Beneath the Surface

by Jo Spain

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘9.55 p.m.’

  ‘And is there a toilet around that area? Where’s the bar?’

  ‘Further into the building, not near the main reception. The toilets for the bar are a few metres away from it. The male toilets aren’t signposted well, though, so maybe Madsen was lost. It’s hard to know.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Tom considered this. 9.55 p.m in the main reception area fitted exactly with somebody returning in a hurry from LH2000. They knew that Madsen had been in Government Buildings, which meant he could have seen Ryan’s emails. But would he have had a reason for killing Ryan? And if he’d been with the minister until 9.30 and then with McNally for a short time afterwards, didn’t that put him out of the picture timewise?

  Willie was resting on the bonnet, stroking the edges of his moustache, clearly pondering something.

  ‘What are you thinking, Willie?’ The inspector looked over.

  ‘I’m thinking that if you’re talking about Carl Madsen, the vice-president of that big oil and gas company, he’s hardly somebody who has to wait for a driver to turn up. Not if that driver wanted to keep his job.’

  ‘Very true,’ Tom agreed.

  ‘There’s more,’ Ray continued.

  ‘Let me guess. You’re going to tell me the Taoiseach was wandering around wearing a holster, brandishing a gun and whistling the tune from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.’

  ‘No. But he was also in the main reception area. Again, only notable because he’s not often in that part of the building.’

  Tom rested his elbows on top of the car and placed his head in his hands.

  ‘One more thing.’

  The inspector groaned.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The woman who works with Ryan. Grace Brady. Nobody can find her. She’s disappeared.’

  Chapter 8

  Across the city, in a room they’d been designated in Leinster House, Laura stared at the floor plans laid out on the table in front of her. Each showed the layout of the different buildings in the Oireachtas complex. She picked up the one displaying the subterranean floor of the building she was in now and the tunnel that connected LH2000 to the main building.

  ‘Laura?’

  The detective looked up. It was Bridget, her colleague and housemate.

  ‘Do you want to come for a drink tonight? Eoin just rang, says he can’t get you on the phone but that you were heading over to his anyway and he’s on for going out.’

  ‘We have to track down this Brady woman,’ Laura replied, still distracted by the map.

  They’d been on the verge of wrapping up for the night, doing a final checklist of the interviews they’d got through and what was outstanding, when they discovered that no one had been able to get hold of Grace Brady.

  Initially, Laura hadn’t been concerned. She had been busy coordinating the interviews and checking the statements they already had against the hours of CCTV footage from the external gates. They wanted to make sure everyone had entered and left the complex when they claimed. Grace had departed well before anything had happened to Ryan. But after failing to get her on her mobile, Laura had decided to send a car on a fruitless trip to the woman’s home. She was starting to worry a little now.

  Where was Grace Brady? The minister’s secretary could hardly have missed the wall-to-wall coverage of what had happened in her workplace. Ryan’s name had been released. His picture was on every news bulletin and in every evening paper edition. Grace might not have been in the building when Ryan was shot, but she worked in the same office as him, so it was imperative they speak with her.

  Two of Grace’s colleagues, the only pair who seemed to have any knowledge about the woman outside the workplace, mentioned a sister in Meath. A search had turned up Maire Doran, forty-two, living in Ashbourne. Her number kept ringing out as well. Could they be away for the weekend or something?

  Bridget was staring at her.

  ‘Earth to Laura. Come in, it’s your social life calling. We have to call it a night at some stage.’

  Laura blinked. ‘Sorry. Yes, let’s do that. Tom said I could finish up, but I need to check something first.’

  She picked up her phone. She had two missed calls from Eoin. Yet she’d answered Ray the minute he called. Well, that was normal, wasn’t it? Ray was a team colleague and they were on a case. Eoin might be on the force, but she knew he was ringing as her boyfriend.

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Yep, I’m just wondering how I missed Eoin’s calls. This thing will take ten minutes. And do you mind if we go home first? I want to freshen up.’

