Tom texted his wife to tell her he was on his way home and would pick up dinner. A message came back ordering Singapore noodles, hoisin duck, prawn toast and spicy chicken wings for her and Maria. He wasn’t getting any special treatment after the trauma of the shooting, that was for sure.
‘Dad, you scared the living daylights out of us,’ Maria said, meeting him at the door. She had Cáit on her hip, the tot ready for bed in a soft pink babygro, freshly washed and smelling wonderful.
‘Gan-gan,’ she greeted Tom, with outstretched pudgy arms. He took her and planted a big wet kiss on her cheek, squeezing her a little tighter than usual.
‘I missed you! How’s Granddad’s little monkey?’
‘Teeties?’
‘What does she want?’ he asked, handing her back to Maria.
‘Ignore her. Great Granny and Granddad kept giving her jellies in Wicklow. She’s asking you for sweets.’
Maria brought the baby upstairs as Tom made his way into the kitchen.
Louise had set out plates and cutlery and was uncorking a bottle of 2008 Alabaster Tempranillo that they’d received as a present for their most recent wedding anniversary.
‘You’re breaking out the good stuff,’ Tom observed, putting the bag of food down.
His wife crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him in a bear hug.
‘Hey,’ he said, holding her tightly. ‘I’m fine. Really.’
‘Tom Reynolds, you got shot at four times and I just saw the state of your hands.’ She pulled back and took them in hers, kissing the knuckles where they’d been cut and grazed by the exploding wall fragments.
‘You put the heart across me, love. Did you even read that text you sent me?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What do I … “Man shooting at Ray and me, still at scene, but alright.” That’s what I mean, you bloody idiot.’ She dropped his hands and pushed him in the chest.
He couldn’t help laughing.
‘Sorry,’ he said, seeing the injured look on her face. ‘It does sound funny when you say it back. I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to forewarn you.’
She tutted, but let him hug her again.
‘If I’d known we were opening a €140 bottle of wine I’d have picked up something fancier than Chinese,’ Tom said, as he removed the foil trays from the brown-paper carrier bag.
He stopped complaining after the first sip of the alcohol. It would make anything taste good and seemed to work particularly well with his roast pork kung po. Who knew?
Later, when his wife and daughter had gone to bed, Tom sat in the back garden and smoked one of his remaining Cuban cigars while he admired the twinkling stars overhead. The rain had cleared, leaving a still sky and pleasant night.
His brain hadn’t switched off yet. The events of the day had jarred with him – he knew there was something he wasn’t seeing properly. He’d never sleep at this rate, so he had no option but to stay up until he figured out what it was that was bugging him.
Bart Healy hadn’t always worked in the Meath area, yet he and Vincent Carney had struck up a rapport – so much so that the man was happy to give himself up as soon as Healy asked him to. But there was something else Carney had said, something about Fiona. What was it?
Tom closed his eyes, inhaling the rich cigar smoke and heady smell of the night-blooming jasmine growing in pots beside the French doors behind him.
As was always the way, as soon as he started to relax, it came to him.
A rushing noise filled his ears, the sound of his own blood flooding to his head.
Only my family call me Fi.
That’s what Carney claimed Fiona had said to him.
But somebody outside her family had called her Fi, and it wasn’t Stephen McCabe, her on/off boyfriend.
It had been Bart Healy.
The following morning, Tom summoned his team to his office.
‘Why are we meeting here?’ Michael asked, the last to arrive.
‘I don’t want the uniforms downstairs to hear this,’ Tom said. ‘Not until I’ve discussed it with you five.’ His real fear was that somebody in the wider team would report the latest development back to Chief Kennedy before the inspector had all his ducks in a row. After the lecture about undermining colleagues, Tom didn’t think his boss would respond too well to what the inspector planned next.
‘I have something big to report from Cork,’ Laura blurted out. She wrung her hands together, anxiety writ large on her face.
‘We’ll get to it in a moment,’ Tom said, then proceeded to fill them in on his theory. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Laura getting more antsy as he spoke.
‘Okay, I’m just playing Devil’s advocate here, but isn’t it a bit of a jump to think that Healy could be the other man Fiona was having a relationship with, and perhaps our killer, just because he calls her Fi and not Fiona?’ Ray asked.
