The Irish Detective

By Thomas Kennedy

Each chapter is a complete story. But the characters build through the stories and you find out what happems next to them.

You are a very private investigator in the capital city of Ireland of today. Like any city there are problems. Your job is to find Irish solutions to Irish problems.
Your team includes your beautiful Russian assistant Alice and the dangerous ex-army ranger, called the PMC, who has a slightly scrambled brain. Your customers include gangsters, police, businessmen, politicians, and tailors each with a unique problem.
Some adult scenes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Kennedy
• Release date: Apr 7, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450563819

Thomas Kennedy

Irish writer of:Irish American Fantasy:Kate and the Raptor DinosaursDruids Raptors and EgyptiansThe New York DruidThe Chicago Druid and the Ugly PrincessThe San Francisco LeprechaunsThe Boston Druid and the WizardThe Great FuryThe Dublin FosterlingThe God of Death takes a holidayHard Boiled/Irish humor:Dark Drink and ConversationMore Dark Drink and ConversationRomance/Thriller:The Irish DetectiveLove on the Dark Side of the CityTwisted Love and MoneyForensic AffairsDebits and CreditsThese books are also available on Amazon.com (print), Audible, Kindle, Barnes and Noble etc,.

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THE IRISH DETECTIVE

By Thomas Kennedy

Copyright 2010

THE IRISH DETECTIVE

This is a book of fiction and none of its characters are intended to portray real people. Names characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 978- 1450563819

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

By the same author:

Dark Drink and Conversation - A warm tale of conversation, murder and mystery

More Dark Drink and Conversation - A warm tale of conversation, kidnap and mystery

Love on the Dark Side of the City - A Romantic Thriller set in Dublin, Ireland

Twisted Love and Money - Romance against a Business background

Druids Raptors and Egyptians - Children’s fantasy adventure

The Irish Detective

Chapter one

NO WAY TO TREAT A LADY

They say Eskimos have a hundred words for snow. The Irish should have the same for rain. Think black-grey cloud scudding over a small shiny silver sliver of a moon, driven by a gusting wind that’s sheeting in small rain drops by the gallon. Think dripping trees and hedges and daylong cold wet paving.

Aided by the clouded sky the gloomy half-light of evening is giving way early to dark of night.

Being a private detective has its dark moments. Like this moment, motionless in dark blue cap and raincoat with water, like wet, dripping cold down the back of my neck. I stand waiting, almost invisible in the shadowy cloudy gloom of an Irish winter. My left shoe, definitely not a gumshoe, is letting water seep into the socks around my toes.

I have a clear view into the ground floor flat, in through her bedroom window. It’s a while but when she enters and turns on the light she is naked, wet, towelling and in a hurry.

Now she’s getting ready, expecting him any minute now. I can’t take my eyes off her rounded breasts. They are so proud, so glorious, and so naked, as she brushes her long black hair and smiles at herself in the wardrobe mirror.

I stiffen, it’s only a light noise, but it’s new. Then I see the cat just as it sees me. We freeze, but I shake my head to dislodge raindrops from the brim of my cap. The cat thinks it is a move and scrambles, knocking over some wine bottles beside the recycle bin.

For a second my heart stops as she comes towards the window. The light is on inside, she can’t possibly see me, but I stand in, embracing the darker shadows of her back yard.

She opens the window. She shivers as the rain, wind and cold toss her hair and wet her breasts.

Friday, she whispers, psspt, psspt… and she snaps her fingers gently, her breasts bobbing in sympathetic rhythm Milkies…Friday.

The cat jumps on the ledge, pauses to give me a contemptuous glance. I stare back, as she picks it up and disappears out of sight, direction kitchen, presumably for Milkies…

I know it’s time to set the video camera. I have worked out the angles and get the car as it arrives. Then I get them together as they come straight into the bedroom. She’s in a nice red dress, setting off long black tresses over creamy white skin. I reckon that dress could last her a lifetime, she can’t have had it on for more than three minutes. Now it’s off again. Mind you she could fold it with a little more care, but then, she’s not the one who took it off. And the camera keeps rolling. A phone starts to ring inside, its notes just penetrating to the yard, but I have enough, time to wrap up.

