BENEATH LOST GROUND

by G. D. Higgins

  “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “The evidence suggests differently,” said Leard. “So far, we have multiple sightings of you near the crime scene at the time of the murders, a dealer who says you supply to him on a regular basis, and a senior detective who’s going to be limping for a while after your brutal assault.”

  “What about me fucking arm?” he said, instinctively raising it and immediately wincing in pain at his mistake.

  “You did that to yourself when you rugby tackled me in the boudoirs.”

  “I never touched your bleedin’ boudoirs.”

  “God, you are thick as a plank,” said Leard in the tone of an angry teacher scolding his worse student.

  “Eh, easy now,” said Delaney, genuinely surprised by the approach. “There’s no need for that.”

  “What if I told you we tailed Frankie Doyle all the way from Naas to your front door?”

  Brophy was stunned at this admission by Leard, and Delaney’s face dropped.

  “I never met that nutter in my life.”

  Frankie Doyle was the head of the rival cartel to Bobby Quilty’s and was assumed by the media to be in hiding in Costa Del Sol since most of his charges were taken down. A much more ruthless operator than Quilty, he was widely believed to have started the murderous rivalry between the two gangs by killing Quilty’s nephew with a tyre iron. The murder investigation pinned it firmly on Doyle, but a technicality in the proceedings caused the case to be thrown out of court and Doyle to walk free. A vicious cycle of revenge killings lasted for the next four years until new laws were passed, giving the gardaí more powers to arrest and charge suspected dealers and murderers and have them locked up whilst evidence was gathered in their cases. Brophy couldn’t believe that Doyle would be stupid enough to still be in the country, involved in the drugs trade.

  “Being a man so well versed in the law,” said Leard, “I’m sure you know we can hold you until we gather enough evidence to pin the supply and murders on you. Portlaoise Prison is full to capacity, but I imagine we can find you a nice cell to share with one of Doyle’s men.”

  “Or if they’re not taking any guests, maybe one of Quilty’s young bucks will take you in,” said Brophy, still reeling at the direction the interview had taken, instinct kicking in, despite his annoyance.

  Delaney eyed the two detectives, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. It was obvious he was thinking carefully about what to say next. He peered down at his arm and shook his head in a look of resignation. “It’s not me ye need to be talking to about this.”

  “Is that right?” said Brophy. “Then, who should we be talking to?”

  “You could start with that yuppie scientist, Barry Donahue.”

  “We’re not interested in Donahue right now,” said Leard. “We already know what he’s up to, and he’s been taken care of. But I think you already know that, and you’re attempting to throw us a bone.” Leard began to rise from his seat. “I think we’re done here, Detective Brophy.”

  Brophy followed along, got up, and limped towards the door, passing Leard as he went.

  “Here, wait a minute, for fuck sake,” called Delaney in a raised voice, not devoid of fear at that point.

  Brophy opened the door and took a step out.

  “Please, I’ll tell ye what I know.”

  Brophy turned and was face to face with Leard. He was much more menacing looking in the fractured light breaking in the edges of the door. He gave Brophy a look to say, ‘we have him now.’ Brophy returned a hostile glare. He was reeling from not being filled in on the details before the interview began. He could only guess it was a way the NBCI boys used to show their authority over the locals. He was beginning to understand why Bennett felt the way he did about them. Leard retook his seat across from Delaney, and Brophy slowly followed suit.

  “Let’s hear it,” said Leard. “And it better be what we need to hear.”

  “I want a guarantee that I won’t go to jail,” said Delaney, fighting back the tears.

  “I’m sorry, but we can’t do that,” said Leard.

  “Look, I didn’t kill anyone. That’s not my style. I might nut a fella the odd time if he owes me, but I’m never in so deep that I’d need to off someone. Especially not some rich husband and wife.”

  “Why were you in the area then?” asked Brophy. “Were you picking up supply from them?”

