“What is it, Duffy?” the brand new Assistant Chief Constable Strong replied.
“I’ve just had a rather unpleasant encounter with an internal affairs team from Special Branch. Did you know about this?”
“Of course not. What’s going on, Duffy?”
“They’ve got photos of me coming out of Ken Kirkpatrick’s house in Derry. They think I’m some sort of IRA agent. It’s absolute rubbish, sir. There’s this Jock sergeant who’s got it in for me … Anyway, sir, you’re the only important friend I’ve got, I don’t want to be railroaded here. They’re talking about sending me to prison.”
“What is this about, Duffy? What were you doing in Derry?”
“I was investigating the Deauville case.”
“Have you made any progress?”
“Some. I’ve learned that Harry Selden and Deauville were in the B Specials together. Selden’s car was seen near to Deauville’s house just before the murder. The two of them are linked somehow.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would this Selden character drive all the way to Carrickfergus to murder this Deauville fellow?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Do you have any eyewitnesses to the killing?”
“None, sir.”
“So what exactly have you got?”
“Uhm, only the fact that Selden’s car was seen following Francis Deauville before the murder.”
“Who saw this?”
“Mrs Deauville.”
“Hasn’t she gone missing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This wasn’t in her statement.”
“No, sir. She told the Bulgarian translator that she saw a car following them and wrote down the number plate.”
“So this is all hearsay evidence. Completely inadmissible in court.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me see if I understand you, Duffy. DAADD has claimed responsibility for this killing but instead of pursuing that angle you’re following some insane lead from hearsay evidence? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Sir, they haven’t actually claimed responsibility. Not formally. There’s also the B Special angle. We know both men served in the B Specials because it’s in their criminal record file, but when I went to look at the B Special files for Deauville and Selden to see if they had served together or done a joint arrest or anything like that, well, the files were gone, sir! Total dead end, sir.”
A long silence.
“Hearsay evidence and missing files, is that what you’re telling me, Duffy? And now you’ve been seen going into a known IRA man’s house at five in the morning? And you wonder why Special Branch is interested in you, with your extremely patchy service record?”
“Sir, I—”
“Son, I’m going to have to tell you how it is. Clearly no one has told you how it is for years so I’m going to have to be the man to do it. I’m an Assistant Chief Constable now. I’m very high up the food chain. I can’t afford to be dragged down by a man like you, Duffy. You’ve had some successes in your career but also some notable failures. If you’re going to fuck this case up like you’ve fucked up in the past I’m going to have to cut you loose. Do you understand me, son?”
“I think so, sir.”
“Can I give you a piece of advice, Duffy?”
“Of course, sir.”
“File the Francis Deauville murder as an unsolved DAADD killing. Case closed pending further developments. File the Elena Deauville disappearance as a bloody missing persons case. Case closed pending further developments. Move on to other business. Don’t go back to Derry. Keep your head down. Do you hear me, Duffy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now I will see what I can do about these Special Branch detectives. But I won’t be able to get the ants off your back while you’re sticking your arm into the ant hill.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate anything you can do, sir. Got a lot on my plate at the moment.”
“Have less on your plate, Duffy. Close those cases, move on, don’t make pointless fucking waves.”
“Yes, sir, I understand sir.”
“Goodbye, Duffy. Don’t call me again. It’s always a long-distance call up here at ACC rank. I don’t think you can afford the charges.”
Dialtone.
Another friendship burned. Well done, Sean. Well done.
19: LIFTED
Living room, mulling it all over. Gears turning. Patterns forming. Something told me that I’d been given everything I needed to solve the equation. It was all there. It was a complicated equation but somehow I knew that it was all there. A better detective would have put it together now. Where was Miss Marple when you needed her?
Knock at the front door. Early morning. Post-milkman but pre-starlings.
Looked through the peephole. Two goons. Didn’t recognise them. One was wearing a raincoat and a dark grey suit. He had a moustache, copper hair and beady brown eyes. He was about forty. The other one was a woman about five years younger than him, with her hair in a blonde ponytail. She was wearing the uniform of an RUC Superintendent. She had odd yellowish goblin eyes.
I unhooked the lock and opened the door with my foot, coffee cup in one hand, Glock in the other.