The Murder Loop, page 13
She left a long silence and then asked the question.
‘What was that piece of paper you gave to the girl at the end?’
‘To Alex? Name of a book on forensics. She wants to study it at college.’
A book recommendation – really?
‘What’s the book – anything I should read?’
‘You probably know it already. Forensic Pathology by Stafford. The guy who ran the Met lab in London for twenty years.’
He’s good, she thought. Between the school and the car, I gave him a small amount of time to recover his poise, and he not only did so, but came up with something plausible. If I asked Alex, I wonder what her answer would be? But he probably assumes I won’t.
‘Why the big interest?’ he asked.
‘No reason.’
He carried on as if the questions had never arisen, giving no air of a man whose motives had just been challenged. For the rest of the short journey back to the station, he wittered on about music.
Again, Cass tuned out, and wondered whether to say anything to Finnegan. She had always been steadfastly loyal to her colleagues, and nobody in the force liked a rat, but this was different. She’d have to find a way to broach it with Finnegan, even if her superior officer would, if for nothing more than a slightly easier life, look the other way. After all, it wasn’t as if Cass had evidence of an offence.
And then it struck her. Finnegan had explicitly requested that Cass come and see her when she arrived back at the station. Finnegan had also ensured it was Cass who went in the place of Noel Ryan. Finnegan had arranged the whole thing on purpose – which could only mean she had her suspicions too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
‘You and I are going for a drink,’ Finnegan said tersely when Cass arrived at her office door.
‘I’m still on duty.’
‘You can sip. Better that than shouting at each other in here.’
They walked in silence to Glencale House, the hotel where Cass had first met Finnegan. In the bar, Finnegan picked a quiet table in a corner, ignoring the ‘please wait to be seated’ sign, correctly assuming no one would chide her for impertinence. When a waiter came, she ordered a G&T. Cass stuck to coffee.
‘Tell me how the school went,’ Finnegan said once the waiter had left.
‘Tell me how you expected it to go.’
‘Christ,’ she muttered. ‘My teenagers are easier to deal with than you.’
There was a lengthy silence as both contemplated what to say.
Maybe we would be better off back in the office shouting at each other, Cass thought.
The drinks arrived and Finnegan took a long swig of hers before sighing. ‘You and I need to start again.’
‘I agree,’ Cass said, given the lack of sensible alternative responses.
‘We’ll both have to settle down.’
Settle down? I’m not a fucking horse.
‘Let me start,’ Finnegan continued. ‘And then, if you think I’m being straight with you, you tell me about the school. Agreed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Noel Ryan is a functional alcoholic, functional being the key word. He can get through a day’s work without having a drink. At night, he gets hammered, and has the pride to do so alone, in his home, and not cause the force difficulties by doing so in pubs around town.’
‘That’s good of him.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Finnegan said, ignoring Cass’s sarcasm. ‘Before he was a functioning alcoholic, Noel was one of the best police officers I knew. Open to new techniques and methods. Compassionate to crime victims before the force ever learned the true meaning of the word. Before he was a functioning alcoholic, he was also married. His wife suffered a fatal stroke about four years ago, and he has struggled ever since. But there is a long list of people – in the force, among the public – who owe a lot to Noel, and I’m one of them. He has two years left to pension, and he’s terrified of the void that comes after. So I’m going to ensure he sees out his full time with us even if that’s all I can do. Understood?’
It was a factual summary. But for the first time, Cass realised that Finnegan had some capacity for compassion herself somewhere within that sub-zero persona.
‘I didn’t know some of that detail.’
‘Didn’t you ask your father about us before you started?’
‘I don’t ask him about colleagues I serve with. I want to form my own opinions free of any histories he might have with individuals.’
‘Typically stubborn and stupid,’ Finnegan said. ‘Your father was – is – an excellent judge of character. Whereas you, you’re having a hard time seeing straight.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You took against Noel Ryan and took a shine to Liam Devine. You wouldn’t be the first.’
‘“Shine” is massively overstating it. Devine’s been generous with his time, helped me settle in. No more than that.’
‘Yeah, he likes them a bit younger than you, all right.’
‘Meaning?’
But she knew full well what it meant.
‘Like I said, I’m being frank with you,’ Finnegan said. ‘He chases young ones around town. Turns up at the nightclubs in plain clothes saying he’s checking to ensure no minors are on the premises. The managers give him free entry and I’ve had a couple of reports now that he’s left on more than one occasion with company. Wife stays at home minding the children, he goes around getting his rocks off. Oldest story in the book.’
This was the real reason Finnegan had wanted to speak away from the station, Cass realised.
‘It sounds indefensible. But if he’s off duty…?’
‘He uses one of the patrol cars for intimate relations, under the guise of dropping the girls home.’
‘Does his wife know?’
‘I don’t think so. Although knowing Devine, I’d say he has a lot of previous.’
‘How young?’
‘Seventeen to twenty-one, by the sounds of it.’
