Silent Night: An absolutely gripping crime thriller

Home > Other > Silent Night: An absolutely gripping crime thriller > Page 20
Silent Night: An absolutely gripping crime thriller Page 20

by Geraldine Hogan


  ‘No, I doubt it, he was probably watching me for a while, but it was so dark, hard to tell what was what. He’d have seen the car, though, the number plate.’

  ‘You had a station car?’

  ‘No, my own.’

  He sipped his drink thoughtfully. ‘It would have happened anyway.’ He looked across at her, maybe sensing that she was beginning to drift away from the conversation. ‘Tonight, Veronique, you can’t think anything else now.’ His words were firm, his eyes steady.

  ‘You don’t know that, maybe if I’d said something.’

  ‘You didn’t because you were in shock; sometimes, fear can do that to you, you just went away and buried it. You’re smart enough to know that you couldn’t help that, it’s just a coping mechanism.’

  ‘It had to be Ollie Kerr, hadn’t it?’ She felt a raw shiver curl along her spine. ‘Out there that night, the more I think about it now, it almost felt as if… he was waiting for…’ She didn’t finish it off, but they both knew it felt as if he was waiting for her.

  ‘Maybe,’ Grady murmured then sipped his drink thoughtfully. ‘We discounted him earlier because it looked as if the place had been ransacked; the evidence of a second drink removed as if to wipe any trace of a stranger, but maybe he’s smarter than we gave him credit for.’ He was thinking out loud. She suspected that her visit here, her revelation, had somehow permitted her, for a short moment, to see into how his mind worked a case.

  ‘So, Ollie Kerr is our killer?’ Could it have been that simple all along, really? she wondered. ‘What now?’ She drained her glass.

  ‘What now, indeed.’ He sat back in his chair and exhaled deeply.

  When she woke, she wasn’t sure where she was, or what had happened. He’d thrown a blanket across her while she’d slept. The sound of her keys landing close to her ears woke her none too gently.

  ‘Come on,’ Grady said. ‘Time to get moving.’ He was already showered and dressed for work; she could smell fresh aftershave. Her watch showed her it was after seven. Her brain told her she was stupid to have let herself fall asleep here, stupid to show her vulnerability. ‘I’m heading in now. I presume you’d like to get back and have a shower before you go to work?’ He was standing over her, waiting for her to leave. She got herself up from the chair, mortified; he’d never see her like this again.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Cullen was at the station before him; Grady wasn’t really surprised. He closed the door to her office; you never knew who’d be knocking around between now and eight o’clock.

  ‘We have something,’ he said, before sitting opposite her.

  ‘Is it a problem?’ She eyed him over her glasses.

  ‘Only if we make it into one.’ He could see that she was waiting for him to tell her Slattery had managed to fuck something up. ‘Iris called round to my house last night.’

  ‘I’d guessed as much…’

  ‘No, not like that.’ Under different circumstances he’d have been tempted. ‘She was upset, she told me that she’d been out in Kilgee some evening last week; she was attacked, but she said nothing.’

  ‘How badly?’ Cullen’s face was serious now.

  ‘Hard to say, I assume it was just a scuffle – at least I hope so.’

  ‘Maybe she thought if she said anything we’d have taken her off the case,’ Cullen said quietly.

  Grady raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Maybe she’d have been right.’ They both knew it would have been the only ethical thing to do. ‘Anyway, at this stage, what difference does it make?’ He’d already decided he was going to fight to keep her on the team. There was no special reason, other than he knew how much she wanted to be there and she was a worker, he could see that. ‘If he was still hanging around there last night, he’d have surely taken a stroll over to the Kerr place; more than likely he’ll have spotted her again, though she reckons he can no more identify her than she can him.’

  ‘Did she have anything at all?’ Cullen asked. Already she looked tired and their day hadn’t even started yet.

  ‘She didn’t see his face; it was dark, and he jumped her from behind. She said he was big, tall and heavy, maybe overweight – sounds like Ollie Kerr even just from that.’

