Authors: Paula Martin
"Call the
Gardai
, I guess, but I think I should tell Guy first. And if the cops are going to descend on the cottage, perhaps we should take the children back to the house."
"Good thinking. You go ahead, and I'll sort out the kids."
Kara sprinted along the new path that led to the car park and up the main drive to the house. She arrived breathless in the hallway, and knocked on the door of Guy's office.
* * * * *
At six o'clock that evening, after all the children had been collected by their parents, Kara joined the rest of the staff in the lounge while Guy updated them on the events of the day.
"Obviously Charley and Kara had no idea what their scavenger hunt would lead to when they set this task for their group today," he said with a grin. "The shiny object Melissa found was part of the jewellery stolen from Waterside Hall at the beginning of last month, and the
Gardai
also
retrieved some earrings and a necklace. All kudos to Kara for leaving them where they were for the Guards to retrieve. I had a call about twenty minutes ago from Chief Superintendent Enya Quinn at Galway headquarters to say the fingerprints on the packet have enabled them to identify the man they suspect of being the local fence for all the thefts and burglaries around here for several months. They've put out an alert for him, and are confident of an early arrest."
"Who is it?" Charley asked.
"She didn't say, but she did tell me Mick Leary has been arrested. That's all I know, but—" His gaze rested on Kara. "Ryan was right, Kara. He suspected the cottage was being used to store stolen goods, and it turns out it was, unknown to either Conor or me. Conor's brother-in-law, who also came under suspicion, was cleared, too. So all's well that ends well, it seems."
His words echoed in Kara's mind. It might have ended well for the
Gardai
, and for Mist Na Mara, but not for her.
* * * * *
Ryan found the address and phone number of Alistair Stewart's law firm online and decided not to ask his NYPD contact to find a home address. It would be better to speak to Kara's father at his Newark office, rather than turning up unannounced on the doorstep of their home. He had to wait two days for an appointment, and suspected he would have waited much longer if he hadn't told the pleasant but stonewalling secretary that he was a
Garda Síochána
detective who wished to see Mr. Stewart about a personal matter.
On Friday afternoon, he was shown into Alistair Stewart's office. Kara's father was a tall, medium-built man in his late fifties, with thick, dark hair that had begun to turn silver at his temples. After the introductory pleasantries and Ryan's explanation of who he was, Mr. Stewart listened while he recounted their search and the setbacks they'd had.
His eyes widened in surprise at the news of their success. "Are you sure you found the right couple?"
"Beyond any shadow of doubt, sir. The final proof was Peter Rabbit."
Alistair frowned. "Excuse me? Peter Rabbit?"
Ryan gave him a printed copy of one of the photos of he'd taken of Kara with Margaret and Jon, in which Margaret was holding the knitted rabbit. He continued with an explanation of the significance of the rabbit, and went on to tell the full story of Margaret's experiences with her family and at the Ballykane home. Alistair's face creased in anguish as he listened to the heartrending account of how Margaret had been forced to surrender her baby to the nuns.
"Kara told me her mother thinks she was unwanted and unloved," Ryan concluded. "The truth is the opposite. Margaret and Jon have spent years searching for their daughter. I met them earlier this week, and they are devastated to discover she doesn't want to know anything about them."
Alistair nodded slowly. "Linda has always had a problem dealing with her birth. As you say, she thinks she was given away by a heartless mother who rejected her. Her loyalties lie with her adoptive parents who, I will admit, loved her as if she was their own child." He paused, obviously thinking deeply, and eventually said, "I'd like to take you home with me today, Ryan, because Linda needs to hear what you've told me, but I think I need to prepare her first. How long will you be over here?"
"I'm due to return to work on Monday, so I only have another full day here. My flight home is on Sunday evening."
"Okay, leave it with me. Do you have a cell?"
Ryan pulled one of his cards from his wallet, and scribbled his American cell number on the back. "This also has my Irish number and my address, in case you need to contact me when I'm back home."
He left the office, took the PATH train to Manhattan, and sat in the bar at his hotel all evening, wondering what response Alistair would receive from his wife. If she listened to what he told her, she might agree to meet with her birth mother. Kara would be over the moon, and Margaret and Jon would be thrilled by the end of their fifty year search for their daughter.