He ensures they meet the legal age of consent. I want to be sick.
‘So what the hell are you doing sending him into Saint Al’s, or any school for that matter? And why send me with him?’
‘Because whispers will get me precisely nowhere in a disciplinary process. I need proof. Did you get any?’
‘You knew he’d hit up a girl in there?’
‘Of course not. I thought he’d be careful enough to avoid any impression he’s interested in minors.’
‘Then why bother standing down Noel Ryan and sending me in his place?’
‘Noel said Devine was making a lot of innuendo and he didn’t think it was a good idea for two men to undertake the visit. He was getting increasingly uncomfortable. I agreed Devine was more likely to behave himself with you around. I didn’t think he would be stupid enough to actually hit on someone in front of you. So – did he?’
‘He handed one of the students a slip of paper right at the end, when he was talking to her one-to-one and thought nobody was looking. He seemed briefly embarrassed, but told me it was just a book recommendation. I didn’t see what was on the paper, so I’m in no position to confirm or contest.’
‘But you think it was something else?’
‘A phone number probably. Or email address or something.’
‘What a fucking mess. I wish I was closer to retirement.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’d knee him in the fucking balls if I could. But nobody’s made a complaint. I’m dealing in whispers and what-ifs. I’ll give him an unofficial warning. Let him know I’m watching him like a fucking hawk.’
It briefly crossed Cass’s mind that such a course of action would make it obvious to Devine that she’d reported events at the school. It would no doubt make life suddenly uncomfortable in the station. But so be it. If she had her way, she’d knee him in the balls too.
I think this is the first time I’ve agreed with Finnegan on just about anything.
‘Now, satisfied?’
‘About what?’
‘That I’m being straight with you?’
‘Yes. Not that you have to prove yourself to me.’
‘I know I don’t have to prove myself to you. I wouldn’t fucking dream of giving one of my direct reports that pleasure. But I want us to have a better relationship, or at least a working one. So if you’ve anything else to get off your chest, now’s the time.’
‘Why did you get me Maisah Sahraoui’s mobile number?’
‘Because I didn’t know Maisah had been moved from Glencale against her wishes.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘As you thought. Harbour Murphy intervened behind the scenes, thinking he was doing me a favour.’
‘Why would he want to do you a favour?’
‘Why would any politician want to do a favour for the head of police in their area?’
‘Fair point.’
Finnegan lapsed into silence again, took another swig of the G&T, and then said: ‘Fuck it… I’m trusting that this will be kept between you and me. He and I have known each other a long time. He knows I share his party’s politics, more or less. He’s the most popular politician in this county and has a good chance of bringing in a running mate at the next general election. He asked me to run alongside him.’
Cass was stuck for an instant response, and was grateful for the interruption by a waiter, asking them if they wished for more drinks. Finnegan waved him away.
‘I said no, in case you’re wondering,’ she said. ‘And I didn’t conspire with him to move Maisah. I tore into him over that. Bloody reckless and wrong. To say nothing of the fact that if I want somebody’s help, I’ll ask for it.’
It explains a lot. She trusted me to share that information. Do I trust her enough in return, given what she has just said? And given Harbour Murphy’s name continues to pop up in the investigation of Nabila Fathi’s murder?
There was one way to find out. Slowly, methodically, she brought Finnegan up to speed on the Currency Comptroller developments, the fact that Nabila had sought to exchange damaged banknotes there, and the criminal provenance of the notes. She cited every salient detail, including the fact that Nabila had given her real address – the flat above Harbour Murphy’s shop.
Finnegan listened patiently, and then said: ‘So what’s your working theory?’
‘I still don’t have one,’ Cass replied. ‘But depending on what the CCTV footage from the Currency Comptroller shows, I’d like to dig a bit further into Harbour Murphy.’
Finnegan didn’t hesitate. ‘Fine. But do it discreetly. He’s entitled to his good name. More to the point, he gives me a pain in the head every time he rings to vent.’
‘I can do discreet.’
‘And not a word to anybody about Devine.’
‘Understood.’
‘I have something in common with your dad, you know.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I’m an excellent judge of character too–’
Christ. Just when I’m beginning to warm to you a little, your arrogance rises to the surface again.
‘–and despite our rough start, I know I’m not wrong about you. Keep going.’
It was a curious way to deliver a compliment, but Cass recognised it as genuine. Nonetheless, she couldn’t find the capability to form a response. Her parents aside, it felt like the first time somebody had said anything nice to her in a long time – a time during which all she could feel was guilt for her fuck-up of a husband and a child who had been left motherless. To her immense embarrassment, and more so because she was in a public place, she felt herself choking up again. And even though she refused to let a tear escape, Finnegan saw it as clearly as she had seen through Devine.
‘You’ve had a bastard of a time of it,’ she said. ‘But you’re going to work through it. Because sitting at home isn’t the answer – not for you. Understood?’
