‘Holy Jaysus. Is that what passes for humour over there?’ A door shuts, and the voices vanish: he’s out in the corridor. ‘Right. What did you want to know?’
Steve has his head up, keeping an eye on the entrances to the square, but he’s listening. ‘First thing,’ I say. ‘You guys went all out on the Desmond Murray case. Everything looked like he’d skipped voluntarily, it turned out he had skipped voluntarily, but yous worked it like a murder. How come?’
Gary snorts. ‘There’s an easy one. Because of the wife, basically. Did you see the photo?’
‘Yeah. She was good-looking.’
‘The photo doesn’t do her justice. She was a stunner. Not the kind you want to get in kinky underwear and shag senseless; the kind you want to look after. Open doors for her. Hold her umbrella.’ Gary’s voice getting fainter, water running, clink of cups; he’s rinsing a mug in the kitchen, phone tucked under his jaw. ‘And she knew how to work it, too. Looking at us like we were superheroes, going on about how she knew we’d find her husband and she felt so lucky to have us, she didn’t know what she’d have done if her whole world had been in the hands of people she couldn’t trust the way she trusted us – loads of that. Crying at all the right moments, and making sure she looked good while she was doing it – her husband’s just gone missing, but she’s still bothered to do her hair and her makeup and put on a pretty dress? She knew what she was at, all right.’
Sounds like Aislinn took after Mammy. ‘You think it was all an act? She didn’t give a damn about the hubby, just wanted attention?’
Gary clicks his tongue. ‘Nah, not that. The opposite of that. I think she was genuinely desperate to get her husband back – she wasn’t the social type, didn’t have friends, didn’t have a job, didn’t have anything apart from him and the kid; without him, her life was bollixed. And she knew the best way to make fellas go out of their way for her was by being pretty and making them want to take care of her.’
‘Cute,’ I say. I can hear the coffee machine whirring – instead of bitching nonstop about the crap coffee, the way we do in Murder, Missing Persons threw in a few quid each and bought a decent machine. ‘And it worked.’
‘Yeah. That type doesn’t do a lot for me, but a couple of the lads would’ve brought out the army to comb the country for her husband, if they could’ve. Tracking down a few mobiles, interviewing a few extra witnesses . . . that was nothing.’
He remembers a lot about this woman, for someone who wasn’t into her. I keep my mouth shut – Gary brings out my nice side. ‘So it wasn’t because anyone suspected Murray might’ve been involved with gangs?’
Gary laughs. ‘Jesus, no. Nothing like that. Pure as the driven snow, Murray was. When it came to the law, at least.’
I throw Steve a look. He grimaces: still unconvinced. He’s got his hands tucked into his armpits to keep them warm.
I roll my eyes and say, into the phone, ‘You sure you would’ve heard?’
‘Thanks a bunch, Antoinette.’
‘Come on, Gar, you know I’m not being a bitch here. But you had to be, what, twenty-six, twenty-seven? Out of uniform for like three weeks? The lead Ds weren’t necessarily telling you everything that went through their heads.’
The faint clinking of Gary stirring his coffee. He says, ‘Is that what it was like when you were here? You figure I held stuff back from you, just to keep the rookie in her place?’
I say, ‘No. You would’ve told me.’
Missing Persons isn’t like Murder. In Missing Persons, you don’t work your case aiming to take down a bad guy; you work it aiming to get a happy ending. If it even looks like there might be a bad guy to take down, mostly it’s not your problem any more – say a body shows up looking dodgy, you hand it straight over to Murder. You can go your entire career without ever using your handcuffs. That attracts a whole different type from Murder or Sex Crime, the squads where your mind is focused on the kill shot and happy endings aren’t on the menu, and it makes for a whole different atmosphere. Missing Persons was never my kind of place, but just for a second I’m swamped by how badly I want to be back there. I can smell the good coffee, hear Gar hamming up ‘Bring Him Home’ after a happy ending while everyone shouts at him to shut up and take it to X Factor; I’m coming up with new places to hide that rubber hamster. Like a little kid, wanting to run home to Mammy as soon as the going gets tough. I make myself sick.
‘Yeah, I would’ve,’ Gary says. ‘It was the same back then: if the lead Ds were thinking gangs, they would’ve told me. Where’d this gang idea come from?’
I keep my head angled away from Steve, in case that burst of wimp shows on my face. ‘Murray’s daughter, the one I sent to you when she came asking about him? She’s after turning up murdered.’
‘Huh,’ Gary says, surprised but not shocked. ‘God rest. She seemed like a sweet kid, way back when; sweet girl, when she came in to me. You think she got involved with a gang?’
‘Not really. It looks like the boyfriend threw a tantrum, but there’s some loose ends we want to clear up, just in case. We were wondering if she went looking for Daddy and trod on someone’s toes.’
‘No reason she would’ve. There’s nothing that would’ve pointed her anywhere dodgy.’
I really wanted Gary to tell me that something, anything, was dodgy here. I can feel it soaking through me along with the cold, just how badly I wanted it. I can’t tell whether I knew all along that he wasn’t going to.
Steve whispers, ‘The Ds. Why’d they keep their mouths shut?’
‘Second thing,’ I say. ‘Any reason why yous didn’t just tell them at the time where Daddy had gone?’
Gary makes an exasperated noise, through a mouthful of coffee. ‘Antoinette. I wasn’t joking you about the back-seat driving. It wasn’t your case; how they worked it isn’t your problem. You start shooting your mouth off about how you would’ve done it differently, all you’ll do is piss people off. You think you can afford that?’
Meaning word is getting around. Missing Persons have been informed that I’m poison. Even if I wanted to transfer back there, the gaffer probably wouldn’t take me. He knows I’m good, but no one wants a D who brings hassle with her. Whether it’s her own hassle or other people’s is beside the point.
I say, ‘So don’t make me go shooting my mouth off. Quit the hush-hush crap and tell me what was going on, and I won’t have to talk to the other Ds.’