The Murder Loop, page 16
There were no children in sight this time – clearly still at school. Cass parked next to the paddock and instinctively looked towards the stables, guessing that Sarah might be seeing to the horses. Instead, Cass heard the noise of the kitchen door opening, and turned to see Sarah striding towards her, jangling a set of car keys.
‘Hello again,’ she said. ‘But I have to collect the kids shortly so–’
‘It won’t take long,’ Cass replied. ‘I’m sorry for the lack of notice but I was in the area.’
‘You have an update?’
‘A few more questions, actually, if that’s okay.’
Cass could tell it wasn’t okay, but Sarah nodded nonetheless. There was no offer to come inside for tea this time, so Cass simply began with what she hoped would sound like an innocuous question. ‘The gate below – do you always leave it open?’
Sarah stared at her, clearly unsure what relevance the question had.
‘Most of the time. No real reason to close it.’
‘Even after your father was attacked?’
‘You mean for our own security?’
The penny drops, Cass thought.
‘Exactly. As a precaution. I’m sure a lot of households around here would have taken a few extra measures.’
The couple of moments it took Sarah to frame her answer were enough. Cass knew it had never crossed her mind to take additional precautions. There had been no need to.
‘We have a dog – no better alarm system. And my husband has a shotgun – licensed of course. Not that he would ever… it’s for foxes.’
‘You were here the night of your father’s murder – that’s correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your brother had been staying here for a few days but left before it happened?’
‘Yes, but I told you all this last time. And I do really have to get going for the kids–’
‘Just a minute or two more. Has Peter contacted you since?’
Sarah fell silent as she deliberated again, and Cass decided it was time to turn the screw.
‘Before you answer that, Sarah, let me make something clear: provided we have good reason, we can get a warrant for your phone records, and your husband’s phone records if required. We’ll work through every phone call you received in the period before and after your father’s murder, and I’m pretty sure we’ll find a pattern of calls and texts from an unknown number. A burner phone that Peter acquired after landing in Ireland. Correct?’
Sarah said nothing. Cass didn’t need her to – not yet. But she would insist on an answer to the next set of questions.
‘I’ve already verified one particular call without needing your phone records. Milly Cooper watches for the welfare of everyone around here. And I realised that when two out-of-place visitors come to her shop looking for your father, she’s not going to ignore it if she feels something’s not right. She’s going to ring someone. Maybe not your father, because she knows he probably won’t answer and, even if he did, might not take too kindly to anybody interfering with his business, even someone well-meaning like Milly. So she did the next best thing. She rang you, didn’t she?’
‘Why ask me if you already know?’
‘I’d like to hear you confirm it.’
‘Yes, Milly rang me.’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘More or less what you said. That two Americans had come to the shop, wanting directions to the farm. She didn’t say they were suspicious or anything – she didn’t have to. She just wanted to make sure we knew.’
‘What did you say in response?’
‘I thanked her for the call.’
‘And what did you do next?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
Silence again. Cass had been here before, had seen several people in the same position as Sarah now, knowing she was effectively walking a tightrope and a wrong step could be catastrophic.
What will Sarah do? Tell the truth or lie?
‘Let me tell what I think you did, and we can run through it formally at the station later. When Milly rang, you knew instantly that the Americans had come for Peter, not your father. You knew Peter had come home to escape trouble. But the trouble had followed him. So you did what any sister would do – you immediately warned Peter. And you didn’t have to ring him – because he was still here, wasn’t he?’
‘I really do have to collect the children,’ Sarah said, her voice suddenly shaky. ‘Maybe I can–’
‘When the full suite of forensics are in, they’re going to tell the tale as clear as day, Sarah. And if you continue to withhold vital information from us, it will increase the likelihood of you being charged as an accessory to murder. So think of your kids now, not Peter – he can stand on his own two feet. I asked you this the last time, and I’m going to once more, and please don’t make the mistake of lying to me: Where is your brother?’
Sarah turned her head in the direction of her car, which was parked closer to the house, as if wishing to make a run for it.
‘You’ll be going straight to the station if you don’t tell me, Sarah. Where is Peter?’
Cass heard the movement behind her a fraction too late to respond. Her head was wrenched back by someone grabbing a fistful of her hair in one hand and using the other to slide a knife across her throat.
‘I’m right fucking here, bitch.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
Sarah screamed in fright, and began imploring her brother to let Cass go. But Peter Bannon was not about to yield his grip and roared at his sister to shut up. Cass felt the pressure of the knife at her throat and had the sense not to struggle just yet: any misstep on her part now would be fatal.
Instead, she kept her hands gripped on the arm which Bannon was using to hold the knife. Her body was trembling but her mind had already moved beyond the physical shock and registered the quivering in Bannon’s knife arm. He was panicking, not sure what to do or how to get out of his predicament. He had killed once already; was he on edge enough to kill again? Was he stupid enough to slit her throat?
Sarah kept pleading, trying to pacify her brother, inching closer to him as she did so.
