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- Herausgeber: Mercier Press
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
'Coakley delivers another hard-hitting assured thriller'— Catherine Kirwan Fresh from solving a harrowing abduction case linked to drug gangs in Kerry, Detective Tim Collins returns to Cork City, only to discover that lurking in the shadows of its fabled lanes lies a world he's unprepared for. A series of harrowing crimes—neglected by the very police force sworn to protect—has the city's most vulnerable people on edge. As Collins digs deeper, the line between justice and revenge blurs. Trust becomes a luxury he can't afford as allies become adversaries and the truth slips further away. The streets he once knew now hold secrets that challenge everything he knows, forcing him to confront the demons of his haunted past—a past rooted in his formative years at University College Cork making him question the nature of justice and the path he has chosen in its pursuit. As the story unfolds, Tim must decide how far he will go to uncover the truth and whether redemption lies at the end of the road. The question remains: Can one man make a difference? Experience the brutal and blood-soaked world of Detective Tim Collins in the third instalment of this riveting series. Filled with unforeseen twists, this book promises a visceral journey that will hold you in suspense from beginning to end.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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ALSO BY TADHG COAKLEY
Fiction
The First Sunday in September
Whatever It Takes (Tim Collins 1)
Before He Kills Again (Tim Collins 2)
Non-Fiction
Everything: the Autobiography of Denis Coughlan (co-author)
The Game: A Journey into the Heart of Sport
MERCIER PRESSCorkwww.mercierpress.ie
© Tadhg Coakley, 2024
978-1-78117-873-7 978-1-78117-874-4 eBOOK
All characters and events in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, which may occur inadvertently, is completely unintentional.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher in writing.
This digital document has been produced by Nord Compo.
For the wages of sin is death
For John Breen
Contents
1
2015
TIM COLLINS, FORMER garda and former hurler, walked out of the sea in Smerwick Bay in West Kerry. He looked around the Béal Bán beach. Early morning yet, nobody around. He dried himself with his towel. A skylark was singing in the air behind him. What did Shakespeare say about the lark at the break of day? Something about heaven’s gate? He couldn’t remember.
The top of Mount Brandon was unusually clear of cloud this May morning. He picked up his phone from his gear bag. 6.55 a.m. He’d have to be at the building site at eight, even though it was a Friday and his boss, Seán, wouldn’t appear until after nine with a hangover.
It was still chilly and a cup of tea would warm him. He looked across the water to Baile na nGall and Murreagh. He turned and Cruach Mhártain hill was speckled with the shadows of small clouds, rolling in from the Atlantic. As he headed for home across the beach, the Three Sisters were rising up to their heights by the ocean. He heard three car doors slam on the road by his house and three young women rushed past him in their swimsuits towards the water.
The last one said: ‘Dia dhuit. Is it freezing?’
‘Dia agus Mhuire dhuit,’ Collins replied. ‘Not at all, it’s like a bath.’
She laughed.
He walked home with his gear bag and shouldered the rusty old garden gate open. He heard the shrieking when the women met the chilly water. Fair play to them, he thought.
2
1990
TIM COLLINS, POSTGRADUATE student and hurler walked down Highfield Avenue towards University College Cork. It was drizzling but it wasn’t cold for February. Later, the pitch would be mucky for the Fitzgibbon Cup training.
The note from Jessie had been unexpected. She had ended their relationship before Christmas. He ducked into the Main Rest out of the rain and read it again.
Call into me at 9.30 this morning for some fun. J.XXX
You know where the key is, I’ll be in the bed, naked.
Something about the note jarred him. He knew it wasn’t a prank by one of his friends. It looked like her writing and he’d seen that flowery paper in her bedroom before. Did she want to get back with him or just have sex? Well, he’d soon find out.
As he walked past the Boole Library he remembered the first time he had met her, properly. She was sheltering from the rain. It was March, her red hair fell over her face as she cupped her hands around a rollie. She was wearing a battered old duffel coat and jeans and Doc Martens. He had seen her before, of course he had. Grunge looked good on her. Her lighter wasn’t working.
He smiled to her and said: ‘Here, use mine.’ He offered his lighter.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Are you the hurler?’
