‘The plan,’ I say. ‘What was it?’
‘She was just going to flirt with this Detective McCann for a few weeks, go on a few dates. She wasn’t going to try and seduce him, or anything, and she wasn’t worried that he’d be looking for a shag – she said she was positive he’d never made a move on her mum, so he wasn’t the type of guy who has actual affairs. He was just the type who likes getting attention from attractive women, and who laps it up even when he shouldn’t. She said he’d probably run a mile if she even tried to kiss him.’ The shadow of a smile, flicking Lucy’s mouth. ‘She was just going to give him attention. Loads of attention.’
‘Smart,’ I say. ‘Aislinn was good at reading people.’
‘Yeah, she was. It was because she’d never had a life of her own; she’d spent all her time watching other people, thinking about how they work. That was the only reason why I thought she might actually pull off her plan. I mean, this guy was a detective, he wasn’t going to be the type to fall for any old shite; but if anyone could get him, it was Ash.’ The smile deepens, but it looks painful. ‘She was going to pretend she was one of those people who’re fascinated by the police, so she could ask Detective McCann questions about all his cases – she’d gone through old newspaper articles and court cases to figure out what types of cases he’d worked on, and she’d bought books on all the stuff, so she could ask the right questions. And then she was going to gradually steer the conversation round to her dad . . . And then, once she found out whatever Detective McCann knew, she was going to quit seeing him. And go to Peru.’ Lucy’s head goes up all of a sudden, and she blinks hard at the ceiling. ‘That was all. A few weeks of attention.’
Those true-crime books on Aislinn’s bookshelf, the gang murders in her internet searches. Not for the thrills, after all, or to cosy up with one of Cueball’s boys. I say, ‘What changed?’
Lucy says, ‘I knew Aislinn hadn’t thought it through properly. It was like the fairy tales: the story just goes up to the wedding, and then they all live happily ever after. That’s what Ash was doing. All she could think about was the big moment when she’d get this guy to tell her about her dad; everything after that was just this haze where life was perfect. I tried to tell her that it might not work out exactly like that; I tried. But . . .’ She spreads her hands.
‘She wouldn’t listen.’
Lucy runs her hands through her hair, leaving it sticking out at ragged-kid angles. She says, ‘We were sitting right here. Ash was where you are, all curled up in a blanket with a mug of tea – we’d been out clubbing, so it was late enough and we were drunk enough that I could say it to her. I went, “Ash, what if you don’t like what you find out? It could be bad. Like really bad.”
‘It was dark – we just had on that lamp over there. All I could see was her face, staring out of the blanket. She didn’t look pretty; she looked hollowed-out, starving, all bones and teeth, and way older than she was. And she said, “Luce, you don’t think I get that? Seriously? I’ve thought about every single possibility. I get that the most likely thing is my dad killed himself and the Guards didn’t have enough evidence to be sure, so they decided to say nothing in case they were wrong; or else he had a breakdown and ended up on the streets, and the Guards couldn’t track him down and didn’t want to admit it. I get that a Guard could have hit him with his car and they covered it up. I get that there’s a chance some psycho killed him and buried him up the mountains, and the police had some reason for not wanting to know – it was mixed up with a big investigation, maybe – and so they never followed up. I get all that. I just want to know. So it’ll be over. And then I can go do the next thing.” ’
‘So you left it,’ I say.
‘Yeah, I left it. Probably I should’ve pushed harder – well, Jesus, obviously I should’ve pushed harder. Right?’ Lucy spits out a furious little laugh. ‘But the way she looked; like this plan was all she had, and she could gnaw it down to the bones and still be ravenous . . . I couldn’t do it. I told myself maybe it would be fine: maybe this McCann guy wouldn’t give her the time of day. Or maybe he’d see through her – I mean, seeing through people was his job, right? – and he’d tell her her dad had died saving a little blond kid from an evil drug lord, and she’d have a cry and move on, just like she thought.’
If only McCann had had the cop-on to do exactly that. ‘But it didn’t work out that way,’ I say.
Lucy says, ‘She played him like a jukebox. The big tough cynical detective, yeah? It only took her a month to get it out of him.’
‘How’d she go about it?’
‘She went online and found out the places where Guards drink – I think she asked on some discussion board; she made it sound like she just wanted to bag herself a cop, tee-hee. She got a list of places, and we had to check them all out.’
‘“We,” ’ I say. ‘You went with her?’
That sends Lucy’s chin up. ‘Course I did. You think I’d let her go by herself?’
‘Nah. I’d have gone with my best mate, too. Just checking.’
She settles down. ‘Some of the places were obviously wrong, like Copper Face Jack’s – Guards go there, but they’re all young guys on the pull. But there was one pub, probably you know it – Horgan’s?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. Horgan’s is a cop pub, all right: an old-style pub, all threadbare red velvet seating and sconce lighting, hidden away in the tangle of laneways around Harcourt Street, where most of the squads and the General Unit work. I used to drink there, sometimes, back before I made Murder. I saw McCann and Breslin once or twice. Back then I watched them like they were rock stars.
‘Plenty of older guys drink there. So we kept going back. It was messy, because a couple of guys tried to chat us up – well, chat Ash up, basically – and we had to get rid of them, but not too hard, or else we’d get a reputation for being bitches and McCann wouldn’t bother with us if he did show up. We played it like . . .’ Lucy blows out air. ‘It was Aislinn’s idea. We played it like I was upset about something, a breakup maybe, and just wanted girl talk; that way she could blow off any guy who tried it on with her, and make it look like it was for my sake.’
She catches my eye and says, with a defensive edge on her voice, ‘I wasn’t happy about it. That’s not my kind of thing, at all. But . . . Aislinn was good at bringing you along with her. One little step at a time, and all of a sudden, without knowing how I got there, I was in the middle of some play she was putting on.’