Chapter 38
DETECTIVE MOORE
Missing persons.
AJ Quinn.
David Walsh.
Gangland murders.
Missing persons.
AJ Quinn.
The wheel just keeps spinning; I can’t seem to catch a break. It’s like every lead I follow just circles back to the same dead end.
Pat Fitzgerald taps on my office door, peeking his head in with a concerned look. “If things are that good, I doubt handing you this report is going to make your day any better.”
I groan, willing the pressure building behind my eyes to dissipate. “Who died now?”
“No deaths,” Pat replies, handing me the report with a slight grimace. “None that we know about anyway.” He takes a seat in the chair across from me, his shirt rumpled and stained with careless coffee stains.
I lift my eyes from the desk long enough to ask, “Do you want to just rip that band aid off, or do you want to dance around it for a bit?”
Leaning forward in his chair, Pat sighs and says, “I’ve gone through countless hours of surveillance footage; there isn’t a trace of David Walsh anywhere in the airport. It looks like he never went in, never mind boarded a plane.”
I imagine my expression darkening as I process this information, my fingers tapping nervously on the desk.
“He doesn’t hold a full licence, though we know that has never stopped him from getting behind the wheel before,” Pat continues.
“It’s possible he drove out there to abandon the car, but forensics have already gone through it and didn’t find anything useful.
So, if he wasn’t planning on fleeing the country or hiding his car, then why would he have driven out there in the first place?
And how did he leave? There is not a single camera in the car park or surrounding area with his face on it.
” Pat leans back in his chair, agitated and exhausted, with an aching back from having to watch hundreds of hours of security footage and a headache that only comes from screen eye and lack of sleep.
I squeeze my eyes shut; I should have seen this coming. “He wants us to think that he’s left the country.”
“Why would he want to do that?”
“To get us to drop our guard,” I bite down on my molars. We did just that, but we are not the only ones. Reaching for my phone, my thumbs fumble over the screen as I dial Joe’s number.
“Come on, pick up,” I mutter under my breath, half rising from my chair. Joe’s phone rings and rings, until finally he answers, “Greengot.”
“Joe! It’s Brian. Listen, I think we’ve been played.”
“Slow down,” Joe responds, his voice steady and calm.
I quickly explain the situation, and thankfully, Joe seems to follow along without any confusion.
After a brief moment of silence, he sums up, “So AJ thinks Walsh is gone and has moved up his wedding, thinking the threat has passed for now.” Joe curses under his breath. “Even on his wedding day, I doubt AJ will be that lax; he’ll have the place crawling with security.”
“He’ll be cautious,” I agree. “But what is AJ’s Achilles heel? Where would it hurt him the most to strike?”
Joe’s gasp is barely audible, but I catch it nonetheless. “Katie. Fuck, he’ll be separated from her for the night and won’t see her until—shit!”
“When is the wedding?” I press, fully out of my chair now and charging from my office, car keys in hand.
“Tomorrow,” Joe swears again. “Get over there. Get your boss to put as many men on her as possible. That’s where they’ll hit him.”
“I’m on it,” I say, sprinting from the building and jumping into my car.
“Where are you going?” Joe presses, hearing the engine of my car roar to life.
“To warn Quinn.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Joe argues.
I pause, my hand on the gear shift. “It’ll be far worse for everyone involved if we don’t tell him and something happens to her.” I hang up the phone, shift into gear, and speed off towards Dalkey.
If AJ is anywhere the night before his wedding, he’ll be with his mother.