Beneath the Surface

by Jo Spain

  ‘Light of my life,’ he responded to his deputy.

  ‘But when did you know?’ Ray’s face was pained. ‘Did you just wake up and fancy her one day, or was it love at first sight, or . . .’

  ‘Is this about Ellie?’ Tom asked, tentatively. ‘Maybe we should go . . .’

  ‘’S’not about Ellie. It’s about . . . Ah, never mind.’

  Ray stood up, wobbling a little.

  Tom rose with him.

  ‘Will ye be down at the protest tomorrow?’ Padraig Óg asked, a very drunken gleam in his eye. ‘I could make up a banner – I brought the sheriff. And I even brought his deputy. What do you think?’ He snorted with laughter.

  They departed the bar to a chorus of good-natured guffaws, emerging into the crisp air.

  The rain had ceased and the heavy clouds had drifted on. A million stars twinkled overhead in a beautifully still night sky.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Ray asked, as they turned away from the direction of the hotel.

  ‘A little walk to clear your head. Let’s go down and look at the pier.’

  There were several boats in the harbour, most of them recreational craft. The few fishing vessels looked jaded, their nets loaded haphazardly and in need of repair.

  The sea itself was calm and enticing. It was easy to imagine men pulling anchor here on an early morning, their heads full of the day’s potential haul, their hearts longing for the sea but also praying they’d come home safe. Tom looked back up at the village. From here, at this hour, you couldn’t see the boarded-up windows or broken signs that they’d passed, forlorn reminders that the community was now a shadow of itself. The view was one of welcoming lights along the road and in the homes spread out across the hills.

  ‘Louise and I were friends first,’ he said, turning to Ray, who was sitting on a wall and gulping in the sea air, trying to avoid getting sick. ‘I already had a girlfriend when I got to know Louise. I nearly missed my chance. She’d started going out with some lad from her college before I realised I missed having her at our group nights out. She’d been growing on me and I hadn’t even noticed. Suddenly, she was the most beautiful girl in the world and she’d been under my nose the whole time.’

  Ray perked up.

  ‘But what did you do? If she was with someone else?’

  ‘I broke up with my girlfriend and I waited for Louise. As it turned out, I’d been growing on her, too. Like an itchy rash, she claims.’

  He smiled.

  Ray looked comforted.

  ‘So, it happens,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ Tom replied. ‘But Ray?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t hurt somebody with a rebound. Make sure you’re over Ellie before you move on.’

  He looked down at his deputy, the puzzle slowly resolving itself. He had known Ray would notice Laura one day, but for the second time that night he found himself questioning the other man’s timing. Was it the appearance of a rival on the scene that had turned Ray’s head or was he just lonely and looking around for someone close to home?

  The inspector strolled over to a stone plaque erected at the bottom of the pier and read its inscription. Erected in memory of the Moorhaven men who perished at sea. Your chairs may be empty, but your places will always be set. You remain in our hearts.

  Tom touched the stone. A way of life had been extinguished in this village and now it faced further challenges.

  For the men in power, Moorhaven was just a casualty of business.

  And all the evidence was starting to point to Ryan Finnegan having been another unfortunate victim of men determined to get their own way.

  *

  ‘We have a problem.’

  Madsen was standing where Tom had positioned himself earlier, in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in his sitting room. The lights behind him were dimmed, allowing him to see out. The full moon was reflected on the sea’s surface, its water lapping in gentle waves now, a far cry from today’s storm. In the distance and further along the coast, a lighthouse beacon swept from left to right, warning inexperienced sailors of the precarious rocks that lay in wait.

  Madsen had picked up the broken glass from the tumbler he’d angrily flung to the floor after the inspector’s visit. In doing so, he’d sustained a small but deep cut to his little finger, which stung even now as he gripped the fresh drink in his hand. A dribble of whiskey had solicitously found its way into the wound as he had poured.

  There was silence on the other end of the phone he had clasped to his ear.