‘On that alone, yes, it’s a flying leap,’ Tom said. ‘But it got me thinking. Healy seems to know a lot about Fiona and said he’d got the information from friends – but what have people close to Fiona being telling us for the last few days? That the girl didn’t have any real friends. That Fiona kept stuff to herself. None of her family knew about Stephen McCabe, but Healy did. We haven’t found one proper “friend” to interview yet who could tell us she was seeing somebody. In addition, she went to Healy when Carney attacked her. From everything we’ve heard about Fiona, she doesn’t strike me as somebody who’d go running to the guards too often.’
‘Sir, I really need to tell you about the Cork thing,’ Laura said, fidgeting. ‘It’s more relevant than ever now.’
‘Sorry, Laura. Go for it.’
‘Well, when we made the discovery in the taxi driver’s house, the Lehanes arrived. They were in a state and Sergeant Doyle was being a shit to them. I told them that what they’d experienced with him in the past, that dismissive attitude, wouldn’t be repeated, at least not by us. Elizabeth said something like, “It wasn’t just Doyle”, but I got called away before I could establish what she meant.
‘I spoke to them yesterday and she explained. You see, four years ago, the other guard in the village was this old-timer who should have been retired. When Doyle needed back-up, he’d call in guards from surrounding villages or Cork City. When he was conducting the search for Mary Ellen, he called in some help and Elizabeth said they were just as useless. She said one of them kept asking about Mary Ellen’s sex life – and was just generally inappropriate. She couldn’t remember his name, so I had to get a pal down in Cork to check it out for me.’
‘Are you seriously going to tell us it was Bart Healy?’ Michael said, agog.
Laura nodded.
‘It’s our smoking gun. He took up the sergeant’s job in Luttrell village where Fiona lived three and a half years ago. Before that, he was based in Cork City. And do you know where he’s from originally?’
The group collectively shook their heads.
‘Waterford.’
‘Shit.’ Ray let out a low whistle.
‘That’s excellent detective work, Laura,’ the inspector said. ‘Really excellent. So we have him residing and then working in three of the counties where the victims lived. And possibly engaged in a relationship with Fiona Holland. There’s one other thing that might be relevant – one of your theories, Bridget.’
Bridget stopping playing with her dark ponytail as the focus fell on her, her facial features scrunched up in confusion.
‘My theories?’
‘Yes. The one about the type of car a woman on her own would get into without being scared. Taxis, yes. But a garda car – absolutely.’
‘Of course! I hadn’t even considered that.’
‘The attempt in April, though,’ Ray said. ‘We couldn’t get a clear description of the car involved in the alleged abduction, but she’s the daughter of a guard. She’d have recognized a garda car.’
Tom nodded.
‘I agree, but she wasn’t actually abducted so we can’t let the details of that incident dictate how we approach the rest of the evidence. Let’s get Healy in and have a chat, that’s all I’m saying. Meanwhile, we continue to look into this Cormac Ryan fellow. Laura, I’m leaving you in charge of that. And did you get the list of people who work for the Hollands? Fergus said he’d send it through.’
‘Yep. Forty employees.’
‘Michael, give her a hand with that list. Brian and Bridget, when we’re interviewing Healy, you have a discreet look at his background. Find out the number of his assigned vehicle and check if it’s been spotted out of its district, that sort of thing.’
Tom noted that not one of his team had been horrified or incredulous at the prospect of one of their own being involved in the Glendalough killings. They’d all been involved in the Kilcross case eighteen months ago. After that, there was nothing that could surprise his detectives.
‘Do you think there could be more than one killer?’ Ray asked. ‘Could Healy have been keeping Mary Ellen at the taxi driver’s house in West Cork? Is he working with Carney now?’
Tom shrugged.
‘From what Linda has told us, serial killers tend to work alone for the most part, with notable exceptions. And when they do, they’re usually in a relationship. Fred and Rose West, for example. As Linda said – without a familial connection, one of the killers might have deviated from the rules at this stage.’
As his team left to pursue the various jobs, Tom mulled on his next move. He was bringing in Bart Healy and he knew Joe Kennedy was not going to like it.
The inspector made an executive decision. He wouldn’t even mention it to Kennedy until after they’d conducted the interview. They’d arrested somebody from Healy’s patch who was claiming he’d only speak to the sergeant. So, for all Kennedy knew, that’s why they were summoning Healy to headquarters.
He’d deal with the fallout in the aftermath.
‘Is he there? I’ll be back in five.’
The inspector ended the call with Ray and put his phone back in his pocket.
