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In Deep Water

Page 32

by Sam Blake


  O’Rourke shifted in his seat. Cathy could feel he wanted to interrupt, to ask questions, but he knew they had to let Sarah Jane talk first. Sarah Jane screwed up her face in a frown, ‘It was really bugging me. It was the girl’s eyes – she was so desperate, so frightened. So when my dad rang on Friday evening I told him about it. When I described the guy she was with, explained that I thought she was Eastern European or Russian, he told me to be careful, that it could be anything – drugs, prostitution, anything. I thought it sounded a bit mad, to be honest, but apparently there are lots of trafficking gangs operating in Ireland, bringing people through here to the UK. It was something he’d started working on – the organised crime angle – but then the Syrian thing happened and CNN wanted him to go there.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call me?’ Cathy gave her a meaningful glare, half joking, but she meant it.

  ‘I don’t know, I was working on my assignments all day Saturday and I had other stuff on my mind – I didn’t want to create an international incident over a girl and her boyfriend. I thought I’d keep an eye out, and if I saw her again or if she called, I’d tell you. You know what my dad’s like, he sees the worst in every situation.’ Sarah Jane took a sip of her hot chocolate, ‘So then on Sunday, I was on my way to work and I was pulling into the car park on Drury Street and I saw the guy again, the one from Vijay’s shop. So I parked as fast as I could and flew down the stairs to see if I could see where he was going. I thought he might be meeting the girl again and I could talk to her . . .’

  ‘You know you didn’t lock your car?’

  Sarah Jane looked confused, ‘Didn’t I? I thought I’d done the central locking thing? I grabbed my laptop but I forgot my phone too – the damn battery died so I stuck it in the glove box. I only realised when I got to work. I was planning to go back during my break and pick it up, see if I could borrow a charger.’ Sarah Jane grimaced, ‘But that didn’t happen . . . I was just so keen to see where the guy was going, I guess I didn’t think . . . Managed to forget my locker key too – when I got to work I realised I’d left it in my denim jacket at home . . .’

  O’Rourke smiled sympathetically, ‘Don’t worry, what happened next?’

  ‘Well, I got to the ground floor of the car park but I couldn’t see him. I’ve no idea where he went, so I headed to work. Then, everything was fine until I went upstairs to get fresh table linen. The window was open and I heard this scuffle outside in the car park. It was that same girl from the shop, dressed like a hooker and running out of the fire exit of one of the buildings that backs onto the car park. Before she’d got more than about six feet, the guy I’d seen appeared and grabbed her and punched her so hard she collapsed.’

  Sarah Jane bit her lip, the shock at the memory obvious in her face, ‘I went running straight down the stairs, calling for Billy to call the Guards. I started saying about girls being trafficked and about the girl being beaten up, and then he slapped me. I must have fallen and hit my head. I don’t remember anything then until I woke up in his office. He asked me if I was OK, and said he was really sorry for slapping me, but I’d been hysterical and he gave me a tablet for my head.’ Sarah Jane sighed, ‘I thought he was being nice. I’m so stupid.’

  ‘It wasn’t paracetamol?’ Cathy could hear the suppressed anger in O’Rourke’s voice. He’d been deeply unimpressed by Billy Roberts’s concern for his missing employees – or lack of, to put it more accurately.

  Sarah Jane leaned her head against her hand. ‘I’ve no idea what it was, but it made me really, really groggy.’

  Cathy leaned across the table, rubbing her arm, ‘You’re doing great, and you’re safe now, nothing can hurt you.’

  Sarah Jane’s smile was weak, ‘So I’m totally zonked from the tablet – I’ve no idea how long I was there for – but then I can hear voices around me. I couldn’t really focus. Then this guy appears, who Billy says is going to take me home. He had to half carry me to his car.’

  ‘Dave Givens?’ Cathy interrupted.

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t know who he was then. And he didn’t take me home. He took me to this guy Richard Farrell’s house. He owns The Rookery. I’d only met him a few times before, he’s not there a lot. He’s some sort of society playboy, is in the magazines the whole time. There’s a girl in work called Daniella, she fancies the pants off him and I think she’s been dating him secretly – anyhow, she’d told me all about him.’

