Nealon considers that. “They might’ve,” he agrees. “No one’s said a bad word about the man, but like we said, they’re slippery, down here—or careful, if you want to put it that way. Even if they made him, though, why would they want to kill him? They’d just stay outa the dodgy fucker’s way.”
Nealon could be testing, but Cal doesn’t think he is. Just like Mart predicted, no one has said a word about any gold. “Most likely,” he says. “That’s what I did.”
Nealon smiles at Cal. “GPS works grand down here on the flat,” he assures him, “away from the trees. If I have to check out your phone, you’ll have nothing to worry about, as long as you stayed home that night.”
“I was here,” Cal says. “All evening and all night, till Trey came round in the morning. But if I’d been out killing anyone, I’da left my phone at home.”
“You would, o’ course,” Nealon agrees. He arranges his legs more comfortably and takes a pleasurable swig of his beer. “I’ll tell you one interesting thing I’ve got from the phone tracking,” he says. “I managed to get a warrant for Johnny’s records, seeing as he was the closest known associate. My man Johnny says he was at home all day and all night, before Blake was found. The whole family says the same. Johnny’s phone says different, but. During the day, it did what phones do on the mountain, all right: bounced around from this side to that side to the bleedin’ Arctic Circle. But in the evening, he was racking up the Fitbit steps big-time. He headed down off the mountain, he passed by here—didja see him?”
“Nope,” Cal says. “We’re not on dropping-in terms.”
“I got that, yeah.” Nealon’s eyes flick to Cal’s bruises one more time. “Johnny spent a good while over at Mrs. Lena Dunne’s place. That’s your fiancée, isn’t that right?”
“Yep,” Cal says. “Unless she smartens up.”
Nealon laughs. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ve met her other options. Did she see Johnny that evening?”
“She didn’t mention it,” Cal says. “Ask her.”
“I will,” Nealon assures him. “Give me a chance, man; I’ll get to her.”
“From what you say,” Cal points out, “Blake didn’t die in the evening.”
“Ah, no. And Johnny never went near his place, anyway. But once someone lies to me, I’m interested. And…” He points his glass at Cal. “You mentioned Johnny passing by, while you were hanging on with the body for the uniforms to show up. Guess where he went after he left yous.”
Cal shakes his head.
“He says he went for a walk, to clear his head from the terrible shock. Musha, God love him.” Nealon raises his eyes to heaven. “Where he went was down to Blake’s Airbnb. He spent about fifteen minutes there, and then his phone started doing the mountainy dance again, so it looks like he legged it home. He’s got no key to Blake’s that we know of, but there’s a spare under a rock by the door, right where anyone would look for it. So that’s another lie.” He gives Cal a meaningful look.
“Doesn’t mean he’s your guy,” Cal says, not biting. He’s not dumb enough to push Johnny on Nealon, even if he wanted to. “Blake coulda had something Johnny didn’t want you getting your hands on. Another phone, maybe.”
Nealon cocks his head at Cal, curious. “I thought Johnny had your vote.”
“I don’t have a vote,” Cal says.
“Well,” Nealon says, rocking peacefully, “even if he’s not my fella, I reckon he knows something. Maybe he saw someone while he was out wandering, or maybe Blake mentioned he was meeting someone, or had words with someone. Johnny’s being smooth with me—saw nothing, heard nothing—but he’s keeping something back, all right. I’ll get him talking. He should be easy enough to shake up; he has to know he’s in my sights.”
Cal nods agreeably. Nealon has moved on. If Cal’s not interested in being a mole, and not fazed by being a suspect, he can still come in useful. Nealon is handing him the scraps of bait that he wants scattered around the townland, to get those cages rattling. He wants it out there that he’ll be able to match Rushborough to a crime scene or a dump vehicle, that he’s tracking phones, that Johnny knows something, and that he’s going to spill it.
“Johnny likes talking,” he says. “Good luck.”
“I’ll take that. Well,” Nealon says, slapping his leg, “I’m not getting paid to sit here enjoying myself. Time to go ruffle some feathers.” He drains his glass and stands up. “I’ll need you and the young one to come into the station and sign your statements. At your own convenience, o’ course.”
“Sure,” Cal says. “I’ll find out when she’s free over the next coupla days, get her in there.”
“Make sure she knows,” Nealon says. “Once it’s in writing, it’s a different ball game. No going back.”
“She’s no dummy,” Cal says.
“I got that, yeah.” Nealon tugs his shirt straight over his belly. “If she was lying,” he says. “To shield her da, say. Or whoever else. What would you do about it?”
“Jeez, man,” Cal says, grinning at him like it’s a big joke. “Do I need to get a lawyer down here?”