He nodded. So she knew him. He tried not to smile. He took out a pack of Marlboro Lights and she handed back the lighter. He lit up a cigarette too, though he was trying not to smoke so much.
‘I was useless at sport in school,’ she said. ‘What’s it like to play in those big stadiums with all the people watching?’
‘Ah, yeah. You have to block it all out when you’re playing, but when you win, yeah it’s good alright.’
‘Good alright!’ she said and laughed. What an amazing laugh.
He could remember that conversation word for word. It was on repeat in his head after she dumped him. He walked on, beside the Honan Chapel onto Donovan Road. When he entered the Geography Building, where he shared a dusty room with four other postgrads, he checked the clock on the wall: 9.05 a.m.
He handed in an essay to Mary, the secretary of the Department, and spoke with her about the Clare hurling team; she was from Lahinch.
He dropped his hurleys and training gear into his room which was empty. He checked the two condoms in his back pocket, although Jessie’s two housemates always had a supply.
Don’t do this, he thought, but he knew he would. He took a pack of chewing gum out of his donkey jacket and put one into his mouth, walking out of the building and up Donovan Road towards Hartlands Court. He’d be there in ten minutes.
3
2015
COLLINS DROVE HIS old battered Opel through Na Gorta Dubha and onto the main road near Ballyferriter. He headed east towards Dingle, a road he knew well. Passing the distillery his phone rang. It was Fiona. He pulled in and answered.
‘Hi Fiona, do you have your crystal ball out or what? I’m just going to pass the surgery.’
‘Haha, no. But I must have sensed you. Fancy a pint and dinner later? I have a voucher for Ashes and they have a table available at eight.’
‘Sounds good. Curran’s at seven or so?’
‘That’s a date. See you later.’
As he drove out the Spa Road towards the building site, Collins thought about Fiona and her complicated life. After they met at a party three weeks earlier, she called him the following day. They arranged to go for a walk on Ventry beach that evening. At the end of the walk, she told him about her marriage and how it hadn’t worked out. Collins felt perhaps he was in with a chance. He liked her and felt relaxed in her company.
In the pub after, she knotted her fingers around her cup and said: ‘I just want to let you know. I’m not interested in another man, any man. It’s not personal or anything to do with you. Can we just be friends? I don’t know many people here and I really enjoyed our chat at the party and on the walk today.’ Collins shifted in his chair.
‘Is that all right with you?’ she said.
Collins noticed an air of sadness about her, which made her look older than thirty-eight, which she had said was her age. She tied her dark hair into a high ponytail. She was tall and angular. Thin. She lit up when she smiled. He couldn’t help but notice how delicate her wrists seemed and the soft, downy hair on her forearms. Then he remembered the conversation about her eating disorder on the beach and the treatment she was receiving. He didn’t want to upset her so he picked his words carefully.
‘Yes, of course. I’m disappointed, but I don’t know too many here, either, and you’re very easy to talk to. I’m not good at that and I have to say, that’s a rare thing for me.’
‘I take it you’re not in a relationship,’ she said.
‘That’d be a hard no,’ he said. ‘Though there was someone, once.’ Collins looked out the window. ‘There’s the mist coming down, now,’ he said.
‘Do you mind me asking why you didn’t stay with the guards?’
Collins knew it was coming, but wasn’t his favourite topic.
‘Well there was a disagreement with a Superintendent, which got nasty, so I walked. I’ll spare you the details. How’s the practice here? Busy in the summer, I guess.’ He spoke quickly wanting to change the subject.
‘Ah yeah, but manageable, too. It’s hard to get GPs to relocate in this country, but Dingle isn’t much of a problem. We have a new Polish doctor who is a real godsend, she’s a powerhouse.’
They agreed to meet again the following week and the week after that. Fiona was great company, had a wry sense of humour and was a brilliant mimic. She got him out of his house and in company – which he needed. It helped him not to brood about the real reason why he was forced out of the guards.
4
1990
TIM TURNED INTO Hartlands Court. When was the last time he was here? Apart from the time he got drunk that Saturday night and hung around the house until Jessie’s friend Kate came out and told him to cop on and go home, which he did.
