Chapter 31 Logan
Logan
Connor doesn’t blink. I don’t either. The only sound is the laptop fan and the soft tick of the clock above the French doors.
“We need to see if Cathal has ever been in the Sailing Club,” I mutter. “Even for a second, it ties him to the place.”
“He wouldn’t be that dumb, would he?” Nuala mutters.
“Who knows?”
“Look,” she says, sitting up suddenly and reaching for the phone on the desk. “We need to talk to Stacey again. Can we trace an unknown number?”
“No,” I say.
“How do I get her to contact me again, then?” she asks in frustration.
“Well, putting the phone back together would be a start,” Connor says, his eyes on Nuala’s hands as she slots the battery back in and snaps the back on. “But unless she calls, there is no way to talk to her.”
“How can we make her call?” I ask out loud.
“We don’t,” Connor says, but he knows it was a rhetorical question.
“Wait!” Nuala says, standing up. “If Lisa was so adamant about getting the USB, maybe Cathal Brennan is on the videos somewhere. She was sent to retrieve it!”
I stare at her with pride. “If Lisa went after the USB, she must’ve known what was on it. And what could be so damning that she’d risk walking back into a crime scene?”
Nuala beams at me, her green eyes lighting up. “Exactly. She was desperate to get it.”
“We need to get Dave back in here,” Connor says. “And we need to go through these files methodically.”
I nod and move to the door, opening it to find Dave hovering in the hallway. “Get back in here,” I tell him. “We need to search for a specific person.”
Dave shuffles back in, adjusting his glasses nervously. He sits at the laptop and looks up at us expectantly.
“Cathal Brennan,” I say. “Chief Superintendent. Search for him in the footage.”
Dave swallows visibly and looks at Connor, who gives him a brief nod. “This will take time,” he mutters. “There are hours of footage here.”
“We have time,” Connor says, though his tone suggests the opposite.
Dave picks up on that and hunkers down.
Nuala stands over him, glaring at the screen like I did a few minutes ago, the burner phone clutched in her hand as if she truly expects Stacey to call her back.
I can practically feel the tension radiating from her body. I step closer, my hand settling on the small of her back.
“You okay?” I murmur, keeping my voice low enough that only she can hear.
She nods, but the movement is jerky. “I just keep thinking about how Stacey deliberately involved me. She saw you look at me and decided that was enough reason to potentially get me killed.”
“Guess I wasn’t being very subtle,” I smirk, trying to make her smile.
It works. Sort of. She snorts. “You think? You ate those gross, dried-up sandwiches for me.”
“They weren’t that gross,” I comment, enjoying this moment of levity.
She gives me a scathing look. “The beef was all curled up at the ends.”
“Was it? I didn’t notice.”
“Well, Stacey sure did. Oh! She also said she found the accountant woman dead with the notebook stuffed behind the cistern. Whoever killed her either didn’t find it or deliberately left it.”
“Didn’t find it sounds implausible,” Connor says. “I mean, they couldn’t have looked very hard.”
“Unless they were interrupted,” I point out. “By Stacey.”
“So why not kill Stacey as well?” Nuala asks.
“She is Thomas Landry’s niece. A targeted hit would bring merry hell to whoever killed her. A massacre where fifty two other people died is a whole different thing.”
“Which begs the question, does Landry know his niece is still alive?” Connor says, almost to himself, leaning back in his chair.
I shift my weight from foot to foot, feeling the intensity of Nuala’s presence beside me. I don’t like this. Not one bit. Cathal Brennan is no small fish to fry. We’re talking about a Chief Superintendent. The kind of man who could make an entire building full of people disappear without paperwork.
“Wait,” Dave says suddenly, his fingers freezing over the keyboard. “I’ve got something.”
We all crowd around the screen. The footage shows the main bar area of the Sailing Club. The timestamp reads 23:14, thirteen days before the massacre.
“There,” Dave points to a tall man in a dark suit entering through the main doors.
The quality isn’t great, but the face is unmistakable.
The same face I’ve seen sitting in the front of pews at Sunday Service, like butter wouldn’t melt.
He moves with the confidence of a man who knows he’s untouchable.
“Is that him?” Nuala asks, leaning closer.
I nod slowly. “That’s Cathal Brennan.”
The footage shows him scanning the room before making his way to a booth in the back. Lisa appears moments later, sliding in across from him. They talk, their faces serious, bodies angled toward each other in a way that suggests familiarity beyond professional courtesy.
“There’s no sound,” Dave says.
“Unhelpful, then,” Nuala says.
I freeze when Brennan looks over his shoulder, straight at the camera, before moving his gaze on. Connor sees it as well, as he leans in closer. The image isn’t the best, but there is no mistaking it.
Lisa’s mad fucking coincidence isn’t so mad at all.
“Nuala,” I say slowly. “Are you sure you don’t know who your dad is?”
“What?” she says with a frown. “No. My mum never said. She never spoke about him except to curse him under her breath. He is listed as unknown on my birth certificate. Why?”
I lean forward, practically shoving Dave out of the way, and rewind the video. “Let me guess, you look nothing like your mum?”
She shakes her head. “No, exact opposite. Everyone always thought I was adopted. What are you saying?” She gulps as she looks at the screen and blinks.
“I think Cathal Brennan might be that unknown,” I say, pausing it, to stare at a face that definitely looks like it could’ve sired Nuala.