The Going Rate (29 page)

“The four of you went down the street. You saw him there, he's lost. It's dark. There's no one around.”

Wall paused then and watched Matthews shaking his head in slow, steady motions. Like a fiddle-player following a tune, Minogue thought.

“You know he's not Dublin,” said Wall. “He's not even Irish. So: easy mark.”

“You're making everything up.”

“It's not hard to figure this out. He probably has money. You don't. You want to go to a hotel. You and your girlfriends.”

“That is so off the wall. Why am I even listening anymore.”

“Or were you at it in the stairwell? You and your mate. A foursome?”

Minogue watched Wall walk slowly up and down, taking each step as though balancing on a curb.

“You want to go all the way,” Wall persisted. “You're frustrated. You're angry. Who was it said it first? Was it you?”

Matthews rested his elbows on his knees and looked at the tiles on the floor. Suddenly he looked up, and found Minogue.

“Is he always like this?” he asked. “This fantasy stuff. He should be in the film business. Lord of –”

“Just answer the questions,” Minogue snapped.

“Or did he stumble on you,” Wall said, “you and Tara having a wear? Or are you getting it on with a thirteen-year-old child, you and…”

“Would you shut up about that?”

Even Minogue started. Wall had stopped his walk and unfolded his arms. Minogue saw that Matthews' head was trembling slightly with the effort of staying still as he glared up. His tone was subdued again when he spoke, however.

“You're all the same. Guards! Yous haven't a clue. You think you have, but you haven't. Not a clue.”

His face wrinkled in disgust, and he looked away quickly.

“Tell us then,” said Minogue.

“You don't care. You won't believe me. I want my lawyer.”

“Your counsel.”

“Yeah I want him.”

“Tomorrow,” said Minogue. “You've had your legal rights respected.”

“Tomorrow? I've done nothing. Nothing.”

“You've sexually assaulted or exploited a–”

“Shut up, will you?! That is such a load…!”

Temper, temper, Minogue thought.

“Well you tell us then,” said Wall. “What don't we know?”

“Life. Being young. The scene, you know? Bit of fun? Good times?”

“Tell us about the scene then,” said Minogue.

Matthews slid down further in the chair but then drew himself back up suddenly. He breathed out slowly.

“Girls, they go to you and say anything and yous take that as gospel.”

“What are we talking about?” Wall asked.

“About what you don't know. Girls. They're always innocent, it's the fella who's always guilty. You can't imagine a girl doing anything serious. You know?”

“‘Serious' like a crime?”

“Well, yeah, a crime.”

“What did they do then? What did Tara do?”

“I meant girls in general. You're not listening to me.”

“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

F
ANNING
'
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. Bríd 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.

“‘This isn't a game,' he tells me. Tells me.”

He turned back to Fanning.

“Are you the same fella I was with earlier on?”

“I'm not the one asked for your, whatever, services, am I?”

Cully didn't answer. He turned the ignition instead, and gave the engine two short revs.

“How'd you know my place?”

“Whose car is this?” Cully asked.

“Murph? He told you?”

“It's not hard to figure out. Phone directory? The Internet?”

He waited.

“Look,” he said to Fanning then. “We going or not?”

Fanning took a few moments before he put on his seat belt.

“Left, left again, then right for the Dundrum Road?”

“That's it. Where are we going?”

“A sort of tour.”

“Where is ‘a sort of tour'?”

“Social, that's all. Relaxing. R and R. No-one gets hurt.”

“R and R, why do you say that? I heard you say it before.”

“Just an expression, isn't it.”

“Are you English? British?”

Cully smiled and he rubbed at his chin.