Bleed a River Deep (16 page)

He wiped his mouth with his hand, which he then rubbed clean against his trouser leg.

‘What can I get you?’ he asked, his hand already lifting a pint glass from the counter to fill.

‘Just a Coke will be fine,’ I said, producing my warrant card. ‘I’d like to speak to you for a moment.’

He flipped the glass once and caught it, then placed it on the counter before glancing at my card. He turned his back to me to lift a Coke bottle from the shelf behind him. As he did so he said, ‘You’re a bit off your patch.’

‘I’m just looking for some information,’ I explained, taking a seat at the bar.

‘Aren’t youse always,’ Curran said, pouring the Coke into a glass and dropping in a few cubes of ice before placing the drink in front of me.

‘About the Eligius break-in . . .’ I continued.

He smiled a little sheepishly. ‘Seemed a good idea at the time,’ he said. ‘Depends what you want to know.’ He leant on the bar.

‘The young fella Bradley who went in with you is dead. I’m investigating the killing. I believe he posted some documents out from Eligius; I’m wondering if you know what they were about? Or if he mentioned to you why he was there?’

‘He was protesting against the war. And that arsehole Hagan, poncing about like the saviour of Ireland.’

‘Do you know what he was looking for?’

Curran shook his head. ‘Did you not see the footage? I spent the evening hanging out a window wi’ a megaphone. I know he was looking for something, but to be honest I don’t know what and I don’t give a fuck.’

‘Did you organize the protest?’ I asked. ‘How did you all meet?’

‘We didn’t. Leon put an appeal on Bebo and some of those other Internet sites, looking for protesters to join him. Twenty-five signed up – only four of us went in.’

‘What about the other twenty-one?’

‘They bottled out.’

‘That must have been a pisser,’ I observed. I was reminded of my own aborted attempt at protest in college. A load of our friends had said they’d come along with us. They never showed.

‘You get used to it,’ Curran said. ‘Everyone cries about the introduction of water charges, then you organize a demo and the same fifty people arrive every time. People like to complain, but that’s all they do.’

‘What was Leon Bradley’s beef with Eligius?’ I asked. ‘I spoke to John Young and he seemed uncomfortable with the whole thing.’

‘I dunno. I thought Bradley was a bit of an amateur.’

‘We believe he posted some things out from Eligius – but we haven’t been able to find them.’

‘Posted? What do you mean?’

‘He left someone a message saying he was posting documents out to her.’

‘Maybe he brought them out with him? Posting them out seems a bit strange.’

I shook my head. ‘No, he was searched when he came out.’

Curran nodded. ‘We all were,’ he agreed.

‘We know he posted something, but we can’t work out where. It hasn’t turned up.’

Curran grimaced in concentration. ‘It wouldn’t have, of course,’ he said finally, smiling, his hands slapping on the bar counter. ‘Sure the place only opened today.’

‘What place?’ I asked, a little confused.

‘Eligius. It’s been closed since we broke in. Doing security checks and that. It opened this morning again. If Bradley did post the stuff in Eligius, they’re sending the stuff out for him without even realizing it. Christ, that’s genius. Maybe he wasn’t such an amateur at all.’ He laughed, then added, ‘This stuff he posted? Does it have anything to do with his death?’

‘Possibly not,’ I conceded.

‘Then why the fuck are you so wrapped up in finding it?’ he asked, his smile twisting on his lips.

I couldn’t think of a satisfactory response. The Coke in my glass suddenly tasted sickeningly syrupy.

After I left Curran, I called Jim Hendry and told him about the closure of Eligius and the possibility that whatever Leon had posted out of the building would be arriving the following morning. He promised me he would do what he could, but I began to suspect that he was getting fed up with my requests.

That night, Debbie and I got the kids to bed and had just sat down to watch something on the TV when my mobile rang. I didn’t recognize the number and it took me a moment to place the voice.

‘Inspector Devlin?’

‘Yes,’ I said, shrugging to Debbie, who was demanding to know who had interrupted our night on the sofa.

‘Linda Campbell here, Inspector. We met at—’

‘Ms Campbell, I remember you. How can I help you?’

She paused for a moment. ‘It’s not me who needs your help. It’s Fearghal. He’s been arrested at Orcas.’

