BENEATH LOST GROUND

by G. D. Higgins

  Donahue looked puzzled like he was second-guessing himself. “He told me he waited at home all day.”

  “Has your security camera footage been taken as evidence?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “One more thing. Did you think Doyle was going to let you off with making one batch to pay the debt?”

  “Not for a single moment,” he said, a flash of rage clouding his features. “But I see what you’re getting at. And the answer is ‘yes.’ I had more than enough reason to want him dead. But I never voiced that to anyone. Believe me, if you want. I don’t see how it really matters at this stage. I’m screwed, aren’t I?”

  “Keep telling the truth, and you might come out of this clean yet.”

  Brophy got up to leave, gave Donahue a nod as he did so.

  “Please take care of Aidan. And tell him I’m sorry.”

  Brophy left the shaken and battered man alone in the interview room.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  When Brophy got back to the incident room, he found McCall at her desk, staring at the screen, tapping her foot fervently on the floor. She turned as he approached, a glum look on her face.

  “What is it?” asked Brophy.

  “I’ve just done a bit of digging, and it looks as though the planning permission for Jordan Walters’ jetty was close to being approved.”

  “I don’t think it matters much at this stage. Your new boyfriend is off the hook.”

  “Very funny,” she said with a wry smile. “Anything new from Donahue?”

  “Not much, but it was Maura that cancelled the dinner, at around the same time Ciara Walters cancelled.”

  That raised an eyebrow with McCall. “Do you think there’s anything in it?”

  “I’m not sure. Could be. The reason she gave him was that Veale had cancelled.”

  “Him again.”

  “They were planning to lure Doyle in with another batch and then dispose of him.”

  “You think he was on to them?”

  “Very possible.”

  “Then made Delaney an offer he couldn’t refuse, but there was one job he had to do first?”

  “It would make sense. But how did he find out? And where is Veale?”

  “Maybe Aidan can shed more light on it. You think he’ll be okay to bring in now?”

  “Yeah. We should go get him.”

  He took a step away from the desk, and McCall stood to follow him out. She picked up her mobile and lit up the screen for a quick glance. “Missed call from Dunford,” she said.” Brophy was almost at the door by now. She unlocked her phone as she strode quickly to catch up. She said, “You called me?”

  To Brophy, she mouthed, “Dunford.” After a few seconds, Brophy now heading down the stairs, she called after him, “Conal, stop.”

  “What’s the matter?” He looked back and immediately tensed up seeing her shocked expression.

  “They’ve just discovered a body in the river. We need to get there at once.”

  “Where?”

  “Adelphi Quay. Near to where Aidan is staying.”

  Panting from the sprint down the two staircases, Brophy gunned the engine, releasing the clutch just as McCall was getting in. She let out a frightened yelp and slammed the door shut. “Take it easy. It probably isn’t him.”

  “He’s been suicidal a long time. Jesus, I hope we haven’t screwed up with this kid.”

  Within a couple of minutes, they were racing down Parade Quay weaving in and out of traffic as Brophy gripped the wheel tightly. They trailed along the Suir, swung around the bend at Reginald’s Tower, and took a sharp left half-way around.

  The Saab came to a shuddering stop when he slammed on the brakes, seeing two squad cars parked haphazardly on the road outside the traditional charter boat dock. A fire engine was parked as close to the dock as it could get. The brigade of eight men moved around like it was second nature to them, extending the engine’s ladder horizontally, chaining a metal stretcher to it on the move. Brophy spotted Dunford at the edge of the wooden dock, peering over, with two uniformed officers doing the same. Brophy and McCall jogged over to join them.

  “What’s going on?” asked McCall on reaching the three gardaí.

  Dunford turned to face her. “Was called in about twenty minutes ago. Someone said they saw a body caught on one of the pillars.

