Taken for Dead (Kate Maguire) (42 page)

‘He claims that he called on you yesterday evening because he came home to discover that his wife was missing. He was extremely worried about her whereabouts because she suffers from mental instability, but since you are a senior police officer he assumed that you might be able to offer him some advice and assistance.’

‘The man is a chronic wife-beater,’ said Katie. ‘His wife had come to me earlier and she was so badly battered that I took her to the Cuanlee Refuge. He turned up at my door late in the evening, langered and very angry. When I let him in, he attempted to assault me. I retaliated with a single kick and a blow with my elbow. After that he left.’

‘That’s not the way he tells it,’ put in Assistant Commissioner O’Reilly, turning away from the window. ‘The way he tells it, you were the worse for drink yourself and you told him that you had managed to get rid of his wife so that you and he could continue a sexual relationship which you had already initiated with him, without her interference.’

‘He said
what
? You should see the state of the poor woman. She’s bruises and bites all over. You can get in touch with Brigid McNulty at Cuanlee yourself and ask her.’

‘I’m asking
you
, Katie,’ said Jimmy O’Reilly. ‘Is it true that you had intimate relations with this David ó Catháin?’

‘I refuse to answer that,’ Katie retorted. ‘If a formal complaint has been made against me, then I’ll need to consult with a lawyer.’

Bryan Molloy held up the sheet of notepaper. ‘David ó Catháin states categorically that after his wife suffered an acute mental episode one evening he came to you to ask for moral support. Instead, you invited him into your bedroom and enticed him into sexual relations. He admits that he allowed you to take advantage of his extreme emotional distress, but that he regretted it immediately and that after that evening he had no wish for the incident to be repeated. Subsequently, you asked him around to your house on several occasions, but each time he politely declined, explaining to you that he was deeply attached to his wife and his priority was to take care of her.’

‘I’m not answering any of those accusations,’ said Katie.

‘You understand that a thorough investigation will have to be conducted,’ said Jimmy O’Reilly. ‘Questions will have to be asked about your suitability to remain in the position of detective superintendent, especially in the light of your recent poor performance in regard to the kidnappings by the High Kings of Erin.’

‘David ó Catháin’s accusations are not related in any way to my investigations of the High Kings of Erin.’

‘Yes, Katie, you can say that. But any police psychologist will tell you that the stresses that occur in an officer’s working life almost always take a toll on their personal life. And this is clearly what has happened here.’

‘I resent that,’ Katie snapped back at him. ‘We are making slow but positive progress in the High Kings of Erin case, and David ó Catháin’s version of events is completely distorted and mostly untrue.’

‘But you
did
have sexual relations with him?’ asked Bryan Molloy, smiling one of his smug, golf-club smiles.

‘Bryan – I am not answering any more questions without legal representation,’ said Katie, trying to keep her voice steady, although inside she was trembling with suppressed anger. She felt like stalking over to him and tipping his desk over on top of him.

‘You’re entitled to that, of course,’ said Jimmy O’Reilly. ‘But considering your rank and the seriousness of the allegation against you, I am going to forward this matter to the Garda Ombudsman Commission. In the meantime, you will have to consider yourself suspended from duty. Make sure you hand in your ID badge and your weapon.’

‘That is ridiculous, sir. I am right in the middle of dealing with two life-threatening situations with regard to Pat Whelan being kidnapped, and Eoghan Carroll having been taken. It’s quite possible that Eoghan may already have been murdered.’

‘I’m aware of that, of course. Bryan has been keeping me up to date.’

‘That’s not the half of it,’ Katie protested. She held up her hand and counted off the points she was making with her fingers. ‘I am also supervising the investigations into the murders of Garda McCracken and Detective Garda Goold, as well as the killing of Norman and Meryl Pearse, and the shooting of Derek Hagerty – not to mention Micky Crounan being beheaded. Plus, I am close to indicting Michael Gerrety on a charge of reckless endangerment. Plus, I have two major drugs operations running. Plus countless other cases, including the prosecution of twenty-three people under the Public Order Act after that water-meter riot at County Hall.’

