Peter called Des before they reached Roundstone. He answered, the noise of the pub still there in the background.
‘What, Peter?’ he said.
‘Meet me at the station in ten minutes,’ he said. ‘I’ve got your suspect for you.’ He hung up before Des could respond.
Cormac gave Peter a look.
‘Well, I’m not babysitting him at the station overnight,’ Peter said, nodding to a still snivelling Barrett.
The heating was still on in the little station, and it was warm. They locked Barrett in the small holding cell at the back of the station, then at Peter’s request Cormac went to sit in the car. Peter sat on his desk, legs swinging, and waited for his father to show up. He didn’t have to wait long.
‘What’s this about?’ Des said. He was evidently drunk, not quite at the slurred-speech stage, but not far off it.
‘Did you drive, or did you walk?’ Peter asked.
‘None of your fucking business,’ Des said. He stripped off his hat and coat. He’d lost his gloves somewhere. The knuckles on his right hand were bruised. ‘I asked you what all of this is about?’
‘Richard Barrett is in the cell,’ Peter said.
‘What did you say?’ Des’s voice was slow and dangerous.
‘I arrested him on suspicion of murdering Miles and Carl Lynch, James Madden and for the attempted murder of Maggie Robinson.’
Des took a step forward, getting in Peter’s face. Peter kept talking.
‘He did it. We found him in a ditch on the side of the Galway Road. He was making a run for it. We found a copy of a contract that he’d taken from James Madden’s house, after he killed him. James had agreed to sell his land to a company that I believe is controlled by Barrett. The deal went sour. That’s why Barrett killed him. Everything’s in the station. The documents, his medical bag, his computer.’
Des glanced towards the cell, doubt creeping into his face.
‘Didn’t you ever wonder?’ Peter asked. ‘Didn’t you think, even for a second, that it was strange that Barrett entered the crime scene and touched the bodies?’
‘I told you, I thought it was shock,’ Des said. ‘It happens. How sure are you of all of this?’
‘I’m very sure,’ said Peter, standing up. ‘Now it’s your turn to do some work.’ He dropped the keys to the cell on the desk. ‘You can babysit him today and overnight. I’ll be back in the morning. I’ll help you wrap this case up, because I want Barrett in jail. But after that, I’m finished. I can’t work here anymore.’
He was almost at the door when Des spoke again.
‘Don’t be too hasty, Peter,’ he said, quietly. ‘Let’s talk tomorrow.’
Anna was waiting for them when Cormac and Peter got back to the cottage. She laughed and cried when they told her the news, then she produced Maggie’s bottle of whiskey and toasted them both. They ate warmed-up beef stew and crusty bread in front of the fire, washed it down with a few drinks, staying up well into the night talking. Anna didn’t say much. She ate with Peter and Cormac, then she left them alone while she went upstairs to check on Maggie and Tilly. When she came back, she settled into the corner of the couch, listening rather than contributing to the conversation but seemingly happy to be there. It was well into the early hours of the morning when she finally stood up.
‘I’ve moved Tilly into Maggie’s room,’ she said. ‘We’ll both sleep in there tonight. I’ll be able to keep a closer eye on Maggie that way, anyway. You take my room.’
Peter was drunk, and he was tired, and he was happy. ‘Thanks, Anna,’ he said. ‘I owe you one.’
She shook her head, smiled, and disappeared.
Peter refilled Cormac’s glass, then his own, clinked the glasses in a toast.
‘Thanks, Cormac,’ he said.
‘For what?’
‘For everything.’
‘Ah, Peter. I didn’t do a thing. I just provided the right kind of vehicle.’
‘Well, thanks for the snow chains then.’
‘You’re very welcome.’
Monday 9 November 2015
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Cormac woke early the following morning. That wasn’t so much a matter of choice, as it was that he was sleeping on the couch, and Tilly arrived well before first light to watch cartoons. It was obviously a regular part of her routine. She curled up on the armchair in her dressing gown and a pair of socks, and turned on the TV. Cormac woke to the sound of Teen Titans’ Beast Boy and Raven arguing loudly about something. He sat up, feeling all the effects of the previous night’s drinking. He looked around for the empty bottle and glasses, didn’t see them. Peter must have cleared up before he went upstairs.
