‘It’s not like we were going to ring your missus and grass you up.’
‘That’s what you say. You’re telling me you’d have stood by your squad? Look where we are.’
‘You know this needs doing,’ Steve says, worried. ‘It does. What do you want us to do? Ignore all this, go ahead with Rory, and have his defence dig this up and throw it in our faces halfway through the trial?’
‘I want you to have some respect. Something like this, you want to bring it up, you do it in private. Not in a fucking interview room. With a fucking camera going. Jesus.’ He shoots a narrow, furious glance at the camera.
‘If I was any other D,’ I say, ‘I would’ve. But I’ve taken enough shite from this squad that nowadays, anything that matters, I’m getting it on record. We’ll try and keep it to ourselves, but I can’t promise anything till I know what I’m dealing with.’
It’s the oldest line in the book. McCann’s mouth curls. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘So let’s hear it,’ I say. ‘Start with the first time you and Aislinn met. When, where, how.’
McCann leans back in his chair, stretches his legs out and folds his arms, settling in. ‘Horgan’s. Last summer; I don’t remember the date.’
‘Don’t worry about it. We can find that out. Had you seen her in there before?’
‘No.’
‘You would have noticed her.’
‘Yeah, I would. All the lads noticed her. Probably some of the girls, too.’ Snide look at me.
‘I’m not surprised,’ I say. ‘I’ve seen photos. How’d you get up the brass neck to chat her up?’
‘I didn’t. She came on to me.’
I laugh out loud. ‘Course she did. Gorgeous twenty-something, could have any fella in the bar, throws herself at some middle-aged guy with a faceful of wrinkles and a beer gut. She just won’t take no for an answer; what choice has the poor guy got?’
McCann has his arms folded tight, not budging. ‘I’m telling you. She wasn’t forward about it – I wouldn’t’ve been into that. But she was the one that gave me the eye.’
I’ve still got one eyebrow high. ‘Jaysus, come on,’ Steve says to me, reasonably. ‘People have different tastes. Just because someone wouldn’t be your cup of tea—’
‘I like them young enough to be some use to me,’ I tell McCann, throwing him a wink. ‘And good-looking.’
‘What do you do, pay for it?’ We’re starting to get to him.
‘—that doesn’t mean he’s not some other girl’s,’ Steve finishes. ‘It happens.’
‘It does happen,’ I admit. ‘On the soaps. Every time I turn on the telly, there’s some young babe hanging out of an uggo old enough to be her da. Does this look like the set off Fair City to you?’
‘Ah, Conway. It’s not just on the soaps. Real life, too.’
‘If you’re Donald Trump, sure. You been holding out on us, Joey? Are you a secret millionaire?’
He doesn’t like the ‘Joey’, but he almost hides it behind a wry grin. ‘I wish.’
‘Not everyone’s all about the money,’ Steve says. ‘Aislinn could’ve just liked the look of him. Nothing wrong with that.’
‘Maybe. Do you look like George Clooney, Joey? On your days off, like?’
‘You tell me.’
I grimace, waver one hand. ‘Gotta tell you, pal, I’m not seeing it. So I’m dying to know: why would she go for you? Don’t tell me you never wondered.’
McCann shifts. Unfolds his arms, shoves his hands in his pockets. He says, ‘She was a badge bunny.’
We thought the same thing. Aislinn led the whole lot of us down her garden path. What me and Steve need to know is whether McCann believes it still.
‘A girl like that goes hunting for a badge,’ I say, ‘and you’re what she brings home? Seriously?’
McCann’s jaw moves. ‘I was there.’
‘And so were plenty of others. Horgan’s is wall-to-wall cops. So why you?’
‘Because she wanted a D. She liked to hear about the job: what cases have you worked, what was it like, what did you do next? Gave her a thrill. You know what I’m talking about?’ The grin’s a nasty one. I don’t blink. ‘She picked me out because I was old enough, and dressed nice enough, that she figured I was a D – she knew her stuff, that one. When she heard I worked Murder, that was it. Her eyes lit up. I’d’ve had to hold her off with a garden rake. And you saw her: why would I want to do that?’
‘Because you’re married?’ I suggest. ‘I hear to some people that means you don’t go sticking your dick in any hole you can find.’
McCann lifts one shoulder. ‘We had a few shags. It happens. It was no big deal.’
Good call. If Aislinn was nothing but a shag, then there’s no reason he would’ve killed her for having another fella. I ask, ‘You do that on a regular basis, yeah? Cheat on your missus?’
‘No.’
‘Ever done it before?’
‘No.’
‘Then what was so special about Aislinn?’
‘Never had a bird that good-looking try it on with me before. And me and the missus, we hadn’t been getting on great. I figured, why not?’
Me and Steve throw each other a quick sideways glance, letting McCann catch it. I say, ‘That’s a lovely story. Romantic. But it doesn’t match Lucy Riordan’s.’
McCann shakes his head. ‘Who’s Lucy Riordan?’
‘Aislinn’s best mate. Short? Dyed-blond hair, cut up to here? Ring any bells?’
At that he laughs, teeth bared like an angry dog’s. ‘That little dyke? I’d say her story’s different, all right. She wasn’t Aislinn’s best mate, whatever she told you. She’s a hanger-on who was arse over tip in love with Aislinn, and she was raging that Ash had found herself a fella. Of course she’s going to tell some story that makes me the bad guy.’
Steve says, ‘Where’d you meet Lucy?’
‘You already know that. Your witness who saw me meet Aislinn, you think I don’t—’
‘We need your version.’
McCann flings himself back in his chair, folds his arms across his chest again and stares at us, lip curling up. ‘The two of ye are pathetic. Do you know that? Sitting there, trying your little interrogation techniques on me, going off on tangents— I was doing that to scumbags, actual scumbags, when ye were picking your spots and snogging posters of pop stars. Do you honestly think I’m going to fall for it?’
‘It’s not about falling for it,’ Steve says, wounded. ‘We’re hoping you’ll help us out here.’
I say, ‘Where’d you meet Lucy?’
‘Was that not in her story, no?’
‘Ah, come on, man,’ Steve says, leaning forward across the table. ‘You know as well as I do, we’re looking to scupper her story. You think we want you to be our man? Are you serious? If we find out you did this, we’re fucked. You think we want to sit out in that observation room trying to decide whether we’re going to charge one of our own squad with murder?’
McCann turns those deep-set eyes on me. He’s got years more practice being expressionless than I do; I can’t read anything there. He says, ‘You’ve got no reason to love this squad. You’re fucked anyway; might as well take someone down with you.’