The previous day, Weston had contacted the National Museum, requesting that Fearghal and Linda be sent up to Orcas. He wanted their help with the preparations for ‘Kate’s’ transportation to America, where she was to join the personal collection of Cathal Hagan.

Fearghal confided to Linda that he suspected the decision to involve him constituted a public smack on the wrists for his brother’s actions. Weston had apparently wasted no opportunity in reminding Fearghal that Ireland was losing this unique cultural artefact because of Leon’s recklessness. It was a national embarrassment, he said.

Biting his tongue, Fearghal had gone for dinner with Linda. During the meal, he had become increasingly drunk and agitated. He had spoken about the loss of his brother and the loss of Kate as if they were somehow connected. If they had never found Kate, he said, none of this might have happened. And if he could keep Kate in the country, he might retain some dignity. His brother might be proud of him, wherever he was. Halfway through the meal he lifted his keys and strode out of the restaurant.

Apparently he made his way to the goldmine, where Kate was lying in her transport case, ready for her journey to America the following morning.

Using the wheel brace from the boot of his car, Fearghal had smashed his way into the building. He was caught on security cameras, clambering through the shattered remains of the front door and making a beeline for the crate he had helped pack hours earlier. Using the edge of the brace intended for removing wheel trims, Fearghal had managed to prize open the top of the crate.

He was then filmed smashing in the container in which Kate was sealed. Pushing his hands though the broken glass, he lifted the woman’s body out and made his way back to the car park.

Alerted by the burglar alarm, the Guards found him struggling back towards the pit in which Kate had been discovered, her desiccated body cradled in his arms.

I collected Linda from her hotel and we drove together to the station. She was on edge for the duration of the journey and I tried with little luck to engage her in conversation.

‘Have you and Fearghal been dating long?’ I asked.

She turned her face towards me. ‘We’re not dating,’ she snapped quickly. ‘He was my tutor at college.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I thought . . .’

‘Fearghal helped me through a bad patch when I was a student. He’s a good man.’

‘We were good friends once,’ I agreed.

‘He told me so,’ she replied. ‘He used to look up to you, he said.’

It was my turn to look at her. She turned her head away and did not speak again for the rest of the journey.

When we got to the station, Fearghal had already been charged and bailed. He sat on a plastic chair in the foyer, a brown envelope on the floor beside him into which his possessions had been placed following his arrest. He was bent double in the chair, as if winded, his head resting on his hands. When we came in he looked up. His face was puffy and pale, his forehead shining with sweat. His eyes were red-ringed and bleary.

He swallowed drily and attempted to say my name. I put my hand on his shoulder, while Linda sat down next to him and asked him how he had been treated.

‘Fine,’ he muttered. ‘How’s Kate?’

Linda looked up at me before answering, which in itself told him all he needed to know.

‘She’s . . . she’s badly damaged,’ she said.

‘Come on, Fearghal,’ I said, helping him up off his seat. ‘Time to go.’

He leant his weight on me as we crossed the road to my car.

‘I’m sorry, Benny,’ he said, patting my back with his hand. ‘I’ve caused nothing but trouble since I got here.’

‘Don’t worry about it, Fearghal,’ I said. ‘Still fighting the good fight, eh?’

‘I couldn’t let Hagan get his fucking hands on her. They’ll not be able to sell her now,’ Fearghal said.

‘Get that drunk out of here,’ a voice called from behind us. Still holding on to Fearghal, I turned around.

Harry Patterson and John Weston stood at the door of the station. Weston had obviously given his orders to Patterson, who was shaking hands with him as he left.

I should have turned and kept walking. I shouldn’t have spoken.

Fuck it, I thought. Leading Fearghal to the car and handing Linda my keys, I made my way back across to the station.

‘I want the Rivers Agency to test the water in the Carrowcreel,’ I said, standing in front of the two men. ‘I believe they’ll find pollutants in the river coming from his goldmine.’

‘I want to hump that wee girl that works over in the café there,’ Patterson said, nodding towards the building opposite. ‘But it’s not going to happen, is it?’ He laughed forcedly and turned to Weston, encouraging him to share his joke.

Weston, however, was not smiling. ‘That’s a serious allegation,’ he said. ‘Have you any proof?’

‘Janet Moore knew it. I believe that she and Leon Bradley were gathering the evidence to prove it.’

