Insincere

by Joanne Clancy

  Elizabeth sipped her coffee. They grabbed a window seat and gazed out across the square. "Did you know that Natalie was obsessed by the Shooter? Lucas showed me her newspaper cuttings. She'd been following the case from the beginning."

  "If you say that Lucas showed you her newspaper cuttings, I believe you, but this is the first I've heard of it. She never even mentioned the Shooter to me."

  "Should she have mentioned it?"

  "We were friends. Admittedly, we hadn't seen as much of each other lately as we had in the past. It seems this obsession was a recent thing."

  "Why did she call me that night if she didn't know something?" Elizabeth insisted.

  "I have no idea." Hannah shook her head. "Natalie was a complex character. I don't know what was going through her head at the end. I wish I had been able to help her."

  "Do you know about the burglary?" asked Elizabeth.

  "What about it?"

  "I think that the burglar was searching for something. He left the valuables behind and the safe was untouched. He only took a few cheap pieces of jewellery to make it look like a burglary. However, he took her diary and some photos. Doesn't that prove that someone had it in for her?"

  Silence.

  "I have the diary," said Hannah eventually. "It wasn't stolen. Natalie gave the diary and the photos to me to look after."

  "Why?"

  "I assume that the burglary made her realise that someone might steal them, and she didn't want to take that chance."

  "Why were they so precious?"

  "I don't know. I didn't ask."

  "Why not?"

  "She was a friend; if she wanted to tell me, she would have told me. I didn't want to pry."

  "I would have asked her."

  "I didn't."

  "So where are the photos and diary now?"

  "I can't tell you."

  "If those items are connected with her death..."

  "I think you're the one who's obsessed. Her diary had nothing to do with her death; she killed herself."

  "Don't you think you owe it to her to explore every avenue before simply accepting that her death was a suicide?"

  "We have to let it go, for Lucas' sake. I don't think that investigating Natalie's death is any good for him."

  Elizabeth drained the last of her coffee, realising that it was pointless to pursuing the matter any further. "Final question: did Natalie ever mention anything that suggested she might have been afraid?"

  "Nothing that I can recall," Hannah replied stiffly.

  "I don't just mean the past few weeks."

  "I told you, nothing. Well..."

  "What?"

  "This sounds ludicrous, and I don't even know if it's true; Natalie had a wild imagination."

  "Tell me."

  "She said that she once shared a house with a murderer. I'm sure it means nothing."

  "You call that nothing?"

  "It was idle chit-chat over a few too many glasses of wine. She mentioned it years ago, when we first met. She didn't elaborate. I didn't believe her. I assumed it was the wine talking."

  "Did she tell the police?"

  "I don't know. I shouldn't have said anything. It has nothing to do with Natalie's death. It was a long time ago, long forgotten."

  "Murder should never be forgotten."

  "Don't even think about asking me to see the diary or the photos. Natalie gave them to me under strict instructions not to show them to anyone. If you can prove to me that her death was anything more than a terrible tragedy, I'll hand them over to the police."

  "What if there's a fire or they're stolen? It would look suspicious if you had them and suddenly they were gone. What if Natalie was killed for the secrets that the diary or the photos contained? Who's next?"

  Hannah looked disconcerted, as if the thought had only just occurred to her that keeping Natalie's secrets was a dangerous business. Nevertheless, she shook her head. "No. Natalie's secrets are safe with me."

  ***

  Elizabeth shrank into the shadows and waited. She watched the busy main street until Hannah appeared, just as she knew she would. Elizabeth had instilled some doubt in the other woman's mind; a doubt that she hoped would lead her to where she was hiding Natalie's photos and diary.

  Hannah flounced along the main street, wrapped in her distinctive fur coat. She turned right at the end of the street and then through the tunnel that led to the other side of the bay. The place was busy with tourists. She didn't even glance around once as she walked. Clearly, she wasn't expecting to be followed. She wasn't heading home; Elizabeth knew because she'd already checked her address.

