Private Dublin

Chapter 38

As we walked back to the main house, our search a bust, I puzzled over how we could develop new leads. It was very unlikely Sam Farrell would return. We’d searched the place thoroughly and hadn’t found anything sufficiently important to draw him back, and a man of his experience and skills would know it was only a matter of time before the Garda established a watch on the house. As a Dublin local with fifteen years on the police force, he was unlikely to be short of friends or places to hide out. The question was how we could identify those friends and places.

The front doors stood open when we climbed the stone entrance steps to Ballagh House, so we went into the marble hallway and saw Jackson and his employer sitting in a grand drawing room to our right.

“Anything?” Finch asked as we approached.

I shook my head. “If there was, we couldn’t find it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied. “I was hoping for easy answers and a quick end to this.”

“Can you provide us with details of any family or known associates?” Andi asked.

“There wasn’t anyone I can think of, but I’ll see what I can dig up,” Jackson replied. “His Garda referees might be able to point us to friends and family. I’ll make the approaches immediately.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“I’ll send you my executive assistant’s contact details, so you can let him deal with whatever client engagement material we need to complete,” Finch told us.

“We’ll get on that today,” Andi replied.

We said our goodbyes and returned to the Ford. Andi frowned as we drove away from the grand estate.

“How does someone who’s committed murder on another continent leave no trace of any wrongdoing?” she mused.

“Maybe that place is a front and Farrell lives his real life elsewhere,” I suggested. “Somewhere that connects him to Propaganda Tre.”

Andi nodded but didn’t say anything else as she focused on the winding country roads that took us toward the city.

Ten minutes into our journey, my phone rang, and I saw it was Mo-bot calling.

“Mo,” I said when I answered. “Go ahead.”

“I’m still working on the details, but the broad picture Lawrence Finch gave you is accurate. Sam Farrell is a decorated former cop from the Garda’s serious crime unit. He was a good one too.”

“But?” I said.

“How did you know there was going to be a but?”

“Because we’ve worked together long enough for me to know your cat-who-has-got-the-cream tone.”

Mo-bot laughed. “You’re not wrong, Jack Morgan. Bank records show Sam Farrell made regular trips to Monaco over the last few years. They stopped last year, soon after we broke the Propaganda Tre network over there.”

“I know you don’t believe in coincidences...” I replied.

“I don’t, but if I did, this would be a galactic-sized coincidence,” she said. “He made at least five withdrawals from the ATM at the Chalmont Casino.”

She was referring to the ATM that was once used by Propaganda Tre to help launder illegal funds for its members.

“Now that is a huge coincidence,” I agreed.

“I’ll see what else I can find,” Mo-bot said.

“Thanks,” I replied. “Speak soon.”

I hung up and turned to Andi.

“You catch that?” I asked.

She nodded. “Our man is tied to Monaco.”

“Yes. To a casino we uncovered as a major money-laundering front. So there’s no doubt Farrell’s part of the bigger picture.”

“What do you want to do next?” she asked.

“I don’t think he’ll come back, but we don’t have any other leads at the moment and it would be worth seeing what else we can learn about Lawrence Finch. We should stake out his place,” I suggested.

“I was thinking the same,” Andi revealed. “We might get lucky. Farrell might not come back, but at the very least we’ll see if we can trust Private’s most recent client.”