garden. The area was popular with patrons, drinking in the evening sunshine, and he found a chair at the furthest point from anyone else. Within an hour the Saturday night would be in full swing and it’d be standing room only. Putting the drinks down, he took out his mobile and called Hunter.
“Hello, Sir. Where are you?” she asked. “I’ve been trying to call you.”
“Signal’s bad when I’m downstairs,” he said, referring to the vaulted brick of the Cellars. “Why, what’s up?”
“I’ve been reviewing Christopher Fairchild’s movements, acquaintances, social life and so on.”
“And? What have you turned up?”
“The family are big in their community, aren’t they? Church goers, I mean.”
“Go on,” Caslin encouraged.
“Well, I was going through their phone records and once I’d checked off the office calls and cross referenced the ones in the family contacts book, I came across another, for a church, here in York.”
“To be expected.”
“No. Not this one, Sir. It came up as a Catholic church.”
“So?”
“Sir, they’re Anglicans. I can’t see any reason for him to be contacting this church,” Hunter said, before adding, “I’ve no idea what it means, though, if anything but that was the only anomaly I came across.”
“I guess that’s one for Mrs Fairchild. No harm in asking,” Caslin replied, equally unsure of the significance. Catching sight of a familiar face walking towards him, he acknowledged the newcomer with a wave. Glancing at the time, he returned his focus back to the phone call, “Can you do me a favour?”
“Name it, Sir.”
“Run a check on a guy called Paraic Nelson, anything that’s on file. Currently he’s in Dublin but has ties to the Republican paramilitaries, in Belfast.”
“Will do. What’s our interest?”
“He had Emily Coughlan’s attention and I want to know why. And Sarah…”
“Yes, Sir?”
“It’s the weekend, which you’d know if you ever left the office. After you’re done with Nelson, go home and get some sleep.”
“I will but I’ll just tie up a few things here first.” Caslin hung up as he was joined by Aiden Reece.
Chapter 10
“One of your team told me you’d most likely be here. Sarah, is it?” Reece said, pulling up a free chair from the adjoining table and sitting down.
“Am I that predictable?” Caslin asked, pushing an untouched pint towards his old friend, which was gratefully received.
“Expecting me?”
Caslin smiled, “Always prepared. I used to be OTC, remember?”
Reece sat back in his chair, “Those were the days-”
“You nearly got us thrown out!” Caslin admonished him. “You remember the fireworks-”
“Now that was your idea. I’m not taking responsibility for it going pear-shaped,” Reece countered with a grin. Caslin laughed, for a fleeting moment, seeing the flash of youth reflected back at him.
“What are you doing here, Aiden?” Caslin asked. A question that briefly appeared to throw his friend.
“You know why I’m here, Nate,” Reece replied, sipping his pint.
“No. I know what you told me,” Caslin said, fixing him with a stare. “But I’m a
sking why you’re really here?” Reece put his drink on the table, wiping foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. He met Caslin’s gaze.
“Nothing gets past you, does it, Nate?”
“I pulled your file.”
“Ahh…I see,” Reece smiled and rocked his head from side to side. “Must’ve made for interesting reading.”
“Not really. You graduated from Hendon and you’re recorded as being posted to a station in Croydon but we both know that’s not true. The remainder of the file is restricted. Why would that be?”
Reece exhaled deeply, blowing out his cheeks, “By the time someone made that call, I was out. So, you’re asking the wrong person. Fair to say I became somewhat of an embarrassment.”
“Did you leave or were you pushed?”
Reece waved the comment away, “Ancient history, Nate. It’s all under the bridge.”
“What happened to you, Aiden? You were top of our class, at Hendon. You passed out and were away, never to be seen or heard from again. I have to admit, I was pretty pissed off with you back then.”
Reece smiled. “I assure you, the reality was far less dramatic than you’re imagining,” he paused, appearing thoughtful, staring off towards nothing in particular. The excited laughter of a group seated nearby, carried over on the breeze. “Sometimes you take a turn in life…that you don’t see coming. Plans change. That’s all.”
