Undercover Page 22

  Cormac pocketed the tickets and left the flat.

  "Find anything useful in there?" Malcolm asked.

  "Not really."

  "Neither did our boys. Good luck rounding up the rest of them."

  Cormac considered giving Malcolm his mobile number in case he found out anything about O'Neill's whereabouts. It seemed unlikely that the information would trickle down to him though, and it was probably a bad idea to leave anything that might allow his superiors to track him down. He skipped down the stairs, breezed past young Ronnie the uniform and got back in the car.

  It was time to chat to McGoldrick. He just needed to find a nice private spot.

  ###

  "It makes more sense to stay at my place," Rory said. "There's the security system and Stevie here has agreed to a sleepover as well."

  Lydia considered Rory's proposal. It seemed sensible. And the longer she put off spending her first night in her own bed without John the better. But she had to consider Mattie. Maybe it would be better for him to get back to normal as soon as possible.

  "What do you think, Mattie?"

  "Can Cormac stay too?"

  Lydia was getting uncomfortable with Mattie's apparent fascination with this cop. She would have to take the time to talk to Mattie and find out exactly what he'd been through, what he'd seen and what Detective Kelly had done over the past few days. The gaps in her knowledge unnerved her.

  "I'm sure he would appreciate the offer," Stephen Black said. "But I believe Detective Kelly is out looking for the last of the scoundrels who kidnapped you, young Mattie."

  Mattie looked Stephen Black up and down then turned to Lydia. "Can you text Cormac with Rory's address, Mum? Just in case he does need a place to crash tonight?"

  "You should be asking Rory. It's his house."

  Rory tapped the tabletop, one finger at a time. "Another guy with a gun in the house? Seems like a good idea to me. Even if he is a peeler. Just don't tell any of my mates back home, all right, kid?"

  "Thanks!"

  Lydia tapped out the text. Mattie watched the phone's screen over her shoulder to make sure she didn't do something wrong. He didn't relax until she hit send.

  "So what now?" Lydia asked.

  "We'll need to call a taxi," Stephen Black said. "Good ol' Nathan will have made himself scarce in his whirlybird by now, no doubt."

  "You think so?" Rory asked.

  "Wouldn't you, dear boy? I mean, it had to have been him who told the thugs we were on our way to this hospital."

  Lydia thought about it for a moment. "He'd have had plenty of time, I guess."

  Stephen Black nodded. "It would have taken just one quick text or a coded message over the radio."

  Rory slapped the table. "Sneaky fucker."

  "He was just doing his job, I suppose," Stephen Black said. "Probably didn't fully understand what he'd done."

  "I'm tired," Lydia said. "Let's just get going."

  "Do you think you should tell those English cops that you're not going home? They might want to reroute their surveillance boys."

  "No, I don't want to talk to anybody else tonight. And sure, they should be there anyway in case anybody comes looking for me. Until I hear that somebody somewhere has arrested that Ambrose O'Neill bastard, I don't want anybody thinking they can relax."

  Chapter 27

  You need to surround yourself with the right people or this game will eat you alive.

  Rory Cullen, CULLEN: The Autobiography

  Cormac disabled the CCTV cameras on the top floor of the multi-storey car park before he opened the Vectra's boot. The place was closed for the night and the bays were mostly empty. Just a few cars on each floor remained, their drivers maybe having decided to hit the pub and take a taxi home that night. He'd been able to raise the barrier with a good shove and hadn't set off any audible alarms. He figured there wasn't much to safeguard after hours in a place like this.

  The only light in the building came from the Vectra. It was enough. Cormac reached into the boot and pulled the little man out and dumped him onto the concrete floor. McGoldrick rolled onto his back, took a deep breath but didn't scream. Maybe he was too scared, perhaps he wanted to save energy; either way, Cormac wasn't overly concerned. So long as McGoldrick was willing to talk when he urged him to, they'd get along just fine.

  "Can you walk?" Cormac asked.

  "I don't know." In just those three words his Scottish accent rang through.

  "Have a go."