  “Fuck no. I never even heard of those people until I saw on the news that they were killed?”

  “Why were you in Woodstown?” Brophy again.

  “I was meant to meet Veale to get sorted for the month.”

  Leard remained silent, so Brophy continued.

  “Where were you supposed to meet him?”

  “In the car park of Woodstown beach.”

  “What time did you show up?”

  “I arrived at about twenty to six. He was supposed to be there at quarter to. I waited for ages, so I did, but he never showed up. I took a spin around the neighbourhood and sent him a message asking what the hell he was playing at.”

  “Did you call him?” asked Brophy.

  “No. That’s strictly forbidden. I contact him on a messaging app, and he usually gets back within a few minutes. But this time, there was no sign of him. I drove back to the beach one last time, thinking maybe his battery had died on the trip down from Dublin.”

  “That’s a highly unlikely thing to happen these days,” said Leard. “Most cars have built-in chargers, and I assume you knew he drives a fairly new BMW. So, where did you really go after he didn’t answer your message? And don’t bullshit me, Delaney. I’m starting to lose my patience with you.”

  “I told you. I went back to the car park, smoked a spliff, and headed off by about half-six.”

  “Were there other people at the beach?”

  “Course there was. We’re havin’ a tropical heatwave, aren’t we? The place was teeming with families and foreigners.”

  “Did you talk to anyone at all, or is there anyone you’re sure got a good look at you so we can place you there at that time?” asked Brophy.

  “Let me think... There was one aul lad walking his dog who came right up to me window,” he recalled with relief all over his face. “He gave me guff for smoking in a public place. I told him to piss off.”

  Brophy said, “What did this man look like?”

  “He looked a little bit like Liam Neason. Lanky fella wearing a checkered shirt and jeans. Had a lovely looking collie that seemed as snobby as he was.”

  “Even if we track down this Liam Neason lookalike, it still doesn’t prove you didn’t pay a visit to the Walters’ house and pulled the trigger.”

  “Ah, Jesus. Why would I want to kill those people?”

  “Because they were supplying Veale,” said Leard.

  “Wouldn’t you think I’d want them to stay alive then?”

  Leard moved in close and came within a foot of Delaney’s face. “Not unless you got a better offer, and one of the conditions of that offer was that you took care of your soon to be rivals.”

  “What are you on about, man?” said Delaney, straining to hide how intimidated he was by Leard.

  “Allow me to run a scenario by you if you will,” said Leard.

  Brophy felt even more out of the loop by Leard’s approach.

  Leard went on, “You had a nice little number going with Veale. A highly addictive new drug on the streets, you were the only one in the city with access to. For the past six months, things had been going nicely. You’d found a few new saps to do your dealing for you, and plenty of people were getting addicted to the stuff. But you felt a little bit stiffed by Veale’s extortionate prices. He was also holding back on the amount he’d give you at any one time, thinking he didn’t want to flood the place with the stuff too soon and draw unwanted attention. You were pissed, but there was nothing you could ultimately do, just grin and bear it. But then you got a surprise call one day. A knock on Eva’s door in Tramore. And you n
early shit your pants when you opened it to find none other than Frankie Doyle, standing before you with a big smile on his face and an offer of partnership. The big time, Delaney. What you’d always dreamed of.”

  Brophy was stunned by this detailed account, but not as stunned as Delaney.

  “You’re full of shit,” he said in a high pitched voice. He looked as though his world had come crumbling down on top of him, and he was about to smother under the pressure.

  Leard continued, “Doyle offered you a better price. But only on one condition. You had to take out the very people that were manufacturing for Veale to ensure you and Doyle were the only ones with a supply.”

