Dead Ringer (The Eddie Malloy series Book 6)

by Joe McNally

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure.’

  ‘I’ll bet.’

  ‘You were going to show me your version of coding, which I take to be some more doodling.’

  I told her about my meeting with Amanda.

  ‘So,’ Mave said, ‘it seems to confirm Jimmy was the only one of the three with cancer. Watt and Kilberg have been straightforward “take the oestrogen and run the ringer scam or you’re in deep shit.’

  ‘That seems a fair summary.’

  ‘So the man we assumed had a conscience in trying to disable two paedophiles, can’t find any of that conscience when it comes to the only innocent guy of the three. He tells him he’s implanting a cancer cure, and he puts in cyanide.’

  ‘Well, when we assumed the cancer treatment, we thought Watt and Kilberg had cancer too. It turned out they didn’t. So maybe that wasn’t what he told Jimmy.’

  ‘But what else would have persuaded him to agree to an implant? And remember, Kilberg spun you the cancer tale for all three. He didn’t produce that from nothing, did he?’

  ‘True. I suppose the best you can say is that our man knew Jimmy was going to die anyway.’

  ‘He knew that all right. If the cancer didn’t kill him, the cyanide would.’

  ‘Move your chair, a second, will you? Let me find Jimmy’s letter.’ I opened the desk drawer and took out the letter and read it to Mave:

  Dear Eddie,

  I’d been meaning to talk to you for a while. If you’re reading this, then I probably never got round to it. Don’t think too badly of me. I was just trying to come with a late run. I doubt I’d ever have got up, and the stewards would have taken it away from me anyway.

  Life is short. Health is precious. Spend no time trying to make your mark, because we will all be forgotten.

  ‘Don’t think too badly of me,’ Mave said. ‘That says to me he knew about the scam. Plus the fact he said that the stewards would have taken it away anyway. Doesn’t that confirm he knew what he was doing was wrong?’

  I nodded, a weary sadness coming over me. ‘You’re probably right.’ I got up and stretched and yawned. ‘Maybe we’ll crack it tomorrow,’ I said.

  ‘It depends what kind of stand the ISP takes when the police ask for the ID of the person who owns the PC.’

  ‘You think they’ll drag it out for a while?’

  ‘Could do.’

  ‘How long would it take you to find it…if you had to?’

  She shrugged. ‘Don’t know until I try. I might have a go tonight.’

  ‘Mind if I leave you to it? I’m whacked.’

  ‘See how tired you get when you use your brain?’

  ‘You’re right. I’m not used to it.’

  Mave watched me. ‘I haven’t said this to you for a while, Eddie, but are you sure you want to carry on? If he has left some code in there to warn him if somebody’s getting close to that last PC, he’s going to know you’re breathing down his neck. I think the only reason he hasn’t threatened you so far is that his ego wouldn’t allow him to believe you could get anywhere near him. He might have changed his mind by daybreak.’

  ‘I’ll be careful.’

  ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word.’

  I smiled. ‘Goodnight, Mave.’

  ‘Sweet dreams, Edward.’

  55

  Returning winnerless from Exeter, I was driving on dark country roads when Mac finally returned the calls I’d made earlier. ‘You’re a hard fella to get hold of, Mac. I’ve been trying since this morning.’

  ‘Sorry, Eddie. No point in me talking to you unless I had answers to your questions. Well, answers that you won’t find particularly helpful, but answers nonetheless.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The Internet Service Provider wants a court order before releasing the information.’

  ‘How long will that take?’

  ‘We’re trying to push it through today, before the weekend.’

  ‘How hard can it be, Mac? I read about these celebrities getting them on a Saturday to prevent publication in Sunday papers.’

  ‘Celebs can afford top barristers.’

  ‘So if it’s not tonight, we give this guy an extra forty eight hours to cover his tracks.’

  ‘What guy?’

  ‘The perp! Mister Big! Whatever you want to call him. The guy who killed at least three men.’

