Taken for Dead (Kate Maguire) Read online

  ‘We’ll be late,’ said Bryan Molloy. With that, he stepped out into the corridor, leaving Katie to close the door behind her.

  ***

  The conference room where the media were assembled was crowded with at least twenty reporters, as well as cameramen and sound technicians. It smelled of new carpet tiles and stale cigarette smoke and Lynx aftershave. As Katie sat down at the desk between Bryan Molloy and the Garda press officer, Tadhg McElvin, the TV lights were switched on and she had to shield her eyes with her hand.

  After a fusillade of coughing and shuffling everybody settled down and Bryan Molloy said, ‘We’ve called you all here this afternoon to give you some background into the cause of the bombing at Merchants Quay, and to bring you up to speed on our investigations.’

  ‘Has anybody claimed responsibility?’ asked Dan Keane from the Examiner. As usual, his hair was sticking up as if he had just got out of bed, and he had a cigarette tucked behind his right ear.

  ‘I’ll be taking questions later,’ said Bryan Molloy. ‘But the answer to your question is yes.’

  ‘So was it political?’ put in Fionnuala Sweeney, the pretty gingery-haired presenter from RTÉ. ‘Or was there another motive behind it?’

  ‘It was partly political and partly criminal. And we do have a fair idea why they did it.’

  Katie leaned towards him and murmured, ‘Bryan, we don’t know their motives, not for certain. Let’s just stick to the basic facts, for the love of God.’

  ‘You don’t have any basic facts, do you?’ Bryan Molloy muttered back, leaning his head close to her without turning to look at her. ‘That’s the whole fecking trouble. But this lot have to leave here this evening thinking that I’m well on top of it.’

  ‘Oh, I thought you were going to admit that we’d messed it up.’

  ‘I didn’t mess it up, Katie. Not me. There was only one person in charge of organizing that farrago at Merchants Quay and that was you.’

  Dan Keane raised his hand and asked, ‘Excuse me, Chief Superintendent, I hate to interrupt, but is there some kind of an internal disagreement going on here?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Bryan Molloy, picking up his clipboard and giving the assembled media his toothiest smile. ‘Detective Superintendent Maguire here is simply filling me in on one or two operational details.’

  ‘My apologies,’ Dan Keane told him. ‘Whatever happened at Merchants Quay, though – whoever set that bomb off – I gather that you’re not very happy with the way the operation was handled?’

  Bryan Molloy’s neck reddened to the colour of tomato soup. ‘I don’t know what in the world gave you that idea, Dan. In retrospect, I believe we could have handled the situation with more professionalism than we actually did, and with considerably more foresight, but even our most experienced officers can’t be expected to be psychic. We’re all human, after all, like most of you here, and we all have our failings.’

  When he said that, Katie felt like standing up and walking out. If she did that, however, she knew that she would only be making herself look temperamental, and incompetent, and even more culpable for Garda McCracken’s death than she really was. It would also give Bryan Molloy the floor and allow him to carry on saying whatever he felt like, unchallenged.

  Bryan Molloy looked directly into the TV cameras and furrowed his brow so that he looked almost comically serious. ‘The responsibility for the bombing at Merchants Quay has been claimed by a group who call themselves the High Kings of Erin. On Tuesday last week they abducted Mr Derek Hagerty, the owner of Hagerty’s Autos at Looney’s Cross. They called his wife, Mrs Shelagh Hagerty, and demanded a quarter of a million euros for his safe release. She was warned not to notify anybody, especially the Garda.’

  Now the conference room erupted into waving hands and shouted questions. ‘Was the ransom paid, or not?’ ‘Have they let Derek Hagerty go yet?’ ‘Was he injured at all?’ ‘Why did they set a bomb off?’ ‘Why do they call themselves the High Kings of Erin?’ ‘Do you have any idea at all of their identity, sir, and what they’re after?’

