I’m all sceptical. ‘You sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘You wouldn’t have given her the odd slap, no? Not to hurt her; just to teach her she couldn’t mess you about.’
McCann says, ‘I’ve never hit a woman in my life.’
‘Hmm,’ I say. ‘OK. You made Aislinn set her phone on swipe lock because you wanted to be able to read her texts. Right?’
His head flinches to the side, a fraction of an inch, before he catches it and faces us square again. He doesn’t like thinking about this. ‘I didn’t make her do anything.’
‘Asked her to. Let’s say that.’
‘I asked her, yeah. She could’ve told me to stick it. She didn’t.’
‘And did you read them?’ I’m hoping he didn’t, mainly out of professional pride. I like to hope that if a Murder D set up a plan to walk in on his bit on the side with her bit on the side, he would’ve made a better job of it than this mess.
McCann buries his face in his tea, but I catch the faint flush under the stubble. Out of all the options, this is what gets to him: the image of himself grubbing around in Aislinn’s text messages. He’s still holding on to how he loved her; in his mind, that snooping is the one thing he’s done to taint that. ‘A few times. Nothing worth seeing, and I felt like a twat. I stopped.’
I believe him. McCann knew nothing about Rory, not till Saturday night. Aislinn’s frantic plan to move things along did nothing at all. Lucy was right: she was miles out of her depth.
I ask, ‘Do you make your wife keep her phone on swipe lock?’
‘Don’t get smart with me. No, I fucking don’t.’ The shame puts a snap in his voice. ‘I wasn’t controlling Aislinn. I just didn’t want my wife finding out about us. That’s why I checked the texts: I needed to know Aislinn wasn’t telling her mates. That’s why I went in the back. That’s why I didn’t want her having my number. I liked her a lot, even trusted her more or less, but not enough to put my whole life in her hands. I wasn’t about to put myself in a position where, say she got too attached or had a bout of PMS or got ideas about blackmail, she could just take her phone down to my gaff and blow the whole thing wide open. Is that simple enough for you?’ Which is his biggest speech yet. Trying to shove that memory away made him talky.
‘So,’ Steve says dryly, ‘you’re saying you had no plans to leave your wife for Aislinn, no?’
McCann lets out a short harsh burst of laughter, just too loud. ‘Fuck that. Me and my wife, we have some hassles, but I love her. Love my kids even more. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.’
‘So what were you going to do? Just keep on climbing Aislinn’s back wall’ – I snort; McCann gives me a filthy look – ‘for the rest of your lives?’
‘I didn’t have plans. I was having a laugh, seeing how things went.’
‘Even if he was planning on leaving his wife,’ I point out to Steve, ‘he would have wanted to keep Aislinn on the downlow. No point in giving the missus ammo for the divorce settlement.’
‘Did you not hear me? There wasn’t going to be a divorce settlement. Myself and Aislinn were grand exactly the way we were.’
I lift an eyebrow. ‘Yeah? Did Aislinn think you were grand the way you were?’
McCann shrugs. ‘Far as I could tell. If she didn’t, she would’ve ended it.’
‘You’re having your cake and eating it, and she gets the crumbs. What kind of person’s OK with that?’
‘I wasn’t taking anything away from her. We agreed from the start that she could see other fellas. Only fair.’
Nice move. Not a chance it’s true. ‘And she took you up on it,’ I say. ‘When did you find out she was seeing someone else?’
A quick blink: McCann needs to be careful here. ‘After she died, only.’
Steve and I glance at each other and leave a silence. McCann’s too old a hand to fall for that. He flicks us a sardonic look and waits us out.
‘We’ll go with that for now,’ I say. ‘So how did that make you feel?’
McCann snorts. ‘What are you, my therapist?’
‘Do you go to a therapist?’
‘No, I don’t. Do you?’
‘Then you don’t need to save the good stuff for him. How’d you feel when you found out Aislinn had another guy on the go?’
McCann’s all ready for this one. He shrugs. ‘No one likes sharing. But sure, I always used johnnies, so what harm?’
‘Were you surprised?’ Steve asks.
