The Devil's House (Detective Jack Brody Book 1), page 15
Voyle made a facial expression that Brody didn’t catch. But Considine did. ‘What was that for?’
‘What?’ Voyle asked, his tone dripping with fake innocence.
‘That look.’
‘What look?’
‘You know what look, Voyle.’
The relationship between Considine and Voyle was oil and water.
He grinned. ‘OK, moi. You doing French now?’
‘You’d be so fucking lucky.’
‘OK, that’s enough,’ Brody said. ‘And Voyle, you know that comment could be construed in the wrong way. Watch it.’
Voyle looked like the same thought had just occurred to him too. He said nothing.
‘If you’re OK with it, Nicola,’ Brody said, ‘there’s an officer at the station’s been helping me, Nuala Kinsella. I’d like you to team up with her. Let her take the lead a little, see what she comes up with. Will you do that?’
Considine shrugged. ‘Of course I’ll do that.’
‘Right,’ Brody said, ‘I’m going to have a word with Gus Tighe, so that’ll do for now. Just remember, don’t use the main door to the station. Approach from the side of the carpark and slip in through the rear door. And no one talks to the press either. Understand?’ They all did. He checked the time. ‘We’ll brief at the station Incident Room at fifteen hundred.’
27
The early shift waitress, Rose, was emerging from the front door of the Imperial Hotel as Brody approached.
‘You have any news?’ she asked.
‘Too early to say. Is Mr Tighe about?’
For a fleeting moment, he caught something in her look, but just as quickly gone again.
‘He’s in the office. It’s at the back of the kitchen. You can go through that way.’ She turned and pointed to a door in the wood-panelled wall by the staircase. Brody hadn’t noticed it before.
‘Thank you,’ he said and continued on inside.
The kitchen had red floor tiles, a row of windows running along the top of one wall, all open, sending in a cool, fresh breeze, but one that did little to dispel the aroma of stale cooking oil and old meat. He saw Tighe sitting at a table in a cluttered office ahead of him, the door open. Brody stepped in without knocking. There was hardly enough room to swing a cat. By Tighe’s elbow was a plastic container filled with bundled receipts, each wrapped tightly in a plastic band. Brody knew they were receipts because one of them had been unwrapped and smoothed out, the final amount visible: €120.78. By Tighe’s other elbow was a calculator. Tighe didn’t look up until he finished what he was doing.
‘Yes?’ he said. ‘The policeman. How can I help? Everything alright with your room?’
There were no chairs in the office other than the one Tighe was sitting on. Standing there, Brody felt like he was in a train carriage at rush hour.
‘I’ll get straight to it,’ he said. ‘I know you were deported from America, Mr Tighe, and I know the reasons why. That’s the first thing. OK?’
If Tighe was surprised or shocked, he didn’t show it. Instead, he shook his head in a slow, lazy movement. ‘No, you don’t – know, I mean.’ His tone carried just enough defiant arrogance to make it noticeable. ‘Were you there? No, you weren’t. And I wasn’t deported either, by the way.’
Brody wasn’t going there. He wasn’t going to get into the subtle differences of the definitions on the various types of deportations.
‘Let’s not waste any time. Where were you last night, Mr Tighe?’
Tighe looked up at Brody and took a slow breath. ‘I was in bed,’ he said, ‘where else? I resent the way you’re speaking to me.’
‘Were you alone?’
‘What? Was I alone? I don’t have to answer that.’
‘It would be better if you did. Think about it.’
Tighe seemed to be doing just that.
‘No, as it happens, I wasn’t alone. I don’t like sleeping alone. So I don’t. Not if I can help it. Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘You’re cocky,’ Brody said.
‘I prefer to call it confident.’ Tighe smiled, which showed off the dimples in his cheeks. But it reminded Brody of an alligator.
‘Do people know what you’re capable of?’ Brody asked. ‘People, the locals. Do they know what you did in America?’
The smile vanished from Tighe’s face immediately.
‘What’s that supposed to mean? What I did in America.’