Caslin studied the man seated opposite. They were part of a close-knit group at university, all highly regarded Officer Candidates in the British Army Training Corps. Four of whom were recruited into the police together, upon graduation. Only Aiden Reece had turned his back on that select unit. The one member held in such high esteem by all of the others, was now someone Caslin found himself struggling to trust.
“And here you are, working for Renton Sands.”
“Here I am,” Reece replied, tipping his glass towards Caslin in a salutary fashion. Knowing the explanation wasn’t satisfactory, he shrugged, “Renton have a substantial investment account. It’s managed by-”
“None other than, Chris Fairchild. We’ve covered that,” Caslin stated.
“Quite right,” Reece confirmed. “I’m here to make sure their…interests are not under threat.”
“And what are their interests? Corporate security, wasn’t it?”
“As an overarching model, yes,” Reece said. “Business is global and hot zones around the world are dangerous places to trade in. Danger makes for good returns.” Glancing around to make sure they would not be overheard, he continued, “Renton provide contracts in Latin America but we are mostly centred on the Middle-East, Afghanistan and West Africa.”
“Protection details?”
“Yes…of sorts.”
“Mercenary contracts?” Caslin asked flatly.
“Private contractors,” Reece said. Leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, he continued, “IT companies, engineering firms and the like, are in great demand these days. The decimation of infrastructure in some of these countries is astonishing. You don’t need me to tell you, just watch the six o’clock news. All of that needs to be rebuilt and modernised and let’s not forget there are others desperately trying to sabotage the process. Nothing we do is ever done without the consent of the authorities.”
“The current authorities? Whoever is in the hot seat, at the time,” Caslin said dryly and was acknowledged with a wink. “Where does KL Global fit in to this?”
“Like I said, with investment funds,” Reece said, spreading his palms in a gesture of transparency. “KL have always delivered sound returns for us. We’re confident Fairchild’s murder has nothing to do with our wider business operations but we’d be negligent in the extreme, not to check it out.”
“How confident?”
“Absolutely,” Reece confirmed. “Renton are above board. Don’t take my word for it, check it out yourself. I know you will.”
“I will,” Caslin said with a smile.
“You never trusted anyone, Nate,” Reece said, returning a warm smile of his own. “Probably what makes you such a decent copper but…most likely…largely a shit husband.”
“Thanks for that,” Caslin replied, raising his own glass. Reece laughed aloud. “And what exactly is in your job description within this global enterprise?”
“Strictly logistics, these days, Nate. On the ground, whatever needs arise. Be it equipment, training, procurement, whatever’s necessary.”
“So, why did they send you?”
“Ahh…this one. I told you, I requested it. It’s certainly not my usual assignment but I figured it was a good opportunity to look in on you.”
“How did-”
“I know you were here?” Reece asked, Caslin nodded. “I was back in London, around eighteen months ago, taking part in a conference and I looked you up. We were well overdue for a catch-up. I went over to your place and…Karen filled me in.” Caslin stared into the bottom of his glass, an unreadable expression on his face. “I was sorry to hear-”
“More of those life-changing moments coming at you, unannounced,” Caslin interrupted. “We tried but…well, we couldn’t force it, you know?”
“I hear that,” Reece replied, taking a mouthful of beer. “How are you getting on now? I gathered things weren’t great, back then. That’s why I left it, to be honest. I wasn’t sure what use I would’ve been to you.”
“No matter,” Caslin dismissed the admission. “Karen’s brought the kids north, so I can be more involved.” Sucking air through his teeth, he continued, “Lizzie is a delight. She looks so much like her mother-”
“Lucky for her,” Reece said with a cheeky wink.
“Sean, on the other hand, is…”
“A teenager?”
“Very much so,” Caslin agreed, finishing his drink. “What about you? Did you ever tie the knot with…oh, heck…what was her name…you were engaged, weren’t you?”