  Cathy felt her stomach lurch but didn’t say anything. Sarah Jane needed to get a good night’s sleep and to feel safe again before Cathy told her about Daniella. Knowing now, rather than tomorrow, wasn’t going to bring her back.

  Sarah Jane continued, ‘So Farrell is all smiles when he opens the front door. I was still out if it; I couldn’t work out why I was there. He showed me into the living room with this huge widescreen TV and the fire lit, and there was this pool . . .’ Sarah Jane drifted off for a moment, remembering, then said, ‘I sat down on the sofa, and tried to put my bag down, but I dropped it and everything fell out. Whatever Billy gave me made me feel really heavy and in a sort of fog. Then Farrell turns around, and I knew . . .’ She glanced at Cathy, ‘The look on his face. I still didn’t understand why, but I knew I’d really fucked up . . . I really thought he was going to kill me there and then, and leave me floating in the pool and pretend it was all an accident.’

  Cathy reached across the table and rubbed her arm again as Sarah Jane took a breath, her eyes fixed on her cup, ‘He asked me who I’d been talking to and said that he didn’t like journalists sneaking around his business.’ Sarah Jane shook her head, ‘And then Givens, the guy who’d brought me there, comes into the room. He’s like about seven feet tall and in a paramilitary canvas jacket and army boots and he stands with his hands behind him and his back to the wall just staring at me. It was terrifying.’

  ‘You’re safe now – neither of them can hurt you.’

  Sarah Jane smiled at O’Rourke, ‘I know.’ Then she stared back at her cup as if she was reliving the scene, ‘So then Farrell asked me about my dad . . . I said he was in Syria, so he says, “And what’s the famous Pulitzer Prize-winning Ted Hansen doing in Syria, Sarah Jane?” ’ She paused, ‘Which, as it turned out, was the best thing he could have said, because at that point Givens didn’t know who I was. He told me afterwards that he’d been called in to “remove me cleanly” – those were his words. There had been some previous cock-up, some guy who worked for Farrell had had to get rid of someone and had made a mess of it.’ Sarah Jane’s face paled, ‘It’s like killing people is normal for them.’ She took a slug of her hot chocolate, ‘So then Farrell says, “This is the same Ted Hansen that found evidence of Hezbollah working with the cartels in Mexico?” I just looked at him – Dad won his Pulitzer for his work on the links between organised crime and terrorist organisations. That’s when I realised what was happening. Dad had been right on the phone – human trafficking is one aspect of transcontinental organised crime. These are the type of people who are involved in drugs and guns. Dad had been looking at the covert movement of people and weapons.’

  As Sarah Jane paused, Cathy suddenly became aware of the sound of O’Rourke’s watch ticking loudly. But Sarah Jane was oblivious to it, and shook her head as she continued, ‘Then Farrell starts asking me about Daniella. I said she was helping me with my thesis – I couldn’t see what that had to do with anything.’ Sarah Jane paused, catching a look that passed across Cathy’s face, ‘Is she OK?’ Sarah Jane’s hand shot to her mouth, ‘Oh my God, what’s happened?’

  Cathy didn’t reply, instead shifted in her chair, trying to find the right words. ‘Don’t worry about that now, a lot’s been happening since you vanished. The girl you met in the shop is called Irina, she’s from Belarus. That back door you saw her come out of leads to The Paradise Club on Drury Street. We raided it last night. She’s safe.’ Cathy paused, ‘You were bang on about her being trafficked. But it wasn’t just her, there were girls there
from Romania, Nigeria and Brazil too. They’re all safe now.’

  ‘And Richard Farrell? Have you arrested him?’

  Cathy rolled her eyes, ‘Let’s just say he met your friend Dave Givens again and he’s still alive, but he won’t be going anywhere for quite a while.’

  48

  The next morning, sitting on one of the desks in Dún Laoghaire’s otherwise empty detective office, her feet resting on a hard stacking chair, Cathy tried to look relaxed. It wasn’t easy. O’Rourke was interviewing Aleksy downstairs, and she knew it was part exhaustion, part nervous energy generated by the fact that Sarah Jane was safe, but she felt like someone had wound her up and was holding the key.

