They sped up the M40, circling east around Birmingham then headed west before picking up the A5 west of Telford. His first assumption was that their destination would be Larnock Castle on the north coast of Ireland and decided the ferry to Dublin from Holyhead was the best way to get there. He ruled out flying; that would mean hiring a car and would probably be no quicker overall. He felt more at ease in the Range Rover which was well suited to long distance journeys; it afforded flexibility and gave him peace of mind.
He’d booked the two o’clock departure on the basis that Maguire would call him, as scheduled, at one-thirty, exactly twenty-four hours after their previous call. That would give them time to abort, if Charlie wasn’t in Ireland after all. It fitted in neatly with his plan although he was under no illusions, his plan could go wrong at any point. They would arrive in Dublin at five o’clock, review their arrangements in the light of his conversation with Maguire and agree to meet him at Larnock Castle tomorrow afternoon.
He cast a glance across to the passenger seat, but Caitlín was looking through the side window, gloomy and apprehensive. She’d said little over breakfast when he’d outlined his thoughts and he’d expanded on them once they’d set off, but he guessed she was still digesting it all, looking for the flaws. She’d professed a desire to finish it off once and for all, the primary objective being to get Charlie back safe and sound and he was relieved her priorities were the same. If she was prepared to hand back the money willingly there should be no reason why Maguire wouldn’t stand aside and let them go. That assumption was fundamental to the plan but remained an unknown variable. The strategy would have been perilous enough, had he not introduced another variable that was equally unpredictable and magnified the risk exponentially. He guessed this was what currently occupied her mind.
When he woke up that morning, he was alone, and it took him a while before he gathered his senses and reflected on the previous night. He had been overwhelmed with desire, but all she’d wanted was to be comforted. Ultimately, he’d been content to hold her for as long as she needed before going back to her own bed, holding her body next to his, all the intimacy either required. She’d brought him a cup of tea and sat on the edge of his bed chatting, showered and fully clothed, as if nothing had happened. But she’d been sanguine and positive, a major change given the trauma she’d experienced the previous day, reading Eamonn’s letter and then Mary’s diary. She had reached rock-bottom, and it appeared, was now on the way back, but there was a long way to go and the denouement had yet to play out.
“Are you okay?” he eventually asked her and she turned her head and gave him a weak smile.
“Yes. Are you okay? I mean, we have to worry about Charlie now.” It was genuine, but unlike her to reveal a sensitive side of which, so far, he had caught only a glimpse. She’d spent most of her adult life alone and had learnt to look after only herself, so her sudden concern for others was a significant development. He hoped this was a turning point; he just wished it was happening under more benign circumstances.
“Yes, I’m worried about her, of course. I’m worried about you too.”
“I’ve got my knight in shinin’ armour with me. What can go wrong?” There were a hundred things that could go wrong, he thought grimly. “What are you goin’ to say to Maguire?”
“I’m going to play the hapless fool who’s in over his head and I’m going to be quite critical of the feisty bitch, so Maguire and I have something to bond over. I’m going to leave it on speaker because I need you to know exactly what’s being said, but it’s crucially important he doesn’t know you’re listening.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Of course I do. It’s all about trust, remember?”
“I’m sorry I said all that stuff. I didn’t mean it.”
“But you were right, and it stood you in good stead before. If you see and hear for yourself, then there’s no room for doubt. I need that as much as you do.”
“You can say what you like about me, I won’t be offended.”
“But what if Eamonn comes up? He’ll probably say things about him you really don’t like, and you must button it.”
“I can keep quiet sometimes,” she said with mock indignation.
“I know, but I’m being serious. I need to be Maguire’s friend which means taking his side and agreeing we have a joint enemy. Things he says and I say might freak you out, that’s all.”
“What things?”
“How should I know? It depends on how suspicious he is of me.”
“I’ll be on my best behaviour, so I will. Trust me,” she said, winking provocatively at him.
“Tell me again about the bank.” He hadn’t seen her use the electronic device or the code book and had been given only a brief overview of the process.
“It’s pretty standard in terms of security but as you can imagine with the Swiss, it’s a bit more sophisticated. You insert the card into the gadget, connect it to your laptop and sign into your account using a regular ID and password. The gadget has a small electronic panel at the bottom which reads fingerprints, just like it did at the bank. I place the middle three fingers over the panel and as long as it recognises me, it lets me into the account. You can do the same thing on a mobile app, but it’s a lot trickier. You have to do the fingerprint thing one at a time.”
“And what about transferring money?”
