Cold Deception (17 page)

Instead of heading back to the station, he found himself pulling up outside Julia’s house. He drummed his fingers on the wheel and frowned. Julia knew a lot about O’Reardon, a lot about his drug trafficking into prison and about the missing computers. Somehow he had to get her to tell him. If he could get some more corroboration about whether the computers where in the room at the time of the murder, he might have enough to formally interview O’Reardon.

He needed to talk to Dee too. In the scheme of things, what Mrs. McKenzie told him didn’t change much, but it was strange. Why didn’t Dee say something at the time? Maybe the housekeeper was wrong. People got confused about events all the time. Memory was unreliable.

He sat in the car and stared at the house. Julia had done a lot of work on it already. It had that half-completed look with some parts prepared for a coat of paint while others still waited.

What was he really doing here?

His job. Just his job. Anything else was impossible.

But he couldn’t get the feel of her in his arms out of his mind. Those few short seconds of contact were the most intensely arousing he’d experienced in months, years. Since everything went disastrously wrong with Melanie.

And with that memory intruding like a sharp stiletto into his brain, he unclipped his seat belt and climbed out of the car.

Nothing could happen with Julia. Not only because she was who she was, but because he was not cut out for anything other than uncomplicated, unattached sex away from this community. It was safer that way. He couldn’t be hurt and more importantly he wouldn’t risk hurting someone else. He might be sober but in his heart of hearts he knew there was still that black chip of ice in his soul that hadn’t thawed. It made him a good cop but a bad husband. Melanie had proven that.

He knocked on the Taylors’ door and waited, forcing himself to pack away any lingering interest in Julia into a tightly-shut box in his mind.

He heard the clatter of someone running down the stairs and across the hallway. Julia flung open the door, looking as though she was expecting a wonderful gift. Her face was open and animated and her wild hair was haphazardly piled on top of her head, stuck through with what looked like colored pencils.

The tightly shut box in his mind collapsed.

“Hi,” she said. “You’ve just missed Blossom. She’s gone to see Douglas.”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Are you in the middle of something?”

“Some design work I’ve started.”

He saw the moment when their last interaction came into her consciousness. She frowned and looked away from him, a bloom of embarrassment on her cheeks.

“Come in. It can wait,” she said with a lot more caution in her voice. “Why did you want to see me?”

He hesitated but followed her as she led the way to the kitchen. Standing awkwardly, he watched her put on the kettle.

“You want some tea?” she asked.

“Sure.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “I have to ask you some more questions.”

She turned to face him, a look of puzzlement on her face. “About Rez? How would I know anything?”

“It’s about Father Pat.”

Her face shuttered in an instant. She turned back to make the tea in silence, a silence that screamed in the familiar comfort of Dee and Eleanor’s kitchen.

“I told you all I know. What more is there?”

“This is incredibly important Julia. Your evidence could make a huge difference to our work to get him off the street.”

She jerked as if hit, then cursed as something shattered.

“Fuck! Well, it was bound to happen,” she said, cradling her hand. “That cup was on its last legs, but it was my favorite.”

He stood, pushed back his chair and crossed to her as she grabbed a tea towel to wrap around her hand.

“There’s a first aid kit in the pantry. Could you grab it for me?”

“Sure.”

He rummaged around until he found it. “Sit. How bad’s the damage?”

She did as he instructed then opened the now bloodstained towel. “It’s not bad. It’s already hardly bleeding.”

He peered at it. She was right. The cut wasn’t deep but it was awkward, slashed right across her palm. “It needs binding though, or else it’ll keep opening every time you use your hand. Hold it there and I’ll put a couple of band aids on it and wrap it in some gauze.”

They sat in silence as Dylan doctored her. He made himself concentrate on her hand only, forcing himself to ignore the rest of her body. But he couldn’t ignore the scent of her, soap and some long remembered fragrance from childhood. Pencils.

He glanced at her hair. “What’re you designing?”

“Fabrics. Cushion covers and maybe some wallpaper,” she said without looking at him. “I need to pull my weight. I can’t live off Eleanor forever.”

“I doubt she’d mind.”

“I would,” she said. She glanced at him with a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

He finished binding her hand then returned to sit opposite her. “The thing is, whether you like it or not, I’m investigating O’Reardon. I need to know everything about his activities, past and present. He was suspected of corruption and being heavy with his fists when he was a copper. It’s pretty clear he just transferred his operations to the civilian world and expanded dramatically. You know that and I know that.”

