The White Gallows (17 page)

_{* * *}

His hand hunted round the bedside locker trying to find the mobile phone. He finally located it and pulled it under the duvet. ‘McEvoy.’

‘Have you heard the news?’

‘Barney? What’s the time?’

‘Nearly
half past six
. There’s been a gun fight in Mulhuddart. One of the armed response guys – Gavin Reddan – got shot through the neck. He’s on the critical list; could be touch or go.’

‘What?’ McEvoy said, still trying to wake up after only a few hours’ sleep.

‘I said, there’s been a gun fight…’

‘I got that bit,’ McEvoy interrupted. ‘A gun fight over what?’

‘Bishop organised a raid of the house that two of Charlie Clarke’s gang were holed up in; the two that tried to blow up Hannah Fallon. Only when they broke down the door they were ready for them. They shot Reddan three times; once in the neck, twice in the vest. They also wounded another of our lot. Shot through the hand. When they finally got in they discovered they’d gone up into the roof space. There was a passageway all the way along the terrace. They got out the end house and away on a motorbike.’

‘For God’s sake.’ McEvoy pushed himself upright. ‘They got away?’

‘Disappeared into thin air.’

‘Jesus Christ. Whereabouts in Mulhuddart?’

_{* * *}

He rode the Mondeo up onto a kerb and clambered out into the frigid morning air, his breath steaming from his nose and mouth. He’d roused Gemma from her slumber, bundled some of her clothes into a bag and driven her over to Caroline’s house. His sister’s partner Jimmy was pretty nonplussed at being dragged from his bed so early. He’d simply opened the door, let Gemma pass beneath his arm and closed it again without waiting for an explanation. McEvoy had lost count of the number of pints he owed him.

The road ahead was chaos. Blue swirling lights, blue and white tape draped across the street, locals standing around in pyjamas and dressing gowns, kids running and shouting, and guards in luminous jackets trying to bring some kind of order to things. He turned to see an RTE van pulling in twenty yards behind him.

He set off towards the tape, flashing his identification to a hassled looking guard, and ducking underneath. He found Bishop standing alone by a broken doorway, the ground at his feet flecked dark brown.

Bishop’s face was flushed red, matching his short red hair. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he snapped as McEvoy approached. ‘If you came to gloat you can leave now.’

‘I came to see if you needed a hand?’ McEvoy replied defensively.

‘What I need is for you to look after your cases, I’ll deal with this one.’

‘They got away?’ McEvoy asked, ignoring Bishop’s bile.

‘Through the roof space. Clarke and his cronies own the whole damn row. Rents them out and turns a tidy profit. One of them is injured; we found blood at the top of the stairs and in the attic. If he turns up at a GP or hospital we’ll get him.’

‘Somehow I doubt he will. Somebody tipped them off?’

‘Somebody must have – if I find out who, they’re a dead man. I’m going to need Jim Whelan; you’ll have to take over his cases.’

‘You’re joking?’

‘Do I sound like I’m joking?’

‘Well, can I take Barney Plunkett off the Raven case? Just for a week or so to help out?’

‘No way,’ Bishop snapped. ‘We do that and the media will go crazy. It’s going to be bad enough as it is. There’s no way we can let that case go cold, even for a week. You know that.’

‘So how am I meant to investigate all these cases at once?’

‘Clone yourself,’ Bishop said facetiously. ‘I don’t care; this takes priority. Charlie Clarke has declared war on the Gardai. We need to shut his gang down and send out a signal to everybody else that we mean business. If we let them start to push us about we’ll totally lose control, and then the whole thing becomes a real maelstrom.’

A uniformed guard approached. ‘Sir?’

Bishop glanced over at him. ‘What?’

‘RTE want to know if we have a statement.’

‘I bet they do. I’ll be there in two minutes.’ He turned back to McEvoy. ‘I have to go and face the music. Have a word with Whelan and get back up to Meath or wherever it is you’re meant to be. If the shit hits the fan up there, I don’t want to know.’ Bishop started up the path without waiting for a reply.

McEvoy glanced around and then followed him, heading for his car. Bishop was right. If the situation with the
Dublin
gangs got even more out of control than it already was then it would be pandemonium. It would take forever to regain the initiative and longer still the confidence of the public. In the meantime, whole swathes of the city would be run by criminal gangs. If they thought things were bad now, they were on the cusp of it becoming a whole lot worse.

_{* * *}

The inbound traffic was already heavy on the N3, commuters making their way into
Dublin
. He called up Jim Whelan.

‘Hello?’

‘Jim, it’s Colm, have you heard the news?’

‘No.’

‘Bishop had a house raided in Mulhuddart. It was a disaster. Two of our lot shot, one of whom is fighting for his life – Gavin Reddan, do you know him?’

‘Vaguely.’

‘The two occupants escaped through the roof space and got away on a motorbike. Bishop wants you to transfer onto his team, ASAP; I’m to take over as investigative officer on your case.’