“It needs the exact name of the payee’s account and the IBAN number. If there’s no match, it can’t proceed. If there is a match you enter the amount and then have to place your fingers over the panel again. The system then reports back a number which you have to look up in the code book which is unique to this account. You enter this code and if everythin’s in order, you confirm twice, and off it goes.”
“And is there a limit on what you can send?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Wow. You can send fifteen million quid anywhere you like?”
“Don’t see why not, but obviously, I haven’t tested it yet.”
“We need to check that with Schmid. We can’t have anything going wrong.” She called Werner Schmid at Reinhardt Baer and put him on loudspeaker.
“Are you feeling better Miss McConnell? We were very worried about you.”
“Thank you, much better. I just had a funny turn that’s all.”
“How can I help you?”
“I am goin’ to make an electronic transfer and I wanted to know if there is a maximum amount.”
“No, Miss McConnell. You are the sole signatory on the account, and you can transfer the entire balance in one transaction if you wish.”
“How long does it take for the amount to show up in the payee’s bank?”
“If it is UK, European Union, Switzerland or Norway, it will appear by the close of our business, subject to different time zones and depending on the systems at the recipient bank.”
“And your close of business is…?”
“Here in London, it is six p.m.”
“Is there anythin’ else I should know?”
“Yes, there is a fail-safe mechanism.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that until six p.m. you can cancel any payment by simply logging onto our system, selecting the payment, pressing cancel and providing the usual fingerprint verification. No codes are necessary.”
“So, I have to jump through all those hoops to set up a payment, but one click and a paw-print is all that’s required to undo it?”
“Indeed. We are all human Miss McConnell and mistakes are easy to make. With some other banks, these are very difficult to rectify. This is why we at Reinhardt Baer give all our clients this so-called ‘get out of jail’ card. However, may I suggest you make a small transfer to another known, safe account, so you can acquaint yourself with the process?”
“I will. Thanks for your help.” She cancelled the call and let out a deep breath.
“Let’s try that when we get to Dublin,” he said. “If we have a problem, we still have time to call Schmid again.”
***
They were in the ferry terminal car park waiting their turn to board when Jack’s phone rang at precisely one-thirty. It was an unknown number. Twenty-four hours Jack. He looked at Caitlín.
“Are you ready?” She nodded and he pressed the answer button.
“Jack Fleming.”
“Good afternoon Jack. How are you keepin’?” Avuncular as ever at least for the moment. Jack sidestepped the question.
“How’s my daughter?”
“She’s fine. She and my wife are gettin’ on like a house on fire, so they are. I think she’s enjoyin’ her wee holiday.” It sounded bizarre; Maguire playing the consummate host when they both knew he was a murderous villain. The transparent duplicity made him feel nauseous.
“Let me speak to her.” He made an effort to sound dispassionate and business-like. The time for strong emotions would come later.
“She’s in her room. You can speak to her when we’ve finished our business. Is Miss McConnell with you?”
“No. I’m on my way to collect her. I thought it was best we did this in private. I don’t want her to hear this conversation.”
“That’s probably wise. But does she understand what’s at stake here?”
“Too bloody right she does! I wish I’d never set eyes on her. She’s a fucking nightmare.”
“Oh Jack, don’t get yersel’ wound up now. You’re not the first man to fall under the spell of a beautiful, manipulative woman. The question is, is she prepared to help you out with your problem?”
“I’ve managed to convince her you won’t give up and you have the resources to track her down wherever she is.
“Well that’s true, so it is.”
“I’ve told her she has a choice between giving back what her boyfriend stole or being on the run forever. She also knows I’m pretty well off, so she thinks life won’t be so tough after all if she can hitch her wagon to my horse, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh my God, the sacrifices we all have to make.” Maguire was clearly enjoying Jack’s apparent discomfort. “And are you happy with that, er, arrangement?” Maguire’s smug response suggested he already knew otherwise, but Jack was not about to disabuse him.
“No way! She’s fucking trouble; a fucking lunatic. But I’m doing my best to play along with it for now and I’ll cut her loose later.”
“I don’t envy you Jack, but let’s do the business shall we? I’m sendin’ my chopper over there to bring you both over to my home…”
“Larnock Castle?”
“I see you’ve been doin’ your homework.”
“Not difficult, Rowan, if I may call you that?”
“Feel free.”
“She told me who you were, so I looked you up. I know what your company does, and I know you’re a successful businessman, but I don’t know how you managed to let this crazy bitch fleece you for twenty million.”
“Oh, she had help so she did. She seduced my son-in-law, broke my daughter’s heart and persuaded him to embezzle the money so they could run off together. That bitch owes me more than money.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m sayin’ that givin’ the money back is only a part of it.”