Tilly flicked her eyes in his direction but didn’t say anything. They watched together comfortably for a while, Cormac laughing out loud at all the best bits.
‘Beast Boy is my favourite,’ Tilly said.
‘Which one is he?’ Cormac asked. ‘My nephew loves Teen Titans, but I always forget the names.’
‘The green one. With the pointy ears. He’s totally crazy. But he really likes Starfire, and she doesn’t notice at all.’
‘Which one is Starfire?’
‘The one with pink hair.’
‘Oh right.’
By the time the program ended, dawn was breaking and light was creeping through the curtains. Tilly went to the window and pulled back the curtain halfway. ‘Look at all the snow. There’s loads of it. Great big heaps of it. I bet you could make a snowman out of that. Loads of snowmen.’
‘Have you ever made a snowman?’
‘My friend Ruth said she made five snowmen last year. Ruth’s really, really good at making snowmen. She’s easily the best in our whole class.’
She was so full of enthusiasm and excitement that Cormac couldn’t help but smile at her. ‘Do you want to build one now?’ Christ. He could almost hear the Frozen song playing in his head.
She looked down at her slippers and back up at him.
‘Why don’t you run upstairs and get dressed into something very warm. Tell your mum too, make sure she’s okay with it. When you come back down, I’ll show you how to make a snowman. Deal?’
She smiled at him like he was Santa Claus. ‘Deal.’
She took the stairs two at a time and was down again before he’d finished lacing his boots. They found hers along with her winter coat in the hall. Her gloves and hat were stuffed in the pockets so that solved that problem.
‘Your mum said it was okay?’
She nodded. ‘She said she’ll be down in a few minutes.’
‘Grand so.’
They went out into the snow. And there was such a pure and simple pleasure in it. In playing out there, with a happy, healthy child. Showing her how to roll a fat snowball across the garden as it gathered snow to it, to compress it into shape and roll it again until the snow underneath crunched with the weight. When it was big enough, they found a good spot for it, right in front of the living room window. Then they gathered handfuls of snow and packed it on to make it fatter and taller. By then the snow had soaked through Tilly’s gloves and she had peeled them off, abandoned them in the snow. Anna had come to the window, watched them for a while, then disappeared. Tilly was satisfied to leave the rolling of the head to him, but she ran into the house to request a carrot and the three lumps of coal with great enthusiasm. The carrot was the nose, of course, and the coal worked well for three buttons down the tummy. They found stones for eyes, and Cormac sacrificed his own scarf. Then they stood back to admire him.
‘He needs a hat,’ she said. ‘You can’t have a snowman without a hat.’
‘True enough,’ Cormac nodded. He made a show of feeling around on the top of his head. ‘I don’t have one for him,’ he said. ‘Will we ask Peter? Maybe he’ll give us his garda hat, and we can make him a police-snowman.’
All the excitement and pleasure of the moment drained out of Tilly’s face. Just fell away from her as if it had been shot and had fallen to
earth at her feet. She looked . . . numb. As frozen as the icy creature they had built together.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
She nodded stiffly.
‘Did something I said frighten you?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t mean to say anything that would upset you.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she said, and he could see the effort it cost her. ‘I didn’t used to like policemen. But Peter’s a policeman, and I like him. Mam says that he’s different from the others.’ She flicked her eyes in his direction, just like she had at the beginning of the day. ‘Are you like Peter too?’
‘I am, I think,’ Cormac said, very carefully. ‘At least, I’m a garda, like him. My job is to look after people, to keep them safe. You don’t need to be afraid of me, or Peter either.’
She nodded but it was the nod of a child trying to please an adult. There was no conviction behind it. The joy had gone out of the activity and her hands were red and cold-looking. ‘Will we go in and have a bit of breakfast?’ he asked. ‘We can ask your mum and Peter to help us finish our snowman later.’
She ran off like she’d been released from a trap, and Cormac followed more slowly behind.
