Chapter 31
MOORE
Words escape me as I find myself staring at the lumpy form under the plastic shroud.
Forensic investigators scurry about, tagging evidence, one is photographing the scene while another is taking measurements.
The grill of the car sports an obvious dent, with cracked paint peeling away from the impact point and shattered glass scattered across the pavement.
I glance in the direction of the tyre marks, spotting another body bag among the sea of high-vis jackets, flashing lights, and twisted metal.
“What are you doing here, Moore?” Jonathon McGrath, a garda on the brink of cashing in his pension, struts over from the wreckage. “When did a road traffic accident become homicide?”
Scanning the scene once again, thinking about the poor pedestrians and passersby who witnessed the event unfold, I ask, “David Walsh’s lads?”
“Yeah,” McGrath says, tilting his chin in acknowledgement. “Two of them; mowed down.” He sighs, straightening his tie, his forest green eyes drift to the lump that the shroud is covering.
“The driver?”
“In the wind. The car was reported stolen two days ago.”
Of course it was, leave no tracks. I doubt forensics will get so much as a partial print from the car.
It’s obviously bad news for McGrath, who will be up to his tits with paperwork, not to mention the media attention that will follow.
Two dead in a hit-and-run. I can see the headlines now.
“How bad is it?” What I really want to know is: how mangled are they?
Are they identifiable? Are they beyond recognition?
McGrath hesitates before answering, “It’s not pretty. Definitely not a scene for the faint-hearted.”
“Good thing I work homicide; I’ve got a strong stomach,” I reply, trying to mask the unease creeping up my spine. It’s never pleasant, but after working the job for over two decades now, I’ve learned to compartmentalise and focus on the task at hand.
“Forensics are still picking up teeth and bone fragments,” McGrath adds, gesturing to the nearest black shroud.
“The best part of his face is grated along the pavement, his jaw broken. The good doctor hasn’t had a look yet, but I’m going to say several cracked ribs and a punctured lung at the very least.”
I swallow back the saliva pooling in my mouth. He opens the shroud, and I catch a glimpse of the man’s eyeball hanging out of its socket. The metallic scent of blood and burnt rubber lingers in the air. “It would have been quick, at least. Dead as soon as he hit the ground.”
“Yeah,” McGrath nods solemnly. “This one over here,” he says, leading me to another body a few feet away. “Doesn’t look as fucked up.” Pulling back the shroud, McGrath reveals a body twisted into positions beyond what a human body should be able to achieve. “It is safe to say his neck is broken.”
I grimace. “You think?”
“Definitely not a yoga pose,” McGrath replies with a grim chuckle. “I’m guessing the first lad got the brunt of the car; this one caught more air before hitting the ground.”
“Looks like they both had a rough landing.” Fuckin’ hell, how fast was the driver going to do this much damage? It’s a wonder how nobody else got hurt.
“Yeah, well, only one of them got hit with the car a second time before the driver abandoned the scene.” McGrath points to the skid marks leading away from the scene.
“I’d say there was a getaway car ready and waiting for the driver.
” One look at me confirms McGrath’s observation, noting the tyre tracks leading away from the scene. “This was intentional.”
I nod, my eyes fixed on the skid marks. “I think Walsh’s gang has been dropping like flies for the past three weeks.
These are two of his associates that were likely targeted.”
“A rival gang?” McGrath presses, typing away on the notes app on his phone.
“It looks that way.” I quickly scan the area for any other evidence, despite my gut screaming that AJ Quinn is behind this in some way, shape, or form. “I need to make a call.”
There is only one person I can think of who will be as invested in this as I am. I dial his number, stepping away from McGrath to have a private conversation. He watches me closely, wondering who on earth I could be calling in this situation.
After several long moments and my eyes continuously jumping to the crime scene, I hang up, run a hand through my salt and pepper hair, and turn for the cafe down the road while I wait for my contact to arrive.
Popping the lid off my flat white, I add two sugars and stir it absentmindedly.
In the past three weeks, there have been more deaths than I can count, all relating to Walsh’s gang.
Five suicides, three shootings, eight collisions, four overdoses, nine accidents at work or in the home, and three cases of arson—and they’re just the ones that I can remember off the top of my head.