‘Who was it?’ Brody asked, disregarding the question, ‘the one you spent the night with? If you don’t want to tell me, well, fine, you leave me no choice. I’ll be bringing you down to the station, and that’ll set the tongues wagging, won’t it? Oh yes, it will for sure. Things have been happening, and you fit the’ – he glanced to the box of receipts – ‘bill, no pun intended there, Gus. Oh, by the way, the press have arrived, a pack of hungry wolves; they’d love to eat you alive. Think about that, too.’
‘Ah, Jesus…’ Tighe pushed his chair back and placed his elbows onto his knees, buried his face into his hands for a moment. ‘Come on,’ he said, taking them away again. ‘I was with someone, OK. But she’s not underage, if that’s what you mean? She’s not.’
‘I never asked you whether she was or wasn’t. But who did you spend the night with?’
‘Rose.’ Tighe sat upright. ‘Rose, OK?’
‘It’s true.’ It was a voice from behind Brody. He looked over his shoulder, and Rose was standing there, just outside the office.
‘I see,’ Brody said, turning. ‘OK, Rose, how old are you?’
‘Nineteen, next birthday.’
She looked younger – a lot younger.
Rose seemed to read his thoughts. She fumbled in her handbag, took out a Public Services Card, offered it to him.
Brody said to Tighe, ‘Stay here,’ and stepped out of the office. He inspected the card: she was, indeed, nineteen next birthday. He handed it back, nodding his head, indicating for her to follow him to the other side of a walk-in freezer, out of earshot.
‘You spent the whole night with him?’ he said.
She nodded.
‘The whole night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where, exactly?’
She cocked her head to one side, like she didn’t understand. ‘What do you mean?’
He repeated the question, but she remained silent. He was beginning to wonder if she wasn’t playing it cute with him.
‘In his apartment,’ she said finally, but by now Brody’s suspicions were aroused. ‘On the top floor. Please…’ She looked suddenly like she was about to cry. ‘I don’t want my mum to know. I told her I was staying with Angela last night, that’s my friend.’
‘You’re eighteen. You can do what you want.’
‘Are you serious? My mother. She’d skin me alive, no matter what age I was. Really.’
‘How do I know you really spent the night with him, Rose?’
She bit her lower lip.
‘Why would I lie to you about it? Things are bad enough as they are without me having to lie about them, too, aren’t they?’
Brody had to agree. From her perspective, they probably were.
‘Did he leave at any time? Would you have even noticed if he had?’
‘I’d have noticed.’ She sounded very certain all of a sudden.
‘How so sure?’
‘I didn’t get a wink of sleep, that’s why.’
She caught Brody’s look.
‘No, I didn’t mean it like that. Come on. It was because of the racket. He snores like a sick pig; Jesus, he does. Never stopped. Went on all night; that’s why I didn’t get a wink of sleep. If I could, I would’ve gone home, but my mother would wonder, think I’d had a falling-out with Angela, and start asking questions. So I stayed and put up with it. He was there the whole night. Snoring.’
‘There’s no way of proving that, though,’ Brody said. ‘Is there?’
‘Well, there is…for part of the night, anyway. He wanted a brandy, there was none in the room, so he rang down and asked Timmy, the night porter, to bring him up a bottle. He used his mobile phone to do it, so it’ll be on that.’
‘What time was this exactly?’
‘I don’t know, two o’clock in the morning, thereabouts.’
Brody wondered what she was doing with Tighe anyway, a man old enough to be her father. Which might precisely be the attraction in the first place, he guessed. And in Tighe’s case, a man with money and, Brody supposed, an impressive set of wheels, too. It happened. But whatever it was, she wasn’t a minor, so therefore none of his business.
‘Go on home, Rose.’
She didn’t need to be told twice. When she was gone, Brody went back into the office and held out his hand. ‘Your phone. Give it to me.’ Tighe was about to say something but didn’t. Instead, he handed it over. Brody went through it: there was an outgoing call at 1:57, within the time frame for the Town Park attack.
‘Who’d you ring?’
‘Timmy, my night porter.’
‘Why?’
‘I wanted a nightcap, a brandy, that’s why. I always have one.’
