Beneath the Surface

by Jo Spain

  Blake hesitated for a moment. He seemed to consider something fleetingly, then change his mind.

  ‘We were finished by about 9.30. As I said, it was a short exchange. Then I went looking for my wife. I found her in the bar at about a quarter to ten. She was trying to get the remnants of the cabinet and . . . eh, other important guests, over to the ball for a group shot. We were busy. I didn’t think of Ryan . . . then I heard the news this morning . . .’

  The minister trailed off. Tom studied him closely. Blake appeared genuinely devastated by the death of his PA. The inspector wondered what Linda thought of his reaction. The psychologist was peering intensely at Blake but saying very little. Her quiet behaviour was not what Tom had expected.

  ‘The tunnel where Ryan was found – do you have any idea what he would have been doing there?’ he continued. ‘Nobody seems to know.’

  Blake shook his head.

  ‘I can’t think of a single reason. There are equipment supply offices down there, but my secretary, not my PA, would be more familiar with them. Unless he needed something for himself?’

  Tom paused before asking the next question. The minister seemed to be ruled out as a potential suspect. The fifteen-minute period between 9.30 and 9.45, if Blake’s alibi was valid, could hardly be enough time to cross to LH2000 from here, find and murder Ryan Finnegan and return to the main Leinster House building. It was an approximate eight-minute walk at a brisk pace to the minister’s office from the site of the murder.

  And yet, he had to keep Aidan Blake under consideration. It felt absurd, yet the chances of Ryan having been attacked by a random stranger were slim, especially when the location was taken into account.

  ‘Minister – Aidan – I won’t keep you much longer, but tell me this: were you aware of any particular . . . proclivities on Ryan’s part? Was he a consumer of pornographic material?’

  Blake’s eyes widened and angry red blotches erupted on his cheeks.

  ‘What do you mean, pornographic? He was a regular man. I’m sure he looked at, you know . . . stuff. How is this relevant?’

  ‘It may not be. One more thing: do you own a gun? Have you any experience with firearms?’

  The minister looked puzzled, then taken aback.

  ‘Oh. Jesus, you’re serious. No, I don’t own a gun. I don’t own any weapons.’

  Tom held his gaze. Blake didn’t blink.

  ‘I think we’ll leave it there,’ the inspector said.

  The minister nodded curtly and stood. He shook Tom’s hand vigorously.

  ‘Ryan was an honourable man,’ he said.

  Tom scrutinised the other man’s face. What emotion lay there? Was it grief, shock or guilt?

  ‘Honourable’. It was an unusual way to describe someone. Old-fashioned. Was that the best eulogy Blake had for his former PA?

  It was always the same. There was nothing like a murder investigation to bring to light the truth of people’s dealings with and feelings about the victim. Ryan was dead, but a spotlight was about to be shone on every detail of his life.

  Tom informed the minister before they left that they would need to talk to his wife, who had also been in the building.

  When they were back in the corridor, the inspector turned to Linda.

  ‘You were tight-lipped in there,’ he said, keeping his voice low as they walked.

  She chewed her lip. He could almost see the cogs in her brain turning.

  ‘I don’t like Aidan Blake,’ she responded, finally.

  Tom was surprised.

  ‘Everybody else seems to,’ he said.

  ‘From afar,’ she pointed out. ‘That said, it’s not like we’re bosom pals. I really only know him through his wife. There’s just something . . . I can’t put my finger on it. I just wanted to watch him and listen. Did you notice it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When you asked him whether he owned a gun, you also asked if he had any experience with them. Blake answered the first question, but not the second.’

  Tom frowned. She was right.

  Had Blake been so thrown by the query he hadn’t answered it fully? Or was it a deliberate omission?

  ‘Why did you ask how Sara was?’ he probed.

  ‘I’ve heard her mention Ryan once or twice as being a lovely fellow. I suspect, knowing her, she’d be much more sincere in her devastation about the man’s death.’

  Tom was curious about Linda’s read of the minister. He’d found the other man’s apparent distress about his PA’s death convincing enough.