The call he was waiting for came at ten o'clock the following morning.
"I'm sorry, Ryan. I tried to talk to Linda yesterday evening, to tell her what you told me, but I'm afraid she still doesn't want to know anything about her birth mother. However, I appreciate you coming here to tell me what happened, and I will try again, although I don't hold out much hope. I guess over fifty years of resentment can't be wiped away overnight. But please give my best wishes to Margaret and Jon when you see them again."
"I will, sir." The irony was that he was unlikely to see them again, and a heavy weight descended on his stomach at Alistair's words. So much for achieving something amazing to win Kara's respect and trust again. The painful thought struck him that he might even have made everything worse. He went on quickly, "Could I ask you not to mention any of this to Kara, Mr. Stewart? She may think I've been interfering where I had no right to stick my nose in."
"I'm sure she wouldn't think that, but of course I will respect your wish for confidentiality."
"Thank you, and you have my home phone number if you need to contact me again."
He spent Saturday evening at a bar in Greenwich Village, and on Sunday, he wandered along the avenues of Central Park, unable to shake off the blanket of depression.
It seemed everything that could go wrong
had
gone wrong. He'd ruined everything with Kara, and he had no idea what assignment would await him when he reported for duty on Monday morning. They certainly wouldn't trust him with any high profile investigation now.
After the overnight flight to Dublin, he switched on his phone when he reached the baggage hall. During the flight he'd replaced the cheap SIM card he bought in New York with his own card, and now he waited while his phone updated. Would there be a call or text from Kara? Or was he being too optimistic in hoping her anger had lessened?
The beeps from his phone coincided with the carousel starting to move, and he glanced at his screen. Five texts, but none of them from Kara. He grimaced. Of course they weren't. She only had the number of his undercover phone, and he'd handed that back to the Bureau.
His breath hitched when he realised the texts came from Enya Quinn's number. Was this good or bad?
After collecting his bag from the carousel, he stepped to one side to check them.
Friday 5:15 p.m.:
Call me ASAP, Ryan.
Friday 7:30 p.m.:
Need to speak to you urgently.
Friday 9:30 p.m.:
Where are you? Call me. I have some good news for you.
Saturday 8:15 a.m.:
Have you disappeared off the face of the earth? Call me.
Saturday 4:30 p.m.:
Wherever you are, you need to know this. You were right, and we've got them. Congratulations!
He stared at his phone. Congratulations? What on earth had happened?
Chapter 26
Once he cleared customs, Ryan found a seat near the coffee bar, and dialled Enya's number.
"And about time, too," Enya said. "I've been trying to contact you."
"I've been in New York since last Wednesday. Arrived back here about an hour ago and found your texts. What's happened?"
She laughed. "Where do I start? Friday morning, I suppose. Would you believe a seven year old found Caitlyn Connolly's jewellery?"
"Is that right? Where was it?"
"At the cottage."
Resigned to her telling him the jewellery had been discovered in Dublin or even Belfast, he mentally shook himself. "The cottage?"
"Wake up, Ryan. Yes, the cottage. The one you suspected all along was being used to hide stolen goods. You were right."
"Hold on a minute. How did a seven year old find it? I searched all the boxes, and the jewellery wasn't there."
"That's because it was stuffed in a gap between the stones, and the girl found it during a scavenger hunt. Anyway, they called the Clifden
Gardai
, and Joe Byrne brought the packages to us. One of them had a beautiful set of fingerprints, and it didn't take long to check the database and find they belonged to George Mannion
aka
Seamus Flaherty
aka
Johnny O'Toole. Three convictions in the past for possession of stolen goods, but he's slippery, moves around, Athlone, Cavan, Monaghan, with different names in each place."
"Monaghan? Wasn't that where—?"
"You're catching on quickly. Yes, Johnny O'Toole's taxi business in Monaghan closed down soon after the route from there to Belfast was compromised, and Johnny disappeared. No prizes for guessing where he started his next business, with a new alias."
His jet-lagged brain finally jumped into gear. "Clifden? As Tom Wild?"
"Correct.
Relief and elation swept through him. At least he'd got something right. "So he was Mister Big, after all? I thought he was probably small fry."