‘Didn’t think about that either way.’
‘Lucy was surprised. When she found out about Rory.’
That gets a sardonic grin. ‘Yeah. Bet she was only delighted: two guys between her and Aislinn now, instead of just one.’
Steve says, ‘She was surprised because Aislinn was in love with you, man. Mad about you. Did you know that?’
A twitch of McCann’s head, like that flew at him. He doesn’t know any more whether that was true or not, doesn’t want to think about it either way. He says – careful again, remembering those texts – ‘Doesn’t exactly come out of the blue.’
‘She’d never been in love before. You were the first. Did you know that, too?’
‘She might’ve mentioned it. I don’t remember.’
‘So,’ Steve says, ‘if she was head over heels with you, why was she having a romantic dinner with some other guy?’
McCann’s good. It’s only because I’m looking for it that I catch the snap of pain, quick and savage as a muzzle-flash. ‘Who knows. Women are mental.’
‘OK,’ I say, tapping the edge of my mug and frowning at it. ‘Let’s think it through. Aislinn was in love with you, but not vice versa. Right?’
McCann’s got his control back. He snorts. ‘Jesus. Nah. She was a good girl, good company. The sex was great. That’s all there was to it.’
‘Did she know you felt that way?’
‘I’d more sense than to say it to her, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘But she might’ve suspected. She wasn’t stupid.’
‘Might’ve. I wouldn’t know.’
‘If she suspected,’ Steve says, ‘she would’ve been devastated. First love: it’s powerful stuff. That didn’t bother you?’
We’re picking up the pace. McCann hasn’t missed it: his back’s straightened, there’s a focused blue flash to his eyes. For a second there I see him twenty years ago, all cheekbone ridges and dark stubble and those long-distance blue eyes, and I see why he still thought he might have a shot with Aislinn.
He says, ‘I wasn’t out to hurt her. But I wasn’t there to babysit, either. Aislinn was a grown woman.’
‘So could that be what her little thing with Rory was all about, yeah?’ I ask. ‘Trying to make you jealous?’
Shrug. ‘Doubt it. Seeing as I didn’t know he existed.’
‘She kept texts from him on her phone. She might’ve been betting you’d read them.’
That raw flush again, the minuscule flinch of his head. ‘Even if I had. Wouldn’t have worked, and Aislinn had enough cop-on to know that.’
‘Maybe she was using Rory as a distraction?’ Steve suggests. I know, sure as I know where my hands are, that he’s picked up on where I’m heading, he’s right beside me. ‘Trying to take her mind off you?’
‘Could’ve been.’
‘Meaning she did suspect you weren’t in as deep as she was.’
‘Could’ve done. She never mentioned it.’
I ask, ‘Did she ever talk about you leaving your wife?’
‘It came up. Nothing serious, just a mention.’ He’s stepping carefully again: the texts.
‘And what did you say?’
‘Brushed it off. Changed the subject. She didn’t push it.’
‘Huh,’ I say. I lean back in my chair, have a swallow of my tea – gone cold – and take out my phone. I go into my e-mail, taking my time, and find the Post-it photos from Aislinn’s secret folder.
Civilians’ eyes dive on anything y
ou bring out; they can’t stop themselves. McCann’s don’t move from my face. I put my phone on the table in front of him. The small click of it going down snips at the air.
McCann waits till I sit back before he looks down. His face doesn’t change, but I feel the pulse of bafflement and wariness off him.
I say, ‘There’s more of them. Swipe.’
He swipes, keeps swiping. Something else stirs, under the bafflement: a wretched twist of pain and something almost like joy. McCann thinks he’s seeing proof that he got it all wrong; that Rory meant nothing to Aislinn. She was mad about him, after all.
After a dozen or so pics he takes a fast breath and shoves the phone back across the table. ‘I get the idea.’
I say, ‘Are these the notes you wrote to Aislinn, to let her know when you’d be calling round?’
Shrug. McCann settles back in his chair, hands shoved easily in his pockets, but the taut stillness holding every muscle gives him away. We’re building up to the big push, and he knows it.