Cass closed her eyes briefly and knew this was supposed to be the moment where her life flashed before her eyes, or she made her reconciliations, or some such shit.
But all she could think of was Devine’s description and hear his mocking voice saying it.
Skinny runt who didn’t have the father’s size, strength or sneakiness.
Maybe, but he’d found enough within him to take out his father.
Absurdly, in that moment, she thought of her ex-husband deservedly languishing in a prison cell, and visualised shoving Bannon head first to join him.
Time to test Devine’s proposition.
But as Cass prepared to do so, Sarah decided likewise, and drove at her brother. Bannon took a step back, his grip on Cass loosening just a fraction, and she took her chance.
Releasing her right hand from his arm, she drove her elbow back as hard as she could into Bannon’s midriff, and felt his grip at her hair and neck release as his stomach folded and lungs expelled air. Without pause, she rammed her heel back into his shin, resulting in a howl of pain, then caught his knife arm again with both hands and pitched forward, using his sudden lack of balance to throw him cleanly over her back. As he fell to the ground, she raised her right boot and stamped as hard as she could on his groin. Bannon crumpled up in a foetal position and Sarah fell on him, punching and screaming. Cass had to haul her aside before dropping to her knees, pinning Bannon to the ground. He was a beaten docket and offered no resistance as she handcuffed him. As she explained why she was arresting him, he started weeping.
Now I have to be polite to this weak-willed prick when I should beat the living shit out of him, she thought.
She finished the formalities, and then lifted Bannon to his feet. Sarah was now sobbing uncontrollably too.
Cass felt a tinge of sympathy for her, but not much more than that. She had to get her own trembling under control, and the easiest way of doing so was by focusing on the practicalities. Others could offer emotional support later.
‘Sarah,’ she said, ‘I’m radioing for assistance now and you’ll have to stay here, in my sight, until my colleagues arrive. You need to ring your husband or somebody else who can collect the children.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The dumbest of things, but as Cass sat in the ambulance getting the once-over from a friendly medical technician, she cursed the fact that Devine, of all people, had popped into her head in the middle of the showdown.
The ambulance doors were open, and amid the hubbub of activity on the farm, she could see Kearney and Finnegan deep in discussion near the stables.
‘I’m good to go now?’ Cass asked impatiently.
The medical examination had been Finnegan’s idea – she’d insisted on it – but aside from a thin red mark on her throat, Cass had no other physical injuries. The technician applied some ointment but she declined the offer of a bandage. He expressed his concern about delayed shock; she brushed it aside. Sure, she was a little shaken, but not enough that she needed to cut work. The risk of assault was an everyday reality of the job; she never quite got comfortable with it, but would never allow it to intimidate her. As for Peter Bannon, a runt like him wasn’t going to haunt her dreams. If anything, she thought with grim amusement, she might haunt his.
The technician eventually relented. Cass thanked him and stepped down from the ambulance, Noel Ryan approaching as she did so. ‘Your father’s been on through the station. Couldn’t get you on mobile. Wants to know you’re okay.’
Evidentially, Ted Cassidy’s contacts in the station were still top-notch.
‘Could you get a message to him that I’m fine, and that I’ll call him later?’
‘No problem.’
Cass was grateful, for the only people to whom she wanted to speak right now were Kearney and Finnegan, principally because of the Criminal Law Act and what it stipulated about accessories.
The SIO had, as per his style, organised the team meticulously, focused on ensuring every last detail was handled correctly to minimise the risk of an unsuccessful prosecution. It was a common assumption that once the killer was identified, the rest was merely formalities. This was the peril on which many an investigation had foundered: a warrant was wrongly executed, interview rights were breached, paperwork was misfiled or overlooked. From her perch on the ambulance, Cass had again been impressed at the manner in which Kearney drilled the troops, guarding against sloppiness at this critical stage. But as she approached him, he broke into a grin and she recognised in it the pleasure of success. This case had been wrapped up in weeks rather than months; despite the fact that the media had started to foment, Kearney’s superiors would be pleased.
‘You need to fill us in,’ he said, ‘but before that, tell me how you’re doing.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, for what felt like the hundredth time in the previous hour. But she’d had practice: it had been her stock answer in the wake of Hugh’s car crash, too. ‘I wanted to speak to you about Sarah Delahunty.’
‘Let’s go back a step. You did admirably today but I need to know the precise sequence – exactly how you made the connections.’
‘It was a lucky break,’ Cass said. ‘No more than that.’
Finnegan muttered something under her breath. For the first time, Cass realised that her superior might not be as pleased as Kearney, although she couldn’t think why that might be the case. But there was nothing for it but to plough on.
‘I was looking back over the interview notes for Milly Cooper. We know that even the most truthful witnesses occasionally leave something out – if they were trying to help someone else, if they were embarrassed about something they did themselves, or just by mistake, right? So it struck me that perhaps Milly had omitted something. Two dodgy Americans come into her store looking for Bridge Bannon. What does she do when they leave?’
‘She calls someone,’ Kearney said.
