by Jo Spain
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do. But it’s stupid, because I spent so little time with her. I suppose the only way I can explain it is that I fell fast and hard. In my head, I had it sorted – we’d go back to Dublin, have a few dates, start seeing each other seriously. She was so funny and kind-hearted. And beautiful. She was . . .’
He looked up, the words he was about to say dying on his lips.
Laura was twisting the stem of her glass between her fingers, her expression downcast.
She didn’t look like she wanted to hear what he had to say about Ellie.
Ray was confused. She’d asked him if he still thought about her. Hadn’t she?
He examined her face and slowly, slowly, it began to dawn on him. A warm feeling began to envelop him that had nothing to do with the alcohol.
‘Actually . . .’ he started to say. He got no further. Laura’s mobile was buzzing on the counter and she picked it up. He could see Eoin Coyle’s name flashing on the screen.
‘I have to take this,’ she said, jumping off her stool and walking over to the window.
He lifted his drink and waited patiently. He knew what he wanted to say to her. So it was like a bucket of iced water when Laura returned and removed her coat from the back of the stool.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, barely glancing at him. ‘I have to dash. Can I leave some money for the food?’
He shook his head, struggling to find words that would make her stay.
He didn’t have the time. She was out the door before he could react.
Before he could say, I barely knew Ellie.
Before he could say, But I know you. And I’ve just realised I want to know you a lot better.
Tuesday
‘My deepest condolences on the death of your mother. I am very sorry we have to do this now.’
Tom sat across from Darragh McNally, unable to prevent the surge of sympathy he felt for the man who appeared bereft, completely shaken.
Shane Morrison had met Tom and Ray just inside Government Buildings. He expressed astonishment that McNally had come back to work, given the state he was in.
‘We all know Mr McNally is fanatical about politics,’ Morrison had said, his face grave. ‘He has a reputation of being the first in here in the morning and the last to leave, so it shouldn’t be a massive surprise to see him back today. However, from what I gather, his mother meant the world to him. I don’t think he has any other family. I suspect he may still be in shock. Well, you’ll see for yourselves.’
And now Tom did see. The party chair, gaunt when they’d met him first on Friday, today looked a mere shadow of himself.
They were sitting in his office. A full-sized elderly grandfather clock graced the corner, ticking soothingly. Bookshelves lined the walls, packed with aged, eclectic texts. Tom wryly noted a copy of Machiavelli’s The Prince among them.
‘She lived to a great age and she’d been ill for some time,’ McNally said. ‘I should be feeling relief. She was never really happy in that nursing home but there was no choice. I’m in Dublin full time and I have no siblings. I tried to persuade her to move up here but she refused. She had rural Ireland in her blood, hated the city with all its crowds and noise.’
His face crumpled and he let out a long, heartbroken sigh.
‘She was so supportive of me. I should have been there for her more.’
‘I imagine she was very proud of everything you’ve achieved,’ Tom said.
This seemed to perk the other man up a bit.
‘She was, yes. She was pleased to see me do so well. I gave her the best of everything.’
Ray observed his boss, wondering how they were supposed to proceed. He’d spent the early part of the day brooding on last night’s dinner with Laura, but this interview was putting his selfish little problems in perspective. McNally was clearly in mourning but they had to question him about his movements on Friday night and possible bribe-taking.
‘Again, I apologise for having to conduct this interview now,’ the inspector said. ‘Unfortunately, the matter is too serious to leave any longer.’
‘I understand,’ McNally said. ‘I was coming back to Dublin last night and I kept thinking about Kathryn Finnegan. Not that I didn’t think of her on Friday night; it’s just, I suppose I understand her grief now in a way I didn’t – I couldn’t – before.’
He placed his head in his hands and sighed again. Tom gave him a moment, watching him closely. Was that genuine empathy? Or remorse?
McNally composed himself.
‘All right, then,’ the inspector said, gently. ‘There were a number of people here on Friday night and we’re just trying to establish what everybody was doing. We didn’t actually discuss with you how you spent the evening. You told us that Minister Blake met with Carl Madsen. Is there anything you would like to clarify about that statement? What time did you meet with Mr Madsen?’
McNally swallowed.
‘The whole point of Madsen coming here was to meet Aidan,’ he said, his voice bitter. ‘Then Aidan cancelled. I’m sorry, I should have told you that on Friday. It was stupid of me.’
‘Why did you tell me Aidan had met Madsen when that wasn’t the case?’
‘The minister asked me not to, is the answer to your last question. I wasn’t thinking very logically – still imagining that politics was more important than the investigation into the death of a man. He swore he hadn’t hurt Ryan. If I thought he had, I wouldn’t have covered for him. You get used to helping politicians deal with all sorts in here; it becomes second nature.’
‘But what you’re talking about in this instance is obstruction in a murder case.’
McNally bowed his head. Tom sensed if he arrested him right now the man wouldn’t care a jot. He seemed to be on the verge of giving up.