He’s having an affair, and using the Garage takings to pay for it.

Another woman? What Garage?

Uncle Joe left me the Garage in Drimnagh. My husband runs it part time and collects the takings when it closes at ten p.m.

He’s skimming?

That’s what I think.

Your Garage, his books?

Exactly, he’s cheating. But it’s worse, there’s another woman, I can just tell.

What do you want me to do?

Catch him at it and I’ll divorce him. I’m fed up with his oily fingers on my Garage.

I slink back across the city. The rain whips my mood downwards; this is not the sort of work that makes me proud. But needs must, like everyone else in this city, I have to earn my crust as best I know how.

I’m thinking, funny how a kick in the ass has led to this. Mind you, it was on an occasion when there was drink taken. But a junior member of the police force, a young Guard, should never kick a Sergeant in the ass, even on a social occasion. And especially not Sergeant Dwyer, who was celebrating his engagement to a young black haired Russian beauty. Upset his dignity, but they stopped him from taking me apart.

Then of course for reasons unknown, I’d taken a liking to the drink. And when I left the guards, my wife left me. Made cruel remarks about useless drunks and having a thing about men in uniform. I’d offered not to hand back the uniform but she said it wouldn’t be the same, not when I wasn’t entitled to wear it anymore.

Pendleton, now there’s an unusual name. She married him soon after the divorce, a big Donegal Guard who was my partner and minder over a few years. Sure, wasn’t it me put them together when I was a drunk and they were both covering my ass. It wasn’t all he’d covered.

And Sergeant Dwyer had got my ass in the end. Never a man to forgive, he got in tight with Pendleton and enrolled him to stitch me up.

My mouth is dry like something foul and sticky, so I drink the bottled water. I don’t smoke anymore either. It goes too well with the drink.

She’d insisted, come straight here with the evidence.

Eyes, doe eyed, smile, vulnerable, cash in advance, and balance on delivery. She’d be upset, maybe tearful, maybe… I don’t go there, but that is not to say I won’t. Business first.

I know the codes and the big metal gates slide back. Her house is third on the right inside the gated estate. The other houses have lights on here and there but every light in her house is on, including the porch and driveway. I stop. I don’t like it.

As I go to reverse, hands grab at the doors and a truncheon knocks in the driver’s window. A big, uniformed Guard drags me out and spreads me across the bonnet, what have we here? he remarks with a grin.

There’s a bare bulb in the ceiling light and two chairs with a table. Pendleton is behind me, as far as I know, standing with his arms folded. I know the scene, but previously I’ve only viewed it from the friendly side behind the two-way mirror. I know Pendleton is good at interrogation, remembering his ham fists and the way he might…

Well this makes my day, Sergeant Dwyer enters, relaxed, urbane, pleased, strangely excited, dressed in smart suit, shiny shoes and open necked shirt. Mutton dressed as lamb. Every pore oozes repulsive and a pimpled red flushed face with deep-set granite eyes of indiscernible colour supports this.

Me too, I jest, gut tightening. I know I am in trouble; they’d want the case if I was in trouble and they have the case.

Activated by my light remark, Pendleton is twisting my collar from the rear and his other clenched fist is coming into view.

Easy, Dwyer quietens him down, not sure of the ethics of thumping an ex-policeman, one who recently was one of them. Pendleton releases, but stands close. I sense his large threatening presence behind my right shoulder blade.

Dwyer throws the file on the table as he sits.

Yeh came back, did yeh leave something in the house?

Business, I had an appointment.

What business?

That’s private.

Not any more, you need an alibi.

I was elsewhere, on private business.

Found a tripod in the booth, but no camera.

Useful for steady shots.

Nice, you had a camera on the tripod?

Yeah, I work the angles and use the tripod for a better shot.

Can it work on its own?

What?

The Camera, could it work on its own, stood on a tripod, just filming away. You could leave it to do murder and then come back?

I only use the best.

The silence follows. I know the routine. He’s waiting for me to speak. He glances at Pendleton and I try, poker faced, not to stiffen, wondering if this is the signal for a pasting.

