Aftermath (23 page)

"
F
ollowing
a dramatic low note in the continued bumbling travesty that is the Gardai’s attempt at crime investigation, celebrity
Good Morning Ireland
presenter and Dublin socialite, Annabel Morrison was arrested this morning for the attempted murder of her longtime husband Josh Morrison.

In what has got to be the biggest public public relations disaster in the force’s history, she was released after just an hour of questioning.

"Clearly grasping at straws, it is believed that the detectives tried to put pressure on Mrs Morrison into admitting foul play, so they could put an end to this highly public and hugely frustrating case. For more on the scene, Michael McCarthy."

“Thanks Joe. We are standing by for a comment from Annabel Morrison at her Killiney Hill home. Not much was stated as she sped away from Store Street station with her solicitor, leaving what must have been a harrowing hour-long interview with detectives. She has been released, so whatever it was they were hoping to find...here she comes now …”

"Thank you all so much for your concern during this terrible time for me and my family. I'm disheartened, and deeply saddened by the actions of the police force, and so dismayed that they would point the finger at me when my husband's attacker is still at large.

"Our family will be pursuing legal action when appropriate, but for now at this time, we are praying for my husband’s recovery, giving thanks for the efforts of the wonderful doctors and nurses, and we pray for the quick resolution of this criminal case.

"And detectives, I'll forgive that you put me in that room and tried to force me into admitting a heinous atrocity, but that forgiveness comes with a price. You must find my husband's attacker. You must not let this case get cold. It is your responsibility--your duty to do the right thing. You cannot simply let this fade away, I will not permit it. You owe it to me.

“Thank you all again for your concern, and I kindly request that you now give our family the peace and quiet we deserve."

"That appears to be her entire statement for the moment Joe, and she is already moving inside the gates of Villa Azalea, and not taking questions. It seems the force, and in particular the top brass at Phoenix Park, have some explaining to do now.”

"Thank you Michael, yes a dramatic climax to a dramatic story. What is the mood out there on Killiney Hill now?”

"Well we're all a bit weary of it, truth be told. Many of us wonder if there will be any resolution to this sordid tale, or are we to forever wonder how the authorities could be so inept--or if not, how the criminal mind could be so clever. We have to wonder that if a legend like Josh Morrison cannot be vindicated, how can any of us?”

“All important questions of course, Michael. Thank you for holding down the fort. And we look forward to hearing how this turns out. We'll keep an eye on the Morrisons, but in the meantime, we can't forget about Adopt a Cat Thursdays! With us after the break is DogsTrust Ireland, with some of the country's most adorable friends, all needing loving homes. Stay tuned."

"
W
hat's taking so long
?” Delaney continued pacing, biting his thumbnail.

Chris shrugged. "Can't expect them to do this in minutes. Could take days."

They were all seated around the conference table in Store Street, staring quietly at the phone placed in the middle.

Dylan Morrison was believed to be somewhere in Kenmare, and the local branch there were working feverishly to find him. Chances were after getting off the train on Saturday evening, he’d used a taxi or public transport to reach the family holiday home.

The room was silent as the detectives waited for an update, any update at all from their Kerry counterparts.

Reilly wondered what Josh would think when this was all over. After he woke up having been brutally attacked and left for death by his own son.

Or actually not his son, it seemed. Maybe that was the whole issue.

Maybe Dylan Morrison had uncovered a horrible secret, and had lashed out because of it.

What's worse she realized, was that after this, three members of the Morrison family would likely be sent to prison. As much as this had been about Josh as a victim, it was also now about him being guilty of either manslaughter or accessory to murder.

Because what they’d found on Annabel was also hugely incriminating for Josh. Once all was over and done with, and he was conscious and improving, Josh Morrison would be tried for a crime that happened twenty years before.

Not that he didn't deserve it, but it would add much insult to a tremendous amount of injury. He would have a hell of a few months coming back around to the new reality of his life. And even after the legal mayhem passed, what of his life? His wife, kids, his past. His poor twelve year old daughter, suddenly left without a family. His celebrity and business. Everything that Josh Morrison counted on, would be gone. In a flash.