He had walked over to the Phoenix Park’s tearoom, in need of fresh air. The summer sun had returned, this time with more bearable temperatures – a world away from the intense heat of the last couple of weeks.
It was a perfectly peaceful day and yet, inside, Tom was in turmoil.
If Fiona Holland had actually been taken, the hope of finding her alive was fading. She was missing a full two weeks now. What condition would she be in? Was her jailer feeding her? Abusing her?
He was tormented by those questions, but Tom knew he wouldn’t let fear overwhelm him. It would impede his ability to do his job. Nevertheless, it was there, tapping away at the edge of his thoughts. Keeping him sharp.
He deposited his empty water bottle and Mars bar wrapper in the bin and hurried back towards headquarters. He passed families queuing for Dublin Zoo, also based in the Phoenix Park, the kids yelling excitedly and parents chatting animatedly. They were a world removed from his professional life and he was glad of it.
‘I put Healy in your office,’ Ray said, meeting him in reception. ‘So he wouldn’t suspect anything.’
‘Good stuff. Where’s Carney?’
‘Custody suite.’
‘Okay. Let’s throw some mud at Sergeant Healy and see what sticks.’
The Meath sergeant stood when the two men entered the office. He was in full uniform again and greeted Tom apologetically.
‘Inspector, how’s it going? I’ve been going over and over what happened with Vincent yesterday. I can’t apologise enough. Do you need me to talk to him, is that why you asked me to come up? I’ve barely slept thinking about it all. I mean, if he’s capable of shooting at you, he’s already capable of more than I imagined. Is he the killer, do you think?’
Tom took his seat.
‘I do want to have a chat with you about Carney,’ he said. ‘We’ve already established that you know him well enough. He also mentioned yesterday that you drop stuff out to the house for him. Magazines, that kind of thing. Do you often spend time with him?’
Healy’s cheeks flushed.
‘I’m just keeping an eye on him. I give him the odd dirty mag – it keeps him occupied at the house, stops him wandering into the village looking for the real thing.’
‘That’s fairly innovative of you,’ Tom said, his eyebrows raised.
‘Yeah, well.’
The sergeant shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
‘Why do you feel so sorry for Vincent?’ Tom persisted. ‘He’s a registered sex offender.’
‘He’s also a person,’ Healy snapped.
Tom leaned back, surprised.
The sergeant caught himself. He shrugged, contrite.
‘I apologise,’ he said. ‘Maybe I should explain.’
‘I think you should,’ Ray barked.
Healy flashed him a defiant glare.
‘A little bit of empathy can go a long way, Detective. My younger brother is similar to Carney. He was deprived of oxygen during birth – the umbilical cord twisted around his neck. He has a good life, but other people don’t make it easy for him. They make assumptions. Donal is very affectionate. He’ll come right up to you, even if you’re a stranger, and try to kiss you. And because at first glance he looks normal enough, people react badly. Women especially. Obviously. I don’t blame them – Donal’s a big lad. You have to look closely to see the innocence in his eyes. That’s all it is, he just wants to be loved.’
The inspector rested his elbows on the desk.
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘And I guess I can see why you’d instinctively feel sorry for Vincent. But your brother sounds like a gentle soul. Vincent isn’t gentle.’
‘No. As I said, I misjudged him.’
‘Hmm.’
Tom pulled a piece of paper from his file.
‘We had a chat with him yesterday. He said a couple of things that bothered me. For example, he mentioned that only people in Fiona Holland’s family call her Fi. And yet, that’s what you call her.’
Healy’s eye twitched and he started to pick at the stitching on the seam of his trousers.
‘I’ve been around her family a lot these last couple of weeks. I must have picked up on it. Why is it relevant?’
‘Bart, I’m going to be straight with you. Stephen McCabe told us Fiona was seeing somebody as well as him. He reckons this guy is some kind of big shot. Were you sleeping with Fiona?’
The other man swallowed, then licked his dry lips.
‘Seriously? Is this why you called me up? That’s ludicrous.’
‘Do you deny it?’
Healy shook his head.
‘I’m not even going to dignify it with an answer. What kind of stunt are you pulling here? I’m heading up the investigation into this girl’s disappearance and you want to start throwing wild innuendo and accusations around on the basis of what some scumbag and the village idiot said?’
‘The village idiot?’ Tom repeated calmly, studying Healy. ‘He was a human being a minute ago.’
Healy stood up abruptly.
‘I’m not sitting here and listening to this shit.’
