by Jo Spain
Tom tried to imagine the man alive, animated. He thought he would look intelligent. Sincere. Quite pleasant, in fact. So what had he done to die so brutally? Was he the other man in the photo they’d found, the man only visible from the back?
When he eventually stood up, the inspector felt dizzy. He stretched his knees. It was time to begin.
Emmet closed the tunnel doors as the body was prepared for removal.
McGuinness was pacing, talking on his phone as he waited for Tom back out in the coffee dock.
‘Bronwyn Maher,’ he said, as he hung up, naming the assistant chief commissioner. ‘She says the Taoiseach has been on to the commissioner. He’s at that conference in Canada. It will be all hands on deck for this, Tom. You’re going to have to conduct interviews with a lot of important people. And I want you to bring Linda McCarn in.’
‘Linda McCarn,’ Tom parroted, nodding his head back in the direction of Emmet McDonagh. ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’
Linda was the State’s leading criminal psychologist, a woman Tom respected and feared in equal measure. She and Emmet had a history and the inspector liked to avoid creating situations where they might encounter each other. There wasn’t enough room in Dublin for their large personalities, let alone for the brief illicit fling they’d conducted. The relationship had ended acrimoniously and the two main players refused to divulge why – but they liked to make everybody aware of how much they detested each other now.
‘I don’t care about their feelings on the matter,’ McGuinness barked. ‘We will be seen to be using our brightest and our best on this investigation. The man was a minister’s PA and he’s been gunned down in Leinster House, for God’s sake. What’s your plan now?’
The ‘seen to be’ wasn’t lost on Tom. The resources war continued.
He sighed.
‘I’ll go inform the victim’s widow. We’ll let forensics gather their evidence here then get the team in first thing and go over what we have. I presume the victim had an office in the building. I’ll send Ray over to check it out before he finishes up.’
‘Good. Let me know how you get on. I suggest you start your interviews in the morning with Shane Morrison. He’ll give you a rundown on the building, who was here tonight, and so forth. McNally can fill you in on Ryan’s work record and you’ll have to talk to Aidan Blake, the minister he worked for. Statements have already been collected from those who were still in the complex when the body was found.’
‘Right. Sean, how much independence will I have in this investigation? I only ask because you’re already talking about the commissioner checking in from Canada and Maher’s on the phone to you . . .’
‘Listen, they’re going to be breathing down our necks, but neither of them want to be seen with cabinet members – they won’t want any photos leaking out to accompany headlines of “Guards interview government ministers in Leinster House murder”. You question whoever you need to; the investigation will be under your control. I’ll make sure you have the full cooperation of the security services in here.’
McGuinness took a deep breath.
‘Don’t let politics interfere, Tom. This is a murder case like any other. But do everything by the book and be discreet, okay? Bronwyn and I will take care of the media circus. Hopefully this is down to some deranged member of the public who managed to get in here as a visitor.’
‘Unlikely,’ Tom remarked. ‘Do you really think Ryan Finnegan was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and somebody blew his head off? Did you see the picture forensics found?’
McGuinness sucked in his cheeks.
‘Unfortunately, yes. Perhaps it was something in the man’s personal life that resulted in his murder?’
‘It was hardly just sitting on the floor of Leinster House and Ryan Finnegan happened to fall on it when he was being murdered. Which then begs the question: what was he doing with a pornographic image of two young men on his person?’
‘Is he one of the men?’
‘I can’t tell,’ Tom replied. ‘Not yet. We’ll examine it.’
‘Hmm. There’s another issue you should be aware of.’
‘Uh-huh?’
‘The Taoiseach was in Leinster House tonight. As head of the investigation team, you should interview him formally. He’ll want you to.’
The inspector clenched his jaw.
‘Marvellous. Bloody marvellous. I presume we’re shutting the building down?’
‘For now, anyway. But government has to resume business at some stage. Sorry, I need to get this.’ McGuinness walked away, his phone glued to his ear once more.
Tom summoned Laura.
‘I’m going to inform next of kin,’ he told her. ‘I want you to come with me. I’m leaving Ray in charge of closing down here.’
Laura grimaced.
‘Sure. I’ll just get out of this suit.’
She knew that the victim’s family could have important information pertaining to their investigation. She also knew that Tom didn’t like to delegate the breaking of such bad news. When possible, he took on the responsibility himself. And Laura was also aware that he was choosing her to come with him both because he wanted it to be a male and female arriving at Mrs Finnegan’s door, and also because she could do with the experience.
But knowing all of that did little to stop Laura’s heart sinking. There was no end to this day.
*
Willie drove them to the quiet North Dublin suburban village of Raheny where Ryan Finnegan had lived. Tom made a couple of calls during the ride, but aside from that, nobody in the car spoke.
A brand new silver saloon was parked in the Finnegans’ driveway. The family must have had to purchase a new car after the crash that Darragh McNally, the party chair, had mentioned. The garden was well tended, a red rose in late bloom scenting the air. A couple of adult-sized bikes rested against the wall in the narrow walkway through to the side gate. A man’s cycling helmet hung on one of the handlebars.