  He sighed, long and loud. ‘Eddie, look, I’ve been trying to avoid asking you the tougher questions on the basis that if I don’t know something, I’m not compromised at this end. But I think it’s time we met for one of our informal chats.’

  ‘You name the place and time, Mac. I’ll be there.’

  ‘Where are you tomorrow?’

  ‘Wincanton.’

  ‘I’ll see you there. Can you meet me in the car park before racing?’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘See you then.’

  I stabbed the button to end the call and cursed aloud. I’d known Mac a long time. We’d helped each other out over the years, but why was I always left feeling like the patsy? What were they doing camped out at Newbury police station with their so-called incident team? I had a feeling there was one man and a dog on this and they were getting us to do all the running around. If it hadn’t been for Jimmy and his dad I’d have told them where to shove it.

  ‘You’re a troubled man,’ Mave said when I walked in and slung my kitbag down so it slid along the floor toward the kitchen. ‘Your face is like fizz.’

  I told her what had happened with Mac and about the delay with court order, but every second word was a curse and she ended up laughing. ‘It’s at times like this a man realizes that the lexicon of swear words is so frustratingly sparse and inadequate,’ Mave said.

  ‘Knowing you, you’ll invent some new ones.’

  ‘I could do that. Easily. It’s making them fashionable, that’s the problem. Marketing.’

  I sat on the desk, calmer now. ‘Any news?’

  ‘Plenty news.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Our man got complacent.’

  ‘He linked to that last PC in the network?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Did you get into his?’

  ‘Nope. That’s what makes me pretty sure this is the man. It’s been more than seven years since I hit a system I couldn’t find my way into. I’ve never come across protection this strong.’

  ‘So are we any further forward?’

  ‘Well, I couldn’t get into his PC but after about three hours I broke through from the ISP side and found out where the PC is located.’

  ‘You’ve got his address?’

  ‘Well, kind of.’

  ‘Mave, come on!’

  ‘It’s a company. Based in Dublin. They’re called Nequitec.’

  ‘What’s their business?’

  ‘There are clues in the name. We could play some nice word games here, but somehow I don’t think you’re in the mood.’

  ‘Mave!’

  ‘They sell implants to Weatherbys.’

  ‘Implants? Passport chips?’

  ‘For implanting. In the necks of racehorses. Or in Watt’s case, for replanting in the necks of several racehorses.’

  I slumped in the chair. ‘Fuck me!’ I laughed.

  ‘I’ll pass on that, if you don’t mind.’

  I opened my arms. ‘How easy was that? Why didn’t I think to start there instead of end there? I’m thick.’

  ‘It’s as easy to be thick in hindsight as it is to be smart.’

  I slid the chair across, close to Mave and took her pale face gently in my hands and smiled stupidly at her. She said quietly, ‘What are you planning to do with my head?’

  ‘I wish someone had invented a word beyond genius.’

  ‘Super genius?’

  ‘You’re the eighth wonder of the world, Maven Judge, and I’d like to kiss you.’

  ‘Hoping the frog will turn into a princess?’

  ‘You’re not a frog. Yo
u’re wonderful.’

  ‘The two are not inseparable.’

  I leaned toward her, still holding her cheeks. She put a finger to her lips, blocking me, then said, ‘I don’t want to be kissed as a reward.’

  ‘It’s not a reward!’

  ‘And I don’t want a sympathy kiss.’

  I let go her face and sat back, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be. Beauty and the Beast can only work when the girl is the beauty.’

  I looked at her and wanted to say that long ago I’d seen through the plain features: the small eyes, the big nose, the thin lips and crooked teeth and untended hair, the tomboy who’d never become a woman because she didn’t believe she deserved to. But how do you put that into the spoken word?

  ‘You’re a beauty to me.’ I said.

  ‘Because you’re grateful, and because I’ve helped you. And because you’re a very sweet man.’

  ‘Do the reasons matter? I care for you a lot…an awful lot.’

  She smiled, ‘Then I’ll settle for that.’

