“Hackers often get caught.”
Ryan nodded. “Many do, but not all. I’ve made use of a few of them in the past with excellent results. Are you game?”
“You’ll start with Paquette?”
“Of course. She’s the entree to the story. If the video shows what you say it does, my expose in the Sunday edition will be picked up by every television newsreader in Europe and North America within the day.”
Fitzmaurice took the documents he’d promised Paquette out of his suit coat pocket and handed them to Ryan. “Call her on her mobile, and when you’ve finished meeting with her, give her these. Her number is attached.”
Ryan nodded, glanced at his watch, drained the last of his pint, and stood. “You’ve given me a lot to do, otherwise I’d stay for another.”
“You do your best work when you’re sober, John.”
“Now, that’s a disquieting thought,” Ryan said merrily. “Thanks for lunch. Don’t tarry. I need that video file sent along promptly.”
“I’ll see to it.”
Fitzmaurice paid the bill and made his way out of O’Donoghue’s. From their earliest days together as schoolboy chums and neighborhood hooligans, John Ryan had never once lied to him or broken his word. His only worry was Deputy Commissioner Noel Clancy, who had a keen eye for his shenanigans. If pressed, he’d plead ignorance, of course, and hope that Noel would be secretly pleased by the unusual and highly regrettable circumstances that were about to unfold.
At the branch library he sent off the video file to the Web address Ryan had given him. On his way back to the office he sailed the DVD out the car window and into the Liffey.
It was a pleasant, clear early Sunday morning when Fitzmaurice’s door-bell rang. He looked out the window to see Noel Clancy waiting at the door. Dressed in his Garda uniform, he had a stern look on his face and held a rolled-up newspaper in his hand.
Fitzmaurice slipped outside, thankful that Edna was upstairs in the tub taking a soak with the door closed and Sean was away for the weekend hiking the Twelve Bens mountain range with his older brother.
“Good morning to you, Noel,” he said with a smile. “Have you been called into work today?”
“Have you seen this?” Clancy said, slapping the Sunday paper against Fitzmaurice’s arm.
“Aye, I have.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what have you gone and done?”
“Not a thing, and I’ll ask you not to be accusing me falsely.”
“The commissioner has been getting calls from every bloody politician in the government about this. They all want answers, Hugh, and so do I. How did the interrogation video get onto a blog?”
Fitzmaurice shrugged nonchalantly. “Hackers?”
“How did John Ryan learn about Josephine Paquette?”
“Again, I’m without an explanation. Would you like me to go around to her hotel and talk to her?”
“She returned to Canada yesterday.”
Fitzmaurice shook his head sadly. “Bad luck that. I’ll speak to John Ryan about it.”
“That’s already been done,” Clancy said. “He’s claiming Paquette came to him voluntarily with the information about Spalding, and the blog was not of his doing.”
“Well, there you have it,” Fitzmaurice said with a straight face.
“I’m putting you on desk duty until this situation is resolved by way of an official inquiry. Report to my office first thing in the morning.”
“As you wish,” Fitzmaurice said. “But this time, Commissioner, I would gratefully appreciate it if you didn’t have me shredding old documents in the basement. It’s very bad for my allergies.”
Clancy almost smiled at Fitzmaurice’s nonchalance. He was indeed a gifted rapscallion. “You could retire and avoid any unpleasantness.”
Fitzmaurice shook his head. “I’ve done nothing wrong and have no plans to retire until Sean finishes university.”
“Are you going to Sunday Mass?”
“As a good Catholic should. Will I see you there?”
“Not today.”
“Will we be holding George Spalding now that the facts have come to light in the press, or be giving him over to the Yanks?”
“He stays put at Cloverhill. The minister of justice will soon be announcing that in the matter of George Spalding all Irish and international laws will be adhered to without fail.”
“Isn’t that a grand thing, seeing justice served?”
Finally, Clancy smiled. “Indeed it is.”
Chapter Twelve
During the afternoon on the day Sara left for Iraq, Kerney spoke by phone with Susan Berman, the unit production manager for the movie, and explained he would be unable to honor his consultant contract unless child-care arrangements could be made for Patrick.
“That’s no problem, we’ve hired a nanny for some of the cast’s children.”
“Okay, good. There’s another problem, though. I’m going to be a day late getting to Playas. It’s a family matter.”
“What’s wrong?”
“My wife’s been deployed to Iraq unexpectedly.”
“I had no idea your wife was in the military. Of course you can delay your arrival. If I’m not around when you get here, ask for Libby. She’s the nanny. Including Patrick there will only be five children in her care, so he should get a lot of attention.”
“Good,” Kerney said, “he’ll need it.”
“This must be very hard on you.”
“Yes, it is.”
He spent the rest of that afternoon wrapping up little details; dropping off a change-of-address form at the post office, arranging for a lawn service to keep the grounds of the Arlington house tidy until the property sold, notifying utility companies where to send final bills, and meeting with the real estate agent to give him a house key.
The agent assured him the house would sell quickly and at a handsome profit. Kerney didn’t doubt him; real estate values had skyrocketed in the D.C. area over the last three years and the resale market was strong.
On Saturday the movers came to take everything away and put it into storage until Kerney and Patrick returned from the Bootheel. After they departed, Kerney and Patrick took a number of boxes filled with usable castoffs and nonperishable food to a local charity. Then they went back to the house to clean it up.
Patrick seemed to welcome the activity and pitched in as best he could. Once all was in order, Kerney spread out Patrick’s sleeping bag on the bare living-room floor and gave him his stuffed pony.
“You need to take your nap, son.”
Patrick looked around the empty room. “Everything’s gone.”
“To our Santa Fe home,” Kerney said. “That where we’re all going to live from now on.”
“Will Mommy be there?”
“Yes, but not right away. I’m going to need your help with the horses.”
The thought of the horses cheered Patrick slightly, but he still looked unhappy as Kerney tucked him in. After he fell asleep, Kerney sat on the front stoop and called his old and best friend Dale Jennings, who’d been hired as a wrangler for the movie. He gave him a heads-up about Sara’s deployment to Iraq and his delayed arrival in Playas.
“Damn, if that isn’t bad news,” Dale said with a heavy sigh, concern flooding his voice. “Seems we both have wives who are in a fix.”
“What’s up with Barbara?”
“She had an emergency appendectomy three nights ago, and I had to bow out on the movie job. We’re not going to Playas.”
“Is she all right?” Kerney asked.
“She’s healing up nicely but sore and cranky,” Dale replied. “The girls went down to Las Cruces this morning to enroll late in their fall classes at the university, so I’m chief cook, bottle washer, and nurse until Barbara gets back on her feet.”
“Give her my best,” Kerney said, trying to sound upbeat, although the thought of missing out on Dale’s company in the Bootheel wasn’t a happy one.