“Where are we going?” I asked, as she steered us down a narrow single-track lane.
She winked at me but said no more. I grinned in bemusement and turned my attention to the hedgerows and expansive green fields that lined our route.
Cows and sheep grazed here and there, and wildflowers flourished on the verges. It felt like the very edge of civilization because we didn’t see another person or vehicle for twenty minutes. When we crested each rise, a new snapshot of Ireland impressed the country’s beauty upon me.
My question about our destination was answered a little over thirty minutes later when we pulled into the car park of a pub called Roches. Located on a quiet country road, the single-story building initially looked underwhelming. It might have been a simple farm cottage once but had been extended over the years and its walls painted cream with bright red trim. If I’d been alone, I’d probably have driven straight past and looked for something architecturally more pleasing, but as we searched for a space in the overflowing car park and I looked at the packed beer garden, I realized that would have been a mistake.
“Looks like lots of people need to do some thinking,” I said to Andi, gesturing at the busy pub.
“They do,” she replied. “Thinking and eating and drinking. The place is known for it. They say Einstein came up with the Theory of Relativity here.”
“I thought that was Bern in Switzerland,” I said.
“No. That’s fake news,” she said as she stopped the engine. “Why in the world would an Irishman have an idea like that in Bern?”
“Einstein was Irish?” I scoffed.
“Of course. All the best people are,” Andi said with a wry smile. “And after the food and drink in this place, you’ll be sworn Irish too, Jack Morgan.”
I laughed, and we got out of the car and went into the pub, which was even more crowded than the beer garden. Servers hurried to and fro, ferrying plates of delicious-looking food to busy tables and clearing away empty dishes. I thought we might struggle to find a table, but Andi spoke to a barman who directed us to one that had just become vacant outside. It was a beautiful spot with a view over the open country to the rear of the pub.
I had a Guinness and some fish and chips, and Andi had Bulmers cider and a crispy chicken baguette. The food was excellent. We cleared our plates.
“Sign me up,” I said.
“So, you’re Irish now?” Andi asked with a grin.
“In all seriousness, I do have some Irish blood in me,” I revealed, “and places like this make it all the more potent.”
She chuckled before her attention was drawn to her phone, which had started to ring.
“It’s Maureen,” she said, handing it to me. “I’m guessing it’s you she wants.”
“Thanks,” I replied, before answering the call. “Go ahead, Mo.”
“Jack, I was looking through Sam Farrell’s case assignments with the Garda and digging into his life when the strangest thing happened. I discovered his personal email was already in the Private system.”
“What?” I asked. “How?”
“He applied for a job at Private London six months ago,” Mo-bot revealed. “The man who put Justine in hospital tried to come and work for you, Jack.”
Chapter 56
My mind reeled at the idea Sam Farrell had tried to get a job at Private. That couldn’t have been a coincidence. Had he been planning this far ahead to get close enough to kill me? Or was there some other play in progress here? And why hadn’t he succeeded in his job application?
“Let me call you back,” I said to Mo.
“Sure,” she replied.
I ended the call and found Emily Knighton’s number in Andi’s phonebook.
“What is it?” she asked as I dialed.
“One second,” I replied. The call went through.
“Andi,” Emily said when she answered.
“No, it’s Jack,” I responded. “Did a guy called Sam Farrell interview with you for a job a few months ago?”
“Sam Farrell?” Emily repeated, and I saw Andi’s eyes widen as she registered the significance of what I was asking. She looked at me in disbelief.
“Yes, I remember him. Garda officer, wanted to move to London,” Emily said. “Why?”
“He’s the guy who shot Justine,” I said.
“No!” Emily responded. “I have a good memory for faces and names, I should have—”
I cut her off. “Don’t beat yourself up. It was a short meeting six months ago. Why would you have remembered? Could have happened to anyone.”
“But we’re not supposed to be just anyone,” Emily countered, sounding glum. “I should have done better.”
“I’m serious,” I said. “There’s no point. You can’t undo the past. If you want to help, send Mo-bot everything you can remember about the guy. Every detail of your interactions with him and the interview, no matter how small.”
“I record all my interviews,” she said. “I’ll have the footage stored somewhere on the system. I’ll send that too.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “And I want you to run a background check on everyone hired in the London office in the past two years.”
“What?” Emily asked. “Why?”
“Sam Farrell didn’t come to us by accident. I think Propaganda Tre was trying to get someone on the inside of Private.”
“Damn,” Emily remarked.
“Yep,” I concurred.
“I was hired within the last two years,” Andi remarked. “Does that mean I’m under suspicion?”
“Of course not,” I replied, when in truth I couldn’t be certain of anyone now. Not beyond my core team of legacy hires. “We’re merely checking everyone as a formality.”
“Doesn’t feel like a formality when you’re the one being checked,” Andi said.
“I’ll get right on it,” Emily cut in.
“Thanks,” I said before hanging up.
“You really think Propaganda Tre tried to get someone inside Private?” Andi asked. “No offence, but it’s a detective agency. Hardly MI6.”
“Why not? Someone felt enough hatred for me to kill five innocent people and put many more in hospital when they came after Justine and me. They could have been trying to find out about us earlier or else looking at our case files to see what we know about Propaganda Tre.”
Andi nodded and took a sip of her cider. “Good point.”
“We need to get back to the city,” I said. “I want to take a look at the case notes through the lens of Farrell having a longer history with us.”
“I’m going to settle up,” Andi responded. “Finish your drink and I’ll meet you at the car.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any point in me arguing over the check,” I said.
“None whatsoever,” she replied quickly. “I’m going to expense it, so you’re picking up the tab either way.”
She broke into a broad smile as she stood up and walked inside. I shook my head at her impish humor, but part of me couldn’t help but wonder whether I could truly trust her.
Chapter 57
We didn’t speak much during the drive back to Dublin. I wondered if Andi felt awkward now she was under review. Despite what I’d said about it being a formality, a good investigator would know that wasn’t true. The new hires would have to be re-vetted, their lives and references examined anew, and this time we’d specifically be looking for anything that linked them to Propaganda Tre, the Dark Fates, or any of the principal players: Lawrence Finch, the billionaire racehorse owner, Sam Farrell, the former cop turned assassin, and Joe McGee, the street dealer who’d brutalized Noah and Mary Kearney.
But maybe she wasn’t the one causing this new constraint between us. Maybe the conversation had dwindled because I was killing it. Maybe I was afraid of speaking freely until I knew if she was truly friend or foe.