Tom’s steps were heavy with apprehension as they approached the door, his stomach knotting. He willed every second to last longer. He wanted to give this woman every last drop of blissful ignorance before he knocked and shattered her life with his news. He’d done this often enough to know that even in the unhappiest, the most strained of relationships, the sudden knowledge that a loved one was dead was an arrow of grief to the soul.
A light sensor was triggered just as Tom raised a reluctant fist to hammer on the wood.
It never made contact. The light had alerted the homeowner and the door swung open. A young woman stood there, baby in arms. Her raven, bobbed hair was dishevelled, her grey-coloured eyes bloodshot with fatigue. She was still pretty, even in that state.
‘Where have you been?’ she started, her face furious.
The anger died as she looked from Tom to Laura and realised they weren’t who she was expecting.
Their faces must have given it away.
‘Oh, my God.’
She crumpled and they both rushed to catch her. The baby, shocked from a fragile sleep, opened its mouth and screamed.
‘I’m sorry,’ Tom whispered, to Kathryn Finnegan and to the infant. ‘I’m so sorry.’
*
Laura stood with her back to her boss and Kathryn Finnegan, stirring unasked for sugar into unrequested tea. She’d slipped into comfort mode. In her career, she’d only broken this news three times – twice to the families of traffic accident victims and once to the wife of an elderly man accidentally murdered in a bungled bank robbery. There hadn’t been any young children involved and she’d never had to tell a thirty-year-old new mother that she was now a widow.
Kathryn sat clutching the baby in her lap like a life raft. The six-month-old was taking the visit surprisingly well, after the initial shock of being so rudely awoken. The mother bounced the infant softly up and down on her knees, eyes wide and unfocused, talking nineteen to the dozen. She was in shock.
‘Beth’s teething. Just when I t
hought I had her in a routine. She’s started waking up every couple of hours, wailing. Nothing works. I’ve tried all the gum gels, homeopathic remedies, everything. It was okay when Ryan was off work. We could take turns, once his leg had started to heal. She’s like the Antichrist some nights.’
Tom looked down at Beth, who was giving him the baby stare and drooling vast quantities of spit onto fingers that were rammed into her mouth. She smiled at him and gooed, thrilled to be the centre of attention. They were wont to do that, he thought, looking at the contented baby. Make liars out of their parents. No one would ever guess this little angel was giving her mother sleepless nights.
‘Ryan only went back on Monday. I didn’t want him to. The last few months – I know it’s terrible to say – but they’ve been brilliant. Once I got over the shock of the crash I was so happy to have my husband home. His job is so stressful and just before the accident he was under even more pressure than usual and we’d just had the baby. Oh . . .’
Kathryn looked down at the top of Beth’s head and let out a loud, shocked sob.
‘She’ll have no daddy. How do I tell her? Will she even remember him?’
Great big tears spilled down the mother’s face and onto her daughter’s hair.
Tom felt a lump in his throat.
At the kitchen counter, Laura’s shoulders stiffened as she gathered the strength to turn around with the tea. She placed the cup in front of Kathryn, but out of reach of the baby, who eyed this other new person with equal wonder.
‘Beth will always have her father because she’ll always have you,’ the inspector said gently, holding his hand out to the baby and letting her take his finger in her tight, sopping grasp.
Kathryn looked up. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t drink tea,’ she said to Laura.
‘Just take a few sips. It’s for the shock. Is there anyone we can call to come over?’
‘Um . . . My brother and his wife? But, no, they’ve two children; I can’t wake them at this hour.’
The inspector shook his head. ‘That’s not going to matter. Just give Laura his number.’
‘Who’ll tell Ryan’s parents? Should I ring them? And his sisters . . .’
A fresh wave of tears sprang forth and Tom waited patiently for the moment to pass.
‘Let’s get your brother over here and he can take care of the calls,’ Tom said, passing over Laura’s notepad and pen for the number.
‘I can’t remember it. I have to check my mobile.’
Laura fetched the phone from the counter and gave it to Kathryn, who tapped at the device, fingers shaking as she retrieved the information. The detective took the notepad and made her way out to the hall to place the call.
Kathryn reached out and took a sip of the tea, her face contorting as she swallowed the sugary drink. She was happy to take orders. In Tom’s experience, the people who dealt with grief best were those who let it wash over them immediately and didn’t try to stay strong, the ones who let others take charge and do the thinking for them. Kathryn was holding up okay so far, talking and answering questions. That lucidity, he knew, was a temporary symptom of shock. It would pass, so he had to make the most of the opportunity.
‘God, the irony,’ she said. ‘I went through all this only a few months ago, when we thought Ryan wasn’t going to make it after the accident. What was that? A practice run? You’d think that would have prepared me.’
‘There is no preparing for this,’ Tom said. ‘Not if it’s a long illness, not if it’s a sudden heart attack.’
‘But murder?’ Kathryn shook her head. ‘It doesn’t make sense. He was in work. How could someone shoot him in Leinster House? How did someone get a gun into Leinster House?’