  Elizabeth enjoyed following her through the streets, keeping her in sight, while maintaining a safe distance. Her senses became sharper as she followed her. Hannah's self-absorption and ostentatious fur coat made it easy to keep her in sight. She followed the curve of the road towards the small, country police station on the corner. Hannah crossed the road towards the bus station, where hundreds of passengers and tourists milled about alongside piles of luggage, straining to hear the crackling announcements over the ancient intercom. Elizabeth didn't need to worry that Hannah would notice her there.

  Elizabeth stood by the board of timetables while Hannah strode towards a row of lockers that lined the wall near the entrance. She watched her through the gaps between bodies as she rummaged in her handbag for a key. She slotted the key into the lock and opened the metal door. Elizabeth was too far away to see what was inside; she only saw her reach in and touch the things inside to reassure herself that they were safe. Then she shut the door and locked it. She glanced over her shoulder, then turned and retraced her steps back into town.

  Elizabeth followed her to make sure that she really had left, before hurrying back into the bus station. She tried the handle of the locker, but it didn't budge. It would have been easy to prise it open, but there was no point in taking that chance now.

  Chapter Ten

  "The only thing worse than a failed artist is a successful one," Frank yawned. "That's why Hannah Moynihan turned to being a dealer. Now she's loaded, according to the newspapers' latest rich lists. We don't exactly move in the same social circles, but I do know that she has friends in high and low places."

  "What does that mean?" Elizabeth asked. She'd called Frank as soon as she was back in the safety of her car, away from any eavesdroppers.

  "Rumours have been floating around about her for years. A few years back, some paintings were stolen from a fancy house out the country, and it turns out that Hannah had more than a few business leadings with the gang's leader. Of course, they were all legitimate, but it wasn't good for her reputation. I'm surprised you didn't hear about it."

  "I'm surprised you follow the tabloids so closely."

  "Anyway, the whole thing was conveniently hushed up," Frank continued, ignoring her jibe.

  "Friends in high places?"

  "Apparently, Hannah and McGovern went to university together."

  "The Assistant Commissioner? No way!"

  "Yes way. She collects antique guns, too."

  "Isn't that illegal in Ireland?"

  "Nothing's illegal if you have the right connections, and I think we've already established Hannah's connections. Let's just say she always has the correct permits."

  "You said the divers pulled an old pistol from the water where Natalie died."

  "It's being tested for prints as we speak."

  "Natalie was afraid in the weeks before she died. Was she afraid enough to think she needed a gun for protection?"

  "Lucas said that she didn't have one, and even if she did that she wouldn't have known how to shoot straight."

  "It strikes me that Natalie didn't tell her brother everything. Who better to give her a pistol than her good old friend, Hannah Moynihan?" Elizabeth's mind raced with all the possibilities. "Anyway, tell me what happened last night?"

  "We think it's a copycat killing."

  "A copycat?" She asked incredulously. "Wha
t makes you think that?"

  Frank held his hands up. "Take it easy. I think we're being too quick to assume that everything is the work of the Shooter."

  She couldn't help wondering if he was having a dig at her.

  "There are several differences," Frank continued. "Until now, the pattern has always been the same: one shot, one victim. The killer disappears without a trace. This time it was messy, so messy that the killer didn't even collect the shells before leaving. Apparently, the first victim was a contract killer. According to Serious Crime, he's carried out ten contract killings for various gangs around the country over the past few years."

  "So the initial theory was that someone finally took a hit out on the contract killer."

  "Exactly. It was inevitable."

  "What happened to change the initial theory?"

  "The Firearms Unit identified the shells as coming from the same gun as the one used in the other killings."

  "What about the woman?"

  "It seems she was unlucky: wrong place, wrong time."

  "What's her name?"