How many days and nights had he spent here? Too many to count. The creak of the back door. The dripping tap in the utility room. The musty smell from the worn carpet in the living room. Her bedroom.
He lifted the old plastic flower pot at the back door and retrieved the key. The back door didn’t creak and the tap was fixed. In the hall it occurred to him he should have rung the doorbell, if any of her roommates were here. They’d get a heart attack if they saw him. But the letter had been very clear for him to use the back door. They must be in college. There was new lino in the hall.
Did this mean that she wanted to get back with him? Probably not. Maybe she had broken up with the new man – who he didn’t still know, but she had told him that night tearfully that she had met ‘someone’. Maybe she was lying, which she was good at.
In the hall he looked at the old round door knob on Jessie’s bedroom. What if she had switched rooms with one of the others? He shouldn’t be doing this. He listened for any sound in the house. Nothing. He opened the bedroom door and gently closed it behind him.
She was still sleeping. A late one the night before, he guessed. Her hair was strewn across the pillow. He inched closer, not wanting to startle her.
The curtains were closed. A bundle of clothes on the chair beside her bed. That old smell of her perfume which he could never remember its name.
‘Jessie,’ he whispered, approaching her side of the bed.
‘Jessie, it’s Tim, I got your note. I’m here.’
He went to move her hair from her forehead, but it felt crusty, sticky. He drew his hand back and shouted.
‘Jessie?’
He pulled the blanket back. The pillow was covered in blood and blood matted her hair and face. Her face was bashed in. A gaping tear of flesh under her eye.
‘Jessie,’ he screamed. ‘Jessie!’
5
2015
ON THE FOLLOWING Sunday night Collins and Fiona were listening to music in his house by the beach. She often stayed over in the spare room and they swam in the mornings if the sea wasn’t too wild.
They had walked the beach after dinner until dusk. Collins had admired the bats flitting around in the dark air outside his house.
At the sound of the front door knocker, Collins went into the hall and turned on the outside light. He opened the door and two young women were standing there, looking worried.
‘Are ye okay?’ he said.
‘It’s about our friend,’ one of them said. She had short, blonde hair. He recognised her from the beach on the previous week.
‘Come in, come in,’ he said and ushered them into the kitchen, where they stood until Fiona pulled out chairs for them.
Collins sat down and faced them. ‘Tell me what happened?’
‘Our friend went on a date earlier and there’s no sign of her.’
‘Okay, let’s go back to the beginning,’ Collins said. ‘Beginning with your names. I’m Tim and this is Fiona.’
‘I’m Maeve and this is Anne,’ Maeve said.
‘Our friend Saoirse went on a date earlier, around two o’clock. She met a guy last night in Dingle and they agreed to go for a walk, earlier. They were supposed to meet at the pier at Ballydavid and we haven’t heard from her since.’
‘Did ye ring her?’ Collins asked.
‘About ten times,’ Anne said. ‘And sent her loads of messages. She hasn’t been online since three when she posted a photo on Instagram.’
‘Show me it.’
Maeve took out her phone and showed Collins a selfie of a smiling young woman, with the sea and the Three Sisters in the background. It looked like it was taken around the coast from Ballydavid on the cliff walk. It was the woman who chatted to Collins on the previous Friday morning on the beach.
‘Okay, probably her phone ran out of battery or something,’ he said.
‘Do ye know the man she was meeting?’ Fiona asked.
‘No, we never met him before. He said he was from Galway, working in Tralee. But he sounded like he came from the North to me.’
‘Quick question,’ Collins said. ‘Why did ye call in here, to us?’
‘We told Muiris,’ Maeve said. ‘He owns the house we’re staying in and he said you used to be a guard, a Detective.’
‘And why didn’t ye ring the local gardaí?’ Collins said.
‘Oh, Saoirse’s father is a Superintendent and he’d kill her.’
‘What’s Saoirse’s surname?’ Collins asked Maeve.
‘It’s Tobin.’
Collins knew the father, he was based in Limerick. He looked at Fiona. She glanced at the kitchen clock and said: ‘It’s quarter past ten, now. When did ye first contact her earlier?’
Anne took out her phone and checked it.
‘I WhatsApped her around half four after the Insta message asking if she was having a good time.’