‘We’re working to find out what happened,’ the inspector reassured her. ‘Please, let us worry about those questions. That’s our job. But I do want to ask you a couple of things that might help with the investigation.’
He waited until she nodded, but he could see the faraway look already glazing over her eyes. She was going through the ‘ifs’ in her head. If her husband hadn’t gone back to work this week. If he had come home early. If she had rung him at a certain time or said something different to him as he left the house.
‘Was there anything going on with Ryan lately that was out of the ordinary? Did he talk to you about any disagreements he might have had, anything he was worried about? Was he different in any way?’
Kathryn bit her bottom lip, worrying away at some chapped skin until a little bubble of blood appeared. She brushed it away with her fingers and shifted the baby, who was becoming unsettled, around to face her.
‘Ryan was out of sorts these last few weeks,’ she said, ‘as it got closer to him going back to work. There was a period when he seemed content to be away from that place and his job. He was so enamoured with Beth, she took up all his time. And I guess, because the accident was so bad, people just left him alone. No one rang or emailed. Believe me, that was unusual. We were on holidays last year and one evening I actually sent him a text to remind him I was sitting beside him, he was so busy on his phone.’
She smiled at the memory. Then the pained expression returned, the realisation that she would happily have that little argument every day of the week rather than have to endure this.
‘In the last week or so before he returned to Leinster House, he started to get tense, just like he was before the car crash.’
‘Tense because his job is tough, or for some other reason?’ Tom asked.
‘It was different from his normal stressing about work. Yes, I sensed that.’
‘How did he get on with the people he worked with?’
She cocked her head to one side, weighing up an answer.
‘I don’t know . . . if you’d asked me that question a couple of years ago, I would have said they were his friends, not just colleagues. But in recent times he seemed to keep clashing with other party members, especially Aidan. You know he worked for Minister Aidan Blake?’
‘Yes. That must have been exciting. He’s quite the star, isn’t he?’
Tom was speaking as gently as he could, coaxing Kathryn along. She looked dazed, but was still eager to talk.
‘Nowadays, sure. I suppose he was always destined for that, he’s very ambitious. He and Ryan used to get on great but in the last year or so . . . I guess you could say they diverged on policies. My husband is very principled. He always has been.
‘One night, he came in late and I was still awake. I was nearly due with Beth and finding it impossible to sleep. It was just after the election. He was really angry, so I made us both some hot chocolate and we sat up in bed together. He said that being in government was going to ruin Aidan, that he was too weak for power. What it boiled down to was that Ryan believed the Reform Party should deliver what it had promised during the campaign. He’d suddenly realised that Aidan’s philosophy was more cynical – that you said what was necessary to get into power and once there, you evaluated what could actually be delivered.’
‘I can see how that would make for strained relations,’ Tom agreed.
‘Aidan’s department was working on something and Ryan wasn’t happy about it. Some law. But I’m just rambling. I mean, Ryan wasn’t killed because he disagreed with something political,’ she said. ‘Jesus, that’s not what happened, is it?’
‘We don’t know what happened yet,’ he said, though privately he was thinking people had been murdered for less. ‘Did he mention anybody he specifically wasn’t getting on with? What about his relationship with the Reform Party chair, Darragh McNally?’
Kathryn shook her head.
‘Ryan has never got on with Darragh. Thinks he’s an egomaniac.’
With every mention of her husband’s name, the woman flinched. She was still using the present tense. It was time to wrap things up, Tom decided. She’d given them enough for tonight.
‘I mean nothing by this question, Kathryn, and I don’t want you to think I do. I just have to
ask. Was everything okay between you and Ryan? Were you happy?’
He was thinking of the image that had been found with Ryan. There was nothing about this young woman’s response so far that indicated their relationship had been anything but good. But then, he’d encountered many situations before where grieving spouses, faced with the finality of death, felt they had to present a rose-coloured view of their partners.
She looked at him blankly.
‘Yes,’ she finally choked. ‘We’re together seven years. We have a good marriage.’ She started to weep. ‘We had a good marriage . . . He’s gone, isn’t he? He’s really gone. I need to see him. I have to . . .’
Her voice rose as the panic set in.
Laura, back from phoning Kathryn’s brother, crossed the kitchen and put her arm around the other woman.
‘Your brother’s on his way,’ she said. ‘It’s okay. Everything will be taken care of. It’s okay.’
She looked over at Tom to check she was doing the right thing.
He nodded. There was really very little they could do for Kathryn now except find her husband’s killer.
And that wouldn’t bring him back.
Chapter 5
Saturday
Leinster House had been effectively shut down, but the presence of a large number of gardaí and onsite security staff meant the complex was busier than normal for a weekend.
Tom met with Shane Morrison and Darragh McNally in the LH2000 coffee dock area. The inspector wanted to see the building in the daylight and get a feel for the layout of the entire complex.
They sat in black leather armchairs at the far side of the café area. Tom relaxed into his, the other two men perched nervously on the edge of theirs. There was still a small forensics crew in the tunnel where Ryan had been found, though the body had been moved and most of the blood cleaned away. Soon, it would be like nothing had ever happened at the spot.