“They missed,” Caslin stated.
“I told you,” Reece grinned, “I’m damn good at what I do. End result was the same. I had to leave. They’d have kept on trying and it only takes one mistake Sooner or later, they’d get lucky.”
“Sylvia?”
Reece dragged a palm across his face, “I couldn’t tell her what was going on, who or what I was. Nor could I come home. My only option was to disappear. I left her thinking I was on a Loyalist hitlist…running, like I’m some kind of hero, in hiding.”
Caslin processed the information whilst taking a measure of his friend. The grief appeared real enough. “Tell me about how you ended up at Renton.”
Reece sighed, “I drifted around. Abroad, for the most part. My skill-set pays well and people don’t ask a lot of questions. Well enough to keep myself low, out of sight. I worked on a contract, in North Africa, a few years ago and Nelson’s name came up. I was surprised. That’s when I started a little digging.”
“Why?”
“Curiosity, at first,” Reece said. “Then I got to wondering how he was so high up with this firm.”
“Renton Sands?” Caslin sought to clarify. Reece nodded. “Why, was that in some way strange?”
“I couldn’t work out how he got there. They employ a lot of ex-military types, senior officers as well as former squaddies and a large portion of their legitimate business revolves around government contracts. It just struck me as an odd place for him to be. As you say, old habits die hard.”
“Find any answers?”
“Not yet. I came across Emily Coughlan’s investigation. I wondered what she managed to turn up. I was hoping to follow the breadcrumbs but her death seems to have lit a fire under everyone concerned.”
“You think Nelson put Schmidt onto Coughlan?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I was warned Nelson was a cool character, not easily ruffled.”
“True, in the main,” Reece agreed.
“He flinched when I dropped Sylvia’s name, though. Why might that be?”
Reece thought on it, for a moment, “Well, he certainly knew her. We were a close group.”
“Could he have been involved in her death?”
Reece tensed, “Not as far as I know. Why do you ask?”
“She’s dead. You’ve spoken of your feelings for her and you knew of her passing. I can’t believe you haven’t looked into it.”
“I did…a while ago but don’t forget, I could hardly go around asking questions.”
“Who do you think killed her?”
“I put it down as a Unionist reprisal, at the time. An occupational hazard, bearing in mind the company she kept. Grudges can last generations, north of the border. Do you know otherwise?”
“Not at all. Mention of her caught him off guard. Maybe it was just the blast from the past,” Caslin said with a shake of his head. “My guess is Coughlan was being fed information by Fairchild.”
Reece considered that notion, “It would explain how she got from Nelson to KL Global, or the other way around. She was almost certainly on to both companies. Which came first, I don’t know. She was taking risks. Brave girl.”
“Not the only one,” Caslin said. “What about you?”
Reece laughed, “I can’t be running all the time.”
“You said I should worry.”
“The guys working for Renton…are organised, well financed. All are SCARS trained. They’re dangerous and I mean lethal. If you come up against them, run. Don’t expect your warrant card to cut any ice.”
“You make them sound like super soldiers or something-”
“I’m serious, Nate,” Reece talked over him. “At least spooks have some degree of oversight to rein them in. Renton are answerable to their balance sheet and nothing else.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Caslin said. For a moment, he considered dropping Father Foley’s name into the mix but chose not to. Everything being discussed sounded plausible and yet, Caslin couldn’t quell the feeling his friend was still withholding. For a brief but disconcerting moment, the thought that Reece had killed Emily Coughlan flashed through his mind. Dismissing the notion as too unlikely, it lingered and was difficult to shake off. Reece openly admitted to shadowing her and he certainly had the skills to enter her hotel room, after it had been sealed. Familiar with forensic and investigative protocols of the police, in any other inquiry, Reece would undoubtedly be a suspect. Caslin remembered an old saying that his father used to utter, at the height of the cold war. Somehow, the phrase seemed just as valid in the modern age, once intelligence, always intelligence.
“Penny for them?” Reece asked, snapping him out of his thought process.
