Page 57 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)

Matt Mooney had been sure his day couldn’t get any worse, but he was wrong.

He’d had to release Bryan O’Shaughnessy with assurances from his solicitor that he’d return when or if needed.

The man had no current passport, so he wasn’t a flight risk.

There wasn’t enough evidence yet to charge him with murder.

The DNA at the scene was inconclusive. DNA on the wooden plank could be easily explained as he had readily admitted to handling it.

Mooney needed more. What he didn’t need was to be dragged in front of the super to talk to Councillor Denis Wilson.

The man had high ambitions of becoming a member of the Dáil in the next election, and he let everyone know every chance he got.

When he arrived at the super’s office, he was told that his boss had been called away unexpectedly but that the councillor was in the meeting room, waiting for him.

Here we go, he thought.

If he could detest someone based on appearance alone, it would be Denis Wilson. The man tried too hard to be something he was not. Too fit-looking, too damn handsome, and what was he like with those red cravats? Gimmicks, Mooney believed, could not make up for shallowness.

‘Mr Wilson, how can I help you?’ He plastered what he thought was a welcoming smile on his face. He probably looked tortured, but he didn’t care.

‘It’s Councillor Wilson.’

Fuck you, Mooney thought. ‘I’m very busy. Councillor. ’

‘I reckon that could be true if you were out there hunting a killer.’

‘I am extremely busy, but apparently I have to talk to you.’

Wilson’s face darkened at the slight. ‘I want to know if you’re close to charging someone with these brutal crimes.’

He could deny knowledge of what the man was talking about, but that would just be wasting time. Time he did not have. ‘We are following a number of lines of inquiry.’

‘I saw a man leaving as I entered the building. Norah Ward was with him.’

‘So?’

‘I heard reports of an arrest having been made. Was it him?’

‘I can neither confirm nor deny that.’

‘Well, if he was arrested, why did you release him?’

‘ Mr Wilson, if you have nothing to offer to assist me in my investigation, I have work to do.’

‘I recognised him. From when I was canvassing. Bryan O’Shaughnessy. Lives out past Spiddal, doesn’t he?’

Mooney raked a hand over his mouth and shook his head. ‘When you have information to help me, I will gladly talk to you. But for now, I have to go.’

‘Not so fast.’ Wilson made no move to leave the sunlit room.

He leaned back against the windowsill with both hands behind him.

The light caught a hint of dandruff on the shoulder of his otherwise immaculate suit.

That imperfection made Mooney smile. Wilson continued.

‘I heard stories about O’Shaughnessy. He was once incarcerated in Knockraw.

I make it my business to know about people, and he is a bad egg, mark my words. ’

‘Do you have evidence of any wrongdoing?’

‘Well, if he was in Knockraw as a boy, he must have done something wrong.’

Mooney sighed loudly, despairing of the human race. ‘A lot of people ended up in the industrial schools through no fault of their own.’

‘But his sister was sent to the convent.’

‘To be a nun?’ He knew right well what Wilson meant.

‘The laundry. She was just a child. God only knows what she did to be put in there. Or maybe he did something to her, if you get my meaning.’

Mooney felt his blood beginning to boil with red-hot anger. He had no time for bigots, no matter who they proclaimed themselves to be. He presumed silence might be his best option. Let Wilson burn himself out with his diatribe.

‘And there was a rumour that O’Shaughnessy got a local girl pregnant and she was sent to the laundry too.’

He could remain silent no longer. ‘Where are you headed with all this supposition?’

‘Just saying he’s one to carefully consider. These murders only happened when that reporter, a documentary-maker, started asking questions about the laundries.’

‘Oh, and did that documentary-maker speak with you?’

The question must have startled him, because Wilson started fiddling with his cravat, twisting the gold stud that was pinned in its centre. ‘She did. I have a great local knowledge. She thought I could help her find her way through all the shit.’

‘Great at stirring the shit too,’ Mooney said under his breath.

‘What’s that?’

‘I said you must have been a great help to her.’

‘Of course I was.’

‘In what way?’

‘Told her a few home truths about the people living around here.’ He looked daggers at Mooney.

