Blinding Lies Read online

  Lauren adjusted her glasses and grimaced. The detective sounded irate. That woman was growing more and more tense – although, now that she thought about it, all the detectives in the station were on edge. She couldn’t wait until the political conference was over and things could settle down around here.

  “Most of the detectives are in a meeting in the briefing centre with the Special Detective Unit,” she answered. She knew the meeting was scheduled for this morning – she had arranged it. Elise had received an email invitation to attend as well.

  “Right.” Elise paused, thinking. “You’ll have to interrupt the meeting. I’ve had a tip-off that the main suspect in the David Gallagher killing has been spotted in the Kingsman Hotel. Get some detectives over there now!”

  Elise’s tone didn’t invite discussion on the matter. She hung up before Lauren could say another word.

  Lauren sat at her desk, momentarily stunned. What should she do? The meeting in the conference centre across town was of top priority; the political conference was in a matter of days. But, still, she knew Elise was right – she would have to get someone’s attention and organise officers to go to the hotel.

  Lauren jumped as her mobile rang. She grabbed it – Anna!

  “Lauren, I’m so sorry I didn’t meet you for breakfast. You’ll never guess what happened here last night!”

  “Anna! Thank God you rang, I was worried about you. And you sound OK! But, I’m afraid I have to ring you back. Elise Taylor just hung up on me. She sounds as mad as hell – what’s new there? – I have to get some officers to go to the Kingsman Hotel. Apparently the main suspect for the David Gallagher shooting was spotted there. I’m so sorry! I have to ring you back.”

  Anna sat in stunned silence at her kitchen table, her mobile phone in her hand. So, Kate had been found. Now she would be arrested, and probably charged with murder.

  Anna drummed her fingers on the wooden table … Elise had told her not to get involved. But Kate had been one of her best friends … could she really just sit here and wait to hear what had happened? A tiny voice inside warned her to stay where she was but she wondered whether, after all she had witnessed and experienced in the last few days, she should ignore the impending arrest of her old friend. But what exactly could she do? The safest place for Kate was in Garda custody – she could tell her side of the story; whatever that was.

  William Ryan had told Anna to rest after her ordeal. She decided she could respond to any text messages later in the day, after she had caught up on some sleep. Now that Dean Harris had been arrested, she felt she could relax. The night had been long, and mostly spent answering questions from Detective Sergeant Ryan. Alex had accompanied her, and Anna was grateful to him, but also glad to be alone now. Alex was sometimes overbearing in his determination to keep her safe. He had been extremely stressed about the fact her house had been broken into.

  She held onto the bannister as she made her way wearily to bed. She drew the curtains, shutting out the daylight. Before she switched off her bedside lamp, she pulled the framed photo of her parents out of her locker drawer. They were posing at a neighbour’s barbeque, smiling broadly, arms around each other’s waists. She stared at their faces for a moment before putting it quickly back in its place. It never helped her to dwell too long on their faces. In a few weeks, it would be ten years since their disappearance. She and Alex never marked the day in any way – they had no graves to go to, no memorial place to visit.

  With a lump in her throat, she quickly shut the drawer and pulled the duvet over her head.

  She fell into a deep sleep.

  35

  Tom Gallagher knew he should feel exhausted, but he didn’t. He wasn’t an eloquent man but, if he had to guess, he would describe himself as feeling invigorated. Joyous, even. Victorious, certainly.

  As Monday morning dawned bright and cold, Tom was sitting at the hospital bedside of his son. John was alive and would recover in time. He had a long road ahead of him. But he was young, and his father had considerable resources, so he was lucky.

  Marco had taken the responsibility of getting John to A&E as seriously as life and death. He had stayed at the hospital until Tom turned up there himself, not wanting to leave John alone. It had suited Tom to give Marco this mission; Marco felt important, and still part of the team despite his mismanagement of the disposal of the bodies of the security guards. Tom could recognise unwavering loyalty when he saw it, and he valued that as much as any attribute in a man. But some tasks needed a man who was more than just loyal. Thus, Tom had needed Marco out of the way for the other significant task, the more important job of disposing of the Germans. That needed a man who wouldn’t panic under any circumstances. Murray, his second in command since John had disappeared, had proved himself again to be both capable and resourceful, precise to the letter. And, vitally, calm under pressure. The Germans were out of the picture. Retribution was served. The Gallagher hallway was a bloodbath, but that was a problem easily solved.