Get us a cup of tea, Dwyer says and Pendleton shuffles out.

Cigarette? he offers.

No thanks, I’m off the fags.

And the drink?

And the drink.

Funny, your finger print was found on the Southern Comfort bottle.

I poured her one.

He said she was having an affair.

Who said?

Some of the neighbours. One man in particular was able to describe the car.

Did you tell him it was me?

No but he identifies the car and recognises you from the photo.

I try to smile. Dwyer has never forgotten that kick in the ass.

Tell me about it? I offer.

He goes sour. I’ll tell you in court, you low bastard, he hisses.

It comes to me that the friendly cup of tea is probably no longer a runner.

Are you charging me? I try defiance.

Just look at the state you are in. Dirty raincoat, soles gone on yer shoes and now yer a murderer. I’m going to enjoy this.

I want a lawyer.

Want what yeh like.

And?

I’ve a few things to tie up. So I’m holding yeh in a cell overnight. You can have a lawyer when we charge you in the morning.

With what?

Murder, yeh ejit.

The holding cell is a cage, largely for drunks. The one in the corner is quiet so I go sit beside him.

Garda Griffin brings the tea when the shift changes. Nice guy Griffin, but not the brightest. They keep him on the unpopular station night shift in case he gets lost outside on patrol. But he says he likes the graveyard shift, always friendly, accommodating, trying to please, he knows he has his limitations.

I lean in and talk earnestly to the drunk who stares back. I use his handkerchief to wipe the saliva from his face. He smiles and gestures, lost for words, vacant eyed.

Nobbler, Griffin’s tone is warm as he addresses me by my Garda nickname. Is your name on the list?

Just getting a brief from the client, I say, nodding to the drunk. Do you mind if I join you for a cup of tea outside? This place stinks.

Not at all, he says, agreeable, pleased to have company on the night watch. If you’re finished your business Nobbler, you might as well come on up. I have some chocolate biscuits upstairs.

I was sure Griffin would be all right. They all know he is an ejit. They’d only do him if they needed a fall guy.

I’m less than pleased with the state of my car. They could have asked me to open the door. Bits of glass everywhere. And I have to hotwire it to get it started. Lucky they hadn’t alarmed it, probably because of the broken window. Camera still in the cavity I’d had built under the rear seat.

Last time she’d been seen alive was on the security video over the gate into the Estate. Arriving with yours truly that same evening. I’d met her after a call, I think he’s seeing her this evening, same suit, same excuses.

And there was the tape for the previous week when I’d called, and the week before that. Funny how we’d got on so well. She’d given me a house key and the code for the gate.

I knock on Jennie’s door. She’s a hard bitch, dyed straw hair with dark roots, abundant black eye shadow and dangerously red nail polish, a whore who made good when the property boom started. Hard as nails, but of course with a heart of gold. In the early days she’d been on my beat. I’d left her alone in return for the occasional favour. Nothing serious, I was a married man, just the occasional hand job. We’d gotten friendly in a friendly pals sort of way.

Knows men, just a glance and she stands back. Come in, you need a shower. You can stay one night. Keep it under the towel, I’m not interested.

Suits me, I smile, happy in the knowledge that she runs the best Bed & Breakfast on this side of town.

She turns up the collar of her dressing gown as she glances out at the weather. A real lady, not a word about getting her out of bed so late in the night.

It’s after my shower when she mentions it. She’s rubbing the oil into my shoulders showing she has a good hand for a massage. It’s under the towel but I’m getting optimistic. The cup of coca she made is warming my fingers.

Did you see the news? A Guard’s wife was murdered in a washing machine.

No.

Apparently her former husband was also a Guard. He’s being held for questioning. No names released yet.

Did they say he did it?

It didn’t say. It was on the late news.

Before I get my head down in her already warm bed I decide to phone Dwyer. She’s gone up so I pick up the phone in the hall.

Dwyer is snappy and groggy, but he wakes up fast.

Who’s this? he demands.

Who do you think?

Jasus! he exclaims, is Griffin letting you use the Station phone? Put him on to me, I’ll lift him out of it.

