‘You think he’ll turn on his father?’
‘I don’t think he’d even blink,’ Cormac said.
Matheson sat back in his chair. ‘This won’t be easy,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be a long, difficult haul, and afterwards a longer haul building up the force again.’
‘Yes,’ Cormac said.
‘There were rumours that you might be contemplating an overseas move, before all of this went down.’
‘No.’
‘No?’ Matheson said.
Cormac said nothing.
‘That’s good, then, if you’re sure,’ Matheson said. ‘I need you here. There’s work to be done.’
EPILOGUE
One month later, almost to the day, Cormac Reilly entered Mill Street Garda Station for the first time since Brian Murphy had suspended him. He wasn’t alone. He had officers with him, officers hand-picked by Kevin Matheson, men and women he’d grown to trust over the past weeks of quiet, focused work. Peter Fisher was with him too, quietly reclaimed weeks ago from his Roundstone assignment. Officially, Peter was on leave. Cormac could have done the work without him. He just hadn’t wanted to. They climbed the stairs, then made their way through the squad room to the offices beyond. Heads turned as they walked. Dave McCarthy was there, Deirdre Russell. They exchanged a nod. Moira Hanley stood and watched them progress, a look of consternation on her face. Cormac didn’t knock when they reached the office of the Superintendent. Just opened the door.
‘Brian Murphy, you are under arrest for conspiracy to pervert the course of justice. You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but whatever you say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence.’
Brian Murphy pushed his chair back from his desk, half stood. ‘You’re on suspension,’ he said. ‘Under investigation. Get out of my office.’
‘Fisher,’ Cormac said. He handed a set of handcuffs to the younger man. Peter took Brian Murphy by the arm, turned him forcefully, cuffed him and patted him down all before Murphy could utter another word. Murphy bucked suddenly, kicking out.
‘Get your fucking hands off me. You can’t touch me. I’m going to have you put in the darkest hole of a cell that can be found in this country, do you hear me? You’ll never be heard from again.’
‘Shut up,’ Cormac said. ‘Don’t embarrass yourself.’
Murphy seemed almost more shocked by that, by Cormac’s confidence, than he was by the handcuffs.
‘Don’t tell me you never saw this day coming,’ Cormac said. ‘You never thought that you’d be caught? Come on, Brian. That someday you’d have to pay a price for it all?’
They’d done the work right. Had quietly exhumed the body of Trevor Murphy’s victim from the industrial estate Anna had mentioned, found it still wrapped in the carpet from her apartment. Then, over the course of two short, sleepless days and nights, they’d made targeted arrests. One after another the dominoes fell, until they took Trevor Murphy from his apartment at two in the morning, brought him to a cell and presented him with the watertight case they’d built against him. When he’d realised that there was no way out for him, he’d opened his mouth and spilled everything, in exchange for a guarantee to keep him safe in prison.
Cormac was still unclear on Brian’s motivation. Anthony Healy had been the instigator, it seemed. He’d had a long and sordid arrangement with the McGraths, had been taking smaller bribes for years to look the other way at the right times. But Trevor Murphy had taken that petty corruption and had seen the potential. Over the past three years he had recruited a police force within the police force, including his own father, all on the payroll of the biggest drug gang in the country. Cormac still wondered if Brian had gotten involved out of some sort of misplaced loyalty to his son or if he’d done it out of good old-fashioned greed. In the end, maybe the motivation didn’t matter.
‘You didn’t wonder why Trevor’s been so quiet over the past few days? He hasn’t been quiet really, Brian. He hasn’t been quiet at all.’
Cormac walked Brian Murphy out through the squad room, his hand firmly on the older man’s shoulder while Peter held Murphy’s other arm. He was panicked and wild-eyed, unable to process what was happening to him and ready to make a bolt for it. Cormac half expected to be challenged, that at least one officer would step forward and ask what the hell they were doing, handcuffing and marching the Superintendent through the station. But nobody did. They stood back and watched. Cormac thought about what Matheson had said about the cult of personality and shuddered inwardly. He stopped at the door.
‘Dave,’ he said.
Dave McCarthy stepped forward. Cormac showed him the warrant. ‘We’re taking him to Salthill Station,’ Cormac said. ‘He’ll be questioned there. Special custody arrangements have been made.’
‘Right,’ Dave said. He was trying to avoid looking directly at Murphy, who had started to make small involuntary noises, like a trapped rat.
