Bleed a River Deep (12 page)

‘He said that?’ I asked, a little surprised. It seemed a fairly callous way to deal with a concerned relative, even by Harry Patterson’s standards.

‘He didn’t say it was Leon as such. He said Leon wasn’t gone long enough to be considered a missing person. He might just have gone to a friend’s, or something.’

‘Might he not have done?’ I asked.

Fearghal shook his head, then, as we drove, explained his concerns.

After we had parted company yesterday, he had taken Leon back to his hotel and booked a room for him. He said he had wanted to keep him away from the crusties at the campsite for a while, in the hope that Leon might keep his nose clean long enough for the events of the past week to settle.

He and Leon had argued; Leon felt his brother was treating him like a child. Fearghal told him he had fallen in with a bad crowd. He reasoned with Leon, telling him that he would get in trouble if he breached bail and went back over the border. And he explained to Leon that, having stood his bail, it would be Fearghal who would bear the financial burden if he broke his bail conditions.

Finally, Leon had agreed to book in to the hotel but explained that he had someone to meet out at the Carrowcreel. He would come straight back after the meeting. He gave Fearghal his word.

‘You might be worrying over nothing, Fearghal,’ I reasoned. ‘Maybe he lied when he said he would come back.’

Fearghal shook his head curtly. ‘Leon always keeps his word. Especially after yesterday. He was so pleased at me sticking up for him he wouldn’t let me down. Something’s happened to him, I know it.’

‘Have you tried his mobile?’

‘Dead,’ he replied.

‘Did you contact any other Garda stations? Or the PSNI? Maybe he’s been lifted doing something else?’

‘Patterson said he’d have heard if they’d picked him up. But he was being awkward about it, probably because of what Leon did to Hagan at Orcas. I was hoping you might come with me to the site. Maybe you might find out if it is Leon. They’ll tell you things they won’t tell me.’

I believed Patterson would be no more forthcoming with me, but I said nothing; I wanted to help Fearghal, despite all that had happened. And if I was honest, I missed my work and was eager to be at the scene.

When we pulled into the campsite beneath the giant pines, a Garda cordon had already been set up. I could see several officers I knew questioning the occupants of the various camper vans and mobile homes. Patterson was nowhere to be seen, but I suspected that we were still some distance from the site of the body and he would probably be there.

I spotted Helen Gorman standing guard at the far end of the cordon. She was standing laughing with a young male officer I didn’t recognize. As I approached, she parted from him and waved to me.

‘How’s the time off?’ she asked, careful not to use the word ‘suspension’, as if I were on voluntary leave.

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t keep away from you all, though,’ I added, tentatively raising the scene tape to step to beneath it.

Helen smiled uncertainly, then looked around her before lifting the tape and gesturing with a flick of her head that I should come in.

‘Thanks, Helen,’ I said. ‘Bradley’s brother’s being kept in the dark. He’s afraid it’s Leon in there.’

She lowered her gaze slightly and pursed her lips, and I guessed that they had already identified the corpse as belonging to Leon Bradley.

I approached the scene from the west, in the hope that I might get as far as Leon’s body before encountering Patterson. Within a few hundred yards I spotted a huddle of Guards and, on the ground, a clothed body over which knelt a woman I took to be the medical examiner, whose job would be to officially pronounce death.

As I came closer, one or two of the Guards looked across. A few nodded and smiled in recognition, but others glared. I turned my attention from them to the body lying on the forest floor and my breath caught in my chest a little, even though I had been prepared for the sight of Leon’s corpse.

His hair lay in wet tangles across his pale and slightly bloated face. His eyes were open but clouded, and leaves from the river were lodged in his gaping mouth. Seeing small black marks along his neck and jawline, I moved a little closer. The ME looked up at me from her work, her gloved hands holding Leon’s arm.

‘Who are you?’ she asked.

‘Inspector Devlin,’ I replied. ‘What happened to him?’

‘Gunshot,’ she stated bluntly, continuing with her work.

‘Shotgun?’ I guessed, gesturing towards the black spots on his neck.

She nodded. ‘The main wound’s on his back. That’s just pellet spray.’

‘How long ago?’

She twisted her mouth. ‘Hard to tell. That’s the pathologist’s job.’

‘Rough guess?’

