Chapter Twenty-six

After the paddle out, Jack queued with the multitudes for his turn at the outdoor shower in the carpark behind Tallows Beach. Caitlin was nowhere to be seen. Back at the Toyota, Jack had no choice but to change into yesterday’s clothes again. He retrieved the memory stick from where he’d hidden it under the seat and walked back towards the crowd. He didn’t find Caitlin, but someone had seen her driving off with Zoe as soon as they’d all come back to shore.

The memory stick was burning a hole in his pocket. He was so tempted to plug it into his laptop and look at what was on it, but it really belonged to Caitlin and she had said she wanted to be there for the big reveal. He tried her mobile over and over, but it went straight to voicemail.

A couple of hours later he still hadn’t tracked her down. He sent multiple texts suggesting they meet at The Beacon but there was no response.

Jack was now highly suspicious that Patrick’s death wasn’t all that it seemed. So suspicious, that he felt the police needed to start investigating before more time was lost and the trail went even colder. He wanted justice for Patrick, and for Caitlin. So, as reluctant as Jack was to risk the wrath of Inspector Begley, he was soon pushing open the door of the police station.

When he presented to reception, Constable Anderson’s eyes widened.

Jack leaned in and asked quietly, ‘Is Begley in?’

‘He’s in a meeting, in his office.’ The policeman glanced nervously at the door. ‘With his wife. I have strict instructions he’s not to be disturbed.’

‘Good,’ said Jack. ‘Can I speak with Sergeant Kowalski, or is he with his wife too?’

Anderson looked perplexed. ‘But Kowalski … he’s not married.’

After Jack pointed to the telephone, Anderson made the call.

Kowalski appeared and motioned Jack through the door to the inner sanctum. ‘You’re a brave man coming here, especially when Inspector Begley is in,’ said a smiling Kowalski, ‘but you’ve picked a good time, he’s having morning tea with his wife, so you probably won’t get your head kicked in.’ Kowalski showed Jack down the corridor, and they entered his office. ‘I’m told Mrs Begley’s sponge cake is a winner, not that he ever shares any with me.’

As Kowalski closed the door, a booming voice made them both jump. Begley was leaning against the wall behind the door, waiting, his eyes hostile.

‘I thought I could smell something.’

Kowalski stared at his feet, embarrassed.

Begley waved them to the seats on either side of the desk. ‘Please carry on, I’m merely an observer. Pretend I’m not here.’ And he remained exactly where he was, back to the wall, arms crossed.

After they sat down, Jack cleared his throat and looked at Kowalski. ‘I’m here to report a crime.’

‘What have you done this time?’ asked Begley.

They both turned to the inspector.

It was Kowalski who spoke. ‘Sir, I don’t think—’

‘You’re right,’ said Begley, ‘I’m not in the room.’

Jack could sense Begley’s intimidating presence behind him. ‘It’s about Patrick O’Shaughnessy,’ he said.

Begley coughed, but said nothing.

‘Patrick was investigating something that might have put his life in danger. He was scared. He upgraded the security at his house, took out a new life insurance policy, and went to extreme lengths to hide the documents he was working on. He also didn’t think it was safe for Caitlin to stay at the house with him.’

Jack could hear Begley’s breathing. The silence was worse than the interjections.

Kowalski nodded his encouragement. ‘And the crime?’

‘Someone is trying to shut down the story he was working on. Patrick’s laptop was stolen the night he disappeared and was replaced with one that looks identical. His phone was also taken. Someone broke into his house and may have shredded all his documents. They also broke into The Beacon, there were new scratches on the lock.’

Kowalski opened a notebook and picked up a pen. ‘How certain are you? You said, “may have shredded”?’

‘Very.’ But Jack felt Begley’s hostile gaze boring into his back, and he suddenly felt a whole lot less confident. He risked a look at Begley, who was glaring at him and shaking his head.

Kowalski scribbled some notes, then asked, ‘And are you thinking this is related to Patrick’s death, given much of this happened on the same night?’

And that was it, Kowalski had lit the blue touch paper and Begley could control himself no longer. He walked over and placed both hands on the desk, leaning his face in so close Jack was suffocated by an overwhelming whiff of Old Spice.

There was a long pause before Begley asked, with barely contained fury, ‘Tell me, Mr Harris, did you sleep well last night?’

Jack shook his head.

‘Are you feeling anxious yourself?’

Jack didn’t answer.

‘Do you have scratches on your front-door lock? Have you ever bought a new laptop, or shredded a document?’ Begley waited but there was no reply. ‘And how much do you think, Mr Harris, these imaginary people in your mind, how much do you think they would have had to pay the shark to bite Patrick O’Shaughnessy’s bloody leg off? Mighty smart shark to know which person to chew. Perhaps they blooded it, waved Patrick’s underwear in front of its nose.’

Jack said nothing and the silence lingered.

‘You’re pretty fucking quiet for a so-called journalist.’

‘We can’t be certain it was a shark until we have the autopsy report.’

‘Well, Sherlock, a good investigative journalist should get his facts right before he walks around sniffing other people’s bums. The forensic pathologist gave me a verbal report this morning. Shark. A real one. Not an assassin dressed in an inflatable shark costume.’

Jack was shocked, but said nothing.

‘Did you hear what I said?’

Jack nodded.

Begley continued. ‘Have you discussed these lunatic con­spiracy theories with Patrick O’Shaughnessy’s daughter?’

Jack gave another small nod.

‘Oh, well done you. So helpful in her time of need.’

Kowalski stared blankly at his notepad, avoiding the gaze of both men.

But then Begley re-directed his anger at him. ‘I don’t want you to waste a single minute more on this fantasy. Get him out of here. And if he ever puts so much as a toenail back in this police station, arrest him for public nuisance.’

With that, Begley was gone, leaving a large and welcome silence in his wake.