  Brophy bent down and looked over. Directly beneath, he could make out the back of someone’s legs. No shoes and black jeans. He searched his mind for what Aidan was wearing the previous day. He knew he was wearing dark clothes but couldn’t remember the details. He cursed himself for his lagging perception of these things in recent years. Further reassurance, his mind wasn’t on his job anymore. He tried to lean out more to get a better look. The upper body was at the other side of the pillar, under the dock. McCall joined him in peering over.

  She gave him a grave look. “Aidan was wearing jeans just like these ones yesterday. Give Ducey a call, see if he’s there.”

  “Wait till they pull the body out. They’re about to lower themselves down.”

  The fire chief instructed all non-firefighters to move back a few metres whilst they lowered the stretcher with one man balancing on it. They used a purpose fitted winch to lower it slowly. Brophy watched on. He was a barrel of nerves, unsure whether he would crack if it turned out to be Aidan. He carried enough guilt with him already. He wouldn’t be able to handle adding this to the pile. The darkness in his peripherals closed in, and he fought contemptuously to cast it off.

  An ambulance pulled up, and two medics came rushing past the gathered onlookers. From the shouts of the five firefighters looking down at their comrade, he could make out the stretcher had reached the water level, and he was now attempting to pull the body from the water. An upsurge in volume indicated he, with the unenviable task was struggling to get it out of the water.

  Brophy heard ‘too heavy’ on a couple of occasions. Aidan was tall but not particularly heavy. Maybe he was caught on something under the dock. The wait was driving Brophy to despair. He was tempted to go over and tell them to get on with it or climb down himself and help. He knew he wouldn’t get far, though.

  The next few minutes passed in a cloud of disarray. The uniformed gardaí worked frantically to keep the growing crowds back from the eye line to where the body would be raised. Brophy’s agony was compounded further by the arrival of a news crew, one he saw lingering outside the station for the last few days. It took both gardaí to keep them back, and even Detective Dunford had to assist and use his authority to hold them at bay.

  On turning back to look at the firefighters, he heard “hoist” shouted up from the depths. A dull clang of metal on metal emanated from the chain rubbing off the winch, and each one caused a thud in Brophy’s heart. The metallic taste of blood rose from his chest and assaulted his taste buds. The head of the firefighter emerged from below first, and when it came up another few feet, all hands reached down to pull the stretcher onto the dock. Brophy and McCall rushed over. They struggled to get a look in with all the firefighters encircling the stretcher. A medic moved in for a procedural inspection, but it didn’t take long for her to determine the person was deceased. Brophy asked the two men closest to the head to move back. They complied.

  The body was face down on the stretcher, and the first thing Brophy noticed was the ghostly whitish-green colour of the shrivelled skin. His eyesight flickered when the next thing registered. The head was shaved in a crew-cut just like Aidan’s. The height and shoulder-width also looked consistent.

  “Can you turn him over?” asked Brophy, conscious that his words came out in nerve-wracked staccato.

  One of the firefighters gestured to the two at the feet end of the stretcher. Four of them took hold of him gently, and in a fluid movement, flipped the body around.

  “Oh my god,” whispered McCall beside Brophy. “Is that who I think it is?”

  Focused fully on the fear-stricken opened eyes of the dead man, B
rophy took a few beats to answer. “Delaney!” He turned to face McCall. “Send out an alert to call off the search.”

  She immediately turned and headed in the direction of Detective Dunford whilst pulling out her mobile. Brophy asked the firefighters and medics to move and let him examine the body closer. They hesitantly shuffled a few steps back and let him in. Brophy got down on his haunches and brought his head level with Delaney’s. “What mess have you gotten yourself into now, Budgie? This is most inconvenient,” he said, unsure as to whether in his mind or out loud.

  He moved in close to the head, and eye to eye checked for any wounds that might suggest he was beaten before finding his way into the River Suir. He could see nothing of the sort and asked the one who fished him out to turn him a little so he could examine the back of his head. The young fireman did so, avoiding making eye contact with the corpse — nothing on the back of his head either.