“Sorry,” Caslin said, glancing across. “I was just mapping it out, in my head. Tell me, who was the other person in the photograph? You, Sylvia, Nelson and one other. What was he to this?”
“Dylan,” Reece said. “That was Dylan McArthur. Another of our team.”
“And where can I find him?”
Reece shrugged, “Still around, as far as I know. One that fits into the category of a true believer. Not sociopathic, like Nelson. Dylan wanted a united Ireland and would’ve given his life for the cause, so to speak. I don’t recall him being particularly fond of Nelson. Not that many of us were.”
“Would he have an insight on all of this?”
“Perhaps he could shed some light on how Nelson got where he is. Dylan was well in the frame when I left.”
“Can you find him?”
“You’re the bloody detective-”
Caslin laughed, countering, “Yeah, and extremist Irish-Nationalists are keen to speak to the British police, aren’t they?”
Reece grinned, “Always a hospitable welcome. I can ask around, for you.”
“Cheers. How can I reach you?”
“You can’t.”
“What about the number you gave me, last night?”
“I’ll call you,” Reece said, standing. Caslin offered his hand, his friend took it. “I don’t like lying to you, Nate.”
“I don’t much care for it, either,” Caslin replied.
“Be careful,” Reece said before heading back to his car. Caslin watched him walk over and get in, the same doubts swirling around in his mind. He wanted to trust him, to believe this was the same calibre of man he remembered Aiden Reece to be. The problem was, he couldn’t be certain. Such clarity, in this case, was proving illusive.
Caslin acknowledged Reece’s departure with a flick of his hand. Unable to maintain the level of faith, in Reece, that he desired, Caslin resolved to let the situation play out to the end. Watching the car approach the junction, Reece turned left and disappeared from view behind the hedgerow, lining the main road. Walking back to his own car, Caslin had the expectation that somewhere along the line the pieces would come together and make some degree of sense. The hope that Reece was not beyond redemption, paramount in his mind.
The pressure change in the air surrounding him, accompanied by the sound of the explosion caused Caslin to drop and brace. A moment later, he was up and running in the direction of the plume of black smoke. Upon reaching the hedgerow, separating the racecourse from the road, he clambered up the fence to see beyond. The fireball engulfed what remained of Reece’s car. Debris, scattered in every direction, was alight as were the nearby trees and bushes, ignited by the blast. The breeze carried a thick cloud of acrid smoke, in his direction, requiring him to cover his mouth and nose, with his sleeve. Multiple alarms could be heard in the distance, emanating from the nearby residences, such was the ferocity of the explosion.
Climbing to the top of the fence, Caslin leapt off it, clearing the hedged boundary and landing unceremoniously at the side of the road. Approaching warily, he was forced to use his jacket to shield his face from the heat. The cabin of the vehicle had practically disintegrated. The roof was non-existent and the sides bore a resemblance to little more than twisted metal, rather than a
car. Even the chassis was visibly bent by the detonation. Caslin backed away. There was nothing to be done.
Once at a respectable distance, he dropped to his haunches. With his heart-rate racing and ragged breathing, he reached for his phone. A van pulled up in the middle of the road behind him. Glancing around, he saw two occupants get out. Both were thick set and heavily tattooed. The first reached into his jacket. A wave of momentary panic washed over him, only to dissipate as the man produced a phone, telling his friend he’d call the police. The second approached, placing a supportive hand on Caslin’s shoulder.
“You alright, mate?” he asked. Caslin could only manage a brief nod of the head, sitting down on the tarmac, with assistance from the newcomer. He felt numb. Dropping the phone into his lap, he stared at the flames, dancing on the breeze. The flash of intensity in the blaze was fading but the generated heat still felt uncomfortable on the skin. However, the smoke belched high into the air as those constituent parts of the car, fashioned from rubber and plastic, gave off their toxic fumes.
Caslin felt tears come to his eyes but he fought them away, brushing the reverse of his hand across his face.
