“Glad to see you, if you let me pay for your five star digs and all food.” He went on to give details of the hotel, and how to get to it.
“I’ll see you in the bar then?” said Dusty Miller.
“If Murphy hasn’t caught me,” said McBride.
CHAPTER SIX
McBride sat at his usual table in the bar, studying the SIM card images, this time on his own laptop. Earlier, he had made a discovery. One of the men was no less than Inspector Nolan. One of the others, the older man must be Murphy. It didn’t look as though Murphy was under arrest. It appeared as if they were friends, both laughing as the camera caught them.
“Got your laptop back, John?”
Helen stood in front of him, in her business clothes.
“No, I went out and bought a new one. You want a drink?”
“Just a pot of tea. It was a hard day, but tomorrow must get better.”
McBride waved at a waiter standing in the lobby, who came over and took the order. His mobile rang. It was Ian Smith. “Hi, John, I spoke to the insurance assessor just now on the phone. He says he doesn’t need to see you… and I’ve just remembered who that guy in your picture reminds me of…”
“Inspector James Nolan?” said McBride.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“Reported to him this morning to tell him who started your fire. Can’t say that he looked surprised But then, he’d know anyway, don’t you think?”
“Oh, come on, John, you’re a bloody cynic. Police don’t abet crimes.”
“It has been known. But we’ll see.”
He said goodbye, and pocketed the phone.
“I’m expecting a friend to arrive,” said McBride to Helen, “about now.”
“She’s nice?”
“It’s a bloke, actually, an old army friend. It’s time we found out what’s going on down here.”
“Won’t the police do that? Isn’t that what they do?”
“Not round here – I’ve just recognised Inspector Nolan in the picture.” He waved at the computer image.
“He could have come round to arrest the house owner.”
“Oh, yes,” said McBride. “While they both had a good laugh about it.”
A voice said, “Hi John.”
It was Dusty Miller, a weekend bag in his hand, tall, with a new scar on his face, sturdy, over 6 feet tall, dressed in black jeans, black shirt, dark brown leather jacket.
McBride stood to shake his hand. “This is Helen, who is staying at the hotel.” She smiled up at him. “I’ve reserved a room in your name. If you like to book in now, we can have a chat here about the current situation.” He saw Miller glance at Helen, raising his eyebrows. “Helen knows what we’re doing, but is busy opening a branch of a multiple down here.”
Miller nodded. “Get me a pint while I check in, I’ll be back in a second.”
“I must go up and change, get a shower. Are you going to be around for dinner?” Helen said.
“I think we’d rather do our snooping on empty stomachs. We can run faster that way. Seriously, we might after we get back.”
She smiled at him: “Be very careful.” She left.
McBride collected a couple of pints from the bar, and arrived at the table just as Miller returned minus his baggage.
Miller picked up his pint, drank half of it in one huge swallow. “Okay, let’s have a look at the evidence.”
McBride swivelled the laptop so that Miller could see the image, and then went through what had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
“It looks like there’s a bit of ground cover around the house. It should be easy to have a snoop around. Get Google earth up, and we can see the terrain in detail. McBride pressed buttons, got the required area and zoomed in.
“What did criminals do before Google Earth, eh?” Miller studied the scene for a few seconds. “Pity the picture was taken in summer, there are a lot of unknowns, due to the tree cover. Still, could be worse. I think we should get into the grounds at the other side, here, from where you took your snap. Agreed?”
“I think we should have a look at the van, it might be the key to why they’re shy.”
“I was thinking that.”
“We can’t see what the logo reads, even from the photo, and it would be just a blob on the painting. So it must be recognisable from the colour and position.”
“Position?” said Miller.
McBride reached out for the bar menu on the table. The back was plain. He pulled a pencil out, and drew a rectangle. “Most companies put their logo in the middle of the side panel, like so. Do you agree?”
“That’s where I guess they would be”
“But, if you consider this to be a sheet of paper that you are going to paint a scene on,” he drew another rectangle under the first, “artistically, the point of interest, the golden point, the old artists called it, is about one third from the bottom, and one third from the side.
Actually you can see that there would be four golden points, but only one was usually chosen.” He marked the golden points by pencil marks. “And this is where the logo is, on one of the golden points, in golden colour, too. We have a sign writer with talent.”
“You don’t see many artistically painted vans,” conceded Miller.
“This is why my painting couldn’t be around for people to see. If the van is so well known by the logo, it’s in the wrong place stowed in Murphy’s back garden. I’m not local, so I’m missing the point. But locals, or at least some of them must. That is what Murphy is afraid of, and why he unleashed the bald man to buy the painting, but of course, it wasn’t for sale. Everything else, the gallery fire, the robbery at the hotel resulted as the bald man grew more and more desperate.
“So, if you see the logo in that colour, and that position on the van, you recognise the company. That’s got to be what this is about. We check the name on the van and take it from there. When do we start?”
“As soon as it gets really dark. Good night for it. No moon, and quite breezy. The wind will rustle the leaves, make quite a lot of strange noises, so no-one hears us, with luck.”
“Getting dark already” pointed out McBride, looking over to the window.