  Ray emerged from Ryan Finnegan’s office back down the corridor and they waited for him.

  ‘Any joy with the minister?’ his deputy asked.

  ‘None.’

  ‘I must leave you now,’ Linda said. ‘I’ve an engagement this afternoon. You give me a shout when you need me, Tom. I’m excited about this one. Politics, intrigue, murder – our very own House of Cards. Do let me sit in on the meetings with other ministers. I get a disproportionate amount of joy from watching powerful men sweat.’

  ‘Eh . . . okay,’ Tom replied, bemused. ‘If you could sit in on some of the interviews with mere mortals, that would help also.’

  ‘Bleh.’ She stuck her tongue out. ‘Boring plebs. If needs must.’

  ‘I’ll keep in touch,’ the inspector called, as she glided in the opposite direction. ‘Now, Junior, what have you got under your hat? I know you’ve been itching to tell me something all morning.’

  ‘Am I that transparent?’ Ray lamented, as they picked up the pace.

  ‘You’re virtually translucent. And actually, Linda’s right. You do appear to be fading away. Are you eating these days?’

  Ray chewed the inside of one of his hollow cheeks and said nothing.

  The inspector had watched his deputy with concern over the last year. The change in the younger man stemmed from a traumatic case nearly twelve months ago, when Ray had become emotionally involved with somebody who later died horribly. The young man had become more introverted since then, more intense. Maybe his detective sergeant had needed to grow up a little, Tom often speculated, but he would have preferred if it had happened naturally and in happier circumstances.

  ‘He’d left everything in his office, by the way,’ Ray said, deftly ignoring the inspector’s question about his eating habits. ‘Ryan, that is. His phone, wallet, coat, even his reading glasses. When he went over to LH2000 he clearly intended to come back here. There were ten missed calls from his wife.’

  Tom shook his head to dispel the image of poor Kathryn Finnegan desperately trying to get hold of her husband.

  ‘And what’s your big discovery?’

  ‘I think I know why Ryan was over in LH2000. And I might know how his killer found him.’

  Chapter 6

  Laura’s phone buzzed as the text message came in.

  ‘Important?’ Eoin asked.

  ‘Notice of the first team meeting. You should try to get assigned – it would be good experience for you.’

  Laura looked up at Eoin. She could tell he was itching to reach over and take her hand, but she gave her head the smallest of shakes. Not here.

  Inwardly, she beamed. They’d only been seeing each other for two months, but she still couldn’t believe her luck. Bridget, her housemate and colleague, had introduced them on a night out. He was Bridget’s second cousin and Laura still wasn’t sure if it had been entirely accidental, bumping into Eoin that night in the bar in town. If it was planned, her friend knew her well, because they made a good match. Eoin might only be a rank-and-file garda, but he wouldn’t be staying there for long. He was smart and showed initiative. Were it not for the fact Eoin had entered the force in his late twenties, he would probably already be working his way up to detective. He’d started out as a fireman, which still made Laura swoon at the thought.

  ‘Come over to mine tonight,’ he said quietly. ‘It doesn’t matter how late you finish, I’ll leave the door on the latch. One of my other women might get there ah
ead of you, but feel free to just jump in.’

  Laura noticed Emmet McDonagh approaching and discreetly moved a step away from Eoin.

  ‘Detective Brennan. Will you be rejoining your boss any time soon?’

  ‘Yes. Shortly, as it happens. We’re setting up an incident room in the Park.’

  Garda headquarters was situated near the city centre end of Phoenix Park. The Dublin park was one of the largest walled green areas in Europe and a favourite recreation spot for Dubliners. It also contained many important public buildings and places of interest, including the President’s home, the American Ambassador’s residence and the Zoo. The inspector, who lived at the far end of the Park, near Castleknock, generally liked to situate his team in Blanchardstown, away from what he liked to think of as the actual zoo – headquarters. But McGuinness had insisted.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Emmet. ‘You’ll be upstairs from us. Well, tell the inspector we’ve confirmed there were just two shots fired. We’ve retrieved one of the bullets; the other is most likely still in the victim. The State Pathologist is conducting the post-mortem this morning and he’ll send over a report this afternoon.’