Cormac and Peter led Murphy downstairs, put him in the back of a squad car. Cormac was driving. Peter turned to look behind them as they drove away.
‘Don’t worry, Peter,’ Cormac said. ‘We’ll be back.’
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Beware! This note contains spoilers.
Roundstone is a real place. It’s very pretty, with excellent pubs, fantastic food, and friendly people. I recommend a visit. The Roundstone in this book is not a real place. It’s a hodgepodge of memories and made-up places, and it is populated with made-up people. I’m absolutely certain that the local doctors do not go around murdering their elderly patients, nor are the local gardaí corrupt or inept. I hope they will forgive the liberties I’ve taken in pursuit of a good story.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing an acknowledgements section for a book is an incredible privilege. This is the third time I’ve had a chance to sit down and think about a book and think about all the people who helped me to make it. I have to admit, though, the last eighteen months flew by in a blur of children, life, writing, editing, promoting, and travelling, and I am at the end of it, looking back, and wondering if I can remember a single specific day of the whole process. Still, even if the writing of the book has become a blur, the thanking part is easy. Because the people you want to thank are always there, minding your back and propping you up and laughing and encouraging and living the blurred life right there with you.
So! Thank you to the readers. Thanks for loving a good story the same way I do. Thanks for your heart and your imagination and your generosity.
Thank you to my husband, Kenny. My best mate and my partner through thick and thin. Love you, K.
Thank you to my children, Freya and Oisín. For the funnies, the hugs, the drawings, the encouragement and the love. Also for the introduction to the Teen Titans.
Thank you to my besties, Claire, Libby and Sara, for being child-rearing experts, and just generally brilliant, generous and interesting women who work so hard and still know how to have fun. Also for the introduction to the Teen Titans.
Thank you to my other bestie, Sara Foster, for always being willing to talk books, publishing, kids, and everything in between, and for having a sense of humour about it all, even on our grumpy days.
Thank you to my editor, Anna Valdinger, who is always there with a wise word or a joke and with immaculate timing, knows which is needed. Thank you to Rachel Dennis and Emma Rafferty, too, for all your hard work on The Good Turn.
Thank you to Alice Wood. Alice, you are a campaign manager extraordinaire. Thank you for all your hard work, your insight and your generosity of spirit. It’s a privilege to work with you.
Thank you to the entire HarperCollins team, including James Kellow and Brigitta Doyle for your support, Darren Holt for your fantastic covers, and Tom Wilson, Darren Kelly and the entire sales team for everything that you do.
Thank you to all the booksellers and librarians I’ve met over the past couple of years, and to those I’ve yet to meet. I’m so grateful for all of your ext
raordinary support. Thank you for being the backbone of our industry.
And a deep and heartfelt thank you to my agent, Shane Salerno. Shane, I don’t know what I did to deserve you (nothing, probably) but I feel extraordinarily lucky to have you as my agent. Thank you for your limitless support and for all the things you do, every day, that no one ever knows about but that make the difference between a book and a career. Also, for the jokes.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DERVLA McTIERNAN’s debut novel, The Rúin, is a critically acclaimed international bestseller published around the world. The Rúin won the Ned Kelly Award for Best First Fiction, the Davitt Award for Best Adult Fiction and the Barry Award for Best Original Paperback; was shortlisted for the Irish Book Awards in two categories, the Western Australian Premier’s Book Awards, and the Australian Book Industry Awards; and was longlisted for the Indie Awards. It was on the Amazon US Best Book of the Year list in 2018 and screen rights were snapped up by Hopscotch Features. Dervla’s second book, The Scholar, debuted straight into the Nielsen Bookscan Top 5 on release in 2019, confirming her place as one of Australia’s best new crime writers.
Dervla was born in County Cork, Ireland, to a family of seven. She studied corporate law at the National University of Ireland, Galway, and the Law Society of Ireland, and practised as a lawyer for twelve years. Following the global financial crisis, she moved with her family to Western Australia, where she now lives with her husband and two children. An avid fan of crime and detective novels from childhood, Dervla now writes full time.
ALSO BY DERVLA McTIERNAN
The Rúin
The Scholar
The Sisters (audio-only novella)
COPYRIGHT
HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in Australia in 2020
by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
harpercollins.com.au
Copyright © Dervla McTiernan 2020
The right of Dervla McTiernan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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Cover design by HarperCollins Design Studio
Cover images: Jetty by Paul O’ Hanlon/Getty Images; sunrise by Robert Canis/robertharding/Getty Images; all other images by shutterstock.com
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