Beneath the Surface

by Jo Spain

  She brought them down the hall to a large kitchen and offered them seats at the breakfast table.

  ‘I’m sorry to be meeting you in these circumstances,’ Tom said, watching her move efficiently between the kitchen counters and an island workspace.

  Sara hesitated mid-task.

  ‘To be honest, I’m finding it hard to process,’ she said. ‘I’ve being trying to do normal things all day, you know? Putting the washing on. Hoovering. Gardening. Just keeping busy. And then I remember . . .’

  She inhaled, eyes closed, her face desperately sad and angry all at once. ‘It’s not a normal day.’

  ‘No, it’s not. You knew Ryan well, then?’ the inspector asked.

  Sara’s shoulders drooped.

  ‘Very well.’ Her voice broke, but she gathered herself quickly. ‘Like I have a right to be upset. Like it matters how I feel, compared to what Kathryn and his family are going through.’ A small, distraught sob escaped her lips. She wiped her eyes roughly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I imagine this is hard work for you, too. Daddy was on the force; I know the toll it takes.’

  ‘We manage,’ Tom said. ‘We get to go back to our own lives. The victims’ family and friends have to cope with what’s happened. Tell me how you knew Ryan.’

  ‘He started working with Aidan over ten years ago, fresh out of college and full of ideas. We were already battle-hardened. Aidan had lost two general elections at that stage but was serving on the city council. Equal parts soul-destroying and character forming, really. Ryan gave Aidan a shake-up. Made him enthusiastic about politics again. God knows he needed it. I love my husband to bits but he’s like all politicians. Sometimes he can’t see the wood for the trees. Ryan will really be missed, now the Reform Party is in government.’

  It was an interesting statement, Tom thought.

  ‘Mrs Blake, I was told you were in the complex last night. What time was that? Did you see Ryan?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ she answered. ‘But I wasn’t looking out for him. I was preoccupied. The press wanted a photo opportunity at this event I’d organised, with all the cabinet members in attendance. I had to track down several ministers and em . . . an important guest. I know we left the ball about 9. I found two ministers quickly and a couple more in the bar at about 9.15 p.m. I got stuck there waiting for them to finish their pints for nearly three quarters of an hour but I was afraid to leave without them; they were the most unreliable on my list. People kept offering to buy me drinks. Like there wasn’t somewhere I needed to be!’

  Tom picked up on something she’d said.

  ‘Who was this important guest you were looking for? Your husband mentioned something similar this morning.’

  She hesitated, momentarily.

  ‘It was the Taoiseach. I don’t want to imply he was one of the ones drinking all night.’

  ‘Of course not. But you did find him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Tom waited for her to say where, but Mrs Blake didn’t expand on her answer.

  ‘What time did your husband join you?’

  ‘I guess about 9.45? I was still in the bar. I’m sorry, I know you need everybody to be exact. I remember glancing at my wristwatch when he found me and thinking we had to speed things up. He’d been in a meeting, but I’d asked him to come help me drag the others out as soon as he was free. Some of the older ministers tend to get a little misogynistic when they’ve a few jars in them. I figured they would pay attention to Aidan, if not to me.’

  ‘It seems unfair,’ Tom remarked. ‘Missing your own ball.’

  ‘You make it sound like I’m a debutante. The ball wasn’t for me, I merely organised it. I always find at these events it’s your job to make sure everybody else has fun and to look like you’re having a great time, when really you spend most of the affair in a state of abject panic. It was worth it, though. The charity made a lot of money. My colleague Hugh managed to talk a celebrity chef into catering. Then it was easy to sell it to the Grand. We spent practically nothing organising it but raised plenty because it was such a fancy venue.’

  ‘What does your charity do, exactly?’ Ray asked.

