Missing Links: The detective Cathy Spragg series

By Rosaleen Flanagan and Paul Moore

Situated in the heart of Ireland, Carrabhain is a quiet rural village until the day Ned Cunningham is fatally attacked. Locals become even more nervous when within a week another from the village goes missing. With the discovery of their body, DI Cathy Spragg is more anxious than ever to find answers to what exactly is going on in the area befor

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosaleen Flanagan
• Release date: May 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781527223257

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Rosaleen Flanagan

Missing Links

The detective Cathy Spragg series­

Rosaleen Flanagan

Dublin, Rep. of Ireland

www.rosaleenflanagan.com

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MISSING LINKS

The detective Cathy Spragg series

Missing Links is only the first of a series of books on DI Cathy Spragg Crime Thriller

Cover by Paul Moore Photography

Illustration by Ruxandra

Layout Design by Francesca Giannotta

© 2018 Rosaleen Flanagan

Paperback: ISBN 978-1-5272-2326-4

Ebook: ISBN 978-1-5272-2325-7

Acknowledgements

This book would never have seen the light of day without the valued contribution from those who checked the script and properly advised on the necessary changes, Jo Donaghue, Cathy Leonard Doyle, Janie Lazar, Helen Ryan and Katherina Sheehan. Not being technically minded I am grateful for the assistance and guidance from The Southside Partnership Tús IT Team, in particular, Alison Byrne. From start to finish there were those gems who encouraged me to keep going, Patricia Bennett, Betty Callaghan, Mary Deegan, Martina Duffy, Cathy & Kevin Doheny, Frances Gallagher, Anne O’Neill Khalad, Hazel Lennon and Angela Long, not forgetting my supportive family.

A massive ‘thank you’ to you all.

My road to self-publishing was simplified by the help, advice and collaboration from Gian Luca Tapinassi and the Dublin Self-Publishing meet-ups (meetup.com/Dublin-Self-Publishing-Meetup/)

Friday - 28th February

9.20am

Michael Broderick wasn’t looking forward to that day’s assignment. However, he hoped to have it completed by lunchtime, leaving him the afternoon to pay a surprise visit to his mother. His sister Janet maintained their mother was lonely on her own all day while she was at work. She’d gone so far as to suggest they check out Nursing Homes in the area. He’d not be bullied into anything especially knowing how Janet was prone to exaggerate.

Taking the slip-road for Horseleap he drove as directed for Carrabhain. At the village junction he took a left and then a right along the Mulladoon Road. He arrived at the carpark of Leanne House & Gardens at ten o’clock.

Zapping the car door shut, he stiffened at the sight of his briefcase on the back seat. In that instant he realised just how inappropriately dressed he was for the job in hand. There he stood in polished shoes, crisp shirt and a navy well-pressed suit. And to have brought his briefcase was bordering on reckless. Attempting to calm himself he circled the car twice. There wasn’t time for him to head home, change and return as he only had that morning to carry out his assignment.

When he zapped open the boot, he could hardly believe his luck. He had totally forgotten the bag of his old clothes which his wife had handed him with instructions to drop it off at the charity shop. All he needed was to blend in with those visiting, surely that wasn’t too much of an ask! It was cold enough for a jacket, there wasn’t one but he picked out a respectable trousers and jumper. His shoes were too highly polished and the only footwear in the bag were a pair of tan sandals.

With no one around he crept into the nearby toilet to change. Returning to the car he grabbed the briefcase off the back seat. The cuffs of his shirt so clashed with his Kelly-green jumper that he dragged them up along his arm, out of sight. Opening the boot, he spread his suit along the spotless base, tie sat rolled on top, shoes nestled behind the briefcase toward the back, the bag of clothes to the front.

Heading for the café, he opened the top three buttons of his shirt and ruffled his hair. The two couples by the window watched him order a cappuccino while the woman serving behind the counter smiled on taking his money and handing him a receipt. When he sat at a table he noticed the man by the window impolitely staring at his tan sandals. Michael had bought them in Marbella. They weren’t cheap but turned out to be most uncomfortable.

A busload of tourists arrived as he finished his cappuccino. He joined those heading for the gift shop where a poor selection meant few purchases. From there he strolled past the group waiting for a house tour. Outside a breeze cut through him as he approached the shuttle bus for those interested in viewing the lake and gardens.

12noon

For two days a virus had left Matt sick as a poisoned pup and confined to bed. Though not completely recovered, he didn’t think it right for the Garda Station to be left unattended any longer. The other reason he was back on his feet had to do with the ten-mile cycle he’d planned with his friend Gerard for Monday evening. Remaining in bed would only leave him weaker in himself.