  "Tina Edwards," said O' Flynn. "She was eighteen. Apparently, she moved in with her older sister a few weeks ago because she wasn't getting on with her parents. They weren't keen on the company she was keeping. She was out for the night with a few friends. They said she left around half eleven; she wasn't in the mood for clubbing. She must have bumped into the killer on her way home."

  "Death doesn't discriminate," Elizabeth said.

  "I was chatting to a friend of yours this afternoon," said Frank.

  "Oh?"

  "Lucas Doyle."

  "Did you get anything from him?"

  "You've got to be joking. He's like a wall. As soon as I mentioned his sister's name, he shut down. I got the impression he thought that I was trying to trick him into saying the wrong thing."

  "If it's any consolation, I got the same treatment," said Elizabeth. "One minute he's insisting that he knew everything about his sister's life, and the next he's claiming not to know anything. I wonder how many different versions there are of Lucas Doyle."

  "Apparently, O' Flynn met Natalie's boyfriend," announced O' Flynn.

  "Natalie had a boyfriend?" Elizabeth was thrown.

  "What's wrong with her having a boyfriend?"

  "Lucas said she didn't have one. He said they only needed each other. How did you find this secret boyfriend?"

  "He showed up at the Station yesterday demanding to see her body," continued Frank. "O' Flynn had no idea who he was. He told him that he was in the wrong place to see a body, and that he'd need permission from her next of kin. He stormed out, saying that he had as much chance of getting permission from the next of kin as he had of winning the lottery."

  "What's his name?" asked Elizabeth.

  "Max Redmond."

  Elizabeth remembered the note she'd discovered behind the front door of the Doyles' house: "Lucas, call me urgently. Max."

  "I think Lucas is beginning to realise that Natalie had a secret life that he knew nothing about," said Elizabeth. "And I'd say he's worried about where it will lead.

  Chapter Eleven

  "If you're not with the police, why are you interested in me?" asked Max Redmond. It had taken Elizabeth some persuading to get Max's phone number from Frank, and even more persuading before Max Redmond agreed to meet her.

  "I'd like to talk to you about Lucas Doyle," she replied.

  "Oh," he said. "Lucas."

  "He asked me to look into Natalie's death. You knew her. I thought..."

  "I didn't know her well," he said. "At least, not as well as I believed."

  Elizabeth was in Max's basement apartment. Potted plants stood by the front door, while the first buds of spring were appearing in the window boxes. The walls were plastered in black and white photographs, and the furniture consisted of a bed that was pushed against the far wall, a few mismatched armchairs, and a large coffee table. She couldn't help feeling claustrophobic underground with the world whizzing by overhead.

  Max wore baggy corduroys and a loose shirt. His thick brown hair curled in an unruly manner over his collar. He looked like he needed a shave and a good wash.

  "Would you like a drink?" he asked eventually, breaking the awkward silence that had descended. "I can offer you various herbal teas, or something stronger, if you'd prefer. I have a bottle of wine in the cupboard."

  "Sounds good."

  He grabbed the wine and two glasses, and carried them outside to the tiny courtyard. Traces of daytime television drifted out from an open window overhead. Voices joined them at intervals, but the words were indistinct. Max scraped his chair noisily as he sat down.

  "How long have you known Lucas?" asked Elizabeth, getting straight to the point.

  "We only met once, which was more than enough for both of us."

  "You didn't hit it off?"

  "Ask him."

  She'd touched a nerve but decided to let it drop for now. "How did you meet?"

  "I sent some of my work to Natalie. I don't deny that I was looking for a step up. I figured if she liked my work or liked me that maybe she would help me get an exhibition or a dealer. You've got to look out for yourself in this life; no one else will." He eyed Elizabeth over his glass.

  "Why did you choose Natalie?"

  "I admired her paintings. She was different. I hoped she'd appreciate my work, so I wrote to her. She called me one evening and arranged to meet the following day."

  "When was that?"