Cormac told himself that he would have figured it out much faster if he hadn’t been wrecked from the drive, and if he hadn’t arrived right in the middle of the Richard Barrett drama. Anna Collins and her daughter, Tilly – or Matilda – had arrived in Roundstone a couple of months ago. At exactly the same time that Niall Collins’ sister and niece had disappeared from Dublin. What an outrageous coincidence, that he should stumble across them here. Over breakfast he watched Anna, looked for facial similarities to Niall Collins and found very little. Where Niall was pinch-faced and too thin, Anna was rounded and healthy. Where Niall was haunted and afraid to the point of paranoia, Anna seemed confident and comfortable in her own skin, if a little quiet. Though he suspected that there was a reason for that. Now that he was paying closer attention, he noticed how watchful she was. She hid it well, but she was hyper aware of him, of Peter, of the flow of conversation. Anna may not be as obviously terrified as Niall Collins, but she was frightened all the same. And he needed to know why.
‘I’ve been in with Maggie,’ Peter said, as he arrived down late for breakfast. ‘She seems much better this morning.’ He cast a look at Tilly, but she seemed to be off in a dreamworld of her own, paying little attention to the conversation. ‘I haven’t said anything yet, and she hasn’t asked me anything. Have you spoken to her about it all yet, Anna?’
‘Not yet. Maybe we should wait a few days, until she feels better.’
Peter sat and poured himself a cup of tea, buttered some toast.
‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘My head is splitting.’
‘No sympathy for the self-induced,’ Anna said.
Peter laughed. ‘Fair enough,’ he said.
Before breakfast was finished, Tilly, who had clearly had enough of adult conversation, disappeared into the living room. She found a colouring book on the coffee table and set to work in front of the television. Once Cormac was sure she was settled in, he stood to close the door between the kitchen and living room, then returned to the table. Anna looked up straight away and her whole body stilled, as if she knew what was coming.
‘So, Anna,’ Cormac said. ‘What brought you to Galway?’
She shrugged. ‘We needed a fresh start. Dublin wasn’t the right place for us.’
Cormac glanced towards the living room door. ‘Tilly seems like a very happy child,’ he said.
‘She wasn’t always,’ Anna said. Her hand tightened around her cup.
‘No?’ Cormac asked.
Peter looked at him, eyes narrowing. He’d picked up on the shift in the tone of the conversation.
‘No,’ she said. She straightened up in her chair. ‘But all that’s behind us now. And we’re never going back. We’ll stay here, if that’s what Maggie wants. Or I’ll find another place close by, but we’re not going back to Dublin.’
‘I understand,’ Cormac said. ‘I met your brother, you know. Just a couple of days ago. He’s doing all right. He’s living in a squat in Clontarf, with a friend. I just thought you’d like to know.’
Terror bloomed in Anna’s eyes. She pushed her chair back and stood up, almost falling over in her haste to put distance between them.
Cormac reached a hand out to her. ‘It’s all right, Anna,’ he said. ‘This isn’t what you think it is.’
‘What does she think it is?’ Peter asked, his face a picture of confusion. He was half standing too. He’d moved instinctively, turning his body so that it was between Cormac and Anna, sheltering her.
Cormac chose his words very carefully. ‘I think Anna and Tilly had a very frightening encounter with some very bad people, in Dublin. People who know Anna’s brother, Niall. People who maybe use her brother.’ Cormac was watching her face, reading her as best he could, looking for confirmation that he had it right. ‘At least one of those people was a garda. Anna’s given me the benefit of the doubt, up until just a minute ago. But now she’s wondering if I’m one of them. If by mentioning her brother, Niall, I was actually threatening her. Isn’t that right, Anna?’
Anna nodded slowly. She was still standing, but Peter sank back into his chair.
‘You don’t know me, Anna,’ Cormac said. ‘You’ve no reason to trust me. But I think you trust Peter. And Peter has known me for a long time, he’ll vouch for me. I know that there are corrupt gardaí in this country. I’ve been working to try to take them down, to try to send them to prison for what they’ve done. If you can trust me enough to tell me your story, I’ll do everything I can to help you and to help your brother.’
