The Day That Never comes (The Dublin Trilogy Book 2)

by Caimh McDonnell

  Maggie gave him a nonplussed expression.

  "We could go to the Guards? Only, what are we going to tell 'em? You know that bloke who got blown up? Well we reckoned he was actually the killer. That'll go down well."

  Maggie seemed unenthusiastic.

  "We could go to the hospital and try and find Phil, only…" Paul didn't want to say it, but Phil's Auntie Lynn would no doubt be there, and looking for someone to blame for her darling nephew nearly getting blown up. With all his heart, Paul did not want to be that person. Lynn on the warpath was not something you wanted to be trapped in front of.

  "We can't help Brigit," said Paul, "because we haven't the first clue where the hell she is."

  Maggie continued to stare at him.

  "Don't look at me like that, you've not come up with any ideas have ye?"

  Maggie turned her head slightly.

  "Neither of us are any good for this. What we need to ask ourselves is, ‘What would Brigit do?’ She's the clever one. Figuring out that tracker thing, downloading the app, sending the… ah, shite."

  Paul opened his desk drawer and grabbed the keys to Bunny's car.

  "Would it have killed ye to say something before now? C'mon."

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  To be fair, Brigit had known it was a bad idea as soon as she'd had it. The problem was, she didn't have any other ideas to replace it with. Her phone had managed to hang on just long enough to show her the flashing red dot in the tracker app turning onto the coast road. She'd then put her foot down and got there just in time to see a blue BMW turning off in the distance, through the gates of a compound containing three apparently derelict buildings. The car had disappeared entirely from view by the time the winding road had let her reach the gates. Brigit parked up.

  Judging by the dust-covered sign that lay strewn on the ground inside the fence, the place had once been a cement factory. One building the size of a large warehouse was flanked either side by two, more conventional, two-storey structures. Each was now reduced to a boarded-up, graffiti-covered husk; they looked as if they would benefit from being put out of their collective miseries. A large sign proclaimed this to be the proposed site of the Seaview two-bed luxury apartments, and promised a brighter tomorrow. Brigit guessed that interest had not been strong. The only thing that looked new or well-maintained was the fence. It was nine-foot high, with barbed wire atop it. Clearly some people had thought the location would make an excellent dump. The grass verge in front of the fence was strewn with rubbish of all descriptions, from bin bags to household appliances, clothing and more. It looked like half an unhappy car boot sale had been discarded there.

  Brigit had considered her options, what little there were. She could drive back to Howth, find a phone and ring the police. She had not got a clue what she would say to them, though. She wasn't even sure that the car she'd seen was the one with the tracker.

  She could wait for the car to re-emerge and try to follow it without the assistance of the tracker. She wasn't wildly optimistic about her chances of doing that successfully. Even if she did, this did rather look like the spot where something nefarious could be going on.

  When in doubt, do something; that was her unofficial motto. Admittedly, that something had almost certainly been a terrible idea, but still, she was getting tired of searching and finding nothing but yet more questions. She had a hunch that whatever lay inside those buildings might finally hold an answer.

  This was how she had justified doing a fly-tipping-assisted assault course. An old washing machine had proven just about sturdy enough to stand on, allowing Brigit to hurl a roll of mouldy carpet onto the top of the barbed wire fence. She'd then spent five minutes she'd rather forget, attempting to climb over while blanking the foul stench of the carpet out of her mind, along with any thoughts of what might have caused it. A ripped pair of jeans, a bruised arse and an unpleasant stickiness in her hair later, and she was over.

  It was only when she got over that she noticed the sign that warned of guard dogs. Seriously, who put that kind of sign facing inwards on a fence? Some sick and twisted individual, that was who.

  Brigit moved as quickly and quietly as she could around the buildings. First sign of trouble she'd leg it and call the Guards; it seemed like a sound plan.

  She skirted one of the smaller structures but couldn't hear anything, and the windows were firmly boarded up. As she approached the main doors of the hangar, she could see tyre tracks leading in past the large wooden doors. She pressed her ear against them and could hear the faint, indistinct murmur of voices.

