Aftermath (18 page)

R
eilly was not
in the least a religious person, but it was a miracle of God that Kennedy agreed to leave the candlelight vigil, and meet with her in the car park outside Lansdowne Road stadium.

It was even more amazing that he agreed to do so without Chris.

“What’s going on?” Kennedy said pacing a little, as he drew on his cigarette, clearly uncomfortable with this.

She opened the twenty-year old RTA report and pointed to the photograph of crash scene.

"The Morrisons have been hiding something about this accident from twenty years ago. We've looked into it and their story doesn't check out."

“Ah Jaysus, Reilly,” Kennedy said losing his patience. “So what if it doesn’t - it was twenty years ago.”

"It matters because they are about to undertake a legal separation, and whatever they are holding back is at risk of being exposed."

“What does that have to do with our case?" he said, frustrated.

That was the hard part. In order to get him on board, she had to convince him there was a direct connection between this and the current investigation.

"Kennedy, listen, if Josh was planning on outing some kind of secret that could implicate Annabel--that's motive."

"But didn’t you yourself already agree she didn't attack him," he said, rightly puzzled.

“Forensics suggest she didn't physically attack him, yes. But they don’t rule out the possibility of her being there at the time. Now we know she might have a reason to have been there. To orchestrate all of this."

"I don't know about this," he said under his breath.

That was a stalling mechanism, she knew.

Kennedy was thinking about it, weighing the argument against what he'd already learned. He was waffling now, trying to figure out a retort, which Reilly knew he didn't have. So she decided to press him on that point.

"What other possibilities do we have?"

The detectives were just as immobilized as the crime unit. There was no more evidence and there were no more leads.

Reilly knew well that this was the only alternative avenue presented. It might be the more undesirable avenue, fraught with difficulties and stumbling blocks, but still it was the only one.

Kennedy knew this too. She just had to lure him into action and away from complacency. She knew how it went. He and Chris were likely in that mode where they needed to wait until something new presented itself.

Something new had presented itself.

"I need you to check out a couple of people, people who knew the Morrison’s back then, who were at the party that night."

“Witnesses? What about their transcripts?”

"Josh was Ireland’s great white rugby hope remember, nobody looked too closely at this thing, they were all too relieved that the guy had survived.”

Kennedy looked at the folder and then skimmed the transcripts. "What makes you think the reports don’t add up?"

"Josh was supposedly the passenger, and Ian was driving under the influence. The story was that Ian drunkenly swerved, the car ricocheted and then hit a wall. He wasn't wearing a seatbelt, Josh was. But we looked at the report and did some fresh analysis. Whoever flew out the window came from the passenger side."

"So you’re saying Josh lied?"

“Maybe. But without question, that’s what happened. We ran the scenario through iSPI. Furthermore, the windshield fracture could not have happened from the driver's side. Josh had to have been driving that car, not Ian."

Kennedy was in. He would have to take this seriously now. He flipped through the photos. “

Well, that's very interesting."

"Will you talk to the witnesses?"

He took a moment to think about it and then said, “OK, give me the details and I’ll take a look. But now I’d better get back …”

"I've taken the liberty to call ahead, two of them are available right now."

“What? You can’t just expect me to take off …”

She pointed at the stadium, “They’re in there."

He rolled his eyes. ”Of course they are.”

S
am Hurley would have been
a linebacker if he was American.

As it was, in his early fifties, he looked well out of place from the other attendees at the event, enjoying the music of U2, and the cuisine of some local celebrity chefs.

Josh Morrison’s ‘tribute’ looked more like an outdoor festival than a candlelight vigil, and the party had been going on now for at least a couple of hours.

Media was heavy in attendance, and based upon the temperament of the crowd, they intended to stay all night.

At some point, Reilly knew, the speeches would start and candles would light, but at present they were celebrating Josh. For rugby fans, this was the best way to wish him well.

Kennedy didn't really need to know much before approaching Hurley.

In fact, the less he knew the better. Just talk casually about the party and whatever memories he had of that night, and Reilly hoped his detective spidey-sense would take over and drill down into the information--if there was any.

