“You and Twomey got them to lure this man down there, didn’t you?”
“That’s so stupid I won’t even think of answering.”
“It was their idea?” Wall said. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” “I am not. You’re putting words in my mouth. You’re trying to set me up. Now I see it. Yous haven’t a clue who did that fella in, so you just want anyone. Those two lied to you I bet and you gobbled it up like idiots.”
“The girl lied? Tara?”
“I don’t know, do I? I don’t know what they told you, but whatever it is, it’s wrong.”
He grimaced then, and felt for the corner of his mouth where the skin had cracked.
“So it’s all lies. I’m not going to say another word. Yous are taking away my rights.”
“What reason would Tara or her friend have to lie?” Wall asked. “Aren’t you and Tara a couple and all that?”
Matthews said something under his breath.
Minogue got up. He picked up his clipboard and headed for the door, closing it quietly behind him. The uniform, an older veteran with a grey moustache and a smell of cigar smoke, was reading the evening paper.
“Thanks,” said Minogue, “we need a bit of time here.”
The Guard folded his paper and grasped the door handle.
“Troublesome?” he asked.
“No,” said Minogue, “no more than usual.”
Wall came out of the interview room stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“Let’s get Mossie here too. We need to shuffle the deck a bit.”
Wall nodded. To Minogue he seemed as fresh and alert as when they first met this afternoon.
“I think we need to talk to those girls again tonight. Shake them up. Minors or not. We need to figure them out better.”
Wall said nothing. Neither man moved. Then Wall tugged at his nose.
“Do you wonder maybe?” he asked Minogue.
“Two girls?” said Minogue.
“Yep. I know Matthews is pushing the line, without actually saying it.”
“Each of them trying to sell the other one up the river,” Minogue said.
“But forensic gives us ‘shoes.’ Leather-soled, hard edges.”
“That’s what they call stomped, isn’t it?” said Wall.
“Big shoes, big heels? Small shoes, small heels?”
Wall lowered his head and looked up under his eyebrows at Minogue.
“Fair enough,” said Minogue, “I’m getting delirious. Let’s check with Mossie. We can all go delirious together.”
Chapter 29
Faning’s eyes were itching from staring at the screen. Reflexively, his fingers tapped the Apple — S combination. Then he did a Save As to his memory stick before closing the file. He returned to Google Maps, and zoomed in on the lane where he had gone with Cully and West Ham. No, the image hadn’t changed. What did he expect, that a satellite had passed, taken a photo and it was on the server already? Complete with the five of them in the lane behind the pub? Magical thinking indeed. But that guy with the broken arm must have gone to some hospital or clinic: he’d be traceable.
He began to compose an email to Breen. Subject: Real Crime Story. While the cursor pulsed on, awaiting his words, he imagined Breen reading this cryptic email that he was about to start. But did Breen junk his email? Did he even check his email? For several moments, Fanning imagined Breen opening the email, but then rolling his eyes and deleting it. Fanning trying to generate some buzz. Fanning trying to show off. Fanning deluding himself.
Tomorrow for the email, he decided then.
He closed the lid of the laptop and waited for the sleep light to begin. Then he stood and stretched. He felt no real easing in the tightness at the small of his back, so he moved the chair to get to the rug. It smelled of food and mustiness when he tipped it with his nose, and did his first push-up. He tried to focus on his breathing and to ignore the yammering thoughts. That ache at the bottom of his chest was an adrenaline hangover. He still could not decide if this was from fear or excitement. He rested for a minute, staring up the table legs to the underside of the table, and the ceiling beyond. This Cully character didn’t just beat up people for kicks. And the guy with him…?
Fanning’s back was still tight. He rolled up and stood slowly, and he poised himself to do a bit of yoga. He focused on his breathing and started into a Greeting to the Sun, breathing loudly to try to still his mind better. It took him a minute or so to complete the routine, and he was soon back on the rug, as flat and still as he could. He listened to his blood coursing by, his own breath whistling slower in his nose. Calm settled on him then, and he could almost see in his mind’s eye the truth coming to rest like a leaf on a sunlit path. Cully was mocking him. He was also daring him. It was a test, Fanning saw, and that made it easy to decide.
Aisling groaned in her sleep. Fanning got up slowly and tiptoed to her room. She was inert, splayed out, with her mouth open. She swallowed and she frowned and she turned over. He lifted the edge of the blanket to her shoulder and watched her settle again. He parted the curtains on his way back to the kitchen. The white BMW was still there, far enough from the street lamp for its interior to remain dark. The hall door opened, and a key was pulled out of the lock. He stepped quickly out of Aisling’s room, glad to hear the familiar sound of Velcro being teased apart. Brid was panting. She pulled the safety vest over her head and sat heavily into a kitchen chair.
“God almighty,” she said, half-whispering. “I’m huffing and puffing tonight like an oul wan. Brutal.”
“It’s hard getting back into it.”
She glanced at him before she leaned down to get at her laces. Jogging was not his thing, never had been, he thought of saying.
“Well that’s it for me. A bath and bed. Feck marking for tonight.”
“Good. I want to borrow your phone.”
“Where’s yours?”
“Oh I have it but it might be on the blink. Just in case.”
She straightened up slowly.
With her flush cheeks and bright eyes, years had come off her.
“You’re going out?”
“Just for a while. A chance to meet with some people, research.”
“Fieldwork,” she said.
She was holding back, he knew. He felt bold.
“I’ll wake you up when I come home,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows, and seemed to weigh his words.
“Oh will you now,” she murmured.
He was able to hold her gaze, and even add a brazen touch to his own. She smiled cryptically.
“Only if I’m asleep,” she said.
He hadn’t expected that.
Murphy’s BMW smelled like an ashtray. Actually, it smelled more like the ashbin from years ago, the one Fanning’s grandmother had used. A hint of long used car-freshener only made things worse.
Cully waited for Fanning to pull the door closed. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll go for a little drive then, won’t we.”
“How about Murph?”
“Loaned it to me, he did.”
“So, it’s just us?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Not until I get some answers from you.”
Cully lowered his hand from the key in the ignition and he looked over.
“Let’s start with how you found my house,” Fanning asked.
“You’re pissed off, aren’t you.”
“I don’t like you talking about my family. About my wife. That’s out of order. Big time.”
“Big time?”
“I’m serious. That can’t happen again.”
“Or?”
Fanning stared into the reflections of the street lamps in Cully’s eyes. His heart pounded harder.
“Leave my family out of this. Don’t hang around my place.”
Cully’s voice seemed tighter when he spoke now.
“Talking tough, are you. For a bookish type.”
“Where did that come from, ‘bookish type’?”
“You practising dialogue or something? Rehearsals already?”
“We need to be on the level here,” said Fanning. “This isn’t a game.”
Cully’s face creased in a grin. He rubbed his nose as he looked away.