Dark Mirrors (33 page)

“And the money that you took from the company, part of which I’m assuming you left for me to find – and what was that? Guilt money? – well, I want you to give what’s left of it back.” Looking down on him, she spoke with her eyes more than words. “And if you don’t give it back, and I mean all of it, Philip, I’ll tell your friend Brady
exactly where to find you.” She paused. “You’ve got one month.”

With that threat she turned to leave but not before he lunged forward to take a firm hold of her wrist.

“Don’t threaten me, Esmée,” he cautioned malevolently, her words exposing the Philip she had last encountered.

She was almost relieved by this revelation and looked down carelessly at his hand.

“Let go of me!” she said calmly, holding his stare as his grip tightened dangerously. “I said,” she repeated firmly, “let me go or I swear by God I’ll scream so loud they’ll hear me back in Dublin.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the waiters step forward onto the threshold of the restaurant, his presence prompting Philip to release his grip.

“Don’t do this, Esmée!” he warned, watching her storm from the restaurant in her black high heels and black mac, the perfect attire for a grieving widow.

“Watch me!” she challenged without turning and marched with her head held high through the blustery town square.

Throwing euro notes nonchalantly from his pocket, Philip jogged after the marching woman who, technically, was never actually his wife.

“Esmée!” he implored, catching up to take hold of her arm, his tone reverting to the sorrowful pleading boy. “Look, come with me. Let me show you something. One last favour. Please?”

“No! I’ve had enough and I’m going home. Now, let go.”

“Esmée, please!” He was begging now. “Come with me!”

“Philip, let go of me now!”

Philip dropped his grip in temporary defeat and watched her stride across the cobbled square, struggling to remain upright as the narrow spindles of her heels caught in the crevices of the rough street.

“I’ll let you go this time, Esmée, but I’m not done yet!” he called after her, his voice echoing from all four corners of the square.

Hands on hips, he shook his head and smirked as she stumbled and cast a final defiant glare over her shoulder, her face a scripture of abhorrence and disgust. It was that passionate determination that first captivated him when they met. She was playing hard to get. Making him pay, and maybe he deserved it. He’d leave her a while, but it might, he admitted silently, just might take a trip to Dublin to change her mind. Maybe get the kids first. Then
she’d see sense. He watched her round the corner then, taking a fresh pack of Marlboro Lights from his jacket pocket, he lit one and made his way to the bar on the corner.

“
Una cerveza!
” he called to the young bar tender, then turned to look out at the square, resting his elbows on the bar and pensively pulling on his cigarette before resting his greedy eyes on the two brunettes drinking chilled Prosecco under the protective cover of the canopy.

* * *

For a brief moment the man wearing the Barcelona FC hat pulled down over his brow had thought they’d been rumbled and their cover blown. Turned on by the shock assumption, his sweat glands had gone into overdrive to ooze an overwhelming quantity of liquid through the pores of his brow. Swallowing hard, he’d fixed the open neck of his aertex sports shirt and watched Philip approach the bar, immediately thinking of credible denials and explanations for such a coincidental encounter. His startled eyes had darted to meet Dougie’s across the table. Thankfully Jorge, his Spanish counterpart, had missed the panic and had taken the swift reaction as both a warning and instruction. He immediately entered into an animated monologue, masquerading as conversation, in his native tongue. Maloney, seeming to listen intently, nodded occasionally, all the while keeping his malefactor captive in his periphery.

Now an involuntary sigh of relief helped neutralise the adrenaline that interfered with his heart rate as it became clear that Philip was merely stopping to smoke and unwind after his encounter with Esmée.

She had been easy to track. The information from her brother was brilliant. He could hardly contain his excitement as he thought of not just one but potentially two high-profile arrests. He just needed to nail this one. Philip was just a small part of a bigger deal. Like before, they said he couldn’t have acted alone. There must, the bank’s investigating fraud team told him, have been someone on the outside to fulfil the scam. And that was why they were there. They were to lay in wait and see who popped up. And they were bound to, so the fraud team said. Maloney had asked to be allowed to follow it through. The force, already on the back foot and humiliated at being hoodwinked by Robert aka Philip were happy for all the assistance they could get. So, although it wasn’t their area, Maloney and his partner were on the job.

Dougie took some convincing.

“What the hell? Spain? You’re havin’ a laugh! I’m not going to Spain!” he scoffed, biting into his breakfast roll.

“Come on, Dougie, we’ve got a chance to nail this fucker.”

“That’s not all you want to nail, is it?” he jeered, wiping sauce from the sides of his mouth.

“Don’t be an asshole!”

Dougie responded with a wink, a grin and a pursing of his lips.

“Come on, mate,” Maloney pushed. “It’ll look good for us. A great score. You’ve got your inspector’s exams coming up soon. This could make a difference.” He didn’t need to say any more. Dougie was in.

The detail from Tom was specific and allowed them travel ahead and observe Esmée’s arrival from the safety of the security zone on the top floor of the airport building. She looked so vulnerable, walking cautiously, watching behind as much as ahead, wary and alone, made conspicuous by her stealth. Even through the security screens he could feel the unease etched across her face as she scoured the awaiting crowds for her contact. Instinctively Maloney felt an urgent need to protect this woman, to watch over her and secure her safe return to her family.

I must be going soft, he chastised himself silently as he and a sweating Dougie followed Jorge, their appointed contact, to a waiting car that would discreetly shadow her as she exited the airport campus.

They hung back and waited while their newly adopted Spanish team put her under surveillance. They followed her through the day and later waited outside the hotel until she left with the man they quickly found out to be the proprietor’s husband. An expert operation, they switched at every other street corner to secure their cover, keeping in constant touch with each other through discreet earpieces. She was never lost and certainly never alone. Whatever happened, the instruction was to keep her in sight at all times, find out whom she met and secure her safety.

