Borderlands (8 page)

"Jesus,
Ben, it's Christmas Eve," he said, stopping beside us and stubbing out his
cigarette, which he had held clamped in his mouth as he'd slipped plastic
galoshes over his shoes. I noticed that he was still wearing his pyjamas under
his corduroy trousers, the paisley material creeping out over his shoes.
"What have we got?" he asked, gesturing towards the car.

"Spontaneous
combustion?" I suggested.

Mulrooney
steeled himself and went over to the car, holding his breath against the smell.
I watched him take a biro from his pocket and use it to poke at the skull,
angling it slightly for a clearer view.

He
stepped back and spat, much as I had done earlier. It's on just such occasions
that you regret knowing that all smells are particulate.

"Looks
like a simple shooting," he said, and it took me a moment to realize he
wasn't being flippant.

"What?"

"Look,"
he said, indicating with his pen. "Entry wound here; exit wound presumably
out the other side. Two murders in a week. You know that might make Lifford the
killing capital of Ireland."

"Very
funny," I said.

"Any
ideas about when it might have happened?" Costello asked, shifting closer
to the car.

"None.
But to cross the 't's and that - for what it's worth - he's dead."

Terry
Boyle's mother, Kathleen, clutched a used Kleenex in her hand, her face raw, her
eyes red and puffy. Jane Long's eyes were not much better. She shifted in the
seat and put her arms around the older woman's shoulders. I crouched in front
of Mrs Boyle, though she seemed to look through me.

"I'm
very sorry, Mrs Boyle," I said, realizing not for the first time the
inadequacy of the expression. I took her hand in mine and sat with her as she
cried some more.

"Mr
Boyle?" I said.

The
woman shook her head. "Lives in Glasgow."

"Best
get someone to check on him," I said to Long, the implication being that
she should both break the news and ascertain his whereabouts.

"Shall
I make some tea?" Long suggested, reaching for her radio as she headed out
of the room, grateful, probably, to escape the stultifying grief for a few
minutes.

"Jesus,"
Kathleen Boyle repeated over and over, her body shuddering.

And,
with that, I found myself both questioning His existence and praying all the
harder that He would transcend time and space and bring comfort both to this
woman and to her son, who surely did not deserve to die in such a manner.

"Any
ideas who might have a slight against your son, Mrs Boyle? Someone maybe he had
a falling out with?"

She
shook her head, her tissue clamped to her face. "He's only just
home," she snuffled. "Back from university. Went out to some
disco."

"What
about a girlfriend, Mrs Boyle?"

She
nodded, but did not, or could not, speak.

"Was
he with her last night?"

A
shake of the head this time. "She lives in Dublin. He said he was just
going out for a drink. Not meeting anybody. Are you sure it's him?" The
words tumbled out together.

"We're
fairly certain, Mrs Boyle."

"Do
I need to identify him or something? Can I see him?" she asked, her
expression lightening a little, as if by grace of her seeing the body she might
somehow will her son back to life again and forget this terrible night as no
more substantial than a nightmare.

"No,
Mrs Boyle. We'll identify him," I said, not wishing to explain that her
son was now beyond even her recognition. Before we left the house I would have to
find something from which a DNA sample could be taken for comparison should
dental or doctor's records prove inconclusive.

While
Kathleen Boyle wept, Long and I sat in that room, drank tea and did not speak.
We could not leave her - not as police officers, not as fellow human beings.

Her
sister arrived at around eight o'clock and convinced her to try to get some
sleep. Long and I finally made our way back to the station after requesting
that should Mrs Boyle think of anything useful - anything at all - she should
contact us, day or night. I sat in the car and lit a cigarette, and could think
of nothing but my tiredness and the cold which seemed to have permeated my very
bones.

The
murder team met on Tuesday morning at 9.30 to report on progress in the Cashell
case, though we had all spent the night on the Gallows Lane incident. On the
way in, Costello called me to one side. "How's things?" he asked.
"At home, I mean."

"Fine,"
I said a little taken aback at his sudden avuncular manner. "Why?"

"We
got a call from Mark Anderson this morning."

"Oh."

"He
says your dog has been worrying his sheep and you don't care.

"The
only thing likely to worry his sheep is his pervert son. Does he not think we
have enough bothering us without him phoning in about a bloody dog?"

"Well,
that's what I said. In not so many words."

"You?"

"Oh,
aye. He went straight to the top. Why speak to the monkey when you could be
speaking to the organ grinder, eh?" He laughed without humour and went
into the office where we were meeting. I followed him, cursing Mark Anderson
and his sheep.

Before
we discussed the progress on Angela Cashell's murder, Costello gave us the
low-down on the death of Terry Boyle. The state pathologist was conducting the
post mortem as we spoke, and hoped to have a report with us later in the day. A
forensics team were working on the car to see what could be found, but the fact
that it had been set alight meant they would have difficulties finding
anything of much value.

"Why
burn it?" Holmes said. "I mean, you've shot the poor bastard. Why
burn the car then. It's like a 'fuck you', isn't it?"

"Maybe
there was something in the car?" Williams suggested.

"Maybe
there was someone in the car," I said. "Would explain what he was
doing parked up there in the middle of the night. Maybe the killer was in the
car with him and burnt the car to destroy any evidence."

Costello
brought us back to Cashell again. "We'll wait to see these reports.
Caroline, I'd like you and Jason to follow up the Boyle inquiry. Report back to
Inspector Devlin here, daily. Inspector," he said, referring to me by rank
rather than name, thereby making it all official, "I'd like you to
continue pushing the Cashell case until McKelvey's found. Let's see if we can
get one case tied up at least."

