The Cait Lennox Box Set by Roderick Donald

Author:Roderick Donald
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Roderick Donald
Published: 2020-04-07T22:00:00+00:00

“Top of the morning to you, Irish.”

Kylie was on her mobile speaking to a contact—“Irish” Seamus O’Shannessey—whom she used from time to time when she needed some discreet, behind-the-scenes sniffing around undertaken by a person who was prepared to bend the rules to get a result, if that’s what it took. Irish was a flawed ex-detective who had been pushed out of the force after being found drunk on duty when in charge of a bungled drug bust that led to the death of one of his fellow officers.

Irish was now an ex-alcoholic, a man with a couldn’t-give-a-shit attitude who had a chip the size of a two-ton boulder sitting on his shoulders and a person whose wife never forgave him for the abduction and murder of their fourteen-year-old daughter thirty-two years ago—in fact, when they were together she never let an opportunity slip by when she could lay the blame on him for their daughter’s death. And then she packed up shop and left him at his lowest point, a time when the bottle was an attractive option to living sober and having to face his demons.

And now Irish was on the other end of the phone line, talking to Kylie, and she was giving him a heads-up on Cait and her abduction, hoping that it would touch a raw nerve with him.

“I . . . ah, no sorry, we need you to find out some details concerning Cait’s abductors. We’ve got some important leads that the police don’t seem to be following up and they concern some, let’s say, low-life characters who are dangerous. Really dangerous, so it won’t be an easy assignment. But Cait’s whole future life is potentially at stake here and we have to help her.”

Kylie was doing her best to get Irish onside as he was the best private investigator that she had ever worked with. After forty-three years on the force, Irish’s knowledge of police bureaucracy and his underworld contacts were still second to none. He was tough as nails, one-eyed and focused when he was on point, albeit totally, unbearably dogmatic and blunt. He was also cantankerous, opinionated and just as likely to tell her to get stuffed, so she had to tread lightly, since he could equally say “piss off, not interested.”

“So Irish, you on board? Cait could really do with your help.”

“Kylie, come back when you’ve got something real to tell me. So far what you’ve told me is weak bullshit. No wonder the cops aren’t rushing to pursue this. No real evidence.” Irish wasn’t convinced.

“And that crap about this girl Cait being psychic, or whatever it is you’re telling me she is. Get a life, will you? That’s all garbage too.”

Irish hung up, put his phone on the table next to his chair, and poured himself another Jameson.

“Damn it!” he said out loud to the ghosts of his dark memories in the room, downing his drink in a single swig, then immediately pouring himself another.

Kylie had in one foul,

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