  ‘So he was on her?’ Cullen lowered her eyes, Grady wasn’t sure if she closed them tight, maybe trying to rid herself of what Iris might have been through. ‘Christ.’

  ‘Look, it gives us something to go on, right?’ He looked at her now, squaring his jaw up, knowing he didn’t really need to say what he was going to say. ‘Obviously, we don’t say where we got our description, such as it is, from…’

  ‘Obviously.’ The word was dry and cynical, but Grady felt she wouldn’t let Iris down either.

  ‘So we bring him in for questioning today?’

  ‘Soon as.’ Cullen’s eyes lit up. Finally, they both knew, the trail was warm.

  Grady’s only worry as he headed back to his own office was of Slattery doing something wildly inappropriate. Perhaps Iris would make sure that didn’t happen. He’d seen another side to her now, a side he’d never have imagined. He recognised something of his own remoteness in her, as though she would keep people at arm’s length for as long as she could. Most of his colleagues knew nothing of his past. Apart from June and Slattery, they had no idea that he was alone in the world apart from this place. He didn’t need a counsellor to tell him it was this emptiness that made him push away anyone who got too close. Shrinks would say it was a fear of loss. Slattery said, Death fucked you good and proper, no point fighting it. Still that was his story and he didn’t have time to think of it today.

  He decided now he’d talk to Iris about working Murder. She wanted Dublin, but that was a closed shop, where as Limerick… He knew that she wouldn’t be talked out of it – he’d been the very same, and maybe Iris Locke was even more determined. She was, after all, her father’s daughter. If she was going to work Murder anywhere, he was going to do his damnedest to make sure it was here, where at least he could keep an eye on her, keep her safe.

  He’d arrived before any of them. Picked his spot good and early. He was going to find her today, find her, follow her and then… He had watched her the previous evening. Did she know it was him? He’d wondered if perhaps she’d just been playing with him.

  ‘Sorry, mate.’ One of the press guys who had arrived after him was hogging his space.

  ‘Watch yourself, fucker. I was here first.’ He growled at the camera operator. A small, butty bloke, no match for him and they both knew it. He wrapped his coat close around him. It was cold this morning, cold and damp and he was planning on staying here for a while. He’d like to take her home with him, keep her there forever; she belonged in Kilgee, belonged with him.

  The morning was beginning to brighten around him. Overhead, the sun was making a valiant attempt at breaking through the ocean of clouds that knotted and bolted across the sky. It would be overcast again today; too much cloud cover to expect any clearance. About him, he felt a swell of excitement in the reporters who’d managed unwittingly to give him cover, a sort of human form of camouflage. They’d descended from across the country to salivate over the latest Limerick murder. The connection with the Baby Fairley case fuelled their curiosity. They all looked the same, leather jackets, jeans, gloves on the camera men, scarves on the reporters – an unofficial uniform – their noses red from the early morning and maybe a late night beforehand. He’d had a late night, but he’d slept soundly, maybe that was because he had a plan now.

  The rustle around him had almost grown to fever pitch. He craned his neck to catch a glimpse of what the reporters were becoming animated about.

  Across the road, just outside the station, he saw her. Walking along, like she hadn’t a care in the world. She was wearing the same clothes as last night, but her hair was done and she looked well made-up. He fancied, that even from here, he could smell her perfume, but he wasn’t stupid enough to actually believe that. He walked along, behind some of the re
porters, to get a better look before she ran up the steps into the station. He was by far the tallest man on the pavement, but still, he found himself reaching onto the tips of his toes to garner a better view. One of the men in front of him shouted something across the road at her, whistled too, trying to get her attention. He swiped a large palm across the back of the bloke’s head. The blow knocked him sideways into his colleague, who was filming Iris making her way into the station. Both men ended up on the road, their clothes wet and dirty, their expressions shocked. Teach you a fecking lesson. By the time the guy got to his feet, he’d be well gone. Last thing he wanted was to be in the middle of any scuffle, last thing he wanted was notice. He moved cautiously along the pack, no one was going to pick a fight with him anyway. He looked mean and he looked dangerous.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The case conference had not lasted long. It seemed to Iris that all the work had been done before they’d sat down to review Veronique Majewski’s murder. The big brass sat stony-faced and silent at the top of the incident room. It shouldn’t have gone this far and Iris felt a wrench of guilt once more for not telling someone what had happened that night at the cottage.