Holmes
and Williams nodded their agreement. Holmes looked exhausted, due in part to
his visiting many of the local bars and clubs to see if anyone recognized
Angela Cashell from a photograph he had got from Sadie. He had felt obliged to
partake of a number of complimentary Christmas drinks in each pub and had
arrived on site in the middle of the night a little the worse for wear. He told
us that Sadie had informed him that Johnny had been refused Christmas bail as a
flight risk and would be up before Strabane magistrates on Friday 27th.

As
well as speaking to local publicans, Holmes had visited the nightclub in
Strabane which Angela had reportedly attended on Thursday night with someone
fitting the description of Whitey McKelvey. The club owner didn't remember her,
but had provided a tape of his security camera footage for that night, which
Holmes placed on Costello's desk.

Williams
had contacted most of the local jewellers and secondhand shops, both in
Strabane and Lifford, but no one remembered having seen or been offered the
ring. She told us she was planning on trying Derry shops later that day. She
had asked two of the secretaries in the station to go through the stolen items
list which Burgess had printed out for her late on the previous afternoon. The
list ran to 112 pages for the past six months.

Costello
then provided us with the full report from the state pathologist, including
toxicological findings. And we discovered just how Angela Cashell had died.

At
some time, probably after seven o'clock on Friday night, Angela Cashell had
eaten a cheeseburger and chips and drunk Diet Coke. She smoked several joints
through the rest of the evening and drank vodka - again, probably, with Diet
Coke. At some point she took what she may have believed to be an Ecstasy tablet,
no bigger than a one cent coin and speckled yellow and brown. The tablet was of
very low purity and had been cut with, amongst other things, talc, rat poison,
DDT, nutmeg and strychnine.

Shortly
after taking the tablet, and perhaps even as a consequence of it, she began to
have sex with someone who wore a condom, as we had been told earlier. Perhaps
during the act itself, the compound of chemicals she had taken caused something
in her brain to misfire; her synapses sparked with electrical currents which
eventually sent her into an epileptic seizure. The strychnine was probably
responsible for spasms which tore her leg muscles from their ligaments. In
addition, her lungs began to slow and enter paralysis, though whoever was with
her may not have realized this, for they knelt on her chest and covered her
mouth with a cotton cloth until she stopped breathing. Perhaps they realized
that the drug would kill her, but wished to speed the process along. Or perhaps
they simply put her out of her misery.

After
she had died her body was washed and her pants were put back on, inside out.
Then two people - for she would have been prohibitively heavy for a person
small enough to kneel on her to be capable also of carrying her - must have put
her into a car. They drove her to behind Lifford Cineplex several hours after
she died and threw her body down to the spot where we discovered it.

We
waited until everyone had finished reading, Williams going over the report more
slowly than the rest of us. "So," said Costello finally, "it
fairly much confirms what we knew already, with a few more details thrown in.
Especially the drug thing."

"Yeah,"
said Holmes. "Not uncommon to get low-grade drugs, especially E tabs.
Though in saying that, I haven't heard of any of these substances being found
before."

"I
have," said Costello and I saw Williams nod slightly, as though in
agreement. "Read this and see if it sounds familiar."

He
handed each of us a copy of a letter dated September 1996, the paper still warm
from the photocopier. The letter read:

Dear
Student

As
you are aware, An Garda work closely with your school to

develop
drugs awareness programmes to educate you about

the
dangers of drugs and ensure that none of you get caught in the cycle of criminal
activity which drugs use can cause.

However,
we are also aware that some of you may be using drugs or have been tempted to
experiment with them. Therefore I write to you in particular to be vigilant
over the coming weeks.

It
has come to our attention that a batch of highly dangerous Ecstasy tablets has
appeared on the Irish drugs scene and, while none has reached Donegal to date,
it has been decided that all students in all schools in the area be made aware
of this danger. The tablets, which are round, are about one centimetre in
diameter. They have a yellow/brown speckled appearance and might taste slightly
bitter. The Customs Office in Dublin has informed us that these drugs, which
originated in Holland, will not have the effect of an Ecstasy tablet, but in
fact contain a number of deadly chemicals and poisons, including rat- and
flea-killer. The tablets can cause a range of symptoms, including breathing
difficulties, convulsions, brain damage, and could cause death.

If
someone offers you one of these tablets - or if you are suspicious of anything
you are offered - DO NOT TAKE IT.

You
can contact Letterkenny Garda station in confidence on 074 55584, or else
contact your local Garda station or tell a member of your school staff. You
will not get in any trouble and you might help save lives.

The
letter was signed by Costello, with a further reminder to avoid the drugs
completely. I vaguely remembered the letters being distributed by schools,
though at the time I was working in Sligo on a breaking-and-entering team who
were targeting local hotels and hostels.

"Sound
like the same things," Holmes said, putting the letter down on the table.

"I'm
surprised you don't remember it," Williams said, "working with the
drugs squad in Dublin."

"Before
my time," Holmes replied, then smiled good humouredly. "I'm still a
young buck, me."

"God
help us all," Williams said and hid her face behind the A4 sheet she held.

"Well,
it's probably the same." I said. "So, we need to find out who gave it
to her. Was it the same person that she was sleeping with?"

"And
did they intend for her to be killed by the tablet or was it accidental?"
Costello added.