  ‘It’s a children’s foundation. We provide refuge, support and counselling to kids who’ve been abused, live in poverty, that kind of thing. You’d think, wouldn’t you, in a first-world country like Ireland, that there would be few children in such circumstances. But there are more than you think.’ A shadow fell over her features and there was no doubting the genuine compassion in her eyes. ‘I called the charity Silent Voices because no one hears them. Silly, probably, but the name means a lot to me. Children are so precious and yet, they’re rarely listened to. I’ve firsthand experience of that.’

  ‘It sounds very admirable,’ the inspector commented. He wasn’t entirely sure if her comment about ‘firsthand experience’ referred to the children she routinely dealt with, or her own childhood. Should he ask her, he wondered?

  He didn’t get the chance. The door opened and Blake entered the kitchen.

  ‘Inspector. There was no need to call out to the house; I’d have gone wherever you needed.’

  Blake looked tired and despondent. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and his usually stylish hair was unkempt. The suit had been replaced with a polo shirt and faded jeans. He didn’t look like a man who’d murdered somebody last night. He had all the appearance of a man devastated and in mourning.

  ‘Shall we go to my study?’ Blake asked.

  ‘I’ll bring tea and coffee through,’ Sara offered.

  Tom nodded gratefully as he and Ray stood to accompany the minister. Willie remained in the kitchen with an offer to help with the refreshments.

  ‘Mrs Blake, before we leave, will you make a note of those who were in the bar with you last night?’ the inspector asked, pausing at the door.

  ‘Certainly. I remember exactly who was there. I was stone cold sober while I waited for everybody to finish their drinks and their interminable yarns.’

  Blake’s study was a comfortable room, its centrepoint a large oak desk flanked by burgundy leather chairs. It wasn’t unlike his office in Government Buildings, bar the absence of a meeting table.

  Tom saw the move to the home study for what it was, as the minister took his seat behind the desk. In the kitchen or lounge they would have sat as equals. In here, Blake was in charge. They were positioned like petitioning constituents on the other side of the table. The minister was a man used to being deferred to.

  Well, the power dynamic was about to shift.

  ‘Are we any closer to knowing what happened last night?’ Blake spoke first. ‘I’ve had reporters trying to get hold of me all day. I can’t wrap my head around it at all. Ryan dying is one thing. But to be shot in Leinster House, it’s incredible. The audacity!’

  He shook his head, half in outrage, half in amazement.

  ‘We’re making some progress,’ Tom said, cautiously. ‘Something significant has come to our attention and we want to talk to you about it.’

  The inspector had unbuttoned his dark overcoat when he’d sat down and now he withdrew the envelope from it. The door opened and Sara entered, carrying a tray.

  ‘I’ll just leave this here,’ she said, glancing at the envelope, obviously curious as to what it contained. She wasn’t going to find out from Tom. He’d leave that to her husband.

  ‘Back to last night,’ he continued, when the minister’s wife had left the room. ‘We’re trying to establish people’s exact movements during the time period Ryan was killed. Nobody is being accused of anything. We just want to paint a picture of where everybody was and try to jog people’s memories for anything that might help us. Can you tell me again the exact time you met with Carl Madsen and what else you did during the evening?’

  Blake seemed transfixed by the envelope, but now he snapped to attention.

  ‘Sure. I went over it in my head this morning after I talked to you. I want to help, but I don’t know if I can.’
>
  ‘Nonetheless . . .’ Tom kept his tone even.

  ‘I finished in my office in Government Buildings at 9.30 or thereabouts. I crossed over to Leinster House to find Sara and found her in the bar at about 9.45 p.m. She had one more minister to grab and he arrived just before 10, as we were encouraging the others out the door. We made certain they were en route to the ball, then we left together to look for . . .’

  ‘The Taoiseach?’

  ‘Yes – how did you . . .? Ah, my wife told you. We found Cormac and then Sara and I left Leinster House and were back at the ball before 10:30, just in time for dessert. I didn’t want you to think the Taoiseach had to be forced to go over to the event. He was just . . . busy.’

  ‘I see.’

  Blake’s eyes drifted back to the envelope.

