They all managed a grin at that.
'Peggy's in charge of lookin' after the baby,' continued Malone. 'She feeds him, changes him and generally makes sure he's well looked after. The rest of us just have to get him and take him to the cottage.'
'What cottage?' asked Collins. His initial misgivings were fading and he was beginning to look at Malone in a new light. This might be worth a go at after all.
'I've a small cottage outside Newbridge. It used to be me uncle's. He lived in it when he worked in the Polaroid factory in Newbridge. He's dead this years and his children are all in England. I'm the only wan that knows about it or ever uses it. It's tucked well away and surrounded by fields on all sides. There's a narrow lane about three hundred yards long that leads up to it. Nobody can get up that lane without bein' seen. The nearest house is about half a mile away. I've used it a lot when lyin' low. It's only about an hour's drive from Harry O'Brien's mansion in Wicklow but far enough away that the rozzers wouldn't think of lookin' there.'
Malone paused for a moment and looked at the others before continuing. 'I have a…' he paused slightly again, then continued, 'I have a close friend who works in the O'Brien headquarters in Dawson Street.' The way Malone disclosed this made the close friend sound like a member of the board of the O'Brien Corporation. Collins looked impressed and even Moonface stopped picking at his nose.
'Who?' asked Collins.
'I can't tell ye that, Sam. I really can't tell ye that yet. When this is all over the rozzers'll turn that place upside down and I don't want anywan to know me source apart from me. Now I knew youse wouldn't like that but youse is just gonna havta trust me on that.'
Collins looked at Moonface who shrugged his shoulders. 'Doesn't bother me,' he said moving towards the billiard table to take a shot.
Collins wasn't so sure. 'Tommy, if we're gonna land this one we all need to know what we're dealing with from the beginning.' His strong Northern accent had a sharp edge to it. 'How are we to know what you're up to behind our backs if we don't know who you're working with?' Collins liked the sound of the job and the small numbers involved but he wasn't going to take chances.
'Sam, I can't tell ye, that's all. We're all in this together. Nobody's gonna double cross anywan 'cos nobody's gonna get hold of the money unless we're all together. I just can't.'
'When are we gonna move on the house?' Moonface butted in.
'As soon as the child's brought home,' said Malone. He sounded relieved at the distraction. 'The papers say he should be brought home within days. I wanna hit the joint the first night, before they can get inta any routine. Their security would be upset by the change. I think we should go in after midnight.'
A short discussion developed about the best way to get in and out of the house, how to get around the alarm and how to get away. Sam Collins had decided to lay off Malone
for the time being. He'd find out later who was in on the inside of the O'Brien Corporation.
'I want youse to steal two good cars,' said Malone. 'A fast, strong wan and a small, family sedan. Mebbe a Range Rover or wan of them patrol jobs. And a Volvo 460. Ye can get those, Sam. Put new plates on each. Put Kildare registration plates on the Volvo.'
Collins nodded.
'Martin,' continued Malone, 'get a fast motorbike. Not too flashy or too big. Check what the couriers use and go for wan of them. Get yerself a courier outfit as well. When we have the baby I want ye to drop Polaroid photos of him all over the place so that the rozzers know he's alive and well.'
'Do I need to do anythin', Tommy?' asked Peggy Ryan.
Malone smiled for the first time. 'Yes, Peg.' He reached into a pocket and pulled out a wad of notes, peeling off ten. 'Go out and buy baby clothes, nappies, bottles, teats… whatever ye think yer gonna need for the five days. Don't buy it all in one store and don't let any of the family know what yer buyin'. Store it in the garage and keep it well out of sight. When ye've got it ready I'll call and collect.'
She nodded, fingering a strand of her coarse brown hair.
'Ye'd better tell yer family ye're goin' away for a while.'
Peggy thought about this. 'I'll say I'm goin' to me sister in Liverpool.'
'Is she on the phone? If wan of the kids rings lookin' for ye she could give the game away.'
'Not much chance of that at the moment, Tommy. She's in the slammer for passin' dud cheques.'
They all had a good laugh at that.
'But don't the rest of yer family know she's in the slammer?'
'Nah, I've kept it a secret from the rest of them. She's their favourite aunty. I wouldn't want to ruin her reputation.'
They had an even better laugh at that.
Malone was winding up the meeting. Each knew exactly
what to do and what was expected. The ice had broken and they were chatting.
'There's wan final thing,' he announced, 'and this is vital.' They stopped and listened attentively. Even Moonface stopped picking at his nose.
'From the moment we grab that child I don't want anybody drinkin' so much as a can of beer. Youse have gotta keep yer wits about youse and keep yer heads down. The child mustn't come to any harm. No booze, okay?'
They nodded.
'Where's the ransom gonna be dropped?' Sam Collins was checking all angles.