‘Exactly. She confirmed to me that she rang Sarah. Just to make her aware. Milly didn’t know that the Americans had sinister intent; she just didn’t like the look of them. The next question was what Sarah did with the knowledge. She had already confirmed to us that her brother had stayed a few days with her, but left before the murder. My guess was that Peter Bannon was still here that day, and she immediately realised that the Americans were after him, not their father. So she warned Peter.’
‘If that was the case, why didn’t Bannon just make a run for it? Why risk going to his father’s farm?’
‘It’s pure conjecture on my part from here, but I’m sure the questioning will reveal some version of this: I think he went to the farm initially to carry out surveillance, see exactly who was after him. He had stolen money opportunistically from a mob gang in the States, which was why he fled. I don’t think he expected to be chased home, but the money was enough that the gang had to send a message. Maybe he saw the Americans, maybe he didn’t, but either way, he knew he had a target on his back if he couldn’t make good. He also knew his father hated banks, hated authority, and kept large amounts of cash at home. My guess is that he pleaded with his father for cash to dig himself out of trouble, Bridge Bannon refused, and Peter tried to beat it out of him. And went too far.’
‘And the bleach?’ Kearney asked.
‘A sloppy attempt to cover his tracks, to give the impression it was the work of professionals. He knew his father’s farm; knew where he could find some.’
‘Well, as you said, let’s see what he says under questioning,’ Kearney replied. ‘But you’ve convinced me. Again – good work.’ He patted her on the shoulder, and then left to speak with other members of the team before Cass got a chance to say another word.
‘You’re really okay?’ Finnegan said.
‘Fine,’ Cass replied automatically.
‘Then what in God’s name were you at, coming up here alone?’
‘I honestly didn’t think Peter Bannon was still here. I assumed he fled immediately after the murder.’
‘You really didn’t think he was here? You weren’t on some fucking glory hunt or kamikaze mission?’
‘No. Once I confirmed Milly had warned Sarah, I just wanted to confront Sarah with that information.’
‘You should have spoken to Kearney, sought authorisation. Sought backup, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Like I said, I didn’t think I was walking into a dangerous situation.’
‘I’ve enough problems on my team without someone intent on suicidal solo runs.’
‘I swear to you, it wasn’t like that.’
Finnegan said nothing but did that peculiar sucking noise with her teeth again.
‘About Sarah–’ Cass started.
‘She’s on her way to the station. She’ll be cautioned and charged there.’
‘That’s just the thing. She played no hand, act or part in what her brother did today. She tried to help me.’
‘But she played her part in covering up the murder. The law is pretty clear on that.’
The Criminal Law Act. Section seven, subsection two. Cass practically knew it by heart. On a strict reading, Sarah Delahunty was an accessory after the fact of murder. The act further stipulated sanction of up to ten years in prison.
Cass’s sympathy for Sarah had been limited to begin with. But then she saw her make the agonised call to her husband, unable to speak the names of her kids without sobbing, and imploring her husband to tell them she loved them.
‘The law is pretty clear on lots of things,’ Cass said. ‘But the Director of Public Prosecutions will decide whether or not to proceed to trial based on our report.’
‘And our report will be factual, as it always is.’
‘And in every report we emphasise the facts that matter to us and underplay others. Sarah had no role in this. Her father was a bastard and her brother damaged goods. She thought she was helping her brother by warning him, and had no idea what it would lead to. And when push came to shove today, she ran to help me. Is the report going to state that?’
Cass knew she was pushing it, knew she was at risk of shattering the fragile accommodation she and Finnegan had reached with each other. But that mattered less to her right now.
I can’t see these kids lose their mother too.
Finnegan stared at her for what felt like an eternity. ‘I’ll speak to Kearney,’ she said eventually. ‘But the next time you get an idea like this, you speak to me. Understood?’
Cass resisted all offers of a lift home and instead drove herself in the same squad car in which she had arrived. She hadn’t anticipated Finnegan’s anger and was torn between being irritated by it and understanding it – Cass genuinely hadn’t anticipated Peter Bannon’s presence; Finnegan feared she had come close to losing an officer.
As Cass left the farm, she remembered her previous exit from the property, the trigger and the tears, and told herself if she ever so much as drove past this place again, it would be too soon. Though of course, she’d have to do so if she wanted to visit Mason Brady – the church was just a mile or so further up the road.
But for tonight, at least, and maybe for a few days more, she would insist on him coming to her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
‘You went to arrest the guy on your own?’
‘Jesus,’ Cass said, ‘I’ve already gone through this once today with my boss. And a second time with my dad in the last hour. I wasn’t going there to arrest him – I thought he was long gone. I went to speak to his sister.’
‘But you went there unarmed, with no backup?’
Brady was shaking his head, more in wonderment than anything else. But it was just as exasperating to Cass as Finnegan’s earlier interrogation. At least her father had understood and focused on her well-being: he may not have wanted her to join the force, but once she did, he never once called into question her ability to handle the job.
