‘The weapon? It’s my moral authority.’
Outside the garda station, there was a smell hanging in the air that made Fry feel a familiar craving. When they turned the corner in Lenaghan’s car, she noticed a huge Cadbury’s factory across the road. So that was where the smell came from. How did people stand it? If she worked in Coolock, she’d be a wreck within a few weeks.
Unlike most Irish people, in Fry’s experience, Lenaghan seemed comfortable with silence.
‘You have a couple of unidentified bodies, I gather?’ he said, after a while.
‘Just one now. We managed to get an ID on the first. A Slovakian migrant worker.’
‘Ah.’
Lenaghan nodded thoughtfully for a few minutes. ‘I don’t suppose we can make a match?’ he said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I wondered if we could match up your body with our missing persons file. We have a few to choose from. There’s a Kosovan who’s been missing since January 2004. Would she suit you? Here she is, look — thirty-three years old, five feet nine inches tall, slight build, long dark hair, brown eyes. Name of Lilijana. Last seen wearing a dark jacket, black jumper, navy trousers and brown suede boots.’
‘Too old, and too tall,’ said Fry.
‘OK. Well, we’ve got a twenty-eight-year-old from County Mayo, missing since December 2000. Only five feet, this one. Small, slim build, short brown hair with red highlights. Black trousers, maroon polo-neck jumper, beige sleeveless jacket. None of them were exactly fashion icons, you understand.’
‘Do you have a lot of missing persons?’ said Fry.
‘Oh, yes. Going back to about 1991. We don’t bother much beyond that. But it would be nice to tie one up. Are you sure you wouldn’t like Lilijana?’
‘Sorry, I don’t think I can help you. But I’ll let you know.’
Lenaghan sighed. ‘Oh, well. They were probably killed locally, anyway. It’s the murder capital of the country here, Sergeant. Did you know that?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Dublin is awash with hand guns these days. You can buy one for two hundred euros, if you know which bar to go in.’
They passed something called the Starlight Club Memorial, which was setting off another echo in Fry. She was sure it was something she ought to recognize, but she daren’t ask about it, for fear of showing her ignorance again.
‘Look at this factory here,’ said Lenaghan, pointing at a huge building by the road. ‘It’s the old Tayto Crisps plant. When I was growing up, I always used to wind the window down as we passed it. The smell of the crisps cooking would waft beautifully into the car.’
Fry laughed as Lenaghan pretended to inhale a smell, like a Bisto Kid. He joined in her laughter cheerily.
‘Ah, but there’s no waft to be had today, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘They closed the Tayto factory two years ago. Outsourcing production, they call it.’
Martin Rourke’s house was in a street behind Bunratty Road, near the Northside Shopping Centre. The gardai already had Rourke in custody at Oscar Traynor Road, so Fry and Lenaghan were free to search his house.
Fry moved through the rooms, finding nothing of interest until she came to the bedrooms. The first one was a small room, still decorated with nursery wallpaper. Mr Happy and Little Miss Giggles.
‘Are young children still into the Mr Men these days?’ asked Fry.
‘Pre-school age, I think, yes.’
‘So Rourke has a pre-school-age child?’
‘Ah, I don’t think she’s with him any more,’ said Lenaghan. ‘The mother took the child away, I gather.’
A single bed stood against one wall, neatly made up, with folded pyjamas on the pillow. The only other furniture consisted of a chest of drawers painted pink, a TV set, and a white melamine wardrobe. Lenaghan opened the curtains and peered through the sash window on to the yard below.
To Fry, the bedroom felt cold and empty. It was strange how quickly a room began to feel that way, once its occupant was no longer there. She’d been in bedrooms where a child had been missing for only a few hours, but the feeling was unmistakable. As if the room itself knew that its occupant was never coming back.
Lenaghan pulled out the bed to make certain there was nothing underneath it, then opened the wardrobe. A few items of clothing swung from plastic hangers. On the floor were shoes and a pile of children’s books.
Fry had gone to the chest of drawers and was searching through more clothes, T-shirts neatly folded, pairs of socks rolled into balls.
‘Anything?’ asked Lenaghan.
‘Nothing obvious.’
But Fry had a nagging buzz at the back of her brain, an irritation telling her that something was missing, but she couldn’t think what it was.
Cautiously, Lenaghan shifted the wardrobe away from the wall. ‘Sergeant, come and look at this. Your visit to Dublin could be worthwhile.’
Detective Superintendent Hazel Branagh sat at the head of the room with DCI Kessen and surveyed the assembled CID team, waiting for the chattering to settle down.
‘Do I have your attention, DC Murfin?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Murfin, sitting up straight at the sound of her voice. Cooper had never seen him react quite like that before. It was almost as if someone had shoved a steel spike up his backside.
The fact that she knew Murfin’s name and picked him out from a room full of officers was impressive in itself. So far, she hadn’t been introduced to anyone in CID below inspector rank, yet she seemed to know who everyone was.
‘Good morning. You might already be aware who I am, but for those of you who were asleep, I’m Detective Superintendent Branagh.’
There was a ragged chorus of ‘Good morning, ma’am’, mouthed rather than spoken too loudly, for fear of attracting attention. Cooper was reminded of the chorus at the pantomime, amateur singers coming together for the first time to practise sounding like one.
‘I’m fully aware that you have a major enquiry on your hands, and I want to assure you I’m not going to get in the way. DCI Kessen will remain SIO while I settle in and get my feet under the table. However, I do want to get to know everyone personally as soon as I can, so don’t be surprised if you find me hanging around in the CID room asking what you’re doing.’
Cooper shivered at the hint of a threat in the last sentence. He sneaked a glance at Murfin, who was still looking stricken at having been singled out.
‘The shooting is taking precedence at the moment, and it’s attracting quite a lot of media attention — as is the discovery of the abandoned crystal meth lab. Fortunately, I’ve managed to negotiate extra resources, and the drugs squad are working with us. Rest assured, we’re pulling out all the stops.’ Branagh turned to the DCI sitting alongside her. ‘But the human remains at the farm, Stewart — is this a cold case?’
‘It looks like it,’ said Kessen. ‘Twelve months in one instance, anyway. Four years in the other.’
‘There isn’t still an open enquiry on either of the victims?’
‘Not that we’re aware of. But since we haven’t actually managed to establish an identity on the second …’
‘Witnesses?’
Kessen gritted his teeth. ‘None. As far as we know, the only eyewitness was Thomas Farnham.’
‘I understand the former owner of the farm is still alive?’
‘Yes, Mr Sutton. But he’s very elderly, and borderline senile. So far, we haven’t been able to obtain much useful information from him.’
‘Push him harder,’ said Branagh.
‘We can do that, but …’
‘Good. And there’s a suspect still in custody, I believe.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Kessen. ‘Jack Elder.’
‘And what’s the position on Mr Elder?’
‘The CPS say we have enough evidence to charge him with some minor offences, but there’s nothing to substantiate anything more serious.’