Steady now, you’ll only upset him, just listen to me.

This better be good.

That washing machine.

Yeah?

Did it have a timer plug for the economy electricity?

What?

Automatic timer, it turns the machine on in the evening when the cheap rate electricity clicks in.

What of it?

You worked the time of death less the time of wash cycle to get the time of murder, am I right?

Maybe.

But the button on the machine could be pressed anytime and the timer would still only click in the late evening.

Are yeh saying she was trapped in it for hours?

Maybe.

Yer desperate. I note yer comment. We talk in the morning.

Just a minute, tell me, how did you get on the scene of the murder?

Phone call, a tip off.

To the Station?

To my mobile phone.

Someone who knew your mobile.

It’s no great secret, anyone who worked with me…like yourself.

Recorded?

No.

Recognise the voice?

No.

Not me then?

Don’t know your voice.

But…

Get off the line and back to the holding cell. I’ll talk to yeh in the morning, after I’ve talked to Griffin.

G’ Night Sergeant.

Funny how people can be so helpful when you catch them off guard, especially late in the night.

You won’t need your towel, she calls down and I go up, turning off the lights as I go.

I’m restless. I get up early.

There’s a clean shirt and underwear in the closet, she murmurs with a satisfied sleepiness. They might fit you.

Thanks.

Would you like me to fix breakfast?

Take it easy, I’ll let myself out.

You know how to contact me.

Sleep tight.

The car looks worse in daylight. I get some clear plastic in her kitchen and some sticky tape and make a temporary window.

When I get there she opens the door, looking surprised. They are under the pink dressing gown that goes up to the neck. Friday the cat, sneaks out the door around her legs, with hardly a glance in my direction.

Yes?

Sergeant Dwyer? I say.

At work, you can get him down at the Station.

I’m the former husband of that woman who was murdered last night.

Something clicks in her eyes, we’ve had occasion to meet but she can’t remember when and now she places me from years ago.

You poor man, my husband mentioned he was to talk to you down the Station this morning. Did you miss him?

Not really, I wanted a word with you.

Me? Now she’s blocking the door, cautious curiosity overcoming sympathy.

About Pendleton,

Pendleton?

A cup of tea would be nice. I sound low.

After a pause, Come in then.

Pendleton, I say as she pours hot water into the teapot.

Your wife’s present husband? she asks, eyes sympathetic but showing she’s up with the state of things.

Yes, I’m sure you know him?

He works for my husband.

He was here last night, in your bedroom.

How dare you!

Milkies for Friday, back window.

She pulls her dressing gown tight. You were there?

With a video camera.

Jesus! You bastard!

I’m glad she’s not still holding the kettle.

Relax, your husband hasn’t seen it.

He was working the two to ten shift with overtime.

Predictable.

Did you kill her?

No, funny thing, we got on really well after the divorce.

Happens.

What time did Pendleton leave?

He gets a call on his mobile from my husband.

In the middle of everything?

Pendleton would enjoy something like that, but my husband says he has to come quick, there’s a problem.

And?

Pendleton smiles at me and replies he’ll come quick. He leaves soon after.

Thanks, I’m trying to get a fix on things.

I’ll let you see them again if you let me have the video.

I’ll think about it.

Do you want me to call my husband and tell him you came here?

No don’t mention it. I say and finish my tea. I’ll go, and I’ll be in touch.

She gives a tight smile. I think, she makes a good cup of tea.

Why did you video me? she asks.

My wife asked me to.

Your former wife.

The piano bar in Finnegan’s pub is a good place to while away an afternoon. He’ll let you tinkle the ivories so long as you are drinking. Reformed alcoholics like myself can get by on rock shandies.

Dwyer disappoints the barman, joining me in a rock shandy.

You phone, here I am. This better be good

You off duty?

You have a brass neck. How’d you get out.

Good behaviour.

What do you want?

I need to talk to you.

We can talk back down the Station.

I need a minute.

No problem, I have the place surrounded.

You said you’d come alone.

In alone, I’m going to give you your minute.

Pendleton was screwing your wife.

He grabs me, jaw set.

I have it on video, I get in quickly.