  Tom had known Tobias Meier wouldn’t turn up at the Oracle. He had stationed Alan Ainsley there with a handful of men to maintain the ruse, but he knew the German would seek out his own arrangement that night. Tom had positioned enough cars in the quiet road to plant the seed of doubt; he had learned to read a man, and Tobias was as predictable as any man Tom had dealt with on his way to the top. There would be no comeback for him on this one. The Meiers were well and truly ash by now. There would be no fingerprints, no forensics to speak of; Murray had made sure of it. The heat from a diesel fire left very little behind.

  Of course, Tom had never had the memory key, the USB stick or whatever it was called. He had no interest in it, and no time to find Kate Crowley. This was a big city, and she was but one lowlife, with many places to hide. The hunt was still on though – this changed nothing. If anything, Tom wanted her now more than ever. She had caused so much suffering to his family, to his wife and sons. She had to pay, and she was top of the list of people he needed to take care of. Just ahead of Alan Ainsley.

  Alan Ainsley had proven himself to be the slippery snake Tom had always suspected he was. Tom preferred there to be as few links in a chain as possible, but Alan had skills and contacts, and the ability to open up a whole world of business.

  When the Meiers had shown up at Gallagher’s mansion Murray had called in reinforcements – all the men stationed at the Oracle were called to return to the house immediately. Alan took the opportunity to flee. He simply disappeared. As soon as Murray had the time Tom planned to send him up to Alan’s house, to have a nice cosy chat with the man himself, or indeed his wife. Tom didn’t really expect either of them to be there. No matter. Let the Englishman have his holiday. Tom Gallagher was a man who held a grudge; it helped him sleep. He always drifted into happy slumber after mentally plotting revenge on whoever had slighted him. Alan Ainsley could join Kate and all the others Tom had yet to tick off the list of vengeance served.

  Tom stroked his son’s hand. Surgeons had repaired what they could of the nerves and tendons in what remained of his finger and dealt with some internal bleeding. John had many broken bones: his left wrist, a cheekbone, and four ribs. His doctor was a bit too jumpy for Tom’s liking. Tom had spun a story about a serious car crash, but he could tell the man didn’t believe him. Tom didn’t care; all that mattered to him was that his son was alive, and away from the Meiers.

  With his mobile phone he took a photograph of John in the hospital bed, sleeping and looking peaceful against the white sheets. He looked serene in the photograph. Tom decided he would text the photograph to Mae later that day. Murray was overseeing the cleaning of the hallway at the house – replacing the front door, repainting the walls and swapping the tiles, removing all trace of Tobias Meier’s blood and flesh. Murray had a contact in the trade, a man Tom had approved a few years earlier. The man had been trying to set up a legitimate painting and decorating business with his sons after they were made redundant in the recession. Tom respected that, eve
n more so that the man was including his sons in his business. But the man was being targeted by some upstart wannabes who thought they could charge protection money. In Tom’s own city! The man brought the problem to Murray’s attention in the pub one night, and Tom had given Murray permission to go full force to deal with it. The man owed them, and he was repaying his debt this morning in the hallway of the Gallagher mansion.

  Tom wouldn’t let Mae return until all evidence of what had happened the night before was removed. But she would want to know her son was safe, so he would call her and text the photograph as soon as he thought she’d be awake.

  He rubbed at his knuckles, red and raw. If Mae noticed them, he knew she would never ask. And if she smelled fresh paint or noticed a slight difference in the hall tiles, he knew she would never mention it. She was the perfect wife.