“Yes, give it ten minutes, and by the time we’re on the scene, should be okay. I’ve got a small torch, lock picks in case the van’s locked away, so we’re good to go.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
When Bobby Bell left school in Belfast at the age of sixteen, he went down to the youth labour exchange, and was interviewed. A quiet well-spoken lad, he was shown a variety of job vacancies, this being a time of full employment. Bobby knew that if he didn’t like the job he took, he could always get another job, at any time. You gave in your notice, went down to the labour exchange the next day, and chose something else, then worked out your notice. That was the way of full employment.
So Bobby decided he liked the look of an office job in an estate agency, to learn the business. The employer was prepared to pay for Bobby to take night classes, to study for The National Association membership. Bobby went for an interview, impressed the employer with his manner and dress and got the job. He stayed with the same employer for four years, firstly, as tea boy in the back office, then handling enquiries on the telephone, when his employer noticed his pleasant telephone manner. By the time he was twenty, he was showing people round properties, using selling techniques gleaned from library books, and developing his own laid back closing techniques. He quickly became a success, and was given a commission on sales.
Bobby realised he was ready to progress from Belfast. He wrote to a few Dublin estate agents, getting the names from a book in the library. He always remembered to enclose a stamped addressed envelope with his job applications, and his record with his Belfast employer was impressive. Out of five applications he got two expressions of interest, inviting him for an interview. By carefully arranging for the two interviews to be on the same day, he was able to claim his travelling expenses twice. The ex
tra cash paid for a good night out with his then girlfriend.
His parents were sorry to see him leave home, but Bobby was excited to be living in his own flat, and to be residing in a city which was fast becoming sophisticated. His progress continued with his new employer, and several years later he was invited to become a junior partner.
His social life had blossomed along with his business status, and he met many property developers, some of whom had second lucrative jobs. One friend, who became close, since they shared interests such as dinghy sailing and drinking, revealed to him when in his cups, that he supplied guns purchased in Russia, to splinter groups of the IRA. Needing more capital to up the volumes, he invited Bobby to participate. Bobby had now amassed quite a lot of savings, so he agreed, and went into partnership. The business flourished, and he made trips to the USSR. This was following perestroika, and free enterprise was rife, and so were the mafia like organisations. It could be dangerous dealing with these new Russians, and Bobby’s friend was a victim of a street fight, which he blundered into when on one of his visits. Following his friend’s death, suddenly Bobby was making money faster than ever before in his life. It all came to a quick end in 2005, with the decommissioning of IRA weapons. By this time, Bobby, who was still outwardly an estate agent, had poured money into property, mostly buying buildings that could be demolished, to clear sites for vast new buildings. He also bought listed buildings ripe for restoration. He had also purchased a gentleman’s residence for himself in a prime area of Dublin.
In 2007, he had bought a huge tract of land, borrowing yet more money to put together the erection of a smart shopping mall, and work had started by the end of that year. Within months, the banks were collapsing and the Irish euro miracle itself collapsed.
Bobby’s dream of finishing the scheme and selling it, cashing in a big profit, releasing his own savings and retiring were shattered. The project was stalled for lack of cash.
He halted work on the scheme to save spending further, but of course, he had bank interest piling up. However it could have been worse. Some of his contacts were investors with him, and their money was tied without them getting interest, to be made at the end when Mall was sold. In order to pay bank interest, Bobby had to sell his home, and rent an apartment to live in. He was tempted to sell his motor yacht, which he kept in Douglas, but so far it had not come to that.
For two or more years he had been struggling, with defeat staring him in the face. So when a phone call came out of the blue, and it was from Eamonn Murphy, he was interested enough to invite him over to Dublin to talk.
He remembered the tousle headed lean teenager as though it was yesterday. The last time he had set eyes on him was on the last day of term at the Belfast school they had both attended.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The asphalt path ran up alongside the garden wall of the house, fence on the other side. Beyond that, fields.
Miller stopped, looked both ways up and down the path. “Okay, John. We go over here, not too many trees in the way, but good cover.” The wall was about seven feet high “Right, I’ll give you a helping hand to get on top of the wall.” He clasped both hands in front of him for McBride to put a foot into for upward leverage. “When you’re on the wall, sit with your legs on the other side, and wait for me to get up there with you. Then we carefully shine the torch on the other side, see what’s below us, before we jump. Don’t want either of us being castrated with upright posts or whatever. But look quickly, because I don’t want to leave the torch on more than momentarily. Come on, go NOW.”
McBride put his foot in Miller’s clasped hands, straightened his knees, and scrambled on to top of the wall. Swung his legs over and sat waiting for Miller. Without any assistance except great strength, Miller was sitting alongside him in no time.
In a voice no louder than a whisper, Miller said, “Torch going on now”.
After the darkness, the light of the torch seemed blinding. McBride could see that under them was bare earth, littered with last year’s leaves, drifts of them up against the wall. The tree cover denied daylight for undergrowth.
Miller said, “Jump!” and McBride launched himself off the wall, to be followed a moment later by Miller. McBride couldn’t see him, it was too dark, but felt the vibration of his landing, with absolutely no sound, considering his size and weight.