This time Cass had no difficulty nodding in the affirmative.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Cass always felt more whole after swimming, capable of seeing the way forward again. Which was why, after refusing Finnegan’s offer of a stiff drink – a touch mortified, a touch grateful – she made her way to the pier for a late-evening swim. The last of the daylight had disappeared hours ago, but a full moon cast its spectral spotlight on the water and the converted gaslights on the pier lit a clear path to it. For fifteen glorious minutes, she swam hard until her muscles began to ache, the waves washing away her most agonised thoughts. As she emerged from the water, however, embarrassment swept back in like high tide.
‘So I’m not the only crazy in this place.’
Startled, she swung to her left to see Mason Brady zipping up a wetsuit, preparing to enter the water.
If you’d only seen me an hour ago, you’d have thought me crazy for sure. ‘How long have you been here?’ I’ve already dealt today with one asshole of a man I badly misread. I could do without another standing there ogling me.
‘Just arrived. And tempted to ask if you come here often.’
‘As you can see, I’m just leaving. Enjoy your swim. And at the risk of sounding hypocritical, it’s hazardous to swim alone at night.’
Which to you must sound preposterous given your background.
‘Don’t leave me alone then,’ he said with a smile.
‘I’m not your minder, Mr Brady.’
He did that thing again where he held up his hands in surrender, and mouthed the word ‘sorry’, smiling the whole time. But it was an authentic smile, not mocking, and for the briefest moment, she wondered what his company might be like.
Almost immediately, she heard Finnegan’s voice from earlier: ‘…you’re having a hard time seeing straight.’
She grabbed her towel and gear tub and made for her car.
Under the cover of a changing robe, she slipped off her own wetsuit and water shoes and dressed in old and comfortable sweatpants and hoodie.
She threw the wet gear into the tub, sat into the car, stuck the key in the ignition.
And then changed her mind.
She told herself it was just curiosity to see his form in the water. But in any event, she grabbed a couple of items from the front seat and made her way back down to the pier.
Where Brady was nowhere to be seen.
Alarmed, she scanned the water again – and then saw him break to the surface at a buoy about two hundred metres from the shore.
She watched in silent admiration as he swam back in – Brady was fast and fluid in the water – but puzzled at his technique, which seemed a mongrel mix of different styles. At regular intervals, he dove under using a breaststroke kick, but when he surfaced to breathe, turned into a sideways front crawl, seemingly arcing just one arm through the water. She hadn’t seen anything like it before, and studied the motion in fascination.
‘I guess you’re a little crazier than I am,’ she said as he emerged from the water.
He smiled again, took a few seconds to bring his breathing under control, and said: ‘Maybe we just share passions for the right things.’
‘What kind of stroke was that?’
‘They teach it in the military. Goes by the thoroughly original name of “combat stroke”.’
‘Won’t win any medals for style.’
‘The Olympics weren’t really what the instructors had in mind.’
‘There’s a concept behind it?’
‘Stay under the water where you can and then go side profile when you can’t – smaller target. Or something like that.’
‘You ever need to use it?’
‘I never silently swam ashore with a knife between my teeth to launch an invasion, if that’s what you mean.’
‘That’s a relief – one less catastrophic US war to worry about.’
‘Very droll. And you?’
‘Me?’
‘Why do you swim alone at night?’
‘Beats being at the station counting the paperclips.’
‘Nice of you to come back to make sure I was safe.’
‘Actually I came back because I was a bit abrupt earlier. Figured the least I could do was return the offer of coffee. I have a flask and a sandwich if you’re happy to share.’
‘That’s very kind of you.’
She poured him a cup and handed it to him together with half the sandwich.
This is the strangest day I’ve had in quite some time, she thought.
‘Sláinte,’ he said, raising the cup.
‘Cheers,’ she said, raising the flask in return.
They ate and drank in what seemed like comfortable enough silence for a few moments.
‘Late summer is the best time to swim the coast at night,’ she said. ‘Plankton light up the sea like neon. There’s some technical term for it I can’t remember.’
‘Sounds awesome.’
‘You can’t really see it from here because of the streetlights. You’ve got to wander beyond the pier and down the coastline a little. You get to know the spots.’
‘Maybe you’ll show me some time.’
‘Yeah, if policing doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll be a tour guide.’
‘Seriously, you like your job – being a cop here?’
‘I do. Although I worked in Dublin up to recently – a different experience to here.’
‘Reassigned?’
‘Personal reasons,’ she said. ‘What about you? Did you like the military? Or is “like” the wrong word?’
‘Not at all. I was proud to serve and it was a tough call to leave.’
‘Why did you?’
‘Other things I wanted to do in life.’
Above the sound of the water lapping the shore, the sound of raucous music was carrying from somewhere in the town. Cass knew she was using vague and flippant answers to keep up a wall. Part of her wished she could be more honest. He was easy to talk to, easy to be with. And she sensed he was itching for company too.
‘Burnout,’ he said suddenly. ‘That was the real reason.’
‘You saw some things?’
He smiled. ‘My turn to say thanks for the coffee–’