‘I can’t begin to tell you how all over the place I was on Friday. I knew my mother was dying and I had all this drama to deal with. Case in point – I left Madsen alone down in the Dáil bar. I said I was going to check if his taxi was coming but I just wanted to be alone. We didn’t have a particularly amicable meeting. He was annoyed at Aidan’s no-show and I was generally frustrated at being left to clean everything up. I was also under time pressure to finalise the Bill everybody wants passed and I wanted to get on the road down to Clare. If I’d gone down on Friday night I would have had a little more time with my mother before she died.’
Tom hesitated. McNally was really struggling to keep it together. But the inspector had no choice but to press on.
‘So, when you left Madsen, where did you go?’
‘Back to my office.’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you didn’t see anybody on the way here? Nobody called in to see you?’
McNally shook his head.
‘Only the usher who was arranging the taxi. I looked briefly for Morrison, because I didn’t want to leave the organising of Madsen’s transport in the hands of just anybody. But I couldn’t find him. That was unusual; he’s normally on hand when you need him. I didn’t see anybody again until I was summoned to the tunnel after one of the ushers found Ryan’s body.’
‘Let’s talk about Ryan and Aidan’s relationship. Are you aware that Ryan was trying to blackmail the minister?’
McNally stiffened.
‘You know about that, then. I only found out on Wednesday. Aidan just dropped it in my lap. He’d been keeping it secret for months and suddenly, days before this Bill is to be finalised, he drops the bombshell.’
‘What did he expect you to do about it?’
‘He didn’t ask me to do anything, but he assumed I’d sort it out. He claimed he didn’t really believe Ryan would follow through but he wanted to have me onside to make sure that was the case. It’s not like I could simply fire Ryan. I said I’d talk to him. If I’d known about the problem earlier, it would never have progressed to the point it did. Ryan was a party man, for all his flaws. He wouldn’t have risked the wider political
fallout over one issue.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Tom probed.
McNally’s wan face flushed under Tom’s searching gaze. He held up his hands and shrugged.
‘I’m not sure of anything any more. I planned to talk to Ryan and remind him of his party allegiance. I don’t know how it would have gone.’
‘Why didn’t you advise the minister to go to the police about Ryan’s threats?’
McNally rubbed his hands together. He couldn’t stop fidgeting.
‘Aidan point blank refused to have the police involved. I did suggest it but he was adamant. He feared his personal life would be exposed if things went that far. He likes his privacy.’
‘And was your motivation to protect Blake personally or because you need him to ensure this Bill is passed? It is a little disingenuous, isn’t it, what has been written into the Bill?’
‘Inspector, the legislation is written that way to minimise risk to our economy. The business conducted by the existing exploration companies mightn’t generate huge revenue for the State, but those companies record a lot of their profits here and that has a positive effect on GDP. The layman mightn’t understand the complexities of the country’s finances, but it’s the government’s job to ensure we don’t drive multinationals out with short-sighted populist measures.’
Again, McNally shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was on edge, impatient for the interview to be over. The words sounded right, but there was no sincerity in the delivery.
‘You strike me as an intelligent man,’ Tom observed. ‘I appreciate you were under pressure on Friday night for a variety of reasons. I understand that you are loyal to the Reform Party and possibly to Minister Blake. But – and correct me if I’m wrong – he seems to have asked an awful lot of you in relation to that night’s events – first to talk to Ryan and then to lie for him about his whereabouts. Why didn’t you just say no?’
McNally opened and closed his mouth. He made a steeple with his fingers and shook his head. Whatever reply or defence he’d been about to advance, he’d changed his mind.
‘To hell with it. To hell with everything. You’re right. To think, that was the thing that consumed me last week. Protecting the party and getting that Bill passed. Covering for Blake. My mother was dying . . .’
His voice broke.
‘Excuse me, Inspector. I need a drink.’ He stood up and walked to the cabinet at the side of the room, lifted a glass and removed the stopper from a decanter of brandy. He poured a large measure and held the glass up to his nose.
Tom watched, uncomfortable. He was in a bind. They were conducting an interview, so he could ask McNally to wait until they were finished before he helped himself to alcohol. On the other hand, they hadn’t brought the man down to the station to do this formally and he was clearly devastated by his loss. Still, there was something not right about the way McNally was caressing the tumbler in his hand, like he’d crossed a desert and arrived at an oasis.
The inspector didn’t have much time to think through his dilemma. In a heartbeat, the party chair whispered an inaudible toast, drained the glass, refilled it and returned to his seat.
‘I won’t offer you one, Inspector. I know you’re working. But please, let me honour my mother. She was a great woman. She raised me on her own, you know. There were so few people at her funeral, fewer still who understood what a phenomenal lady she was. It’s so sad.’
‘You were very close,’ Tom remarked.
‘She was all I had. My father died when she was seven months pregnant. Just dropped dead from a massive brain haemorrhage. The shock of his death sent her into early labour and I was born premature. Hence, my short stature. I was bullied all the way through school. Too small, too smart.
‘But my mother made life worth living. She never stopped telling me how brilliant I was, how much I was loved. There was only ever the two of us. She’d been an only child herself and her parents were dead. She gave me everything and ran a farm on top of it. You can’t imagine how hard that was back then. She came under huge pressure from the farmers around her to give up her holding. It was like something from a John B. Keane play. But she had a will of iron.’
