The Secret Place (Dublin Murder Squad, #5)(143)

‘So he’s going to drop her,’ I said. ‘First excuse he gets.’

‘Nah. They won’t boot her out of Murder, because she’s the type to sue for discrimination and they don’t want the publicity. But they can make damn sure she quits. She’ll never get a partner. She’ll never get a promotion. She’ll never get invited to join the lads for a pint after work. She’ll never get another good case; once she gives up on this, there’ll be nothing on her desk but D-list drug dealers till the day she hands in her papers.’ Smoke curling up between us from his hand, a warning taint on the sweet air. ‘That’ll wear you down, after a while. Conway’s got spine, she’ll last longer than most would, but she’ll crack in the end.’

I said, ‘Conway’s career is her problem. I’m here for mine. This is my shot at showing Murder what I can do.’

Mackey was shaking his head. ‘No it isn’t. It’s a six-bullet round of Russian roulette. If you don’t get on with Conway, you’re back to Cold Cases: bye-bye, see you ’round, everyone remembers that Moran couldn’t hack it in the big leagues even for one day. If you do get on with her, then you’re her bitch-boy. No one else on Murder, and that includes the gaffer, is ever going to touch you with a ten-foot pole. Shit rubs off, kid. If you honestly haven’t got a strategy, I suggest you get one. Fast.’

I said, ‘You’re trying to stir shite. You get me and Conway looking over our shoulders at each other, means we take our eyes off the ball. Next thing we know, our case’s got away from us.’

‘I might well be. It sounds like something I’d do. Ask yourself this, though: does that mean I’m wrong?’

The nettle edges to the air in the Murder squad room, fine and poisonous, when Conway walked in. Tiny barbs, sticky, working deep.

I said, ‘What’ve you been saying to Conway about me?’

Mackey grinned. ‘Same as I’ve been saying to you, sunshine: just the truth. And nothing but the truth. So help you God.’

And there it was. I could’ve kicked myself for asking. I knew what Mackey had told Conway. Didn’t need to hear it, from either of them.

Interesting strategy, letting young Stephen on board. Some might say downright insane, but I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt . . .

‘Ahhh,’ said Mackey, stretching. Glanced at his smoke, burned down to long ash. Tossed it on the ground. ‘I needed that. Shall we?’



Conway was leaning against the outside of the door, hands in her trouser pockets, not moving. Waiting for us. I knew then.

You’re no idiot, Detective Conway; I’m betting you know the story on how Holly and I met Moran. Some of it, anyway. Want to hear the rest?

She straightened up as we got close. Opened the door, held it for Mackey. Caught my eye. As she closed the door behind Mackey, he flicked a winner’s grin over his shoulder at me.

Conway said, ‘I’ll take it from here.’

Moran was brand-new out of uniform, doing floater work on a murder case. The D in charge was called Kennedy. Kennedy was good to young Stephen. Very good. Pulled him out of the deep end of the floater pool, gave him a shot at the big time. Most Ds wouldn’t’ve done it; most Ds would’ve stuck to tried and true, no newbies need apply. Bet Kennedy wishes he had . . .

I only did what Mackey wanted me to do, back then. It never hit me, and it should’ve, that he would keep it tucked away in his back pocket: something he could use against me someday, if he ever needed to.

I said – keeping it down: his ear was pressed to the back of that door – ‘Mackey’s trying to f*ck with us.’

‘There’s no us. There’s me and my case, and then there’s some guy who’s been useful for the day and isn’t any more. Don’t worry: I’ll write your gaffer a nice note about what a good boy you were.’

Like a punch in the jaw. It shouldn’t’ve hit me; she was right, it had only been one day. Got me goodo.

It must’ve shown. The face on me pulled some fleck of guilt out of Conway. She said, ‘I’ll give you a lift back to HQ – give me your mobile number, I’ll text you when I’m done here. Till then, get a sandwich. Go for a nice walk, admire the grounds. See if you can get Chris’s ghost to pop up for you. Whatever.’

The second your boy Moran saw his chance, he shagged Kennedy up the arse with no Vaseline. Fuck loyalty, f*ck gratitude, f*ck doing the right thing: all young Stephen cared about was his glorious career.

I said, and I’d stopped caring about keeping it down, ‘You’re doing exactly what Mackey wants you to do. He wants me gone because he’s scared Holly’ll talk to me. You can’t see that?’ Nothing on Conway’s face. ‘He tried it on me, too: bitched about you, hoped I’d walk. You think I took any notice?’

‘Course you didn’t. You want to shake your booty in front of O’Kelly; doesn’t matter whose case you piggyback on to get there. Me, I’ve got something to lose here. And I’m not having you lose it for me.’

Kennedy never saw it coming. At least you won’t get blindsided like he did. If you honestly haven’t got a strategy, you might want to get one fast . . .

I gave Conway my phone number. She swung the door closed in my face.