  Katie sat with her fingertips pressed to her temples as if she were suffering from a headache, but she didn’t speak. The very last thing she had wanted Bryan Molloy to tell the media was the name of the High Kings of Erin. Apart from the fact that she didn’t yet know if they really were responsible, it was a highly emotional name from Ireland’s medieval history, before the English claimed kingship, and it would give a gang of murderers and extortionists a nationalistic glamour that they didn’t deserve.

  Bryan Molloy waited until the hubbub had died down, then he said, ‘I can confirm to you that the ransom has been paid in full. Mrs Hegarty herself was unable to raise the amount of money they were demanding, so she was assisted by the state. Detective Superintendent Maguire conceived a plan whereby the kidnappers would be tracked electronically once they had collected the cash and arrested once she was certain that Derek Hagerty had been released unharmed.’

  ‘So what went wrong?’ asked Fionnuala Sweeney. ‘A bomb went off and a young female garda was killed. How could that have happened?’ She was literally licking her lips as she waited for an answer, and Katie could imagine the rest of the reporters all salivating, too, as if the room were crowded with hungry dogs. There was nothing like a botched Garda operation to make front-page news, especially since it had led to a fatality.

  In the simplest words she could find, Katie explained how she had planned to track the kidnappers until she was sure that Derek Hagerty was either safe or dead, whichever it was, and then arrest them.

  Dan Keane said, ‘It sounds to me as if this gang knew that you were tracking them, like. So how exactly did they find out that Mrs Hagerty had been in touch with you, and that you’d be waiting for them?’

  ‘Right now, I simply don’t know,’ Katie replied. ‘We kept a very tight lid on this whole ransom payment right from the start, and even those officers directly involved on the ground knew only what they needed to know and nothing more. Only four of my detectives were aware that the kidnap victim was Derek Hagerty, and that was because they had to check on his background and any business problems he might have had.’

  Now Bryan Molloy interrupted her. ‘Unfortunately, and very regrettably, it turned out that there was no reason for the ransom to be handed over at all. Earlier in the day, Derek Hagerty had managed to escape from his abductors and he was discovered alive and reasonably well, lying by the roadside near Ballynoe. This was more than forty-five minutes before we gave the High Kings of Erin two hundred and fifty thousand euros in non-consecutive, non-traceable banknotes.’

  ‘We weren’t aware that he had escaped, of course,’ said Katie. ‘If we had been, the story would have been very different.’

  ‘So he didn’t call you and tell you that he had escaped?’ asked Branna MacSuibhne, from the Echo. Katie noticed that young Branna had lost some weight and twisted her hair up into a ponytail, instead of her usual Jackie Kennedy bob.

  ‘No, Branna, he didn’t. He was frightened of what his abductors might do to him and his family.’

  ‘So how did you find out that he had escaped?’

  ‘We had a tip-off from the people who found him,’ put in Bryan Molloy. ‘We believe that they were a married couple from Ballinlough, but we have yet to confirm that, as I’m sure Detective Superintendent Maguire will tell you. She still has a fair amount of catching up to do, wouldn’t you agree, Detective Superintendent? But she’s swimming as hard as she can against the tide.’

  The media conference went on for another twenty minutes. Fionnuala Sweeney repeatedly asked if the bombing at Merchants Quay could have been averted by better Garda intelligence, or by setting up the handover at another location where nobody was likely to be injured or killed.

  Katie emphatically shook her head. ‘As police officers, Fionnuala, we demand a great deal from ourselves, more than most people ever realize. But we’re not psychic, as Chief Superintendent Molloy has already admitted to
you, and we don’t have X-ray vision or super-hearing, and none of us can fly.’

  She refused to speculate on the identity of the High Kings of Erin, or to give the media any more details about where Derek Hagerty was now and who had tipped them off about his escape. She was glad she hadn’t. While Bryan Molloy was winding up with a speech about how he was going to improve Garda response times, and how he was going to bring in software updates for the PULSE and AFIS computer systems in Cork – almost as if he were going to do it single-handed – her iPhone rang.

  It was Detective Sergeant Ni Nuallán. She sounded as if she were standing by a main road, with cars swishing past.

