Beneath the Surface

by Jo Spain

‘The garage door was partially open,’ Tom remarked.

  ‘He probably did that himself so somebody would find him,’ Emmet replied. ‘In any case, he left you a note.’

  ‘Do you mean a suicide note for anybody who found him? Or a letter to me personally?’

  ‘For you personally. One of your team bagged it. The envelope was propped up on the bench over there.’

  ‘This is the second post-mortem letter connected to this case that I’ve been presented with in two days.’

  ‘A man of letters.’

  McNally had been lifted onto a wheeled stretcher and was about to be zipped into a body bag. The inspector took one last look at the man’s swollen face before it was covered. Death always took Tom by surprise, regardless of how often he saw it or the many guises it took. To be alive one day and dead the next. How could it be anything other than overwhelming?

  ‘By the way, does he have family?’ Emmet enquired.

  ‘Not that I know of. A man he worked with is on his way over. We’ll get him to call by the morgue to formally identify the body if there truly is no family to be reached.’

  In the driveway, Ray and Laura stood beside the waiting ambulance. Laura hadn’t spoken a word to her colleague since her arrival.

  Ray seized the moment of their being more or less alone. Now he knew she had feelings for him, he felt more confident. Not cocky, though. The way things had gone so far, he wasn’t counting any chickens.

  ‘The other night,’ he started, but trailed off. She was staring at him with a bored expression, a look that said she had no interest in anything he had to say.

  In her head and in her heart, Laura had written Ray off once and for all. She wasn’t going to entertain any more silly fantasies. It had been different when she was single but now Eoin was starting to wonder about Ray. He’d asked her on the drive over to McNally’s house if they’d ever dated.

  ‘No,’ she had replied. ‘Why do you ask?’ She had felt a shiver of excitement that anybody would imagine that she and Ray had been an item. He didn’t even seem to realise she was female.

  ‘You never talk about him,’ Eoin had said, careful not to take his eyes off the road.

  ‘Wouldn’t that indicate that we hadn’t dated?’ Laura had responded casually, her eyes also fixed to the front.

  ‘You talk about everybody else,’ he had said with annoying insightfulness.

  Laura knew she was being unfair to Eoin. But Ray Lennon certainly didn’t deserve any more of her time.

  Ray, oblivious to this new resolution, was undeterred. The wind whipped a stray curl from her ponytail onto her face. He wished he could reach over and tuck it behind her ear.

  ‘I want to apologise,’ he said, a lump in his throat. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned Ellie. I shouldn’t have been thinking about her at all. And I don’t really, truth be told. I barely knew the girl. Her death affected me, but that wasn’t the time or the place to talk about it. I was really enjoying being out with you.’

  Laura felt the familiar treacherous flutter in the pit of her stomach. It began to make its way up to her supposedly closed heart, which was beating a little faster.

  ‘It was just a drink,’ she said abruptly, angry with herself. ‘I wasn’t bothered. Anyway, this is hardly the time or place to be talking about our social lives.’

  Laura turned to talk to one of the paramedics. Ray flushed. He waited for a moment or two, then walked towards the garage.

  Laura watched him go, her head muddled. Damn him. What had he meant by that? She glanced guiltily at the house where her boyfriend was on duty. Eoin deserved better. She would have to do something.

  *

  Ray grimaced when he saw the body bag in the garage.

  ‘Is it definitely suicide?’ he asked his boss.

  Tom shrugged.

  ‘I know you don’t mean to sound disappointed, Ray, but yes, it looks like it.’

  He’d just been given the envelope McNally had left addressed to him, now enclosed in a plastic evidence bag.

  ‘Do you think it’s a confession?’ Ray asked.

  ‘That would certainly wrap things up nicely.’

  They left the garage through an internal door and entered Darragh McNally’s home. The sitting room revealed that they were indeed in the lair of a single man. His love of politics and literature was again evident in the multitude of bookshelves, heaving under the weight of many tomes. McNally’s affection for his mother was even more apparent. The dresser beside the fireplace was adorned with several framed photos of the woman with her son.