  Then, from behind her, someone cleared their throat.

  She looked over her shoulder to see a man standing there. He was tall, with a stocky build and a tightly-cropped head of hair. His lips were smiling, but his eyes were definitely not. It took Brigit a couple of seconds to notice that though, as the foreground of her vision was dominated by the large handgun he was holding inches from her head.

  "Hi, ehm… I know this is going to sound mad, but… you don't happen to have a charger for an iPhone do you?"

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Monday 7 February 2000 – Evening

  "Are you sure about this?" asked Mavis Chambers. She clutched at her handbag nervously as she looked around them. City Hall made her nervous, it was all marble and southsiders, neither of which she was used to.

  In the absence of an answer, she looked up at Bunny McGarry, who stood beside her staring at the floor.

  "Are you listening to me?"

  "No, Mavis, I'm not."

  "Well you feckin' should be. Are you sure we're going to be all right?"

  Bunny pointed at the intricate design on the floor. "Do you know what this is?"

  Mavis looked down at it irritably. "A nightmare to clean I'd imagine. What's your point?"

  "It's the official Dublin city crest. See that Latin there, 'Obedientia Civium Urbis Felictas', that means, 'The obedience of the citizens produces a happy city'. What gobshite do you think came up with that?"

  "You speak Latin now, do you?"

  "I do, actually. That's the Christian Brothers for you. They'll educate you, or kill you in the attempt."

  "Well now you won't have a hurling team to coach any more, maybe you can start giving classes in it."

  "Relax," Bunny repeated, "I told you, we'll be fine."

  Mavis looked up as the familiar figure of Councillor Jarleth Court walked by. He looked like he'd been dragged arse-ways through a hedge.

  "Good evening, Councillor" said Mavis.

  "Jarleth," said Bunny with a nod.

  Court didn't even look up as he continued to trudge past. "Fuck you, Bunny."

  Mavis grabbed Bunny's arm. "I thought you said he was on our side now?"

  "He is," said Bunny.

  "Christ Almighty, in that case, I'd hate to meet the undecideds."

  Bunny carefully removed Mavis's hand from his arm, where she belatedly realised she had been gripping a tad too tightly.

  She looked around the chamber. With five minutes to go, there were plenty of people milling about. Councillors, interested parties and what have you. She looked behind them. Her eight-year-old granddaughter Tamara was sitting in a chair, swinging her legs back and forth. Bored as only a child could be when forced to come to some really dull adult stuff and then being told not to touch anything.

  Mavis's attention was drawn away by a loud bellow of laughter from a group of men standing in the corner. She glared across at them. She knew all too well who they were.

  "If we're going to be fine," she said, "then how come the enemy over there look so happy with their lot in life?"

  "I dunno," said Bunny, "perhaps they're taking the news really well."

  As if on cue, one of the men looked across and made eye contact with them. He whispered a quick remark to his colleagues and then started moving across the lobby towards where Mavis and Bunny stood. The surreptitious glances and badly-hidden smirks from his group gave the game away. Li
ttle boys who had dared one of their number to torture the new kid.

  The man himself wasn't much to look at; small, glasses, with a head of hair that was fading fast and a shit-eating grin that was only growing. He extended his hand out to Bunny as he reached them.

  "Paschal Maloney. I believe you are Mr Bunny McGarry."

  Bunny took his hand and shook it. "Detective, actually."

  "Yes, of course. How forgetful of me." Maloney grinned up at the bigger man. "Can I just say how much I have enjoyed your ha… efforts, over the last few days. They have been most entertaining to watch."

  "Well, thanks very much. That means a lot coming from a whimpering little shite like yourself."

  Maloney pulled a disappointed face. "Now, now, Detective, nobody likes a sore loser."

  "I've not lost."

  "That's the spirit. I hope you’ll come to see that the regeneration of the area—"

  Bunny laughed. "You love that word don't you? Regeneration. Reminds me of that old show on the telly, Doctor Who. D'ye know the one? Where every couple of years, the Doctor would 'regenerate'."