“Hang on. You said no one would get hurt.”
“And no one will get hurt, as long as she does what she’s told.” Maguire had virtually admitted what Jack had feared the most; after repayment, retribution was next on the list. It confirmed his strategy was the only one.
“Don’t send a chopper. I’ve got my own transport. We’re booked on the eight o’clock ferry to Dublin tomorrow morning. We’ll be with you early afternoon.”
“If you wish, but head for Londonderry and wait there. I’ll send the boys down to meet you and guide you here. Your sat-nav will go wrong and I want no more delays. I have commitments I need to meet at the end of this week, otherwise both our families will pay the price. Do you understand?” The threat was clear and chilling, but Maguire, in his arrogance, had revealed the extent of his desperation. It was intended to increase the pressure on Jack and to that end, it worked, but it also imbued Jack with more power than he thought he had. He decided to take advantage.
“I understand. Now you understand this. I don’t want to be here; I’m just an innocent bystander caught up in a mess of someone else’s making. Your son-in-law Eamonn Flynn was clearly fucked up, but I don’t know why. I don’t know what he saw in Caitlín McConnell and frankly, I don’t care. I don’t give a shit he’s dead and when this is all over, she and I are history. I’m just a go-between who wants his daughter back. But let’s be clear. I’m in control of this situation, not you, so best work with me, not against.” The pause was short, but significant. Maguire had opened his hand a little too much and Jack had caught another glimpse of what he was holding. The courteousness of the reply was tinged with suppressed rage.
“Then I shall look forward to seein’ you both tomorrow.”
“There’s one other thing.”
“Go on.”
“Text me the IBAN number of your bank and the exact name on the account. I’m going to get her to make a small payment, say a grand, just to check the system works properly and the details are correct. We don’t want anything to go wrong. Call it a gesture of good faith.”
“I will do that. Anythin’ else?” Jack smiled inwardly. Maguire had assumed the position of subordinate, at least for now.
“Let me speak to Charlie or I turn around and go home.” He knew it was a risk, but he felt emboldened enough to press home his advantage.
“Daddy? Hi!” For the first time during the exchange, he cast a glance at Caitlín. She was looking at him and she was puzzled too. Something was badly wrong; Charlie didn’t sound upset at all.
“Hello sweetheart. Are you okay?”
“Yeah! I’m fine. Rowan and Kathleen, that’s Mrs Maguire, have been lovely. We’ve had a good chat and, oh my God, I’ve had so much to eat and drink, and she’s shown me all around the castle and grounds. It’s beautiful here. I can’t wait for you to see it. When are you coming over?” Rowan and Kathleen? Having just told Maguire he was in control, he felt suddenly unsettled and doubtful. Charlie’s manner was as unexpected as it was incomprehensible. In his confusion, he wrestled to find the simplest of responses.
“Er, tomorrow, sweetheart. Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Cool.”
“By the way, Gavin sends his love.”
“Oh, does he?” She sounded disinterested. “Cool. See you tomorrow.” The phone went dead and a thought crossed his mind. She couldn’t have seen Gavin’s messages because they’d taken her phone; Maguire couldn’t allow her to contact anyone outside her prison. But she was lost without her phone; she couldn’t feel safe and comfortable without her phone; like most young people, it was her comfort blanket. But she never mentioned it once. It was either a brilliant act or she was drugged up to the eyes.
“Did you hear that?” he said, still working it over in his mind, but there was no response from Caitlín. He looked at her and she appeared to be shaking. “What is it?”
“How come she’s so pally with the Maguires?”
“I don’t know, she certainly wasn’t yesterday.”
“So you say.” He felt a knot in his stomach. “I didn’t hear the conversation yesterday. You said she sounded panicky and distressed and I believed you. Well she’s not distressed now.”
“Wait a minute…”
“You said I wasn’t listenin’ so it didn’t matter what he said. Well she rather let the cat out the bag.”
“Stop it!”
“Stop what? Stop you and Maguire and your daughter fuckin’ me over?”
“Please Caitlín, don’t fight me. Just think about it. Please?” He was already mentally exhausted and didn’t need another one of her tantrums, not now. “If you think we’re that clever and devious, don’t you think we’d have coached Charlie a bit better than that?”
“You told him I wasn’t here!”
“And so don’t you think his part of the conversation would have been a little more revealing?”
“But he knew I was here! You called him earlier and told him.”