‘I don’t have to be a handwriting expert to know these are consistent with your writing,’ I say, ‘but I can get one to confirm it for me if I have to. I can also pull your shift times for the last six months and cross-check them against the times and dates when Aislinn entered those photos into her computer. I’ll bet my paycheque every one of those notes will line up with a time when you were just coming out of work, or just going in.’
‘So maybe they’re my notes. So? I already told you I wrote them.’
‘And made sure to destroy them,’ Steve says. He’s picked up my phone and he’s skimming through the pictures. ‘You thought, anyway.’
‘Only Aislinn had other ideas,’ I say. McCann’s eyes close against that for an instant. ‘Every time you left her a note, she took a photo, put it on her computer – in a special password-protected folder – and deleted the phone pic. Why would she go to all that hassle?’
Shrug. ‘How would I know?’
‘If you had to guess.’
‘Souvenirs?’
That gets a laugh out of me. ‘You serious?’ I take the phone off Steve and wave it at McCann. ‘This is what you think a girl keeps for a souvenir?’
‘I don’t know what girls do and don’t do.’
‘Trust me. It’s not. So what was Aislinn at?’
After a moment McCann says, ‘She could’ve been thinking of showing them to my missus.’
‘You said she was happy with the way things were. Why would she want to do that?’
‘I thought she was. Doesn’t mean I was right.’
‘You told us you were being careful in case Aislinn “got too attached and blew the whole thing wide open”.’ I spin my phone on the table. ‘Looks like you were right to be careful.’
‘Not careful enough,’ Steve points out.
‘Looks to me,’ I say, ‘like Aislinn was making plans. She figured if your wife found out, she’d give you the boot, and you’d come running straight into Aislinn’s arms—’
‘Would your missus have given you the boot?’ Steve asks.
‘Nah.’
Steve’s eyebrows go up. ‘Nah?’
‘No way.’
‘Man, you said earlier she’d throw you out if she even knew you were going for drives with Aislinn. If she found out you’d been riding her, for months—’
‘She’d’ve given me holy hell. Called me every name under the sun. I’d’ve been in Breslin’s spare room for weeks, maybe months. God knows I’d’ve deserved it.’ The vicious scrape to McCann’s voice says he means that. ‘But we’d have sorted it in the end. No question.’
I’ve got an eyebrow up. ‘Uh-huh. Easy to say that now.’
‘It’s a fact. She’d’ve made me beg, grovel, but she’d’ve taken me back. The kids—’
‘Yeah, let’s not forget the kids. How traumatised would they have been?’
That tightens his jaw. ‘They’re grown adults, or near enough. A few weeks of Mammy and Daddy fighting isn’t the end of the world.’
‘How would they have felt about Daddy fucking some girl young enough to be their sister?’
‘Jesus,’ Steve says, wincing. ‘Guaranteed long-term estrangement, right there.’
McCann snaps, ‘They wouldn’t have found out.’
‘No? Your missus wouldn’t have mentioned it? She a saint?’
‘Sounds like one,’ Steve says.
‘She’d want to be,’ I say.
‘She cares about the kids. She wouldn’t have hurt them.’
We’re going faster, harder, leaning forward, slamming the questions across the table. McCann’s meeting us beat for beat, firing back answers without a second’s pause, that blue glint grown to a blaze. He thinks this is it. He can see exactly where we’re going, and he thinks this theory is where we’re putting our money. All he has to do is kill off this one, and we’ll be left in tatters.
‘Either way,’ Steve says, ‘it’d be a lot easier not to go through all that hassle. Wouldn’t it?’
‘Yeah, it would. Lucky for me, that never came up.’
‘Lucky,’ I say, eyebrows way up. ‘Is that what we’re calling this, yeah? We’ve got a dead girl in the morgue, but hey, look how lucky you got?’
McCann throws me a disgusted glare and doesn’t bother answering. ‘In fairness,’ Steve says, ‘McCann dodged a bullet there, all right. I’d call that lucky.’
‘He did,’ I said. ‘He definitely did that. Did Aislinn threaten to go to your wife, McCann?’
