Gallows Lane (Inspector Devlin Mystery 2) (27 page)

‘That’ll be up to the Director of Public Prosecutions,’ he said. ‘He might be able to get it on the girl’s murder – manslaughter anyway. The Kerr killing was different, though. You generally don’t place crucifixion under crimes of passion.’

‘We should run McLaughlin’s print against the partial taken from Decko’s gate,’ I said. ‘Might help load the dice against him a bit further if we can place him there as well,’ I suggested, taking out my cigarettes and offering Dempsey one. Helen Gorman had gone back to the station, disappointed that her promised big break hadn’t quite materialized.

‘I’ll get it done when I head back to the station,’ he agreed.

‘Of course, it finally ties up one thing,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘Castlederg Post Office. Kerr said there were three others in the gang: that’s Webb, O’Kane, and now McLaughlin.’

Before leaving the hospital, I collected Caroline and her things and drove her back to our house, where her son was waiting for her. Debbie had made dinner for everyone. Caroline did not ask about the progress on the case, nor did she express any interest in station gossip. Even then I knew she was disconnecting from An Garda, and it was no surprise when, during dessert, she told us that she had decided to leave for a while. She had discussed it with Costello, she said, when he had visited her earlier. He was giving her paid leave for three months.

‘Maybe you’ll change your mind,’ I said. ‘Once you get bored about the house.’

She smiled a little sadly. ‘No, I don’t think so, sir – Ben. I’ve pretty much decided. The three months’ll give me time to find something else. This kiddo’s way too important to risk something like that again,’ she said, tousling Peter’s hair softly with her hand. He beamed up at her, his single source of stability, and I understood her decision.

‘I’ll be sorry to lose you,’ I said. ‘You’ll still be around, though, won’t you?’

She nodded, but said nothing. I looked over at Debbie, who shook her head very slightly, as if to tell me not to delve any further. I didn’t get a chance anyway, for my phone rang. It was Reverend Charles Bardwell.

‘I heard your colleague on the radio saying you’ve had a significant development in Jamie’s case, Inspector,’ he said. It appeared that Dempsey had got to know the local media very well.

‘Yes, we’ve a DNA match with a suspect we lifted for something else.’

‘Is it anyone we know?’ he asked.

I knew I shouldn’t say, but at this stage, I suspected it could cause little harm. ‘Peter Webb’s brother-in-law, we believe,’ I said. ‘He was lifted for killing a Strabane girl. Turns out his DNA matched that taken from under Jamie’s nails.’

‘That’s fantastic news, Inspector. Well done.’

‘Well, it’s not quite in the bag yet,’ I said, ‘So keep it to yourself for now; he’s still in hospital up in Letterkenny. We’re waiting for a psychiatric evaluation,’ I explained.

Bardwell assured me he would tell no one and thanked me again. ‘God bless you, Inspector,’ he said before he hung up, in a manner that reminded me of Jamie Kerr, hunched over his lunch, raising his soup spoon in salute. At least now I felt I had done him justice.

I left Caroline and Peter home just after ten o’clock that evening. When I arrived back, a blue Ford Mondeo was parked in our driveway. I was a little surprised when I got into the house to see Dempsey sitting at our kitchen table chatting with Debbie. He stood up when I came in.

‘Hope you don’t mind the intrusion,’ he said. ‘I have some good news and some bad news about McLaughlin.’ He tapped his fingers on a folder lying on the table, which I assumed to be a copy of McLaughlin’s arrest file.

‘What’s the good?’

‘We matched his prints with the one from Decko’s, which places him there as well.’

‘And the bad?’ I said.

Dempsey shook his head. ‘It might not make any difference,’ he explained. It turned out that his psychiatric evaluation hadn’t gone quite as we’d wanted it to. The psychiatrist who assessed him decided that he had acted while under the influence of steroids. These had induced a state of ’roid rage, which, while it didn’t exonerate him from all responsibility, certainly did raise concerns about whether he could have been considered compos mentis.

A representative from the DPP’s office had already been in touch with Dempsey. ‘They’re aiming for ten years at best, because of the diminished responsibility claim.’

‘Ten years,’ I said. ‘You’re fucking kidding me.’

‘Ten years max,’ Dempsey said. ‘Probably out in five if he cleans up his act.’

‘You’re not going to accept that, are you?’

Dempsey shrugged, as if it were out of his hands. ‘It’s with the Prosecutor now,’ he said.