“When? We’ve hardly been apart. And I say again, if he thought or even knew you were listening he’d have made sure Charlie played the sobbing hostage. What’s the point of building an elaborate scam if we’re going to bungle it like that?” She’d run out of steam and sat quietly, pouting, chest moving with short breaths. “Everything I said was consistent with what you and I have already discussed. Maguire has just shown us how deep he is in the shit and that works for us. I don’t know why Charlie’s full of the joys of spring. It makes no sense. But please, don’t always jump to the conclusion I’m some sort of double agent. Nothing could be further from the truth.” The cars a hundred yards ahead of him started to move, the ferry was boarding. He had to think fast. “Make a decision,” he said, failing to keep the exasperation out of his voice.
“What?” she said.
“Make a decision! Either get out of the car and run away with your fifteen million; I won’t try to stop you and you’ll never see me again; or for Christ’s sake have a little faith and stay with me.” He put a hand on his forehead in frustration. “Either way, I’m getting on that ferry because someone I love needs me!” They were ten cars away from moving. He started the engine and managed to calm his voice. “I’m getting on that ferry because two people I love need me.”
He couldn’t look at her. Their turn came and he rolled the car forward, waiting fearfully for the shout for him to stop so she could leap out with her bag and disappear from his life forever. He didn’t know what he would do if she did. He followed the line ahead of them as it snaked around to the right and up the ramp onto the boat. She could still escape now if she wanted to, right up to the point the ramps were lifted. He steered the Ranger Rover as directed, and stopped, squashed between two trucks, as drivers and passengers decamped, weaving their way in and out of the rows of vehicles, heading for the stairways to the upper decks. He risked a look to his left. She sat still, arms folded, crying. People stared at them through the glass; curious, prying.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t help it. I look for ways to avoid trust.” She reached over and threw her arms around him, just as she had in the cottage and again at the bank; the same expression of needy vulnerability she’d shown when he lay with her fully clothed on the couch in the Regency Suite and last night, naked in his own bed. Everyone looked in nosily, but he didn’t mind. He loved her and he was happy to show the world.
“I need a coffee.”
***
The Irish sea was grey and choppy and caused the boat to roll and sway as it pulled out of Holyhead harbour heading due west for the emerald isle. Winter was closing in and the sky, with its blanket of low cloud, threatened rain to accompany the stiff breeze. They stood on deck looking out to sea, huddled together in silence, until the rapidly deteriorating weather encouraged them to seek sanctuary in the warm saloon.
The café was busy with truck drivers and holiday makers, whose children ran around noisily, arousing equally clamorous rebukes from their parents. They managed to find a spare table to have coffee and a sandwich, and he finally let go of her hand for the first time since they’d left the car.
“There’s something else bothering me,” he said, chewing on a BLT. “Maguire knows more about you than I imagined.”
“How do you mean?”
“You assumed he got your name from Eamonn’s phone but Eamonn wasn’t stupid. He would have covered his tracks, just like you tried to do. So what would make Maguire think you and he were having an affair.”
“We weren’t havin’ an affair!”
“I’m sorry, but I thought you said…”
“That I slept with him? I did. Once. That was it. It just happened. It was towards the end and he was tired and emotional and… well it just happened.”
“You don’t need to explain.”
“Feels like I do.”
“Caitlín,” he said taking her hand again, desperate to avoid another confrontation. “I only mentioned it because I can’t work out why Maguire thinks you seduced Eamonn and are therefore part of a conspiracy, when in reality, you were just a shoulder to cry on?”
“I don’t know. Eamonn said we’d been seen together in Derry. Maguire must be just puttin’ two and two together and gettin’ five.”
“Someone told him. Louise Harrison?”
“I don’t know. Louise told me she was investigatin’ The Sisters. She may have suspected somethin’ about Maguire and his empire; a lot of people did, but when she called me, she was only askin’ about The Sisters. If she knew me and Eamonn were together in some way, she would have mentioned it. A journalist is not goin’ to pass up on a juicy detail like that, but there’s no way she’s gonna call Maguire and tell him. It’s not relevant to her story.”
“And we’ve assumed all along Louise was murdered by Maguire.”
“Are you tellin’ me she was murdered by the Church…”
“…to stop her investigation of The Sisters,” he said, finishing her sentence.
“Jesus. I can’t believe it.”
“Why not? Rape, torture, incest, paedophilia, throw in murder and you’ve got the full set.”
“I feel sick, so I do.” She wiped sweat from her brow. “Well, I didn’t tell anyone, and it was hardly somethin’ Eamonn was goin’ to shout about.”
“Or confess?”
She stopped chewing as the truth dawned. “That feckin’ priest!”
“Do you think Eamonn would have confessed your relationship to Father Donal?”
“Before he became disillusioned with the Church, he might well have confessed bein’ unfaithful to his wife, but he would never have mentioned my name.”