  Tom’s right shoulder felt stiff, his back a little tight – nothing that couldn’t be remedied with a massage at the golf club later on. His mobile phone beeped in his pocket and he pulled it out: a text message from Murray. The manager at the Mad Hatter had a possible location for Kate Crowley. Tom gave the go-ahead to send a handful of men to bring her in. And they had better get it right this time – at the club she had proved difficult and had a friend on side too. Tom was disgusted his men had been bested by two women. They wouldn’t make that mistake again. He would find Kate Crowley today – Mae deserved to put some of her demons to rest. What better way than to present her with the bitch that had shot her youngest son?

  “Dad?”

  Tom’s attention went straight to his son in the hospital bed beside him. It took all his strength not to cry. He hadn’t known when John would wake, or if he would have any damage from the beating. The doctor had said time would tell a lot. Tom swelled with pride as he watched his first-born open his eyes and look around the room. He looked beaten and battered, but lucid.

  “Where are they?” he rasped. He tried to sit up but quickly gave in, panting from the exertion. Tom stroked John’s hand and spoke reassuringly. “Long gone, son. Taken care of.”

  John met his father’s eyes. He understood what that meant. He felt weak with relief.

  “The bag? The money and diamonds?”

  Tom’s eyes hardened again. He had promised Mae she could have Kate Crowley when they found her. But he realised he would want her to himself for a little while first.

  “All in hand, John. Kate Crowley will be in the house by the end of the day.”

  “There’s something else. David sold them something . . .” John’s voice trailed off. Speaking was difficult for him.

  “Everything is sorted, son. It’s all under control.”

  “David! Where?” John rasped weakly.

  His father’s face betrayed his sorrow. The Meiers had been a distraction; soon Tom would have a funeral to plan.

  A small part of Tom wondered about who the buyer was for this memory key Tobias Meier had been so anxious to find. Tobias had mentioned his ‘employer’. Tom realised whoever he was, Tobias was afraid of him. A man like Tobias Meier wouldn’t risk travelling halfway across Europe to retrieve something unless he was under tremendous pressure.

  Still, the Meiers were dealt with now, their bones turned to ash and floating away on the cold November wind.

  A pretty nurse with a nametag reading ‘Grace’ walked in and smiled at Tom as she picked up John’s chart, checking his vital signs. Tom smiled back – this was shaping up to be a great day.

  36

  Elise stood with her hands on her hips and surveyed the scene in front of her. Monastery Road was shut to all civilian traffic. Firefighters had put out the blaze an hour ago, battling against its intensity for what felt like a long time. The burnt-out shell of a large vehicle remained at the verge of the road, surrounded by members of the Garda Technical Bureau. A huge plume of dense black smoke could be seen for miles, and the acrid smell of molten metal, rubber and flesh was pungent in the air.

  Elise had no proof that this vehicle was the one being used by the Meier brothers. But whatever remained of the chassis number or any other identifying markers on the vehicle would soon be found. Her gut told her this was them. There was evidence of four adult bodies inside, all of which would be removed from the scene shortly. They were charred beyond recognition, impossible to tell if they were male or female. Elise had vomited onto the grass verge after she had inspected them – whiskey, coffee and toast all purged onto the frosty grass. This was the grisliest crime scene she had ever attended.

  Elise’s thoughts were whirring, like gears clicking into place. She reviewed the facts in a mental check-list – the four Meier brothers had arrived into Ireland, David Gallagher had been shot, John Gallagher had disappeared, two of Tom Gallagher’s security crew had been murdered, and now a vehicle had been found burnt-out with four adult bodies inside. Logic told Elise this looked like a gang war of epic proportions. She dreaded what Doherty would make of it all, just days away from the political conference.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket – William Ryan. She rolled her eyes as she answered the call.

  “Ryan, what can I do for you?”

  “Taylor, I hear you are up to your eyes in burning metal,” Ryan answered

  Elise stayed silent, hoping he’d soon get to the point of the call.

  Ryan cleared his throat and continued. “I thought you’d like to know I arrested a man named Dean Harris this morning in connection with the sexual assaults these past three years.”

  So, William Ryan was calling to gloat. She and her colleagues had failed to solve the cases. Now, the new guy, just transferred, had cracked them. She said nothing, just paced the ground and stayed on the line, silently waiting for the call to run its course.

