by Jo Spain
‘They’re all adults, I assure you. But they aren’t Irish. That would be too dangerous for the men who come here. Ireland is too small. They’re mainly of Latin American origin, or African.’
And possibly working illegally, the inspector thought, which made it all the more unlikely they’d ever reveal who frequented The Club.
The inspector had what he needed.
Tom stood, followed by Ray and a mightily relieved-looking Arnold.
‘Is that all?’ he asked, looking from one to the other.
‘For now,’ the inspector agreed.
‘You said you’d give me a clue as to who’d mentioned this place to you?’ Arnold was anxious to resolve that mystery.
‘I did, didn’t I?’ Tom mused on his answer for a moment. He shrugged.
‘To be honest, Mr Arnold, half the populace seems to know about this place. It would be easier for me to list who hadn’t mentioned The Club during this investigation.’
And with that, he and Ray departed. Tom didn’t feel an ounce of remorse about the man left in their wake. The building made his skin crawl.
And he was starting to get the measure of Aidan Blake.
*
‘You want to talk about Laura? Did we not have this little chat on Sunday night on Moorhaven pier?’
The inspector stacked the various components of his burger into position, wondering how he’d manage a bite of the whole lot in one go. He’d suddenly regained the appetite he’d thought he’d lost after visiting The Club.
‘I didn’t tell you it was Laura,’ Ray said, frowning as he poked chips around his plate.
‘I thought you were hungry. You’re destroying that grub. A symptom of being lovesick, is it? And I guessed it was her.’
Ray looked up.
‘Is that all you have to say? Doesn’t it worry you, considering we’re both on your team?’
Tom wanted to say something but risked choking if he tried. The burger was delicious. It was also far too unwieldy.
‘I don’t know how it happened,’ Ray continued, taking his boss’s silence as a signal to keep talking. ‘We’ve worked together for years and I’ve never looked at her like that. I always thought she was pretty. Smart. Funny. Just not girlfriend material.’
Ray loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. He didn’t know if it was unusually hot in the restaurant or if he was burning up with embarrassment at having this conversation with his boss. It was a different matter when you were sober.
Tom put his food down. He’d have to deconstruct it and start again.
‘Pretty, smart, funny,’ he counted out on his fingers. ‘Yes, I can see how she never crossed your radar. What is your criterion for a girlfriend? Remind me. A deity of some sort? I suppose that explains why you’ve been single for so long.’
Ray clicked his tongue dismissively.
‘You know what I mean. You don’t look at your teammates like that. Bridget is an attractive girl too, but I don’t feel anything for her.’
‘Are you sure? Maybe they could share you.’
‘Very funny. And now she’s with that Eoin fella.’
‘Dum, dum, dum.’ Tom sang the three words like a comedy villain had just been introduced.
Ray flushed red.
‘Sorry,’ his boss said. ‘I’ll be serious. Isn’t it a bit unfair to suddenly decide you fancy her now, especially when she has a boyfriend?’
‘You said that’s what happened with you and Louise.’
‘Well, yes, but it sort of happened at the same time for us. She hadn’t been after me for years and then given up and begun a relationship with someone else.’
‘Back up. What do you mean, “after you for years”?’
Tom mentally kicked himself.
‘Are you saying Laura has liked me for a while? And you knew? For how long?’
‘I might have noticed she had a thing for you last year,’ the inspector said, feeling like he was betraying a secret that he hadn’t even been entrusted with.
Ray stared at his plate, mulling it over.
‘Ah, forget about it,’ he said, deciding he didn’t want to dwell on his dilemma any more. Maybe if he just ignored it, it would resolve itself. ‘I still can’t get over that club. To think, Blake is lining up to be the next Taoiseach!’
Tom nodded. ‘What astonishes me, and I know it shouldn’t, is that a politician can still behave in that way and not be found out. I know we’ve had characters like that in the past but that was when a politician’s private life was considered out of bounds. He’s very clever, though, the minister. All his little forays have been very discreet. Well, they were, until the people around him started dropping him in it.’
