by Arlene Hunt
Andrea had made a mistake.
Someone had broken her trust, someone close to her.
If it was the last thing he ever did, he would find that person. They would get what was coming to them, he would see to it personally.
Chapter Fifteen
Conversation on the drive back from the morgue was pretty much non-existent. Cora sat slumped in the passenger seat with her arms folded and her face set towards the window.
She was upset, Roxy could see that, but she had no idea what she was so upset about or how best to address the issue, so she said nothing. Somehow this only seemed to make matters worse.
When Roxy parked in the underground car park at the station, Cora got out, slammed the door and stalked up the ramp without saying a word, leaving her to take the lift upstairs alone. She went straight to find Morrissey. He was in his cubicle, leaning back in his chair, arms folded, eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. Inspectors did not have to share with anyone, so the space was all his. She noticed he had added a number of stains to the egg from earlier.
‘Sir.’
He jerked upright.
‘What?’
‘Sir,’ she said, ‘is Noel Furlong in custody yet?’
‘Where the fuck were you?’ Morrissey demanded, his face redder than ever. ‘I was looking for you.’
She doubted that, but she went along with it.
‘I was at Andrea Colgan’s autopsy, sir.’
‘For what?’
Roxy frowned. Was this a trick question? ‘Sir?’
‘Waste of time.’
‘Sir, I don’t believe it was, Dr King was—’
‘Anyway, it’s not our problem any more.’ He leaned back and belched softly. Roxy smelled roast chicken on his breath and tried not to gag.
‘I don’t know what you mean, Inspector.’
‘I mean,’ he said, ‘it’s not our problem any more. Inspector Eli Quinn is taking over the case.’
‘Quinn, sir?’
‘Yeah, and by the way, I’ve had a complaint about you.’
‘Me?’ She was genuinely shocked. ‘What complaint? From who?’
‘You withheld information.’
Roxy was totally confused. Had Edwina called ahead already, broken the news about the pregnancy despite her view to the contrary?
‘You’re on probation, yeah?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Want some advice?’
It was on the tip of her tongue to say no when she remembered how much she had wanted this gig.
‘Sure.’
‘If a superior officer tells you he wants a particular detective on the case, don’t let your ego get in the fucking way. We don’t have room in Homicide for glory hounds.’
Johnson, that miserable cockroach. Roxy’s expression remained stoic, but her temper was boiling. This was politics, pure and simple. She could smell the stench of it. Johnson had tagged Quinn, who had bullied Morrissey and snagged their case right out from under them.
‘I’ll do my best to remember that, sir.’
‘See to it that you do. Now bugger off, Malloy, some of us have work to do.’
She hesitated. ‘Sir, I met the victim’s father at the morgue. I think Noel Furlong might be in considerable danger.’
‘Who?’
Roxy tried not to scream. ‘Noel Furlong, sir, he was Andrea Colgan’s boyfriend.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Morrissey’s lids were drooping with apathy. ‘Don’t worry about him. Quinn’s crew will pick him up for questioning. Now go on, Malloy, keep your eye on Dispatch; something new is bound to come in on the wire.’
Seething, Roxy walked back to her cubicle, but she was too restless to work. She couldn’t get Dominic Travers out of her mind, or the look on his face.
Fuck it.
She ran Furlong’s details, went downstairs to the main floor and looked around for a patsy.
‘You,’ she barked, doing her best impression of Morrissey.
A young Garda struggling with a stab vest looked at her, saw her stripes and snapped to attention.
‘Ma’am.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Gant, ma’am.’
‘Are you starting or finishing your shift?’
‘Starting, Sergeant.’
She thrust an address into his hand.
‘I need eyes and ears on this address, Gant. If you see anything odd, you call it in, got it?’
‘Now?’ He looked a little scared. ‘Only I’m supposed to be accompanying Officer Keegan on patrol at—’
‘This takes precedence, Officer.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Can I ask what it is I’m looking for?’
Roxy remembered the photo she had taken from the apartment. She took it out and showed him. ‘This guy, his name is Noel Furlong. If you see him, detain him and call it in.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Good.’ She nodded approvingly, turned and began to walk away. She was halfway to the door when she heard, ‘Ma’am?’
‘What?’
He looked at her, his face pink and apologetic.
‘Who are you, ma’am?’
For the first time that day, Roxy Malloy laughed.
* * *
Roxy collected Edwina King’s autopsy report from her cubicle and went upstairs. Nancy was nowhere to be seen, so Roxy tapped on Gussy’s door. Gussy roared, ‘Come in.’
He didn’t look up from his paperwork, even when she stood at his desk. As the seconds ticked by, Roxy decided she was tired of his act and cleared her throat.
‘Sir, I have a request.’
Gussy sighed. ‘I assume by now you’ve spoken to Inspector Morrissey?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Sit down, Sergeant Malloy.’
She sat in the same chair she had sat in earlier that day and put Edwina’s report down on his desk.
‘I’ve just come from the morgue.’
Gussy put his pen down, leaned back in his chair and gave her a long, appraising look.