“Did you sleep with him before or after he lost faith?”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep goin’ on about it!”
“Sorry.”
“It’s feckin’ incest, so it is!”
He cast a glance around. One or two other passengers had heard. He lowered his voice. “You weren’t to know. I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again.”
“Anyway, why does it matter?” He didn’t know why it mattered; it was just an inconsistency that bugged him. He thought the more they knew about their opponents and what they knew, the better prepared they’d be for any surprises. “Even if the priest did know, he’s not goin’ to go blabbin’ about it to a jaffa like Maguire. These guys would be mortal enemies.” Unwittingly, she’d focused his attention on exactly what was bothering him.
Jack had to admit he too was feeling queasy and had put it down to the yaw of the ferry, but that was not the only reason. She was right. Louise Harrison would learn nothing about The Sisters by approaching Maguire with information about Caitlín. But she would have seen a connection. Louise was investigating The Sisters and Eamonn had inside information, as, Louise knew, did Caitlín. There was no reason for Louise to assume the relationship between Eamonn and Caitlín was anything other than platonic, assuming Eamonn hadn’t told her otherwise. But Eamonn was the son-in-law of Rowan Maguire, a well-known Orangeman already suspected of dubious business practices. And by now, Eamonn was dead, so the story Louise had been originally working on had a new dimension and led back to Maguire. His head was spinning with the possibilities and he feared they might have to accept that without Eamonn or Louise, they were just left guessing.
“I’ve had another thought,” he said, trying to put the various facts in some sort of order. “If we hadn’t met, you probably wouldn’t have gone to Reinhardt Baer. Assuming you were able to stay out of Maguire’s way, Eamonn’s time bomb would have gone off and by this weekend, Maguire’s empire would be in administration and he, unmasked as the head of a criminal enterprise. Control of the funds would have automatically passed to Louise as would Eamonn’s letter together with the evidence of payments to the Church. Eamonn kills two birds with one stone whatever happens.”
“Except Louise is dead.”
“Yes, but the bank had its instructions. It would liaise with her executors, who you might assume would blow the lid off it all anyway.”
“Okay, but that doesn’t tell us who killed Louise.”
“They both did.”
“Who?”
“Maguire pulled the trigger after a tip off from the Church, probably Father Donal Byrne himself. Eamonn confessed to his activities in trying to bring down Maguire, probably thinking Father Donal would give him encouragement and offer him fast-track to the priesthood. You know, demonstrating his antipathy towards his Protestant upbringing while at the same time bankrolling the Catholic Church’s fund raising. But he finds out the truth about The Sisters and in his eyes, that seriously undermines the Church’s integrity. They want his money, but not at the price of exposing themselves or The Sisters, so they tip off Maguire who starts asking questions that Eamonn can’t answer. Then, when he finds out about Mary’s diary and realises that, not only is Father Donal his father but you’re his sister, he can’t go on. He’s destroyed, but he’s sown the seeds of his tormentors’ destruction too. He passes the baton to you, because he thinks you’ll feel just as passionately about it as he does, especially once you’ve read his letter and the diary, but if you don’t, it’s down to Louise. But Louise is already on the case and the Church can’t risk being exposed, so they tip off Maguire that she’s investigating Eamonn’s death because she thinks it wasn’t suicide and that it’s connected to Maguire’s criminal activities.”
“Okay, but your original question was, why does Maguire think I seduced Eamonn?”
“Because after the priest tells him about Eamonn being unfaithful to his wife, Maguire’s daughter, Louise goes wading in asking Maguire the connection between Eamonn’s infidelity and his suicide and she’s bound to mention your name because that’s what journalists do. You and Eamonn have already been seen together and he’s told Maguire you’re a customer and probably the name of your company. He finds out you’re a bean-counter and comes looking for you, probably just to find out what Eamonn’s been up to, but you’ve disappeared. Then in due course, he starts to feel the heat and senses shit coming his way, and he’s convinced you know something about it. He makes contact with Louise, somehow manages to hack her phone and finds out where you are.”
“That’s fine apart from one thing. I still don’t see a Catholic priest conspirin’ with Maguire, sendin’ him messages.”
“Not directly, but through a network of contacts. I bet the underworld has it’s channels especially when there’s a threat that affects both sides.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“It leaves us exactly where we are, fulfilling Eamonn’s legacy and putting things right. You’re the only one who can do it.”
“No pressure then.”
“And if I’m right, we have a much better hand to play.”
“And if you’re not?” His phone bleeped in his pocket. He glanced at the screen and turned it towards her. “Maguire’s IBAN number. When we get to the hotel, we’ll send him a little present.”