McCann’s shaking his head, slow and definite. He’s on solid ground here: doesn’t need to worry about Aislinn’s texts, because he’s telling the truth. ‘Never.’
‘She just hinted.’
‘Nah. Not even a hint.’
‘You sure about that?’
‘Yeah, I am. Positive. Ask Lucy the Lezzer, ask anyone you want: let’s see you find one bit of evidence that Aislinn ever mentioned going to my missus. One. Just one.’
‘We’ve got two dozen.’
‘Those notes?’ McCann laughs in my face, a wide-mouthed bark. ‘Jesus, Conway, tell me you know better than that. How are those evidence of anyone threatening anything? Maybe Aislinn was planning on using them to twist my arm – you can’t even prove that much – but she hadn’t got around to doing it. I hadn’t a clue those notes existed. I didn’t even have access to them – password-protected, didn’t you say? Computer Crime can go through the times when that folder was opened, show that they don’t match the times when I was round at Aislinn’s. Those notes are nothing.’
I’m shaking my head. ‘Doesn’t matter whether you knew about them or not. Aislinn could’ve sent copies to your wife.’
‘She didn’t. Check her computer logs, printer, work printer, anything she had access to. Bet you anything they were never printed out.’
‘She could have e-mailed them.’
‘Go ahead and check her e-mail accounts. You think Aislinn had my wife’s e-mail address? How stupid do I look?’
‘Or she just called round to your gaff when you were at work.’
‘She didn’t. Trace her movements, look for anyone who saw her round my way. Good luck with it.’
‘Is your wife gonna say the same?’
That brings McCann up and forward, halfway across the table with his teeth bared in my face, in one savage move. ‘Don’t you fucking dare bring this to my wife. She knows nothing about Aislinn, and it’s staying that way. Have you got that?’
‘Routine procedure,’ I say, raising my hands. ‘I’ve got to follow up every lead.’
‘Follow up whatever you want. But if you tell my wife about Aislinn, I’ll wreck you. You hear that?’
‘Look at that,’ I say, with a touch of a grin. ‘Looks like your missus finding out about your affair might be a problem after all.’
McCann’s jaw clamps hard. He wants to hit me. I stare back, still grinning, and hope he tries.
After a moment his eyes cut away from mine. He eases back
into his seat, rolls his neck. ‘If you need to talk to my wife,’ he says, ‘talk to her. But you work around the affair. Even the pair of ye should be able to do that. Ask her if she’s had any anonymous letters, any strange callers. I can tell you exactly what she’ll say, but if you need to feel like the big boys for a day . . .’
Steve says, ‘If you don’t want us talking to your missus, man, then don’t make us. You talk to us instead.’
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’
‘OK,’ I say. ‘Where were you Saturday evening?’
The grin lifts his top lip like a snarl. He leans back, folds his arms and laughs, up at the ceiling. ‘Now we’re getting to it. About bloody time.’
‘Where were you?’
‘Are you not going to caution me?’
‘If you want. You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but anything you do say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence.’ That gets another vicious huff of laughter. ‘Where were you Saturday evening?’
‘None of your business.’
Which is smart: no alibi means nothing we can break. ‘“No comment,” ’ I say. ‘Is that what you’re telling us?’
‘No. I’m telling you it’s none of your bloody business.’
‘What’ll your wife say when we ask her whether you were home?’
‘Only one way to find out.’
Steve says, leaning forward, ‘We’re not trying to catch you out here, man. We’re asking. If you can prove where you were, we can stop this whole thing. We’ll find a way that none of this ever has to come out. But we can’t do that unless we know the story.’
McCann throws him a stare like he can’t believe Steve actually tried that one on him. ‘I’ve got nothing to say about Saturday night. Except I never hurt Aislinn. That’s it. We can stay here all year and that’s all I’ll have to say to you.’
‘It’s not gonna be that simple,’ I say. ‘Remember that witness who saw you hanging around Stoneybatter over the last few weeks?’
‘So?’
‘That same witness saw you leaving the laneway behind Viking Gardens just after half-eight on Saturday night.’