‘Yeah, on that – why do you think the Taoiseach mentioned it to you? And how come he and McNally know about it?’
Tom frowned.
‘Well, we know why they ratted him out. He’s getting notions above his station. O’Shea is happy for Blake to be out selling the government’s agenda, but he’s not happy with the notion of the man stealing his job. And McNally realises Blake’s boat is heading up shit creek.
‘I can’t picture O’Shea as a member. But he is wily enough to find out that sort of information about an enemy and store it. Somebody has been loose-lipped. I can’t decide whether Blake confided in McNally or if his old pal was keeping close tabs on him. I suppose if you’re positioning somebody to be the leader of the country and your puppet, you’re going to want to know their dirty laundry. Honestly, though. Who knew our Dáil was a den of reprobates!’
Tom was only half jesting.
‘I’d love to get a gander at that members’ list,’ Ray said wistfully.
‘You want to perve on the perves?’ Tom retorted.
Ray was about to reply when his phone buzzed.
‘You’re getting a lot of mysterious texts,’ his boss observed.
‘It’s an email from Michael. The Thai police have tracked down the blokes in the photos with Blake.’
‘And?’
‘They all had records. Drugs, soliciting and – surprise, surprise – extortion.’
‘Records that started before or after they turned eighteen?’
‘After. They’re approaching their forties now, which means they were of age when Blake was with them. Their youthful appearance might have been a selling point in the game they’re in, but they were consenting adults. Also, the man Blake claims was blackmailing him is deceased and his death isn’t considered suspicious. Overdose.’
‘Hmm. That’s that, then.’
Tom picked up the now slightly less macho-looking burger for another go.
Ray’s phone went again.
‘More from Michael?’
‘Eh, no.’ The detective pushed his chair away from the table and crossed to the bar. Tom watched, wondering what Ray was up to now. His detective sergeant returned and grabbed his coat.
‘I’ve paid. Let’s go.’
The inspector frowned.
‘I haven’t finished. You’ve hardly touched yours.’
‘I have to be somewhere, so unless you’re getting a taxi . . .’
‘You’re behaving very oddly today, Ray. There had better be a good explanation for it. Let me get the damn dinner to go, then.’
Tom followed his deputy to the door, muttering all the way.
His deputy drove at speed back to the north side of the city, adding to his litany of bizarre acts. Ray normally liked to keep the car to a crawl. Tom checked his phone as they were passing through an orange – just about red – traffic light. It had been oddly quiet all afternoon. Nobody had rung, not even Sean McGuinness.
Ray kept his eyes focused on the road in front of him. He was starting to wonder if Louise’s decision to proceed with this evening’s plans had been a good idea. He’d never been so stressed in his life.
The detective sergeant pulled up outside his boss’s garden gate, nearly crashing into the kerb. Tom glared at him, exasperated. He made t
o open the passenger door but found it locked.
‘Ray, open the door.’
His deputy was tapping away on the phone again.
‘Ray!’ Tom roared.
‘Sorry. Hang on . . . Okay, sent. What? You want to get out? There you go.’
‘Have you been bodysnatched? Listen, get whatever the hell that’s turned you into a raving lunatic out of your system and come into work tomorrow as the old Ray. No acting weird on the phone, no obsessing about Laura, no out-of-character dining and driving experiences. Got it?’
‘Got it. Out you go.’
The inspector slammed the car door and stomped up the garden path, still shaking his head.
The house was in pitch darkness. Tom closed the front door with a lot more finesse than he had Ray’s passenger door, just in case Maria had got Cáit down early and they were both sleeping upstairs. He had no idea where Louise was; she’d left the house this morning before he’d even got up.
He slipped off his shoes and was just kicking them out of the way when he heard a noise. He froze, all of his senses alert. It had come from the kitchen, which was also blanketed in darkness.
Tom put his hand to his side before he remembered he wasn’t carrying his weapon. He squinted in the dark for some sort of blunt instrument. His daughter and grandchild could be upstairs. If some bastard had broken into their home, he wouldn’t be getting past Tom.
