by Jo Spain
‘Get over here. We need to search the house and grounds for the weapon.’
‘I’m on the way.’
The inspector rapped on the front door, waited a minute, then knocked harder.
‘He wouldn’t have fled . . .’ Laura started, but stopped as the door opened. A haggard-looking Aidan Blake filled its frame. It was remarkable, Tom thought. In the space of a week, the man had deteriorated from a handsome, picture-perfect politician to a crumbling wreck.
‘I knew you’d come,’ he said. He smelt of alcohol and cigarette smoke. His shirt was stained with whatever liquid he’d been drinking but also with spots of what looked, alarmingly, like blood.
‘Where’s your wife?’ Tom asked, nervously. ‘Where’s Sara, Aidan?’
Blake shrugged and stumbled into the hallway.
‘Come in,’ he slurred.
‘My colleague will be joining me, as well as these two officers.’ Tom indicated the accompanying guards. ‘We have a search warrant for your property.’
Blake just raised his eyebrows.
‘Coffee,’ he said, leading the way unsteadily to the kitchen. ‘I’ll make coffee.’
Tom took a deep breath and followed the man down the hall. He pointed the two guards in the direction of the other rooms and gave them their orders. Laura stayed with her superior, ready to bear witness to what they hoped would be a confession.
They were armed and wore bulletproof vests, a necessary precaution given that Ryan Finnegan had been shot. It had been a while since Tom had visited the firing range, but he felt confident. And Laura went every other week, so he was safe with her as his wingwoman.
The kitchen, so homely and welcoming when Tom had first visited, was now a confusion of debris. It was evident there’d been an altercation. Fragments of broken cups and other crockery were scattered across the floor. A chair lay upturned in the centre of the room.
Blake fumbled at the counter tops, cursing because he couldn’t find whatever he was looking for. Was Sara Blake injured somewhere in the house? Was that where the blood had come from, or had the minister hurt himself?
Blake slumped against the counter, running his hands through his hair, his expression one of despair.
‘Where would she hide the damn coffee?’ he moaned, as if that was the sole source of his misery.
‘Aidan, I want to talk to you about the car accident Ryan was in six months ago,’ the inspector said. There was no need for small talk. Tom knew, instinctively, that Blake wouldn’t deny what he’d done. The minister was a desperate man who had been swept up in the events of the last few months. He wouldn’t be able to maintain the lies, especially in this state. The inspector didn’t know when the man had finally cracked, but he sensed it was after witnessing Kathryn Finnegan’s grief on Thursday.
‘Why?’ Blake spat petulantly. ‘You must know everything. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? I presume McNally left some sort of note. I thought, for a short time, that he’d be the one you’d stick it on. But he’s not the sort to go off gently into the night. Oh no, not McNally. What diatribe did he spout for his final farewell? I should have stayed until he’d done himself in – made sure he didn’t write anything down. I knew when I asked him to lie about me meeting Madsen I’d made a mistake. I never trusted the man. He’d have stabbed me in the back at any stage, but I thought I had enough dirt on him with the bribes he was taking. Why aren’t you saying anything?’
Tom waited. Blake stared at him, drunken eyes shifting in and out of focus but still managing to look exasperated.
‘Well, I drove into Ryan, didn’t I?’ he roared. ‘He deserved it. Saint Ryan. It was all going so perfectly, until that shit from Thailand turned up with the photographs. My life plan. My goals. I’ve done stupid things in my life, but to be caught out like that, on bloody camera. How Ryan lorded it over me. All that hand-wringing crap. You know I don’t want to do this, Aidan. This is not my style.’ Blake mimicked the dead man’s voice, chilling Tom and Laura. ‘Turns out it was his style. Wasn’t so much better than me after all, was he? But there was no way he was going to ruin everything I’d worked for.’
Blake banged the counter hard, then looked at his hands like they belonged to someone else. His countenance morphed from anger to despair.