Anything could slip at this point— sometimes things that were long ago buried and forgotten about, turned fresh and raw when stimulated.

Interviews with people in these situations always revealed something.

They were not guarded or aware of the topic, so had not worked to position things like they had during the initial details. If there were lies, it would be hard to remember them--it would also be hard to remember the reality of the truth.

Memories faded, but case files did not. They were equipped with details witnesses wouldn't have.

"Thanks for meeting with us, Sam,” said Kennedy.

They'd found a quiet area in the stands away from the music and crowds. “No problem,” he said, looking past them at the crowd. "Ideal place too, wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else."

"Yes, quite a turn out," Kennedy said looking back. "Okay, Sam--well you might be wondering why we wanted to speak with you."

"Not really," he said, shrugging. "Josh got stabbed. Figured it wouldn't take you guys very long to start asking around about the accident."

Reilly tried not to exchange looks with Kennedy, but found herself doing it anyway. This guy was about to let them in on something, only because he assumed they figured it out already.

“I always said the cops covered it up, no offense. But of course, no one wanted to believe the truth."

"What truth is that?"

"Josh was driving that car. We all knew it. No one wanted him locked up, so they went along with the idea that Ian did it. He was dead anyway, so what difference did it make? And he was very very drunk. We all were.”

“Tell us about the party.”

“It was a big bash; the lads had just finished the season so were in the mood to let off steam. All of us drank too much that night, even Annabel, though she’d not long had the baby. Probably the reason actually. I remember her yelling at Ian like a mad thing.”

"Annabel and Ian were arguing?" Kennedy asked.

"Yeah, I think that was the whole reason Josh took Ian home. Or tried to."

"What was the fight about?” Reilly asked.

"Who can say. We all thought they were having it off on the side, but you never know. Anyway, Josh didn't think so. He and Ian were close. Best friends. But see, that's what I've been thinking about, ever since this happened. I've been thinking about that night. I don't know what you found over there, but I can tell you this much, Annabel Morrison is off her rocker. I've never seen anyone lose the rag like that. The kid’s the same.”

"Kid?" Reilly asked, interested.

“Seriously? Don't you guys do your research, or what? Dylan Morrison is a mental case too. Half the reason he's in the States is so Annabel and him don't tear each other's heads off."

Reilly frowned at him, "How do you know that?"

He tsked. "Everyone knows that."

Kennedy stepped in, "Can you tell us anything else about that night, Sam? Any more about the argument?"

“Can’t remember much more to be honest. Annabel went upstairs in a huff and Josh went to drive Ian home. No one saw them after that. Next thing I know, the accident’s all over the papers the next day."

"What time did they leave the party?"

Sam chuckled. "I may remember it well, but not that well. It was late. I"m sure your lads have a record of that."

"Have you been in touch with the Morrison’s recently?" Kennedy asked.

"No, they don't really talk to any of us now. Basically anyone at that party. Especially afterwards when Josh went all out on his teetotal crusade. I think they like to pretend it never happened."

Kennedy nodded. "Cheers Sam, you've been helpful. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else."

"Glad to help.”

T
hey found
a quiet place to sit at the back of the stadium, behind the crowd. Kennedy got some chips from a nearby food van, and sat down, offering some to Reilly who refused.

"What do you think?”

"Interesting account," he said, mid-bite. “OK. Let's assume the fact Josh was driving that night is this big secret they don’t want to get out. Why should it matter at this stage? The thing happened years ago. It wouldn’t do that much to destroy his reputation now, and as for her--it has nothing to do with her.”

“I know.”

"And here's another thing," he said in between licking his fingers. “Let's assume, just for a second, mind - that it was Annabel who attacked Josh the other night, or for argument’s sake, had somebody else attack him. Why would she be crying on the telly, or here at a candlelight vigil, when at anytime he could wake up from a coma and incriminate her?"

Reilly bit her thumbnail, “I know. I can’t figure it out either. If the road is leading to her then it wouldn't make sense that she’s still around. Or that Josh isn't actually dead by now."