'Tha's the fuckin' best bit, Sam,' smiled Malone. 'I was leavin' that till the end to tell youse. I was up all night workin' it out. Wait'll youse hear.' He couldn't stop smiling. 'First,' he explained, 'we're gonna nick another three cars. Then we're gonna rent six mobile phones from six different companies. Wan of the phones goes inta each of the three cars.'
Moonface's brow furrowed as he tried to keep up with the plan and Peggy looked lost already. She continued to look at Malone with hero worship. Collins never took his eyes from Malone, analysing and processing his every word.
'The cars'll be parked outside three of them multistorey car parks ye see around the city. When the money's gonna be delivered we'll tell the fella to drive to the first car and switch to it. Wan of us'll watch what's goin' on from up in the carpark.' Malone paused for a moment to see how this was going. 'Are youse with me?' Three heads nodded, though two hadn't a clue what Malone was talking about.
'Now if there's any rozzers followin', or there's a helicopter watchin' from the sky, or if the first car is wired so it can be followed, then we can start to lose them immediately. From the minute the fella has switched to wan of our cars we can direct him where to go over the mobile phone.'
As Malone slowly set out his master plan, Sam Collins was won over. This was sounding very interesting. This was not the plan of a loser. This
could
work.
'Using our mobile phones the fella's directed to the second multistorey car park where the next car's waitin'. He's told to switch inta it and to drive away. Then he's moved on again to the next car. Each time he changes car wan of us can move on to the next car park and watch from up inside to see if he's bein' followed. And while he's drivin' from wan spot to the other Martin'll be followin' him on a bike to make sure there's no funny business along the way like the rozzers stoppin' him and gettin' in or anythin' like that.' Malone flicked his eyes quizzically at Moonface.
'I'm with ye, Tommy, I'm with ye.' He wasn't really but Sam Collins was and he was feeling a quiver of excitement as he realised the plan's potential for success.
'What happens after the switch to the last car?' Collins asked, fingering at the ring in his ear. 'We can't have the bollox driving around Dublin for a week.'
Malone smiled at Collins' interruption. 'Tha's what I was comin' to. That's the good bit.' He looked at each of the three in turn. 'Do youse know Hillcourt Mansions along the quays?'
Three heads nodded in unison. The whole of Dublin knew Hillcourt Mansions, a corporation flat development with a reputation for drug dealing, robbery and violence. The Gardai had more or less declared it a no-go area and rarely ventured inside the quadrangular complex unless in significant numbers. In Dublin criminal circles Hillcourt Mansions was like a cathedral where refuge could be sought. Many a mugger or handbag snatcher had been chased there and managed to avoid the clutches of the Gardai by escaping along one of four narrow lanes that lead out the back and onto busy roads. There was only one main route into the complex wide enough to take a car or delivery van.
'He's told to drive into Hillcourt Mansions where two of us is waitin' and ready. As soon as the car hits the flats out he comes and the money is put inta four big hold-alls. Then we get outa the fuckin' place along the wee lanes on two motorbikes. Wadda youse think?'
Moonface's mouth dropped open with surprise. 'Fuckin'
brilliant,' he offered. 'Fair play to ye Tommy, but that sounds fuckin' brilliant.'
'That's good, Tommy,' agreed Sam Collins. 'That's a good plan, right enough.' He decided there and then to drop his concerns about Malone's contact inside the O'Brien Corporation. He'd work on that later if needed.
Peggy said nothing, she just beamed at Malone as she listened.
'Now get goin',' said Malone confidently.
As Malone paid off Hal and edged his way gingerly down the concrete steps, he was humming to himself again. He was delighted with the way the meeting had gone and was especially pleased that he had won Sam Collins over. He needed Collins badly, for Collins had guns and explosives.
Walking to the public phone box at the corner of Monks-town Hill, Malone slipped a twenty-pence coin into the slot and began dialling.
'Betty?'
'Is that ye, Tommy?'
'Aye.'
'How'd it go?'
'Brillian', brillian'.'
'So it's on then?'
'Fuckin' sure.'
'So I'll see ye in the mornin'?'
'Aye, ye will. Five o'clock, isn' that righ'?'
'Aye, five o'clock. Roun' the back. The black door, like I told ye.'
'Righ'.'
'See ye.'
'Yeah,' said Malone. 'See ye at five.' He lit another cigarette to keep warm.
We're in business.
As Tommy Malone placed the receiver back in its cradle, his intended target was being changed and winded after a feed. Sandra O'Brien held the tiny baby in her arms, crooning gently into his ear. In another corner of the room
June Morrison was testing the water inside a baby bath for the child's first wash. She smiled as she watched Sandra, noting how nervously the young woman was handling the baby.
'Cradle his head in your left hand when you set him down,' she advised and gently took him up to demonstrate.
Gordon O'Brien threw both arms out suddenly as his tiny body felt the change of hands, and his legs kicked inside the oversized blue babygrow. Sandra and Morrison exchanged smiles. Despite the early exchanges between herself and Harry O'Brien, June Morrison had taken a real shine to Sandra and now fussed over her like a brooding chicken. The drama of the emergency birth had abated and the joy she saw every time Big Harry poked his nose inside the room won her over to him as well.
