“Howdy, Stranger,” came its tinny voice. “Haven’t seen you round these parts in some time. Why don’t you pull up one ‘o them there stools and let old Earl tell you a story.”
Brophy scanned every inch of the poky room as the barman spoke, poised for Delaney to jump out from any corner at any moment, and make a run for it, or try to tackle his pursuer. At the opposite end to where he stood by the swinging doors, a curtain flickered gently from bottom to top. Brophy edged slowly across the room. Old Earl began his story about the gold rush and its eventual decline.
“Hotels like this here one were built on the backs of gruelling work and gold flakes.”
On reaching the curtain, Brophy extended his arm, attempting to keep his distance, if, in fact, Delaney was hidden behind there, and pulled it back slowly. He braced for impact. A shuffling of footsteps shuddered up the plywood floor. Feeling the sensation had arisen from behind him, he turned quickly and spotted an emergency exit opened at the end of the bar. Brophy rushed towards it and stepped through into a backstage type area with several active motors operating the hotel, a set of ladders being the only access to the ground and top floor. He looked down but saw no sign of movement. On looking up, however, he saw another curtain flapping as though someone had just gone through it.
He stepped onto the ladder next to him and began scaling it, conscious that a foot could come crashing out from behind the curtain and send him careening to the bottom. He’d undoubtedly bump into supporting scaffolding on the way down should such a scenario unfold. His eyes stung with the intrusion of sweat and dust, adding to the dread he felt.
Brophy reached the top without any other sign of movement. Another exit door faced him, slightly ajar, flecks of purple and green light flashing through. He pushed it open and stepped into the grand presidential suite. A miniature four-poster bed was squeezed into the corner at the other end of the room. A chandelier overhead emitted a faint glow of yellow light whilst tube lights traced along the upper walls shining green and purple.
When his eyes focused, he saw a bulge under the white covers on the bed. He edged along the back wall to get a close look whilst keeping his distance should it be Delaney lying in wait under the covers.
“Step in and experience the delights that Madame DeBeauvoir has to offer,” sounded out the southern woman’s voice, but this time with added reverb to portray the atmosphere of an occult setting. “Move a little closer to Madame’s bed, and we can have a closer look at you.”
Brophy stayed where he was, searching for the customers’ entrance to the room. He saw it on the other end, across from where he entered. He contemplated his next move, and a sudden shock stunned him to his very core. The figure under the bedsheets sat, bolt-upright, the white sheet whipped down, revealing blazing red eyes on a witch-like pale-skinned woman with black hair, streaks of grey striped through. With a deafening hiss, she bore bone-white luminous fangs, then turned to look in Brophy’s direction.
“Come join the covenant of chosen ones. A world of instant gratification awaits you.”
No sooner had she finished speaking than small spotlights clicked on on the wall beside the bed, shining down on five coffins, lighting up blood-gurgling miners in various states of decomposition. Ten arms shot out from the coffins, and the vampires groaned and gargled at their would-be recruit. The whole scene had sent a shiver down Brophy’s body, and he was about to make his way for the entrance when he noticed the outline of a sixth coffin by the corner. He squinted to get a better look, but the white light from the five spotlights darkened the whole area around it.
He took a few steps forward, expecting another light to come on, and an even more insidious creature pop out and terrorise him. One of the miners’ arms brushed off him as he passed, and he convinced himself that the sixth coffin must be empty. A quick flash of his childhood days, coming to this very amusement park, reminded him that half of the park’s attractions hardly ever worked, and the ones that did always had something missing or malfunctioning. This was no different. He turned to head for the entrance and was about to make his way out, hope fading of catching Delaney.
A thud and a gasp stopped him in his tracks. He spun around, but it was too late to stop the onslaught of the bigger man, agitated that he’d blown his cover, dive out of the coffin and tackle the detective to the ground.
An immense struggle ensued. Brophy was on the ground on his side, with Delaney on top of him, struggling to get up to make his escape. Brophy grabbed onto his leg as he tried to flee.
“Leave me alone, you bollocks. I didn’t do a thing.”
Brophy began twisting Delaney’s leg to trip him up, or at least put him off balance enough for him to get to his feet and fight toe to toe.
“If you didn’t do anything, then stop struggling and let’s talk.”
Brophy managed to twist around and get onto his knees, giving himself more leverage to knock Delaney over. He grabbed hold of both legs now. Delaney’s strength was formidable and Brophy felt well-defined muscles through his jeans. He managed to break one leg free and kneed Brophy in the side of his head. His brain rattled, and he almost blacked out. He let Delaney go to get to his feet. They were both shouting insults by then, Brophy threatening serious jail time for assaulting an officer.
After he released him, Delaney made a go for the door, and when he was just a couple of feet away, Brophy swung out his leg, expertly tripping him by making him tangle his legs around himself.
Delaney crashed down to the floor, hard. He let out an agonising scream. “Ah, me fucking arm.”