  ‘The boss will be pleased. I don’t think we’ve ever had such a fast turnaround from pathology. It seems like Leinster House is a good place to be murdered if you want the investigation into your killer expedited.’

  ‘A couple of members of my team have been over that office on the sixth floor looking for traces of the victim. I’ll get the report on that over to you, too. I believe the office’s regular occupant confirmed the room had been disturbed.’

  ‘She did,’ Laura replied. She turned to Eoin. ‘Can you make sure the computer from upstairs gets to the Garda IT specialists? Tell them I’m sending Detective Michael Geoghegan over to sit on them until they give us something and remind them that every other department is operating at top speed.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Eoin gave her a cheeky wink as he left and she had to bite her lip to prevent a grin spreading.

  ‘Oh, give it up,’ Emmet snorted. ‘Do you think we’re all blind? It’s sickening. Pah!’ The Tech Bureau chief stomped off. Laura stared at his huge retreating back, stunned.

  What had she been expecting? That the people around her, who unearthed secrets for a living, wouldn’t figure out she was seeing one of her colleagues?

  Michael Geoghegan, one of her teammates, sauntered over. He was wearing his usual plain-clothes uniform of tracksuit hoodie and blue denims. He stood beside Laura, in her smart Zara suit, looking like she’d just hauled him in for dealing drugs. He was a good-looking man with short, spiky brown hair, blue eyes and an olive complexion – but his idea of dressing up for the job was wearing a plain-knit sweater over a shirt. She’d never seen him in a suit. It was hard to believe he was a settled-down husband and father, let alone a senior detective.

  ‘You look like you’re trying out for a part in a silent movie over here. What’s with the pained facial expressions? And did I hear you mention my name?’

  ‘Have you noticed anything different about me?’ Laura asked.

  ‘Different? Like what? Do you mean that glow of somebody who’s shagging a handsome young guard?’

  ‘Jesus. Does everyone know?’

  Michael laughed.

  ‘No. Bridget let it slip last week. Don’t worry, I haven’t had time to spread it around. I’m waiting for the next big night out when the whole team is there and I’ve a loudspeaker.’

  ‘Git. I’m going to have words with her. Listen, could you keep on top of IT when we send that computer over?’

  ‘No bother. I’m looking for tasks that help me avoid Ray. We set him up on a date with one of Anne’s friends. I always thought she was a bit of a cow, but he does need somebody. Anyway, Anne got a full half hour of ranting on the phone last night from her. It seems the evening didn’t go well.’

  Laura kept her smile rigid. She’d buried any feelings she had for Ray months ago, when he’d so obviously fallen for somebody else. Only her closest confidantes had known she was holding a torch for him back then and nobody else needed to know now. And yet she still felt a pang in her stomach at the thought of him seeing other women. She didn’t know why. What did it matter if he was back on the dating scene? He hadn’t noticed her before, so why would he notice her now? And, anyway, wasn’t she seeing someone herself these days and blissfully happy?

  Michael saw somebody he wanted to speak to at the top of the stairs and excused himself.

  Laura waved him off, then gave her head a quick shake. What was happening to her? Here she was, yards from where a man had been brutally murdered, contemplating her love life. Was she that desensitised?

  But it was what Tom always said, wasn’t it? Life went on. Cruelly and inexplicably, the world kept turning.

  The only person for whom it had stopped was Ryan Finnegan.

  *

  ‘He’d received an email earlier in the day.’

  Ray and Tom were making their way back through Leinster House. The inspector had noted that they hadn’t needed a pass card to get from Government Buildings to the main House. The security swipe was only required for the doors on the Leinster House side. But the doors to the tunnel where Ryan was shot apparently did need a pass card. Did that mean the killer worked here and had one? Or had a swipe card been stolen?