June Morrison decided to put the past unpleasantries aside and concentrate now on helping Sandra become confident in handling her newborn baby and getting used to his touches and cries and understanding his needs.
1
7
6.25 pm
Library, East Wing, Central Maternity Hospital
Jack McGrath was worried.
There was no sign of the blade foil or surgical gloves wrapper anywhere in the hospital. Wastepaper bins, sinks, sluices, backs of radiators, all had been carefully checked. Next, security informed him they were now certain the only way the murderer could have got in and out of the hospital unnoticed at that hour of the night was through the basement. All wards had been checked and double checked. No one had left and reappeared around the time of the murder. Noel Dunne's theory was sounding more and more plausible.
Then the outpatients sister showed McGrath the old fashioned sterilising unit used for all instruments in East Wing. She agreed it caused staining on scalpel handles. 'And a helluva lot of other instruments too,' she added, sounding annoyed. 'I've been asking for months to have a new unit installed here but we're always the last department to be upgraded.'
McGrath asked why.
'Because we're the public wing. Everything new goes into the private wings first.'
'Missing any scalpel handles?'
'I'm sorry, I can't really tell. We never keep a record of the small surgical instruments here. They walk so often it would be impossible to keep up with them all.'
'Walk?'
'Yeah, walk. As in nicked.'
The room was sealed off for forensics.
Half an hour later he had a blazing row with Luke Conway who was pressing to have the laboratory back in action.
'I haven't finished checking it yet,' snapped McGrath.
'I need the lab, Inspector. I need that lab. I have a hospital to run.'
'And I've got a murder to investigate.'
The two middle-aged men eyeballed each other, both enraged.
Conway was under a lot of pressure. The hospital's reputation must be preserved at all costs, even if that might mean frustrating the investigating detectives. An attempt to convene the hospital board in an emergency policy meeting had to be scrapped due to non-availability at such short notice of many members. The ball was firmly in Luke Conway's court, it was up to him to minimise any damage to the hospital's reputation.
To make matters worse for McGrath, Tony Dowling reported that Mary Dwyer's background was squeaky clean.
'Nobody can come up with any reason why she might be attacked.' Dowling inspected his notes again. 'We know everything except the name of the bollox who did this and why he did it,' he added unhelpfully.
Tony Dowling was nearing his fifty-seventh birthday when he was due to retire. There were only six weeks to go. He was of medium height, medium build and still had a medium amount of hair. He had a thick Cavan accent that rolled easily off his tongue and wore clothes that were fashionable in the late seventies and threatening to come back into fashion again. Dowling had spent all his life in the Gardai Siochana, first in uniform and later in the detective ranks. He was looking forward to going back home to Cootehill, where he could fish the lakes and walk the back roads, stopping and talking to anyone who'd answer — anything but forcing young thugs up against the wall and frisking them
for guns and knives. Dowling was longing for the quiet life of his retirement.
McGrath grinned despite his sombre mood. 'Jesus Tony, there's no doubt about it. You're a bloody genius.'
Dowling grinned back. They had been together in the Serious Crime Squad for almost seven years and worked well as a team. They knew each other's working patterns, eating habits and families.
'What worries me,' said McGrath, 'is that Dunne's probably right. Everything points to this guy knowing that hospital like the back of his hand. He's covered his tracks well. We're gonna have to look carefully at what's under our very noses. We'll have to interview a lot of people.'
'Some of them aren't gonna take too kindly to that,' commented Dowling.
'No,' agreed McGrath thoughtfully, stroking his moustache. 'No. We could have some problems. And I hate bloody hospitals.'
'Ah, would ye ever give over.'
Dean Lynch was not feeling good. The anti-thrush Mycostatin pastilles he had started were working very slowly and his mouth and throat still felt raw.
He stood naked in front of the wall-to-wall mirror in his exercise room, inspecting his body. He had tried to do his usual quota of push-ups but found he became exhausted quickly, much more so than he could remember in the past. He sweated easily. On the floor lay unopened bottles of vitamins and different packets of capsules containing trace mineral preparations. He flexed his muscles, then turned sideways for a better view of his stomach.
You're losing weight, Dean boyo, you're losing weight.
You're fading away.
Don't fade too fast, Dean, don't fade too fast. There's more work to do.
Lynch had had a chance to rest and regain his strength. His operating list had been cancelled because the lab was closed. His outpatients' clinic had been cancelled because
of the police investigation there. Patients turning up on a bitterly cold day and told to go home, were incensed. Lynch told his registrar to deal with all his in-patients while he went home early.
You're fading away, Dean, you're fading away.
But you're well ahead of the pack, Dean. Just keep your head down. You're doing well.
He began to do push-ups again, only this time much more slowly.
Don't waste your strength, there's more work to do.