That’s the lid there.’
Katie looked at the photograph. She recognized the white plastic lid at once for what it was. Her late husband, Paul, had taken her on holiday to Tenerife and she had spent three days scuba diving.
‘Unless I’m wildly mistaken, Bill, this is a valve cover from one of those small spare air tanks that scuba divers sometimes have clipped to their belts in case of emergency. Have you checked it for fingerprints?’
‘Not yet, but we will.’
‘If that is a scuba tank valve cover, then it could be that our driver is a diver and that’s how he managed to stay underwater for so long, while all of those lads drowned. It could also mean that this accident was no accident at all, not even a mad drunken prank that went wrong. It could mean that it was carefully planned by somebody who wanted to see those lads dead.’
Detective Dooley said, ‘The driver picked them up from Barnavara Crescent and presumably brought them all down to the city. Most likely they all went to Havana Brown’s. It would make sense that they arranged for the same driver to pick them up and take them home. If it was the same driver, that was when he was planning to drown the lot of them.’
‘None of the city’s taxi companies had a call to pick them up that night,’ said Detective Scanlan. ‘I’ll check with their families if they know what taxi company they usually used. If they don’t know, maybe we’ll find it on their mobile phones once they’ve dried out.’
‘All right,’ said Katie. ‘But meanwhile we’re looking for a diver with a grudge. Maybe we should talk to the search and recovery team again. And maybe Lieutenant Breen. Between them, they must know just about every diver in Cork.’
*
Ruarí Barrett pushed his way out of the glass doors of the Boole Library at University College, turning his collar up against the rain.
A middle-aged man in a blue windcheater was standing close to the entrance, with his hands in his pockets, but he didn’t seem to mind the rain at all. It was only what Katie’s father would have graded as number two on the scale of Cork rain – ‘wetting’. Worse than ‘soft’, but not as bad as ‘rotten’.
Ruarí started to hurry towards the main quadrangle, keeping his tablet and his books shielded under his waterproof jacket. He was late for an appointment with his tutor, but he had needed to bone up on the design and analysis of self-excited jets.
He didn’t notice that the man had given him a thirty-metre start but was now following him, walking just as fast as he was. Faster, in fact, because he caught up with him as he reached the corner of the stark modern building. Students could be seen sitting inside, most of them bent over their laptops.
‘Ruarí,’ the man said, not loudly, because he was close up behind him now. ‘Ruarí Barrett.’
Ruarí stopped and turned around.
‘Yes?’ he said. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing to bother you,’ the man replied. ‘Just like you weren’t bothered when you took my daughter Caoimhe.’
‘What?’ frowned Ruarí. ‘Who’s Caoimhe?’
‘You took her, you and your scumbag pals. That’s who.’
‘Listen, sham, I don’t know what the feck you’re talking about, but I’m in a desperate hurry right now and I don’t have the time to play riddle-me-ree.’
‘This is no riddle, boy. You and your scumbag pals picked up my daughter Caoimhe from Rearden’s and you did things to her that a father should never have to hear about.’
Ruarí started to walk away, but the man caught up with him again and this time he snatched hold of his sleeve.
‘Will you ever fecking let go of me?’ Ruarí snapped at him, shaking his arm. ‘I have no idea at all what the feck you’re rabbiting on about!’
‘Don’t try to make a fool out of me, boy,’ the man retorted. ‘ His name was Ruarí and he had white eyelashes like a pig , that’s what she wrote. You’ve just answered to the name of Ruarí and all you have
Katie looked at the photograph. She recognized the white plastic lid at once for what it was. Her late husband, Paul, had taken her on holiday to Tenerife and she had spent three days scuba diving.
‘Unless I’m wildly mistaken, Bill, this is a valve cover from one of those small spare air tanks that scuba divers sometimes have clipped to their belts in case of emergency. Have you checked it for fingerprints?’
‘Not yet, but we will.’
‘If that is a scuba tank valve cover, then it could be that our driver is a diver and that’s how he managed to stay underwater for so long, while all of those lads drowned. It could also mean that this accident was no accident at all, not even a mad drunken prank that went wrong. It could mean that it was carefully planned by somebody who wanted to see those lads dead.’
Detective Dooley said, ‘The driver picked them up from Barnavara Crescent and presumably brought them all down to the city. Most likely they all went to Havana Brown’s. It would make sense that they arranged for the same driver to pick them up and take them home. If it was the same driver, that was when he was planning to drown the lot of them.’
‘None of the city’s taxi companies had a call to pick them up that night,’ said Detective Scanlan. ‘I’ll check with their families if they know what taxi company they usually used. If they don’t know, maybe we’ll find it on their mobile phones once they’ve dried out.’
‘All right,’ said Katie. ‘But meanwhile we’re looking for a diver with a grudge. Maybe we should talk to the search and recovery team again. And maybe Lieutenant Breen. Between them, they must know just about every diver in Cork.’
*
Ruarí Barrett pushed his way out of the glass doors of the Boole Library at University College, turning his collar up against the rain.
A middle-aged man in a blue windcheater was standing close to the entrance, with his hands in his pockets, but he didn’t seem to mind the rain at all. It was only what Katie’s father would have graded as number two on the scale of Cork rain – ‘wetting’. Worse than ‘soft’, but not as bad as ‘rotten’.
Ruarí started to hurry towards the main quadrangle, keeping his tablet and his books shielded under his waterproof jacket. He was late for an appointment with his tutor, but he had needed to bone up on the design and analysis of self-excited jets.
He didn’t notice that the man had given him a thirty-metre start but was now following him, walking just as fast as he was. Faster, in fact, because he caught up with him as he reached the corner of the stark modern building. Students could be seen sitting inside, most of them bent over their laptops.
‘Ruarí,’ the man said, not loudly, because he was close up behind him now. ‘Ruarí Barrett.’
Ruarí stopped and turned around.
‘Yes?’ he said. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing to bother you,’ the man replied. ‘Just like you weren’t bothered when you took my daughter Caoimhe.’
‘What?’ frowned Ruarí. ‘Who’s Caoimhe?’
‘You took her, you and your scumbag pals. That’s who.’
‘Listen, sham, I don’t know what the feck you’re talking about, but I’m in a desperate hurry right now and I don’t have the time to play riddle-me-ree.’
‘This is no riddle, boy. You and your scumbag pals picked up my daughter Caoimhe from Rearden’s and you did things to her that a father should never have to hear about.’
Ruarí started to walk away, but the man caught up with him again and this time he snatched hold of his sleeve.
‘Will you ever fecking let go of me?’ Ruarí snapped at him, shaking his arm. ‘I have no idea at all what the feck you’re rabbiting on about!’
‘Don’t try to make a fool out of me, boy,’ the man retorted. ‘ His name was Ruarí and he had white eyelashes like a pig , that’s what she wrote. You’ve just answered to the name of Ruarí and all you have
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