There was a collective intake of breath. While the other crimes were horrific, this was relevant and immediate to many of the racegoers around Lawrence Finch, some of whom would have torn up betting slips for races he’d rigged. After a short pause there were mutterings and hisses. Then came the boos. Finch didn’t know how to react, which was precisely what I’d wanted. I knew being accused of race-fixing on the day of the biggest fixture in Ireland’s calendar would cause a major scandal — something that would be anathema to a self-made man like Finch.
“In fact,” I continued, “by following your syndicate, Mr. Finch, and placing the same bets as they did, I’ve been able to turn half a million dollars into twenty-five million in a single day.”
Lawrence Finch realized the severity of his predicament at the very moment the Gardai appeared at his shoulder. The crowd had turned sullen and hostile, calling him a liar and cheat and other words I couldn’t quite make out, though the angry tone in which they were spoken was clear enough.
“He’s lying,” Finch protested again, but his denials sounded thin and pathetic now. “He’s crazy.”
“I don’t think these good folks are happy with you,” I told him. “Many of them will have lost money on the results you fixed. Most of them will have seen the fire you set in the heart of Dublin and despise you for bringing hatred to this beautiful, friendly city.”
My words were on point. The whole crowd seemed to bristle. Desperate by now, Finch tried to flee under the railing of the parade ring, but I grabbed him and pushed him back toward the Gardai.
“And if the authorities deem it legal for me to keep today’s winnings, I will be donating the money to the refugee center, to help with its rebuild, and offering financial support to the affected families, with any remaining balance going to anti-racism charities.”
Lawrence Finch fixed me with a defiant glare as one of the police officers took his wrists and put the first manacle on him.
“I’ll be out before sundown,” he said.
“Not this time,” I replied. “All the evidence we’ve gathered has gone to the American and Irish governments. People with real power, well above your grubby ability to corrupt and influence. People who will see justice done impartially.”
I watched the defiance ebb away and his spirit crumble.
“I keep my promises, Mr. Finch,” I told him. “You and your rotten organization are finished.”
Chapter 89
Mo-bot, Sci and our LA team sent the evidence we’d accumulated to Eli Carver, who referred it to Marie Silver, Deputy Assistant Attorney General in the Criminal Division of the Justice Department. From there the FBI got involved and coordinated the effort with the Garda, who wanted to interview me. I refused, saying I didn’t feel they could guarantee my safety.
I’d used the sensation of Lawrence Finch’s arrest to slip away from the Curragh, and had booked myself a room in a new hotel in the city, from where I’d asked Mo-bot and Sci to communicate with the Irish authorities and inform them that I was only willing to give my statement on neutral ground, to senior representatives of Irish law enforcement, government and the judiciary, and that these had to be people with reputations that were beyond reproach.
We suggested Kearney Stud as the meeting place, and Noah and Mary were only too happy to host. I felt safe with them because I knew they’d made an enemy of Lawrence Finch before I’d been drawn into this case. They felt they owed their lives to me and were eager to do whatever they could to repay their perceived debt.
The Irish government agreed to my terms and sent the Secretary General of the Department of Justice, a serving judge, and the detective chief superintendent in charge of the Garda National Drugs and Organised Crime Bureau, to take my deposition.
And so, two days after Lawrence Finch’s arrest, I found myself in Noah and Mary’s dining room being served coddle, a delicious sausage and bacon stew, alongside Mary’s homemade soda bread, sharing what I knew with Judge Nessa Boland, Department of Justice Secretary General Helen Higgins, and Detective Chief Superintendent Kieran McQuinn.
“Lawrence Finch has many enemies,” Helen said. As a senior civil servant she had seen a succession of politicians come and go, and probably knew more than most about Ireland’s rich and powerful. “I wouldn’t worry about him evading justice. Not this time. The people he has acted against will ensure he is held to account. And his friends won’t want to be tainted by scandal. I bet not a man in Dublin will admit to knowing him tonight.”
“Will you cut a deal with him, to get him to give up the membership of Propaganda Tre?” I asked, after I finished the last mouthfuls of the delicious coddle.
“We can certainly try,” Judge Boland said. She was thoughtful and severe, and I could easily imagine her intimidating criminals. Even someone as arrogant and entitled as Lawrence Finch would shrink in her presence. “We have legal arrangements that enable us to reduce time served in exchange for cooperation.”
“Would you like some more, Mr. Morgan?” Mary asked, offering me the serving dish.
I nodded. “Only to be greedy. It’s delicious. Thank you.”
“You’ll never have to thank us,” Noah said, and Mary smiled and nodded. “And you’ll always have a home here in Ireland. We owe you a debt we can never repay. You’ve freed our family from those cruel men. Saved us.”
“We all owe you a debt,” Detective Chief Superintendent Kieran McQuinn added. “These people were a blight on our country.”
“I just want to see them stopped, so I don’t have to keep looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life,” I said.
“We’ll do our very best,” Helen assured me.
“What about Raymond Chalmont?” I asked.
There had been no sign of him since he’d fled the scene of Andi and Sam’s murders, and it worried me that the man with the vendetta that had started this investigation was still at large.
“He’s gone to ground,” Kieran said. “But we want to assure you we’re doing everything possible to find him.”
It was no reflection on the Irish authorities, but I couldn’t trust our futures to that assurance. Mary’s food lost some of its flavor as my unease deepened. For so long as Raymond Chalmont was free, my life and Justine’s would always be in danger.
Chapter 90
Ever cautious, I stayed in the hotel the following day, leaving my room only to buy a new cellphone, which I did first thing. Mo-bot, Sci, Justine and Emily Knighton were the only people I sent the new number to, so I knew it was one of them calling when the phone rang at 10:15 a.m.
“Jack, it’s Emily,” she said, when I answered. “I’ve got good news. Our London legal adviser has been liaising with the Irish authorities and they’ve cleared you to go home. They’ve said they have all they need from you for now and can do any follow-up remotely.”
My heart soared at the prospect of going back to LA and being reunited with Justine. “That’s great news. Thanks for letting me know.”
“It’s the least I can do to make up for...” she hesitated. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” I asked.
“For failing to spot Andi was a bad apple.”
“There’s only so much we can do to discover what evil lies in people’s hearts,” I said. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Thank you,” she replied with relief. “We’re turning our attention to Raymond Chalmont next and doing everything we can to track him down.”
“I appreciate it,” I said. “I’m going to try to get over to London before the end of the year, so maybe we can catch up properly then.”