“Andi, Andi, Andi,” Conor Roche said as he sauntered into the room. “I never thought I’d have to do this.”
The two tactical officers hauled her to her feet and turned her to face Roche.
“It’s a crying shame,” he went on, “but thanks to Mr. Morgan and his colleagues we’ve caught another rotten apple.”
She glanced at me, her expression full of anger.
“How?” she asked.
I pulled my phone from my pocket. “I never hung up. It’s been on the whole time, recording everything. My colleagues have been monitoring my movements and interactions to ensure I’m safe.” I hadn’t ended my call with Mo-bot before I arrived at the Curragh and had just slipped my phone into my pocket, so she could listen to and record everything that followed my confrontation with Lawrence Finch. I spoke into my phone now. “Thanks for saving my bacon.”
“Anytime,” Mo-bot replied. “Make sure they lock her up somewhere nice and tight.”
“You sound irritated,” I remarked.
“No one installs surveillance on my machines,” Mo-bot replied. “I take that very personally.”
I smiled. “Let me finish up here and I’ll call you back.”
I hung up and turned to Conor Roche. “I’ll make sure you get a copy of the recording of what she said today.”
Andi glared at me.
“Thanks, Mr. Morgan,” he replied. “We’ll need a statement too.”
“Can we do that tomorrow?” I asked. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Of course,” he said. “There’s no rush. She won’t be going anywhere except prison.”
Andi’s eyes flashed with hatred.
“Come by headquarters in the morning,” Conor told me.
“Will do,” I said, easing myself past him and the two tactical officers who had helped secure the room.
“He’s clear to exit,” Conor yelled, and the uniformed officers in the hallway allowed me to pass.
I stepped into the early-afternoon sunshine and jogged away from the cottage. I got out just in time to duck behind a parked car as a Range Rover turned onto the street and crawled slowly past. I didn’t recognize the men seated in front, but in the back were Raymond Chalmont and Sam Farrell.
When the occupants saw the police and realized what had happened, the car accelerated quickly as it passed the burgeoning crime scene and the Gardai bringing Andi out of the property. I couldn’t understand why Roche hadn’t mobilized his unit to intercept Raymond Chalmont. Mo would surely have relayed what she’d heard. Experience had taught me some police officers were slow to respond to a live situation and struggled with rapid deployment. I knew it would be up to me to bring these men in.
The Range Rover made a right at the end of the street. I cast around for a cab or some other means of following them, and saw a silver unmarked police car parked haphazardly in a space near my cottage. The red-and-blue dash lights were still flashing, and the engine was running. I recognized it as Conor Roche’s car from when Andi and I had been to see him at Garda Headquarters. As I slipped behind the wheel, I hoped he wouldn’t mind me borrowing it in pursuit of justice.
Chapter 75
I set off after the men who had come to murder me.
I killed the emergency lights, turning the car back into a standard BMW 3-Series, and tracked the Range Rover through the city, staying three or four cars back, taking streets that ran parallel when I saw them turn ahead of me. They had no reason to suspect they were being followed and the silver BMW was a sufficiently common model not to draw attention.
When we drove out of the city and headed west, I had a suspicion about where they were heading, but I needed to be certain. Following them was made easier by my surmise, because all I had to do was catch a fleeting glimpse of the Range Rover in the distance to know it was still on its predicted route and I was on its tail.
We left the M4 motorway thirty miles west of Dublin and took winding country lanes to the village of Ballagh, leaving me in little doubt about where Chalmont and Farrell were headed.
I stayed well back now, satisfying myself with a distant view of the black Range Rover’s roof as it sped along country lanes, rising and falling with the folds of the landscape. Finally, I watched the big car turn off the road through the gates of Ballagh House. These men were under the protection of the king himself. I now had confirmation they were all working together, and the seeds of an idea started to grow, filling my mind with a plan for the way I might be able to bring them all down.
I pulled over before I reached the gates and executed a U-turn to take me back into Dublin. I retraced my journey as far as the outskirts and went east. I used my phone to find a hostel on Eustace Street in the heart of the city.
The hostel was a three-story redbrick building next to a pizzeria, and Eustace Street turned out to be a narrow cobblestone alley that linked busy Dame Street with lively Essex Street.
I left the BMW in an underground parking lot on Trinity Street, a couple of blocks from the hostel, and pocketed the key. I had no luggage and was once again reduced to a phone and the clothes on my back, but if that fazed the guy at reception, he didn’t show it. He was grateful for a week’s rent in advance for one of their superior rooms and insisted on showing me my new accommodation himself. He was all eager bows, smiles and friendly chit-chat until he put the key in the lock and opened the door to my room with a “Voilà!”
The superior room made me never want to see a standard one in this place. The bedclothes were threadbare and stained, the carpet too dark to be sure what lingered there, and the furniture — a single bed, chest of drawers and solitary empty bookshelf — was chipped veneer. The bathroom looked as though it had been installed in 1970 and had not been cleaned properly since. The avocado-green ceramic fittings were stained with grime and rust.
“Grand, so?” the receptionist asked.
“It will suit me fine,” I replied, slipping him a 5-euro tip.
He looked at the money in disbelief. “Thanks very much,” he said before leaving.
I shut the door behind him and took my phone from my pocket to call home.
Chapter 76
“We’re monitoring Lawrence Finch’s phones and emails,” Mo-bot said. “At least, the numbers and accounts we know about. Even an illegal move will leave a legal trace if he makes it using one of these means.”
I knew this to be true from my years of investigative experience. Finch’s connection to the Dark Fates warehouses was a case in point. Few criminals are ever willing to totally relinquish control to someone else. Having absolutely no link to or control over a criminal enterprise requires a level of trust in associates who, by virtue of their occupation, are untrustworthy. So, most high-ranking criminals have a legal entity somewhere, acting as a front, to enable them to exert ultimate power or control over their operations. Finch might have made it difficult to trace the true ownership, but I’d found the link between him and the warehouses eventually.
“He’ll do something,” Justine said. “He won’t want you at large posing a risk to their entire enterprise.”
She and Mo-bot were in the new hospital room, which looked comfortable and bright with the California sun streaming through a large panoramic window. It seemed they were somewhere on LA’s west side, but I couldn’t see enough of the city skyline to be sure, which was exactly how I wanted it.
“If I can persuade the Garda to let me talk to Andi, I might be able to convince her to—” I was interrupted by another call coming in from a local number I didn’t recognize.
“I have to take this. Be right back with you,” I said to Justine and Mo-bot before hanging up.