"Unless," reasoned Kennedy. “Annabel's not worried that he’d say it was her, because it
wasn't
her.”

Reilly sighed. “But then, who?"

“Aren’t you lot supposed to tell me that?"

“We’re trying," she said.

“You said there was someone else here to have a chat with?" he asked then.

Reilly nodded and thumbed a text to Tricia Sullivan.

She was another friend of the couple who’d been at the party. A childhood friend of Josh’s apparently.

They found her sitting alone outside the stadium, smoking a cigarette.

Reilly thought that the woman, in her mid-forties, had probably once been very pretty beneath the stress and worry that since had worn out the features of her face.

She briefly wondered if that's what she looked like to others too.

Tricia saw them coming and stood up to greet them.

"You the detectives?"

"I'm from the GFU, and this is Detective Kennedy," said Reilly.

"Yeah, I'm a bit surprised you were looking for me. You don't think I have anything to do with this, do you?” she asked nervously, and Reilly immediately identified her as an anxious type who would worry herself to death about the slightest thing.

"Not at all," said Kennedy, trying to put her at ease. “We're actually looking a bit of background about something long ago."

Her eyes widened, "You mean that thing with Ian? Good God no, I don't know anything about that either."

Reilly stepped in calmly, "No one's going after you Tricia, we really are just trying to connect the dots.”

“Why though? Why did this come up? What does this have to do with the stabbing?"

"Well, Tricia, that's exactly what we're trying to figure out," she replied patiently.

Tricia sat down again and took a long pull from the cigarette.

"Josh stopped talking to me after that," she said softly. "I think that was the part that hurt the most."

"What do you mean, love?" Kennedy asked.

"Annabel went nuts that night," she said slowly. "It was partly my fault. I told Josh about their affair.”

“Whose affair? Annabel and Ian’s?”

She nodded, fighting back more tears, "I can't believe this still upsets me," she said angrily. "It was a lifetime ago. But every day that went by since, I had to watch them together, Ireland’s most adoring couple. I knew it was all a lie. It was always a lie.”

“You’re sure Annabel and Ian were having an affair?”

Tricia took a breath and tried to compose herself.

"The whole thing was just ridiculous. And well, it all came out that night at the party. Josh confronted Ian and he admitted it."

"Annabel went crazy. I mean really crazy," she went on. "You see, Annabel never gave a shit about Ian. She’d married the winner. The alpha. The guy who’d give her the life she wanted. She didn't want second place. She'd screw second place, but she didn't
want
him. And she certainly wasn't going to give that up."

“So this argument?" Kennedy asked, as Tricia took a moment for a few more drags of the cigarette. “It happened in front of everyone at the party?”

“Not really, the party had pretty much broken up by then; I think there was only a few of us left. But Annabel … she was … unhinged. She went for Ian … I never saw anything like it. He was down on the ground and it took a couple of the lads to drag her off him.”

Reilly was trying her utmost to imagine the cool and collected socialite losing control like that.

But it wasn't too much of a reach, all the same.

"They finally got her off him, and she stormed off. But Ian ... he wasn’t responding. She must have knocked him out or something. To be honest I couldn't really see. But there was blood. Josh picked him up, and said he was going to take him to the hospital. I wanted to call an ambulance, but he didn't let me. He didn't want the press to find out."

She started crying again, but Reilly couldn't console her, she was too busy looking at Kennedy with bewildered wonderment.

"You could have gone to the authorities anytime since then Tricia, why didn't you?" Kennedy asked.

"Who the hell would believe me?" she said weakly.

“Tricia,” Reilly said, her brain kicking into high gear. “Would you testify in court about this now?"

She looked terrified. "I don’t know.”

“Please, it might be important. And if you and Josh Morrison were ever truly friends, then he may need your help.”

Tricia nodded reluctantly. “OK … maybe.”

Reilly left Kennedy to take her details and to let Chris in on this new avenue of investigation.

They had her, she realized, her mind reeling with the possibilities.

Annabel Morrison was a fake, possibly a murderer too. Now all they had to do was prove it.