  Maloney nodded. "Yes, yes. I was always a fan."

  "Thing is, while they called it 'regeneration', it wasn't really, was it? It was somebody entirely different. The old Doctor was just replaced, moved on, wiped from the face of the Earth. Like you're trying to do with the people who already live there."

  "You're more moralistic than I would have suspected from your recent actions, Detective."

  Bunny laughed. "Oh no, I'm actually worse than you, ye little rat-faced rim-rubber. That's why I've won."

  Maloney tipped his head to the side and gave his best face of faked sincerity. "Oh dear, I'm afraid I know a few things that you don't."

  "Yeah," said Bunny, "I could say the same."

  Mavis turned at the sound of the doors opening. Councillor Baylor had entered, with his entourage in tow. "Here comes that ‘Snow White’ bastard."

  She looked back at Bunny, who was reaching his hand into his coat as he looked down at Maloney. "Let's pull our mickeys out and see who wins?"

  Bunny took something from his coat and turned around, swinging his arm just enough as he did so that Maloney flinched back reflexively.

  "Tamara," said Bunny, "come here, sweetheart."

  Tamara, always the well-behaved girl, looked at her granny for a nod of confirmation before scampering across. Bunny bent down and spoke softly to her.

  "Now love, you see that white-haired man who just walked in?" She nodded. "Good. Go and give him this note and tell him he has to read it straight away. No peeking now."

  She took the note he extended to her, and immediately set about her task. Mavis glanced back at Maloney, whose face was more curious than concerned. Tamara skipped across to Councillor Baylor and said her line with a look of intense concentration. Baylor stopped and bent down to talk to her. No politician, no matter how much of a rush they're in, walks by a little girl who wants to say something. Somebody might have a camera. She handed him the note and then skipped off. Baylor shared a quick smile with the man and woman who had walked in with him, then opened the note.

  He read it.

  Then he re-read it.

  Then the colour drained from his face.

  For a moment, it looked like he might collapse. The younger man with him extended a hand to support his boss. He and his female colleague shared a look of uncomprehending shock. The woman reached down to take the note from Baylor's hand. At the last second, her boss realised what she was doing and quickly shoved it into the pocket of his overcoat. The rest of the large reception area had grown silent, as one by one they noticed the stares of others being directed towards the doors.

  Mavis looked back at Maloney's face. His smug grin was now gone, replaced by a look of confusion. Tamara skipped back to her grandmother's side.

  "Did I do it right, Granny?"

  "You were perfect, my angel, perfect."

  Maloney pushed by them, exchanging looks with his group of associates, their confused expressions mirroring his own. He strode towards Baylor. The Councillor still looked ill, running his hand across his forehead. Mavis had seen similar reactions from people who'd just been informed of a shocking death in the family. She looked up at Bunny. His face betrayed no emotion as he watched. Maloney was now in whispered conversation with Baylor and his two confederates.

  Bunny leaned down and whispered something in Tamara's ear, only looking up when Maloney raised his voice in disbelief. "What?" It echoed around the large reception chamber.

  There was more hushed conversation as Baylor's two assistants tried to placate a now highly irritated Maloney. Baylor, for his part, had taken a step back and was looking off into the distance, an unreadable expression on his face. Then Baylor looked at Tamara, and looked up to see Bunny standing above her. They locked eyes for a long moment before Baylor looked away.

  Maloney tried to move forward to talk to Baylor, but the male assistant put his hand on the smaller man's arm to stop him. Maloney shook it off angrily and hissed something in Baylor's direction. Baylor spoke a few final words and then pushed by him, heading towards the council chamber. His associates followed, leaving a shell-shocked Maloney in their wake.

  Mavis looked at Bunny. "What is going on, Bunny?"

  "We might be done with the past," said Bunny, "but the past ain't done with us."

  Maloney strode towards them, his face beetroot red with fury, his lips convulsing in and out of a puckering pout. Gone was the smarmy politeness, replaced by a barely contained fury.

  "You can't…" stammered Maloney, "what the hell have you done?"