Maeve said: ‘Whenever we go on a first date we all message each other, we use a code word “fab” which means come and get me. It’s our panic word.’
‘And did she use the word?’ Collins said.
‘No, she never replied and it’s so not her. She always replies,’ Maeve said, her voice filled with panic. ‘Will you help us? Please?’
‘Please?’ Anne said. ‘We’re begging you.’
Collins looked at Fiona. She nodded approval.
‘Okay, I’ll see what I can do. But if there’s no news by midnight, or any sign of criminal activity or danger to Saoirse, I’m ringing the gardaí straight away. Give me her phone number and I’ll try to trace it.’
‘We have a tracker on all our phones,’ Anne said. ‘We know where she is. Well, we think so.’
6
1990
TIM STUMBLED BACKWARDS and slid down the door. He held his head in his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her face. Perhaps when he opened his eyes, he’d wake up. It’d all be a dream, he thought. But he could smell it, now. The metallic edge of blood.
‘Jesus,’ he said, his hand to his mouth.
There was a knock at the door behind his head. He jumped to his feet and faced the door.
‘Jessie?’ A woman’s voice. The door opened. It was Aoife, her housemate.
‘She’s dead,’ he said, shocked at the sound of his own flat voice. Aoife saw Jessie on the bed. She screamed, looked at Tim and ran. He heard the front door slam open and the sound of Aoife’s voice shouting for help. He shook his head and walked out of the house in a daze. He passed Aoife stopping a motorist. He walked to the end of the road. Then he ran until he got to college.
He walked into the Geography Building on Donovan Road. He had training later, he needed his hurleys and his gear. As he walked past Mary’s office, she came out. She scrutinised him.
‘Tim,’ she said. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘She’s dead,’ he replied, staring at the door behind her. He couldn’t believe what he was saying.
‘What? Who’s dead? What happened?’
‘She’s dead. Somebody killed her.’ His whole body started to shake.
Professor Ryan approached them. He looked at Tim and then at Mary.
‘Something happened,’ she said. ‘Tim, come into my office.’
‘I have training later. I have to go. I have to go.’
The professor held Tim’s arm and led him into the office. Mary followed them. She closed the door. The professor leaned on the desk, facing Tim.
‘Sit down there,’ he said. ‘And we’ll sort this out. What happened, Tim?’
‘I don’t know!’ he shouted.
‘Okay,’ the professor said. ‘Try to breathe, Tim. Take your time. Mary, can you get a glass of water for Tim, please?’
Mary left the room.
Tim tried to remember. Something happened to Jessie.
‘It can’t be true. Maybe she was asleep,’ he said.
‘Who’s this?’
‘Jessie. Stop, I’ve to get out of here.’ He stood up went towards the door.
‘Sit down, Tim,’ the professor said. Tim didn’t sit down but he didn’t leave, either. He groaned. He had to go to training.
‘Who’s Jessie?’
‘She was my girlfriend, but she broke it off with me before Christmas.’
Mary came back in and put a glass of water before Tim on the desk.
‘And did you meet her, just now?’ the professor said.
‘Yes,’ Tim said. ‘No! I have to go, I’ve training. Where’s my gear bag?’
‘Sit down, Tim. We’ll sort this out. Where did you meet Jessie this morning?’
‘In her bedroom, she sent me a note. But she was dead! The blood …’
‘Can you remember the address, Tim?’
‘4 Hartlands Court.’
‘Okay,’ the professor said and glanced at Mary.
‘You must have gotten a bad shock, Tim? Are you really sure she was dead? Could it have been a dream or something?’
‘I don’t know. Her friend Aoife saw her, as well.’
‘Who’s Aoife?’
“She lives with Jessie. Aoife Carmody.’
‘Ye weren’t taking drugs or anything?’
‘I don’t do drugs. Jessie doesn’t either. Didn’t.’
He broke down.
7
2015
‘YOU TRACK YOUR phones,’ Collins said. ‘That’s smart.’
Collins was impressed but it was depressing that young women felt they had to do that for their safety.
‘We started doing that when my ex was sending me nasty messages,’ Anne said.
‘Show me what ye have so,’ Collins said.
Maeve opened the App on her phone. She handed it to Collins.