‘The morgue?’
‘Officer Simmons and I went to witness Andrea Colgan’s autopsy. Dominic Travers, the victim’s father, was there. I spoke to him briefly.’
‘Why?’
‘Sir?’
‘Why did you speak to him?’
‘Er, it seemed prudent.’
‘Do you like aggravating me, Malloy?’
‘Not especially, sir.’
‘If you’ve spoken to Morrissey then you know this is no longer your case.’
‘I know it’s no longer Morrissey’s case, but with your permission I would like to stay with it.’
‘Oh you would, would you?’
‘I assure you, sir, it is not my intention to create any difficulties.’
‘You know what they say about intentions: the road to hell is paved with them.’ Gussy smoothed his moustache with his thumb and forefinger. ‘Quinn has a squad in place.’
‘He’ll take me if you tell him to.’
‘Why would I do that?’
Roxy kept her gaze steady.
‘Sir, with respect, I have already established a relationship with Andrea Colgan’s mother, I believe I would be beneficial to the investigation.’
‘You mean you want to get out from under Inspector Morrissey.’
Roxy let her gaze wander to the plaque on the wall behind Gussy’s head. Say nothing, she thought, don’t blow this by bitching about a senior officer.
Gussy’s chin jutted towards the file.
‘What’s that you have there?’
‘Edwina King’s preliminary report on Andrea Colgan.’
‘Hand it over.’
She passed it to him. Gussy opened it, sat back and read silently and with great concentration. At one point the muscles around his mouth tightened and his lips thinned to a line. When he was done, he sat for a little while digesting all that he had read.
‘She was pregnant?’
‘Yes, sir. Edwina estimates the foetus to be ele
ven weeks, but she’s getting a second opinion. There will be an issue over DNA extraction.’
‘Of course there will.’ Gussy closed the folder and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘We live in a repugnant time, Malloy, a sinful, wicked and fallen time.’
Roxy didn’t know what to say to that, so decided it was better she said nothing.
‘This is a mess, an unholy mess.’
‘Yes, sir, it is.’
He stared at his desk for so long, she wondered if she should remind him of her presence with another throat clearance. But then he looked up.
‘All right, talk to Quinn, see if he can find a place for you on the squad.’
‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir.’
Roxy got up and walked to the door. Her fingers had barely grazed the doorknob when Gussy spoke again.
‘You’re ambitious, Malloy, and that’s a good thing.’
Roxy heard the ‘but’ before he said it and tensed her shoulders.
‘But listen to me, Sergeant, take it from an old dog who has seen more than his fair share of ambitious officers come and go. Learn to play with others; it will benefit you in the fullness of time.’
Roxy bristled. ‘Was that it, sir?’
‘And remember this.’ Gussy smiled so benevolently, she wanted to slap him. ‘“When justice is done it is a joy to the righteous but a terror to the evildoers.”’
‘Sir?’
‘Proverbs 21:15.’ Gussy picked up his pen and pretended to write something. ‘Good afternoon, Sergeant, don’t let me keep you.’
Chapter Sixteen
By late afternoon, dark clouds had rolled across the city, carried on a rising wind, and the rain soon followed.
Noel Furlong was soaked to the skin by the time he ducked into the side door of Grogan’s pub and went straight to the men’s bathroom. Luckily the single cubicle was empty. He locked the door, pulled the toilet seat down and dug his phone out of his pocket, shivering from a combination of cold and shock.
He pressed the phone to his lips. Who could he call? Who could he trust? Where could he lie low for a few days?
The Rank would be all over his sister, Caroline, he was sure of that. It was probably the first place they’d look for him.
Droplets of rain ran from his face. He ripped a few sheets of tissue from the holder and wiped his forehead, leaving little pieces stuck to his skin. When he closed his eyes, he felt sick to his stomach.
His phone rang in his hand, scaring him so badly he almost screamed. He checked caller ID and saw that it was Mags, his boss at the tattoo parlour.
He answered.
‘Hey girl.’
‘Don’t you dare hey girl me,’ she said, sounding not in the least bit friendly. ‘I’ve had the fucking Rank in here asking me all kind of questions about you. You asshole, you told me you wanted to borrow my van for a job.’
‘Look, Mags—’
‘No, you look, this is serious. You’re all over the news; my shop is all over the news.’
‘Mags, listen to me, I can explain …’
‘I don’t know what you’re up to, Noel, but you better turn yourself in. This is some serious shit. They told me you were a person of interest in a murder!’
‘Mags, you have to believe me, I’m innocent.’
‘Yeah, well, where there’s smoke there’s fire in my view. So don’t come near me or the shop until this shit is sorted out. I don’t need this kind of exposure.’
She hung up.
A person of interest?
He went on to a news site and read in mute horror.
Body found earlier in Dundrum: The female found bludgeoned to death in an apartment shortly after six a.m. this morning has been named as Andrea Colgan. Gardai are treating the death as homicide and have issued an appeal for any witnesses. A special hotline is now open.
* * *
Update: Gardai are particularly interested in speaking with a man named locally as Noel Furlong. Mr Furlong is considered a person of interest.
