Living Death (46 page)

‘A fortune-teller warned you to beware of a baby, didn’t she? You told me that yourself.’

‘I only told you that to prove how easy it is to read anything into what fortune-tellers warn you about. We believe what we want to believe, and we turn a blind eye to everything else.’

‘Just like poor old Gerry,’ said Grainne. She stepped up into the ambulance and Milo closed the doors behind her. Gearoid stood in the porch and watched as the black Opel and the ambulance drove out of the clinic on to the Middle Glanmire Road and then turned sharp left into Lover’s Walk.

Dermot sniffed and said, ‘You’ll be wanting to go up and see to Gerry. He woke up ten minutes ago and he’s been throwing a ghand ever since so I had to use the ball gag to shut him up.’

‘In that case, I think it’s time I took out his tongue,’ said Gearoid. ‘I think we’ve all heard enough from Gerry Mulvaney to last us a lifetime.’

*

They had only driven a short distance past Tivoli Docks when the ambulance’s engine started to make loud knocking noises. The knocking grew louder and louder until it reverberated through the whole body of the ambulance and Grainne shouted out from the back, ‘What’s wrong, Ger? Pull over, for the love of God, we’re getting mangalated here!’

Ger turned the ambulance into the narrow driveway that led to the Lota Brothers of Charity. Lorcan drew his car in close behind them. He came hurrying up to the ambulance in the rain, just as Ger and Milo climbed out.

‘What have you stopped for?’ he shouted, above the swishing of passing cars.

‘Sounds like the big end’s gone,’ said Ger. ‘There’s no way this feller’s going to England – not today, any road.’

‘I don’t fecking believe this,’ said Lorcan. ‘We have a shipment to pick up that’s worth hundreds of thousands, and now we can’t do it because a crappy second-hand ambulance has broken down.’

Ger pushed his wet fringe out of his eyes. ‘Spot on,’ he said, with complete equanimity. ‘You have it exactly.’

‘Christ on a bicycle,’ said Lorcan. ‘We’ll just have to turn round and go back to the clinic. I’ll ring Gearoid and see if we can’t get one of the other ambulances going.’

‘The only one that’s halfway near ready needs a new alternator,’ Ger told him. ‘The other one, they haven’t finished fitting out the inside yet. There wouldn’t be nowhere to stash the stash, like.’

‘I don’t fecking believe this!’

‘There’s nothing we can do about it, boy,’ said Milo, as placidly as Ger.

‘You’re right, we’ll have to go back,’ said Lorcan. ‘But Jesus – Gearoid’s going to go mental.’

He returned to his car while Ger and Milo climbed back into the ambulance. Ger turned the key in the ignition and the starter-motor whinnied, but all that happened was a loud and very final-sounding
clonk.

‘Sure lookit, it’s banjaxed,’ said Milo. ‘Totally and utterly banjaxed. I’ll have to ring Sonny to come out and give us a tow.’

Lorcan came back again and knocked on the driver’s door window. ‘What in the name of Jesus is going on?’ he demanded. Ger opened the door and climbed out again.

‘Won’t start,’ he said. ‘Milo’s calling Sonny to give us a tow back to Montenotte.’ As he spoke, though, he looked over Lorcan’s shoulder and said, ‘Sketch, boy. Shades.’

‘What?’ said Lorcan, turning around to see a Garda Nissan Terrano pulling in behind his Opel. ‘Oh shite. That’s all we fecking need.’

Two gardaí came walking towards them, putting on their caps. One was a tall, burly man; the other was a small blonde woman.

Lorcan said to Ger, out of the corner of his mouth, ‘You don’t know me, okay? You broke down and I’m a just passing motorist who stopped to see if I could give you some assistance. Do you have that? Because I’m out of here now.’

Milo came around the ambulance and he quickly repeated the same words to him. ‘If they think we’re travelling together they’ll want to know why, and who I am, and right now I can’t think of any plausible explanation.’

‘What’s the problem here?’ asked the male garda, as he approached. ‘This is the road to the Brothers of Charity campus, are you aware of that, and I’m afraid you’re obstructing it.’

‘Oh, right, the Brothers of Charity,’ said Milo. ‘They’re the ones who look after the loonies, aren’t they? Well, I’m sorry about that, but our ambulance has broken down and we’re waiting on a tow.’