And, sitting in a coma, he still had no idea.

The masses prayed for his recovery, but Reilly for one dreaded it. To come back to the world after all this would be devastating.

So who was Dylan’s real father? It had to be Cross, given the suggestions of an affair around the time of Dylan’s birth. Maybe he’d threatened to expose the truth about the new baby’s parentage on the night of the party, and Annabel had ensured that truth would never see the light of day?

The couple's complicated and nefarious past left a lot of sordid possibilities. All of them would be conjecture at this point.

If Dylan Morrison was found guilty, and Reilly believed he would be, then he was going to prison, no matter who his father was.

If Annabel Morrison was found guilty of anything, it would be protecting her son. Of trying to cover it up. Trying to pretend like it didn't happen.

Every person in that room desperately needed to go out and hit the nearest pub, but within a few hours - they hoped - they would have to conduct a very intense and cautiously constructed interview.

It wouldn't be easy and they were ready for several contingencies, but it would have to be cleared up once and for all whether Annabel had involvement in this or not.

If Dylan were to deny her involvement they'd have little to go on. But if it went the other way, they would need to proceed quickly and without incident.

Already the public was ready to tear down their doors for their treatment of the self-made princess, so any misstep on this part would likely result in the crucifixion of the entire department.

This time Helen Marsh was involved too. They needed the full support of the DPP.

Although Reilly hadn't heard as much, she was certain that earlier actions had created tensions between the detectives and the prosecutor’s office.

Whatever tensions were there would need to be navigated thoroughly.

Much was riding on what would happen after the kid was brought in.

If the DPP wasn't completely convinced, there would be no telling if the testimony would work in court. They needed the strong and guiding hand of Helen to ensure the case would fly. Because after all, that's what this was all about.

If they weren't able to get a conviction, then all of their efforts would be for naught. Not only would Josh's attack not be vindicated, but neither would public opinion.

Much was riding on what would happen when that young man was brought into the room.

It was clear everyone was going to be doubly careful with the coming milestones. They couldn't risk another embarrassment. Another false lead.

This had to be buttoned up and bullet proof. There could be no mistakes. Nothing that would invalidate the evidence collected.

They had to be completely on book, on script and in formation. No renegades. No rogues. No hunches.

They needed things to fit into a nice and easy package, delivered to the courthouse with a big bow.

S
till for hours
, they waited, going over everything, making sure all their ducks lined up in a perfect now.

And waited.

It seemed like days had passed by the time word made it to them that Dylan Morrison was downstairs being processed.

Once that was done, he was escorted straight to the interview room.

Reilly's heart was racing. At last, she was going to see the end of this case. The suspect was here. They would book him. This heinous chapter could end.

The group mutually agreed to start with Kennedy. The others would watch behind the two-way mirror, and begin to contribute as things escalated.

They wanted Chris for the real interview though, because his kindly, more easy-going demeanor would likely catch the boy off guard, and he'd be more inclined to open up.

Dylan Morrison was brought in by a uniform and sat without cuffs at the table. His hair was died black, he wore black rimmed glasses, a turtleneck and too-tight jeans.

His right hand was tightly wrapped in a make-do bandage. Blood stains had begun to appear on various parts, particularly around his thumb, and he had a notable callous on his right index finger.

Reilly saw that he fidgeted too much, tapping the heel of his size eleven Doc Martin boots rapidly, with no conscious realization he was doing it.

They let him sit, causing him to feel more and more discomfort.

Finally, after about fifteen minutes Kennedy came in. The dramatics were up to level ten. He clumsily held a huge pile of unorganized paperwork and files--Reilly knew them to be a prop--plus a clipboard, pen and two cups of coffee.

Struggling to get it all in, he stumbled then fumbled, dropping one of the coffees creating a huge and hot splash all over the floor.

“Feck it," he muttered. "Hold on.” And he threw the files in a chaotic mess, sending them strewn across the table.

