Cold Steel (31 page)

42

Six days later.

Tony Molloy inspected a pear. He squeezed at the middle, decided it was too soft, then returned it to the fruit bowl. He twisted off a cluster of green grapes and began nibbling. He sat in a chair too small for his bulk in unit twenty-six of the private wing attached to the Mercy Hospital. It was a decent-sized room, fifteen-foot wide and twelve-foot long. There was a small colour TV in one corner, two bedside lockers and a closed door leading to an en suite bathroom. Lying on the only bed was Jim Clarke. He was having his stump dressed and wore light pyjamas.

When he'd been transferred to the Accident and Emergency department of the Mercy Hospital after the blood bath in the car-park basement, he'd been in poor shape. A decision had been made to amputate his damaged leg. He'd been taken to theatre immediately. While he was being anaesthetised, across the same corridor in the neurosurgical wing, Moss Kavanagh was having a depressed skull fracture repaired. The Goon's baseball bat had shattered the big man's head bone, but fortunately caused no brain damage. Both he and Clarke were now off the critical list and convalescing.

On the bed lay piles of newspapers. Irish, British, European and US editions. Tabloids and broadsheets. Clarke had been flicking through the headlines earlier.

764

GOVERNMENT COLLAPSE! … GOVERNMENT SHAME …
IRISH GOVERNMENT RESIGNS
…
The international media had had a field day. The tabloids lapped it up
.
SEX SCANDAL BRINGS DOWN GOVERNMENT …
MY NIGHT OF HELL WITH MONSTER REGAN
.
A lot of young girls had come forward with their own tales of involvement with John Regan.
MINISTER IN
D
RUGS FOR SEX SCAM
.
Dublin was full of reporters following the story. It had every ingredient: greed, corruption, sex and drugs. The banner headlines guaranteed huge sales.

'Will I start?' Molloy asked when the nurse had finally left the room.

Clarke massaged at the stump. 'Do you know,' he said, 'it's great to be free from pain at last. I wish to God they'd taken that bloody leg off ages ago.'

Molloy grinned. 'You actually look better too, Jim. Not as haggard and drawn. You always seemed to be in discomfort.'

Clarke pulled the bedclothes over the stump and settled himself. 'Okay, tell me all.'

Molloy unpeeled a banana. 'First off it was Linda Speer who persuaded that Dream Team come to Dublin. Apparently things were getting so hot in Boston she was desperate to get away. She'd been doing secret drug trials. Some guy over there got suspicious and told the authorities. They were closing in on her.'

'What about Marks and Colman?' asked Clarke.

'Colman was an innocent bystander. He's clean,' said Molloy. 'Marks and Speer had this hot thing going on between them at the time.' He spat a piece of banana out. 'She had him by the balls sexually, stringing him along. Also Speer knew all about the trouble he was having with Jennifer.'

Clarke looked over. 'What trouble?'

'Jenny was running her own little scam in Boston. Sex for drugs. She even had three of her school friends on the game.'

'Jesus,' muttered Clarke. He threw the blankets back to cool himself.

'Now,' went on Molloy. He was eyeing a green apple. 'Speer met Regan at some heart conference before he went into politics. She was bitching and whining about never advancing in the States, always being passed up at interviews. Claimed it was because she was a woman. Sexist thing, that sort of crap.'

'And it wasn't?'

'Nah, not a damn bit of it. Speer was being passed over because no one trusted her research papers. Apparently she had a reputation for fiddling results, always putting a glow on her work where no glow existed.'

A nurse came into the room and the conversation stopped. She checked Clarke's temperature, blood pressure and pulse. Molloy watched. When she left he closed the door firmly behind her.

'Nobody ever takes my blood pressure,' he complained. 'What you gotta do to get a check up round here?'

Clarke grinned. 'Have your leg amputated. Get your skull bashed in.'

Molloy scowled. 'I'll leave it then.' He started into the grapes again. 'So, anyway,' he went on, spitting out a pip, 'Regan knew all this and later approached Speer. He wanted to make a big impression on the international medical scene, he knew she wanted to go to the top. They both knew they'd use any tactics, fair or foul. They were the perfect team. Speer could fiddle results if necessary to get that EEC money, Regan would allow her to continue her drug trials.'

'Where did it all go wrong?' Clarke was watching his fruit bowl slowly disappear.

'With Jennifer Marks. That kid was too streetwise.' Molloy flicked at grape juice on his shirt. His belly seemed more strained than usual. He fiddled for an antacid. 'She knew Speer and her father were at it hammer and tongs. She kept a close eye on them, according to Joan
Armstrong. One night Jennifer overheard this almighty row. Annie Marks was laying into Dan about Speer. Armstrong told me Jennifer said her mother was drunker than usual. She let fly with all the dirt she knew, and she knew a lot. Jennifer overheard everything. She made a copy of her father's key to Speer's flat and went in one day. Discovered all the tablets.'

'What the hell use were they?' wondered Clarke. The room was getting warm and he asked Molloy to open a window.

'They were Jennifer's bargaining card.' Molloy was struggling with a catch. Finally it came free and Dublin's traffic hummed in the background. 'Jennifer wanted drugs. She'd learned very early on about Regan's reputation, knew he liked young girls, knew he often paid for them to come to his house. I meant every dog in the street knew about this. Just Regan was so powerful and dangerous no one was ever brave enough to say anything.'

Clarke shook his head. 'And to think that bastard challenged me.'

'Forget it, Jim,' said Molloy. He chewed on an antacid. 'You'll be out of here very soon. Regan's going down big time. He's yesterday's man.'