  The two women shared an apartment not far from the city centre and near garda headquarters in the Park.

  Bridget cocked her head to one side and squinted at her friend.

  ‘Spill.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Laura blushed.

  ‘You look distracted and not in a work way.’

  ‘I am thinking about work. I’ve just realised something about the Leinster House basement.’

  ‘So it has nothing to do with that phone call you just took, when you were so animated?’

  Laura’s colour deepened.

  ‘Oh, honey,’ Bridget tutted. ‘Not again.’

  ‘What? What have I done? Don’t go all preachy on me.’

  ‘I’m not going to say anything. Except this. You and Eoin make a lovely couple. He’s a good-looking, sweet, smart guy who’s besotted with you, and I’m not just saying that because we’re related. There’s no getting away from it. Ray’s not interested in you. He has a penchant for unstable women. You’re not his type.’

  Laura flinched.

  ‘Don’t, Bridget.’

  ‘For God’s sake. Okay, he was completely unaware of your poetic unrequited love last year, but you’re still entitled to have a bloody vent. More fool him, chasing a woman who turned out to be the mayor of crazy town, when you were there, saving your virginity for him.’

  Laura snorted.

  ‘Saving my what, now?’

  Bridget’s features relaxed and she too laughed.

  ‘Seriously, Bridget, don’t worry. I’m not going there. Sure, my mind might drift to “what if” every now and then; it’s hard to switch off completely when you’ve nursed a hope for so long. But, even if he had noticed me, we work on the same team. It’s too close. How could it have developed into anything? Don’t worry. I like Eoin. He’s even found my long-lost virginity. He found it several times the other night.’

  ‘I think I just got sick in my mouth.’

  Laura mock-swiped at her friend and got up to leave.

  ‘Do me a favour and try Grace Brady again while I’m gone, will you? If you spent your time more productively, you wouldn’t have to obsess about my bedroom activities.’

  She found Shane Morrison in the main lobby, speaking to ushers behind the visitors’ desk. Despite the long day, he was still the most well-turned-out, proper-looking man Laura had ever seen. Aside from Willie Callaghan, that was. The chief of securities posture was as stiff as his shirts. But there was something a little off about him, in the detective’s opinion. He had a strangely intense way of looking at you, like he was drinking you in. She wondered if that was with everybody, or just women.

  Laura waited until he finished issuing orders to his staff. The ushers had been extremely helpful to the team all afternoon and she could see how tired they were. No doubt they too were eager to get home.

  ‘Ah, Detective Brennan. I’m told your officers are wrapping up for the evening. Will you be needing the House tomorrow as well?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘No, thank you. The bosses are worried we’re attracting too much media attention working out of Leinster House. We’ve arranged for the remaining interviews to be conducted at our headquarters. We’ll probably be in and out over the coming days, though. Will Leinster House return to normal business next week, or is it to stay closed?’

  ‘We’re generally ful
ly staffed Monday to Friday. The Dáil normally sits from Tuesday afternoon until Thursday evening, but the government has decided to suspend the House for one sitting day, so parliament won’t resume until Wednesday. Only essential staff and those with whom you want to speak will be asked to come in on Monday. The media have had their passes for Leinster House suspended until the Dáil comes back. They’re not happy.’

  ‘I imagine not. Can I ask for your assistance with one more matter?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘The underground tunnel, Mr Morrison – Mr McNally told the inspector this morning that it could be accessed via the Seanad stairway. Over there, am I right?’

  Laura pointed to the arch across the lobby.

  Morrison nodded.

  ‘Yes, you can take those stairs.’

  Laura opened up the floorplan she was holding and pointed at one of the red circles she had drawn.

  ‘That’s the correlating point there, isn’t it?’

  He nodded again.

  Laura pointed at a second red circle.

  ‘So what’s that, then?’

  ‘Come, I’ll show you,’ he said.