  “Anyway,” Ryan continued, sensing her agitation, “I thought this piece of information might be pertinent to your current case. I arrested Dean Harris in the University Hospital this morning. On the way in I passed Tom Gallagher getting himself a coffee at a vending machine in the hall.”

  Elise stopped pacing and squinted into the morning sun. This was potentially interesting.

  “Go on.”

  “I made some enquiries.” Ryan sounded smug again, knowing he had her full attention. “It seems Tom Gallagher’s son John was brought in overnight. He had emergency surgery for some very nasty injuries. Gallagher claimed it was a car crash, but the doctor on duty isn’t buying it – he is thinking about referring it to the Gardaí. He told me, off the record of course, that the injuries look consistent with torture.”

  Words failed Elise but her thoughts raced in a frantic attempt to slot this piece of information into the puzzle. What the hell was going on? Cork city had descended into the setting for a criminal gang movie. What was Doherty going to say? The man would surely have a heart attack. Elise’s own heart was hammering so loudly she could hear it.

  Stuttering, her stomach lurching again, she thanked Ryan for the information and ended the call. She could barely breathe. Instinct told her that Gallagher wasresponsible for the burnt-out vehicle here and the murder of the four people inside it. He had taken revenge for the killing of his two men and rescued his son. Elise recalled the information bulletin that had landed on her desk about the Meiers yesterday – the eldest brother, Tobias, often brokered deals with bigger criminal gangs from Russia and other eastern states, and that could spell trouble. With the Meiers dead, where did that leave things now?

  Detective Superintendent Doherty was storming towards Elise, his trench coat flapping. He held two takeaway coffee cups and he handed one to her. This was a first. Elise nodded her thanks.

  “Where do we stand?” Doherty asked, his tone betraying his nervous agitation.

  “Well, sir, let me put it this way – Janet McCarthy is going to have a stroke.”

  37

  Kate had had enough. It was Monday now. David had come to her house on Wednesday afternoon, and now he lay in the hospital morgue, she imagined. She was hiding in a crappy excuse of a
hotel, with the Gallaghers tracking her, and was no closer to leaving the city.

  Her plan to buy a passport had failed – she should have realised that Tom Gallagher would be searching for her throughout the city and she should never have attempted it.

  But she didn’t know what else to do. She had only learned about Nick and his fake documents from David Gallagher’s notebook – she wasn’t a criminal like him, she had no contacts in the underworld, as it was known. But she did have money. That would surely help her achieve her goal. She was ready to move on.

  But how?

  Hunger had forced her out of the hotel early that morning. The Kingsman didn’t supply their guests with tea or coffee; there wasn’t even a packet of sugar in her room to keep her energy up. She was wearing the same clothes since Wednesday, aside from the new coat, scarf and hat, and mostly grabbing takeaway food whenever she left the hotel. She was tired, she felt dirty, and she missed her sister with a physical yearning.

  Wrapped in her winter coat and scarf, her hat pushed down to cover as much of her face as possible, she had returned to the greasy spoon café. She was prepared for the cold but not for the ice that had formed on the footpaths. More than once she lost her footing as she moved along the streets, glad of her thick gloves to help break potential falls against the hard concrete.

  Inside the café her hands shook as she ate. She didn’t remove her coat or lift her eyes as she devoured her food and sipped the hot coffee. She momentarily forgot her fear. Her mind was blank, her tension quieted, for almost fifteen minutes as she sated her appetite.

  But it was time to go back to the hotel. Now, with a stomach full of food and coffee, she hoped to be better able to plan. She needed the internet. If she’d had her mobile phone she could better search ways to leave Ireland without a passport but that had been left behind too, somewhere in her house. She had decided days ago that acquiring a new one would be too difficult. She was on the run from the Gardaí – for all she knew, there would be pictures of her face on newspapers, as there had been of David. And if she wasn’t recognised, there would still be conversations with a salesperson eager to sign her up for the best monthly package, and she felt just too weary for the whole thing. Risking eating in cafés was one thing; engaging in conversation with salespeople, possibly having her photograph and details logged onto their system when she was on the run from the Gardaí, was completely reckless.