Chapter 22
The paramedic concluded Caslin had suffered no discernible effects from the incident. Despite his protestations of being well clear of the blast, Broadfoot was insistent. Removing the blood pressure monitor, she stepped down. Caslin was sitting on the back step of the ambulance.
“Your numbers are elevated but that’s unsurprising, judging by what you’ve just seen. I think we should still get you thoroughly checked out back at the hos-”
“That’s not necessary,” Caslin told her, eyeing the approach of the Detective Chief Superintendent.
“Will he survive?” Broadfoot asked, an attempt at humour to lighten the mood.
“I’m fine,” Caslin stated, before the medic was able to reply. Broadfoot smiled at her, inclining his head slightly. She understood the request and departed, leaving them alone. Once she was clear, Broadfoot’s demeanour shifted back to his more detached, unemotional norm.
“Can you tell me who was in the car?”
Caslin blew out his cheeks, eyeing Hunter picking through the debris as the fire crews worked around her, “Aiden Reece.”
Broadfoot was taken aback, “The man whose name came up but was irrelevant? That Aiden Reece.”
“The very same,” Caslin replied flatly, looking beyond his boss at the smouldering wreckage of the vehicle. The crews of two appliances, dispatched from York, now had the fire under control. “Looks like he was relevant, after all.”
“You’re telling me,” Broadfoot said, eyes flicking towards the scene. “What was his involvement here?”
Caslin shrugged, “Looking for answers, the same as us.”
“Please don’t insult my intelligence. You have more than that.”
“Reece was linked to Paraic Nelson, in the past,” Caslin said, looking to Broadfoot. “That man you told me to leave alone, remember?”
“What links?” Broadfoot asked, choosing to ignore Caslin’s venom.
“You’ll know more than me, Sir. Reece’s file was restricted. I expect your clearance is higher than mine-”
“Bloody hell, Nathaniel. Stop pissing about,” Broadfoot hissed, glancing around to ensure he wasn’t overheard.
“Far from it, Sir,” Caslin retorted. “Aiden was a friend of mine so I’ll do anything but piss about and bearing in mind that anyone who knows anything about this case winds up dead, shortly after, perhaps you don’t want to know.” Both men fell silent as the Brigade’s Scene Commander approached them. Acknowledging Caslin with a nod of the head, he addressed Broadfoot.
“The fire’s out. The vehicle is safe. My team will secure the scene if yours can set the cordon?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Broadfoot said.
“The investigators are here, they’ll get started immediately alongside your CSI team.”
“Thank you,” Broadfoot replied. Waiting until they were alone, he looked to Caslin. “What do you reckon?”
“That this isn’t over, no matter who wants it to be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Whoever is pushing you to tie this off…their agenda is different to mine-”
“Ours,” Broadfoot corrected him. Caslin glanced away. Double checking that they were not within earshot of anyone else, the DCS continued, keeping his voice low, “What is it you need?”
Caslin met his eye, “A few days grace.”
Broadfoot said nothing for a moment, contemplating the request. “You were off for the remainder of the week, in any event. I have your preliminary statement so, under the circumstances, a period of convalescence is probably advisable.”
“I agree, Sir,” Caslin said, standing. “I do have a bit of a headache.”
“Two things, Nathaniel.”
“Sir?”
“Firstly, don’t fuck this up,” Broadfoot said quietly.
“And second?”
Broadfoot pulled himself upright, drawing a deep breath through his nose, “Stay alive. It costs a lot of money to develop good detectives. I’d hate to have to replace you.”
Caslin’s eyes followed him, as he walked away. “I’ll endeavour to do just that,” he said to himself, under his breath. Hunter came bounding up to him.
“Sir, are you okay?” she asked, with a concerned expression.
“Yes, of course,” he replied. “Nothing a few day’s rest won’t cure.”
“Whose car, was it?”
“You’ll need to have a chat with Broadfoot,” he replied. “My head’s feeling bit funny. I’m off home.”
“Sir?” Hunter asked.