‘Five years,’ I repeated, incredulously.

Dempsey nodded his head.

After Dempsey left, Debbie and I cleaned up and went to bed. But I could not sleep. Something gnawed at the back of my mind, something not right with regard to McLaughlin.

I went back downstairs and sat at the back door, having a smoke, while Frank watched me and whined slightly in disgust.

As I stood there, I noticed Dempsey had forgotten the file on McLaughlin. I lifted it and flicked through the notes.

Name, address, date of birth. As I read through the notes, I became aware of what had troubled me; the most obvious detail: Date of birth:
6
February
1984
. McLaughlin would have been eleven years old when Castlederg Post Office was robbed. He wasn’t the fourth gang member, which meant he had no reason to kill Jamie Kerr and Decko, unless someone had told him to. His sister, maybe – but surely Jamie Kerr would have recognized a woman as one of the four gang members. Which meant someone else had instructed him; the same person who was, perhaps, letting Danny McLaughlin take his fall over all the killings associated with the Kerr case. The boy was going to do time somewhere over the attacks on the girls; what had he to lose?

*

My entering his room woke McLaughlin from sleep. He sat up awkwardly in the bed, lifting his mobile phone from the bedside cabinet before squinting at the display to check the time. He looked slightly dazed.

‘You can’t do this,’ he said. ‘I want my lawyer.’

‘No lawyers, Daniel,’ I said. ‘Just a quick chat.’

‘What the fuck? Oi! Who’s out there?’ he shouted, presumably to the uniform who should have been outside the door.

‘No one’s there, Danny,’ I said. ‘I told them to get a cup of tea. Said I’d keep you company for a while.’

He looked at me askance. ‘What do you want? My psychiatrist said I’m not to be disturbed.’

‘I thought you already were.’

‘What?’ he asked, looking for the insult in my comment.

‘You’re too young to have done Castlederg, Danny. You’d have been eleven. Isn’t that right?’

He stared at me, his mouth slightly agape. ‘I never said I did.’

‘No, that’s true,’ I agreed. ‘But then, why would you kill Jamie Kerr? He was no threat to you; he wanted to forgive the other gang members. Do you see where this is going?’

‘I have nothing to say to you,’ McLaughlin said. ‘Get out of my room.’

‘Take it easy, big lad,’ I said, sensing he was getting angry. ‘I’m not trying to trick you. I’m worried about you.’

‘Worried about me,’ he snorted. ‘What for?’

‘The way I see it, there were four in the Castlederg gang, including Jamie Kerr. Kerr knew your brother-in-law was one of them. He confronted him, and then he was found hanging. Jamie spotted Decko while he was at your sister’s house and recognized him from the acne scars. He arranged to meet with Decko and the other member. Kerr was crucified by you,’ I waved away his attempt to protest and continued. ‘And then Decko was shot in his back yard after being questioned by us. That leaves you, Danny – but you’re too young. Someone has been getting you to do their dirty work. Isn’t that right?’

‘Fuck you,’ he spat.

‘I’ll take that as a yes, then,’ I retorted. ‘The thing is, Danny, this person has been doing a cracking job of cleaning up after themselves. No one connected with them, or who could identify them, has survived. Except you.’ I allowed a pause for the message to hit home. ‘For now.’

McLaughlin shifted in the bed, narrowing his glare with suspicion.

‘Do you really think whoever he is, he’s going to let you sit here, or in whatever jail they put you in, knowing that you could rat him out? You’re on borrowed time, Danny,’ I said. ‘Don’t kid yourself that you’re not.’

McLaughlin raised himself up on the bed, using one arm.

‘Is that it?’ he snorted. ‘Piss away off

‘It was worth a try, Danny,’ I said. ‘Bear in mind, though – every time that door opens, it could be your friend, coming to pay his respects. Don’t be someone else’s sucker.’

‘Don’t be a prick,’ he retorted, then lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

I left the room without looking back at him. I hadn’t really believed that McLaughlin would confess to me. But by turning the screws, I hoped at least to make him a little less trusting in whoever he was working for.

Outside his room, I looked for the uniform I had sent to the canteen for a break. I suddenly felt very tired and, suspecting he wouldn’t be too much longer, I went out to the squad car and drove home.