  Had she alibied a murder suspect? Surely with Aleksy’s involvement with CAB, everything would be fine, besides, his dad was a cop, according to O’Rourke. And he’d been photographed by a speed camera on the N11, so the chances of him being involved in Daniella’s murder and the subsequent disposal of her body looked increasingly unlikely. Cathy bit her lip. But there was still the possibility that they’d got it all wrong here, that things weren’t as they seemed.

  Her stomach knotted with tension, Cathy tapped her fingertips on the edge of the desk, beating out the tempo to the song going around inside her head: Katy Perry’s ‘Roar’. She was a champion, but she wasn’t doing much roaring this morning.

  She’d caught a glimpse of Aleksy earlier with O’Rourke, looking just as gorgeous as he had the other night, a clean white T-shirt showing off his ripped arms and tattoos. But she couldn’t get involved. He was trouble in so many ways: super dreamy delicious trouble, but trouble nonetheless.

  Cathy yawned. When they’d finished taking Sarah Jane’s statement, a patrol car had been ready to take her home, and Cathy had accompanied her back to her own house, where she knew Sarah Jane would feel safer for the moment. Cathy had settled Sarah Jane into her own room, dug out the blow-up mattress the lads used when the house was at capacity after a party, knowing she’d be fine sleeping on the floor for a few days. It was a tiny room, but there was just enough space for both of them.

  Her car had been in the drive when they’d arrived, the keys on the doormat, so when O’Rourke had texted to say Aleksy was being moved to Dún Laoghaire, Cathy had had the world’s fastest shower and headed straight back to the station.

  She had been lurking at the end of the corridor, trying to stay invisible as O’Rourke had turned the corner heading for the interview room with Aleksy. Aleksy hadn’t seen her, but she’d caught O’Rourke’s eye as he held the interview room door open. Half frowning, he’d shot her a ‘keep away’ look.

  So now she was keeping away and it was killing her.

  And she was feeling sick.

  This was almost as bad as the feeling she’d had when Sarah Jane had first disappeared, a sort of dread mixed with she wasn’t sure what. And on top of that she was as stiff as hell, her forearms bruised from vaulting through the window of the cottage.

  But Sarah Jane was safe now, she’d been checked out by the duty doc, had had a long bath at Cathy’s and had slept well. She’d said she’d be back over to the station later when she’d had some breakfast and sorted out her clothes – there was still information they needed to check and Sarah Jane needed to share.

  Over at the Bridewell, Frank Gallagher and Jamie Fanning were interviewing the security staff from The Paradise Club, all Eastern European; none of whom had visas.

  Cathy’s head was so busy she didn’t notice J.P. appear at the door of the detective office, his raspberry crew neck jumper almost as crumpled as his shirt collar. He was holding a couple of mugs of coffee. Pausing in the doorway, watching her for a moment, he put his head on one side.

  ‘What’s up, miss? You’re like a cat on a hot tin roof.’

  ‘Ha ha, very funny.’

  ‘Sarah Jane will be fine, you know. She’s a tough one.’

  Cathy threw him a grin; she’d thought she’d never worry again after she’d hugged Sarah Jane last night, but this morning there were still a whole heap of things she needed answers to.

  J.P. came into the office and passed her the cup, ‘Two sugars – figured you needed it. Heard anything more on Givens?’

  ‘Nothing solid. He was fast – he slipped passed Traffic’s patrols.The Range Rover was left in the short-stay car park at Dublin airport. His passport is flagged, but I doubt he’d use his own.’

  ‘Reckon he’s gone?’

  ‘Seems likely. According to McIntyre he’s used to keeping below the radar.’

  ‘So what’s the story with Sarah Jane’s dad – he knew him?’

  ‘Yep, Givens was in some elite unit in the British army – part of a team the Brits had in Sierra Leone retraining the army after the civil war. A bomb was set off by dissident rebels. It was pretty shit by all accounts.’