It had rained heavily over the previous two days, at times non-stop for hours on end, but now the sun shone. A group of customers stood in conversation at the counter of the supermarket as he passed. As a truck drove across the bridge he noticed how the river had risen, further downstream it would have spilled out any which way it pleased.

The phone was ringing when he entered the station. After switching off the alarm he went to answer it only to hear a woman apologise on dialling the wrong number. Although he had topped the sergeant’s exam two years back he’d ended up posted to the village of Carrabhain. The Grain Mill and Leanne House & Gardens provided some employment for the locals but most of them left in the morning for work in nearby Athlone. Dublin city life had never appealed to him, but due to his years of experience there and his two years previously stationed in Longford, he had expected a transfer to a similarly large town.

Feeling a shiver run through him, he switched on the kettle. There was no milk; he’d have to do with a mug of Bovril. What you had in Carrabhain Garda Station were two sergeants but no guards; Chiefs but no Indians. Admittedly Sergeant Richie Larkin was asthmatic and hadn’t worked in the last four months. But even on his own Matt found the job boring and repetitive.

Complaining to his wife Jackie got him nowhere. The fact she no longer worried over him as she had when he worked the Dublin city streets, was for her, a bonus. As a valued bank employee, she had secured a transfer to Athlone.

The one bright light on his horizon was Jackie’s pregnancy after fertility treatment. She had already suffered two miscarriages. Not only was she pregnant but expecting twins, due in mid-June. Her previous pregnancies had terminated by this stage and her doctor was happy with her progress. Matt hoped there would be no complications. Although Jackie came across as the cool practical one, he knew another miscarriage would break her heart and his.

A spoonful of Bovril was scooped from the jar. There was too much time for him to think, that was his problem. On his desk lay a summons which he’d attempted to deliver earlier that week to Joe Harding. But Joe knew to lie low. Matt checked it over as he answered the ringing phone. ‘Sergeant Bracken here.’

There was the sound of someone breathing in gulps. ‘He’s been stabbed in the leg,’ she managed. ‘And, and he’s dead.’

‘Who is this?’ Matt grabbed a pen off the desk. When she continued crying like a banshee he firmly added, ‘Calm down. Tell me who and where you are?’

She eventually blurted out, ‘It’s… it’s Jacinta, Jacinta Owens. I’m at Ned Cunningham’s place. I think he’s been murdered.’

Ned was a man in his eighties who nodded a hello whenever you met him in the village. His cottage was out on the bog road.

‘Jacinta, don’t touch anything. I’m on my way.’

Before he knew it, he was speeding along the Mulladoon Road, swerving at the first left turn and driving until he reached Jacinta’s car outside Ned’s cottage. When he stood out, the only sound was from the squawking crows peering down from the electric wires. At the door, he moved through the porch. A smell of smouldering turf mixed with a strong acrid stench like rotten eggs left Matt nauseated. He raised his hand to cover his mouth and nose. The place had been ransacked, turf basket pulled apart, ornaments smashed onto the floor, papers scattered next to the writing desk. Even the armchair cushions had been ripped open. About to step into the room Matt was quick to avoid the seam of blood running from the porch to where Ned’s body lay beyond the armchair. The old man’s usual ruddy complexion was faded to a pale blue-grey, his lips held a tinge of purple. The right leg of his trousers was bloodstained while the floor around his lower body was smeared in a dark liquid. On realising the cause of that stinking smell sour bile shot up Matt’s throat.

Ned was partly lying in a mixture of blood and his own excrement.

Crying softly, Jacinta was crouched down against the wall with Ned’s head resting in her lap. ‘He’s dead,’ was all she could manage.

Noticing the phone on the counter, unreachable from where she squatted, Matt could feel his temper rise. She had ignored his only instruction not to touch anything and had moved to where she was now positioned next to Ned. Not something that would endear her to the Tech Team when they arrived.

Matt headed for the kitchen area where cupboards had been emptied onto the floor. He glanced at a crying Jacinta running a hand over Ned’s forehead. In such a state, there was no point arguing with her.

‘Tell me if you moved him in any way?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘This was where I found him.’

Matt pulled out his mobile to phone District Headquarters in Athlone.

2.05pm

He was glad to find Garda Mulligan in the first squad car to answer his call for assistance. On realising he was the most senior officer present, Matt forbad anyone entering the cottage. The younger guard was instructed to check along the road.

‘Anything suspicious, a knife, sharp instrument, clothing or something that could have been taken from the residence. If you find anything, don’t touch it. The Tech Team will want to photograph its position before it can be bagged.’