I woke at around six-thirty the following morning to someone banging at our front door. I rushed downstairs before the noise should wake the kids and peered out the window to see who was outside before opening the door. Dempsey stood back from the door, looking up towards the bedroom windows.

‘Get dressed,’ he snapped, when I opened the door.

‘What?’ I said, not quite able to process what was happening.

‘You’re lucky I’m not arresting you,’ he said. ‘Get dressed.’

‘Arresting me for what?’ I said, immediately thinking of my actions involving Decko’s car. Surely not.

‘Danny McLaughlin was murdered last night,’ he stated. ‘And you were the last in his room.’

‘What?’ I spluttered.

‘Somebody cut his throat,’ Dempsey said. ‘Now get dressed and you can tell me on the way why you were there last night on your own.’

*

On the way to Letterkenny, I explained everything: my deduction, based on his age, that McLaughlin wasn’t part of the Castlederg gang, and my suspicions that someone was using him as a fall guy. I told him how I had turned the screws on McLaughlin by suggesting his paymaster might try to clear him off the board. And I explained that he hadn’t so much as broken sweat.

‘When you left, was the Guard at his door?’ Dempsey asked.

I felt more than a little ashamed. ‘No, he went for a cup of tea; I expected he wouldn’t be long.’

‘He fell asleep in the canteen. A cleaner woke him at four in the morning. By that stage, McLaughlin was already dead. A night nurse found him before your uniform even made it back to the room.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I stammered.

‘Sorry might not be enough on this one,’ Dempsey said.

When we arrived at the hospital, Deegan was standing in the foyer, bouncing excitedly.

‘We’ve just got someone, sir,’ he said to Dempsey as we approached the doors. ‘Just caught him on the grounds; still had the knife in his pocket. We’ve got him over here.’

We followed Deegan across to the porters’ office. Inside a group of Guards were gathered around a man who was lying face down on the ground while Meaney knelt on his back, tightening his cuffs. A bread knife lay on the ground several feet from them. When the man was hauled to his feet, I was shattered to see Rebecca Purdy’s father.

His eyes caught mine and he held my gaze for a second, no more, then lowered his head in shame. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

He looked at me once more, pleadingly, as they led him past me, out to a waiting squad car to take him to Letterkenny station, past a crowd of spectators who had gathered in the hospital foyer. I rushed to keep up with them.

‘Mr Purdy?’ I said.

‘What would you have done?’ he called to me as he was pushed out through the doors.

‘What the fuck was that about?’ Dempsey said, a little angrily.

I told him who the man was. I did not need to explain why he had done what he had done, nor could I explain why he had seemingly hung around the scene of the crime for a further four hours. Unless, of course, he had wanted to be caught.

Dempsey and I went up to McLaughlin’s room. The body had been moved now and the forensics team had been and gone. A gelatinous pool of dark red blood lay beneath the bed, the sheets already stiff and brown with the stains. On the night stand beside the bed sat a jug of water, a half-empty beaker and McLaughlin’s phone. His clothes were folded over a chair in the corner. Beyond that, there were no other personal items; no get well cards or flowers, no bottles of lemonade or baskets of fruit. Danny McLaughlin’s passing from this Earth had been friendless and impersonal.

And despite his crimes, I mourned his death, and both its manner and the man responsible for it.

I was roused from my thoughts by a shrill tone from McLaughlin’s phone. When I opened it, the display read ‘Low Battery’. After that message blinked off, however, I saw another: ‘One Missed Call’, with the time noted at 2.20 a.m.

‘Does this constitute evidence?’ I asked Dempsey.

‘Shouldn’t think so,’ he said. ‘Why?’

‘Someone tried to phone him at two-twenty this morning. He missed the call.’

‘Maybe he was sleeping,’ Dempsey suggested.

‘Maybe,’ I agreed. ‘Or maybe it helps us narrow down time of death.’

Dempsey nodded agreement. ‘Possibly. Who was it?’

‘Doesn’t say. Just that it was at two twenty – this morning. That was just a bit after I left him,’ I said. ‘Maybe he called someone.’

‘Let me see,’ Dempsey said, taking the phone. He played around with a few buttons, until he had a number, which he read out. McLaughlin’s phone beeped its urgent warning again. ‘The battery’s going to go,’ he said. ‘Copy this down.’

He read the number a second time. I didn’t have my notebook with me and so, with nothing else to hand, I saved the dialled number on to my own phone. Something about the digits seemed familiar though I couldn’t place them.