  ‘Do you hear me, McNally? I said, we have a problem.’

  The other man let out a deep sigh.

  ‘I heard you.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In my mother’s house.’

  ‘Your mother’s house? What . . . No, it does not matter. I had a visit from the police today.’

  ‘And?’

  Was McNally being deliberately obtuse? Madsen’s grip on the phone tensed.

  ‘And they came to my house in Donegal,’ he snapped. ‘Are you with somebody?’

  He was used to Darragh McNally being much more responsive. The party chair normally bent over backwards to please Madsen. Something had been amiss these last few days.

  The Udforske vice-president had suspected on Friday evening when he had met with McNally that a problem had arisen with the proposed law the Irish government had for the oil and gas industry. He’d sensed it in the other man’s demeanour, but it had taken a while to wrangle it out of him. Even then, he hadn’t been entirely forthcoming.

  ‘I’m with my mother,’ McNally answered.

  ‘Well, leave the room, man.’

  Madsen didn’t want to lose his temper for a second time but he was struggling to remain calm.

  ‘Don’t worry, she’s not listening.’

  The businessman was startled by the sound of laughter on the other end of the line. Was that McNally – was he actually laughing?

  ‘Have you gone mad?’ Madsen snapped. ‘Listen to me. The police came to my house today. They were asking questions about Blake and mentioned the possibility of him being blackmailed. I was led to believe he was reliable. You said he would be the man to sell this new law to the public, that the Reform Party would make life easier for my company. Now, everything is falling apart. Have you nothing to say to me?’

  There was silence again.

  ‘McNally?’ Madsen barked.

  ‘I’m here. Why are you worrying? The guards have nothing on you, do they? What did you tell them?’

  ‘I told them I never met Blake in Leinster House, for a start. They had been led to believe I had. Which would explain all the missed calls on my phone.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t meet him. Blake and I screwed up. Don’t worry about it. I’ll sort things. That’s what I do, isn’t it?’

  Madsen took a sip from his drink. He was rattled and McNally’s strange behaviour wasn’t helping.

  ‘There’s another problem. When you left me in the Dáil bar on Friday evening, something happened . . . I –’

  ‘I really don’t care.’

  Madsen nearly dropped the phone.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I said I don’t care. Do you know what I’m doing right now, Carl?’

  Madsen shook his head, even though McNally couldn’t see him. He was overcome with an odd feeling. An unfamiliar feeling. Helplessness. Everything about the last couple of days had been off-kilter. He was used to being in control of every situation. But here he was, having yet another bizarre conversation which should have been straightforward.

  ‘I’m sitting beside my dead mother,’ McNally said, his voice low and hollow. ‘And I have to tell you, Carl, I really don’t give a shit what happens next in this sorry little scenario we’ve found ourselves in.’

  He hung up.

  Madsen froze, staring at the phone in his hand like it was a foreign object.

  A new feeling swept over him, one that he was altogether more comfortable wi
th.

  Fury. He had paid a lot of money to get what he wanted. McNally owed him.

  Somebody would pay for this.

  Chapter 14

  Monday, Dublin

  Tom sent Ray home as soon as they arrived in Dublin the following morning. He was good for nothing. His hungover deputy had spent the short flight with his head cupped in his hands and emerged from the airport looking like death warmed up.

  The inspector returned to his own abode to change shirts. There, he discovered Louise and Maria in whispered conclave.

  ‘What are you two up to?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘God, Dad. We’re not all potential criminals plotting despicable deeds,’ Maria retorted, a bit too defensively.

  Tom studied the two of them. Both their faces were flushed. They were absolutely up to no good.

  ‘I’m onto you,’ he said, grabbing his keys from the counter.

  ‘Well, that’s nice, drop in, insult us and go right back out again, is it?’ Louise rounded on him. He flinched as she arrived in range.

  ‘Why are you flinching? Do you think I’m going to smack you? You deserve a bloody smack!’