“Who’s in there? What are ye playing at? Come out, or I’m calling the guards,” shouted a voice from outside the door. Whoever it was sounded nervous to enter with all the ruckus and shouting.
Brophy mounted Delaney’s back and grabbed his arm, eliciting an indescribable yelp of pain.
“Ah, you broke me fucking arm, you bad bastard. This is police harassment. I didn’t do a thing.”
Brophy drove his knee into Delaney’s back. “Don’t you dare move an inch,” he said through gritted teeth.
Delaney protested and squirmed in pain. A short, stout bald man, in his forties, stepped in. “What’s going on in here?”
“I’m a detective from Waterford City Crime Unit. Call the gardaí and tell them to get here right now.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Detective Sergeant Brophy, come in and take a seat there, please,” said Superintendent Russell, gesturing for Brophy to sit next to him at the long rectangular table of the meeting room on the third floor. The staff meeting room at Waterford Garda station was the nicest in the station besides Russell’s office, which was next door. “Good work bringing Delaney in, Sergeant. You look like you have a bit of a limp,” he said as Brophy approached the top of the table. “Nothing serious, I hope.”
“No, sir. Just a little twist. It’ll be back to normal in a couple of days.”
He sat adjacent to Russell. Bennett was seated directly across from him and barely acknowledged his presence. Beside Bennett were two more men, the NBCI officers, he guessed. As was his habit, Russell waited until everyone was seated before he slowly lowered himself into his leather office chair. Russell was in his late fifties, had grey cropped hair on a substantial head, and looked like he hadn’t walked a distance of more than the car park to his office in many years. He had a storied career on the force and was respected and revered up and down the country.
“This is Detective Leard,” said Russell pointing his outstretched hand towards the man closest to Bennett. Leard looked different to most detectives Brophy had come in contact with before. He looked more like an army ranger, a deathly look in his brown eyes, a glare like he was ready to pounce at any moment.
Brophy gave him a nod. “Detective.” Leard didn’t return the gesture.
“And this gentleman is Detective Inspector White,” said Russell, moving his hand towards the other man.
The sound of his name caused Brophy to squint
to restrain the surprise from his face. Detective Felix White was famous within the force. A smartly dressed man of about fifty, he took down some major gang figures in his early career and spent the last decade heading tactical teams that brought down the two biggest cartels in the country. Although he didn’t get recognised publicly for his efforts, everyone on the force and in the underworld, knew what he was capable of. And now Brophy knew there was no other case in the country more important than this one at the present moment.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Sergeant Brophy,” said White, smiling. “We know all about your work record and look forward to helping you on this one.”
Bennett looked at Brophy, and the hate in his eyes was palpable.
“We’ve briefed the detectives on what we know so far, Detective Brophy. Before you go and question Delaney, they’d like to hear your take on things to this point.”
Brophy was confused about the request and expected they’d rely on Bennett for such a summary of the case. He was the senior investigating officer, after all.
“Sir, it’s early days yet, but judging by the sightings of Delaney near the crime scene, and now knowing that he’s supplying meth to local dealers, I’d say there’s a good chance he was either involved or knows something that can lead us to the culprits. He reacted to the sound of Clarence Veale’s name and opened the door to us thinking I was Veale.”
A subtle twitch of a frown passed over White’s otherwise unreadable face. “What do you mean by that?” he said.
“We didn’t want to announce ourselves lest he might do a runner before we got a chance to speak to him. So, I faked a Dublin accent and told the girlfriend, through the door, I was Veale and wanted to speak to Delaney.”
“Why would you do that?” asked White, again giving away nothing.
“At the briefing last night, I heard there were several sightings of Clarence Veale in the area recently, so put two and two together and assumed, as Delaney was supplying the meth, he’d likely have had some contact with Veale.”
“Good call, Sergeant. Your gamble paid off, it seems.”
“Did you get anything out of him in the Mystery Hotel?” asked Bennett impatiently.
“I’m afraid not, Inspector. He was giving it loads about not having done a thing and police harassment.”
“Did he deny having anything to do with the murders?” Bennett again.
“He didn’t mention it, and I didn’t want to bring it up in case it compromised our interview back here.”
“Well, did you-” started Bennett until Russell shot him a patronising look that said ‘be quiet and let the adults talk.’ An attitude he wasn’t unknown for when there were guests in his presence.
“Conal, what you’re about to hear isn’t to go beyond the walls of this room,” said Russell in an almost fatherly tone. “Do you understand?”
“Of course, sir. I won’t say a thing.”
White said, “You know, we’ve made incredible inroads with our fight against the Quilty and Doyle cartels in the last couple of years. Most of the major players from each crew are locked up for a long time to come, and the rest are either in hiding overseas or have disappeared completely off the radar.” White gave himself a self-congratulatory smile. “As I’m sure you realise, it was a massive operation that burnt up numerous resources and funding streams. Even Europol and Her Majesty’s Crown Service have sent representatives over to us to learn about how we managed to pull it all off. This has given our forces an impeccable reputation in law enforcement, and this is why the top brass have been considering setting up regional headquarters with high levels of expertise all around the country.”