“I’m sure you’ll manage,” he told her.
“You’re not seriously-”
“You’re always saying you want a chance to prove yourself. Here it is,” he said, setting off, back towards the racecourse to collect his car. Hunter threw her arms in the air in exasperation. Caslin took out his mobile. Scrolling through the small number of entries in his new phone, he found the number he wanted and dialled it. The call was quickly answered.
“Ahh…Nathaniel,” the voice said warmly at the other end. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. What can I do for you?”
“Good morning, Seamus,” he replied, in kind. “I need to find someone and I think your people are going to be more helpful, than mine.”
“Okay. Who’s the lucky fella?”
“Dylan McArthur.”
The lights of the harbour at Rosslare, and those of the town beyond, were a welcome sight. Despite the gruelling six-hour drive from York to Fishguard, at the tip of South-Western Wales, and the ensuing four-hour ferry journey, Caslin had been unable to sleep. His mind, churning over the facts and supposition of the case, refused to allow it. The inherent fatigue held back by pure determination. The public-address system crackled into life, announcing their imminent arrival along with the current time, a little after four in the morning. The bracing wind of the Irish Sea, buffeted him as he stood on the deck watching the Republic of Ireland drawing ever closer.
The mobile phone in his pocket started to vibrate and he re-entered the interior of the ship, to take the call. It was Seamus Hanlon.
“I see you’re docking soon. You couldn’t have got an earlier sailing, could you?”
“Keeping you on your toes,” Caslin replied, safe in the knowledge the Irishman was joking. With only two sailings later in the day, he’d never have made the early afternoon crossing between Wales and County Wexford. Bypassing Dublin entirely, in the hope of drawing less attention to himself, this location also brought him in line with Hanlon’s information as to where he’d find McArthur.
The ship docked soon afterwards, Caslin disembarking alongside the other foot passengers, not that there were many. Seamus was waiting for him, offering a firm handshake.
“Good to see you again,” Hanlon said before adding, “in one piece, I might add.�
��
Caslin laughed, “For now. Did you find him?”
Hanlon affirmed that he had, “Not far from here. A small place, along the coast, near to Fethard. I’ve hired you a car and I’ve even programmed the sat nav for you.”
“You’re not coming?” Caslin asked, surprised.
Hanlon shook his head, “I’m not here, Nathaniel. It’s for the best that you haven’t even seen me. Not that I won’t be all ears, should you turn up something useful.”
“Understood,” Caslin said as Hanlon passed him the car keys and a folded map of the local area, indicating a blue Ford, parked nearby. “The map’s for when your signal drops, from the car.”
“Is that likely?”
“Down there, it’s a given,” Hanlon replied. “You need to watch yourself around McArthur. I’m led to believe he’s not all there, if you know what I mean?”
Caslin acknowledged the point, “What do we know about where he’s living?”
“Oh, it’s a lovely area. It’s where we all go on holiday. A bit quiet out of season and the summer’s coming to an end, so fewer people are around. The sort of place you can disappear to, if you feel the need.”
“McArthur, is he still connected?”
“Limited information on that, sorry. We’ve no mention of him for a long time but that won’t be the whole story. I’m afraid you’re going to have to wing it.”
“I’ve made a career of it,” Caslin joked. “Thanks again, Seamus. I’ll let you know how I get on.” Unlocking the door, Caslin opened the driver’s side and slipped into the seat.
“Make sure you don’t scratch the car,” Hanlon said, casually waving him off. “I’ve enough paperwork to do already.”
The horizon was lightening as the black of night shifted into the slate-grey of pre-dawn. Following the route programmed into the navigation system, Caslin picked his way across County Wexford, the roads bringing him intermittently alongside the coast before frequently cutting inland. The towns and villages he passed through were sparsely populated. The area was predominantly farmland, interspersed with hamlets consisting of detached buildings, set back off the main roads. The roads themselves were narrow, the infrastructure of large cities having no place here.
The Dogs in the Street Page 18