  The table in the centre of the room was cluttered with empty bottles. McNally had even taken a glass out to the garage with him. Maybe he had needed one last drink for courage before placing the rope around his neck and climbing onto the stool they’d found kicked over beneath his body.

  ‘I can never understand how people go through with it,’ Ray said. ‘Even if McNally was guilty, why didn’t he just try to make a run for it? What goes through your mind when you decide to kill yourself?’

  ‘The man suffered with depression. There’s nothing to say he had any direct involvement with Ryan’s death. But let’s find out.’

  The inspector withdrew the envelope from the bag with gloved hands and opened it to reveal the letter within. The penmanship on the pages sloped precariously, the untidy script of a drunk.

  ‘We’ll need to verify this is his handwriting,’ Tom said. ‘It’s so messy, it could have been forged.’

  He placed the letter on the table and they read together.

  Inspector,

  By the time you read this, I will be gone from this world. Don’t pity me. I am free at last.

  I cannot face down the black dog this time. I have nothing left to fight for. My darling mother was my only family. My career will soon be over. That was all I had in my life. I suspect I seem very clichéd and one-dimensional to you – the ugly little man with only his mammy to love him. There is more to me, but what’s the point in even trying to explain to you the hopes and dreams I once nurtured?

  I have battled with depression for more years than I care to remember. I started drinking because I was depressed and I became more depressed because I drank. Ironic, isn’t it? I can articulate all of this so well. But just because I know what’s wrong with me doesn’t mean I can fix it. That’s why I must end the pain.

  I want to take my good name, what’s left of it, to the grave. I want to protect my mother’s memory. I know you believe I murdered Ryan Finnegan. No doubt you plan to arrest me. The prospect of a trial and a prison sentence is the last straw. What chance would I have? I have no alibi, I had motive and I disliked the man intensely.

  I did not murder him, though. I have made bad decisions but I’m not a killer.

  You probably know that I took bribes for the past year to influence government decisions. I’m certain that I was being played. I don’t think the man who paid me even needed my influence. He has a finger in every pie. He just wanted to make sure I was bought.

  I was a fool, but I took the money for the right reasons. I couldn’t see my mother live out the remainder of her life with anything less than the dignity she deserved. I sacrificed everything for the sake of the Party, so I took what was rightfully mine.

  Ryan Finnegan is one of those who looked down his nose at me. If there is one thing I have learned with age, it’s that if you scratch hard enough, nobody is good all the way through. Given the right, or wrong, circumstances, most people are capable of bad deeds. Even goody-two-shoes Ryan was quite happy to resort to blackmail to get what he wanted.

  I’ve garnered a reputation for being ferocious in my career, but people always knew what they were getting. I am surrounded by people who go to extremes to get what they want. All the while, they pretend to have honour and integrity.

  I know I’m being thrown to the lions to protect those people and I won’t allow it. I had planned to try to expose them but I know, as your prime suspect, that my accusation
s would now seem like the desperate untruths of a condemned man. Who would believe me against them?

  So I leave you with this. The word of a dead man with no reason to lie. I am not the one you seek.

  I am at peace now, something I have desired for so long. I am with my family.

  And after all, isn’t family the most important thing?

  Darragh.

  ‘Is that it?’ Ray said, turning the sheets of paper over.

  ‘What are you looking for? A postscript that tells us who shot Ryan?’

  Ray raised his eyebrows.

  ‘It’s a bit cryptic, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s an understatement,’ Tom replied. He felt like he’d been hit in the head with a hammer. ‘Why the hell was he so convinced we already had him down as guilty and convicted? He hardly got that impression from our interview with him the other day. What did the lads say to him when they knocked on his door yesterday?’

  ‘Nothing that would imply he’d spend the next thirty years rotting in jail, that’s for sure.’