She stared at bound hand and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Why do you need me to give you any information? Surely there’s any number of people who could tell you all you need to know about O’Reardon.”

“No, there isn’t. They’re frightened or they’re quite happy for him to continue his business. Sure, there’s word on the street about what he’s up to, but no hard evidence. You could give us that.”

“Even if I did know anything, which I don’t,” she said with a quick glance at him, “why would anyone believe me? I’m not exactly the citizen of the year.”

“You’re not the run-of-the-mill ex-crim,” he said, bluntly. “You have a well-respected mother.” She frowned at this and lifted her head to meet his gaze. “There are a lot of people who think you got a raw deal going to jail.”

“You don’t though, do you?”

“Yes, actually I do. I can’t understand why you did ten years. What kind of solicitor did you have?”

She shrugged. “He did what I needed him to do.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look, I can’t help you. I’m sorry, I really am, but I just can’t get involved in something that could rebound badly on my family. I don’t want anything to do with O’Reardon.”

Dylan sat and watched her as she fiddled with the gauze on the hand. She still wouldn’t listen to him. Then it dawned on him.

“He’s threatened you hasn’t he? You’re not just scared of him in the abstract, he’s actually contacted you. What did he threaten? To hurt Dee and Eleanor?” She still wouldn’t look at him. “Or Blossom?”

She shot him a quick, fierce look and her hands stilled. “I just don’t want anything to do with crime or drugs or psychopathic ex-cops. I have enough to contend with.”

“Julia…”

“No.”

She stood and pushed back her chair with angry force, making it topple. She grabbed it with her cut hand, letting out a small sound of pain and frustration. The chair crashed to the floor.

“Watch it,” Dylan said, standing to help her. “You’ll make it worse.”

“It can’t get any worse,” she yelled, rounding on him. Fury sparked in her eyes accentuating the green flecks. The pencils came loose in her hair. “I’ve got a sister with a major drug problem and a lunatic ex-boyfriend, an ex-cop who wants me to know who’s boss, I’m trying to work out my relationship with my mother and then you come along.” She scrubbed her face with her hands, looking the epitome of frustration. “You kissed me, then nothing. How could my life get any worse?”

He stood close and lifted her bound hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to treat you like that. It’s just that… it’s not…”

“It’s not a good idea. I know that.” She sighed and turned from him. “I know that,” she muttered with weary resignation. She stood at the sink with her back to him, staring out to Mount Solitary.

The urge to touch her, to pull her against him and press his lips against her neck, was a compulsion he couldn’t resist. Her body was tight with resistance when he slid his arms around her waist and held her. But after he tasted the creamy skin on her neck, all resistance left her. With a soft sigh, she tilted her head, giving him more access to the long line of her neck. He tightened his arms around her and pressed slow, light kisses against her skin.

Julia groaned in surrender, then turned in his arms. Wrapping her arms around his waist she leant her forehead on his chest. “God, Dylan.” She lifted he gaze to his. “What are we doing?”

Not waiting for a reply, she kissed him, putting everything she had into telling him what she wanted. And from his response he wanted her just as much. She felt his hands on her body, pulling her closer, stroking her back, inching up her sweater to slide against her hot, bare skin.

He lifted her then, up onto the kitchen bench, all the time kissing her like he would never stop, would never want to stop. She wound her legs around his hips and lifted her arms as he pushed her sweater up over her head, then dropped it to the floor.

She made a guttural noise in her throat when he fumbled with the clasp of her bra. “Quickly, quickly,” she muttered as he cursed and crushed her to his chest, peering over her shoulder to see the stuck clasp.

“I can’t…”

They both stilled at the sound of a slamming car door.

“For god’s sake,” Julia said, struggling to get off the bench. “It’s probably Ma.”

Hysterical laughter almost overtook her as yet again they leapt apart like guilty school kids. She scooped up her sweater and threw it on.

Dylan tucked in his shirt and straightened his tie all the time looking like a man condemned.

“We can’t get a break can we?” he said, incredulous frustration in his voice.

“Maybe the universe is trying to tell us something,” Julia said in a small voice as she repinned her hair.

“I’m not sure I want to listen,” Dylan said, staring at her with storm-colored eyes.

She smiled at him as her mother swept in the front door.

“Hooroo,” Eleanor called. “Everyone well?”

“Fine,” Julia said. “Never better.

Dylan drove back to the station, resisting the need to bash his head against the steering wheel.

Forget her. Forget her.