  What happened next truly shocked Brophy. Delaney broke down in heaving sobs. “You’re gonna get my whole family killed, you bastard,” he said through up-curled lips. “I didn’t want any of this shit.” He sniffled and wiped his eyes with his right upper arm. “You boys started this whole meth thing by taking all the coke off the streets.” He looked square at Brophy and momentarily composed himself. “You can lock up all the dealers, but you can’t quell the demand that’s out there.” He looked down at the tabletop. “Say what ye want, but I didn’t kill those people. I never even heard of them, and I’d no idea Veale was getting the stuff here in Waterford.”

  A knock came on the door. Leard looked at Brophy. “We’re done here, Detective.”

  The two men got up and walked out, leaving Delaney distraught and mumbling to himself.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Outside Interview Room Two, they were confronted with the sight of Felix White doing his due diligence in stalling an incredulous grey-haired solicitor in his early sixties, bemoaning the fact that he wasn’t present for his client’s statement.

  On seeing Brophy and Leard appear down the hall, he said, “Not to worry, Mr Wilson, we’ll get you a copy of Delaney’s statement immediately.”

  Wilson turned as Brophy and Leard approached. “You two had no right to interview my client without my presence.”

  Leard swiftly sidled up to him. “We had every right. One could even argue, it’s our job. He was well aware of his rights and offered to speak, all the same. You’re welcome to go in and ask him.”

  Wilson barged past the two detectives, brushing shoulders with Brophy as he went, cursing under his breath.

  “Detective Brophy. We’d like a word with you in here if that’s all right,” said White, signalling towards Interview Room One. Brophy didn’t reply and headed into the room first. The two NBCI men followed him in, and White closed the door behind them.

  “Can you tell me what the hell that was all about?” demanded Brophy with utter contempt. “I don’t appreciate being strung along like that. I don’t give a rat’s arse who you two are and what power you think you have.”

  White glanced at Leard, who gave an affirmative nod in return. “Please accept my apologies for that, Detective. We did that intentionally to see how you’d react.”

  “Is that right?” said Brophy, his thread taut and ready to snap.

  “We wanted to see for ourselves if what we’d heard about you was true,” said Leard.

  “Yeah? And what did you hear about me?”

  White said, “That you’ve got top-notch instincts and are a very talented investigator.”

  Brophy calmed a little and was starting to feel confused.

  White continued, “There’s a new unit being set up in Dublin to investigate organised crime with international connections. It’s very much on the QT right now, but suffice to say, we’re going to need highly experienced and skilled detectives to work the unit.”

  Brophy looked to Leard, who was nodding his approval. “You’re just the kind of man we need, Detective Brophy.”

  “So, what do you think?” asked White.

  “Truth be told, I’m a bit surprised. But I’m gonna have to turn you down.”

  “This is a high-status position, Brophy. You’d get to travel and work closely with organised crime divisions all over the world. After five, ten years, you’d walk into a senior position either here or up in Dublin. Anywhere you’d want, really. I know this is kind of springing it on you, in the middle of such a big investigation and all. But this is the pressure that comes with the job, is it not? At least tell us you’ll think about it.”

  “I’m needed here once the upgrade happens. I’ve made assurances to Bennett and Russell.”

  White and Leard exchanged a wry look.

  “The upgrade is going to happen, isn’t it?” asked Brophy.

  “Nothing is guaranteed,” said White. “But there’s a close eye being kept on how all this is handled.”

  “What else do you know about Veale and Doyle?” asked Brophy.

  “Veale helped us out greatly in taking down the cartels,” said Leard. “In exchange, we forgot about some of the cases we had on him.”

  “Did you know about this meth thing?”

  “Fuck, no,” said Leard, not too convincingly, thought Brophy. “If we had, we’d have closed it down immediately.”

  “Is he still in touch with Quilty?”

  “Less and less so,” answered White almost despondently. “Our endgame was that he’d eventually draw Quilty out for us.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “We’re not sure,” said Leard. “He stopped answering Veale’s calls. We can’t be sure if he caught wind of the fact that Veale was working with us.”

  “And where’s Veale now?”

  Another look between the NBCI men, but this time, a look of resignation.