"And you were correct. He was a middleman, the local fence. He'd been using the cottage since the beginning of the year. That's where they hid the stuff before it was sent up to Belfast."
"Who's 'they'?"
"Mannion
aka
Wild's little band of thieves, and we've rounded them up, five of them, including one who had a temp job as a room steward at Waterside. They parked a couple of miles further along the road, cut down to the beach, and then up the path from there to the cottage. Usually two at a time, so they looked like ordinary hikers except, of course, they weren't carrying their lunches or waterproofs in their backpacks."
"So what happened when Conor started work on the cottage in June?"
"Life became more difficult, of course, which was why Mick Leary turned up and asked Conor to employ one of his mates, ostensibly as a labourer, but his real job would have been to make sure the goods were hidden. Once Conor refused, Wild halted all deliveries to the cottage."
Ryan nodded. "That explains why I found nothing during all my midnight visits there, but what about the big stash in the electric cable boxes?"
"That was the final consignment. Wild knew the renovation was almost complete, so he instructed all his thieves to take whatever goods they were holding to the cottage before midnight. That was the Saturday night when someone saw lights in the cottage."
"And presumably he collected the stuff sometime on Sunday?"
"Yes. Your theory was right. He couldn't find any other storage area locally, so decided to move on elsewhere, hence his shock announcement to his drivers that he was closing the taxi office. He stripped the office, headed out to Roscommon, as you already know, dropped off the load, and hightailed it across to Dublin."
"What about the jewellery that was stuffed in the wall?"
"A classic example of no honour among thieves. He intended to pick that up later and pocket the proceeds himself."
"But that was over three weeks ago. Why didn't he collect it?"
Enya chuckled. "He had what might euphemistically be called an 'accident' when he denied all knowledge of any jewellery. His right kneecap was shattered by low velocity gunshot two days after he returned to Dublin. He's been hospitalised since then, which is why we were able to find him so easily."
"Did he tell you who shot him?"
"Mick Leary."
Ryan almost dropped his phone. "Are you telling me all this was organised by Leary?"
"Leary's not bright enough to organise a blaze in a match factory. He was a middleman, too, working for the Cullen brothers in Belfast. Three of them, big houses, expensive cars, plenty of money to throw around, far more than they would have from their car repair business. The police there have suspected them for a long time of being involved with cross-border trading in stolen goods, but have never been able to pin anything on them. They keep their hands clean, of course, while each of them oversees middlemen in various places in the Republic. So our small town thief Mick Leary had illusions of becoming one of the big boys when Shane Cullen told him to liaise with Tom Wild. He rounded up some of his Connemara mates, who then worked for Tom. Oh, and your other theory was right, too, Ryan."
"Which theory?"
"One of the Cullens got Mick his job on the ferries, and he transferred the goods from one car to another on board. All under instruction from the Cullens, of course."
"Did Tom Wild – Mannion – tell you all this?"
"He didn't know anything about the Cullens. His only contacts were the taxi driver in Roscommon and Mick Leary. The Belfast police arrested Leary, and he squealed like the proverbial pig when they accused him of being the ringleader of the stolen goods racket, and told him he'd go down for at least twenty years."
"And Mannion and his band of thieves?"
"They'll probably all get between five and fifteen years as part of an organised operation. Not sure about the Cullens, but it's up to the Belfast police to make a case against them. As far as we're concerned here in Galway, the case is closed. Dublin takes over now, but you'll probably be called to give evidence."
"Okay, I can do that, of course, but—"
"But what?"
"I've been having a serious think about my future, especially after messing up this last assignment, and—"
Enya interrupted him. "Before you go any further, let me say two things. Firstly, although it seemed like a disaster at first, you didn't mess up. It was your groundwork that enabled us to pull everything together, so don't beat yourself up about that. In fact, you could be due a commendation from the Belfast police for giving them the evidence to nail the Cullen brothers. Secondly, when are you reporting for duty again at the Bureau?"
"In about an hour from now."
"In that case, don't make any decisions before you meet with Detective Chief Superintendent Heaney."
Ryan grimaced. "He was not best pleased when I last saw him."
"Things have changed since then, and I think you might be interested in what he has to say."
* * * * *
Kara jiggled baby Lewis on her knee as she sat in the lounge with Jenna on Sunday morning. Jenna's baby was becoming more alert, and she loved the small sounds he made, as if he was experimenting with his voice while his big blue eyes studied her intently.