  They made their way past the reception desk, towards the Dáil Chamber. They’d walked a few yards down the hall when Morrison stopped and opened a door to their left.

  ‘The stairwell through here leads to the start of the tunnel from this end,’ he said.

  Laura chewed at her lip as she contemplated the information.

  ‘Is this door always unlocked?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can we go down?’

  ‘Sure. After you.’

  They took the stairs.

  The carpet underfoot felt damp and smelt musty, rarely used. At the bottom was another door. Laura opened it and found herself in the dimly lit tunnel.

  ‘What’s in these offices here?’ she asked, indicating the doors to either side.

  ‘Storage, mainly,’ Morrison replied. ‘That room there is where the TDs collect their freepost envelopes. There are file rooms, rooms full of replacement equipment, and so forth. The offices with full-time occupants don’t really start until beyond the Seanad stairs entrance, along that part of the corridor where Ryan was found.’

  ‘So, would there have been anybody in this section of the building after normal working hours?’

  ‘There was nobody in any of the rooms in the tunnel after 9 p.m. last night. But this end is usually deserted anyway. We don’t use it for much because we had a little, ahem, problem, a couple of years ago. Rodents. This basement area was originally the servants’ quarters, the kitchen, and so on, and it’s connected to the old drains and sewers. The infrastructure has required a good deal of updating over the years.’

  Laura shivered.

  It was cold where they stood and as silent as the grave. She looked down, half expecting to see a rat scurrying along the poorly lit floor. There was no reason to feel frightened. She wasn’t alone. But still, the detective was unsettled. The presence of the chief of security was little comfort in this eerie silence. In fact, Laura felt he rather added to her sense of unease.

  ‘Are there any other tunnels in the complex?’ she asked.

  Morrison considered for a moment.

  ‘Not in use. As I said, this was a functioning part of the original House, but there are old tunnels leading out to coal bunkers and there were some built later as passageways to air raid shelters. Very few people are aware that there’s a shelter under Merrion Square Park, beneath the grassy mound at the Fitzwilliam Street corner.’

  ‘Interesting,’ she said. ‘They can’t be accessed now, can they? Nobody could gain access to the House unnoticed through an old tunnel?’

  Morrison frowned.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so, but I’ll have the engineers in the Office of Public Works check it out just in case.’

  ‘That would be good, thanks. We can go back up now.’

  Bridget was waiting for Laura at ground level and Morrison bade them goodnight as he left to supervise the shutting down of the building.

  ‘What’s down there?’ her colleague asked, tugging the bobble from her dark hair and shaking her ponytail loose with relief. ‘Oh, thank God for that. I’ve a fierce headache. No luck getting hold of Grace Brady, by the way.’

  Laura frowned.

  ‘Everybody we interviewed today was asked if they had seen anybody in the vicinity of the steps through that arch at the main reception, the ones that lead down to the tunnel where Ryan was killed,’ she said.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And that door I just came through is another entrance to the same tunnel. If you wanted to go down there unseen, surely that’s the one you’d use?’

  Bridget’s eyes widened.

  ‘Of course it is. The reception area was staffed the whole time on Friday, with a clear view of that archway leading to the Seanad stairwell. But somebody could have slipped through that door behind you completely unseen.’

  Laura nodded.

  ‘It’s just as well you had the map and asked,’ Bridget added. ‘Because nobody I spoke to mentioned a second access point.’

  ‘Anyone using that tunnel would have to have been familiar with the building’s layout,’ Laura remarked. ‘The Leinster House tour includes the Seanad chamber – I’ve a vague recollection of seeing it myself on a school trip – and ushers probably tell visitors nowadays about the tunnel that connects the old building to LH2000. But only people who work here would know that tunnel extends further under Leinster House.’

  ‘Well, you may be on to something then. Why do you look so perplexed?’

  ‘I’m wondering why Mr Morrison didn’t mention this entrance before. Or McNally, or anybody we or the inspector talked to up to this point.’