‘So, the last signal was at nine?’ he said.
‘Yes, nothing since,’ Maeve said. ‘Maybe she’s out of battery or something.’
‘And this is the location?’ He pointed to the marker on the map on the screen.
‘Yes, that’s a hill outside Ventry.’
‘Text the coordinates to me,’ Collins said. He gave Maeve his number and put the location on Google Maps.
‘Okay, I have it. Before I head off, can you tell me more about this man?’
Anne replied. ‘He said his name was Bobby Harney and he was from Galway, but his accent seemed more Northern to me. He had good Irish and that was Northern, too.’
‘Can you describe him?’
Maeve said: ‘He’s thin, with brown hair. Not too tall, maybe 5’9”. He has a harp tattooed on his arm. Saoirse is a big fan of tattoos, she has four or five now, herself.’
‘Describe his face,’ Collins said.
‘Thin face, handsome. Blue eyes. Bit of a mark on his cheek near his left ear. He said he got it from a hurley.’
‘Facial hair? Describe his hair.’
‘A bit unshaven. He has dark hair, it’s thin and fairly long at the back.’
‘Why are the three of ye down here? Is it a holiday?’
‘No, we’re studying to be teachers. We’re doing an Irish course in Ballyferriter for two weeks.’
‘Okay. What’s Saoirse like?’
Anne sniffed. ‘She’s really kind. Brilliant with the kids, they adore her.’
8
1990
PROFESSOR RYAN STOOD up. He was a big man, tall with broad shoulders. He wore glasses with black frames, which matched his thick hair.
‘Tim, I’ve to make a quick call. Stay here with Mary. I’ll be back in five minutes.’
Tim said nothing. All he could see was Jessie.
Mary sat in the chair, facing him. Her face was lined with worry.
‘Maybe I did imagine it,’ Tim said. ‘It’s like a bad dream. But I don’t take drugs.’ His voice sounded raspy and strange in his throat.
‘I know you don’t, Tim. Take a sip.’
Tim lifted the glass. There was nothing said for a while. A bus passed going up Donovan Road. This can’t be happening, he thought. He put the glass down without drinking and dug his nails into the leather trim on the desk. A choking feeling came into his throat. The way that Aoife looked at him, she was terrified. Jesus, she thought I did it.
‘I didn’t hurt her.’
‘Course you didn’t, Tim. The professor will sort it all out.’
As if bidden, the door opened and the professor came in. Mary stood up and moved to the window behind the desk. The professor sat down.
‘Is she dead?’ Tim said.
‘We’ll get to the bottom of it, Tim. I’ve made a couple of phone calls. How are you feeling?’
‘I have to go. I didn’t do it. Aoife thought I did it.’
‘Of course you didn’t,’ the professor said and gestured to Mary to lock the door. ‘But the guards will find out what happened. They’re on their way, now.’
9
2015
‘OKAY,’ COLLINS SAID to Maeve and Anne. ‘Ye did the right thing. I have to make a quick call now.’ He went into the hall and rang his friend Fiachra Lohan who lived outside Ballyferriter and on the way to Ventry. He was a former hurler like Collins, winning an All-Ireland with Clare in 2005.
‘Hi Fiachra, I need a favour right now. A young woman has gotten into a bit of trouble and I need to get her out of it. She’s over near Ceann Trá and I need to sort it out. Can you come with me, right now?’
‘No bother,’ Fiachra said in Irish. He didn’t like to speak in English if he could avoid it. Collins’ Irish was rusty but getting better by the week.
‘See you in ten,’ Collins replied in Irish and hung up. He went into his bedroom and leaned up to take a red gear bag off the top of the wardrobe. It was heavy. He left it by the front door. In the kitchen, he said: ‘I’m going now, ye stay here with Fiona. I’ll ring when I find her. Won’t be long, I’m sure her phone is on the blink or something.’
‘I’m going with you,’ Anne said.
‘We’re going with you,’ Maeve said.
‘Okay. Here’s the deal. I know ye want to help but I’m a professional and ye’re not. I’m picking up a friend who has military training in case it gets hairy. There could be more than one man there and it could get rough. If ye insist, I’m not going. I can’t risk your safety. I’ll ring Saoirse’s father instead. Is that clear? No argument.’