This last statement made Bennett perk up.
White went on. “For an operation of this magnitude to have succeeded, we needed allies and informants on all sides.”
A knot formed in Brophy’s stomach.
“To be frank, we couldn’t have done it without considerable help from the inside.”
“Veale,” said Brophy, more as a statement than a question.
“He’s old-school, Detective Brophy,” continued White. “Started out as a teenager with the post office heist crews in the late eighties. Back then, they had a code about killing. It rarely happened, and when it did, the guilty party was left hung out to dry, making it easy for our boys to catch up with him. Now. Jesus Christ, these savages will shoot someone down over a hundred euro debt then brag about it the next day on social media. It’s a whole different animal we’re dealing with. Most of the people we’ve taken down are under twenty-five years old, and some are even under twenty. So coked-up, they believed they were untouchable and acted accordingly. There was blood all over the streets of Dublin, and now the killings have stopped.”
“Tell that to the Walters and Donahue families,” said Brophy, trying to swallow the venom he tasted with the thought.
Russell seemed taken aback by his candour. “That’s exactly the point, Sergeant Brophy,” he said. “The last thing we want is for the remnants of this whole thing spilling onto our city. Waterford has never had anything like this before, and damned if it’s going to start on my watch. That’s why they’ve come down from Dublin. We need to put this to rest fast and make sure there’s no follow-up.”
“I’m confident we can work together to close this quickly,” said White, looking from Bennett to Brophy. “Every media outlet in the country and many from overseas are watching this closely. If things are dealt with in a satisfactory manner, it’ll be difficult not to make this station the headquarters of the entire South East.”
“I’d just like to know one thing,” said Brophy, the growing anger in him almost rising to the top.
“What’s that, Detective?” asked White.
“Do you know if there’s a connection between Veale and Jordan Walters?”
Brophy followed White’s eye-line, moving from Russell to Leard. Leard shook his head slightly.
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that at this time,” said White.
“I think you just did,” said Brophy.
“You’ll be told only what you need to know for now,” said Russell.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Interview Room Two had the atmosphere and muskiness of a bar that had hosted a mass brawl just moments before. The light bulb overhead was slightly swaying somehow, even though there were no windows. The white walls absorbed the shadows like moonlight in a dense jungle. One would never believe it was the hottest recorded day of the year so far, outside the sun belting off and baking every surface in its grip.
Brophy and Leard took their seats on the opposite side to Delaney, whose left arm was in a sling and right wrist was cuffed to a custom-fitted looped bar on the square frame of the tabletop. He breathed heavily, almost growling at the two detectives across from him.
“I have to ask you, Mr Delaney, do you want your solicitor present before we start speaking?” asked Brophy in a tone reserved for such a situation, attempting to make it sound like it wouldn’t make a difference if the solicitor was there or not.
“I don’t need that clown here. I have nothing to hide, so let me go.”
Brophy wondered if that was his intimidation voice he reserved for small-time dealers who owed him money.
“All in good time,” said Leard. It was Brophy’s first time hearing him speak, and he was surprised to hear his accent was so refined. Definitely in contradiction to his menacing appearance. “First, we’re going to need to get a statement.”
“What am I being charged with?” he hissed at his interrogator.
“Nothing yet. But so far, you’ve assaulted a guard, resisted arrest, and we’ve got evidence growing by the minute that you’re supplying local dealers with methamphetamine. So, it would be in your best interest to tell us what we need to hear.”
“I don’t have to say a god-damn thing. I know my rights.”
“Where were you between the hours of six and eight o’clock on Thursday evening?” asked Brophy.
“Which one?” asked Brophy.
Delaney sniggered. “The one you met today. Eva.”
“And she’ll clarify this, I presume,” said Leard.
“Why wouldn’t she? It’s the truth.” Delaney’s smugness was growing.
Brophy said, “Why was your car spotted on CCTV several times in the Woodstown area that day?”
“How would I know? Me wheels were stolen the other day. Probably some scanger trying to get some cash together for a fix.”
“And I assume the police report will be able to prove this?” asked Brophy.
“Police report? As if I’d expect you coppers to assist me in getting my car back. No. I was planning to do my own police work on that.”
“Where did you get the meth?” asked Leard.
“I don’t know nothing about no meth,” said Delaney, moving forward aggressively, then back slowly to an upright position. “I prefer a bit of Charlie myself. Columbia’s finest. I’m not into the poisonous stuff. Rots your brain, so it does. Turns upstanding citizens into fucking zombies, as well.”
“We have a dealer who says otherwise. He told us exactly where he gets it, for how much, and how often. Seems like a burgeoning business you’ve got there,” said Leard, cold and unmoving.
“I’m sure whoever you have has made some kind of mistake and will see the error in his ways soon enough.”
“As we speak, the baggies we nabbed from said dealer are being analysed for fingerprints and DNA. And the stuff is also being tested to see if it matches the kilos that were found in the house of a murdered family,” said Brophy.
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