  ‘You think Morrison deliberately didn’t say anything?’ Bridget asked.

  Laura shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know. He was happy to show it to me, but only after I’d asked. It just strikes me as strange, that’s all. He knew we hadn’t had the opportunity to explore the length of the tunnel today because Emmet’s team was finishing up down there, but surely he saw the relevance of another access point? Anyway, let’s go. I’ll send somebody out to check with Grace Brady’s neighbours to see if she left word about going away for the weekend. That’s the only reason I can think of for her not answering her phone.’

  ‘We hope,’ Bridget added, her voice ominous.

  Chapter 9

  Aidan Blake’s house wasn’t as grand as some of the surrounding properties on the Hill of Howth. No doubt it still cost a fortune, Tom mused. Up here, one paid for the postcode and the panoramic view over Dublin Bay.

  They pulled into the driveway after pausing for the electric gates to be opened. They’d phoned ahead and were expected.

  The house sat on a half acre of land with woods to the rear. It was a dormer bungalow, built on a slight hill so they ascended as they drove, passing neatly trimmed hedgerows and dainty flowerbeds. The car had rolled a few metres around the first bend when Ray murmured with concern: ‘What’s that?’

  The three men peered at the side of the house.

  A woman was gesticulating in their direction, her frantic movements illuminated by the outdoor light.

  Willie hit the accelerator and the car sped towards the house.

  They were within a few feet of the bungalow when something hit the windscreen.

  Willie and Tom flinched and Ray cursed.

  ‘She’s not waving, she’s throwing things at us,’ he exclaimed.

  The vehicle skidded to a halt and they all leapt out.

  ‘Hey!’ Tom called, his voice urgent.

  The woman froze, arm mid-swing, and dropped her next missile, which looked like a small stone. She strolled nonchalantly towards them.

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Tom Reynolds; we’re here to see Aidan Blake.’ Tom was unnerved by how relaxed the woman seemed. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, l
ooking puzzled. ‘I’m his wife. Sara.’ She wiped her hands on the sides of her jeans and offered him one to shake. Tom took it gingerly.

  Compared to her handsome husband, Sara Blake was fairly nondescript. The woman’s facial features were a little too small, with her eyes too close together and her lips on the thin side. Despite that, she had an approachable countenance. Her smile was shy and engaging and there was gentleness to her handshake that befitted her slight frame. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a plain French knot, bereft of adornments. No, she couldn’t be described as pretty, Tom thought. Refined, was the best he could come up with. Which made the manic throwing activity just minutes ago all the more incongruous.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, cautiously.

  ‘I’m committing snail genocide,’ she said. ‘The little pests keep getting in at my gerberas and night-time seems to be their feeding period. The ones I can’t kill, I’m lobbing into the neighbour’s garden. He deserves it, the cranky old git. I was trying to distract myself from what happened last night and taking it out on the snails seemed like a good idea.’

  She was waiting for Tom to reply when the penny dropped.

  ‘Oh, sugar! I’m sorry, did I throw one at you? I turned when I saw the car. My aim is terrible.’ She clasped a hand over her mouth, mortified.

  Tom was relieved. They weren’t dealing with a mad woman, after all.

  ‘Would you not just put a plate of beer out for them?’ Willie said, knowledgeable on all things garden-related.

  ‘I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Let him next door waste his ale and get them tanked up. If you ask me, he threw them in here in the first place. We’re engaged in snail air warfare. Come in and I’ll get you some refreshments. You must be exhausted after today. Aidan is waiting for you. He’s on the phone. Been on it for hours. We just can’t believe what’s happened. It’s . . . well, it’s unbelievable.’

  She shook her head and led them into the house, kicking off her trainers inside the front door. The minister’s wife wore a cream wool hoodie and fitted jeans. She really wasn’t at all what Tom had expected, not with her husband being so suave.

  ‘Aidan,’ she called out. ‘The guards are here.’