The headlines screamed out from the news stand.
Canal Carnage, roared a tabloid. Underneath were three decks of large photos. Taylor Williams, 10, holding a camogie stick. Ciara Grant, 22, smiling, with striking blonde hair, pictured at her graduation. Garda Sean Peters, 23, dressed in the Galway county jersey.
Gutted Mum Says Killers Should Hang, trumped another tabloid. It carried a photo of Taylor’s shattered mum, being held up by family members outside the hospital the previous night. Declare War Now, hollered another red-top.
Shay surveyed them quietly, before crossing to an anonymous office block. A small sign read CBLCS, College of Business, Language and Computer Studies. He punched a code to open the set of doors and tackled the stairs to the fourth floor, the headlines jumbling around in his brain.
He stood at the door and knocked. Feet shuffled from behind. The door clicked and swung back.
Shay nodded to Hall and stepped in.
His handler locked the door behind him.
‘Shay,’ Hall said, gesturing for him to sit down as he took the other side of the desk. ‘There’s a meeting at twelve with Number One, so let’s get to it.’
Shay flexed his fist.
‘Tell me more about Jig,’ Hall said, leaning back on his chair.
‘It’s pretty much all in my reports,’ Shay said.
‘I want to get more of a feel – to see if there is leverage there,’ Hall continued. ‘You have built up,’ he paused, ‘a relationship with the boy. I see you accompanied him to the hospital yesterday. You stayed with him, even when questioned.’
Shay nodded, noting Hall’s usual knowledge of his movements.
‘What I want to know is: can he be used somehow to prise open the Canal Gang? Every single detective in the city wants to be in on this, squeezing these fuckers. But you are in situ, close to the players. You’re a member of the community. A respected one even.’
Shay noticed the curl of Hall’s mouth as he said the final words.
‘No one is going to talk to the guards,’ Hall went on. ‘Already, no one is talking. Can you believe it? I see from the reports that you are the only one who has actually given any decent witness info. The rest have crawled back under their rocks.’
Hall always had a way with words, Shay thought.
‘When I look at Number One today, Shay, I want to tell him that our units have an inside track here.’
‘I want to get my family out.’
Shay immediately berated himself for blurting it out.
Hall looked at him as if he had just stood up and pissed against the desk. Hall creased back his hair and composed himself.
‘You want what?’
‘We’re in that hole for years,’ Shay said. ‘My kids are growing up in that place. My wife’s had enough. We can’t see a way out. For what?’
He said that last bit, again without meaning to.
Hall’s face darkened, but he kept his voice controlled.
‘Did you say, for what?’ Hall said, standing up and turning to face the window.
Shay braced himself.
‘We threw you a lifeline, Shay. That’s what.’
Shay’s stomach tensed.
‘You faced a criminal prosecution for assault, causing harm if the investigators got our intel reports on you. A stretch in prison. As a garda. You wouldn’t have lasted long.’ Hall paused, glancing back at him. ‘Particularly with those rugged good looks of yours,’ he said, with a smirk.
Hall turned back to face the window. ‘That’s unless one of those McCabes got to you first and sliced you in half with a fucking scythe. This,’ Hall said, turning around again and pointing downwards, ‘was your . . . only . . . fucking . . . option.’
Shay watched Hall pull his neck back, pat down his silk blue tie and survey the damage.
You are a complete cunt. You have my balls in a vice-grip. You know it. I know it.
‘Garda Grant is dead,’ Hall said. ‘Garda Peters is in a coma with a suspected severed spine. Both in their early twenties. Two of our own, Shay.’
Shay looked up when he heard the words ‘our own’.
‘Not to mention that little girl,’ Hall added, ‘what’s her name . . .’
‘Taylor,’ Shay said. ‘Taylor Williams.’
‘You know that Grant was like a tonic in the station,’ Hall said. ‘Full of life. Great craic. Members loved her. The young Peters lad, intercounty footballer, decent fella by all accounts. Colleagues are devastated. They are fucking gunning for blood.’ He stopped for a moment and touched his neck. ‘I don’t have to tell you, Shay, what can happen to good guards when they are steaming for revenge.’
Hall let the warm knife cut deep. Shay felt it open up his chest.
‘We have a national crisis here,’ Hall said. ‘Gangs have kicked us in the balls and given society the finger. The government is blowing spit and fury. The media is crying war. The minister has summoned Number One today. He, in turn, is shouting down the phone at us. The commissioner will be hopping at the meeting if we are not on top of this.’
Shay watched Hall sit down, with what looked like a satisfied face.
He recalled when Hall recruited him into Intelligence, straight from Garda College. He left Templemore before everyone else. His classmates thought he just dropped out. He never wore a uniform. Apart from some officers in Intelligence, no one ever knew he was a garda.
He recalled how much he loved working for the Intelligence and Security Division. Until it all went pear-shaped.
Hall saved him, or snared him. He wasn’t sure which.