It was a small yard, neatly maintained with the cottage on the left and a shed to the rear. The lock on the shed door had been smashed. Mulligan pushed it open with his foot. Inside, the piled turf against the far wall had been pulled asunder.

‘They must have thought he’d something valuable hidden here,’ muttered Mulligan.

They remained where they stood.

‘Ned never gave the impression he had anything worth stealing, then again you never know,’ replied Matt.

Mulligan agreed to stretch tape across the gate to prevent anyone from driving in. Just then, the Tech Team arrived. Head of the team, Tom Gilligan introduced himself. Matt mentioned the cause of the stench and that Jacinta was in the same position as he’d found her.

Tom poured himself into his overalls. ‘That just proves the man had been scared shitless.’ He then dragged a blue plastic cap over his wild red hair and covered his shoes. Taking his square leather case, he rolled his eyes and whispered, ‘At least you kept your distance from her, didn’t attempt to pull her away and destroy further evidence, that’s if there is any.’ When a young team member went to pass, Tom added, ‘Jack Aldridge here will need your fingerprints and shoe prints.’

Matt watched Tom enter and have a few words with Jacinta before a female member of the team led her towards the kitchen area.

With the arrival of three additional squad cars the place was beginning to resemble a crime scene. Detective Finnegan whom Matt had met before turned up with a colleague. They pulled on gloves and shoe covers and approached the cottage. Ashen faced and wearing a suit two sizes too big for him he ignored Matt who, at that stage had given Jack Aldridge all he’d required. At the door, a member of the Tech Team was peeling tape from the inside frame for prints.

‘Gilligan is it safe to enter?’ Detective Finnegan shouted.

‘Make sure to watch your step,’ came the reply.

From the window Matt counted five members of Tom’s team in the room. One scraping matter off the floor, another dropping swabs into what Matt presumed were sterile containers. The taller of the lot was taking Polaroids and the last, dusting for fingerprints. In the bedroom to the right of the front door Jack Aldridge was videoing the state of the room where the contents of the chest of drawers lay strewn on top of the bed.

Ten minutes later Detective Finnegan reappeared. ‘Where is the sergeant from Carrabhain?’ he loudly asked.

Matt stepped forward but it was the detective’s larger than life colleague with pen and notebook in hand who enquired as to what he knew of the deceased.

Matt outlined what he’d been told by Jacinta. Ned Cunningham was eighty-two years old and had lived at the cottage, alone, for the last forty years. It had been left to him by an uncle. He wasn’t married and had no children. His closest relative was his sister Dolores who lived in the homeplace just beyond the motorway slip-road for Athlone.

‘Her surname?’

‘I didn’t get that.’ His remark sounded absurd, ridiculous even. He couldn’t be sure if he had asked or if Jacinta had mentioned whether Dolores was married or if she had a family. Of course they were questions he should have asked.

Detective Finnegan then asked, ‘What was she doing here? Has she any clue what happened?’ He was referring to Jacinta.

‘She had planned to call, had spoken to Ned on the phone around eleven. The front door was open when she arrived to find the place as is.’ Matt added that her call came through to the station at around 12.20pm.

‘Could she have done this?’ Detective Finnegan whispered.

‘No,’ Matt was adamant. ‘From the bloodstain on the floor, Ned was dragged from the porch. Jacinta recently had heart bypass surgery. She wouldn’t have the strength for that and there’s no sign of a weapon.’

Detective Finnegan smirked at him, as did his colleague.

When another car pulled up outside the gate, Matt recognised the State Pathologist, Marie Elliffe. She quickly dressed into overalls from the boot of her car. Approaching Detective Finnegan, she mentioned she was coming from a meeting in Cork when she’d been notified of the incident.

‘I have an engagement this evening, I’ll do a preliminary examination before arranging to have the body transferred.’

It was some time before Jacinta, resembling a walking robot and dressed in plastic overalls was guided out the front door of the cottage.

‘They need my clothes,’ she shivered.

Matt was quick to take charge. ‘You’re alright now Jacinta, I’ll drive you home. Don’t worry about your car, Chris can collect it tomorrow.’

‘The keys are in the ignition.’

Once Matt had her settled in the passenger seat of the squad car, he went to retrieve the the keys from her car but left the car unlocked. On passing Mulligan he quietly suggested he give the vehicle the once over, just to be on the safe side.

Matt approached Marie Elliffe when she arrived out.

‘The victim was stabbed forcefully in the upper right thigh with what appears to have been a single-edged blade. But no artery was severed. The state of the body suggests he was terrorised which could have caused a heart attack. I won’t be sure until I examine the body more thoroughly. There is nothing obvious under his fingernails which suggests he didn’t fight back in any way.

Detective Finnegan asked, ‘Time of death?’