‘It’s fucking nonsense,’ Patterson interrupted. ‘Is this what you had Gorman checking post-mortem results for?’

My surprise must have shown.

‘Do you think she’d go running behind my back for the likes of you? She came in and told me the minute you asked,’ he said.

‘I want this done before I return to work on Monday, Harry,’ I persisted, regardless.

‘You think you’ll be back on Monday, do you?’ he asked, smiling. ‘I think another week or two yet must be needed to really hammer the message home.’ With that he stepped closer to me and mouthed the words carefully. ‘You’re not fucking wanted here.’

I nodded my head. ‘You told Karl Moore that his wife was having an affair.’

Patterson stopped moving. His eyelids drooped a little, hooding his expression. ‘What are you slabbering about?’

‘You told Karl Moore about his wife and Leon. He killed her days later. To my mind, that makes you responsible.’

‘You’re full of shite,’ Patterson spat.

‘We’ll see,’ I said. ‘When Moore wakes up, we’ll find out. I’m betting he’ll tell us what you said to him at football on Thursday night.’

‘She couldn’t keep her mouth shut – or her legs,’ Patterson hissed. ‘Not my fault he topped the bitch.’

‘Actually, I think it is, Harry,’ I said. ‘You gave him a motive.’

‘Fuck off,’ Patterson said, though the comment lacked his earlier conviction.

‘I want results by Monday, Harry,’ I said. ‘We’ll sort out the rest later.’

I turned and strode across the street, half expecting some final comment to be thrown behind me, but none came.

I got into the car and fired the ignition.

‘Is everything all right?’ Linda asked, leaning in from the back seat where Fearghal lay slumped against her.

‘Not by a mile,’ I muttered, glancing once more at where Patterson and Weston stood in the gathering darkness.

Chapter Eighteen

Thursday, 19 October

Next morning I drove to Janet Moore’s house. If I could at least see an envelope, or perhaps even catch the postman, I might learn what Leon Bradley had posted to her.

By eleven o’clock the postman had yet to arrive, and one of the Moores’ neighbours had evidently grown suspicious, for a PSNI jeep pulled up beside me.

Jim Hendry rolled down the window of the jeep and leant out. ‘I thought it might have been you. What the fuck are you planning on doing? You’ve no key.’

‘I was going to mug the postman,’ I joked.

‘You’re too late,’ Hendry replied – except from his expression it was clear that he wasn’t joking.

‘What?’ I said.

‘You’re too late. Someone knocked him down this morning on his way out the Derry Road on his bike. Clipped him with a car.’

‘Did he see who did it?’

‘Some guy with a pony-tail,’ he said. ‘Got out to help him up, then grabbed his post-bag and drove off.’

‘Pony Tail again?’ I said. Things were starting to take shape. But how did Pony Tail fit in with Eligius?

‘Now don’t start seeing conspiracies,’ Hendry said, tossing me a cigarette from the jeep window before lighting one himself. ‘It might have been a genuine accident.’

‘Except they stole his bloody post-bag,’ I argued. Then I realized the full impact of the theft. ‘So, we’ll never know what Leon Bradley found in Eligius. Someone beat us to it.’

Hendry nodded his head. ‘Almost,’ he said, his moustache twitching above his smile. He lifted a brown envelope off the dashboard and handed it to me. It was stamped with the Eligius logo and Janet Moore’s address was written on it by hand.

‘How did you get this?’ I asked.

‘I went to the Sorting Office last night. Explained that the woman in question was murdered and that.’

The envelope had already been opened. ‘What’s in here?’ I asked.

‘I wouldn’t be getting my hopes up,’ Hendry said. ‘A bunch of figures. Shipping orders. Productivity reports. Nothing anyone could make head nor tail of.’

I opened the envelope and took out the sheaf of documents inside. Hendry was right. Several pages listed productivity percentages over several months, with abbreviations at the top of the page above each column: Ag, Au, Cu, Fe. The next sheet listed shipping orders over the previous year. The name on the invoice was V M Haulage.

As I was replacing the documents in the envelope, my mobile rang. The number on the screen had a Northern prefix. When I answered, a man’s voice snapped, ‘Who’s this?’

‘You called me,’ I said. ‘Who’s this?’

‘Is your name Devlin?’ the man demanded.

‘Who the hell is this?’