‘You’re either sitting here and listening to this shit or I’m arresting you.’
The other man laughed in disbelief, then his face grew sombre.
‘Arresting me for what? On suspicion of having had sex with Fiona Holland, something that couldn’t be proved even if it were true?’
‘Vincent Carney knew we were coming,’ Tom said, quietly, and Healy’s jaw dropped. ‘Somebody told him. He said, and I quote: “You think I killed her, don’t you? He said. I’m not talking to you. Want Bart.” Now, Bart. Who was he referring to when he used the words “He said”? Did you tell him we thought he was a murder suspect when you told him to come out of the house and offer himself up for arrest? Or did you mention that when you rang to alert him that we were on the way?’
Healy collapsed back into the chair.
‘I didn’t ring him to say you were on the way.’
‘Really? He was just roaming around the farm with a shotgun looking for Dublin detectives to take potshots at, was he? Will I tell you what I think?’
Healy stared at the inspector coolly.
‘I think you rang Carney to warn him, knowing he’d get riled up and do something stupid. There’s no way you’ve got to know him that well and not realised the man is volatile. Maybe he knows you well, too. Maybe he knew about your little thing with Fiona. I can imagine her telling him she was going to inform her boyfriend Bart if he tried to touch her again. And that would have scared him. And you, because now somebody knew you were shagging a girl half your age and barely legal. So you went out to see Vincent and told him there’d be no charges pressed because you’re his buddy. And you’ve been keeping him sweet ever since.’
Tom paused and watched as the various emotions flashed over Healy’s face, while he tried and failed to disguise them – dismay, panic, shock. What, if any of it, was genuine?
‘You know what else? Maybe you told Vincent little fairy stories. Tales about when you worked in Cork and got to know Mary Ellen Lehane – what a dirty little slut she was. Isn’t that what you were implying when you kept asking her family about her sex life back then? And Vincent lapped it up, but now he knows too much about you. And if he shoots at two detectives, maybe we’ll fire at him in self-defence, or the ERU will gun him down …’
‘Woah, woah, woah.’ Healy had turned puce. ‘What the hell are you saying? You think I’m …? Jesus Christ, have you lost your mind?’
‘You didn’t even mention that you’d been involved in Mary Ellen’s case.’
‘Because I wasn’t! I mean, I was, but not in the way you mean. I was asked to go over to Glendale and help with a bloody search party. I talked to the family once or twice. I was based in Cork City, for crying out loud, I could have been asked to help out with the other missing girl, Treasa, as well. But I wasn’t.’
‘It’s not looking good, Bart,’ Ray said, tipping his chair back onto two legs with his heels. ‘You’re from Waterford too, aren’t you?’
‘I left Waterford when I was eighteen, for crying out loud!’
‘Still, you know the county and that’s where Pauline O’Hara and Una Dolan went missing. You can’t really believe we won’t be able to prove you had a thing with Fiona? Somebody is going to talk. Vincent, most likely. Maybe Fiona told others, too. If you lie to us now, it’s all going to be used against you when you’re charged.’
Healy sucked air into his cheeks, shaking his head.
‘Look, this is mad. Absolutely bloody crazy. Fine, I’ll admit it. I had a fling with Fiona. She threw herself at me. I’m only human, for crying out loud. But it wasn’t serious and I wasn’t breaking any laws. She’s an adult, whatever the age gap. I was fond of her but I knew the whole thing was a little embarrassing. That’s why I never mentioned it. And yes, Vincent knew about it. She told him, used me to threaten him, even though I’d asked her to keep it to herself. I understood why – he’d given her a fright.
‘But as for the rest of it, you’re way off. I’m as much in the dark about where Fiona’s gone as you are and I had nothing to do with those other girls. I never met Mary Ellen Lehane nor knew of her until I was sent down to Glendale that week. And I did not ring Vincent to say you were going up to his farm. I swear it. You can check my phone records.’
Tom crossed his arms and studied the other man. Where did the truth start and end?
‘This fling you had with Fiona. It didn’t happen to result in a little package last year, did it? Her son, Cían?’
The colour drained from Healy’s face.
‘She’s nineteen now, isn’t she, Ray?’ Tom turned to his deputy. ‘So that would make her eighteen when Cían was born and either just turned eighteen when he was conceived – or maybe seventeen?’
Ray nodded.
‘That’s right, boss.’
They looked back to Healy, who appeared to have shrunk into his chair.
He was up shit creek without a paddle now.