‘Explain.’

‘I don’t have to explain anything to you, Sergeant. It’s your job to do the investigating.’ He’d dropped the ‘detective’ tag. Probably peeved because Mooney refused to address him by his title. Title. Hah.

‘If you are withholding information that proves critical to my case, I could arrest you for impeding the investigation. You’re familiar with the term “perverting the course of justice”? If you know something, you need to tell me now.’

‘I am not impeding or perverting anything. I’m here to help. I know you had O’Shaughnessy arrested and released without charge. You need to watch him very carefully.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘I’ve already told you about his past.’

‘I’m sure you have a past too, Mr Wilson.’ He saw Wilson’s torso stiffen. Good.

‘We all have a past, but the reason I’m warning you to watch that man is that Imelda Conroy mentioned him to me when we spoke.’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around?’

‘I don’t like your insinuation. I am a respected member of the community. I also run a very powerful radio station. You don’t want to be in the news headlines for making a big mistake, do you?’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Warning you, Sergeant. You need to charge someone with these murders, and in my mind O’Shaughnessy fits the bill.’

‘In my experience, personal vendettas are no way to run an investigation. I don’t tell you how to run your radio station or manage a council meeting, so I would appreciate it if you don’t tell me how to run my?—’

‘He did it. He killed the old gardener and he killed the nun.’

Mooney frowned. How did Wilson know anything about Assumpta Feeney? Her identity had yet to be released. Unless the super was one step ahead of him and had issued a press release. Or they had a leak on the team. Then again, he himself had consulted – for want of a better word – Lottie Parker. Damn.

‘And how do you know all that?’

‘When the Conroy woman spoke with me, she had nothing. No local names. I gave her three. Now two of them are dead. The third was O’Shaughnessy.’

‘How did you link him to the others?’

‘I linked him to the laundry.’

‘Thought you said he was in Knockraw. That wasn’t a laundry.’

‘Do your work, Sergeant. I’m not doing it for you. You can find the link. I think Imelda found it. And now she is missing. Probably in hiding, fearing for her life. And if she turns up dead, I will personally broadcast your incompetence to the world.’

As if. He thought of Wilson’s local radio station with its few thousand listeners. Then again, the man was a pompous ass. People might listen to him. More fool them. But he didn’t like that Wilson seemed to possess inside information about the investigation. That was something to worry about.

‘When did Ms Conroy meet with you?’

‘Oh, must be two months ago now. She was researching the subject matter at the time.’

‘And why did she contact you?’

‘Initially she was sourcing funding for her documentary. The nationals had told her they’d done all they could about the laundries. She was on her own.’

‘And did you?’

‘Did I what?’

‘Fund her?’

‘Not then. But I told her that if she ran the demos by me and if I thought they contained anything new, then yes, I would procure the necessary funding to get her radio series broadcast.’

‘Did you get to hear the tapes?’

For the first time, Wilson appeared uneasy. He stopped fidgeting with his cravat and ran his hand through his glistening hair. His eyes seemed to dart this way and that, as if searching for someone hidden in the room.

‘No. I hate to admit it and it’s much to my regret. But I think whoever your murderer is has the content. Or has destroyed it.’

‘Why would you think that?’

‘Why else did he go to kill Imelda in that cottage?’

‘You think Imelda was the intended target?’

‘Of course she was.’

‘And was she there that night?’

‘How would I know?’

‘You appear to know everything else about Ms Conroy. I think it’s time you made a formal statement.’

‘Why on earth would I have to do that?’

‘Because you are one of the last people I now know of who met with Imelda Conroy.’ He didn’t know if that was actually true, but neither did Wilson. He tried hard to hide his inner dance of glee as Wilson went into meltdown mode.

‘I want to speak with the superintendent to make a formal complaint about you.’

‘I’m afraid the super tasked me with talking to you. Come along now. I’ll try to find a nice cool interview room. Councillor.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘That is your prerogative. But as I said earlier, if I believe you have information pertinent to my investigation, I can arrest you. I don’t think that would do your run for the Dáil any favours. Do you?’

He knew Wilson might not consent to an interview, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to witness him squirm.