  ‘We’ve just finished talking to the Pearses. They’re adamant, both of them, that it wasn’t them who picked up Hagerty and took him in. We separated them and talked to them individually, but both of them were insistent that they had never even heard of Derek Hagerty.’

  ‘So what was Norman Pearse doing driving into Western Road and then back out again?’

  ‘He says he was picking up a stationery order from Snap Printing down at Crawford House, some letterheads and some compliments slips.’

  ‘Have you checked that with Snap?’

  ‘They’re closed now, but I can track down the manager at home.’

  ‘All right, then. I’ll see you after. We’ve almost wrapped up this media conference. More than a little shattering, if you get my meaning.’

  Just as she dropped her iPhone back into the pocket of her jacket, Katie heard Bryan Molloy announcing that the High Kings of Erin had also claimed responsibility for abducting and beheading Micky Crounan.

  She could only sit and listen with her head bowed as he answered the media’s questions about Micky Crounan’s abduction and murder. Bryan Molloy told them that he was sure now that they were looking for a ruthless gang who were pursuing a political agenda, restoring the glory of Ireland’s native kingship, while at the same time enriching themselves with ransom money.

  ‘Their motivation appears to be anger that our present-day politicians and businessmen have shown themselves to be so greedy and corrupt, and a determination to punish them financially for the economic crash. However, they’re not above lining their own pockets with the proceeds of that punishment. I suppose you might say that we’re dealing with a combination of Brian Boru and Robin Hood.’

  Thank you, Bryan, thought Katie, as Bryan Molloy smiled smugly at his own turn of phrase. I love you, too. You have just made me appear to the media like an amateurish woman who bungled a highly sensitive operation, leading to the tragic and avoidable death of one of our own, while at the same time giving them the impression that you, the great Bryan Molloy, are close to having all of these cases efficiently wrapped up.

  It didn’t help that Bryan Molloy was still highly regarded for the way in which he had stamped out the worst of the rampant gang warfare in Limerick. That was one of the reasons he had been appointed to take over Chief Superintendent O’Driscoll’s job here in Cork, if only on an interim basis. Katie, on the other hand, had failed in her efforts to bring Michael Gerrety to justice on thirty-seven charges of profiting from prostitution. The Examiner’s headline had been ‘Gerrety, 37 – Garda, 0’.

  ***

  As they went back up in the lift to their offices, Katie said, ‘Well, Bryan, you haven’t made my life any easier, have you?’

  ‘Is that what I’m here for?’ he retorted. He wasn’t looking at her directly, but he was staring at her in the mirror in the back of the lift. ‘I thought I was here to make sure you did your job properly. You’re a detective superintendent, Katie, and it would be very gratifying if you did some actual detective superintending once in a while, instead of preening yourself. Perhaps if you spent more time going after criminals and less time nosing around in my bank accounts. You won’t find anything of interest there, I can assure you of that.’

  ‘Bryan, you shouldn’t have mentioned the High Kings of Erin. For all we know they’re nothing but spoofers. And we have no hard evidence at all to tell us who killed Micky Crounan. It might have been the High Kings of Erin, it might not.’

  ‘Then it’s up to you to prove it, girl, one way or another, wouldn’t you say?’

  He pushed his way out of the lift in front of Katie, which was something that Dermot O’Driscoll would never have done. Katie stepped out into the corridor after him and said, ‘I’ll prove it, Bryan, you can be sure of that. And it will give me great satisfaction to show you you’re wrong.’

  Bryan Molloy let out a bark of a laugh and marched off towards his office, his clipboard tucked under his right arm, his left arm swinging as if he were on parade at Dublin Castle.

  Katie watched him go, and at that moment she badly missed Dermot O’Driscoll – and John, too, or anybody who could understand how isolated she felt, and how guilty, and how helpless. She could confide in Kyna Ni Nuallán, she knew that, but she had decided to keep her relationship with Kyna on a strictly formal footing, superintendent and sergeant. God alone knew where their mutual affection would lead if she allowed it, and her career was in more than enough trouble already.

  Her iPhone rang. Detective Horgan was calling her from Mayfield.