  ‘An email about what?’ Tom asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you, but first there’s another thing: Finnegan’s isn’t the only desk in that office. There’s another.’

  ‘Who owns the other one?’

  ‘The minister’s secretary, Grace Brady. Morrison filled me in. He also scanned the preliminary list of people who were about the building this evening. Ms Brady was in until around 8 p.m. An usher has confirmed seeing her leaving. So she was gone, apparently, by the time the body was discovered.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see how many people are on this list of Morrison’s – all potential suspects. A list, by the way, that includes the Taoiseach himself.’

  ‘The Taoiseach? You’re joking!’ Ray spluttered.

  ‘I wish I was. Go on, the email.’

  ‘Right. So, we know Ryan returned to work this week. Well, I looked through his emails last night, which was easy, because his computer was only in sleep mode and he hadn’t set up a security password. Again, he obviously assumed he would be returning to his office. The screen came to life as soon as I tapped a key and this email I’m about to tell you about was open on the desktop.

  ‘I spoke to Morrison and the head of Oireachtas IT. It turns out that while Ryan was off recuperating, his original computer was taken by the Oireachtas IT team for updating.’

  ‘They just took it away when he wasn’t there? Are we going the right way for the car park? It’s through here, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, yes and yes. While the computers are allocated for personal use, they still belong to the Oireachtas. When the techies came to collect Grace Brady’s computer for updating, she told them they could take Ryan’s as well.

  ‘So, he got back this week and discovered that the computer on his desk was not the computer he had six months ago. He sent an email, followed by a phone call, to the IT department on Monday and they emailed him back early on Friday apologising for the error. They confirmed that the original computer had been accidentally transferred to LH2000, floor six, room six point eight. The mix-up was to be sorted out next week – as in, his machine returned to him – once the person currently using it was given notice. Tom, I just hit a button on Ryan’s computer and that email was open on the screen. Anyone could have walked into his office, seen it, and known exactly where he’d gone.’

  ‘Yes, if they knew the layout of this complex and also had access to Government Buildings. We can’t rule out the idea that somebody might have just followed him from the main house. That aside, why was Ryan so impatient to access the computer that he went over there? Something to do with that picture, do you think?’

  ‘I’d imagine so,’ R
ay agreed. ‘Where are you off to now?’

  ‘Press. McGuinness is making me.’

  ‘Is he . . . okay?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Is there stuff going on with his wife, June?’

  Tom sighed. It wasn’t that he had forgotten the family crisis Sean was dealing with. He just didn’t like to think about it. June was the chief’s wife and had been recently diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s. Sean doted on his wife and had been looking forward to their retirement together. Her diagnosis was overwhelming and heartbreaking.

  ‘He’s . . . managing,’ Tom said, and left it at that.

  *

  Inspector Reynolds sat at the far end of the top table at the press conference, becoming steadily more depressed as journalists fired questions at Assistant Commissioner Bronwyn Maher, McGuinness and the Minister for Justice. Was this a terrorist attack? Had any suspects been identified? What was the motive for the murder? Who had been in the parliament complex last night? Was the Garda Commissioner cutting short his visit to Canada to come home and take charge?

  The chief superintendent didn’t expect Tom to speak. He was there as a show of force, allegedly. In reality, the inspector knew his boss wanted him to see the pressure that he, as the head of the Bureau, would be under in the time ahead. Maher had given him a swift nod when he’d come in. Her blond hair was in its usual immaculately coiffed style, not a strand out of place, her make-up casually elegant. She wore a trouser uniform but still looked feminine. Tom had always admired her. She’d made the choice not to sacrifice her style or personality to get ahead in what was still a male-dominated workplace, and nothing was standing in her way.

  McGuinness and Maher talked at length and gave away nothing, while the minister spoke convincingly about directing mass Garda resources to the case and increasing security at government and other high profile buildings, though everybody believed the attack to be an isolated incident. The commissioner had made an overnight decision (after a phone call from the Minister for Justice, though that was left unsaid) to leave the Quebec conference and come home to be at the media’s disposal.