'So how did Jennifer Marks cross Regan?'

'Tried bribing him,' replied Molloy. 'She took a handful of the tablets Speer was using at the hospital. Sent them to him, one at a time, anonymously. One every day for three in a row. On day four she sent a note saying she wanted a million pounds in cash to shut up.'

'How do you know all this?' Clarke was impressed at the detail.

'Mainly from Joan Armstrong. She and Jennifer were in cahoots. Both were into heroin, really addicted. Both paid for their habits the only way they knew, with their bodies. Both wanted an easier way, and faster supplies.'

'So they got greedy?' Clarke suggested.

'And stupid.'

'So what did happen that night in Sandymount Park?' Clarke opened up his pyjama front to catch the breeze from the window.

'Regan had this heavy minder. He called him the Goon. Same guy who nearly brought the election campaign crashing down with his aggro.'

Clarke sat forward. 'Yeah, I remember something about that.'

'That's the one,' said Molloy. He opened a button on his shirt to ease the pressure on his belly. 'Regan sent the Goon into Balfe's pub to get Jennifer Marks. Only Jennifer's already spaced out of her mind and hanging out with that knifeman, Micko Kelly. Joan Armstrong says Jennifer told the Goon to fuck off. And that poor sap Kelly squared up as well.'

'A dangerous scenario,' suggested Clarke.

'Dynamite. Regan and his henchman followed Jennifer and Kelly to the park. Regan tried to make her see sense, talk her round. She started arguing. Kelly came out to see what was going on.'

'Then all hell broke loose,' interrupted Clarke. He lay back on the pillows, exhausted. Molloy sensed he'd had enough. He stood up to leave. 'I'm told you knew it was Regan even before you went to the house. How come?'

Molloy sat down again. He perched himself on the edge of the chair. 'The fibres at the scene. They were mohair. Micko Kelly could only remember one name that night. Mo.' He looked over. 'D'ye get it?'

Clarke shook his head.

'Mo. Mohair. Mo. John Regan. Everybody knows him as Mo Regan. Our champagne socialist. He only ever wears mohair suits and sweaters. It was his fibres clinging to those twigs in the park.'

'The bastard,' muttered Clarke. 'The miserable bastard.'

Molloy was on his feet again. 'I'll call in again tomorrow. I was talking with Maeve and Katy. They're on the
warpath for you to resign and I ain't getting in that firing line.'

Clarke grinned. He slid further down in the bed and made himself comfortable. 'Before you go.' Molloy had the door partly open. 'Who's this Frank Clancy I read about all over the papers? And what happened to Speer in that database room?'

Molloy grinned. 'That guy Clancy deserves a medal. He's the one who was doing his own detective work in the hospital. He's being feted the length and breadth of the country like some war hero. The media are going mad looking for him.' He buttoned up his midriff. 'Speer got caught with a new fire-sensor system installed in the computer database. Apparently it's super-sensitive to heat and smoke. She lit a cigarette, the alarm went off, the doors shut and the room was flooded with neon gas.' He noticed Clarke's puzzled frown. 'Neon deprives the room of oxygen and snuffs any fire within seconds. Snuffed Speer as well.'

Clarke grimaced, then pulled another pillow under his head. 'And where's Clancy now?'

Molloy tapped the side of his nose. 'This one's between you and me.' He closed the door tightly. 'He's in Disneyland.'

Epilogue

John Regan was charged with a wide range of offences including murder, narcotics, procurement and fraud. He is currently in gaol on a twenty-year stretch. Within an hour of his arrest in Dublin and news of Linda Speer's sudden death, trading in Cynx Pharmaceuticals on the New York Stock Exchange was suspended and fraud detectives raided its Boston offices.

Jim Clarke retired from the police force on health grounds. He now works as a security advisor to a number of Ireland's multinational pharmaceutical companies. He uses a walking stick and has adjusted well to his prosthetic limb.

Moss Kavanagh recovered from his severe head injuries and is based at police headquarters.

Tony Molloy was promoted to inspector and continues to work the Serious Crime Squad.

Dr Frank Clancy returned from Florida to a hero's welcome. He was wined and dined by the Mercy Hospital board of governors and offered substantial inducements to develop his department within the hospital. He was also invited to sit on the board. For such a young man this would be rapid progression in medical politics. He declined gracefully, didn't even need to think about the offers. Frank Clancy was a doctor first and foremost. He loved his work, cared for his patients. He did not want to be side-lined, no matter how attractive the position might
be. He is back on the wards of the Mercy Hospital, but home every evening no later than seven. He and his wife Anne are expecting their third child. Martin and Laura are delighted.

Dan and Annie Marks returned to Boston. He works in a private hospital and has retired completely from public hospital duties and medical research. He has sued for divorce from his wife.

Dr Stone Colman was given total clearance at the subsequent investigation surrounding the Dream Team appointments to Dublin. He continues to work at the Mercy Hospital.

Patrick Dillon discharged Micko Kelly from Rockdale Hospital for the Criminally Insane into secure accommodation at the beginning of July 1998. On 30 July Kelly was formally charged with the murder of Jennifer Marks. Dillon confirmed he was fit to plead. Three days before his first court appearance Micko Kelly wet the sheets in his cell and tore them into strips. He waited until he had been checked and the prison warders were settling down for the night.

At 11.37 pm on 31 August he was found hanging from the bars on his cell window and pronounced dead at three minutes before midnight. The cell was occupied the next day by a seventeen-year-old male arrested at Dublin Airport carrying three kilos of heroin. It was business as usual.