  "About a year ago." He slipped on a pair of sunglasses even though the light wasn't strong enough to merit them. "Just after Christmas. We had drinks at a hotel in town. I showed her some photos of my work: mostly nudes. Some of them are quite erotic. It had an effect on her; we ended up spending the night together at the hotel."

  "Who arranged to meet at the hotel?"

  "I did, but I got the feeling she wasn't surprised that we ended up in bed." He smiled at the memory.

  "Did you plan on seducing Natalie?"

  "I wasn't averse to the idea. She was an attractive woman. I thought if she felt something for me that she might introduce me to some people. We saw each other for a few months."

  "Did she introduce you to the right people?"

  "She introduced me to Hannah Moynihan. Have you heard of her?"

  "We've met."

  "Hannah Moynihan: big gallery, big house, big head. She's well-connected in the art world. She's been a fan of Natalie from the start. I hoped she might be able to help me, but nothing came of it.

  "I was fond of Natalie. The sex was good, and she seemed to be genuinely interested in my work. She always encouraged me. I don't have many friends, and I'm the only child of elderly parents who have retired to Italy. I appreciated Natalie's affection. It wasn't all about sex."

  "What changed?"

  "I don't know," Max replied. "We didn't argue or drift apart. She called one day and said she didn't want to see me anymore."

  "What did you do?"

  "I'm not the begging type." His expression was unreadable behind the sunglasses. "I called her a few times, and I turned up once at Hannah's gallery when I knew that Natalie would be there, but she was distant, as if she was almost afraid to talk to me. Then again, perhaps I needed to believe that there was some other reason she had dumped me other than the fact that she was simply tired of me."

  "Were you surprised when she broke it off?"

  "I was raging. Don't get me wrong, I've been dumped before, but usually there's a reason. I couldn't figure out what the problem was. She owed me an explanation."

  "Why do you think she ended it?"

  "Apparently, Lucas didn't think I was good enough for his precious sister. He didn't think anyone was good enough for her, except him."

  Elizabeth let his words hang in the air for a moment. "When I spoke to Lucas the other day, there was something in the way he spoke about Natalie. Something..."

  "Not quite right?" He jumped in. "If you ask me, th
ose two were much too close for brother and sister. There was something strangely intimate between them. No wonder he was jealous when we started seeing each other."

  "Do you think Natalie felt the same way about him?"

  "She was always talking about him, always checking that everything was okay with him."

  "That must have been awkward."

  "I didn't expect my girlfriend to be running home every night to her brother, or constantly talk about him when she was in bed with me. It's bad enough when women talk about their ex-lovers, but when it's their brother, it gets a little creepy."

  "Why did you keep seeing her?"

  "We were occasional lovers, nothing serious. I had no right to expect anything of her. Part of me thought we had something good, but the fact that she threw it away so easily was disappointing. She wasn't the woman I thought she was."

  "Life is messy," Elizabeth said, taking a sip of wine. "It doesn't mean there's any connection between the messiness of her life and the mystery of her death."

  He shrugged.

  "Did you see much of her after you broke up?"

  "I bumped into her at a party of mutual acquaintances a few weeks after we split. I suppose I hadn't given up on her completely. I saw her with a man. They were in a dark corner, and I'm sure they had been kissing. I was annoyed that she was there with someone else so soon after ending it with me. I left the party straightaway. A few months later, when Hannah introduced me to Natalie's brother, I realised that he was the man at the party. Lucas smirked at me, as if he'd won."

  "How did you find out that Natalie was dead?"

  "Hannah rang me. She knew that Natalie and I had been lovers. She said I was owed the courtesy of a phone call; otherwise I'd have heard about it on the news."

  "How did you feel?"

  "Terrible. I went to the Station to see her body, but they said I had to have Lucas' permission. I even left a note asking him to call me, but he didn't bother."

  "In fairness, he's just lost his sister."

  "I know. I'm sorry that I didn't realise she was in such pain."