‘Okay,’ Whelan reply neutrally.

‘I need to know where you’re at.’

‘Same as last night.’

McEvoy shook his head. He’d almost managed to get Whelan to say a whole sentence. ‘Look, tell your team I’ll meet them at eleven, okay? I have some other things to do before then. They’re working out of Trim station, right?’ After that he’d have to rush off to meet Stefan Freel.

‘Right.’

‘You’d better get yourself back to Mulhuddart,’ McEvoy said and ended the call.

There was no point meeting Whelan; he wasn’t going to get any more useful information out of him. That wasn’t simply a function of Whelan’s stubborn silence; there genuinely seemed to be no firm lines of enquiry. And losing Whelan, however recalcitrant he was, posed a serious problem. He was inheriting a case that was going nowhere and the best he would be able to do was direct it from a distance. The Koch case had to take priority – it was higher profile and there was a greater chance of solving it.

_{* * *}

McEvoy had visited briefly the incident room for an update before driving out to Marion D’Arcy’s house. Thankfully Stringer had been deep in conversation with a local guard so he was spared talking to her. He hadn’t yet worked out what he was going to say. No doubt it would be something inane like, ‘You’re really nice, and I really like you, but…’

He turned into D’Arcy’s driveway and drove up to the front door, parking in the shadow of the out-of-place portico. The horses in the neighbouring field stared balefully at him as he clambered out of the car, then lowered their heads back to the lush grass.

He was kept waiting at the front door for a minute or so until it was opened by James Kinneally.

‘Superintendent?’ Kinneally said, feigning surprise and blocking access to the hall.

‘Seems like this is your second home,’ McEvoy stated. ‘I’m here to see Marion D’Arcy.’

‘I was just seeing whether
Marion
was okay,’ Kinneally replied testily. ‘Unsurprisingly she hasn’t taken the death of her father at all well.’

‘So you’ve been consoling her?’

‘I’ve been… helping out. Did you make an appointment?’

‘I told you yesterday I’d be back today and I believe one of my officers rang to arrange a time. Are you going to let me in and inform Mrs D’Arcy I’m here?’

‘I’m not sure she’s taking visitors. Perhaps you might call back?’

‘And perhaps you’d better go and check,’ McEvoy said, losing patience. ‘It’s either that or I’ll hold down the horn on my car until she appears. I’m sure the horses wouldn’t really appreciate that.’

‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ Kinneally closed over the door leaving McEvoy standing on the steps.

After a short while it was opened by Marion D’Arcy. She was dressed in a smart cream business suit with a blue pipe trim. The dress stopped just short of her knees and she was wearing matching cream slingbacks. Her make-up had been carefully applied, but it couldn’t hide the tiredness in her eyes. ‘Superintendent?’

‘I need to talk to you about your father,’ McEvoy explained.

‘I’m getting ready to go into work. I need to travel up to
Dublin
.’

‘Don’t worry, this won’t take long. You did agree to meet me at nine this morning.’

‘Ten minutes, is that okay?’ she said firmly, implying that McEvoy’s presence was an imposition she was prepared to tolerate but little more. She opened the door wide so he could pass into the hall. ‘I need to catch up on yesterday. One day away and it starts to pile up.’

‘As I said, it shouldn’t take too long,’ McEvoy tried to reply neutrally. Her father had been murdered and yet she couldn’t find time for the person investigating his death.

She opened the door into the same room in which he had spoken to James Kinneally the previous day. She perched on the edge of the sofa, her knees closed tight and pointing to one side, and indicated to McEvoy to take a seat on an armchair.

‘So, how are things going?’ she asked, pulling a tight smile.

‘Slowly. It seems your father was surrounded by rumours and we’re still trying to piece together the last couple of days before his death and get a picture of his life. You were close to him?’

‘I used to see him at least once a week, sometimes almost every day. It depended on his work schedule and mine.’

‘And you’d class your relationship as good?’

‘As good as anyone else’s,’ she replied defensively.

‘But you argued a lot?’

‘No more than any other father and daughter. I wanted him to take better care of himself; slow down and enjoy his retirement.’

‘You wanted to take over Ostara Industries?’ McEvoy speculated, finding it difficult to warm to her.

‘I wanted him to relax,’ she replied firmly. ‘Take some holidays. Enjoy some of his wealth. When my mother was alive he would barely take a break. After she died, he never took one. He was a work-alcoholic.’

‘And you would take over to make his life easier.’

‘I offered to help,’
Marion
conceded, unsure about how much McEvoy knew of her battles with her father. No doubt Roza would have overheard some of them and her father could easily have confided in Stefan Freel.

‘Perhaps now you’ll take his place? Now that he’s,’ McEvoy paused trying to find the right word, ‘gone.’

‘Are you implying that I’m a suspect?’
Marion
said testily.

‘I’m exploring why you argued with your father.’