‘Hm,’ Brody said, handing it back to him. ‘Lucky for you that you did.’
Brody kept his head down and moved along the side wall of the carpark, hoping to slip in unnoticed through the rear of the station, as he’d told his team to do. He’d almost made it to the boom barrier when he heard the clip-clopping sound of running high heels from behind, gaining fast. Brody could have bolted himself, but knew it wouldn’t look good on the TV evening news, or in the next day’s newspapers, for that matter.
She swung round in front of him. Mandy Joyce’s normally perfectly coiffed blonde hair was slightly askew, her make-up glistening as she began to sweat beneath the layers. She gulped in air to steady her breathing, shoved her microphone almost into Brody’s mouth, stopping him in his tracks. You didn’t get to be the highest-paid reporter in TV land for nothing.
‘Detective Sergeant Jack Brody of the Major Crimes Investigation Unit from Garda HQ, what can you say to reassure members of the public who are concerned that a serial killer is possibly stalking the streets of this town? To the people of the country? What can you say, DS Brody?’
Brody was impressed. That was quite a mouthful, and all delivered without any pause, and not a single ‘um’ or ‘ahh’. He could just smile and walk on, but that wouldn’t look good, either.
‘I’d like to say,’ he began as Mandy’s cameraman appeared behind her left shoulder, frantically training the lens onto Brody’s face, ‘that we are putting all our efforts into progressing this investigation. We are ruling nothing in or out at this stage. That’s all I have to say for now, thank you.’ A stock reply learned at a Dealing With The Press class on his first day at MCIU.
‘Can you tell us any more about the attack on the two young people who were sitting in their car at the local park? Are both connected?’
Mandy had her facts.
‘It is a very early stage of the investigation,’ he said, taking a step ahead. But Mandy and her cameraman didn’t budge. He stopped again. ‘When there are any developments, Meadowstown Gardai will inform you. But if I may, I’d like to take this opportunity to appeal to any members of the public who might have seen anything unusual in the vicinity of the Town Park last night, to please come forward. No matter how trivial it may seem, Meadowstown Gardai would like to hear about it. Now, thank you, but I have an investigation to run. If you could excuse me.’ He took a step to the side, but they both mirrored his movement. He stopped again.
‘Why? Are you not investigating the attack that occurred last night?’
‘At the present moment, that is a matter for Meadowstown Gardai,’ Brody said. ‘As you know, my primary concern is the reopened investigation of the brutal murders of three innocent teenagers that happened over a decade ago. That’s why I’m here. Now thank you, but I really have to get on.’
‘Have you got any suspects, DS Brody? Is Edward D’Arcy innocent of the Devil’s House murders? Also, I repeat, is the incident at the Town Park connected to it? Why won’t you answer my question, Detective Sergeant, what are you trying to hide?’
Brody smiled. ‘I’m not trying to hide anything.’ He took a determined step ahead once again, forcing Mandy to step aside and the cameraman to waddle backwards.
‘That’s all I can say at this stage. Thank you.’
The cameraman bumped into the boom barrier and almost dropped his camera. Brody took his chance, going under, coming up the other side, walking quickly to the side door, punching in the security code and going inside. As the door closed, he could hear Mandy Joyce curse, her high heels clip-clopping away. He gave a wry smile, made his way quickly along the corridor.
28
Inspector Patton was alone in the Incident Room when Brody went in. It appeared he’d been there a while, sitting at the table, an empty mug by his elbow, streaked with the residue of dried coffee.
‘That’s only the start,’ Brody muttered, taking off his jacket and draping it over a chair.
‘What’s only the start?’ Patton asked. ‘Will someone please tell me what’s going on?’
‘Mandy Joyce, from All Ireland News, just ambushed me, that’s what. It’s only the start.’
‘Aw,’ Patton said, clapping his hands, ‘and you’re complaining. She can ambush me any day of the week, she can. But I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about the investigation, Brody.’
‘I know that,’ Brody said, ‘and you already know what’s going on with the investigation, or should do. Everything’s on Pulse.’
