grifters and the shifters, not close enough to the action to produce the inside dope but picking up enough to give a friendly garda the occasional steer towards a worthwhile arrest.
‘You want a dig-out on this needle thing, and you want five hundred?’
‘It’s good.’
‘You know where they buried Shergar, then?’ Pushing away from the table, Synnott stood up. It was probably bullshit, but he’d listen to it. Making like he was about to walk away was part of the expected dance.
‘Five hundred.’
‘If there’s any message you want me to pass to anyone outside, maybe something you want sent in—’
‘I’ll do whatever they want, for the thing with the needle, I’ll plead guilty, whatever they say. But right now I need to be out. My kid—’
Dixie looked up at Synnott and stopped, as if suddenly aware that he wasn’t interested in her problems.
Synnott had one hand on his hip, the fingers of the other hand splayed on the table. Standing there looking down at Dixie like he was working something out in his head. Finally, as if he’d totted everything up and the answer came out just about right, he rapped his knuckles on the table and sat down.
‘Tell me.’
‘Do you promise?’
‘Scratch my back.’
She told him about the warehouse on the Moyfield Industrial Estate, how it had been motoring away for six or eight months, producing bootleg DVDs. It had everything – the machines for churning out the discs and the printers for the labels and inserts. ‘All top-quality. They bring it over from the States months before the movies are released here. They can charge top rates for that kind of stuff.’
‘Who?’
‘Do I get what I want?’
‘Who’s running it?’
It was one thing to get fifth-rate copies of movies shot on a Handycam by someone sitting in the stalls of a New York movie house. Making duplicates from a genuine advance copy of the movie needed good criminal contacts in the States. That, and manufacturing good-quality copies, took an investment way beyond the means of the usual quick-buck artists selling dodgy DVDs for a fiver at car-boot sales.
‘Lar Mackendrick.’
Thought so.
‘I’ll tell you exactly where it is, but they’re moving out – they’ve got a new place set up down the country, miles from anywhere. If you want this you’ll have to hurry.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘It – I can’t say where I got it, but I swear it’s good.’
Synnott said, ‘Three hundred.’
9
GALWAY
The yellow identity card said that the nutcase was named Wayne Kemp and he worked for Paladin Security Solutions, a Dublin firm. It took Garda Joe Mills five minutes to get the number of the company and discover that Kemp was currently on a week’s holiday. It took him another fifteen minutes to coax an executive in the security company to fax him a page from Wayne Kemp’s personnel file. There was little in that except the standard details of DOB, address and phone number. A start date told Mills that Kemp had worked for the company for six years. In a box at the bottom there was a handwritten note stating that Kemp had served two years in the army, then spent several years working in Britain before he had returned to Dublin. Mills rang back the executive and found out that the firm paid Kemp’s wages into a Bank of Ireland account in Ranelagh.
The bank would tell him nothing on the phone, so Mills rang Ranelagh garda station and they sent someone around to the bank and an hour later he knew that Kemp had had an account there for six years. It was a standard account that never went too much into the red, and never accumulated more than a few hundred. He had only once taken a loan, five grand, which he’d paid back scrupulously. The guarantor was his older sister, Mina Moylan, who was married and had an address in Bushy Park, Galway.
I’d never hurt a woman before.
On the way out to Bushy Park, Declan Dockery said, ‘I have a bad feeling about this.’
No shit,
‘You want a dig-out on this needle thing, and you want five hundred?’
‘It’s good.’
‘You know where they buried Shergar, then?’ Pushing away from the table, Synnott stood up. It was probably bullshit, but he’d listen to it. Making like he was about to walk away was part of the expected dance.
‘Five hundred.’
‘If there’s any message you want me to pass to anyone outside, maybe something you want sent in—’
‘I’ll do whatever they want, for the thing with the needle, I’ll plead guilty, whatever they say. But right now I need to be out. My kid—’
Dixie looked up at Synnott and stopped, as if suddenly aware that he wasn’t interested in her problems.
Synnott had one hand on his hip, the fingers of the other hand splayed on the table. Standing there looking down at Dixie like he was working something out in his head. Finally, as if he’d totted everything up and the answer came out just about right, he rapped his knuckles on the table and sat down.
‘Tell me.’
‘Do you promise?’
‘Scratch my back.’
She told him about the warehouse on the Moyfield Industrial Estate, how it had been motoring away for six or eight months, producing bootleg DVDs. It had everything – the machines for churning out the discs and the printers for the labels and inserts. ‘All top-quality. They bring it over from the States months before the movies are released here. They can charge top rates for that kind of stuff.’
‘Who?’
‘Do I get what I want?’
‘Who’s running it?’
It was one thing to get fifth-rate copies of movies shot on a Handycam by someone sitting in the stalls of a New York movie house. Making duplicates from a genuine advance copy of the movie needed good criminal contacts in the States. That, and manufacturing good-quality copies, took an investment way beyond the means of the usual quick-buck artists selling dodgy DVDs for a fiver at car-boot sales.
‘Lar Mackendrick.’
Thought so.
‘I’ll tell you exactly where it is, but they’re moving out – they’ve got a new place set up down the country, miles from anywhere. If you want this you’ll have to hurry.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘It – I can’t say where I got it, but I swear it’s good.’
Synnott said, ‘Three hundred.’
9
GALWAY
The yellow identity card said that the nutcase was named Wayne Kemp and he worked for Paladin Security Solutions, a Dublin firm. It took Garda Joe Mills five minutes to get the number of the company and discover that Kemp was currently on a week’s holiday. It took him another fifteen minutes to coax an executive in the security company to fax him a page from Wayne Kemp’s personnel file. There was little in that except the standard details of DOB, address and phone number. A start date told Mills that Kemp had worked for the company for six years. In a box at the bottom there was a handwritten note stating that Kemp had served two years in the army, then spent several years working in Britain before he had returned to Dublin. Mills rang back the executive and found out that the firm paid Kemp’s wages into a Bank of Ireland account in Ranelagh.
The bank would tell him nothing on the phone, so Mills rang Ranelagh garda station and they sent someone around to the bank and an hour later he knew that Kemp had had an account there for six years. It was a standard account that never went too much into the red, and never accumulated more than a few hundred. He had only once taken a loan, five grand, which he’d paid back scrupulously. The guarantor was his older sister, Mina Moylan, who was married and had an address in Bushy Park, Galway.
I’d never hurt a woman before.
On the way out to Bushy Park, Declan Dockery said, ‘I have a bad feeling about this.’
No shit,
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