  ‘After the text you sent me last night, I’d be forgiven for worrying you might,’ Tom ventured.

  ‘You’d better get yourself out of this house and come home tonight better behaved,’ his wife grumbled, clamping her lips shut when he tried to kiss her. He stole one anyway, covering her whole mouth with his.

  ‘Eughh,’ she moaned, but he could see the smile in her eyes.

  He left the house and made his way to headquarters for a briefing with Sean McGuinness, the unusual morning encounter with his family already forgotten. Tom was nervous. He’d spoken to the chief on Saturday night after they’d interviewed Blake but he’d several missed calls from his boss yesterday. It was rare for McGuinness to contact him on a Sunday, even during a case. He had a long-established routine on the holy day – Mass, followed by his grandson’s football match, lunch and a couple of hours listening to his favourite music with a glass of fine wine or cognac.

  Maybe with June’s illness, McGuinness’s Sundays weren’t so relaxing any more. And no doubt he was looking for an update on the trip to Donegal, checking that Tom hadn’t upset the vice-president of Udforske.

  The inspector went directly to his boss’s office. He’d rung Laura in the car to get an update on the weekend’s work and to fill her in on what they’d discovered in Donegal. She told him a squad car had seen movement in Grace Brady’s sister’s cottage that morning and that she’d be going out herself in the afternoon to see if the woman was there. He instructed her to pick up Ray on the way, which would give his deputy another couple of hours to get over his hangover.

  It was only afterwards that Tom realised he’d unintentionally paired Ray and Laura up for the day. Was that a sign of things to come? Having to watch out for awkward situations between two members of his team? God, he hoped not.

  McGuinness ushered him into his office, pacing as he spoke urgently on the phone. He signalled to Tom to take a seat. The inspector sat down in the chair facing the window and watched as the trees’ leafless branches twisted and bent to the wind outside.

  ‘Is she with you now?’ McGuinness said into the receiver. ‘Please, June, just ring her and tell her to come back . . . Because I’ll be here a while . . . I know that, love. Yes . . . okay. Bye.’

  The chief remained stationary for a moment after hanging up, then sighed and returned to his desk.

  ‘She has good days and she has bad days,’ he said, eventually. ‘Today’s a bad day so I asked her sister to drop in. The kids have their jobs; it isn’t fair to keep calling on them. June wouldn’t answer the door. She was afraid I’d be angry. Most days she ignores me, but today she decides to listen.’ He shrugged.

  Tom struggled to find something useful to say.

  ‘Can you take some time off?’ he asked, knowing before he said it how redundant the notion was.

  ‘For how long?’ McGuinness answered. ‘Months? Years? Until she gets so bad I can’t leave her alone and she has to go into a home?’

  The big man looked away for a moment and cleared his throat.

  ‘Anyway, enough of that. Fill me in on what happened in Donegal. Start with why you didn’t answer my calls.’

  ‘Shocking reception up there,’ Tom lied.

  He filled McGuinness in on the interview with Madsen.

  ‘So it wasn’t confrontational?’

  ‘Ray had to punch him a couple of times before he’d talk, but he didn’t mark him any place it could be seen.’

  ‘Tom.’

  ‘It was all very amiable. I don’t think you’ll be getting any irate calls from the Danish PM.’

  The inspector went on to describe their unpleasant encounter with Sergeant Gallagher and the revealing evening with the Moorhaven locals.

  McGuinness sat back in the chair and scrunched up his face as he considered what he’d been told.

  ‘Let me get this straight: a high-ranking local guard informed you that relations are fraught down at these protests and our lot are coming in for a lot of flak from a gang of New Age hippies who’d prefer we were all living in harmony with nature. But then you and Ray went and got stocious drunk with some locals and now you’re on the side of the villagers, who you think are the victims of police brutality? And this all within the crucial forty-eight-hour period after a murder, when you should be arresting a suspect?’