  ‘We’re bringing in Ollie Kerr today, that’s Veronique’s partner. Westmont, take a couple of uniforms out to the barracks in Kilgee. He’s meant to call in today for an interview,’ Grady said. He walked the length of the case board, a new murder added more pressure than they needed.

  ‘How come we’re so sure of ourselves all of a sudden?’ Slattery asked, a sneer from the back of the room. He looked as if he hadn’t gone home for the night, instead found a bar stool and slept where he sat, maybe didn’t sleep at all. As far as Iris knew, he’d had five minutes at the murder scene; perhaps it was enough to put his nose out of joint. She wondered as she looked now from him to Grady exactly how much history they shared. How far would one go to look out for the other?

  ‘We’ve had a description of someone hanging out around the Crowe house in the nights since Anna Crowe and her family were murdered. The description best fits Ollie Kerr.’

  ‘That was kept quiet,’ Slattery frowned.

  ‘It was an anonymous phone call this morning. I just happened to pick it up, early.’

  Slattery had to know he was lying. He’d seen too many good liars to be fooled by someone he’d known for so long. Iris wondered if they were acting on her information alone. Had what she’d said to Grady really been that important to the case? He’d been so cool with her when she’d woken in the morning, left the house so quickly she began to wonder if she’d dreamed the night before. He’d seemed so sincere, so genuine. Then, this morning, it was as if she was dealing with a completely different person, a blank wall of a man with not a shred of warmth.

  ‘What about Boran?’ June asked.

  ‘Ah, I’m afraid Darach Boran is helping us with our enquiries in another area at the moment.’ Cullen smiled at Byrne. ‘Customs and Excise made a swoop on his home; seems Mr Boran was running a lucrative sideline in importing illegal cigarettes. Storing them in the house on St Abatti’s Terrace, too, so no wonder he was jumpy when two detectives called to visit.’

  ‘Jesus.’ It was obviously news to Westmont. ‘That scumbag, we just knew he was hiding something.’

  ‘Anyway, it seems his last big shipment came in off the coast of Donegal the night Anna Crowe was murdered. While his WI ladies danced the night away to a local crooner, Boran was out unloading his cargo.’ Cullen smiled across at Grady. Normally, Iris would want to take the credit for this nugget, but this morning, with another victim in the morgue, her contribution had lost its sheen for her – still, it had been down to her, so that was something.

  ‘Aye, he’s a cool customer all right,’ Slattery said from the back of the room, as if this was all news to him.

  ‘And Deaver?’ Westmont asked.

  ‘We felt at the time he wasn’t in the frame. Of course we’ll check out to see if he has an alibi for last night, but if he’s been in the cottage we’ll have his DNA picked up soon enough,’ Grady said. They’d thought about getting him onto a sheltered housing list, but Deaver needed more than that, so Grady had managed to pull some strings. For now, he was staying in an addiction treatment centre – he was lucky even if he couldn’t see that yet. He was drying out, it would be up to him which way he turned after that.

  ‘So that just leaves Adrian Crowe…’ someone at the back of the room barked.

  ‘We’ve found nothing to put Crowe out at the scene once the fire was started when his wife and family died,’ Grady began. ‘I had a feeling when I watched our last interview with him that he’d told us everything he knew. What about you, Slattery?’

  ‘Felt the same, but so long as we have victims and no accused, I’ll not be happy to let Crowe rest on his laurels.’ Slattery puffed.

  ‘The man is grieving, Slattery, give him a break,’ Cullen said drily.

  Grady called Iris aside as soon as he’d delegated the work around the room and motioned her to follow him back to his office. When he switched on the light, she had a feeling he hadn’t been here since yesterday; if he left early this morning it wasn’t to come in here.