‘I’m conscious of your considerable workload, Katie. Maybe that’s part of your problem. But Inspector Fennessy is perfectly capable of taking over the supervision of your ongoing cases for the time being, and Bryan has suggested that we draft in a very experienced inspector from Limerick to assist him.’

‘With all due respect, sir, do you really understand what you’re proposing here?’ Katie demanded. ‘One of the most cold-blooded gangs of kidnappers and extortionists and murderers that we have ever known in Cork is still unidentified and at liberty, and the lives of two of their victims are hanging in the balance even as we speak. And you want to suspend me because my abusive next-door neighbour is cribbing that I gave him a kick?’

Jimmy O’Reilly came up uncomfortably close to her, although he didn’t look her in the eye. He looked instead at the lapels of her maroon tweed jacket, as if he had seen a stray bit of fluff on one of them and was debating with himself whether he ought to pick it off.

‘I was never keen on your appointment, Katie, but the instructions came from Dublin Castle that they wanted a woman in a senior position for public-relations purposes. As it turns out, I was right and they were wrong. You can’t promote officers beyond their level of competence just because they happen to have a bosom.’

Katie stared at him. She could hardly believe what he had said to her. She looked across at Bryan Molloy, but he still had that all-boys-together smirk on his face.

Without saying another word, she turned and walked out.

‘
Katie
!’ she heard Bryan Molloy calling out when she was halfway along the corridor. Then, ‘
Detective Superintendent
!’

She didn’t answer. She went into her own office and stood behind her desk, breathing hard, wondering what to do next. She had an urgent duty to try and save Pat Whelan and Eoghan Carroll, if they were still alive, and she also had the responsibility of catching and prosecuting the High Kings of Erin. How could they possibly suspend her?

She was still standing there when Detective Sergeant Ni Nuallán knocked at her door.

‘Yes?’ she said distractedly.

‘Mr and Mrs Carroll have received a phone call from the High Kings of Erin.’

‘When?’

‘Only about ten minutes ago.’

‘What did they say? They haven’t harmed Eoghan, have they?’

‘No, but they said they had him captive and they want fifty thousand euros for his release.’

‘Otherwise they’ll do what?’

‘They didn’t say what would happen to him if the Carrolls didn’t pay up, but I don’t think they needed to.’

‘Well, you’d better tell Inspector Fennessy,’ said Katie.

‘I will, of course.’

Detective Sergeant Ni Nuallán hesitated, as if she were waiting for Katie to say something else.

‘Is that all?’ she asked her.

‘What do you mean, “is that all”?’

‘I mean, don’t you want to hear the recording? It definitely sounds like the same scobe who called you. That high, raspy voice, like.’

Katie said, ‘I’ll be down in a minute to talk to Inspector Fennessy myself. The thing of it is, I’ve had an official complaint made against me. Jimmy O’Reilly has relieved me of duty until it’s cleared up.’

She found it hard to blink back the tears, although she didn’t feel sorry for herself. They were tears of frustration, because she really believed that now she had thought of a way to outwit the High Kings of Erin – and they were tears of anger at Jimmy O’Reilly’s coarse misogyny. She had been so close to saying to him, ‘Oh, and I suppose
you
were promoted because you happen to have a prick, is that it?’

Detective Sergeant Ni Nuallán came towards her and raised her arms as if she were about to hug her in sympathy. As much as it would have comforted her, however, Katie waved her away. ‘No, Kyna. I’ll deal with it. I have enough trouble as it is. It’s that next-door neighbour of mine, the one I was telling you about. He went for me – tried to push me around. I think he might even have raped me if I’d given him the chance. I slapped him a kick, that’s all.’

‘But if you were just protecting yourself, and he deserved it, that’s so unfair. Like, what’s O’Reilly thinking of?’

‘I wish I knew, Kyna. Maybe I’d understand then what in the name of Jesus is going on in this place. I’ll tell you, I’m beginning to smell something seriously rotten in this station. I only wish I knew what it was.’

From somewhere downstairs, Pat Whelan heard voices and laughter and doors slamming. Almost immediately afterwards, he heard car engines starting up outside, one after the other, at least three of them, and the crunching of tyres on shingle. Another door slammed, and then there was silence.