‘But . . . Kathryn. I hadn’t given her a second’s consideration until I saw her in the hospital after the crash. She had that tiny baby and she was so grateful Ryan was alive. She was so appreciative that I was there. I was ashamed. I’d only gone to see if Ryan remembered anything. He’d looked straight at me when I drove into him. He saw me, I know he did. But I was saved by memory loss, of all things. It’s a pity he couldn’t forget about those damned pictures.’
Blake started crying, tears of self-pity streaming down his face.
‘Where’s Sara?’ Tom asked again.
‘I don’t know. I don’t care. This was all for her, you know. She wanted the perfect marriage. I tried to give her everything. I can’t help it that I have needs. I love her, I do. I’m just . . . weak. I need sex like a drug. I’m so ashamed.’ Blake slid down the cabinet to the floor and pulled his knees into a foetal position. The inspector observed him coolly as he wrapped his arms defensively around his body and rocked back and forth.
‘You couldn’t give Sara everything though, could you?’ Tom said. ‘You married her, never telling her about your sex addiction, pretending you had everything under control. Then there was the ultimate injury. You couldn’t give her a child, the one quid pro quo she demanded.’
Blake looked up, his features furious.
‘I was going to,’ he snarled. ‘It was all going to work out for us, until that interfering bastard Ryan stuck his nose in.’
One of the uniformed guards opened the kitchen door.
‘Sir, you should see this.’
‘Get up,’ Tom said to Blake, and when the politician didn’t move: ‘I said get up or I swear, I will drag you up.’
Blake sniffed and pulled himself into an unsteady standing position.
They left the kitchen, the minister stumbling between Tom and Laura as they followed the guard to a room at the rear of the house.
Tom stood in the door frame, taking in the sight before them. The space was decorated beautifully, a show-house version of a child’s nursery. It was obvious that each piece in it, from the ivory-coloured cot and wardrobe to the cream sash curtains and Winnie the Pooh clock, had cost a small fortune. No expense had been spared for the baby the Blakes were expecting.
The inspector turned to Blake.
‘You let her down so badly, Aidan,’ he said. ‘Now, I’m going to ask you one more time. Where is your wife?’
*
While Laura practically poured coffee down Blake’s throat in a vain attempt to sober him up, Tom phoned Michael.
‘Is everything okay with Kathryn?’ he asked when he got through.
‘She’d gone out with the baby to meet a friend,’ Michael said. ‘Her brother’s in the house – he let us know. The guards we sent out rang her and she told them she was fine and would be back soon.’
‘Okay. Let me know if anything changes.’
They’d found Sara’s passport and her wardrobe appeared intact. The minister had told them he and his wife had fought the night before but she was unharmed. He’d sustained some superficial cuts and bruises from various kitchen items she had thrown at him.
‘What did you say to McNally when you visited him at home that night?’ Tom asked.
Blake’s face contorted.
‘I used to respect that man, but Jesus, he really screwed up this last year. Carl let it slip that McNally wouldn’t be a problem for me in the future, that he had him on a leash. In the end, that came in very handy. Taking bribes made it look like he had a motive for killing Ryan. I told McNally he was on his own. He was an absolute shambles by that stage. Slobbering and slurring his words.’
Tom beheld the drunk in front of him and let the irony of the moment
pass.
‘Anyway, I left McNally believing he was ruined – that you knew about the payments and his ongoing disputes with Ryan. It was my finest speech to date, Inspector. He was trying to drink himself to death anyway, but I planted enough seeds to push him to do something more drastic. I said he was going to end up in prison and he’d be remembered in the Party as a disgrace. That his mother’s memory would be destroyed. He was sobbing like a baby when I left.’
Laura looked away in disgust.
‘Where did the gun come from?’ Tom snapped, determined to get what he needed from Blake. He couldn’t let himself be riled by the man’s callousness, not when he still had pressing questions. The inspector had more or less figured out the source of the weapon, after his earlier conversation with Morrison, but the man in front of him could confirm it.