  Tom raised his eyebrows.

  ‘You sum it up so . . . concisely,’ he replied. ‘It’s great to see you haven’t lost your comedic flair. And if you’re worried about my lack of arrests so far, I can always go pick up Minister Blake? Or maybe pop back up to Donegal to slap the cuffs on Madsen? But I was under the impression you’d rather I had some actual evidence before I charged somebody.’

  ‘I’m just letting you know how that account would be perceived by some, Tom.’

  ‘Yes, you were as subtle as a brick. But I don’t like this blind allegiance to “us” and “them”, Sean. Something stinks up in Donegal. Maybe Gallagher’s on the payroll for Madsen, or maybe he’s not and just believes he’s on the right side of the law. It wouldn’t be the first time, though, that there’s been political policing on the island.’

  ‘I know that. But you’re a fool, son, if you think that’s all in the past and this is noteworthy. You don’t know how lucky we are in this department. We’ve found our niche, we do our jobs well and we’re left to our own devices. I, and others, lobbied long and hard for the establishment of centralised specialist units to tackle major crimes. It removed us from the parochial baggage – the crap, basically – that regional teams have to deal with.

  ‘That doesn’t mean we left police corruption in the ’80s. Guards are still human and by God, there are plenty of flawed individuals in the force. But unless you’re planning on becoming some sort of crusader, Tom, I’d suggest keeping your head down and concentrating on the job in hand. You set enough of an example by being the decent guard that you are.’

  Tom fidgeted in his chair, entirely dissatisfied, although he couldn’t really understand why. For years he’d been resisting promotions that would lead him down the path of accepting more responsibility for shaping the direction of the force. He had told himself he was happy to focus on murder cases. Sometimes his job was as frustrating as it was harrowing, but when he did solve a case, there was nothing better than that sense of reward. He didn’t want to leave all that and have to deal with the ‘crap’, as McGuinness put it.

  But there was something about the men in that pub last night that had struck a chord with him. They were decent folk and grey areas aside, he believed them. He knew in his gut that they had been hit with the shit stick in recent years. Tom felt like their natural ally, yet they saw the police as the enemy.

  Their predicament had awoken some sort of youthful idealism he’d long since relinquished.

  McGuinness studied his top inspector.
He could see a dangerous fire in Tom’s eyes. Reynolds was a respected man in the force. He had a higher-than-average solve rate, an exceptionally hard-working and loyal team, and was one of the sharpest detectives McGuinness had ever worked with. Tom followed the rules, knowing that anything less could jeopardise convictions. He was far removed from some of the fast and loose detectives that McGuinness had encountered in his long career.

  McGuinness had sheltered Tom from much of the dirty, internal politics of the force. Although rarer these days, there were Sergeant Gallaghers all over the place and plenty of people protecting them. A whole world of trouble would be brought down if that pot was stirred.

  ‘Forget Moorhaven,’ McGuinness said, deliberately changing the subject. ‘You’ve got bigger fish to fry this afternoon.’

  ‘What? Blake?’

  ‘No, you can see him later. You, my son, are off to see the Taoiseach.’

  *

  ‘You look like hell.’

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ Ray moaned as he fought with the passenger seatbelt, eventually shoving it shut angrily.

  ‘I think that’s in,’ Laura said, turning the key in the ignition. ‘This should be fun.’

  She had pressed the buzzer for Ray’s apartment on and off for five minutes before he answered, yelling at her that he’d be out when he was ready. He was still in a foul mood when he got into the car, slamming the door so forcefully it could have shattered the window.

  For a man who smelled of hangover, he was sure making a lot of noise. And she would have to put up with him all the way to Meath.

  On the positive side, any creeping feelings of affection she’d had for Ray were certainly being put to bed over the last couple of days. She hadn’t seen him so bad-tempered since the period immediately after Ellie Byrne’s death. He was doing a sterling job of making himself unattractive, down to the wrinkled shirt and unshaven face.