  The inspector shook his head. He was shocked at what had been going on in McNally’s head. He was going over his own actions to analyse whether he’d gone too hard on the man and forced him to take such a desperate course. McNally had been a person of interest but he wasn’t their only suspect. Had his depression made him paranoid? Was the notion that the guards were moving in on him the straw that broke the camel’s back?

  Tom had no idea, but he was filled with regret for leaving the man alone after his interview the other day.

  ‘He didn’t name Madsen,’ Ray said. ‘Why?’

  The inspector shook his head. McNally hadn’t named anybody. Perhaps, despite the bribe-taking, he really was the better man.

  The door opened and Garda Eoin Coyle appeared.

  ‘The chief of security from Leinster House has just pulled up.’

  The inspector nodded. ‘Send him in, Eoin.’

  Shane Morrison was rattled. He chose to stand rather than sit. The shock of two sudden deaths in less than a week was taking its toll.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ Tom said. ‘I’m very sorry to have had to request your presence, but we can’t establish any family contacts for Mr McNally. I know his party colleagues will be informed but I’m not sure if he had any close friends among them. You seem to know a lot about the goings-on in Leinster House and you were aware of Darragh’s . . . troubles, when we met with him in Government Buildings.’

  Morrison nodded.

  ‘I understand. It’s no bother at all. I know Darragh the guts of twenty-five years. That’s how long he’s worked in Leinster House. I’m sad to say that while we may have been cordial acquaintances all that time, we weren’t friends. But I drove him home the other day. I should have stayed. I was driving home on Wednesday – I actually live not too far away – and considered calling in. But it was late and I worried he might be drinking and . . . not fit for company. I’m ashamed to say I drove on by his house.’

  ‘What time was that? Did you notice anything unusual?’

  ‘It was around 10 p.m. I thought I saw a car pull up at the house as I was driving around the corner further on, but I couldn’t be certain. It could have been parking in front of any of the houses along here. I wish I’d called in. Maybe I could have helped him.’

  Tom reassured Morrison that there was probably nothing he could have done, using the same logic he’d tried to use to absolve himself earlier.

  ‘How was Darragh perceived in Leinster House? Was he well liked? Respected?’

  Morrison blinked. ‘Hold on. He hasn’t been murdered as well, has he? I thought it was suicide.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘That’s how it appears. But the events of the last week do seem to have contributed to his decision to take his own life.’

  ‘Well, I always found Darragh to be polite and pleasant. But then, I wasn’t a political opponent. I know he could be tough at times. He was ambitious for his party, some might say for himself. He wasn’t the worst I’ve seen in that regard. With some people what you see is what you get – that was Darragh. Others are a lot more devious about getting their way.’

  ‘Are you talking about anyone specifically?’ Ray asked.

  Morrison fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘My role is to assist in the smooth operation of Leinster House, Detective. I would never hold political or personal bias against anyone who works there. My job forbids it.’

  ‘How well do you know Minister Blake?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Better than I knew Darragh. I’ve known both the Blakes a long time. I’d consider Aidan a friend. He’s going places and I’m pleased to see it. I introduced him to Sara, in fact. I’ve known her since she was a child, even helped get her into her first job. I attended their wedding. They really are like family to me.’

  ‘But you didn’t know Ryan that well, even though he worked with Aidan?’ Tom asked.

  ‘No.’

  The inspector was surprised at the abrupt, almost sharp reply.

  ‘So, you didn’t know there was discord between the pair of them?’

  Morrison hesitated this time.

  ‘I had heard something. There was some gossip in Leinster House earlier in the year. I asked Sara about it. She didn’t seem overly bothered. She said that Aidan and Ryan were clashing on policy matters. Sara thought Aidan should pay his PA more heed. I disagreed. A PA is a staff member, like any other. Aidan is a future Taoiseach. Ryan clearly had notions about himself.’

  Tom studied Morrison thoughtfully.

  ‘There seem to have been a few problems in the minister’s office. Are you familiar with Grace Brady, the minister’s secretary?’

