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Diarmuid

 

 

 

This last two months had been a fucking headache.

I rubbed my forehead with my fingers, trying to ease the growing headache as I sat in my armchair, my lawyer sitting opposite me on my couch. I’d been released under house arrest, a tag locked around my ankle. It still sat there, beeping every so often to remind me that I was effectively a prisoner.

“I was able to get the text messages thrown out as evidence,” Gerard said. “Without the text messages and without Saoirse’s testimony they have insufficient evidence.”

Neither my lawyer nor the Garda had been able to locate Saoirse. Her bank records showed that she withdrew all of her money five weeks ago, making it impossible to track her.

She could be anywhere.

She might not even be in Ireland anymore. If she were here, she would have stepped forward to clear me. Surely.

“Did the Gards check the passenger manifests of all outgoing flights these last six weeks?” I asked.

Gerard pursed his lips. He was a good enough guy and did his job well, but he was still weary of me.

“The Garda are understaffed, you know this. They’re not going to spend manpower chasing after a girl who doesn’t want to be found. Besides, they’ve dropped the criminal case against you for insufficient evidence.”

My shoulders sagged.

If I still had my work log-ins, I could walk right into the station and look this information up myself. It would take a while, and my eyes would probably bleed from my head, but I wouldn’t stop until I knew where she’d gone.

But there was no way in hell they were going to let me past the front desk.

“You should be happy about this,” Gerard said.

“Yeah, I am. You did a good job, thanks.”

The damage was done, though. My reputation was ruined.

The Garda had tried to keep my arrest quiet while I was being investigated. It didn’t look good for them to hold me up as a public hero one minute for helping with the arrest of Ireland’s most notorious drug lord, then demonise me the next for allegedly having a sexual relationship with the said drug lord’s daughter.

The story had been leaked anyway. No prizes for guessing who leaked it.

Once the story broke, there was no way the Garda couldn’t react.

I was suspended without pay from my JLO position. I’d received hate mail from several parents of kids I’d previously worked with. Someone had spray-painted pedophile across the side of my truck.

All these things I could handle.

I’d been hated before when I was a juvenile delinquent and causing trouble. I was judged because of my size, my tats and my gruff demeanour.

This wasn’t what cut me.

What cut me was I hadn’t been able to go after her.

My lead was cold. She could be anywhere by now.

“The Garda should be round soon to take off that cuff.” Gerard pointed at my electronic shackle.

I let out a gruff noise. “So, it’s over. I can go where I want?”

My lawyer leaned forward, letting out a sigh. “I’m afraid not.”

What now?

“It appears Ava is suing you under civil law. She wants to take your house and most of the cash you have saved up because you cheated on her with a minor. In a civil case, unfortunately, the text messages are admissible.”

“I didn’t fucking cheat on Ava. We’d been separated for almost four fucking years.”

Gerard shifted in his chair. He always got uncomfortable when I swore. “Technically you are still married to her.”

“She cheated on me.”

“Do you have proof?”

I spluttered. “Half the fucking city knows. She moved in with the guy.”

Gerard tilted his head. “She’s claiming that they were just housemates.”

I snorted. “She’s a fucking liar.”

“Unfortunately, unless you have proof, she’ll have the upper hand in your divorce proceedings.”

I sank my face back into my hands. I was out of a job. This house and my life savings was all that I had. Ava was going to take it from me.

I was so fucked.