He waited for a short while and then he eased himself up into a sitting position, sucking in his breath, and swung his legs off the side of the bed. His chest was still tender and his ribs were so bruised that he could have groaned out loud, but he bit his lower lip, and sniffed deeply, and stayed where he was, not moving, until the pain subsided.

The silence downstairs was broken for a few seconds by somebody tunelessly whistling, but then even that stopped. Another door closed, but much more quietly than before.

He managed to stand up and shuffle slowly across the attic. He tried the doorknob, expecting the door to be locked, but it opened easily. Outside, there was a long landing with two skylights and another door at the very far end. He could smell bacon, which reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything since the High Kings of Erin had brought him here. They had left a two-litre bottle of Ishka spring water beside his bed, but even if they had given him biscuits or sandwiches he probably would have found swallowing too painful.

He stood in the open doorway, wondering what he ought to do. If three cars had left the house, there couldn’t be more than two people left here to guard him, Before they had beaten and mutilated him like this, he might have taken his chances and tried to escape. In the state he was in, though, he knew that he was no match for anybody. Even that girl, Ruari, could stop him, anaemic and thin as she was.

He was still standing there when the door at the far end of the landing suddenly opened. He was about to step back and quickly close his door when he saw a young man emerge, rubbing his wrists and looking cautiously around him.

The young man caught sight of him and stopped still, but with the bloodstained bandages around his chest and his baggy grey tracksuit bottoms it must have been plain that he wasn’t one of the High Kings of Erin.

‘Hey,’ called the young man, although not too loudly. ‘You’re not one of them, are you?’

Pat shook his head. ‘Look at the state of me la. What do you think?’

The young man came out of his room and walked along the landing. ‘Shit,’ he said, as he came nearer. ‘What the hell did they do to you?’

‘Cut my fecking nipples off. Part of their great historical tradition, they said, so that I could never be a king.’

He held out his hand and said, ‘Pat’s the name, Pat Whelan. Maybe you know my music store on Oliver Plunkett Street. Whelan’s.’

‘Of course, yes. I bought a kazoo in there once when I was about nine. Eoghan Carroll. Cut your nipples off, Jesus. What did you do to deserve that?’

‘Well, it’s a long story,’ said Pat. He didn’t think it was wise to tell this young man too much about his faked kidnap and how he had changed his mind about it – not until he knew more about him. ‘I was giving them ire, for some reason. I’m not too sure myself. They’re not what you’d call forgiving. How about you?’

Eoghan glanced down the staircase. The smell of frying bacon was stronger than ever. ‘They seem to think that I was a witness to something shady that they’d been up to, even though I wasn’t. They came around to my parents’ house and dragged me out of the door and shot and killed a garda while they were doing it. Now they won’t let me go unless my parents come up with fifty thousand euros. It’s pure insanity.’

He held up his wrists and showed Pat the deep scarlet dents in them. ‘They had me tied to the bed with washing line but the bed frame was sharp metal and I kept on rubbing and rubbing and in the end I managed to fray it right through.’

Pat said, ‘We need to get ourselves out of here. I think they’re going to top us for sure, whether anybody pays off our ransom money or not. They don’t want nobody knowing who they are.’

‘They don’t have to worry about me. I don’t have the faintest notion who they are.’

‘No, well, neither do I. But what I mean is we know what they look like, don’t we, and if they got themselves arrested we could pick them out in one of them what-do-you-call-thems – identity parades.’

‘So what do you suggest?’ asked Eoghan. ‘They can’t think there’s too much chance of us getting out of here or they would have locked our doors, wouldn’t they? I tried to get out before but it was hopeless.’

Pat said, ‘I just heard three cars leave and as far as I know there’s only five of them, so at the most there’s only two of them still here.’

‘Yes, but it could be the two who took me away from my parents’ house. They were built like red-brick shithouses, the both of them.’

‘So what are we going to do? Sit in our rooms and wait for them to come back and cut our throats or blow our heads off or beat us to death?’

‘No way,’ said Eoghan. ‘They don’t know yet that I’ve got myself untied, do they? If you start moaning and complaining real loud like you’re in terrible agony then they’re bound to come up to see what’s wrong with you, aren’t they?’