  I offered my hand, and she shook it.

  ‘What next, do you think?’ I asked.

  ‘Your move.’

  I found myself doing that face-massage again and stopped halfway through.

  I looked at Mave. ‘What would you do?’

  ‘I’d write down that address, drive to Newbury police station, hand it to your Superintendent woman and get on with my life.’

  ‘They’ll balls it up.’

  ‘How? They move in, take the PC, analyze the data and charge the owner of the PC or the MD of the company or whoever.’

  ‘Do we know who the MD is?’

  ‘CEO and founder and majority shareholder is a man called Miles Shanahan. I haven’t had time yet to find out much about him.’

  ‘What if the cops can’t find somebody smart enough to get into the PC?’

  ‘They won’t even try. They’ll just ask for the passwords. Mister Shanahan can hardly say no.’

  I considered it, then stood up. ‘Whiskey?’

  ‘Celebratory?’ Mave asked.

  ‘Contemplatory.’

  Mave smiled. ‘That’s the first five syllable word I’ve heard you use.’

  I smiled. ‘I wasn’t even sure it was a word.’

  She jumped up and put an arm round my shoulder, walking me toward the drinks cabinet. ‘But you took a punt, my friend, and you were right!’ She slapped me on the back.

  ‘Sit down, you daft bugger and I’ll pour.’

  We held chunky glasses that kept the heat on the outside, protecting the ice inside. ‘Pros and cons about stepping out now?’ Mave said.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘This guy’s a top-notcher, you accept that?’

  ‘He’s top notch at tech stuff and maybe even surgery. But he could be seventy years old for all we know.’

  ‘True, but he could be twenty seven with an arsenal in the cupboard in his office. He killed three men.’

  ‘Remotely. If he had an arsenal, he could have shot them, if he had the balls for it.’

  ‘His balls might be the size of his brain, but why use them when you’re way smarter than the cops? If you hadn’t taken an interest, police records would have three suicides marked. Cases closed.’

  I drank and looked out into the darkness. ‘What about-’ My ringing phone interrupted me. It was McCarthy. ‘Mac, call me on the landline.’

  ‘Sorry, I forgot.’

  He called back right away. ‘We couldn’t get the court order. Sorry. It’ll have to be Monday’

  ‘Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you at Wincanton tomorrow.’

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Fine. Why?’

  ‘No pyrotechnics.’

  ‘I’ve fizzled out, Mac. Good night.’

  ‘Eddie. There’s more. The specialists are pretty confident that transmitter at the base of the skull on Watt and Kilberg was sending messages to the brain to activate oestrogen production. They tested Watt’s and Kilberg’s samples against Jimmy Sherrick’s, who would have shown normal, and those two were higher in multiples of thousands.’

  ‘Thanks, Mac. See you tomorrow.’

  I told Mave about the oestrogen stimulation. She put down her drink and hurried to the PC. ‘There’s no way this hasn’t been patented. No way!’ She sat down, fingers flying across her keyboard.

  56

  I sat in my car at Wincanton racecourse, listening to the heavy rain on the roof, and watching the entrance for Mac arriving. In my pocket was a single piece of paper with all the details printed out for the police. Mave had talked me into it.

  Patents were registered in Germany in the name of Miles Shanahan’s company, Nequitec. The patents were for implants that could be remotely activated in order to produce a number of different effects on the human body, among them the artificial stimulation of oestrogen to be used in place of chemical castration implants.

  The patent approval was eighteen months old. There was a separate patent filed for chemical castration of animals using the same process. A patent application for the use of remote activation of cyanide capsules in humans had been turned down on the basis that “it will probably be found to violate paragraph two of the German Patent Law — which does not allow inventions that transgress public order or good morals”.

  Mac rolled in through the rain, my wipers showing his progress toward my car like a time lapse. As he pulled in, I jumped out and ran the twenty yards to his car. I jerked the door handle and almost wrenched my knuckles from their sockets. It was locked. Mac hit a button and opened it. My dripping hair was plastered on my skull as I pulled the door closed.