“Okay,” Miller whispered, “let’s wait until our eyes are accustomed to the dark, and we’ll make our way through the trees. I reckon we should be abreast of the outbuildings at the back of the house. The danger for us is if they’ve got movement activated lights, so we want to keep away from the courtyard, go round the back of the barns, might be a back door, or even a window. If you can, walk so there’s a tree trunk between you and the courtyard, it will help. Might mean you have to zigzag somewhat. Makes it easier if you follow me, get hold of my belt. We don’t want to lose contact. If any trouble starts, I don’t want to end up shooting you, through not knowing where you are.”
Miller had no sooner finished speaking, than the security lights went on in the courtyard.
He put a hand on McBride’s arm. “That wasn’t us. Just hang on here and see what’s going on.” They stood where they had come down from the wall. The courtyard, McBride estimated was about a hundred feet away
Two men strode across the courtyard. What were they carrying? McBride asked himself. Then he heard a metallic sound as the tools bounced along the cobbled yard and realised they were carrying spades. Bit dark to be gardening he thought. Both men stopped at the near side the outbuilding. The taller man tested the earth with his spade. He realised with amazement that it was Inspector Nolan. Was he searching for something Murphy had buried? The other man stepped up beside him, and through a gap in the trees, McBride had a clear view of him.
Shorter then Nolan, but stocky, broad-chested, with dark curly hair in a tangle, he started digging, on a command from Nolan. Then he was being helped by the inspector, who at the same time was complaining that he was too old for the physical exercise.
McBride whispered to Miller. “The tall one giving orders is Inspector Nolan.”
“Okay. What’s he looking for?”
“Beats me, but we might be going to find out.”
They stood silently watching for half an hour, but it felt longer.
Finally Nolan said, “That’s deep enough. Go get him.” He stood, arching his back, leaning slightly on his spade, watching his partner entering the barn. Muffled swearing could be heard, and he re-emerged carrying something heavy on his back. Like carrying a man in a fireman’s lift, but this was a sack, shaped like a man.
“It’s a body,” breathed Miller. “Fuck me, they’re burying someone.”
It took both of the diggers to manhandle the sack into the hole, and arrange it to their satisfaction. Then both were shovelling earth back, swiftly. From time to time the smaller man stepped in the hole, jumping up and down to compact the soil. When the grave was full, there was a mound of unused earth remaining, and the two men loaded their spade and swung them in huge arcs to hurl the soil into the woods in front of McBride, but it was sixty feet away at least where the furthest shovel loads landed.
The men wiped their spades on the rough grass edging the courtyard, knocking their boots to remove earth, and then tramped back across the courtyard, and McBride heard a door open and close. Almost immediately the external lights were extinguished.
“Means they’re not movement controlled. They switched them off inside the house.”
“That’s good,” Miller observed. “I think we can get moving.”
McBride got hold of Miller’s jacket as he moved forward. Miller occasionally flashed on the torch briefly shielding the lens with his other hand. Very quickly they arrived at the wall of the barn. McBride felt better to be near shelter. At the barn, Miller turned right and walked until he reached the front. Then he turned and retraced his steps, all the way until they reached the rear. No windows on this wall. They turned an
d walked the rear wall, a bit more difficult here, with bushes and tall plants up to the wall. Miller pushed through resolutely. Suddenly they were at a window, small-paned, covered with grime on this side.
Miller rubbed at a pane with his hand, shone the torch inside. Dimly, they could make out the large white van. “What’s the logo say?” said Miller, in a low voice.
“The glass is too dirty to tell.” McBride was straining to make it out. “Desperate action, then,” Miller said, and brought the torch sharply at the glass.
It cracked with a noise, but not a loud noise. He worked the cracked glass to remove pieces, by using his penknife in the hard putty glazing. Eventually, he had succeeded in pulling two large pieces out of the frame.
McBride could read the logo when Miller turned the torch on again.
“Wow. Secure Express. Now I remember the logo.” It was a gold circle, and the words written across in black italics. The van was facing the front of the barn, and they could see the back was lettered. Drivers have no access to safes. This van is followed by police.
McBride grinned to himself. Murphy must hope the latter statement was untrue.
“Shit!” Miller said, “We needn’t have broken the window. Look, the doors are open in the front wall of the barn.”
They could make out a couple of windows lit up in the house beyond.
McBride said, “Now I remember that from the photo. Damn. But it was safer this far from the house, avoiding detection.”
“I must get to the van, put an attachment on. Stay here, John. I won’t be gone for ten minutes. If you move, I’ll never find you in the dark.”
Through the broken pane McBride saw Miller flit like a shadow round the front of the barn, down the side of the van, pulling a matchbox size black object out of his pocket, then lying on the floor to attach it to the chassis. He stood again, the lights from the house dimly illuminating the barn’s interior. He knelt down and did something that took a few minutes, working on the exterior. McBride saw him leave the barn, and then heard nothing until Miller touched his arm, making him jump. The guy could certainly move quietly. The silence was broken by the sound of the house door opening again.