I said, “I swear, sir. I didn’t know it existed till Quigley waved it in my face.”
“When did Curran pick it up?”
“Thursday morning.”
“Thursday morning,” O’Kelly repeated. Something ominous was building in his voice. “So he kept it to himself for the bones of two days. The two of ye are spending every waking moment together, you’re talking about nothing only this case—or at least I hope you are—and Curran’s got the answer in the pocket of his shiny tracksuit the whole time. Tell me, Detective: how the sweet living fuck did you miss that?”
“I was focused on the case. I did notice—”
O’Kelly exploded. “Sweet Jesus! What does this yoke look like to you? Chopped liver? This is the fucking case. And it’s not some piece-of-shite druggie case where nobody cares if you take your eye off the ball. There are murdered kids here. You didn’t think this might be a good time to act like a bloody detective and keep an eye on what’s going on around you?”
I said, “I knew something was on Curran’s mind, sir. I didn’t miss that. But I thought it was because we weren’t on the same page. I thought Brennan was our man, and looking anywhere else was a waste of time; Curran thought—said he thought—that Patrick Spain was a better suspect and we should spend more time on him. I thought that was all it was.”
O’Kelly took a breath to keep bollocking me, but his heart wasn’t in it. “Either Curran deserves an Oscar,” he said, but the heat had gone out of his voice, “or you deserve a good kicking.” He rubbed his eyes with thumb and finger. “Where is the little prick, anyway?”
“I sent him home. I wasn’t about to let him touch anything else.”
“Too bloody right. Get onto him, tell him to report to me first thing in the morning. If he survives that, I’ll find him a nice desk where he can file paperwork till IA’s done with him.”
“Yes, sir.” I would text him. I had no desire to talk to Richie, ever again.
O’Kelly said, “If your sister hadn’t nicked the evidence, would Curran have handed it over, in the end? Or would he have flushed it down the jacks, kept his mouth shut for good? You knew him better than I did. What do you figure?”
He’d have handed it in today, sir, I’d bet my month’s salary on it . . . All those partners I had envied would have done it without a second thought, but Richie wasn’t my partner any more, if he ever had been. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t have a clue.”
O’Kelly grunted. “Not like it matters either way. Curran’s through. I’d boot him back to whatever council flat he came from, if I could do it without IA and the brass and the media crawling up my arse; since I can’t, he’ll be reverted to uniform, and I’ll find him some lovely shitehole full of addicts and handguns where he can wait for his pension. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep his mouth shut and take it.”
He left a space in case I wanted to put up a fight. His eye told me it would be pointless, but I wouldn’t have done it anyway. I said, “I think that’s the right outcome.”
“Hold your horses there. IA and the brass aren’t going to be happy with you, either. Curran’s still on probation; you’re the man in charge. If this investigation’s gone down the jacks, that’s all yours.”
“I accept that, sir. But I don’t think it’s down the jacks just yet. While I was at the hospital with Jennifer Spain, I ran into Fiona Rafferty—that’s the sister. She picked this up in the Spains’ hallway, the morning we were called to the scene. She’d forgotten about it until today.”
I found the envelope with the bracelet in it and put it on the desk, next to the other one. A tiny detached part of me was able to be pleased at how steady my hand was. “She’s identified the bracelet as Jennifer Spain’s. Going by color and length, the hair caught in it could belong to either Jennifer or Emma, but the techs should have no trouble telling us which one: Jennifer’s hair is lightened. If this is Emma’s—and I’d bet it is—then we’ve still got our case.”
O’Kelly watched me for a long time, clicking the top of his pen, those sharp little eyes steady on mine. He said, “That’s very bloody convenient.”
It was a question. I said, “Just very lucky, sir.”
After another long moment, he nodded. “Better play the Lotto tonight. You’re the luckiest man in Ireland. Do you need me to tell you how much shit you’d have been in if this yoke hadn’t shown up?”
Scorcher Kennedy, the straightest straight arrow, twenty years’ service and never put a toe over the line: after that one wisp of suspicion, O’Kelly believed I was as pure as the driven snow. So would everyone else. Even the defense wouldn’t waste their time trying to impeach the evidence. Quigley would bitch and hint, but nobody listens to Quigley. “No, sir,” I said.
“Hand it in to the evidence room, quick, before you find a way to bollix it up. Then go home. Get some sleep. You’ll need your wits about you for IA on Monday.” He jammed his reading glasses onto his nose and bent his head over the statement sheet again. We were done.
I said, “Sir, there’s something else you should know.”
“Oh, Jesus. If there’s any more fucking shite to do with this mess, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Nothing like that, sir. When this case is wound up, I’ll be putting in my papers.”
That brought O’Kelly’s head up. “Why?” he asked, after a moment.
“I think it’s time for a change.”
Those sharp eyes poked at me. He said, “You don’t have your thirty. You’ll get no pension till you’re sixty years of age.”
“I know, sir.”
“What’ll you do instead?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He watched me, tapping his pen on the page in front of him. “I put you back on the pitch too early. I thought you were fighting fit again. Could’ve sworn you were only dying to get off the bench.”
There was something in his voice that could have been concern, or maybe even compassion. I said, “I was.”
“I should’ve spotted that you weren’t ready. Now this mess is after shaking your nerve. That’s all it is. A few good nights’ kip, a few pints with the lads, you’ll be grand.”
“It’s not that simple, sir.”
“Why not? You won’t be spending the next few years sharing a desk with Curran, if that’s what you’re worried about. This was my mistake. I’ll say that to the brass. I don’t want you booted onto desk duty, any more than you do; leave me stuck with that shower of eejits out there.” O’Kelly jerked his head towards the squad room. “I won’t see you shafted. You’ll take a bollocking, you’ll lose a few days’ holidays—sure, you’ve plenty saved up anyway, am I right?—and everything’ll be back to normal.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said. “I appreciate that. But I’ve got no problem taking whatever’s coming my way. You’re right: I should have caught this.”