  ‘When we met this morning, Minister, I asked you a rather obscure question about whether Ryan had any strange proclivities. Do you remember?’

  The other man swallowed nervously. He picked up his coffee and took a sip.

  ‘A picture was found under Ryan’s body,’ Tom continued. ‘It was part of a set. Your former PA printed out the lot minutes before he was murdered. I imagine he had them on his person when he was pursued. As he fell, the pages must have flown from his hands. His killer removed them but missed one. I have all the images here.’

  He slid his finger under the lip of the envelope and withdrew the pages. Blake was prominent in the first picture.

  The minister dropped his coffee cup. It clattered noisily on the desk before falling to the carpeted floor. Tom hurriedly grabbed the pictures to save them from the liquid spreading across the table. Blake shot up and yelped as the scalding coffee hit his thigh.

  ‘Christ almighty!’ he groaned, reaching for tissues on the desk.

  Tom pushed the box towards him and he and Ray each grabbed a handful to dry the table as the other man dabbed at his jeans.

  ‘Are you badly burned?’ the inspector asked.

  Blake shook his head, wincing in discomfort.

  ‘No.’

  He checked the chair to make sure it was dry and fell back onto the seat.

  Tom lifted the pictures again, but Blake held up his hands.

  ‘Please. Don’t. I can’t bear it. They’re too awful. And if Sara came in and saw them . . .’ His expression was pained.

  The inspector nodded.

  ‘I understand. Your wife isn’t aware of any of this, then?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Blake looked horrified. ‘Please, don’t say anything to her.’

  ‘Aidan, we have a real dilemma here. Someone took the time to remove compromising and potentially damaging pictures of you from the crime scene. This person may have also been responsible for Ryan’s death. You have given us your alibi for the time in question but these photographs put you in the middle of our case. Why would Ryan have had them?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Was he blackmailing you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because, you know, blackmail is an evil thing. It can force people to respond to situations in very desperate ways.’

  Blake shook his head agitatedly.

  ‘He wasn’t blackmailing me. He wouldn’t. You don’t understand. He just wasn’t the type. Ryan was a principled individual. I don’t want his name besmirched like this. Jesus, he couldn’t even get to grips with the necessary acts of government, he was that idealistic.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Just that the whole thing was too damn grubby for him. We argued quite a bit about it. He didn’t understand that being in government is very different from the simple black and white of opposition politics. Power involves taking nuanced positions and making compromises to get things done.’

  ‘I see. You seemed to already know what I had brought with me this evening,’ the inspector pointed out.

  Blake nodded slowly.

  ‘I wondered when you were asking about Ryan having . . . certain urges. It was such a strange question. I knew those blasted pictures would come back to haunt me.’

  The minister buried his head in his hands.

  Tom sat back in the chair, motioning to Ray to pick up the questioning.

  ‘When were the photos taken?’ his deputy asked.

  Blake gulped.

  ‘Over twenty years ago. I was on a gap year, travelling. That was in Thailand. I was in a bad place, in my head. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life and my family had high expectations of me. I was drinking a lot, taking recreational drugs . . . I’m not proud of it. There are no excuses. I was stupid. I barely drink these days, let alone touch drugs. I’m not gay – I mean, I’m not in the closet or anything. I got up to plenty with women, too. I was just experimenting. I didn’t realise what I’d done would be used against me.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘A couple of years ago, one of the men in those photographs discovered what I did for a living. I don’t know how. My picture must have been in some international publication or something. He emailed the photos to me, looking for money. I’d erased that night from my mind. I don’t even recall there being a camera.’

  ‘Did you pay him?’ Ray asked.

  ‘Yes, I had to. You’ve seen them. Would you want those pictures getting out?’

  ‘Why were you concerned in particular? Were you worried about your wife finding out? The public? Were the men you were with of legal age?’

  Blake baulked.

  ‘Jesus, of course they were. You’re not suggesting . . .? I had sex with men, Detective. That doesn’t make me a bloody kiddy fiddler. Christ, is that what you think homosexuality is?’