"See, his mouth quirked then," she said. "I'm sure he's trying to smile."
Jenna laughed. "Guy thought he was smiling yesterday, and the baby books say the first genuine smile comes between four and six weeks. Lewis is four weeks old tomorrow, so maybe he's practising his smile."
Kara nodded. "It seems ages ago now since you went into labour."
The last month had seemed more like six months. The shock of discovering Ryan was a
Garda
detective had lessened, and her anger had subsided. Maybe he
had
lied to her, but his reasons were poles apart from Mark Rankin's lies, and she knew enough about police work to understand that a detective working undercover had to maintain his secret.
Accepting the reasons for his deception, however, did nothing to ease the heartache that felt like a heavy weight inside her. She tried his phone number several times, but came to the conclusion it had been disconnected, and she knew there was no point in contacting either Clifden or Galway
Garda
stations. They wouldn't give her any information about him, and he could be anywhere now, maybe already working on a new assignment. Every time her phone rang, her heart leapt, hoping it was Ryan calling her, but it never was.
With a small sigh, she diverted her thoughts. "What time will Guy arrive back here with his mom?"
Jenna glanced at her watch. "The flight was due to land about eight, and he called to say it was on time, so, assuming there were no delays through immigration and customs, they should be here between midday and one o'clock. Any minute now, I guess."
"She'll be so thrilled to see Lewis."
"Especially as she was on vacation in Hawaii when he was born. He wasn't due until last week, remember?"
Kara leant forward to kiss the baby's cheek. "But here he is, all gorgeous and – ugh, stinky, too. Lewis James Sinclair, you've filled your diaper again, haven't you?"
"Kara, you're in Ireland. We call them nappies here. Hand him over. I won't ask you to change him."
Laughing, Kara passed the baby to Jenna and, as she did so, caught sight of a car turning around the bend in the drive. "Guy's here now, Jenna."
"In that case, I need to clean up Master Lewis before he meets his grandmother. Go and let them in, Kara."
Kara went to open the front door, and smiled when her aunt Helen, Guy's mom, got out of the car. Her jaw dropped when two other people climbed out from the back seat.
Stunned into immobility for a few seconds, she recovered and rushed forward.
"Mom! Dad! I never expected—"
Guy laughed. "Surprise, hey?"
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
Alistair Stewart gave her a bear hug. "We wanted to surprise you, honey."
Kara turned to hug her mother. "I can hardly believe this. Oh, I'm so happy you're here."
Linda smiled. "We have a lot to tell you, but let's go inside first. I've heard so much about Mist Na Mara, and I'm dying to see it all and, of course, Helen can't wait to see her grandson."
"Take them down to the staffroom," Guy said. "I called Maggie about ten minutes ago, and she'll bring you some tea there."
While Guy and her father unloaded the bags, Kara took her mother and aunt into the house, and Linda gazed around the large hallway. "Oh my, this is beautiful."
Helen smiled. "I told you it was a dream of a house, didn't I? I'm not surprised Guy and Jenna decided to live here."
"I'll give you the guided tour later, Mom," Kara said, "but I'm sure you'd all like a drink first. Jenna's just gone to change Lewis's diaper," she added. "She didn't want to present you with a smelly grandson, Aunt Helen."
She took them down the corridor to the staffroom, just as Maggie appeared with a tray containing tea, coffee, and fruit juice. Alistair joined them, and she was pouring the tea when Guy poked his head around the door. "Mom, Lewis is clean and sweet-smelling again, so if you want to come upstairs to see him?"
Helen jumped up. "Yes, of course. I'll have my tea later, Kara."
"She'll love him at first glance," Kara said to her mother after Helen had gone out. "He's such a cute baby." She handed the cups of tea to her parents. "I still can't believe this is actually happening.
I never thought you would ever come to Ireland."
"Sit down, honey, and we'll tell you why we're here," Alistair said. "And you may want to put your tea down, too."
Kara's heart-rate tripled as she sat down. "It's not bad news, is it? Is Matt okay?"
Linda smiled. "It's not bad news, and Matthew is fine. The fact is – well, I've come to meet my birth parents."