“Hi, Cathal,” Jodie storms out of her office, Cathal bracing himself for the telling off. “I’ve just had the police on the phone complaining about your story.”
His mouth falls open and everyone around him goes quiet. No more typing, telephone voices or plans for the weekend.
“They… I… They did?”
“Aye, good bloody job.”
And with that, she slaps him on the head with this morning’s rolled up paper. His colleagues around him start laughing and cheering and he looks from his editor to them and back again, shock still on his face.
“So… I’m not in trouble?”
“No, of course not. They’re ragin’ we got the scoop. You didn’t write anything libellous and you aren’t corrupting a trial, are ye? This was cold hard facts, with an exclusive interview. They have nothing to go on. News is something someone somewhere-“
“Doesn’t want you to publish,” Cathal nods, remembering the old saying he learnt at the local tech.
“The rest is advertising,” the whole room chips in before a big whoop.
“I think Cathal here deserves a round of applause, don’t you?” Jodie places down her coffee mug to join in, “he went with his gut with an anonymous call. Something I wouldn’t have done. And we’ve got there even before the BBC. Good job. Now, find me more!”
The natural sounds of the office return to normal as Cathal folds the paper, making sure his by-line is facing upwards as he loads his computer. His first front page scoop. The feeling is incomparable. Opening his emails, his smile starts to drop when he sees a message from an unknown sender. It looks like a made-up email address. Probably some phishing expedition. It has an attachment and a short message, which is what makes him sit up and take notice, rather than delete the whole email.
‘I’d stop writing stories if I were you.’
Guffawing, Cathal clicks on the attachment which downloads as a picture file. Double clicking, his eyes widen and he almost jumps back from the screen. Why has this person sent him a picture of his younger sister’s Facebook profile picture?
Chapter Nineteen:
Parking up, McNally is just about to step out of the car when his phone blares. Checking the caller ID, he sees it’s Joe Quigley returning his call. Deciding to take this in the comfort and privacy of his own car, he leans back and clears his throat.
“DI McNally.”
“Well, how’s my old job looking?”
He hears laughter over the phone. What a smart, cocky little bastard.
“Joe Quigley, thank you for getting back to me so soon.”
“I had a missed call. I pressed return. Hardly newsworthy.”
McNally raises a brow. What a weird man.
“Anyway, McNulty, how can I help you?”
“It’s McNally, Quigley.”
“Oooh, McNally, sorry,” he chortles.
This guy was definitely the school bully. Presumably also how he got so far in his career.
“Well, Quigley. I’m sure you’ve heard the news this morning?”
“No, I haven’t. I don’t go on social media or watch the news on my days off. Hard to turn off, you know? Prefer to enjoy them in peace with my family.”
“Right… Well, I’ll just dive straight into it then, shall I?”
“Please.”
“We’ve found Aaron Parker’s body in a shallow grave behind his garage.”
Silence over the line for several seconds.
“Hello?”
“I’m still here, McNally,” he chirps irritably.
“Right… So, shocked?”
“Aye… Understandably… I mean, the family are innocent?”
McNally shuffles around in his seat, clicking his seatbelt off to get more comfortable.
“We don’t know that.”
“Their alibis are solid. The mother and youngest daughter were in the house all night. The older daughter was at a party with her boyfriend, they didn’t get home until almost 2am. The son was over in the mainland studying. The body had to be moved there-“
“No, we have heard back from forensics that the body has been there for quite some time, undisturbed before the construction workers uprooted it.”
More silence.
“I’m now leading this investigation, so would love it if you could give me anything. Any inside information or any personal thoughts…”
Quigley still doesn’t respond. McNally decides he’ll wait it out, pushing his head back onto the headrest. This is like interviewing a suspect, the silent treatment sometimes works. But Quigley will have years of experience, he won’t bite. He’ll know exactly what he’s doing.
“I… I’m just in complete shock.”
Oh, maybe he thought too soon.
“I know, it must be-“
“I mean, it’s one of the reasons why I moved away. It just angered me that I couldn’t solve the case. Walking down the same corridors and seeing the same faces. It constantly reminded me of my failure.”
“I understand, Quigley,” McNally nods, it’s weird to see this humbling side to him, “but at the end of the day, we have to put our own successes to one side and do what’s best for the family.”
“How did he die?”
“Forensics believe it to be a head injury. We should have more conclusive results this morning.”
“Mad… It’s just mad. Well, I don’t think I can help you. Everything I’ve got is in the file. And as for personal attributes, you have Ferguson. He’ll keep you right. I really have to go; I need to run and collect the young boy from nursery. Goodbye, McNally.”
Three beeps indicate he has hung up. McNally returns the phone to his pocket and shakes his head. Something isn’t right. He just knows it. Why is he being so secretive? His demeaner completely changed once the subject of Parker was brought up. Is it a guilty conscience, for the sake of the family, or is it his own ego that’s bruised? Or better yet, is it a reminder that he was