  ‘Sounds it. Did I hear her dad’s on his way over?’

  ‘You did. Someone got a message to him that Sarah Jane was in trouble. I have a feeling that must have been Givens too – CNN drew a total blank trying to track him down. He’s on a plane now.’

  ‘Givens seems to be some operator.’ J.P. took a sip of his coffee and yawned. ‘Heard ERU were pretty impressed with you, though.’ Cathy nodded, half smiling. The ERU inspector had called O’Rourke while they’d been in the interview room with Sarah Jane this morning, leaving a message to say Cathy had been right about the cottage being empty.

  She sipped her coffee. And started tapping her foot.

  ‘Can you keep still?’ J.P. moved from leaning on a filing cabinet to sitting at one of the empty desks. It was rare for the office to be totally empty, but Cathy was grateful for it today. She drew in a breath and grimaced at J.P., ‘Sorry, I . . .’

  Before she could finish O’Rourke appeared at the door. He jerked his head in the direction of the corridor and vanished.

  J.P. looked a her half teasing, ‘You’re in the shit again.’

  Cathy rolled her eyes, ‘Back in a minute.’

  Outside in the corridor O’Rourke was waiting for her, leaning on the end of a wall of dark blue steel lockers, each one numbered in marker pen on a white sticker. He had his hands in his trouser pockets and was jiggling his change. Pink tie again today, he must be in a good mood.

  ‘Turns out your friend Aleksy is very helpful. He said he was up in Enniskerry that night to collect some suits for Richard Farrell. As we know, Farrell’s ex runs the shop there. He confirms he met you, you both went to eat and then up to Johnny Fox’s. He drove back into the city a bit quick and, as we also know, got clocked for speeding down by UCD.’

  Cathy nodded silently. Beside University College Dublin the road dipped and the speed limit dropped inexplicably from eighty to sixty. He wouldn’t be the first to have been caught out there. Thank God.

  ‘Then he said he went home.’ O’Rourke glanced at her, his eyes meeting hers. ‘This is where it gets interesting. Apparently he lives in an apartment off Gardiner Street with some of the other bar and security staff from The Paradise Club. It’s a temporary thing while he finds new digs – his previous landlord is selling up, and he was stuck. It was supposed to be his night off, but shortly after he got home, the head security guy, that Nacek character you met, texts him to say he needs him to go into The Paradise Club to cover for him. Aleksy says a lot of people would have seen him there from about twelve onwards.’

  Cathy felt a surge of relief. Good, that was good. But she could feel O’Rourke’s disapproval radiating from him like a heat lamp, sucking the air from the corridor. Cathy glanced anxiously at him. What was coming next?

  ‘When did he finish work?’

  ‘Ten in the morning, apparently. Long shift, it was a busy night.’ O’Rourke’s tone was clipped, ‘He said he started working there doing a painting job, and when he got chatting to Nacek he hired him to do some maintenance and door work. He helps out behind the bar too when it’s quiet.’ O’Rourke looked at the floor and rattled the change in his pocket aga
in, ‘When he got back to the flat the next morning, it was about ten fifteen. Nacek was in his room, but he had the washing machine going on a hot wash. Your friend thought it was a bit weird, because he only seemed to be washing one lot of clothes – jeans, a T-shirt and a hoodie, and his trainers. And as soon as it was finished he got up and ran everything through again.’

  ‘Very odd.’

  O’Rourke’s expression was serious, ‘And there were traces of dirt all the way up the hallway like someone with muddy shoes had walked in. I’ve briefed Gallagher and 007. We caught up with Nacek heading for the ferry but so far he isn’t saying a word. He reckons the muck has nothing to do with him, that he was working in a different part of the club all night, so Aleksy didn’t see him, and he reckons the girls will say he was there.’

  ‘Bet they will. No pressure.’

  O’Rourke pursed his lips, ‘We’ve a search warrant for the flat. The lads should be starting any time now – we’ll see what they can find. If the clothes are still there it doesn’t matter how many times he’s washed them, we’ll find traces if they were bloodstained.’

  ‘If he dismembered Daniella there would have been a lot of blood.’

 

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