Stephen Leather - The Bombmaker

The other man nodded. He was younger, in his late twenties maybe, and considerably better dressed. He had on an expensive blue pin-stripe suit, a crisp white shirt and a tie with a crest on it, and gold cufflinks peeped out from his sleeves. He had a sharp, almost pointed nose, and inquisitive eyes that watched Martin's every move.

'Am I under arrest?' Martin asked.

'No, you're not,' said FitzGerald. He took off his spectacles and wiped them with the end of his tie. He looked up and saw Martin staring at the cartoon rabbit. 'Birthday present from my son, so I figured I had to wear it, you know? The wife bought it, obviously. My boy's only eight. I think she just enjoys embarrassing me.'

Martin said nothing. FitzGerald finished cleaning his lenses and put his spectacles back on, pushing them up his nose with his forefinger.

'So,' he said. 'Tell me about your wife, Mr Hayes.'

'What do you mean?'

'Does she embarrass you? Does she sometimes get on your nerves?'

'What the hell are you talking about?'

'Your wife is missing, Mr Hayes. So is your daughter.'

'And you're saying I did something to them, is that it?' He jerked a thumb at the tape recorder. 'Shouldn't this be switched on? Shouldn't you be recording this?'

FitzGerald exhaled slowly through pursed lips. 'All we're doing at the moment is having a wee chat, Mr Hayes. If you want to make it official, we can do that. But then I'd have to caution you and then a whole process would start that once started can be difficult to stop. So if it's all right with you, I'd like to keep this low-key just at the moment.'

Martin nodded slowly. 'Okay.'

'So, where is Mrs Hayes?'

'She told me that she was going to Belfast. To see her aunt. Her Aunt Bessie. But I've just been told by your Sergeant O'Brien that she's not with Bessie.'

'But you told the school that she'd gone to see her mother. Your mother-in-law.'

Martin shook his head. 'No. She must have misheard. It's her aunt. That's what Andy told me. But now I don't know what to think.'

'And you told the gardai that you don't have this Aunt Bessie's telephone number or address.'

That's right.'

'So you can see why we're a little concerned, Mr Hayes. What with there being blood in the upstairs hallway and all.'

'Andy tripped. She tripped and banged her head.'

'Recently?'

'Last week.'

'Did she go to hospital?'

'There was no need. It was a small knock, that's all.'

'The thing of it is, Mr Hayes, we'd like to reassure ourselves that your wife isn't in any trouble,' said FitzGerald.

'I wish I could help,' said Hayes. 'Look, last time I spoke to my wife, she said she'd be back soon. As soon as she calls again, I'll have her telephone you. How's that?'

'Where did she call from?' asked Power. It was the first time he'd spoken since walking into the interview room.

'Belfast. Well, I assumed Belfast. Now I'm just plain confused.'

FitzGerald leaned forward. 'Are you sure there isn't something you want to tell us, Mr Hayes? Something you want to get off your chest?'

Martin folded his arms and sat back in his chair. 'This is a complete waste of time. My time and yours. When Andy turns up you're going to look pretty stupid.'

'I'm quite happy to look stupid if it means we find your wife and daughter, Mr Hayes,' said FitzGerald.

'It's not a question of finding them,' said Martin. 'They're not lost.'

FitzGerald and Power exchanged looks. Power shook his head. Martin had the feeling that they'd run out of questions.

'Can I go now?' he asked.

FitzGerald grimaced. 'To be honest, we'd rather you stayed here for a while yet, Mr Hayes. We're continuing with our enquiries, and it'd be a big help to us if you were here to answer any questions that might arise.'

'Enquiries? What sort of enquiries?'

'We're checking the blood on the banister, obviously. We'd like a Scene of Crime Officer to call round. With your permission, of course.'

'I've already explained about the blood. My wife tripped.'

'We'd still like to check. And have the SOCO take a look at the rest of the house. And the garden.'

'The garden?' Martin's jaw dropped. 'What the hell are you suggesting? That I've buried my wife and daughter in the garden?'

FitzGerald put his hands up. 'We're not suggesting anything, Mr Hayes. We're just working our way through a standard set of procedures, that's all.'

Martin shook his head. 'No, that's not all. You're suggesting I murdered my family.'

'Please, don't get upset,' said FitzGerald, in a soft, low voice that a parent might use to try to calm a petulant child. 'If everything happened as you've told us, you've nothing to worry about.'

Martin glared at the two detectives. He wanted to lash out, verbally and physically, but he knew that such a show of raw emotion would only be counterproductive. The only way he was going to walk out of Pearse Street was if he co-operated. Or at least, appeared to co-operate. He forced himself to smile. 'Okay,' he said. 'Do whatever you have to do.'

Power held out his hand. 'Can we borrow your keys?'

'Sure,' said Martin. He handed then over. 'Be careful of Dermott, will you?'

'Dermott?'

'Our dog. He might run off.'

'We'll be careful,' said Power.

'And what happens to me while your people are checking the house?'

FitzGerald and Power stood up. 'This room's free, so you're welcome to wait here,' said FitzGerald. 'I'll send a garda in with coffee. Maybe a sandwich.'

The two detectives left. They closed the door but Martin didn't hear a lock turning or a bolt being pushed across. He put his head in his hands, wondering what he should do, whether he should tell them what had really happened to Andy and Katie or continue to lie to them.

Canning switched on the light and unbolted the door to the basement. Katie was sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes, when he put the tray down on the table. 'Scrambled eggs and beans,' he said. 'Come and eat it before it gets cold.'

'What time is it?' she asked.

'Eight o'clock.'

'And it's Sunday today, isn't it?' Her voice sounded stuffy as if her nose was blocked.

'That's right.' He had three comics under one arm and he waved them at the little girl. 'I got these for you. Come and eat your eggs.'

Katie slid out of bed and padded across to the table. She picked up a glass of orange juice and drank half of it in one gulp.

'How's your throat?'

Katie shrugged and took another gulp of orange juice. 'It hurts a little bit.'

'Let me have a look,' said Canning. Katie tilted her head back and opened her mouth. Canning peered down her throat. It was still red, and when he gently touched the sides of her neck she winced.

Canning sat down at the table. He removed the glove from his right hand and touched her forehead. She still had a temperature.

'You didn't bring any clothes with me.' She pointed at her nightdress. 'This is smelly.'

Canning smiled. 'It's not smelly.' He put his glove back on, then took a pack of Day Nurse from his pocket, popped out a tablet and put it on the table. 'Eat your eggs and then swallow this,' he said.

Katie started to eat and Canning put his elbows on the table as he watched her.

'Mummy says that's bad manners,' she said.

Canning raised his eyebrows. 'What is?'

'Putting your elbows on the table while people are eating.'

Canning sat up straight. Katie put a forkful of egg in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, then put down her plastic fork and leaned over her paper plate. 'If you let me go, I won't say anything. I promise.' She smiled. 'You won't get into trouble.' She waited to see what he'd say, smiling and nodding. Canning smiled behind his ski mask. Even aged seven, children, especially girls, could be so damn manipulative. His own daughter was the same. He could imagine Katie twisting her father around her little finger. Daddy, buy me this. Daddy, do this for me. Daddy, lift me up, carry me, love me.