  ‘About last night,’ he began.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She kept her eyes straight ahead, couldn’t meet his. Last thing she’d ever wanted was for any of them to see her as weak. She tossed her hair away from her face and when she sat opposite him, she sat tall and straight, smoothing out her skirt to cover as far down her legs as possible. ‘It was silly of me to react like that, probably just being out there again last night. I shouldn’t have bothered you with it.’

  ‘It wasn’t any bother, you needed to tell someone. I only wish you’d said it sooner.’ He sat back in his chair, looked at her now.

  She smiled, glossing over the fear, the embarrassment. ‘It was just one of those things, stupid, stupid.’

  ‘It was dangerous, he could have killed you…’ Grady stopped speaking and she felt his presence, strong and resilient, reminding her of why she had gone to him last night, this sense that he might protect her in some way.

  ‘Well, he didn’t. So, it’s all right.’

  ‘I’m not taking you off the case, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Oh, come on, you know, if you’d told me this a week ago, I’d have had to take you off the case immediately…’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ She had blurted the words before she had time to think; he raised a palm to stop her going any further.

  ‘But,’ his tone was unrelenting, ‘I’m going to have to insist you speak to someone. Not here, outside. I’ll get some names for you.’

  ‘You’re not serious? I’m fine, I don’t need counselling or debriefing or whatever it is you want to call it.’ She watched as a dark cloud channelled across his expression.

  ‘Locke, you had debriefing last night. You came to my door, God knows why, but you needed to talk to someone and maybe I was the only one you could think of. Either way, we’re dealing with a dangerous killer now. He has murdered four people, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he didn’t have time to plan with you, we might be looking at five bodies.’

  She felt as if he’d just thrown a bucket of water over her. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

  ‘I need you to work with Slattery today. Keep an eye on things.’

  She was tempted to ask, Don’t you trust Slattery? but knew she was already treading on very thin ice.

  ‘It seems to me that the easiest way for us to find out anything about that missing kid now is to ask your old man,’ Slattery said, but he didn’t look at her.

  ‘I suppose.’ Iris exhaled deeply; perhaps that was half the problem.

  ‘So, ask him?’

  ‘Ask him what?’

  ‘Ask him what we need to know.’ It seemed reasonable enough when Slattery said it like that. Her father had always been happy to talk about old cases, well, the one
s that he solved anyway. ‘Look, he’s probably the only one left around now who actually remembers everything there is to do with it.’

  ‘Cullen spent a bit of time on it too…’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Yeah, when she got made up to detective sergeant, kind of like an exercise while she was still on probation, I think my father asked her to look at it.’

  ‘Wouldn’t have been unusual way back then, especially for a woman gaining rank, but she doesn’t seem to like talking about it much.’

  ‘No, who does want to talk about the ones they never closed, though?’

  ‘True.’ He seemed to mull over something for a few minutes, gazed out at the passing wet streets of Limerick.

  ‘And anyway, she’s certain there’s no link,’ Iris said, but her words weren’t convincing and they sure as hell didn’t take in Slattery.

  ‘Do you think maybe she doesn’t want you to look at it for some other reason?’ She could sense a smile forming about the words; they were softly spoken; but his eyes never left the road.

  ‘No.’ She answered too quickly. ‘No, I don’t think she’s trying to cover anything up, I…’ Did she really not think there was more to the missing baby case than met the eye? She thought back to the transcripts from Adrian Crowe’s interview, and to her last conversation with Anita Cullen about the case. She hadn’t wanted to examine her own motives too closely since and so she’d buried any misgivings she had. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, maybe one of them messed up. Maybe, if there was anything left worth looking at, it just might show that someone had fucked up big time along the way – and that wouldn’t look good for either her or your father, now would it?’

  ‘My father was not the kind of man to cover something like that up.’ As she said the words she knew what she sounded like. ‘I’m sure of it. Anyway, even if they did,’ she corrected herself, ‘even if she did we have no way of finding out now.’

 

‹ Prev