  ‘Sorry. I forgot I’d locked it.’

  ‘Why do you keep your car locked when you’re in it? Fucking hell!’

  ‘Here.’ He passed me a clean handkerchief and I dried myself as best I could. ‘You can’t be too careful these days, Eddie. You read about these carjacking incidents and handbags being snatched at traffic lights.’

  ‘You haven’t got a fucking handbag!’

  I could see he was trying to contain a laugh. ‘Calm down. Or maybe I ought to just give you the bad news while you’re already annoyed.’

  ‘What bad news?’

  ‘The police are taking over now, full time.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Says the chief constable. Sara had to brief him last night after the final results of all three autopsies. If you and whoever’s helping you don’t bow out now, and something happens to either of you, it’s a PR disaster for the police.’

  ‘So they’re closing in on this guy?’

  ‘Not yet. But the chief constable is confident they can find him without any outside help.’

  ‘And how confident are you?’

  ‘Sara believes it’s the best thing to do, and I’ve no reason to doubt her.’

  ‘Bad move, Mac.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘How long have you known her?’

  ‘About five years. What difference does that make?’

  ‘How long have you known me?’

  ‘Fifteen, sixteen years.’

  ‘And you trust her judgement over mine?’

  ‘Eddie, it’s not personal, for God’s sake. It’s professional.’

  ‘I’m a professional!’

  ‘You’re a professional jockey! She’s a senior police officer.’

  ‘How many times have I helped you out of scrapes before the police did?’

  ‘We’re not keeping score here, come on!’

  ‘You’re not, are you? That’s the problem.’

  He laid his big head back on the rest, rolling it gently and sighing.

  ‘Sigh away. What exactly have the police done in this case to give you confidence in them? Where would you all have been if I hadn’t been feeding you stuff?’

  ‘And Sara appreciates that, believe me. But we need to take the emotion out of it, take a step back. Let them get on with what they do be
st.’

  ‘What they do best! Are you kidding me?’

  ‘Well what would you do in her position?’

  ‘I wouldn’t sack the only guy who’s been coming up with leads, would you?’

  ‘It’s not my decision, Eddie.’

  ‘That’s a fucking cop-out, Mac! Diplomatic bullshit picked up from that chancer, Buley.’

  ‘Okay! Okay! No, I wouldn’t sack you, as you put it.’

  ‘Well why not fight my corner?’

  ‘It’s a very delicate situation. You’re not stuck in the middle of it. You can only see it from one perspective.’

  ‘Mac, do you ever stop and think it might be you who’s wrong? When you’re trying to see things from all these different perspectives, don’t you ever just simply want to do what you feel is the right thing?’

  He sighed again. ‘Maybe we should talk later.’

  ‘Later being when Sara Chase and her chief constable come up empty? No thanks, Mac. Make the choice now. Am I in or out?’

  He did the head rolling and sighing again, then he turned to me. ‘I’m sorry. You’re out.’

  My tantrum lasted until I reached the changing room, until I went into the toilet and flushed the details on Miles Shanahan down the toilet and said aloud, ‘Chase that, Sara!’

  Three hours later, I nursed a novice ‘chaser through two miles of Somerset mud, happy to bide my time, to get him safely over each fence and steadily reel in the leader and pass him yards from the post.

  Another winner. It stoked my confidence and my resolve to get on a flight late this evening and head for Dublin to nail the man who killed Jimmy Sherrick.

  57

  Mave watched me pack a carry-on bag for the flight, calling out as I dropped each item in. ‘Underwear, toothbrush, shaving cream, bullet proof vest, last will and testament…’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘Eddie, why are you packing a bag at all? Why are you going there? It’s utterly pointless.’

  ‘I don’t want the police ballsing it up.’

  ‘You don’t want the police getting the glory when we’ve done all the work. Isn’t that what you mean?’

  ‘That too.’ I zipped the bag closed.