Lorcan said, ‘I only stopped to see if there was anything I could do to help, but these fellers seem to have it under control. So I’ll be heading off, okay?’

‘Yes, okay,’ the garda told him, and Lorcan walked back to his car, climbed into it, and drove off. He could have turned around at the next roundabout, which was only a hundred metres further up the road, but he didn’t want the guards to see him going back the way he had come, so he turned left to return to Montenotte through Glanmire Village.

Milo said to the gardaí, ‘I’ve rung Sonny Powers from Powers Motors in Togher, and he’s promised us a tow truck asap. So we won’t be blocking up this entrance for too much longer.’

‘Where were you heading?’ the female garda asked him.

‘Oh, well, Rosslare, like, for the ferry. We were on our way to a rehab clinic in England. It’s a regular run we have to make. We take our patients there for specialist therapy which unfortunately is not available to them here in Cork.’ That was the line that Gearoid had made him learn word for word, in case they were ever questioned by the Garda or by Revenue.

‘Do you have any patients on board now?’

‘Only the two. But they’ll be grand altogether for the moment. There’s a nurse in there with them in case they need anything, you know like a drink or any medicamation.’

‘Would you open the doors, please, so that we can see them?’

‘Well, now, I wouldn’t want to be disturbing them. They’re probably out for the count, do you know what I mean? We always give them a sedative before they travel, so they don’t get distressed. Like I said, they’ll be grand altogether.’

‘Would you open the doors, please, so that we can see them?’ the female garda repeated.

Milo wiped the rain from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘They have serious disabilities, the both of them. I can’t be responsible if they have some kind of a seizure.’

‘Open the doors, sir,’ said the male garda.

‘If you insist,’ said Milo, and puffed out his cheeks in resignation. He opened the doors, and then stepped away. Inside, Grainne was sitting between Siobhán and Fearghal, and she stood up apprehensively as the two gardaí came up close to the back of the ambulance. Fearghal was sitting strapped in a harness in a metal chair, while Siobhán was lying on the trolley, covered in a pale blue blanket. Both of them were awake, and when Siobhán heard the doors open and the sound of traffic and rain outside, she flapped her arms, and managed to make a honking noise in the back of her throat.

‘Poor creature, she’s fierce easily upset by strangers,’ said Grainne.

Fearghal remained motionless, staring at the darkness inside his head.

‘Would you put down the steps, please,’ said the female garda.

Grainne was about to protest, but Milo caught her eye and shook his head. Gearoid had warned him to keep any encounters with guards or customs inspectors as low-key as possible. ‘
Get up their nose, Milo, and they’ll start sniffing around
.’

Milo lowered the steps and the female garda climbed inside the back of the ambulance. She looked closely at Fearghal first, and waved her hand in front of his face. ‘He’s very unresponsive, isn’t he?’

‘Blind, deaf, and double amputee,’ said Grainne. ‘He was in a road accident when he was twelve. Both of his parents were killed so he was lucky.’

The garda said nothing, although it was plain from her expression what she was thinking. If Fearghal was lucky, God have mercy on anybody less fortunate than he was.

Next the garda turned to Siobhán.

‘What about her?’

‘Brain tumour,’ said Grainne. ‘She’s blind, and unable to speak, or walk, or grasp anything in her hands. It’s a very sad case because she’s a fine half, isn’t she?’

Siobhán was aware that the garda was standing close to her, and again she honked and flapped her arms. Grainne laid her hand on her forehead and said, ‘Ssh, now, darling. It’s only the guards making sure that you’re being well taken care of.’

The female garda took out her iPhone and quickly prodded it. When she found what she was looking for, she swiped her finger quickly to the left. She peered intently at the screen for a moment, and then she glanced down at Siobhán, and then she put her phone back in her pocket.

‘I’m very concerned about this young woman’s condition,’ she said. ‘I’m calling for an ambulance to take her to the University Hospital.’

‘What?’ said Grainne. ‘You can’t do that. She’s legally in the care of St Giles’ Clinic. We have all of her records and all of her medication, and we know exactly how to deal with her anxiety fits, which they won’t know how to do at the hospital. You’ll be putting her life at risk if you take her.’

The female garda ignored her and called emergency services. Out in the rain, her male colleague had been taking pictures of the ambulance, as well as Milo and Ger. When he saw her talking on her iPhone, he said, ‘What’s the story, Róisin?’