‘Sara’s dad was in your line of work,’ Blake answered. ‘A detective. He arrested some paramilitary in the ’70s and found the gun stashed in a barn. He kept it as a trophy. That’s not the story he told her, of course. The version she got involved heroic tales of shoot-outs and her father disarming the guy before he arrested him. I got my hands on his service record. It certainly didn’t happen like that. They arrested that lad in bed at five in the morning.
‘I think she figured it out as she got older but she never let him know. It’s ironic – Sara’s father had no time for her and all she ever wanted was to please him. She’s never been able to get beyond that rejection. He left her the gun and it was one of her most prized possessions. I picked up a silencer for it when I was abroad. It’s one of the handy things about being a minister – no one checks your bag when you come through the airport.’
Over the minister’s shoulder, Tom spotted Ray passing the back door and gave him a nod. His deputy would take charge of the search. Rain had started to fall outside. The lack of light would make the task more difficult. They still didn’t know where Sara was. Could Blake be lying? Might he have lost it completely and taken it out on her? The inspector was getting anxious.
Blake prattled on but Tom found his thoughts drifting back to the conversation he’d just had with Michael.
A worrying thought started to crystallise, followed by a feeling like a cold hand on the back of his neck.
No. Surely not. Not now, when it was all falling apart anyway. What would be the point?
But then, were any of the choices made in the last week rational?
How long had Kathryn been out? Who was this friend she was with?
‘Sir?’ Laura queried. She could see the faraway look in her boss’s eyes.
The penny dropped.
‘Shit!’ Tom pulled out his phone and redialled as fast as his fingers allowed.
His detective answered immediately.
‘Michael. This is urgent. Who did Kathryn go to meet?’
There was silence.
‘I don’t know – let me check.’
He rang off.
Blake eyed Tom.
‘What is it?’ he asked, in a tone that said he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Tom didn’t respond. The phone rang again and he grabbed it.
‘Kathyrn didn’t tell her brother who she was meeting,’ Michael informed him. ‘But she mentioned she’d done something rash yesterday and needed to apologise to somebody. I think . . .’
‘Christ almighty! I’m on my way.’
‘What?’ Blake choked, as the inspector shot up, his chair scraping noisily on the floor.
‘Your wife!’ Tom roared, his heart racing. ‘What did she say to you when I left on Thursday – after Kathryn’s visit? What did you fight about last night?’
The minister’s face had taken on a greenish hue.
‘She . . . she was furious that Kathryn knew about the photos. She said . . . but no, she wouldn’t. I said no. I told her I’d kill her if she harmed a hair on that woman’s head. We’ve done enough. Tell me Sara hasn’t done anything. Tell me!’
‘You should never have let her out of your sight,’ Tom answered, his voice thick with raw anger. ‘I think she’s with Kathryn. If she hurts her, by God, I hope you can live with that.’
Tom yanked open the back door and yelled Ray’s name. As his deputy came running, the inspector barked urgent instructions at Laura. He and Ray rushed from the house – while the man who’d set the tragic events of the last week in motion buckled and fell to the floor behind them.
*
‘There was no sign of the gun at the house,’ Ray said quietly, as the car raced towards Raheny.
Tom kept his eyes fixed on the road.
Blake’s story about the gun had tallied with what Morrison had told him that morning. The inspector had toyed with the notion that the chief of security, evidently fond of Sara, had been somehow involved in Ryan’s killing. However, the man had a solid alibi. Once that was cleared up, Tom had asked him to explain how he’d known Sara so long. It transpired that he and her father had worked together as gardaí.
‘You said you got Sara her first job,’ Tom asked. ‘What as?’
‘She started as a parliamentary assistant in Leinster House. I’ve always liked Sara. She was such a smart wee thing as a child. She hero-worshipped her dad but he had little time for children.’
‘So, she was working in Leinster House when she met Blake?’ Tom asked, another piece of the jigsaw slotting into place. Sara Blake knew the layout of the complex intimately and probably had her old swipe card, if she hadn’t used her husband’s, to get through any doors that would have been locked.