Maeve and Anne scowled but they both nodded.
ON THE DRIVE away towards Fiachra’s house, Collins asked himself why was he doing this? He had the location. Why not let the gardaí deal with it? He knew the answer. They could fuck it up and the man could get away. Or talk himself out of it.
It could be nothing, but he knew he couldn’t take a chance. If Saoirse was in trouble he had to do something to help her.
But there was more, too. He didn’t want to think about that now. Do the job in front of you.
AT FIACHRA’S, COLLINS pulled up in the old farmyard which wasn’t used anymore. He got out of his car. A sensor light came on outside the back door and Fiachra walked out holding two hurleys. His wife, Neasa, was behind him with a determined look on her face.
‘All set?’ Fiachra said. ‘A good night for it, there’s a big moon out.’
‘Neasa?’ Collins said.
‘Don’t think for a minute I’m not coming, Collins,’ she said. ‘Not for one single minute.’
‘We’ve been through this already,’ Fiachra said, with a shake of his head.
Collins sighed. He knew when he was beaten.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Sit in.’
They pulled onto the main road towards Dingle and took a right towards Ventry. Collins told them the whole story about Saoirse’s disappearance.
‘When we park, I’m going into the house alone,’ Collins said. ‘You two are staying in the car, is that clear?’
‘Not going to happen,’ Fiachra said. ‘And I’m younger and stronger than you. I have the hurl I used when we bate Tipp out the gate in 2005.’
‘If I told you once, I told you a hundred times that it’s a hurley not a hurl.’
‘What the fuck are ye like?’ Neasa said from the back seat. That shut them up.
Collins pulled in and checked his phone. He handed it to Fiachra.
‘Go left in 200 yards,’ Fiachra said.
When Collins made the turn, he pulled in by the second house.
‘It’s the fourth house on the left. And you two are staying here.’
Fiachra opened his door and got out. Neasa did the same. Collins took his gear bag out of boot.
‘What’s in the bag?’ Fiachra said.
‘A crowbar in case we have to get past a door. But I’ll be doing that, not you. I want you to stay in the car unless I need you.’
‘Okay,’ Neasa said. ‘A compromise. We’ll go with you but won’t go into the house unless you call us. A deal?’
Collins didn’t like it. But it would have to do.
‘A deal,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
They walked by the road which was visible under the moonlight. Collins didn’t want to activate the light on his phone in case it was seen by anyone. To their right he could see the reflection of the moon on the ocean. There was almost no sound apart from a distant lamb calling its mother. A slight breeze from the west behind them. It looked like there was fuschia on either side of the boreen.
‘You been on this road before?’ Fiachra whispered to Collins, as they passed a small Sitka Spruce plantation.
‘No.’
Collins checked his phone. ‘About 70 metres. Put your phones on silent.’
Fiachra stopped and held his hand out to the others. He put his forefinger to his lips.
‘In here,’ he whispered. They ducked into a gateway behind some vegetation.
Collins heard a sound. Feet on the road. Running and heavy breathing. He leaned out to see.
A young woman was running towards them. He recognised her. It was Saoirse.
‘Stop, Saoirse,’ he said, gently. ‘It’s me, Tim Collins. I met you on the Béal Bán beach, last Friday morning. I’m a guard. Maeve and Anne sent me to get you.’
Saoirse veered to the left and climbed a gate into a field. She kept running.
‘Hey, stop,’ Collins said again and rushed to the gate. ‘It’s okay. We’re here to help.’
10
1990
‘I HAVE TO go home,’ Tim said to Professor Ryan.
‘Later, Tim,’ the professor said. ‘But you’ll have to stay here until the guards come. I’m sure you can go home later.’
There was a knock at the door. Mary rushed over and unlocked it.
When Tim saw the door lock was locked, his heart sank. They didn’t believe him at all.
‘Oh,’ Mary said. Two UCC security officers in their navy uniforms came in and closed the door and stood before it. Tim looked around, startled. He tried to push past them and one of the security guards held his arm.
‘Easy now,’ the other one said. ‘Sit down there like a good fellow.’
‘I have to go,’ Tim said and made for the door again.