  McCall returned to Brophy’s side. “Okay, I’ve let everyone know. This place will be swarming with our own soon enough.”

  “Good. Now let’s go and see Aidan.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  When Brophy and McCall arrived at the outreach centre, they found Aidan in the living room chatting happily to another teenager. It sounded like he was giving the younger boy some advice on sticking with school and not dropping out, but the conversation came to an abrupt stop when he noticed the detectives arrive in the room.

  Brophy was hugely relieved to see his spirits were a lot higher than when they found him at his house the day before. They had a quick chat, and Brophy informed him he’d just spoken to his father. Aidan admitted he’d seen the headlines that morning and was set on giving the gardaí a full and detailed statement, covering everything from his gambling and dealing to how it was his fault that his father was forced into doing what he did. Brophy was encouraged by this and felt like it could give his father a good chance at a lenient sentence.

  On the journey back to the station, they talked him through how he should conduct the interview and not say too much that might give White and Leard a chance to incriminate both of them further. They also told him they’d arrange a solicitor to be present and have some time with him before the interview started.

  “Just remember,” said Brophy, “you’re not being charged with anything. You’re making a voluntary statement. If it feels like they’re pressing too hard, you have every right to cut the interview short.” Brophy felt like they were gaining the young man’s trust. “There’s just one thing I’d like to clear up with you first, Aidan, and I need you to be completely honest with me.”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “Did you pick up Seán from hurling camp on Thursday?”

  Brophy gauged the reaction to the question and inferred Aidan was flummoxed by it.

  “Why would I pick him up? I was home all day Thursday, freaking out about the meeting with Doyle. I even contemplated... Well, you know, if I’d had enough gear with me that day to end everything...”

  He trailed off, and Brophy didn’t see the need to press him anymore.

  They dropped him off at the station and left him in the nice interview room with a coffee and a sandwich and instructions to wait for the solicitor before agreeing to talk. A mass search was now underway to find Seán Walters. Court orders were signed to enter the premises of family members and known associates of Delaney. Divers were scouring the river near where Delaney was fished out.

  They learnt that White and Leard accompanied a team to Tramore to search the house where Delaney’s Polish girlfriend lived, the same place they knew Doyle had first approached him. There was no doubt the girl was the main target of the NBCI men. They’d attempt to get anything she might know out of her, and they had the skills and intimidation factor to have her spill her guts very quickly.

  Bennett called Brophy and told him there was also a crew currently on the way to Woodstown to search Sam Harrington’s property. He told Brophy to head out there and assist in the search.

  Within twenty minutes, they were crawling along the long driveway of Harrington’s place. Two squad cars were already parked outside the cottage. The front door was open, but no one was to be seen. They got out of the car and went into the house.

  “Detective McCall, what is this madness? How is this even legal? I’m surely not a suspect,” said Harrington from the end of the hall. He stood there looking on as gardaí ransacked through everything they could get their hands on, turning the place upside down.

  “We’re terribly sorry, Mr Harrington. You’re absolutely not a suspect, but the investigation has taken on dramatic urgency due to finding the main suspect face down in the Suir this morning,” she said whilst moving closer to him.

  Brophy stayed at the foot of the stairs by the front door, looking up to see who was shuffling around up there.

  A few moments later, Sergeant Gough appeared on the top landing. “Ah, Detective Brophy, good to see you again,” he whispered, coming down the stairs. “Sorry, it has to be under these circumstances. I’ve known Sam since I moved here a few years ago. There’s no way he has anything to do with this. Why would they even issue a search order?”

  With a hand shielding the side of his face, he whispered his reply. “There seems to have been some kind of a dispute about the building of a jetty on the beach. Harrington objected twice, but it looks like it was about to go through on the third try. It lends itself to a possible motive, so we need to check everything out. If it’s any consolation, I think it’s a waste of time too.”

  “I heard they pulled that Delaney character out of the river. Are they sure he was the shooter?”

  “They think they’re sure.”

  “You don’t seem so convinced yourself.”