Dylan sat back and looked at the clumsy detective with surprise.

"I'd offer you a coffee, mate,” he laughed. "But eh…”

He futilely tried to mop up the mess with a pocket handkerchief, cleared his throat and then sat, folding his hands and wearing a big grin.

“So. Josh Morrison not your dad, I hear?" he said, out of nowhere.

Dylan flinched and then stood up, "I want a solicitor."

“Right. Yes, you do have the right to that. I'll get you one. Stay here?"

Then he went out as abruptly as he came in. He walked into the back room and gave a quick bow for his performance, causing Reilly to smile.

"How long are you going to make him wait?”

"I think forty-five minutes, be enough? Good round frustrating amount of time."

"You know we're not getting anywhere without a solicitor anyway. Let the kid have one. What difference does it make? It'll go straight to a plea anyway."

"What is the plea?" Reilly asked.

Helen Marsh gave a brief sigh. "If there is … anyone else involved and he is able to disclose that information, we can alter his charge to attempted murder. Could reduce the sentence by a few years. If there is an accomplice, he or she would get the same charge."

"What if there is no accomplice?” Reilly asked.

"Either he claims innocent on attempted murder, and we charge manslaughter, or he pleads guilty for attempted and we charge that."

D
ylan seemed very irritable
. They watched him from behind the glass as he paced, looked around, walked back and forth--tried to see behind the two-way mirror. After a few more minutes of this, Kennedy returned, but didn't look so confident.

"What is it?" Chris asked.

"His solicitor is already here."

"His solicitor? He has a solicitor?"

Kennedy thumbed at the mirror and they all groaned when they saw Cormac Flanagan enter the room.

"For the love of..." Chris spat.

"And, well," said Kennedy turning red in his cheeks, "we didn't have a good discussion with him last we spoke, did we? Eh ... just a few hours ago."

F
lanagan looked very
happy to see Chris again.

"Oh, detective. Long time no see.”

His weasel-eyes narrowed and that made Reilly happy. The guy had no idea what he was up against. She especially enjoyed watching his face when this time, she too appeared in the interview room.

“Ah great, Ms Steel. She’s the one behind your mother's arrest," said Flanagan to Josh. "And now I suppose she is behind your arrest too. How much do you want to put the Morrison family through while you grasp at finding the actual criminal, Steel? It’s almost as if you have a vendetta."

Reilly said nothing, just spun her phone around so that he and his client could both see the screen.

"Do you remember this Skype call, Dylan? You were on a train."

Dylan looked at her and then shrugged. She sped the video forward to a point and paused one particular frame.

"Detective Delaney called you at 12:30 pm Dublin time, which would have been 3:30 am Pacific Standard Time, the middle of the night. Why then, is there a reflection of blue skies and clouds in your glasses? Here. And here."

The table was silent, and as suspected, Dylan had no answer for that.

"What does that prove?” spat Flanagan. "So he wasn't in California at the time. Not as if he had an obligation to disclose his location."

“OK," said Reilly.

She opened another folder and then showed them the calloused fingerprints they’d taken from the worktop in front of the knife block, and at various other places in the Morrison residence.

"Why are your fingerprints at your mom and dad's place?"

"Is it a crime for my client to visit his parents?"

"It is to lie about his location when prints specifically prove his presence at the crime scene."

The table fell silent and then Flanagan shifted in his seat.

“Are you charging my client with attempted murder?"

Reilly pointed to his hand, "How'd you hurt yourself?"

Dylan looked to Flanagan who raised his eyebrows.

"I was doing some DIY at the house in Kerry, lost control of my saw."

"Dylan," said Chris. ‘We can go through the motions. Examine your wounds and use forensics to connect them to the crime. They can very easily prove that you nicked yourself using, not a saw, but a knife. They will prove that the size eleven boot impression taken from the lane way behind your house, are the same as the boots you are wearing now. We can use phone masts to prove you were not just in the country, but at your house in Killiney, last Friday night. Just a few examples of the things that can prove you were there when your dad was attacked. Or we can just talk about your future. What it is you want to do about the spot you've found yourself in."