He raised the drink again, his face despondent.
‘I’ve always had her drive but I have too many weaknesses. My political ambitions have been like an addiction. I’m fierce good at those, Inspector – addictions. And depression. It’s all swings and roundabouts for me.’
McNally stared into the glass with a mixture of desire and contempt that now made sense to Tom.
‘How long are you sober?’ he asked, sitting up straighter.
‘Over five years.’
‘I think maybe you should put the drink down,’ Tom said, mentally kicking himself for not speaking sooner about the alcohol. He’d pushed the man with his questioning, but then, he suspected McNally had been heading in the direction of breaking his sobriety anyway. They couldn’t leave him like this. ‘Have you somebody you can call? A sponsor?’
McNally shook his head.
‘I never went to AA. I sobered myself up. I discovered a trick. Replace one craving with another. Like I said, I was blinded by power. I even neglected my mother, the only person in the world who’d ever loved me. Fool, fool, fool. The things I’ve done . . .’
He took another large mouthful. Tom’s frown deepened, matched by Ray’s.
‘Mr McNally, you should go home. Get some rest. You probably haven’t slept, have you?’
The other man shook his head. His suit was crumpled. He probably hadn’t showered or changed since attending his mother’s funeral yesterday.
‘We can resume this tomorrow. Can I call you a car, or get somebody to drop you home?’
McNally shrugged.
‘I’ll be fine. I’ll finish this’ – he nodded at the glass but Tom suspected he meant the decanter – ‘and go home.’
Tom handed the party chair his card.
‘We’ll speak again before the week is out. If there’s anything you want to discuss with me before then, please ring me on that number. It’s my mobile; you’ll get through to me direct.’
‘I appreciate that.’
‘May I ask you one more thing before I go?’
McNally shrugged, permission granted.
‘Is there a club that Minister Blake is a member of that I should know about?’
The other man smiled thinly.
‘Ha, yes. It’s not a club you’re interested in, Inspector. It’s The Club. That’s what it’s called. He’s a member all right. Who dobbed him in? I can think of only a handful of people who’d have given you that information, all of them extremely powerful and not likely to mention it to you . . . unless . . .’
He gazed thoughtfully into his drink.
It was Tom’s turn to shrug, as though whoever had told him was irrelevant. He wasn’t at ease in this political world of game playing.
‘How would I go about sourcing contact details for this place?’ he asked.
‘Are you a fan of crime novels?’ McNally seemed to be mildly enjoying himself, momentarily distracted from his previous maudlin ruminations.
‘Not particularly. They’re a busman’s holiday for me. My wife keeps the thriller book industry in business, though.’
‘Well, she’ll know, then, that in all good plot devices, the best place to hide is in plain sight. The Club is private and its membership list is a secret – but you’ll find an address for it on the web. It just won’t tell you any more.’
‘I’ll do that. How do you know about it?’
‘I know everything Blake does. Or at least, I thought I did. Up until this week.’
Tom paused at the door as they were leaving and cast a backward glance at the party chair. He was slumped over again, his head back in its depressive state, both hands clasping the glass of alcohol. He was a small man anyway, but right now he was so hunched into himself he was disappearing into the chair.
The inspector felt a shiv
er go through him, a hint of foreboding. He almost couldn’t leave the room, feeling he should stay and say something, although what, he didn’t know. He didn’t want to leave the man alone and yet he barely knew him. Perhaps the best thing Tom could do was find somebody who did know the party chair and get him help.
If he had known . . . if he had suspected what was to come, the inspector would have stayed. But he didn’t.
After a final glance, Tom pulled the door closed behind him.
Chapter 18
Morrison met Tom and Ray in the corridor outside McNally’s office. He grimaced when he saw their faces.
‘I know,’ he said, in hushed tones. ‘I’ve never seen him like this. He’s shell-shocked, isn’t he?’
Tom nodded.
‘I think it might be more than that. Allegedly, he suffers from depression. His mother’s death may have triggered some sort of episode. No doubt you’ve considered this anyway, but perhaps you’d be good enough to ensure he gets home safe. He’s had a drink and I think he plans to have more.’
‘I’ll drive him home myself. Sadly, it’s true. Mr McNally has battled with depression in the past. It’s no secret. The events of the past week have obviously taken him to a bad place.’
‘Thank you. I can’t imagine you get asked to chauffeur intoxicated employees home too often.’
‘Not in this job, but I am a former guard, so I’ve had plenty of experience dealing with the inebriated. I’ll be able to handle Mr McNally.’
‘I didn’t know you were in the force.’ Tom wasn’t terribly surprised. Morrison had the bearing of a man who’d worn a security forces uniform all his life.
Tom and Ray walked in the direction of Leinster House. The inspector wanted to see the other entrance to the LH2000 tunnel he’d heard about.
‘What do you make of McNally?’ he asked Ray.
‘He’s not well,’ his deputy replied. ‘I can’t decide if it’s solely as a result of his mother dying or if there’s something else upsetting him. She was elderly, ill for a long time by the sound of it. Her death must have been expected. What did he mean by “I’ve done things”? Was that a confession of sorts?’