  “We don’t know,” said White. “He went AWOL the day before the murders. Hasn’t answered anything from our secured line.”

  “In the past five years, he never went more than an hour without answering us,” said Leard. “That was part of the deal. Now it’s been three days.”

  “He could be the shooter?”

  “It’s possible,” said White.

  “And he could be hiding out somewhere now, with Seán Walters?”

  “That’s what we need to find out.” White continued. “I’m sure you can appreciate that this could blow back in our faces with very severe consequences. Public confidence in the gardaí is at an all-time high at the moment. Certain communities in the capital feel a lot safer to walk the streets at night and to let their kids hang around without the worry of being recruited by some of the scumbags we’ve locked up. But if this filthy meth gets onto the streets, that’ll all evaporate, and we’ll have a much bigger problem than the cocaine ever gave us.”

  “Jesus,” said Brophy, the scale of the whole thing just hitting him. “What about Doyle? Is he working for you too?”

  “No,” said Leard. “We think he may have caught wind of what Veale was up to and wanted to get in on it himself.”

  “So he teamed up with Barry Donahue?” said Brophy.

  “We don’t know.”

  “Don’t bullshit me.”

  Leard said, “Honestly, we’re not sure. We’ve traced a few calls between a house in Naas we believe Doyle has been hiding out in, and Donahue’s mobile.”

  “I’m assuming the legality of procuring that information was questionable?”

  “It doesn’t make a difference,” said White. “We’d need a lot more on them to make any kind of case, anyway. Up to the other day, we had nothing. Now we have two dead bodies and eight kilos of meth.”

  “And a missing ten-year-old boy.”

  “Of course,” said White. “We also have to consider the possibility that they’re all in on it together, with Quilty possibly calling the shots from Bahrain.”

  “It’d make sense. Given his friendship with Walters. But why kill them, and why take the boy? Surely they could have all gotten very rich from this.”

  “That’s what we need to find out, and fast,” said Leard.

  Brophy said, “My priority right now is with finding that-” He was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Who is it?” he said gruffly.

  The do
or opened about a foot, and Detective McCall popped her head in tentatively. “Everyone’s needed in the Incident Room. Tech team are about to present their findings.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” White said brusquely.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  A large group had assembled in the incident room. Bennett was at the big desk by the display wall with Halpin, looking at an open file, pointing to its contents. Brophy was surprised but pleased to see Garda Sergeant Gough in attendance. He stood somewhat formally at attention, near the end of the table, looking a little taken aback by the hectic atmosphere of the packed to the gilt incident room.

  Brophy took his position, standing beside McCall, in the middle of the crowd. He scanned the room, seeing many familiar faces, uniformed and plain-clothes, and noticed that White strolled towards the front of the room alone, with no sign of Leard. He shook hands with Gough as he passed, in a manner as old friends might do, then took a seat beside Bennett. Bennett acknowledged his presence with a curt nod and quickly turned his shoulder to him and continued his conversation with Halpin.

  “What’s going on?” McCall asked Brophy.

  “I’ll fill you in later, but this has gotten a lot more complex.”

  White tapped Bennett on the shoulder and gave him a serious, bordering on aggressive, look when Bennett turned to face him. He nodded to suggest getting things underway.

  Bennett cleared his throat. “Attention everyone. Settle down, please.” The murmur in the room faded to silence. “In a moment, Sergeant Halpin will present a number of findings Tech have already produced. As this kind of case is unprecedented for this station, and the media are swarming all over it, I’m under instruction to remind you all that whatever you hear in this meeting is for the sole purpose of our investigation and shall not go any further than this room. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Sir,” rose a chorus of agreement.

  “Firstly,” he went on. “I should inform you that Detective Brophy brought Michael ‘Budgie’ Delaney in this afternoon as a possible suspect or witness to the incident on Thursday night. Due to insufficient evidence at this time, we’ve unfortunately had to let him loose without charge.”