He could see her thinking about it, weighing his words, and what she’d seen of him the evening before, trying to decide. She would be afraid for her daughter, for Niall.
‘Please, Anna,’ Peter said.
She closed her eyes.
‘I wasn’t there,’ she said, eventually.
‘You weren’t where?’ Peter asked.
‘I wasn’t there when it happened.’ She opened her eyes again. ‘But Tilly was.’
She told them her story. The premature death of their mother. Her grandmother’s decision to take them in, and then, a few years later and just as abruptly, to reject them. Niall’s slow descent into drug addiction. His entanglement with the gang. The little favours that started small and built and built.
‘Niall got clean.’ Anna was very tense but her voice was clear and strong and her eyes were dry. ‘It was so hard. But he loved Tilly very much and he got clean for her and for himself. He pulled back from the gang. He didn’t outright refuse them, he’s not stupid, he just stayed inside as much as he could, stayed out of sight. We were going to try to get away together, all of us. I was just working, putting the money away so we’d have enough.’
‘What happened?’ Cormac asked.
Anna swallowed. ‘One night, at the very beginning of summer, I was at work. Some men came by while I was out. Two of them were . . . people Niall used to know. Used to work for.’
‘And one of them was a garda,’ Cormac said.
Anna nodded. ‘They brought someone with them. A man like Niall. An addict. Someone they weren’t very happy with. They brought him there to show Niall. To show him what happens when you make them angry.’
‘They killed him, didn’t they?’ Cormac asked quietly.
‘They shot him. He did it. The garda. Right there in the living room. Tilly saw it. She was in her room, but I think she came running when she heard the shot. She saw the dead man, saw them roll him up in my rug and carry it away. Niall told me later that they buried the body in the back of an industrial estate, just around the corner. When I got home, Niall was in a state, there was blood everywhere, all over the carpet. He’d put Tilly to bed, but he was in shock. He wasn’t able to comfort her. And then he took off. They’d left him a little packet of heroin, as a welcome-back gift. He took th
at with him.’
Silence hung between them for a long moment.
‘Jesus, Anna,’ Peter said. He couldn’t seem to find the words.
‘They taught us a lesson, all right,’ she said. ‘You don’t cross the McGraths.’
‘Do you know the name of the garda? The one who did the shooting?’
‘Yes,’ Anna said. Her hands were trembling now. What a risk she was taking, in telling them all this.
‘I think I know who it was,’ Cormac said. ‘But I need you to tell me.’
And then, just as he’d known she would, Anna opened her mouth and said the name.
‘Trevor Murphy.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Peter said. He stood up, paced the room.
‘You knew him,’ Cormac said.
Anna nodded. ‘Niall knew him, so I knew him. I’d seen him before.’
‘There are cameras all over your building,’ Cormac said. ‘They would have been recorded entering and leaving your flat. Carrying the body.’
She shrugged. ‘They didn’t seem worried about it.’
‘They have to have switched them off,’ Peter said. ‘They must have control of them.’
Of course they did. The cameras would be run by a private security firm. The McGraths probably owned the fucking thing. Cormac rubbed his hand across his jaw. This. This was exactly what he had been afraid of. With gardaí as part of their own private army, the McGraths would be unstoppable. And he’d screwed it up so badly that he’d not only managed to lose his job, but all credibility along with it.
‘I’ll go to Dublin,’ Cormac said. ‘I still have friends, contacts. I’ll see if there’s anything I can track down.’ He wasn’t going to ask Anna to give a statement. The way things were, it would be a death sentence, for her and her daughter. He would need other evidence. There were options. An anonymous tip to the right person might get them out digging at that industrial estate, for starters.
‘Anna, what is it?’ Peter said. He was looking at her as if he thought she had something left to tell.
She was looking at her hands, her face very still.
‘I love my brother,’ she said. ‘And I trust him. Really, I do.’ She lifted her head. ‘But when you’re an addict, you’re not always the one making the decisions. Sometimes, you let the drugs do that for you.’
The Good Turn Page 31