  “I can’t say for sure, Sergeant. There’s just too many holes in this. And Delaney’s boss is still missing. Until we find him, I won’t be convinced that Delaney pulled the trigger.”

  “Do you honestly think there’s someone hidden in the Chesterfield?” said Harrington into the room, his tone just shy of an all-out shout, grabbing Brophy’s attention.

  “Let’s step outside,” said McCall. “This will all be over very soon. Don’t worry.”

  After a few seconds of contemplation, Harrington strode past McCall and down the hall. He stopped short of Brophy and Gough. “This is your doing, Detective Brophy, isn’t it?” he hissed.

  Brophy cut McCall a dirty look; it was she who’d discovered and reported the ongoing dispute.

  “You’re not a suspect, Sam,” said Gough in a friendly tone. “We just need to rule everything out. As you’re the closest neighbour-”

  “They have to torment me with this nonsense,” he said, his face turning red, white saliva droplets shooting out with his sharp words. He brushed past Brophy and out the front door, followed closely by McCall.

  “Something I don’t get, Detective,” said Gough, “and tell me to mind my own business if you have to, but if it was one of these drug cartel fellas, then why didn’t they take the drugs from the garage?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know myself. And it also doesn’t explain why they took the boy.”

  “Where does this Veale guy stay when he’s in town?”

  Brophy raised an eyebrow at Gough’s question. “I always assumed he drove down from Dublin and back on the same day. It’s only a couple of hours, but you might be onto something.” He rummaged for his phone in his pants pocket. “I’m gonna call that in right away, Sergeant. It’s definitely worth looking into.”

  Brophy unlocked his phone as he walked outside and called headquarters to get someone to look into possible places Veale may have stayed on his trips to Waterford. After he finished the call, he walked across the gravel yard to where McCall and Gough were trying to calm Harrington. It looked as though they had almost reined him in until he saw Brophy coming, and his face twisted into a sour knot again.

  “This is an outrage, Brophy. Everyone in the village will be talkin
g about it,” spat Harrington.

  “No one’s going to know we were here. And isn’t it better that there’s absolutely no doubt in the minds of people who might already be gossipping about the Walters’ neighbour who likes to go out shooting?”

  “No one had even suggested that, you little shit.”

  Brophy tensed and sidled up to Harrington. “You need to be very careful what you say to me, Harrington. The fact is, you’re their closest neighbour. You were closest to the crime when it happened, and you have a years-long dispute with the family. The very kind of dispute people have been killing each other for hundreds of years in this country. So, it would be in your very best interest to step down and consider the consequences of your actions.”

  Harrington’s nostril’s flared, and he took in a heavy breath. “Sergeant Gough. Would you be so kind as to inform these two that there’s no conceivable way I had anything to do with this crime?”

  “I already have, Sam. They’ll all be out of here shortly, and it’ll be like none of this ever happened.”

  The two guards emerged from the house and gave Brophy a nod.

  “Now that was easy, wasn’t it?” said Brophy. “We’ll be out of your hair now, Mr Harrington. Thanks for your cooperation,” he said with a hint of a smirk and walked away towards the car. “You coming?” he called back to McCall. “I’ll let you know where that enquiry leads us, Sergeant Gough, and thanks again for your help.”

  Brophy’s car and one of the squad cars drove away and left Gough in a heated exchange with Harrington.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  On the way back to the station, Sergeant Kenneally called Brophy and told him he looked into the bigger hotels in the city to enquire if any guest named Veale had checked-in in the last week. All the hotels replied in the negative. He said he had an officer checking out smaller hotels in the area, and then he had the idea to call White and ask him if Veale ever uses an alias. White gave him two names Veale was known to have used in the past. Kenneally rechecked with the hotels he’d talked to earlier, and one of them came back with the name William Cliffe. The receptionist said he’d checked in on Wednesday evening, was booked and paid up for two nights, but never checked out and left some personal belongings in the room.