‘Yeah? It is? All except for two items of intelligence and god knows what else that I don’t know about. So, everything’s on there, is it? Well, for me it’s not.’
‘You know about everything else.’
Patton jumped to his feet.
‘So, I’m being drip-fed, am I? Biteen of this, and a biteen of that. Only what I can be trusted with, ’cause I can’t be trusted completely, isn’t that right? Either we’re on the same side or we’re not! Are we on the same side? You tell me.’
‘We’re on the same side.’
‘Then I should be leading this. I’m the CO. This is my station.’
‘Except you’re not. Leading this, I mean. Because this is my investigation. Take it up the food chain if you have a problem with it.’
Patton’s nose flared, and his face reddened. Brody saw the fists clench, knuckles pushing white against the flesh. It was probably the way he sorted things out with gougers sometimes if they annoyed him enough, down a dark station corridor maybe, in a CCTV blind spot, or in an alleyway in and around the town somewhere. But therein lay much of the problem. This wasn’t about the investigation. No. This was about the man himself.
Brody had seen it all before. Good mules getting left behind because they didn’t or couldn’t or wouldn’t play the system. And officers like Patton, arse-lickers who hit all the right notes at interviews, were the anointed ones who scampered ahead.
Patton seemed to suddenly realise whom he was squaring up against and relaxed, unclenching his hands. Brody knew the best way to treat a cross dog was to throw it a bone. He threw Patton a bone.
‘I’ll make you an offer,’ he said. ‘You can be part of the investigation –’
‘I don’t need you to…’
‘– we’re briefing here later on. Full participation, but you don’t operate freelance, decisions are made through me, through my team. If you agree to that, take a seat at the table. If not, leave.’
Patton planked his hands onto his hips. ‘Anyone would think you were the inspector, and I the sergeant, but you’re not, sonny Jim.’ He tapped the epaulette on his shoulder. ‘I am. This still counts for something, you jumped-up little shit.’
‘Whatever. It’s not how I do things.’
‘I know it’s not how you do things.’
‘So, it’s up to you.’
The door opened, Nicola Considine and Nuala Kinsella came in, laughing about something or other. They seemed to have hit it off. But as soon as Kinsella saw Patton, her expression changed to that of someone who’d just realised they’d stepped in dog poo. Brody caught the exchange of glances between her and Patton. And he then caught the glance Considine threw Patton, too, a knowing glance. Which made him wonder, had Nuala Kinsella confided in her? He hoped so.
‘How are you, Ian?’ Considine said, walking to the table. Brody reminded himself it was the first time they’d met since Considine had served in Meadowstown. Her tone was one that Brody had heard before, one she reserved for gougers, when she was forcing herself to be nice during interviews. ‘We meet again.’
Patton showed no surprise on seeing her. ‘Yes, we do. Just like old times, eh? Heard you were part of this team. Very nice to see you again, Garda Considine.’
Brody thought that the man did a good job of making it look like he wasn’t about to choke on his words.
Behind them came Sheahan and Voyle, Sheahan with his little notebook already open in his hand. Brody asked everyone to take a seat, and when they did, he looked at Patton, who was still standing. ‘Are you staying? Or going?’
Patton nodded. ‘Yes, I’m staying.’ He glanced to Considine, who made a show of looking at her nails. He sat down.
‘Can we each take a laptop and log onto the case number?’ Brody began. ‘We’ll input directly onto the system as we need to.’
When they had done this, with Patton getting up to get one for himself, Brody continued, ‘We have a number of investigative threads, nothing definite, though. Anyone found anything they need to mention before we begin?’
Sheahan nodded, as if making a discreet bid at an auction.
‘Yes, Marty?’ Brody said.
‘I tidied things up, just to let you know.’
‘Tidied things up?’
‘On the system, the threads, I mean. I made a list so we can tick them off as we go through. It’ll make things easier. Have a look.’
Brody did. There it was. A little brown file icon at the top of the screen. Brody clicked on it. There were three lists: Current, Results Pending and Results. ‘This should make things easier. Everyone see that there, the Results list.’
