Private Dublin

Chapter 44

That night, I spoke to Justine in her new hospital room. She seemed bewildered by the move. Mo-bot had told her she’d have a better standard of care there and had forced through the transfer by sheer strength of will. She was known as Private’s corporate mom for good reason, because when it came to pastoral care she was second to none. I knew Justine and I were particularly important to her.

“How are you feeling?” I asked Justine. “Apart from unsettled.”

“A little better. I think the change of scene has stimulated me. I walked further today than I’ve done for a while,” she replied with a proud smile.

“That’s awesome,” I said.

“What’s up, Jack? You seem distracted.”

“Just thinking about the investigation. I almost had Sam Farrell at Leopardstown. It’s frustrating to have come so close and have nothing to show for it. I’m trying to figure out how we find him.” It wasn’t a lie, but I didn’t tell her about the attack on me last night and the abduction, or the real reason why she’d been moved. Was it lying by omission? I didn’t think so. There was nothing she could have done to help, and the greater good in this situation lay in her being left undisturbed and able to make a complete recovery.

“Try not to get too stressed by it,” she said. “Our best breakthroughs often come during downtime, when we let the default mode network take over.”

I took it as a good sign that she was using her profiling expertise to counsel me. It showed her injuries were no longer occupying her entire mind.

“I’ll try,” I assured her with a forced smile.

We chatted about nothing much and finally said our goodbyes a little before midnight in Dublin.

Justine had told me to get some rest, but I struggled to sleep that night and kept reliving that feeling of powerlessness, being cuffed and at the mercy of a man who wanted to kill me and those I loved. It was a terrible, impotent sensation and one I desired never to experience again. I had to be more careful. Now Raymond Chalmont had shown his face, there was no doubt Propaganda Tre was behind the attack, which meant our enemies were very well resourced.

I finally fell into a restless sleep near dawn and woke when my alarm sounded at 7:30 a.m.

Andi was already in the kitchen by the time I’d showered and dressed. I’d chosen a light blue suit and dark blue shirt.

“You still want to see Finch?” she asked, pouring me a coffee.

We’d discussed our plan of action over Chinese takeout the previous evening and I’d concluded an upfront return to Ballagh House was our best option until Mo-bot could develop the leads we’d given her. It seemed more likely Lawrence Finch was involved given that I’d been abducted from his property, and if he was, another visit might shake him into making a mistake. I have never been one to give in to fear and relished the prospect of returning to the place where I’d faced violence. It was as much an affirmation of my refusal to view myself as a victim as it was a confrontation.

After we’d finished our coffee, Andi drove us out to Ballagh and we were shown through the gates by security and directed to a large summerhouse by a member of Finch’s close protection detail.

The summerhouse was warm and filled with tropical plants, creating a lush environment that felt vibrant and opulent. We found Finch swimming in a slate-tiled pool at the heart of the building.

He waved hello to us, completed his lap and hauled himself onto the poolside. He was a fit, muscular man who moved with assurance. He grabbed a towel from a lounger and dried himself, beckoning us to join him in a seating area.

“Would you like anything to drink?” he asked as he took a seat in a wicker chair.

Andi shook her head. “No, thanks.”

“Not for me,” I said. “Thanks.”

“We had some excitement in the night,” he revealed as Andi and I sat down opposite him. “It seems someone broke into Sam Farrell’s place. Looks like there was a struggle, but somehow whoever it was avoided being caught on the estate cameras. I wonder if Sam came back.”

Finch finished drying his hair and hung the towel across the back of his chair. I scanned his body for signs of the distinctive Propaganda Tre tattoo, but there were no visible markings of any kind, which was a relief, though I couldn’t relax entirely. There was no guarantee all members of Propaganda Tre carried the tattoo, but its absence was least a welcome indicator.

“That must be a headache,” Andi said. “Having the police poking around.”

“Ah, it’s okay. My staff are dealing with it. Always happy to help the Garda.”

He hesitated before he continued, saying, “Strange thing is, the police found a bag full of surveillance gear that I’m pretty sure wasn’t there when we checked the place before. Certainly didn’t belong to Sam.”

For a second, I worried he was going to press us about the discovery, but he moved on.

“How can I help you both?” he asked.

“I wonder if you know a man called Raymond Chalmont?” I asked. “He ran the Chalmont Casino in Monaco.”

Finch shook his head. “Never heard of the man. Sorry, Mr. Morgan. I wish I could say yes, but it’s a no.”

He looked me dead in the eye. His voice didn’t waver, there were no sideways glances, no hesitation, nor upwards rolls of the eyes, which are all common traits in those spinning fiction. I’ve interviewed hundreds of people in my career, and all my experience told me Lawrence Finch was being truthful. Which, given the fact I’d been abducted from one of his properties, meant that he was either a completely innocent man who was the victim of circumstances, or he was one of the most accomplished liars I’d ever met. Either way, this was a dead end. Lawrence Finch was giving us nothing. We’d have to wait and see what Mo-bot could uncover from the information we’d brought her.