‘Yes,’ Morrison confirmed. ‘She was working with a Reform Party TD and Aidan was the man’s constituency organiser at the time. They hit it off immediately.’
‘One more thing,’ Tom said. ‘You told us that the military police had been moved from their office in the tunnel because of upgrading work. Is there maintenance work going on in any other part of the building?’
‘Yes. We’re modernising the electric systems in the bar and restaurant area.’
And then he’d confirmed the remainder of Tom’s theory.
‘Did anybody else know that the fire alarms were turned off in those parts of the building?’ the inspector asked.
The chief of security was quiet. Then:
‘Only a few people knew. What does this have to do with anything?’
‘Did Sara Blake know?’ Tom persisted.
‘Yes. We were having coffee last week and I told her.’
The man had been in shock by the time the phone call concluded.
The car skidded to a halt outside the Finnegan house. Tom jumped out first and sprinted up the drive.
Kathryn’s brother and his wife were in the sitting room, anxiously awaiting his arrival. They and the two guards sent to keep watch had been trying Kathryn’s mobile repeatedly and had then tried her friends’ contact numbers. There was still no word of the young mother.
Her brother stood up when the inspector burst into the room.
‘Did she say anything at all about where she was going?’ Tom snapped. There was no time for niceties.
Her brother shook his head, distressed.
‘She just said she had to meet a friend. I don’t understand. What’s all this about? She has Beth with her; she took the pram – are they in danger?’
‘Think,’ Tom insisted urgently. ‘Where would she go? Did she mention anywhere this morning? Wait – you said she took the pram?’
He’d seen the car parked in the drive when they’d arrived. That meant she’d walked.
‘Yes,’ her brother nodded. ‘So she can’t be far. Unless she got a bus, but there’d be no need for her to do that – if she was going any distance, she would’ve driven.’
‘Where would she walk to?’ Tom continued.
‘I’ve been trying to think. She’s only been out of the house a couple of times since it happened. She said she needed air.’
‘Does she have a favourite café? Does she like walking in the park? Does . . .’
<
br /> Tom stopped abruptly and spun round to face Ray, who’d come in behind him. He had the car keys in his hand and was awaiting instructions.
‘What is it?’ he asked his boss.
Tom moved to the door, signalling to the uniformed guards to stay with Kathryn’s family.
‘I’ve got it. I know where Kathryn went.’
Chapter 27
Tom could not get the image of little baby Beth out of his head. Was Sara Blake capable of harming a child? He prayed that she wasn’t. She was a woman who had dedicated her life to helping children, who herself wanted a baby so badly she had been willing to stay with a man she no longer loved to get one.
Of course, it was the threat to that plan that had driven her to the direst of extremes already.
The church was situated at Dollymount Strand, overlooking Dublin Bay. The wind had whipped up and the waves were breaking heavily on the shore. Rain pelted down, turning the white pebbledash of the church walls a dirty grey. The storm was winter-calibre and it was loud – violent enough that it would mask the sound of a gunshot.
Tom and Ray stood outside the back door to the old building, rivulets of rain streaming down their faces and the backs of their collars. The detectives hadn’t rushed directly to the church. Instead, they had called into the adjacent priest’s house. He’d confirmed that Kathryn had arrived earlier and said he had also greeted another woman, who was entering the building as he was leaving to get lunch.
‘I hope Kathryn’s okay,’ he said. ‘I spoke to her a couple of times this week and tried to offer some solace. I married the Finnegans and baptised young Beth for them. They were a beautiful couple. It will be such a tragedy to have to preside over the funeral of a man so young and so loved.’
The priest had given them a set of keys and told them they could enter via the vestry and from there, access the rear of the altar.
‘We often leave the front door open for worshippers,’ he said. ‘But the vestry contains the valuables so it’s locked unless one of us is in there. The doors have been oiled recently so they shouldn’t make too much noise as you enter.’