The inspector’s eyes adjusted to the dark and he spotted his golf clubs. He’d taken them out with the intention of playing a round while they were away in Wicklow. Louise had clocked them before he could smuggle them into the car and berated him for even thinking about golf on their short break.
He selected a five-iron and crept towards the kitchen.
Taking a deep breath, Tom flung open the door, brandishing the club.
He heard a switch flick and was suddenly hit by a splash of light and a cacophony of noise. His jaw dropped.
‘Surprise!’
A gang of people stood there, fronted by Louise and Maria. Their mouths fell open when they saw what he was wielding.
‘Really, Tom,’ his wife said dryly. ‘Are you that determined to golf that you’ve taken to playing it indoors now?’
*
‘No wonder you haven’t arrested anybody yet. The killer probably has a big neon sign emblazoned on his head and you haven’t spotted it.’
Maria’s jibe was met with howls of laughter from around the table. Tom scowled at her then directed his peeved glare at his wife.
‘I didn’t suspect you were planning a surprise fiftieth birthday party for me because it’s October and my birthday isn’t until the twenty-sixth of December.’
Louise tutted. She looked breathtakingly beautiful this evening, brown eyes sparkling, her long dark hair plaited and wrapped around her head in the Greek style. She was wearing a simple black dress, the picture of elegance.
‘We never would have caught you out if we’d had it on the actual day. Anyway, aren’t you the one who’s always whining about how rubbish it is to have your birthday at Christmas? You’re an awfully hard man to please.’
She stuck her tongue out at him as she placed his favourite meal on the table in front of him – lamb tagine, the delicious aromas of saffron and harissa filling his nostrils. He groaned. That idiot Ray had played the role of decoy to perfection, except the part where he decided to stall Tom by going for dinner.
Ray had knocked on the front door, shamefaced, just as the inspector’s heartbeat was returning to normal. He was seated now on one side of Laura, Eoin Coyle on the other. The poor girl was blushing furiously.
Sean and June McGuinness were seated next. His boss had grabbed Tom before they sat down, expressing his relief that June was having a good day. ‘Otherwise, I couldn’t have come and I’d have felt terrible missing your fiftieth.’
‘I’m not fifty,’ Tom protested.
June was regaling Anne, Michael’s wife, with an unintentionally hilarious tale. The younger woman sat across from the older one, an untouched glass of champagne in front of her. Louise had insisted she have one but as the designated driver for several guards, Anne was taking no risks.
Brian, Bridget and Ian Kelly were present, as was Willie Callaghan, who was attending to his wife Therese’s every need. It was obvious to everybody around the table that the man worshipped the small blonde woman, despite his great act of throwing his eyes to heaven as though he’d brought her along under sufferance.
If the guest list had ended there, it would have been fine. Louise had told him before dinner that this was a small party with his friends (and as he worked all the time, that meant people from work). A bigger celebration for their extended circle was planned for December.
With two parties in the offing, Tom couldn’t understand why she’d thought it was a good idea to invite Emmet McDonagh and Linda McCarn to the same one. Was it pure mischief on the part of his wife? Louise knew Linda outside of Tom’s work – the criminal psychologist had been one of her lecturers when his wife was studying law. And she knew full well about the animosity between Linda and the forensic scientist.
Emmet was wearing his best suit and a glower that would curdle milk. Linda was wearing a headache-inducing sparkling silver evening gown and seemed deliriously happy.
She sat to one side of Tom’s chair at the top of the table, Emmet to the other. The inspector was afraid to make eye contact with either. He felt like a minnow trying to keep the peace between two sharks.
Not that they were paying him any attention. They were busy competing with each other to prove who could be the most entertaining and outgoing dinner guest, their jokes and stories gaining more forced gusto and frivolity as the meal progressed.
Linda grabbed his arm.
‘You must eat, darling. Your wife put so much effort into this meal. There’s no point watching your figure at your age. Life begins at fifty – enjoy yourself.’