The older of the security officers grabbed Tim around his waist. Tim swung away and they staggered sideways. The security officer caught Tim around the neck and they both fell to the floor. Tim banged his cheek on the wooden floorboards. He blacked out.
When he came to, still on the floor, he could hear sirens outside the window. Mary was dabbing his cheek with a wet cloth, kneeling beside him. The professor stood behind her. No sign of the UCC security people. There were voices outside the door and three gardaí burst into the room.
‘Is this him?’ A burly guard with stripes on his arm asked the professor.
‘Yes,’ he said.
Mary stood back.
‘Up you get, sonny boy,’ the burly guard said and the other two lifted Tim onto his feet. He didn’t resist. He didn’t know what was happening. Something about Jessie. Then he remembered. He was suddenly angry, this wasn’t right.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ he said. ‘I’m the one who found her. I didn’t hurt Jessie, I’m not going with ye. Let me go.’
Another garda pulled Tim’s hands behind him and he felt them bound by some metal.
He began to cry.
11
2015
‘STOP SAOIRSE,’ COLLINS said over the gate. ‘You’re safe now. Maeve and Anne asked me to find you. I’m a Garda Detective.’
Saoirse stopped running in the field. She turned and faced them.
‘I met you last Friday morning when you were going swimming. Do you remember? “Is it freezing? It’s like a bath.” Maeve and Anne called to my house earlier to find you. They were worried. Here, I’ll ring them, now.’
Collins found the number. Maeve answered immediately. He put it on speaker.
‘Saoirse is here. But she’s afraid. Can you talk to her and tell her I’m a guard?’
It felt odd to him saying that, but he held out the phone and turned the volume up.
‘Hi? Is that you, Saoirse? This is Maeve and Anne is here too. Are you okay? This is Tim, he is an actual guard, down from Cork, don’t worry! We told him about your Dad earlier.’
Saoirse didn’t move. Clouds had covered the moon and it was much darker. He wasn’t sure it was her anymore.
‘Can you hear her?’ Collins said. ‘Here. I’ll throw the phone and you can talk to her, yourself.’
He closed the phone cover and threw it into the field.
Maeve said: ‘Can you hear me, Saoirse?’
‘Hi Saoirse, this is Anne. Are you all right? Talk to me, please?’
‘Pick it up, Saoirse, I’m backing away,’ Collins said, moving away from the gate. Fiachra and Neasa kept in the background.
Saoirse walked towards the phone and picked it up. Collins couldn’t hear the conversation even though it was still on speaker. Saoirse’s words were broken by her crying. He saw her fall in a heap to the ground.
‘It’s okay, Saoirse,’ Collins said. ‘You’re safe now. Neasa, will you go into the field and help her? Saoirse, this is my friend, Neasa. Herself and her husband Fiachra came with me.’
Neasa came forward and said: ‘It’s all over now, Saoirse, you’re safe.’
Neasa climbed the gate and helped Saoirse onto her feet and hugged her for a long time, whispering in Irish. Saoirse sobbed, her body rocking in Neasa’s arms. Fiachra unlocked the gate and pulled it open.
They walked Saoirse to the car, Neasa holding her. When they reached the car Collins asked her: ‘One question, how many of them are in the house?’
Saoirse looked at him tearfully. She was scared, he could see that.
‘Just one.’
Collins replied: ‘Bobby Harney?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is your phone in the house?’
‘As far as I know. He must’ve drugged me.’
‘Okay. It’s all over, now.’
Collins told Fiachra to come back for him after they dropped Saoirse home.
‘Pull up here again. I’ll ring you when I’m ready. Do not go into the house and don’t let Neasa come, either. I’ll probably be only ten minutes.’
Fiachra complained but Collins walked away. He went into the field and retrieved his phone. He picked up his bag by the gate. He took out a balaclava and put it on. He pulled on two latex gloves. He filled his jacket pockets with cartridges and checked the short barrel shotgun’s firing mechanism, that it was loaded, and turned off the safety catch. He wasn’t a garda, tonight. Different rules here, boys, he thought, striding towards the house.