  ‘No,’ Ray protested. ‘Not at all. I apologise, but I had to ask.’

  Blake remained distressed. He roughly massaged the sides of his temples.

  ‘I couldn’t let those pictures ruin the career I’ve worked so hard to build. And yes, I panicked that Sara would find out. She’s the love of my life. Look, I know it’s hard to believe given the position I hold now, but I had a bit of a wild side. I told Sara I’d been reckless as a kid, but I settled down when I met her and she has no idea, really, of the true extent of what I used to get up to. Then this . . . bloodsucker came along and tried to wreck everything. I paid, Detective, every time he demanded.’ The minister’s voice was brittle with anger.

  ‘And how many times was that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Six? Seven times?’

  ‘Is he still blackmailing you?’ Tom asked.

  ‘No. The emails ceased in late spring. Just in time, because he knew I had been promoted to ministerial rank. He thought he could escalate the demands. Then, suddenly, there was nothing.’

  ‘And why was that?’

  ‘He died. I never thought I’d be so happy to hear about a person’s death. I made some discreet enquiries and discovered he’d taken an overdose.’

  The minister shook his head in wonderment, as if he still couldn’t believe his luck.

  ‘We’re going to need his name and the last known contact details you had for him,’ Tom said. They’d have to make sure the man was actually dead and verify Blake’s story.

  The minister nodded. He glanced at the envelope again.

  Tom examined the man’s face, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

  ‘Ryan forwarded the photos to himself from your email account, Aidan. I can’t imagine you left them sitting in your inbox, so perhaps he happened upon an unopened email. Why would he have sent them to himself and why did he print them out last night if not to blackmail you?’

  Blake’s shoulders sank and his voice was hoarse when he replied.

  ‘I’ve already said, I don’t know.’

  The minister was lying. Tom was sure of it.

  He put his hand on the envelope and its loaded contents.

  ‘You mightn’t believe Ryan was planning to blackmail you. But maybe somebody else did. Who would kill to protect you, Aidan?’

  Blake wiped his brow and
the sheen of sweat that had formed there.

  ‘Nobody,’ he replied. ‘I don’t know anybody who would do such a thing.’

  The inspector said nothing. They’d given the minister his chance to tell them what he knew. And he’d refused to take it.

  ‘One more thing before we leave, then.’ Tom spoke quietly. ‘I’d strongly advise you to tell your wife about these photos. They will feature in this investigation. I can assure you they are safe in the hands of my team, but I can’t give you a cast-iron guarantee of confidentiality and the media will be all over this case. I’m sure that isn’t how you want her to find out.’

  Blake put his head in his hands, the picture of a broken man.

  ‘I’ll tell her,’ he croaked.

  *

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  Tom and Ray were back in the car, being driven by Willie in the direction of the inspector’s house. The weather had stayed calm and dry, the clear night sky was dotted with stars.

  ‘No,’ Tom answered, mesmerised by the lights of passing cars. ‘He’s lying.’

  ‘Which part?’

  ‘I think the better question is which part was truthful. What’s your take on him?’

  Ray arched his eyebrows.

  ‘That thing he said about having a wild side – I’m not convinced he was only talking about the past. Which is fascinating, considering how he’s lauded by press and public alike as the best politician in the land. And it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, not us, that Finnegan wouldn’t have had it in him to resort to blackmail, when it looks like that’s exactly what Ryan was planning. Why else would he have sent himself the pictures?’

  ‘I’m starting to form the opinion he had them for security,’ Tom said. ‘Relations were deteriorating between him and the minister. Maybe Ryan wanted something in his back pocket, even if he didn’t intend to use it. Again, interesting, because it doesn’t really fit with the notion of Ryan being this principled fellow we keep hearing about, not if he was willing to resort to blackmail. Unless he was fooling himself into thinking he was doing it for the greater good or something. I found what Sara Blake said intriguing.’

  ‘What was that?’