‘I’m not fifty,’ Tom repeated wearily. ‘But, yes, thank you, Louise. It’s a beautiful meal. You need to chastise your lackey there for getting me something to eat beforehand.’
Everyone booed while Ray murmured an apology.
‘In my defence, the old fart wanted to go home to bed at half four,’ he argued.
‘This is how it starts,’ Emmet tutted. ‘In bed by 6 p.m. and the only thing he’ll want to warm him is a cup of tea and a hot water bottle. You poor thing, Louise.’
‘Oh, he’s been like that for years,’ Louise quipped. Everybody laughed. Tom was starting to wonder if this was a birthday party or a good old-fashioned roast.
‘Where is your wife, by the way?’ Linda asked, eyeballing Emmet. She smiled, but there was ice behind it.
‘Where’s your husband?’ Emmet snapped.
‘You look lovely tonight, Linda,’ Tom interjected, to prevent a spat. ‘Very . . . elegant.’
He’d felt the usual astonishment when he’d seen her get-up for the evening. The sequined, shoulder-padded silver dress wouldn’t have been out of place in an ’80s American soap opera. She’d paired the disco-ball gown with blinged-up Adidas runners and looked a little like a background dancer in a Run-D.M.C. music video. Her hair was unadorned – not that the wild brown corkscrew curls needed any decoration.
‘I’m like a swan, darling. Gliding on top, but ready to work it underneath. With my height, stilettos are simply too intimidating for men. Isn’t that right, Emmet?’
‘What?’
‘You’re intimidated by women, aren’t you?’
‘Linda, I meant to ask you something.’ Tom spoke before Emmet could retaliate.
‘Oh darling, it happens to all men over a certain age. Your man over there will tell you.’
‘What? Jesus, Linda. I want to talk to you about the case.’
‘It’s your birthday, you shouldn’t be working.’ She feigned indignation.
‘Well, my fake birthday has fallen in the middle of a real murder investigation. You said you didn’t like
Aidan for his politics. Fair enough. But I got the feeling when we met him that he doesn’t like you back. What’s that about?’
‘Well, his life’s work is maintaining the perfect persona he’s created – the handsome, strong minister; beautiful wife; impressive home; amazing career. He’s a master of spin and I see through that crap. He’s just a power-hungry little pup.’
‘What’s his relationship like with his wife?’
‘Honestly, Tom, I wasn’t joking. I know Sara better than I know Blake, so I can’t speak authoritatively on this.’
That was interesting. Linda, who knew most people’s secrets, was admitting she didn’t know Blake’s.
‘They don’t have any children but I got the impression she’d like some,’ the inspector pushed. ‘Do you think everything is okay in the bedroom department, or is he taking it elsewhere?’
‘Heavens, Tom.’ Linda guffawed. ‘You’re making me blush. I don’t know. I haven’t got cameras set up over their bed. I’m sure Sara does want children. She’s devoted her life to them. I did hear a rumour, actually, that they can’t have any. That they’ve tried. But I can’t verify that. It could have just been nasty gossip because the Blakes seem to have everything else. To be honest, it’s probably no bad thing. Sara could do better. She’s a decent skin. I’m not sure I could say the same for Aidan. I imagine she got on quite well with that Finnegan chap, especially if he was putting it up to her husband.’
‘How would Aidan feel if she had an affair – if his perfect image was being threatened?’
Linda puckered her lips and raised an eyebrow.
‘Oh, murderous, I’d say.’
‘Do you think their relationship is strong enough to withstand the worst – would she provide him with an alibi if he’d done something wrong?’
‘Like actually murder somebody?’
Tom shrugged.
‘I’m not sure, is the answer.’ Linda inclined her head as she thought. ‘They’re married, with all of the complicated emotions that brings. If he asked her to lie for him in the heat of the moment, she may have felt she had to. And having done that, she might feel like she has no choice but to keep lying. She would be thinking about her job and the ramifications.’