Again silence. Flanagan spoke at last, "What are you offering?"

Chris got right to the point.

"We know you did this, what we don't know is whether or not you were alone. Knowing that could make all the difference between a planned or spontaneous attempt to kill."

The young man was still avoiding eye contact, not displaying the qualities of an innocent person appalled at the directness of the accusation.

Flanagan spoke finally, "I need a few minutes to talk to my client.”

They both stood and Reilly was following Chris out, when she stopped and turned. "We know you did it Dylan, but we don't know why. Frankly it's not my job to know why. But it may help your plea."

Flanagan glared at her.

"Josh isn't your father. That was it, wasn't it?"

Like a match, Dylan Morrison flared up, standing suddenly. "That bastard lied to me my entire life. My entire life!"

"Dylan!" Flanagan howled, trying to pull him back down.

Reilly left with Chris, while Flanagan desperately tried to work out something.

Back in the observation room, they all watched the solicitor try to talk quietly with Dylan, who wasn't having any of it. He was pacing, deeply disturbed.

"What about just asking him straight if Annabel was there?” asked Kennedy.

"He's too agitated," said Chris. "And Flanagan won't let him say one more thing. We just need to wait and see what he advises him to do."

F
lanagan advised
his client for a good half hour before he finally asked the uniform to see the detectives. He started in immediately, "My client needs assurances that the penalty for spontaneous would reduce the base charges."

Chris nodded. "Well that all depends on what your client is willing to share."

"He had an accomplice."

"If your client will disclose the accomplice, he will be charged for spontaneous attempted murder, reducing his baseline custody time to five to ten years."

"My mom," Dylan said quietly. "It was my mom. She was there. She came in drunk, stumbling around a little, and then started drinking even more. Snipping at Dad... at... Josh. Like she always did when she was drunk.

Except this time I was there. I was just home for a couple of days, and they were talking about the separation, and Mom was being nasty, trying to turn me against him. And that's when she said it. That's when she blurted it out, that I was hers and not dad’s."

He stopped, the pressure of the confession choking him. Recovering, he continued.

"And dad... Josh... admitted it to me. Told me Mom was telling the truth - as if it was no big deal. So I just lost it. I saw red. The more I thought about it, the more pissed I became. I just came unhinged. Mom was weeping on the table and Dad … Josh just got up and started making fucking
tea
, as if was all no big deal! I don't even know why, but I was standing by the counter and I picked up the knife. And I went for him - the lying hypocritical bastard who’d always made me feel like I could never measure up, couldn’t follow in his footsteps and be the big rugby star he and everyone else wanted me to be. I hated that shit - always hated playing sports. I was no good at it. And I especially hated that stupid fucking college, and those rugby arseholes who thought they were all so fucking fantastic…”

Ah, Reilly thought, remembering the family portrait and recalling how unhappy she’d thought the son had looked in that college jersey.

A lifetime of failing to live up to expectations both public and private, and disappointing the man who, in the end wasn't even his father, had sent the kid over the edge.

“Mom … she said she'd take care of it. She gave me some money and rushed me out the patio door. Told me to head down to Kerry and lay low for a while, until everything blew over. She’d talk to Josh afterwards, she told me. She’d take care of it.”

The room was silent as his words settled in.

“Josh's phone messages were deleted, why was that?" Chris asked.

He shrugged, "Maybe to hide the fact I was in town? Josh had picked me up from the airport that evening, and we’d been discussing where we should meet outside arrivals.”

Just then Kennedy came in with a uniform. "Mr. Morrison, come with us, please.”

He duly cuffed Dylan Morrison and took him away.

Afterwards, Chris stayed quiet at the table, absently looking at Flanagan, who finally stood up after a time.

"I want to be with you when you pick her up," the solicitor said quietly.

"I can't let you get to her first," said Chris. "You know that."

"I know, but I want to be there.”