She looked up at me with annoyance. ‘I don’t do rough guesses.’

I didn’t get a chance to continue our conversation, for someone gripped my arm from behind. I turned to face Harry Patterson.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘He told me he was an inspector,’ the ME added helpfully from behind me.

‘I am,’ I said. ‘I’m also a friend of the victim’s family.’

‘You’re on suspension,’ Patterson said. ‘That’s all that matters to me. When I want you at a scene I’ll send you to one. Otherwise, piss off – unless you want another week off.’

‘You’d better tell his brother he’s dead. He’s up at the cordon, waiting to hear.’

‘He’ll be told in due course,’ Patterson said, letting go of my arm.

‘Have a fucking heart, Harry,’ I said. ‘He’s lost his brother.’

‘His brother got what he deserved. He’s caused nothing but trouble since he got here. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s a friend of yours.’

With that, he stalked off, though I noticed that when he had gone some distance, he changed his direction and headed up towards the cordon and Fearghal Bradley.

I made my way back along the path I had come, to where Gorman was standing.

‘It was him, then?’ she said.

I nodded grimly. ‘What happened?’

She shrugged lightly. ‘I haven’t heard it all. He was shot in the back somewhere upriver. One of the prospectors was on the riverbank when the body floated past. It got snagged on some branches over the other side and a couple of them managed to pull him out.’

‘Any leads on who shot him?’ I asked. ‘Or where it happened?’

‘Not so’s I’ve heard,’ she said.

‘Thanks, Helen,’ I said.

She nodded and pulled her cap down a little over her forehead, then turned away.

I stood by Fearghal’s car and had a smoke while I waited for him. I guessed Patterson had taken him somewhere to break the news of Leon’s death. Over to my left the group of crusties with whom I had occasionally spotted Leon were sitting in a circle outside their vans, each with a can of beer. In the middle someone had lit a fire and they watched in silence as the smoke curled upwards. Several of them were crying, leaning against each other for support.

I finished my smoke, glanced around to make sure none of my colleagues was nearby, then approached the group. One or two of them looked up at me when I reached them; the others continued staring at the flames, as if in a trance. Their mongrel barked at me lazily, raising its head an inch off its front paws then lying down again when its owner, an older man with lengthy matted grey hair, whistled through his teeth at it.

‘Thanks,’ I said, and he nodded in reply. ‘I’m sorry about Leon,’ I continued. ‘I knew him too. When he was a kid. He was a friend of my younger brother.’

The grey-haired man nodded. ‘He told us,’ he said, raising his can to his mouth and draining off the contents.

‘Can I have a second?’ I said, unwilling to conduct an interview in front of the silent circle assembled before me.

The man paused a moment, as if to show he wasn’t jumping to accommodate me, then struggled to his feet. We walked away from the group and I offered him one of my cigarettes before lighting one for myself. I introduced myself and the man told me his name was Peter.

‘Who told you it was him?’ I asked, sensing that they were already in mourning.

‘A couple of the lads helped pull him out of the water, before the pigs even arrived here.’ He glanced at me and added, ‘No offence.’

‘None taken. Any ideas what might have happened to him?’ I asked.

‘You’d know that better than us,’ he spat. ‘You’re the cop.’

‘Fair enough. Any idea who might want to kill him, then?’

‘I don’t know, man. Leon was one of the good guys. He didn’t make enemies.’

‘Apart from Cathal Hagan and Eligius, you mean,’ I said.

‘I’d start there, then, if I were you,’ he replied bitterly. ‘The Guards had it in for him over the Hagan thing. He told me your crowd beat him in custody.’

‘What was he doing with Janet Moore?’ I asked.

Peter stopped and squinted at me with suspicion. ‘Why?’

‘Were they involved with each other?’

He raised his chin slightly, which I took to be affirmation. Janet would have to be questioned.

‘When did you last see him?’

‘Yesterday evening. He was going somewhere.’

‘Where?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know. He got a message.’

‘What about?’

Peter shrugged. ‘To meet someone, I guess. And I don’t know who, before you ask.’ He pinched out his cigarette between his forefinger and thumb. ‘I’d better get back to the rest of them,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the smoke.’

Fearghal was sitting in the car when I went back. His face was puffy and flushed, his eyes red with crying. When I opened the door he hastily rubbed at his face with the heels of his palms, and stretched his jaw muscles.