Maloney, Dougie and the team had taken up position, but only after Philip had arrived. Curiously, he too had arrived early and watched Esmèe’s entrance. He let her sit for almost half an hour before walking coolly up to her with, it appeared, not a care in the world. He too, Maloney assumed, was interested in seeing if anyone had followed her.

So, from the dark interior of the bar across the square, Maloney had watched the drama unfold. From the shadows he observed her. He watched her gesticulate, could almost follow the conversation by the vigorous movement of her hands and the visual contortions of her face – so confident – no, so attractive. There was something different about this indomitable woman across the square, something bullish. In her anger, the vulnerability and sadness of before was replaced by something, something almost powerful, and he liked it. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the stirring in his loins an inappropriate but not unwelcome reaction to his charge.

“What do we do now?” Jorge asked when Philip, taking his beer, with a charming smile joined the two laughing brunettes sitting at the opposite end of the bar.

Finishing their drinks, the detectives left the bar and strolled off in the direction of their jeep which was parked on an adjacent street. Once out of earshot, Maloney relayed instructions over the earpieces to the remaining agents.

“Tio, you stick to her like glue,” he instructed and watched as a short-haired Spaniard nodded discreetly in his direction then picked up pace to follow Esmée. “Let us know the moment she leaves the hotel. Leon, go into the bar and watch him. If he leaves, follow him. We’ll track you from the car.” He turned to Jorge. “We have to keep an eye on this one. This guy is a small link in a big puzzle. Our job is to find the other pieces and make them fit.”

They sat into the jeep and listened to the rain patter on the roof.

Maloney’s pulse was racing. So he was alive. She was right all along.

“Well done, mate!” Dougie slapped him on the shoulder from the back seat. “You were right on the money with this one!”

They should be celebrating, Maloney thought, but something left him cold. He wasn’t ready to cheer just yet. He thought about Esmée making her way to the hotel and wondered what was going through her head. What would she do next? She had no idea that they were there, watching her. The question now, he speculated, was whether or not she would, once back in Dublin, disclose her engagement with her assumed dead husband. Would she turn him in? Then he brooded over Philip back at the bar getting acquainted with his new female companions, flirting openly and enjoying himself according to Leon’s report. He longed for the day when he could confront him, in a secure cell, get right under this git’s skin to see for himself just what it was that made this asshole tick and wind him right down. He was close, so very close. All that remained was for him to bide his time.

Chapter 24

Esmée’s very own war council met late on the morning of her return. Though ignorant of the presence of her inconspicuous travelling shadows, Esmée had suspected the consequences of her Spanish liaison would not move well in her favour. Unable to think clearly, the commotion of her thoughts creating pandemonium inside her head, she had called her brother for help. How she ended up with this ‘family reunion’ she wasn’t quite sure.

“You never were good at secrets,” she’d proclaimed in disgust, assuming that the inclusion of her sisters in this tryst was her brother’s only treacherous indiscretion.

“Don’t!” he’d warned with a raised finger. “This involves all of us and you know it. Anyway, they’d have killed me if they ever found out I’d kept this from them.”

The meeting was headed at the top of the table by Tom, spinning a pen between his thumb and index finger, Lizzie on his right scribbling furiously, Penny on his left looking at Esmée like a lost bird, Fin next to her, solid and calm.

Esmée faced them all, numb and weary, and recounted the encounter with Philip.

“Right, so,” Lizzie announced. “Let’s just go through this one more time . . .”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Lizzie, do we have to do this again? I’m tired, I’ve been up all night.” Her head flopped heavily into her cupped and clasped palms.

“Yes, yes, we do. Whether you like it or not, you need to be prepared.”

“For what?” she challenged. “What are they going to do, arrest me?”

“Don’t be facetious, Esmée,” Lizzie rebuked her. “You have to go to the police and, yes, they very well might.”

“What for?” she argued. “I didn’t know it was him.”

“That may well be,” said Lizzie, “but they may just as easily argue that while you weren’t sure, you had a fair idea . . .” Her raised eyebrows begged a further retort.

Lizzie was only trying to help, Esmée knew that. It was her job as a lawyer to ascertain the facts. But going over and over the same details was mind-numbing and frustrating. She wasn’t even sure she knew herself what had just happened. The lack of sleep and emotional energy was severely impairing her ability to think straight.

Having spent months wondering ‘Alive? Dead? Dead? Alive?’ the answer was troubling. She had spent so many hours living the moment in her head, the moment when she could face him, could ask him all the questions that had been stacking up. She had rehearsed her ‘How dare you?’ speech in the mirror because deep down she always knew she would see him again. Call it denial or defiance or just plain stubborn, she had never fully accepted that he had committed suicide. And now that the anxiously anticipated episode had passed, she couldn’t tell if she’d done it justice. Reviewing the conversation didn’t help much either as she only found fault with the bits she had said and the words that ultimately failed her. She should really have slapped him, kicked him hard where it hurt most, and was truly disappointed she hadn’t. And now, here she was: stuck in the same time warp, right back where she started, at the kitchen table with a mug of tea in her hand, surrounded by Fin and her brother and sisters.

And now? What next?

Somewhere outside the realms of her consciousness they were discussing consequences – her actions, his actions, his probable return – because the authorities were bound to bring him back. And like a plague he was bound to spill his malodorous poison upon her children and sully their lives, just as they were beginning to be comforted by the warmth of a new life, a good life, a much better life than before. They were happier. Yes, they missed him, but freakishly the man they missed no longer existed. The night he left his car on the cliff the persona of Philip Myers really had drowned. Christ, how was she going to explain that one when they were old enough to be told? A wave of nausea engulfed her as the weight she had been carrying shifted from fear of his death to fear of his life.