Warrior Boy and the Chase of Death

 

Chapter 1 My Enemy’s Enemy 

 

Keep your friends close... 

It was six o clock in the morning and Chief Superintendent Fintan McColl glumly stared out of the window at the dawn coming up over Dublin Bay. The funeral last month had been an ordeal. McColl wondered how he had gotten through the last three months as Sive’s health had deteriorated. They had married late in life and had no children. That at least had been a mercy for them both. Her cancer had eroded her steadily day by day. He had taken a year’s leave of absence to mind her at home. That turned out to be over-optimistic. She worsened rapidly early in the period of leave. Soon she was in the Hospice on palliative care. She suffered silently and never made it difficult for him. Now she was gone, and he remained to face the world again. With Chief Superintendent Breslin dead and Inspector Callan having had some type of a mental breakdown the Commissioner was asking him to return to Dublin Castle earlier than planned to resume his role as the head of the Organised Crime Division.  

McColl breathed in deeply. Sive had guessed his secret. Her unspoken reproach remained a chasm between him and her peace. She had caught him looking across the Christmas party table at Gráinne Cullen a year ago and saw something in his eye. She heard it in his voice as he had flirted with Gráinne. Something between him and Sive died that night and she had never forgotten or forgiven him. Everything between them after that had come with a hurt look, a tired sigh or an icy silence.  

Now she was gone, leaving him alone; alone and free to move on. He knew whom he wanted, and he knew who prevented him. He stepped out on the balcony of the apartment block overlooking the Bull Island and stared to the right to where the coastline bent out of sight at Dollymount hiding Clontarf where Gráinne Cullen and her family lived. He thought about Dermot. Why did Breslin have to die instead of Cullen? He suspected Cullen was hiding something. McColl decided he was going to get to the bottom of it. If he could discredit Cullen, or if Cullen died in the line of duty… well, accidents did happen, especially if you made the kind of enemies that Cullen had made. Didn’t they? 

His Nokia rang. He checked the display. It was Sergeant Derry Baskin, one of the few he trusted. Wasn’t the man a first cousin for God’s sake?  “Sorry to wake you Chief Superintendent but you did ask me to let you know the moment we had a trace on O’Leary.” “I was already up, Derry,” said McColl crisply, “so what have you got for me?” Derry drew in his breath. McColl could picture him out on the street somewhere fag in one hand and the mobile in the other. “It’s a car sir. We have caught a lead that some of the notes from a cash machine robbery carried out in Laytown were used to pay for a car hire in Belfast. We caught the gang and got most of the money back but €10,000 was missing and the gang had brought in a contractor to hit a rival gang in Louth. We think it’s him, I mean O’Leary Sir. He’s driving an Audi A4 with Northern plates. What do you want me to do?” 

“Notify customs and flag the registration for my attention on the system.” Derry coughed. “Do you want me to notify the PSNI of our suspicions? He could have taken a job to do someone up there. They have a lot of old scores to settle since the Agreement.”  

“No, we’ll keep it for our eyes only,” replied McColl “it is bad enough that we let him escape from Mountjoy without our Northern colleagues rubbing our noses in it. Anyway, we haven’t any idea if he is there or what his target might be. He could be already in Scotland or the UK by now. Just flag the registration and notify me immediately when he turns up in the system. Dismissed.”  

As the line went dead McColl thought of an old saying. ‘My enemy’s enemy is my friend.‘ And O’Leary definitely was Dermot Cullen’s enemy. He would have to plan his moves very carefully in order to capture the queen. Once O’Leary returned, McColl intended to make use of him in the long game. A plan began to form in his mind as a sly smile played on his lips. Dermot Cullen the great hero, would never see it coming. 

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