30
Dermot O'Driscoll came into her office with a sugary jam doughnut and a very satisfied smile.
'You've excelled yourself, Katie. No doubt about it. I'd like to put out a media release in time for the morning papers.'
'I'd rather hold off for a while, if you don't mind, sir.'
'You don't have any doubts that it's O Conaill, surely? You practically caught the bastard in the act.'
'All the same, I'd feel happier if we waited for forensics, if that's all right with you. Fingerprints and footprints especially. O Conaill swears blind that all he did was sit in the car?he never drove it.'
'Oh, stop! If he didn't drive it, how did he get there?'
'Walked, that's what he says.'
'You're probably right. But if we can't find any evidence that he
'All right. But see what you can do to hurry those technical fellows up, will you?'
As Dermot left, loudly smacking the sugar from his hands, Detective Garda Patrick O'Sullivan came into her office. 'The Merc was registered to O'Mahony's Auto Rentals, of Mallow. They rented it out ten days ago to a man called Francis Justice, who gave his address as Green Road, Mallow.'
'How did he pay the deposit?'
'Cash.'
'In that case, we'd better go and have a talk with Mr. Justice, hadn't we? Did the car rental company give you a description?'
'The girl who took the booking is on holiday in Tenerife.'
'Then call her up. And talk to Inspector Ahern at Mallow. We're going to need some backup.'
It was nearly eleven o'clock before they were ready to drive to Mallow. Katie called Paul on her cell phone and she could hear laughing and music in the background. A pound to a penny he was in Counihan's, with some of his more unsavory friends.
'I was hoping to see you,' he said. He sounded very drunk.
'I'm sorry, Paul. I don't know how long I'm going to be. We've made an arrest in the Meagher Farm murder.'
'You have? That's great news. Great, great. Who is it?'
'Somebody you've heard of but I can't tell you yet.'
'I'm proud of you, pet. Really proud of you. Listen, I can-I can wait up for you if you like.'
'Don't bother, really. I probably won't be back until the morning.'
'All right, then,' he said. He sounded as disappointed as a small boy.
'What is it, Paul? Tell me what's wrong.'
'Only everything, that's all. It can wait till tomorrow.'
'Tell me now.'
'No, love, forget it. It would take the rest of the night.'
'Paul-'
'I've made a total mess of everything, that's all. I'm practically bankrupt, I've got Dave MacSweeny threatening to cut my mebs off, I've got two other villains after me for gambling debts. My only kid's dead and now I've lost you, too.'
'Paul-'
He was sobbing. 'I tried to make everything work out, pet. I did everything I could think of. But all I ended up doing was making everything worse.'
Katie didn't know what to say to him. She still didn't trust him, and she knew that she would never love him again, not the way she used to, but she still felt responsible for him, in the same way that she always felt responsible for everybody.
'Go home, love,' she told him. 'Have a good night's sleep and we'll talk about it tomorrow.'
Of course there was no Francis Justice at 134 Green Road, Mallow, and never had been. The street was crowded with squad cars and blue flashing lights but the poor old lady who lived at No. 134 had never heard of anybody called Francis Justice, and neither had the woman next door with the quilted dressing gown and the curlers and the wrestler's forearms, who insisted on leaning over the fence and giving her opinion about everything.
'You couldn't catch the clap, you lot.'
'Is that an invitation, love?'
They drove back to the city. Liam sat in the back of the car with Katie, his head lolling back, staring out of the