  ‘Sorry, ma’am, I haven’t been able to contact the manager of Snap Printing yet. I went to his house but there’s nobody home.’

  ‘Leave it till the morning then. A few hours isn’t going to make much difference.’

  She stood alone in the corridor for a few moments, her eyes closed as if she were praying, but in fact she was only thinking how tired she felt. Then she went along to her own office to collect her raincoat.

  17

  It rained hard all the way home to Cobh and even when her windscreen wipers were flapping at full speed Katie could hardly see the road ahead of her. It seemed to be raining even harder when she turned into her driveway, climbed out of the car and hurried to the front porch with her head down and collar turned up.

  There was no question of taking Barney out for his evening walk – not unless the rain eased off, anyway. She let him out into the garden where he sat in the shelter of the patio awning, looking mournful. She sometimes wondered if he missed John as much as she did.

  She went through to the spare bedroom that she still called the nursery, lifted her nickel-plated .38 Smith & Wesson revolver out of the flat TJS holster on her belt and placed both gun and holster in the top drawer of the chest that had once held Seamus’s baby clothes, his Babygros and little blue cardigans.

  Back in the living room, she poured herself a glass of Smirnoff Black Label and switched on the TV. There was news and sport on the first three channels and Mrs Brown’s Boys on the fourth, so she pressed the remote to mute the sound and went through to the kitchen. She didn’t feel like listening to news, and she didn’t feel like laughing, either. She opened the freezer and stared at the shelves, trying to decide if she felt like a Marks & Spencer chicken casserole or salmon fishcakes or a pizza.

  She was still making up her mind when the doorbell chimed. Barney heard it, too, because he barked and started scratching at the kitchen door. Katie said, ‘Hold on a minute, Barns!’ and went to the front door to see who it was.

  Standing in the porch outside, wearing only a black cable-knit sweater and light grey trousers spotted with raindrops, was David Kane. She could immediately tell by his expression that he was distressed.

  ‘David?’ she said. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he told her. ‘This is a terrible imposition, I know, but I was wondering if I could stay here in your house for maybe an hour or two. It’s Sorcha. She’s having one of her episodes and she’s pretty much thrown me out. I thought it was better to leave straight away than try to fight it out with her.’

  ‘All right, come on in,’ said Katie. ‘Is Sorcha okay? She doesn’t need any medical attention, does she?’

  ‘No, she’s all right, really. She just needs some time to herself to calm down. Whatever I do or say, it only sets her of
f. If I try and be nice to her, she accuses me of lying, but if I try to be strict with her, that makes her really violent. That’s when she starts hitting me and breaking things. The best alternative is for me to get out of there. I don’t want to end up hurting her, for the love of God.’

  ‘Do you want me to go round and talk to her?’ Katie asked him.

  ‘No, no. That would only make her even more aggressive. She’d accuse you of interfering and all sorts. It’s best to leave her when she’s like this. Her medication will start to kick in soon, and then she’ll simply go to sleep and wake up the next morning without the faintest memory of what she was like the night before.’

  Katie led him through into the living room. Mrs Brown’s Boys was still on, so she switched the television off. ‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked him. ‘I have whiskey, but I also have some Satz in the fridge if you’d rather.’

  ‘A whiskey, please. I need it after the evening I’ve had, I can tell you.’

  She lifted up a bottle from the drinks table, but it was nearly empty, so she picked up another one. ‘At the moment I have only Paddy’s, I’m afraid. The last time my dad came over he must have finished off all of my Green Spot.’

  ‘Paddy’s is fine,’ said David. She poured him a large glass and he sat down on the leather couch. ‘Slainte,’ he said. ‘You’re a life-saver.’

  ‘Isn’t Sorcha getting any better?’ asked Katie, sitting down beside him.

  ‘Her doctor seems to think so, but her doctor isn’t there when she’s throwing one of her fits. I made up my mind a long time ago that it’s just something I’ll have to live with.’

  Katie heard Barney mewling and scratching at the back door again, so she excused herself and went into the kitchen to let him in. He trotted inside, soaking wet, and shook himself violently in the middle of the kitchen floor.