‘Most people would lose it a lot worse than that. One second out of control, one punch? That’s nothing. No way he could guess it would end like this.’
Breslin’s still leaning back with his arms folded, watching us under his eyelids, with a wry smile twisting one corner of his mouth. ‘It’s a cute story. So this was just a silly little manslaughter, no big deal, and Mac should own up and take his slap on the wrist like a good boy?’
I say, ‘What do you think he should do? Keep his mouth shut, go back to the squad and his missus like nothing ever happened?’
‘I do, actually. Because your cute story falls apart the second I start looking at it like an actual detective. Psychologically, it makes bugger-all sense, and while I don’t normally give too many fucks about the psychological stuff, in this case you’ve got literally nothing else, so I figure it’s worth a bit of attention. First off’ – he raises a finger – ‘why would Rory come as some big shock to Mac? Enough of a shock to make him punch a woman in the face, hard enough to kill her? Mac wasn’t in love with Aislinn. If you don’t believe that, there’s the fact that he had told Aislinn she was welcome to see other people – witness the fact that she invited Rory to her place, where she knew Mac might show up any time, rather than going over to his. If you don’t believe that, you’ve got Lucy’s evidence that Mac had access to Aislinn’s phone, specifically because he wanted to check her texts. That phone is packed with weeks’ worth of texts to and from Rory, including ones setting up that dinner date. And you’re telling me Rory would’ve shocked Mac right out of his mind?’
I say, ‘By the time Rory came on the scene, McCann wasn’t reading Aislinn’s texts any more. Too embarrassed, plus he hadn’t found anything worth reading.’
‘Yeah, I saw you humiliate him over that. You got him good there, guys. Well done.’ Breslin throws us a few slow claps. ‘But if Mac had cared that much about whether Aislinn had another guy on the side, I’m thinking he would have managed to overcome a bit of embarrassment and check her texts. Whether he felt like admitting it to you two or not.’
Steve says, ‘Unless Aislinn had him fooled well enough that it never occurred to him she might be seeing someone else.’
‘Sure. Which would mean he’s not the jealous type, which would mean he wouldn’t lose the plot when he found out. We’re back where we started: it doesn’t add up, psychologically. And the second problem.’ Breslin raises another finger. ‘Rory could’ve turned off that cooker because he didn’t like the smell, or because his mummy trained him never to leave appliances on. Mac couldn’t have. He’s not some civilian pussy-boy who’d go to pieces and do dumb shit for no good reason. Even under serious stress, he was thinking straight – straight enough to wipe the joint for prints, remember. He wasn’t going to touch anything in that house without a solid reason. If he’d killed Aislinn, if he knew that all the forensics would point to him and burning the gaff down could only help him get away with it, why the hell would he turn off the cooker?’
I say, ‘So the smoke alarm wouldn’t go off. McCann was thinking straight, all right. He needed time to wipe the house down – and more than that, he realised Aislinn’s fella could come in very useful. A boyfriend on the spot, all on his own with no one to vouch for his actions, right around the time of the attack: man, that’s a killer’s dream.’
Breslin’s shaking his head, doing a small smile of pure disgust. I don’t care. ‘The only problem was,’ I say, ‘seeing as McCann hadn’t actually been reading Aislinn’s texts, he didn’t know exactly when the boyfriend was due to arrive. Even if he checked her phone and found the appointment time – which he didn’t want to do, because the techs would be able to see that he’d done it, and when – that didn’t guarantee that the boyfriend wouldn’t be running late. If McCann left the cooker on, it might set off the smoke alarm – and Aislinn might be found – while this fella was still somewhere else, with an alibi. Even if McCann disabled the alarm, he risked having a neighbour or the boyfriend notice smoke and call it in while the boyfriend could still be excluded. The cooker had to be turned off.’
Breslin shrugs. ‘I suppose you might be able to argue that. Like I said, it’s a cute story. But that’s all it is. There’s nothing solid underneath. You can prove that Mac had an affair with Aislinn. Good for you. But when it comes to Saturday night, you can prove exactly bugger-all. You’ve got an ID from the prime suspect, who has every motive to drag someone else into this mess. You’ve got some bizarre convoluted story you heard from some woman who may or may not have been the vic’s best friend, may or may not have been in love with the vic herself, and may or may not be holding a jealous grudge against the lucky guy who got to shag the vic. And if you actually get a warrant to search Mac’s gaff, which I can’t believe you’d be stupid enough to do, you’ll probably have proof that he’s lost his brown gloves. And that’s it. That’s what you’ve got.’
Silence.
‘What are you planning to do with it?’
More silence.
‘Yeah. That’s what I thought.’ Breslin fills himself another cup of water, and we listen to the bubbles force their way up the cooler. He takes a long deliberate sip before he says, ‘I hope you two realise what you’ve done to this case.’
Neither of us bites.
‘You’ve fucked it right up the ass. Do you get that? You’ll never get McCann for this, because A, you’ve got no evidence that he did it, and B, he didn’t do it, Fallon did. If you actually try going after Mac, the prosecutor will laugh your file right out of his office. If you somehow manage to get him into court – which you won’t – the defence will pull in Rory Fallon and your mountain of actual evidence against him, and the jury will acquit before the jury-room door closes. Wouldn’t you? Be honest. If you were on the jury, and the sum total of the evidence was what you’ve just told me, would you vote to convict?’
Me and Steve don’t answer.
‘Of course you wouldn’t. Neither would anyone else in the country, except maybe the odd cop-hater who’d vote to convict him of being Jack the Ripper. But now that you’ve opened up this whole can of worms with Mac, you’re never going to get Fallon. The prosecutors get him into court, the defence pulls in McCann – wrecks his marriage and possibly his career in the process, but hey, that’s not your problem, am I right? – and bang, reasonable doubt. Bye-bye, Rory. Have a nice life. See you when your next girlfriend pisses you off.’
He raises his cup to an imaginary Rory.
‘You’re done, kids. All you’ve got left to do here is pack up your case file and send it down to the basement – and, of course, find a good explanation to give the gaffer and the media for why this case has crashed into a wall and poor Aislinn won’t be getting the justice she deserves. Are you proud of yourselves? Does this feel like a good week’s work to you?’