  He watched as McGoldrick rolled onto his belly and ever-so-slowly went from all fours to a kneeling position. Then the old Scot used the Vectra's rear bumper as a handhold and climbed to his feet. Cormac considered slamming the lid of the boot shut on his hand when he used the rim to steady himself, but he didn't want to send the old bastard into shock. He waited until McGoldrick was upright and looked confident that he wouldn't keel over.

  "Do you think you lost much blood?"

  "I'm still conscious, aren't I?"

  Cormac noticed that McGoldrick had managed to tear lengths of cloth from his polo shirt and fashioned some tourniquets for his upper thighs. He pointed at them.

  "Very inventive."

  "Who are you? What the fuck do you want?"

  "Let's concentrate on you."

  McGoldrick puffed his chest and squared up to Cormac. He was a game wee bastard, he had to give him that.

  "All right, pal, how about this. Do you know who I am? Do you know what I could have done to you?"

  "Ah, the old rich man favourites. Yes, I'm starting to get a handle on who you are, Mr McGoldrick. You're a millionaire who didn't make his money without breaking a few rules. One thing led to another and you got in bed with a very bad man called Martin Rooney. Now you can arrange to have people kidnapped. So, yeah, I know exactly who you are and what you can do. The question is, do you know how much shite you're in right now? Here's a hint. You can't throw money at this problem."

  "What the fuck do you want from me, then?"

  "I haven't decided yet. This caper of yours has cost me a lot. I've burnt a lot of bridges, ruined my career and somebody very close to me has been badly hurt. I could blame you for that and act accordingly."

  Cormac drew his Glock and levelled it at McGoldrick's head. The old Scot stared back defiantly, but Cormac didn't miss the slight quiver in his hands before he folded his arms across his chest.

  "I have to tell you, McGoldrick... that option is in the lead right now. A double-tap in your face won't repair my life. It'd make it worse in the long run, really. But it'd be very fucking satisfying."

  "You said you haven't decided yet," McGoldrick's voice was strong and steady. A negotiator to the end. "What else are you considering?"

  "I'm thinking about how much more useful you could be to me if I left you alive."

  McGoldrick's shoulders dropped slightly as tension eased from his frame. He was relaxing into the situation, ready to barter for his life.

  "Okay. How much is this going to cost me, then?"

  "I've already told you, you can't throw money at this problem."

  "What do you want, then?"

  "Martin Rooney."

  McGoldrick ran his still shaking hands through his hair. It flopped back into place and the old Scot whistled a descending note.

  "How am I supposed to deliver something like that?"

  "Give yourself up and implicate Rooney as a co-conspirator in this kidnapping case as well as the other illegal activities he's helped you out with over the years."

  "Nothing's going to stick to him. He's been distancing himself from the illegal shit for years now. Everything is done through middlemen. Rooney keeps his hands clean."

  "He'll have fucked up somewhere. They all do. You confess your sins, roll over on Rooney and let the investigation take care of the rest."

  "So I can lose everything, go to jail and get killed by one of his lackeys? I'd be better off getting shot in the head here and now."

  "If that's the way you th
ink it's going to play out, you need to fire that high-powered legal team you undoubtedly have on your payroll, mate."

  McGoldrick sat on the rim of the boot. "Sorry, I'm not fit to stand. My legs are killing me."

  "That's okay. Saves me picking you up off the floor after I kill you."

  "You're so brave, picking on an unarmed and injured man."

  "Don't forget old and grey." Cormac smirked. "I've seen first hand what you're capable of, even if you do pay others to do the dirty work for you. Forgive me if I can't dredge up much sympathy. Must feel a bit strange, though. To be on your own, I mean. All that money useless to you."

  McGoldrick sagged. Cormac could have continued the torment. It was easy to belittle someone then kick them when they were down. But he wasn't in the market for that sort of perverse satisfaction. He just wanted results. And if he could hand the Met a case that would take down Rooney, maybe it'd stand in his favour when he had to face the music back home.

  "I can't do it," McGoldrick said.