But he couldn’t. Not after she’d almost confirmed O’Reardon had gotten to her. Everything else he had to put out of his mind. Now and forever.

He pulled into the station car park and sat for a few minutes, determined to get his equanimity and focus back. Getting O’Reardon off the streets was the goal. Julia was a means to that end.

He kept telling himself that as the feel of her smooth skin under his hands and the taste of her mouth flashed into his mind. Not to mention his growing need to protect her. He’d known it from the beginning, from when he first helped her when she was having a panic attack. Her vulnerability was dangerous for him.

He climbed out of the car and made his way to Pringle’s office, a kernel of an idea amid the chaos of frustrated confusion in his head.

Pringle looked up as Dylan stood at his doorway.

“What’ve you got for me?”

“Julia Taylor.”

“What, again?”

Dylan closed the door behind him and sat across from Pringle. “I went through the files of the investigation into the priest’s murder. There were computers missing from the crime scene, computers that everyone who knew the priest said he had. Crucially, Mrs. McKenzie, his housekeeper who found the body, said they were there but there’s no mention of them in the evidence log.”

Pringle frowned. “If he had computers, he would almost certainly be accessing child porn. You think O’Reardon took them?”

Dylan nodded.

“And Julia Taylor?”

“I questioned her about whether she saw any computers at the crime scene,” he said, his pulse pounding in the aftermath of his questions. “She all but admitted O’Reardon had threatened her and her family if she told us anything at all about his activities.”

Pringle steepled his hands in front of him. “Hmm… What do you think? Why would O’Reardon bother taking the computers? By that stage he was about to retire from the force. He was a man with quite a few financial resources. I wouldn’t have thought a couple of computers would interest him much. Unless… Were he and the priest friendly?”

Dylan nodded. “They both coached the under ten soccer team. Word around the traps is they were seen now and again having a drink at the pub after a game. Given what we know about both of them and the fact the computers went missing after O’Reardon first got to the crime scene, I wonder if he took them to get rid of any evidence that implicated him in the production of child porn.”

“Christ. And if the priest was filming his activities, there’s a very good chance all the local kids who were assaulted by him might have images of themselves floating around the internet.”

“It was ten years ago. If those images were uploaded, our chances of finding any of them is remote.”

They stared at each other, the implications of the priest’s actions growing more horrifying with every minute.

“All we can do is contact the child pornography task force and let them know of our concerns.” Pringle scrubbed his face with his hands. “After all this time, I doubt there’s much they could do.”

“But this might give us some leverage with O’Reardon,” Dylan said. “I’m wondering about raising the stakes. If we question him about the missing computers, not making any accusations, but more seeking his assistance about what he remembers, he might slip up. He wouldn’t be expecting a focus on the priest.”

“So you’re thinking if he denies seeing any computers we can use that as an excuse to get a warrant to search his place? I doubt a magistrate would agree, but we could get some advice.”

“It all contributes to the case against him. If I can get Julia to confirm he threatened her or more, that he’s involved in trafficking drugs into prisons, we’re cooking with gas.”

Pringle pondered a moment. “Can’t do any harm. Take Grady with you.”

Dylan hesitated. “I’d prefer to take Ryan. I think it’s best to have people involved who had no contact with O’Reardon. Ryan’s new like me.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

“Just a feeling. I think Norm Grady is compromised in some way, but I don’t know how.”

A look of gloom appeared on Pringle’s face. “Just what I need. Not surprising when I think about it.” He sighed. “Get the interview done and then we’ll worry about Grady. If he is compromised in some way in relation to O’Reardon, we need to find out sooner rather than later.”

*

“So Detective Inspector Andrews. What can I do for you?” The question was full of barely repressed smugness.

He thinks he can get away with anything. Not surprising. He has until now.

They sat in the office attached to his apartment, away from the main hotel. Not for the first time, Dylan speculated how a run-of-the-mill copper could have amassed enough money to restore such an extensive historic hotel. While some of it must have been drug money, he made a mental note to look into any other business partnerships O’Reardon was involved with.

“We need to do a follow up on a case you were involved in some years ago. No big deal but some questions have come up about procedures. You know how it goes.”

“Sure. Happy to help. But I’ve been out of the force for a long time. Don’t know if the memory is up to it.”

“I’m sure you remember the murder of Father Patrick O’Donnell.” Maybe he was imagining it, but he saw O’Reardon’s eyes widened fractionally. You and…” He looked down at his notes. “…Gary Randle were the first responders. Basically, one of the kids who was molested by Patrick O’Donnell ten years ago is suing the Catholic Church.”