Hall had been his handler since he resigned. He was his only direct connection with the force. He knew DI Slavin was part of the set-up and that Hall answered to ISD boss Deputy Commissioner Nessan. But he had no idea if either of those two men knew he performed this role or that he was doing it to get back into the force. All it would take would be for Hall to cut the rope and he would be cast adrift. No way back then.
‘Shay, you listening?’
He nodded.
‘I was looking through your reports,’ Hall said. ‘Your reports are good, thorough. Details of gang members, associates, addresses, car regs, girlfriends, ex-girlfriends, where they drink, where they bet, their movements, any ailments or disabilities they have, a couple of mobile numbers, dealing locations, street dealers, rows, rivals, addicts. Deep intel we’ve never had before. Years of it. Every cough and splutter.’
Shay thought how he should have felt pride in his work, but he couldn’t shake off a feeling they had him on a spinning wheel.
‘When I set up this little unit,’ Hall said, leaning back in his chair and indulging himself, ‘I knew it was a long haul operation. It was going to work differently to our undercover unit. They can operate for short bursts. But you and other community intelligence sources have to be bedded in; left to take root in local areas. I’ve had to explain to those above me that the investment would take time to show a return. Not an easy sell, even in the Celtic Tiger years. But I explained that the relationships, the connections you build are priceless, nothing a standard UC can do, certainly over the long term. And, in time, with the right work, you can place yourself within the circles of a crew, like that of the Canal Gang. That work can take years to bear fruit. I understand you want your life back, Shay. I do. You want your family – your kids – to have as good a life as possible. Yes?’
Shay twisted inside at the patronising tone of Hall’s lecture.
‘I want my family out,’ Shay said, ‘and I want to be back in the force. Official. My past . . . forgotten. A fresh start.’
Hall tapped his fingers on the table, as if doing a quick calculation.
‘You deliver the goods here, on this one,’ he said, leaning forward, ‘and I’ll make the recommendation myself to DC Nessan that you are allowed to rejoin the force. Fair enough?’
Shay felt lighter. Relief poured through his blood, eased out the knots in his muscles. It was the closest yet he’d ever got to something like a commitment.
‘We know from your reports,’ Hall said, ‘that Ghost and his associates recruit armies of these little shits through the football club and from the street to do their dirty work.’
There was a venom in the way Hall described them as little shits that Shay didn’t like, but he shrugged it away.
‘We know Ghost works for Lock Man. But Lock Man’s a clever fucker. That’s why he’s survived when a lot of other gangs have imploded or scattered. This is our opportunity to crush this gang once and for all.’
Shay wasn’t clear where this was going.
‘What’s the connection between these murders and Ghost?’ he asked. ‘Why are you sure it’s them?’
‘We can’t be sure,’ Hall said, ‘but I have a strong suspicion it is. We might know a bit more at the meeting later. But every unit will want to keep as much as they can to themselves. Particularly us. Few in the organisation even know about this little detail, let alone what we do.’
‘Has the car been found?’ Shay asked.
‘No,’ Hall said. ‘Speaking of which, I saw what you told that female detective. You remember anything more about the three scrotes in the car?’
‘I didn’t get a good enough look,’ Shay said, ‘but I did think for a second there was something about one of them, but I don’t know for sure.’
He felt Hall’s eyes studying him.
‘Keep digging around that brain of yours,’ Hall said, standing up. ‘If it turns out to be the Canal Gang, this is a mammoth fuck up for them – for a gang so, untouchable, as they like to consider themselves. They will not want this heat. They will erase any links between them and this. It wouldn’t surprise me if the three scumbags in that car have been disappeared.’
‘Is the government giving us the resources on this?’ Shay asked. He was buzzing now, being at the heart of a covert garda operation into the murder. He bristled with adrenaline. It was the sense of purpose he loved, that he longed for.
‘The minister is making all the right noises,’ Hall said, dismissively. ‘It will last three weeks, a month maybe, possibly longer if the commissioner bangs the table enough. But after that, there’ll be no more money for overtime or surveillance. The media will drift away from this when the next financial drama comes along. This will take longer to crack. That’s why we need deep assets like you.’
Shay felt more of a connection now with Hall.
Maybe he’s not as bad a fucker as I make him out to be.
He watched Hall take something out of his pocket – a ziplock bag. There was a phone inside.
‘We’ll be having more regular contact from now on,’ Hall said. ‘Use this phone to ring me.’ He pushed a sheet towards him. ‘Ring this number every day to give me an update, say at 10 a.m. But don’t write the number down and delete the call history every time you dial. And keep the phone somewhere offside. Keep your other phone on you, but don’t ring me on it.’
Shay memorised the number and placed the bag in his pocket.
‘We’ll still meet here every Monday, as usual. And, another thing,’ he said, his tone sharpening.
Shay knew he wasn’t going to like this.
‘We will need you to get into situations . . . where you can place surveillance devices.’