  Cormac sighed and tucked his Glock away. The old Scot looked up at him, confused but hopeful; like maybe he'd called a very convincing bluff. Cormac rolled his shoulders and then rushed McGoldrick. He grabbed the old Scot's polo shirt and yanked him back onto his feet. Stitches popped but the seams held on. McGoldrick loosed a surprise hiss of breath. He started to struggle and Cormac head butted him. A cut opened along McGoldrick's left eyebrow. Cormac had done him a kindness, delivering a little tap to the forehead instead of crushing the old Scot's nose. He just wanted to keep him under control. And it worked. McGoldrick softened like wet cardboard.

  Cormac led McGoldrick to the edge of the car park. There was a four-foot concrete wall and no guard rail. Wind whipped McGoldrick's hair into his face. Cormac pushed him against the low wall. He looked over the edge. It was a long drop to the ground.

  "How about we stop pretending you have a choice in this matter, McGoldrick?"

  "You're a fucking psycho!"

  "No I'm not. I promise you, I will regret throwing you over the side. Your screams will haunt me for a long time to come. But that's not going to stop me. This deal is non-negotiable. Either you agree to take down Rooney, or you're dead."

  McGoldrick's mouth opened and closed but he couldn't engage his voice. Cormac hunkered down and wrapped his arms around the old Scot's shot-up thighs. The pain would keep everything in sharp focus. Cormac lifted McGoldrick off his feet and plonked his arse on the wall. Then he regained his grip on the polo shirt and gave him a little jolt. McGoldrick's arms pin-wheeled and he wailed like a siren. Cormac eased him further over the edge; let him feel gravity's greedy pull. The polo shirt started to stretch.

  "Okay, okay! Fuck you. I'll do it. I'll do it! I'll do whatever you want. Just let me go."

  Cormac refrained from pointing out the reality of letting him go in this position. He helped McGoldrick down from his wobbly perch and led him to the car. The terrified old man stumbled over his own feet but managed to stay upright with Cormac's support. It had been a bit of an extreme move – and it had probably shaved a few years off McGoldrick's life expectancy – but you couldn't argue with the results.

  "All right then, Mr McGoldrick." Cormac put a little upbeat singsong into his voice. "We'll see about taking you to a nice police station now. No point delaying the inevitable, eh?"

  "Fuck yourself."

  "Ach, don't be like that. I'll tell you what. You can ride in the front with me instead of that aul' boot. Sure it'll be a bit of a treat, won't it?"

  McGoldrick said nothing. Cormac suspected it would be a quiet, uncomfortable drive.

  ###

  Lydia kissed Mattie goodnight and left him in Rory's spare bedroom. They both knew there was little chance of him sleeping but they had to go through the motions at least. Try and cling to some semblance of reality. Rory had lent him an iPod with some good "chill-out" tracks and a bunch of simple games for a mindless distraction. Mattie had accepted it with automatic politeness but no real feeling. The boy was numb.

  Rory and Stephen Black waited for her in the kitchen. They sat at opposite sides of the table, a pot of tea in the centre. Lydia took a seat at the head of the table.

  "Want a cuppa?" Rory asked.

  "You must have something stronger than tea, Rory?"

  "You know I do, but, sure, have this first. I'll make you a sandwich to go with it."

  "I'll not be able to eat."

  "Wouldn't blame you, but I'll make it anyway. Take it or leave it."

  Rory got up and clattered about the kitchen. Lydia looked at Stephen Black. He frowned at his phone, unaware that she'd switched her attention to him.

  "You're unusually quiet," she said.

  "Sorry," he said, but didn't look up from the small screen. "Just a little preoccupied. I tried to get a trace on the phone Ambrose O'Neill was using earlier but he must have pulled the battery. My contacts have come back empty-handed."

  "So we don't know where he is but he'll not have to try too hard to find us."

  "Yes, I suppose you're right. If you're not at your own house then I'm sure this will be the second place he looks. Luckily, Mr Cullen has this place very well kitted out."

  "And you're here."

  "Indeed."

  "So we just sit and wait and see if he shows up?"

  "I'm afraid I don't have a more satisfactory alternative."

  "And that's why Rory opted for tea? In case anything happened?"

  "Rather sensible of him, don't you think?"

  Rory worked away in the kitchen, pretending that he wasn't listening to their conversation. It wasn't that long ago he'd chased her through this house, furious that she'd betrayed him by letting two thugs in through the front door to ransack the place. She wondered if it was wise to come back here. It was good that Stephen Black was about to supervise, but still, who knew what sort of ill will lingered?