  Morrison hesitated.

  ‘Yes. I know Grace can be a little . . . difficult. But she’s had a hard life. She lost both her parents when she was younger. I’m fond of her.’

  ‘Fond of her? What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t mean anything improper. Grace is a troubled girl but she’s a hard worker. She’s been employed in various civil service capacities in Leinster House over the years, that’s how I know her. We may be a large workforce, but you get to know the ones who are around a while.’

  ‘Hmm. Did Mr McNally say anything when you dropped him home?’

  ‘He barely spoke at all, Inspector. He said thank you when I dropped him off. Just that.’

  ‘I see. Would you be kind enough to inform his former colleagues of his passing?’

  ‘Certainly. Is there anything I should do with the effects in his office?’

  ‘Leave it until we’ve had a chance to look through everything. One more thing – have you ever heard rumours in Leinster House about any high-ranking politicians being members of a certain . . . Club?’

  Morrison blinked once. It was the only thing that gave it away.

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean. They’re all in clubs of some sort.’

  ‘Oh, never mind. It doesn’t matter.’

  When the chief of security had left, Ray turned to Tom.

  ‘Another member?’

  ‘Possibly,’ Tom agreed. ‘And if he’s that good a friend of Blake’s, maybe he introduced him to it.’

  ‘He is a fan, isn’t he, despite his so-called objectivity.’

  ‘I noticed.’

  ‘You know what else?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He keeps popping up, doesn’t he?’

  *

  On the journey back to headquarters, Tom pondered what Ray had said. Shane Morrison knew all the players in this investigation. He had full knowledge of and the ability to move freely around the Leinster House complex. By his own admission, he’d been at McNally’s house the night he died, even if he claimed he hadn’t called in.

  Back in the office, the inspector sought out Laura.

  ‘Laura – Morrison’s interview. What was he doing throughout Friday evening?’

  ‘The chief of security?’ she said, looking confused. Then her neck started to colour, the red spreading u
p to her cheeks.

  ‘What is it?’ Tom asked, with a sense of foreboding.

  ‘Sorry. I was just going through the interview lists in my head. It’s just . . . I think we slipped up.’

  The inspector closed his eyes. He had a notion of what was coming.

  Laura took a deep breath.

  ‘I don’t think we interviewed him.’

  Chapter 25

  Tom did have a lot on his mind that evening, but that wasn’t why the row started. The argument with his wife over Maria and Cáit had been brewing. But he could have done without it that night.

  The inspector hadn’t lost his temper with Laura. He was just as culpable. The possibility of Shane Morrison being a suspect had seemed as improbable to his team as it had to him. The man was responsible for security in Leinster House and had helped the detectives set up the interviews. It hadn’t occurred to anyone to question Morrison himself.

  Laura and Michael would interview him in the morning. As unlikely as it seemed, if it turned out he had no alibi, Tom would have to give serious consideration to whether or not the man had motive to murder Ryan.

  When he opened his front door to the sound of his wife and daughter bickering, with Cáit’s pitched wail upstairs acting as a backdrop, part of him considered turning on his heel and sleeping in headquarters.

  His foul humour made him impetuous though, and he threw open the kitchen door and roared at the two of them, inserting himself slap bang into the middle of their melee.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’

  ‘Ask her,’ Louise snapped, then clamped her lips shut in a petulant pout.

  His daughter was barely out of her teens. His wife had no such excuse. Louise was standing with her hands on her hips; her cheeks were red and she looked like she was about to stamp her foot.

  ‘I’ve had enough,’ Maria shouted. ‘I’m moving out and I’ll rear my daughter the way I want to.’

  ‘And who’s funding this little adventure?’ Louise flung back. ‘Are you packing in college and getting a job? Where? In a shop? A bar? How will you pay for childcare or is that where I’m supposed to step in?’

  ‘Louise!’ Tom roared over the din. ‘Get your coat.’