He pushes me back. Where is it?

Well hidden now.

I want it.

I need it.

What for?

Defence. It’s my alibi and evidence against Pendleton.

Evidence?

He was screwing around. My wife called me and asked me to catch him so she could divorce him.

Divorce? Was there someone else?

Me.

Idiot.

We got on great once I sobered up and went on the wagon.

Idiot.

He signals for a whiskey and pushes away the rock shandy.

What are you telling me?

Pendleton…

Was screwing my wife, so what?

He killed my wife.

His wife.

Exactly.

Pity about you so.

He was a bastard.

Was?

Is.

Was.

Was?

Found dead, someone garrotted Pendleton last night.

Last night?

He was staying in a Bed & Breakfast. His wife’s house is sealed off as a crime scene. After our interview at the Station I told him he had to go, to take a few days off.

Not at Jennie’s B&B?

You both knew her.

I knew her best.

So I hear.

He was garrotted in Jennies?

We are checking up on the guest list, all the rooms were full.

Jasus.

Where were you?

Me?

Last night.

In bed.

I know, Jennie says you were pouring hot wax down her whatsit at the time of death. Some alibi.

She likes it that way.

Did you do him?

What do you think?

Jasus, how would I know, and your minute is up.

All right, I say, flattened by the news of Pendleton. Bring in your heavy gang.

He fiddles with his drink smiling to himself. You haven’t a hope you know. I can do you for both murders.

Shit happens.

But I’ve been thinking.

What?

Me and Pendleton and your former wife, we had a garage.

Her garage, from her uncle Joe?

Me and Pendleton used it to launder some money.

That why she got laundered?

Could be.

You better tell me.

They way I see it, either I do you for the two murders, or you come over on to my side.

What side is that?

The wild side. He laughs and orders another but I stick with the rock shandy.

I’m in, I say. I don’t see a lot of options.

Right.

So call off the heavy gang.

Didn’t bring them.

Funny, I thought you did.

Yeah well, time enough for them. I need you to kill someone.

Oh yeah?

Someone ruthless. Cross him and when he goes to work he doesn’t just take out the target.

The target?

First he kills their wife and children and then the target.

Jasus, why isn’t he behind bars?

You know why.

You have to prove it.

My wife, she says you visited her. If you were working for him…

She’d be dead.

I want you to take care of her.

What do you mean?

Protection. You go into hiding. Keep her under wraps.

Under wraps.

I give out that we are looking for you for questioning, but I go after the Rumanian.

The Rumanian?

While you work out a way to kill him.

The Rumanian.

And at the same time I go after him with the law. Pincer movement.

In the meantime he’ll be after you and your lovely wife. What about your kid?

Shit happens but I’ve taken steps. Young Clive, he’s down to Kerry to stay with his Granddad. They’ll not find him there.

And you’ll try to arrest the Rumanian?

Yeah, but he has to go down, to dangerous to be left alive.

Jennie has a lot of old Tenements. I phone her and she lends me a room.

Dwyer phones his wife and I pick her up on O’Connell’s Bridge.

Call me Alice, she smiles as she slides into the car.

We’re blindsided by a bus on D’Olier Street, but I’m watching like a hawk.

The Biker looks like any other biker, Black helmet, black leather, powerful bike, except as he starts to come alongside he reaches in behind and comes up with a gun with silencer. What catches my eye is his boots. Since the sole in my left shoe went I’ve been into footwear. Alligator, maybe Gucci?

I do a hand break turn on the one-way street and my rear end puts him under the bus. Leaving a traffic snarl up, horns and screeching of brakes, we cut across to the North side of the City.

What was that? she asks, still continuing her makeup. Her lipstick smeared across her cheek when I did the hand break thing and she’s rubbing it. Red lipstick makes her eyes look devilish.

Some nut on a bike, I say.

I make a call, tell Dwyer about the Biker.

Heard, he says. You’re wanted for dangerous driving, someone got your number plate.

Your Romanian friend must be hiring hit men, watch your step.

I got a warrant for his arrest.

And?

Gone to ground.

Jasus.

Keep your head down, he advises.

Will do, I say.