  She made a conscious effort not to dwell on it.

  "I think we should call Detective Kelly," Lydia said. "He didn't reply to the text I sent and we don't know what he's done with the little bastard, McGoldrick."

  "What do you want him to do with McGoldrick?"

  "Kill him." It was out before she could filter it.

  "Understandable," Stephen Black said.

  "It is?"

  "Of course. You must be thinking that he's responsible for the death of your husband. That his plan set the course of events and all that."

  "And you think I'm wrong?"

  Stephen Black finally looked up from his phone. He regarded Lydia with sympathetic eyes and a slight grin. "On the contrary, I agree with you."

  Lydia waited for him to start laughing. He didn't. She noticed Rory had finished making the sandwich but wasn't ready to return to the table yet. His gaze was fixed on the kitchen worktop, shoulders hunched.

  "And Mr Cullen suspected you'd feel this way too. He's already negotiated a fair disposal rate with me."

  "As in..." Lydia searched for an unambiguous phrase, "a contract killing?"

  "Well I tend to avoid paperwork, but yes, that's the essence of what we're talking about."

  "But won't the police put me and Rory in the frame for something like this if it happens so soon after I've accused him of setting the kidnapping up?"

  "Yes, they will. Which is why it won't be happening any time soon, you understand? You'll need to bury this down for a while. And if at any point this course of action no longer sits right with you before then, we'll call it off."

  "Are you all right with this, Rory?"

  Rory turned to face her. He leaned back against the worktop and folded his arms. "I can't believe how I reacted earlier, after those bastards came in here and... well, you know what happened. I wasn't just out of order. I threw an off-the-chart psycho. I need to do something to make that right with you. If this is what you need, so be it. I can't say I'll be sorry to see the wee shite go."

  "So what now?" Lydia asked.

  "We wait. Detective Kelly seems lik
e an honest chap. I'm sure it won't be long until he delivers Mr McGoldrick to the police," Stephen Black said.

  "But if he goes to jail, how are you going to get at him?"

  "To be honest, I'll be surprised if he serves time. The evidence will be circumstantial, no doubt. He's not a stupid man. He'll have covered his back somehow."

  If that were the case, Lydia doubted she'd have a change of heart. She shook her head. "May as well have him dropped off at his house, then."

  "No, no. I rather like the idea of him at least spending a couple of nights in a cell, don't you?"

  Rory came to the table and placed the sandwich in front of Lydia. He gave her a big goofy grin. "With any luck, he'll have a big strapping cellmate to help him pass the time."

  Lydia forced a smile. The tablets she'd taken at the hospital were beginning to wear off and she could feel reality seeping in through the wall of fuzz that had insulated her from her grief. It wouldn't be long until the full impact of John's death worked her over like a loan shark's collector. She wanted to be alone when the time came.

  "I'm sorry to ask, Rory, but could I have your bed tonight? I don't want to disturb Mattie."

  "Of course, yeah. I should have offered it sooner. I'm probably going to stay up and keep aul' Stevie company anyway."

  "Thanks, Rory."

  Lydia stood up and put a hand on his shoulder.

  "Just so you know, I'm not going to hold what happened earlier against you. Clean slate, okay?"

  "If you can offer me that, I'm not going to turn it down. Thank you. You're brilliant."

  "Don't worry about it, Rory. I need all the friends I can get right now. Bygones."

  Rory looked like he might cry. Lydia excused herself and went to Rory's bed. She collapsed onto the mattress, pulled a pillow tight against her chest and squeezed it.

  John was never going to hug her in the night again.

  She buried her face in the surrogate bed companion and prayed that her son couldn't hear her muffled wails.

  ###

  Cormac had been able to find a police station easily with the aid of the sat nav. He followed the directions mindlessly and got halfway there before he had a change of heart. There was no way he'd get out of a cop shop without identifying himself. Once they verified his information with his unit who knew what would happen. His handler might order the Met boys to detain him until they could arrange to have him shipped back directly to a PSNI station. He couldn't let that happen. Not when Ambrose O'Neill was still out there.