  Bunny picked up his sheepskin coat from the chair beside where Tamara had sat. "What I needed to."

  "You can't just… blackmail people."

  "Oh please," said Bunny. "Pull the other one, it's got my bollocks attached."

  "Bunny!" exclaimed Mavis, looking down pointedly at Tamara.

  "Sorry. Excuse my French."

  Maloney's face was bright red now.

  "I'll get you for this, you buffoon. You see if I don't. Nobody humiliates me."

  Bunny sighed. "I didn't do this to humiliate you, ye egotistical little arse muncher. I did it because it was what was right. It was what was necessary. Because sometimes, the only way to beat the dirty dogs is to get dirtier. I didn't do it to humiliate you," repeated Bunny.

  Bunny glanced down at Tamara who was looking up at him patiently.

  "Now, sweetheart."

  She nodded and punched Maloney as hard as she could in the testicles.

  He folded over like a deflating parade balloon and crumpled to the floor.

  Bunny calmly stepped over him and started walking towards the exit.

  "Now that… I did to humiliate you."

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  The hand at her back pushed Brigit roughly through the door, causing her to stumble into the wall.

  "All right! Go easy. This is all a big misunderstanding."

  The same unnervingly blank smile greeted her.

  She turned and looked around her. The room had probably once been an office, but judging by the graffiti, beer cans and broken glass amongst the other rubbish on the floor, it had been a while. An overwhelming stench of decay and urine permeated the area. This place must have been manna from heaven for the local unsavoury youths until the new fencing had been installed. Brigit looked up to see a face she recognised, in a context she didn't. Paschal Maloney, the little rodent-faced one from the Skylark Three, stood in the centre of the room looking at her. Her captor slammed the door closed behind them and stood with his gun trained on her. With his muscular build, and salt and pepper hair cut tight, he looked like George Clooney halfway through a difficult bowel movement. Not that George ever sneered like that.

  "Who are you?" asked Maloney. "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm really sorry," said Brigit, "I… I just wanted to come in and look at the place, is all."

  "Don't lie to me
."

  "Honestly, I'm just… I'm a big fan of old buildings."

  Maloney pointed at the other man. "This is Mr Coetzee, he has a tremendous capacity for pain. Other people's."

  Coetzee moved towards her, Brigit tried to back away towards the corner. Coetzee smiled at her as he advanced. Broken glass crunched under Brigit's feet as she tried to back away.

  "OK, just calm down—"

  "I'll ask you again, what are you doing here?"

  "Seriously, I'm a big fan of old buildings—"

  The backhanded slap hit her like an unexpected wave in the sea, knocking her to the ground and scrambling her senses. The left side of her face stung and her jaw ached. She spun off the wall and landed hard on the ground, glass cutting into her hand as she put it out to break her fall. She tried to kick her left leg out behind her only to have her foot grabbed, while a heavy boot pinned her right leg. She screamed, partly through pain and partly through fear of what was going to happen next.

  "Stop!"

  Brigit turned towards the female voice. A blonde woman stood in the doorway behind Maloney. She looked utterly incongruous amidst the grim and graffiti, looking like she’d just stepped off the cover of a magazine. She took a couple of steps into the room.

  "Her name is Brigit Conroy. She is the other partner in their little detective agency."

  Maloney turned to her. "You told me she was out of the picture."

  The blonde woman shrugged, "Mulchrone said she was."

  "Clearly you got it wrong, didn't you?"

  "Don't blame me for this. You were the one who wanted to involve them in the first place. I said we should—"

  "Are you questioning me, Megan?" Maloney's voice went up an octave and his face reddened. "I am in charge here. You will not question me!"

  "No, baby, no." She walked over and placed her hand upon Maloney's chest. She was a good six inches taller than him and a good six divisions ahead of him in the attractiveness stakes. "I'm sorry, it's just, we're so close now. You have just announced that McGarry is the Púca." She looked across at the man Maloney had referred to as Coetzee, and her eyes hardened once again. "Someone must have allowed an amateur to follow you here."