‘Rough guess between 11am and 1pm.’

It was then Garda Mulligan shouted, ‘There’s something here.’

The ground was soft from the recent rain. Close by the gatepost an obvious tyre imprint stretched down towards the road.

Detective Finnegan turned to the young guard. ‘Get a member of the Tech Team out here,’ he said and with satisfaction added, ‘Good on you Mulligan.’

4.15pm

Matt appreciated the heat of the station when he returned. Although the air was heavy with dryness, he was cold to the bone.

Jacinta had refused to allow him phone Chris to ask him to come home. Her husband worked in the Mill, it wouldn’t have been a problem. Matt then proposed contacting her daughter Aoife but was told that Aoife, along with her young son Josh were in Brighton visiting her boyfriend.

He couldn’t understand why Detective Finnegan hadn’t suggested engaging a Liaison Officer, for Matt wasn’t sure if Jacinta should be left alone. He had work to be getting on with but at least he was just across the street from Jacinta if she needed him.

There were three messages on the answering machine. Nothing that couldn’t wait. He was about to head back to the cottage when he had a call from Mulligan.

‘Detective Finnegan and Reeves are calling to Ned’s sister on their way back to town. Reinforcements are to commence a house-to-house enquiry. Detective Finnegan instructed that they call to you first seeing as you know the area. Expect them there in the next twenty minutes.’

It felt odd that Detective Finnegan was leaving him with such responsibilities when he hardly knew him. But at least now Matt had the name of Detective Finnegan’s sidekick, Reeves. Before reinforcements arrived, he’d start his report while the details were clear in his head.

Only three sentences in, the door opened and in walked Tess Fowley. A stout elderly woman parcelled in a brown coat.

‘Sergeant, myself and Bridget have come from Mulladoon and there’s vans and squad cars flying up the bog road at an awful rate.’ Her blue eyes watched for his reaction. Tess had lived in the village all her life. She knew the secrets of the place and had a clear sounding voice and open frankness which he valued. But not that day.

Taking a step closer, she asked, ‘Was something found in the bog?’

With its wide-open span like a blanket covering the landscape, some would think the bog was an obvious hiding place. Soft peat is easier to handle than heavy soil and you’d assume whatever you buried would disintegrate and be lost forever. That wasn’t the case. Waterlogged peat holds little or no oxygen, leaving it impossible for the micro-organisms that cause decay to survive. Also, the acidity of the peat itself is a preservative agent.

Coming from behind the counter Matt passed Tess to open the outer door. ‘An accident. I can’t say any more than that.’ He didn’t think it appropriate to discuss the matter with a local, not yet at any rate.

She stood her ground. ‘Don’t accident me; it is something serious otherwise you’d tell me straight off.’ Her eyes narrowed.

They both turned when the phone rang. Matt rushed to answer it. A female voice asked if he would hold for Superintendent Clarke. A first time for everything he thought, previously the Superintendent only spoke to Sergeant Larkin. With Tess staring at him beyond the counter, Matt turned to face the side window.

‘Is that Sergeant Bracken?’ The voice bellowed down the line.

‘Yes Sir.’

‘The attack of this defenceless man in his own home was a heartless cowardly act. We need aggressive action on this from the start if those involved are to be caught.’

‘Yes, Sir.’ It was unusual for Matt to feel nervous.

‘Although Detective Finnegan attended the scene this afternoon, in his condition, I believe this case is too much for him. We need help on this and not just from Regional Headquarters.’ His voice lost its initial gruffness.

‘I’ve spoken to a colleague in the National Bureau of Criminal Investigations. They’re heavily involved in that double murder from two weeks back and not forgetting that shooting on Monday in Dublin. They can’t spare anyone I would consider reliable until Monday.’ He paused. ‘Now I’ve been informed that DI Cathy Spragg is on leave from the Bureau and is at her holiday home in your neck of the woods.’

Matt had never heard of a Cathy Spragg. With it being such a small village, he’d be expected to know the names of every resident, including those with holiday homes.

‘Yes Sir.’ He stared hard out the window.

‘Right. Now I want you to call to her. Not all official or demanding. She won’t appreciate that we’re imposing on her. I’ve tried phoning, but her mobile is switched off.’ He took a breath. ‘She can refuse but give her the details. I can’t stress enough the difference it would make to have her on board.’ His tone was calm, an outsider would have guessed it was the voice of someone warmly advising a friend.

‘Yes Sir.’ Matt imagined a weight settling on his shoulders.

‘This man’s death will headline the six o’clock news. With the steady increase of rural crimes on the elderly the media will relish the opportunity of ripping us apart, limb by limb.’ He sighed. ‘If DI Spragg