“Yeah? Good luck to him or her. ’Bout time someone made them accountable. They knew all about that sick fuck and just shifted him around.” He shook his head, a look of sorrowful concern on his face. “A lot of lives got hurt in the process. But what’s that got to do with me?”

“The lawyers for the kid reckon it was likely that Father Pat filmed his assaults on his victims. Goes with the territory with a lot of pedophiles and we know he liked his computers. Trouble is, no computers were found in his house. That seems pretty weird.”

O’Reardon nodded. His forehead creased with grave consideration.

“You’re right. I thought it strange at the time. We searched the whole house and the church but couldn’t find a thing. I always thought he had another place where he did his assaults but we never found where.”

Dylan nodded, matching O’Reardon’s concern. “He probably did, but we need to check out everything. He paused. “So you didn’t see any computers? No video equipment?”

O’Reardon shook his head. “No, it was all pretty straightforward. Father Pat was dead with stab wounds to his stomach. We called the Homicide team and left it for the forensic boys to process. You know, it was sheer luck that Taylor girl was found so quickly. The housekeeper told the investigating team about the argument between O’Donnell and Eleanor Taylor. They were following up and were as surprised as anyone when she confessed.”

“Yeah. From what I could see from the files, she would have had a good case for manslaughter and a suspended sentence or at least only a few years. But she pleaded guilty and went straight to sentencing. Very strange.”

O’Reardon shrugged. “Must’ve thought she deserved it or didn’t want to go through the whole trial. Who knows what goes through the minds of murderers?”

Dylan’s hands clenched and unclenched. The need to throttle him reared up like a living entity. Instead he smiled. “You’re probably right. Just thought we’d double check. At least we can tick off this line of enquiry.” He stood and started to pack his notebook into his briefcase. Looking around he smiled at O’Reardon. “You’ve done very well here. The hotel looks amazing. Must have taken a hell of a lot of money to do it up so well. I hear it was a labor of love for you.”

O’Reardon narrowed his eyes. “I put a lot of hard work into this place and made it attractive for investors. That’s the only way to survive in the hotel business.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Dylan said. “Must have been quite a change from police work.”

“A welcome change. No dead bodies to worry about.” He stood to show Dylan out. “Now is that all? Anything else I can help you with?” A note of impatience had crept into his voice, as if he wanted Dylan to know he was a busy man with limited time.

The door leading to the rest of his apartment opened and a face appeared briefly. O’Reardon frowned and shook his head. The face quickly retreated.

Nessa.

Rage made a sudden, vicious arrival in Dylan’s blood. He made a movement toward O’Reardon with clenched fists, but reined himself back with monumental effort.

“The things is,” Dylan said making his voice deliberately laid-back. “The housekeeper, Colleen McKenzie, remembers seeing at least a laptop computer on the floor when she found the body. But you say you didn’t see anything.”

O’Reardon stilled, his black eyes dead and cold.

“What are you implying? If you want to accuse me of something come out with it.”

Dylan shook his head. “No accusation. Just trying to work out what happened. She could’ve been mistaken. The only other person who could tell us about the crime scene isn’t talking much.”

O’Reardon flinched. “What do you mean?”

“Julia Taylor. Not a woman who wants to give much help to the police. Says she can’t remember any computers.”

“Well then. Both she and I are saying the same thing.” There was a note of triumph in his voice.

“I think she’s frightened. I think someone’s threatened her to keep quiet.”

The two men stood face to face. Dylan kept his eyes on O’Reardon’s face but sensed the clenched fist ready to strike.

“Our interview is over,” O’Reardon said in a voice of ice.

“For now,” Dylan said. “But it’s been fun, so I think we’re bound to repeat the experience. I’ll see myself out.”

*

Angus O’Reardon watched the arrogant prick close the door behind him. This was not good. Not good at all. He resisted the urge to hurl a glass paperweight through the window with supreme effort.

Over the past ten years he’d prided himself in not attracting the attention of the police. He never used any of the locals for courier activities or buying and selling. Always better not to foul one’s own nest.

But this was different. Why the priest’s murder after all this time?

Julia Taylor. It all came back to her. She must’ve said something despite what Andrews said. Something that sparked off this line of inquiry. Stupid bitch. She would pay and so would her family.

He pulled out his cell phone and keyed in some numbers.

“Gaz? Where are you? I’ve got a job for you.”