This all started with the missing persons case back in January, when those two men disappeared after leaving the Orion. I know AJ is involved; I know that Quinn and Walsh have bad blood between them, and I know that things are about to get even more dangerous.
Joe’s car rolls up to the curb, a swanky new Hyundai Tucson. éabha’s payout from the state is clearly being put to good use. Joe steps out of the car, a confident smirk on his face. I grab my coffee before going out to greet him.
“Thanks for coming.” I reach for him, shaking his hand firmly.
“No problem; I was close by. What can I do to help?” Joe’s hazel gaze shifts to the area beyond the crime scene tape.
Taking a sip of coffee, I think about how to get into this with him, then I remember who I’m talking to and decide to just rip off the bandage. “You remember AJ Quinn?” I meet his glare with a smirk.
“Hard to forget.” Joe clicks his tongue, and I allow myself a moment to look over my old partner.
He looks good; married life suits him. His cinnamon brown hair is freshly cut, his skin is sun-kissed, hinting that he’s not long back from his honeymoon, and his suit is crisp and tailored to perfection.
I’m unsure if it’s all down to éabha or the change in career that has Joe sparkling like a shiny new penny.
“You said those,” Joe nods to one of the body bags being hauled away by the forensic team, “are Walsh’s lads. ”
“Yeah.”
“So.” His lips twist into an amused grin.
Joe remembers AJ all too well, not only because he spent a good chunk of his career as a detective trying to nab the bastard, but also because AJ is also Joe’s wife’s ex-husband.
That discovery was a kick to the dick for Joe, who had a mini meltdown when he discovered that piece of information.
“Why do you think AJ is involved?” he asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Bar the obvious.”
“Well,” I say, taking another sip of his coffee. I can’t very well say I called him out here on a gut feeling. “As I explained on the phone, bodies have been turning up left, right, and centre. Ever since that missing person case I was telling you about.”
Joe nods in understanding. “And AJ just happens to be connected to all of them somehow,” he concludes.
“I’m sure the missing men were attempting to sexually assault two women, one of whom bears a strong resemblance to AJ’s new girlfriend.”
This gets Joe’s attention; he raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Bears a strong resemblance, as in?”
“The footage was too grainy to make out her face when it was visible on camera, and AJ was her alibi that night. They were caught at traffic lights a short while after the guys disappeared out of the Orion with two highly intoxicated women.”
“Was there two women in AJ’s car?”
“Just the one, and she was covered with his jacket, I can’t tell if the clothes are the same as the girl on the footage, but my gut is screaming that it’s the same girl.” Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I show a photo of the woman in AJ’s car.
“Well, damn, he doesn’t do average, does he?” Joe mutters, zooming in on the picture. I can admit AJ’s latest squeeze is anything but average; she’s a real head-turner in a girl-next-door kind of way. “I’m assuming you’ve spoken with her?”
I nod. “Yeah, she claims she was with AJ all night.”
“You don’t believe her?” Joe asks, handing the phone back.
“I don’t think she remembers a goddamn thing.” I think this poor girl is twisted up in AJ’s web and doesn’t even realise it. “She looked… off when I showed her the footage of the Orion.”
“Off how?”
I shrug. “Disturbed, angry, confused… anything but indifferent.”
“Huh,” Joe grunts, scratching at his five o’clock shadow. “So, you think she’s hiding something?”
I wait a beat for an approaching reporter to walk past us before responding. “I’m sure of it. But she’s always with him. Whenever I try to catch her alone, AJ is right by her side. It’s like he is her shadow.”
Joe sucks on his teeth, mulling over my words. “éabha said he was always the protective kind. Downright obsessive. He won’t allow her to stray far from him.”
I curse under my breath.
“You’re worried about her?”
“She’s autistic, according to AJ. She’s vulnerable, and he’s taking advantage of that.”
Joe frowns, making a disagreeable sound low in his throat. “Autistic does not imply incapability. She most likely has a few quirks. Given his character, I doubt AJ would exploit a disability in that manner. It’s not his style.”
“She has a past, Joe, a history of domestic violence. More calls have been logged to her childhood home than I can count. AJ knows this, and he’s using it to manipulate her.”