Homicide, shit … and his name plastered all over the place, which meant Dominic Travers was probably combing the city looking for him.
He chewed the skin of his knuckle. This changed things. Travers was a bloody madman. If he found him before the Rank, there was no telling what he would do. Noel had heard the stories, of course he had, but up until now they hadn’t mattered, they were just stories.
Now, suddenly, they mattered a lot.
Someone came into the toilet and stood outside the door, breathing heavily.
Noel froze, head cocked, listening. Had someone spotted him, followed him? He looked around, but there was no window: no way out.
He was trapped.
He yelped when whoever it was pounded on the door.
‘Y’right in there?’
‘I’ll be out in a minute.’
‘Hurry up, man. I’m touching cloth here.’
‘Fuck off, will you.’
He heard muttering, the sound of the door opening and closing again.
Time, he needed time, somewhere he could lie low while he figured out his next move. Somewhere close by, someone he could trust not to dob him in. Someone who didn’t know Andrea, or wouldn’t be interested in—
Storm.
Frantically he scrolled through his contacts, praying he still had her number, sagging with relief when he found it. He made the call but the phone rang out. Why did the silly bint never answer calls?
Swearing, he sent a message.
U home?
He waited, eyes fixed on the screen so hard they ached. Come on come on come on.
Then, finally, there was a reply, of sorts.
Dis?
He typed: Noel. We partied at Risen.
Sup?
Need to C U.
This time the wait was longer. He tried to remember how he’d left things with her and couldn’t. The last time they’d been together he’d been so high he could barely remember his own name.
A horrifying thought occurred to him. Travers was connected to some bigwig in the Department of Justice. They probably had access to all kinds of weird spy intel or some shit. Could they trace phones? Maybe they could; maybe Travers or his goons were on their way to Grogan’s right now.
Plz! he typed.
He clung to the phone, aware his heart was going way too fast for comfort. If she said no, he was totally screwed. He’d be dead before dusk, he could feel it in his bones.
U holding?
Bless you, you greedy junkie bitch, he thought as his thumbs whirled over the keys. He left the toilet, pulled up his hood and hurried towards the quays.
Fifteen minutes later, he was standing outside a security gate, bouncing up and down on his toes. He was slightly breathless, having run all the way there. Beneath his jacket, his shirt was stuck to the small of his back with sweat.
He rang the bell a second time, then a third. In frustration he kicked the gate, then stopped in case any passers-by saw him and thought he was trying to break in.
In desperation he turned his phone back on and sent another text.
At gate!
Eventually her voice, tinny and cranky, came over the intercom.
‘You there?’
He almost screamed but managed – just – to stay calm.
‘I’m here, I’ve been ringing the buzzer for ages!’
‘Oh, didn’t I tell you?’
‘Tell me what?’
‘S’broken. I got to come get you.’
‘Right, well I’m here, so let me in.’
‘Well hold on, first you got to apologise. Can’t come in till you apologise.’
Noel pressed his forehead against the bars; they were deliciously cool against his skin.
‘What?’
‘Apologise.’
‘For what … No, look, never mind. I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘Jesus, is this a multiple-choice test?’
‘A wha’?’
‘Neve
r mind,’ he said again. ‘I’m sorry for everything, okay, for everything.’
‘Everything?’ She sounded sceptical.
‘Yes, all of it, everything I’ve ever done, okay? Everything. Will you let me in?’
‘Even for Zee’s party?’
‘Especially for Zee’s party.’
It helped that he had no idea who Zee was or what party she was talking about. Ever since Andrea had dumped him, his life had become one long continuous party, and now he felt like dying.
‘’Cos that was bang out of order. Even for you.’
‘I know, I’m sorry. Can you let me in, please, Storm?’
‘Awright, be right down, but you better have the good stuff.’
He switched his phone off again and for a moment considered ditching it in a nearby wheelie bin, then changed his mind. He bit his lip, trying to think.
All he had to do was keep his shit together.
That was all.
The gate opened and Storm stood in the gap, peering at him. She was wearing a see-through T-shirt over yoga pants. Her multicoloured hair was tied up like a pineapple on her head.
‘Blimey,’ she said, looking him up and down. ‘You look like a right bag of shit.’
He swooped her up, carried her inside and kicked the gate shut behind him.
Chapter Seventeen
The wolf opened his eyes.
Night had fallen. The wolf did not mind. The night was his friend; the night had always been his friend.
He set to work. Tomorrow he would put his plan into motion, but today he would need to prepare.
The ritual was important to him; it was sacrosanct.
Wearing nothing but baggy tracksuit pants, he sat down at his computer and logged on. The boards were active, users primed and ready.
He typed and hit send.
The responses came in fast. He read each one, savouring the words of encouragement from his brethren. Where once he had been alone, now he was not; that was why the mission was so important, so vital. Men like him were suffering daily through no fault of their own. It was cruel. It was disgusting.
It would no longer be tolerated.
Celine.
It had been weeks since he’d thought of her, but now she was foremost in his mind.