‘I’m sorry, Fearghal,’ I said, sitting in the seat beside him and placing my hand on his shoulder.

‘Thanks, Benny,’ he said. ‘Thanks for coming out with me, too. Sorry if it was a wasted journey. That Superintendent came and told me anyway.’

‘No bother,’ I said.

‘Did you see him?’ Fearghal asked. ‘Leon? How did he look?’

I struggled to think of an appropriate response, but Fearghal had already moved on. ‘I haven’t seen him yet. I have to go to the hospital to identify him.’

I nodded.

‘Might they have got it wrong? Mightn’t it be someone else?’ he asked urgently, his face brightening.

I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re right.’ He sniffed deeply several times, cleared his throat and turned the key in the ignition. ‘I’ll drop you home before I go to the hospital. I’ll need you to give me directions, if you don’t mind.’

‘I’ll come with you, Fearghal,’ I said. ‘If you want.’

He looked across the car at me and smiled, then his expression crumpled in sobs again and he lowered his head against the steering wheel. I sat beside him in silence, my hand on his shoulder, until the shuddering stopped.

For the second time in a fortnight, I found myself standing in the morgue of Letterkenny Hospital.

Fearghal Bradley studied his brother’s face, as if in so doing he might somehow discover a reason for what had happened. The morgue attendant attempted to adjust the green sheet she’d lowered to expose Leon’s face, in order to cover the shotgun marks, but Fearghal had already spotted them.

‘Someone shot him?’ he asked, his voice rising in incredulity. ‘I thought he drowned.’

The morgue assistant fitted the green sheet back over Leon’s head again and made to move the body back to where it would be examined by the State Pathologist.

‘Why would someone shoot him?’ Fearghal asked me, his hand gripping my lower arm.

‘I don’t know, Fearghal,’ I said. ‘But I promise you, I’ll find out.’

Outside the morgue, Fearghal was given a plastic bag containing those of Leon’s possessions not held by Forensics. As we sat in the car outside, he looked through the assortment: a watch; a Zippo lighter; ear studs; a mobile phone; some washed-out five-euro notes, pulped together.

‘Not much to show for thirty years on this fucking planet, is it?’

‘They’re just things, Fearghal,’ I said. ‘Your memories of Leon are the important things. The friends he had; the people he knew.’

‘Why would someone kill him? I know he could be an arsehole sometimes, but he wasn’t a bad guy,’ he said with an almost pleading tone, as if he needed to convince me of how unworthy his brother was of death.

He left the bag of items on the floor beside me, then started the car. As we drove, I reflected on what Peter had told me. Leon had gone to meet someone. He had got a message.

‘Do you mind if I take a look at Leon’s phone?’ I asked.

‘Why? Do you think it might be important?’ Fearghal said.

‘I don’t know, Fearghal,’ I said. ‘It might not even work from the water. I just want to check it.’

Initially the phone wouldn’t work. I removed the battery and dried it with my shirt-tail, and after a few attempts it came to life. On the Home screen was an image of Leon and Janet Moore, taken at arm’s length by Leon. Their faces were pressed together, both of them smiling, and I was a little embarrassed to be looking at something so intimate.

I looked first at the messages received. The final message he had received was dated early on the morning previous from
JANET
, who I assumed to be Janet Moore. It read simply: ‘Meet @ 8. McElroys.’ McElroys was the name of a bar in Lifford. It certainly was something that would need to be followed up with Janet Moore.

I flicked into the Sent folder and scrolled through the messages there to see if he had arranged a meeting with anyone, but there was nothing. I scrolled through the list of calls made. Many were to Janet, including, I noted, one at two o’clock on Friday morning, minutes before a call to Fearghal. Leon had obviously called her from Eligius, to tell her of his role in the break-in.

I glanced at the clock on the dash: 10.30. It would be too late to contact Janet Moore now, though I resolved to do so at the earliest opportunity the following day, to find out about the meeting they had had on Friday night. It may well have been the last time Leon had been seen alive. I was also aware that Harry Patterson would be holding a grudge against Leon Bradley, and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be putting too much pressure on those working the case. For my part, I needed to know if Janet Moore had met Leon the night before he died.