“You don’t mean, Michelle?”
“Michelle,” Caslin confirmed, excitedly pointing a finger across the table. “The two of you were inseparable.”
“Good heavens, man. No,” Reece said with affirmation. “That was over within a year of leaving Hendon.”
“Shame. I liked her,” Caslin said. “Anyone else hit the spot?”
“Nah,” Reece replied. “Career path put those plans well and truly on the backburner.” Caslin detected a note of regret or a deeper feeling, being downplayed but chose not to press.
“How long do you expect to be in town?” he asked, routing the subject matter back to business.
Reece shrugged, “A few days, no more than that. Unless you feel Renton are exposed, in some way.”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Who do you think is responsible?”
Caslin shook his head and smiled, “I’m still not giving you access to the case file. Not even the random suppositions floating around in my head. Tell me, how well did you know Chris Fairchild?”
Reece blew out his cheeks, “Personally, I never had any dealings with him nor anyone else at KL. Why do you ask?”
“He had a limited client list. All were heavily invested in his funds.”
“Renton must have a lot riding on his success, then,” Reece said thoughtfully.
“And it stands to reason, he would’ve had a close relationship with those clients. Which of your colleagues would’ve dealt with him?”
“I’ll find out, for you. Same again?” Reece asked, rising. Caslin nodded. He watched his friend until he disappeared back inside, in the direction of the bar. A sense of unease descended over him. One that he couldn’t justify but was there, nonetheless.
It was after midnight when Caslin fumbled with his keys, dropping them whilst trying to unlock the communal access of Kleiser’s Court. Reece knelt and retrieved them, as a group of weekend revellers, in celebratory mood, ambled past. Caslin braced himself against the wall, feeling lightheaded. What was happening to him? He hadn’t drunk that much
. Reece unlocked the door, pushing it open and Caslin stumbled through, his friend gripping his upper arm in an attempt to steady him. Climbing the stairs, they reached the front door with Caslin, slightly out of breath.
This time, he bypassed the obstruction without delay. Surprisingly, the lights in the hallway were on. Furthermore, a chink of light emanated through the crack in the doorway, to the living room. Suddenly alert, he indicated for Reece to wait and threw off his coat, inching warily forward. The sound of the television grew as he approached. Gently easing the door open, he peered around the corner. Until that point, unaware that he’d been holding his breath, he let out a sigh of relief. Observing the still form of a person, stretched out on the sofa before him, he put his head against the door jamb and shut his eyes.
Reece appeared alongside and observed the scene. Caslin entered, crossing the room and switching off the television. The sound of the band, playing their gig on stage, was silenced and he turned to his unexpected guest. Sean was sound asleep. Still fully clothed, he lay there, snoring. Caslin took the throw off of his armchair and laid it over his sleeping son. Beckoning Reece to join him, he walked through to the kitchen. Taking out his phone, Caslin scrolled through the contacts and selected Karen. When the call connected, he gently pushed the kitchen door to.
“He’s here, at my place,” Caslin said to his near-frantic, ex-wife.
“You said you couldn’t take him, this weekend,” she accused him.
“I wasn’t expecting-”
“How long has he been there?” Karen asked aggressively. “Couldn’t you have let me know earlier?”
“I’ve only just got home,” Caslin countered.
“Have you been out working or only drinking?” she accused him.
Caslin found his own voice rising, in reply, “You hadn’t let me know he was missing. If you had-”
“Is he okay?” Karen asked, cutting him off. Her attitude softening. Caslin recognised her fear and adopted a conciliatory tone.
“He’s asleep. I’ll speak to him when he wakes up. Did you have words?”
“It’s not my fault, Nate.”
“I didn’t say otherwise,” he reassured her. “I’m just wondering how he’s come to be sleeping on my sofa, that’s all.”
The Dogs in the Street (Dark Yorkshire Book 3) Page 8