‘This young woman looks like she’s suffering some kind of an episode,’ said the female garda. ‘I’ve called for a white van to take her into CUH.’

She turned to Grainne and said, ‘What’s her name, please?’

‘I don’t have to tell you that. And I’m protesting most strongly about you taking her.’

‘Please tell me her name. Does she have next of kin that I can get in touch with? I’d like their contact details too.’

‘I can’t tell you anything without the permission of the doctor in charge of St Giles’. This is outrageous, do you know? This is totally outrageous.’

‘So what’s the name of the doctor in charge of St Giles’? We can ring him and get his permission right now.’

‘Dr Fitzgerald. Dr Gearoid Fitzgerald. But he’ll tell you the same as me. Siobhán is our patient and you have no right at all to take her out of our care. He’ll make sure that your boss gives you down the banks for doing this, I swear to God.’

‘Oh. So her first name’s Siobhán? What’s her surname?’

‘That was a slip of the tongue, like. It might be Siobhán but then again it might not. And I’m not giving you any more information whatsoever. So there you have it.’

The female garda stepped down from the ambulance. She looked up at the male garda with the rain dripping from the peak of his cap and she gave him a look which she had given him more than once before when they had been on patrol together. She was wordlessly letting him know that there was more to her calling an ambulance than she had told him in front of Grainne.

Milo said, ‘What’s going on here? Grainne?’

‘You’d best ring Gearoid,’ said Grainne. ‘These guards want to take Siobhán to CUH. They’ve already sent for an ambulance.’

Milo looked at the two gardaí and then he turned around to Ger. All Ger could do was pull a face and shrug. They both knew that if they tried to obstruct the guards in the course of carrying out their duty, they could be arrested.

Grainne said, ‘Holy Saint Mary, I’ll ring him myself. Give me your phone, Milo. I left mine at the clinic.’

She rang the clinic’s number, but it was engaged. She waited, and rang again, and it was still engaged. Before she could try a third time, they saw blue lights flashing through the rain, and an ambulance appeared, and parked beside the St Giles’ Clinic ambulance.

As two paramedics climbed out, Milo said to Ger, ‘Come on, boy. There’s feck all we can do about this. Let’s get out of the rain.’

Katie spent the whole afternoon at the station while her office was photographed and Assistant Commissioner O’Reilly’s body removed on a trolley, covered with a sheet. He would be taken to the mortuary for a post-mortem examination tomorrow by Dr Kelley or one of her associates, while his gun would be tested by Bill Phinner’s team for fingerprints and DNA, just to make sure that Katie hadn’t fired it.

Although it was considered highly unlikely that Katie had shot him, the animosity between them was common knowledge at Anglesea Street, and she was experienced enough at analysing crime scenes to have made it appear that he had committed suicide, even if she had killed him herself.

Chief Superintendent MacCostagáin was off today, so she commandeered his office while her own was being cleaned, and she rang him at home to tell him what had happened.

‘God, you’re not serious,’ he said. It was teatime now and he sounded as if he had a mouth full of shortbread.

As simply as she could, Katie told him about Jimmy O’Reilly’s plan to compromise her career, and about his doomed relationship with James Elvin, and how he had borrowed money from Bobby Quilty.

‘Katie, you should have told me all this before. You know that.’

‘You may not believe me, sir, but I didn’t want to ruin him. All right, he was behaving like a complete browl, but he was in love with James, and you know the stupid things that people sometimes do when they’re in love. And for all that he detested me and would have liked to have seen me sacked, he had a fantastic track record in the force, and he was a very good assistant commissioner.’

‘How about his family? Have they been notified?’

‘Yes, sir. His parents are deceased but he has two brothers and three sisters, and Inspector O’Rourke has been getting in touch with them.’

‘I’ve called the Commissioner’s office and told one of her assistants all about it. The media will have to be informed, of course, but it’s up to her how she wants to announce it. She’ll need to be fierce diplomatic with this one. If it comes out that he was gay, then there’s not much we can do about it, except to say that we don’t judge our senior officers on their sexual orientation, but only on their performance.’

Katie thought of Kyna when he said that, but of course she said nothing.

Half an hour later, she was called by Eithne, who had been working all weekend to finish her likeness of the dognapper whose brain had been blown out by Eoin Cassidy.