12
1990
THE TWO GUARDS led Tim out of the office into the hall holding him by his arms. They elbowed through a group of students who stopped chattering and stared at Tim. They walked him out the old front door and into the car park where there were three squad cars. Their lights were flashing.
One guard opened a back door and said: ‘Mind your head,’ as he bustled him inside.
Tim caught his breath as the squad cars pulled away. The car smelled of sweat and puke. He thought he would be sick. His hands hurt behind his back against the seat. He lowered his head and closed his eyes. The guard beside him poked him and glared.
Jesus, they think I did it.
‘I didn’t fucking do it,’ he shouted.
Jessie. She’ll never smile again. Her smile. He wasn’t going to cry again. The way she laughed, more a squeal than a laugh. The way she hiccupped when she drank too much. How he used to give her ‘pretend’ frights to stop her.
The car radio spat into life. ‘Body of a woman found at 4 Hartlands Court. Copy that, dispatch. Technical team requested. An ambulance too, a young woman in shock outside the house.’
The guard beside him looked at him again. Tim met his eyes, defiantly.
‘You’re some cowardly fucker,’ the guard said, and punched him in the neck. Tim’s head bounced against the car window beside him.
‘That’s enough,’ the driver said, ‘Plenty time for that, later.’
They pulled Tim out of the car outside the Bridewell Garda Station on Kyrl’s Street. He fell and banged his face on the ground. His mouth was full of blood. He spat some of it on the ground.
‘You’ll lick that up again, you little shit,’ the guard said.
They dragged him into the station. They emptied his pockets and put the contents into a large envelope. They took his belt. They marched him to a cell. They locked the door. One guard stayed in the corridor looking at him through the bars.
Tim closed his eyes and leaned forward. He couldn’t rest his back on the wall behind the bench, his arms and shoulders hurt too much. They hadn’t taken the handcuffs off.
After some time, another guard in uniform came into the corridor. Tim looked up.
‘It is you,’ the guard said. ‘I thought it must have been another Tim Collins.’
Tim recognised him. His name was Griffin and he played for the Barrs. Tim had gotten into a fight with him the previous summer in the county semi-final. They had both been sent off.
‘You’re a disgrace,’ Griffin said. ‘You’ll never play for Cork again. You’ve disgraced your club, your county and your family. Not so fucking smart, now, are you?’
Tim didn’t reply. What was the point? Jessie was gone.
BY THE TIME the door opened again, Tim realised it was hours since he had eaten, but he wasn’t hungry.
‘Come with me,’ the guard said. There was another guard outside, the man who had punched him earlier.
Tim was led down a corridor into a room. A woman and a man in white overalls looked at him. They had gloves on their hands and plastic hats over their hair. One of the guards closed the door and stayed in the room. He took off Tim’s handcuffs.
‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ he said. ‘Or I’ll drop you on the spot.’
‘We’re from the technical unit,’ the woman said. ‘And we have to check your clothes right now. I’m going to leave the room and you have to take off all your clothes. My colleagues will stay here with you.’
‘All my clothes? Why do I have to do that?’ Tim said. ‘I want a solicitor.’
‘All in good time. It’s protocol,’ the woman said. ‘We’ll give them back to you tomorrow.’
The woman left and Tim took off his clothes, including his underpants, shoes and socks. It was cold in the room and he felt self-conscious. He didn’t meet the men’s eyes.
The technical man held out a white boiler suit and Tim took it and put it on.
‘Deirdre,’ the man said and the woman came back in.
‘Now, we have to swab you,’ the man said with a stammer.
They swabbed him what looked like big Q-tips. They did his face, his hands, his scalp, under his fingernails, his neck and the top of his chest. When the woman pressed the bruise on his face he winced but she didn’t react. Tim realised they believed he had killed Jessie.
‘I didn’t do it,’ he said.
‘Now we have to swab inside your mouth,’ the woman said. Tim opened his mouth and she swabbed his cheek and gum.
‘All done,’ she said. ‘We’ll give your clothes back tomorrow when we’re finished with them. Last thing is your fingerprints.’
That was the worst part, Tim felt like a criminal.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ he said as he put his last fingertip on the ink pad and on the paper. None of the three guards reacted.
The uniformed guard put on his handcuffs and led him back to the cell. The floor was cold.
