Darkhouse

TWENTY-ONE

Joe sat at the kitchen window staring out to sea, following a white trail from a small fishing boat that furrowed the water halfway to the horizon. Anna’s footsteps were light on the tiled floors.

Without saying a word, she handed Joe the email.

‘What? Who’s this from?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Anna. ‘It came to Shaun’s school address. The “from” box is empty and when you click on it, it’s just symbols and numbers. It’s of the lighthouse, the night of Katie’s funeral, when the shoot was happening. But it wasn’t taken by Brendan. It’s like it was taken by someone from across the road.’

She caught the tiniest flicker on Joe’s face.

‘What?’ she said. ‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ said Joe.

‘If there is something you’re not telling me—’

‘There’s nothing,’ he said. ‘Calmez vous.’ His accent was bad. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. And Anna exploded.

‘You are a liar! You are lying! You think I’m stupid? Do you?’ She grabbed his face in her hands and shook him. ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’

‘I can’t do this right now,’ said Joe.

‘I don’t give a damn!’ she said. ‘I’m sick of it. You’re hiding stuff from me, sneaking around in the den, on the phone…’

‘Oh, and you can talk about hiding things.’

‘No, no, no,’ she said, holding up her hand. ‘We’re not doing this all the time. You forgive me or you don’t. Simple. You don’t use things again to punish me.’

He shrugged. She hit him on the shoulder. ‘Connard!’

‘Whoa, Betty.’ She was Betty Blue when her temper flared and she slipped back into French to call him a bastard.

She smiled, but let it fade.

‘There are lots of things I know about you, Joe. But they’re mostly the things that everyone else knows about you. You’re smart, funny, in control—’ She stopped. ‘You know, I’m not in the mood for complimenting you.’

Joe laughed. She ignored him and continued, ‘Then there are a few extra things that I know about because I am your wife: your honesty, your love. You know, you’re actually a sensitive guy. And then there’s all the horrible stuff you hide, things I never get to see. But, you know? I still feel the effect of what’s hiding there. I have no idea what’s going on in your head right now.’

‘Jesus, why do you want to know everything?’

‘I don’t want to know everything, but I don’t want to be lied to. Everyone’s lying to me.’

‘No, they’re not.’

‘Oh, come on. My two boys are lying to me. I’m like a fool.’

‘Well, you’re a sexy fool,’ he said, pulling her towards him. ‘Very sexy when you’re angry.’

‘It’s not funny.’

‘Yes it is,’ he said. But his expression told a different story as he held her to his chest and stroked her hair.

What Shaun and Anna hadn’t seen was the doctored confidentiality note at the end of the email:

This email is intended for the person responsible for Katie’s murder and may contain the truth that you strangled her to death.

The contents of this message represent the expressed view of the sender and everyone else. Storage, disclosure or copying of this information is not prohibited.

The phone made Anna jump, but she beat Joe to answer it. She listened, then narrowed her eyes at him.

‘There’s an officer Henson on the line for you.’ She covered the mouthpiece. ‘What’s this about?’

‘Work,’ whispered Joe.

‘T’as raison,’ said Anna, handing him the receiver. Joe thought she had simply said, ‘Right’, but what she was saying was, ‘Yeah, right.’

‘I’m taking Shaun into the village,’ she whispered, then left.

‘Officer, hi,’ said Joe.

‘I got the file here you’re looking for,’ said Henson, ‘but I think you’ll find that someone’s yanking your chain, buddy. Duke Rawlins is dead.’

Nora smoothed open the newspaper on the counter in the station. The headline ran across two pages. Gone, But Not Forgotten. On the right-hand side was a montage of photographs of smiling young girls and women who had disappeared or been murdered in Ireland over the previous ten years. The main shot was a beautiful, smiling, brown-haired girl. The caption underneath read Katie Lawson (16), Mountcannon, Co. Waterford, murdered. Frank got up from his desk and walked over.

‘My God, there’s another recent one,’ she said, pointing to a pretty blonde. Frank leaned across as she read, ‘Mary Casey (19) from Doon in Limerick, brutally raped and murdered outside her home.’

‘Apparently,’ said Nora, ‘she had left one of the gates in the field open and the father made her go out to close it. They’re in bits over it. The parents had gone to bed. They didn’t find her ’til the next morning.’

‘God love them,’ said Frank.

‘That town is tiny. And they haven’t got anyone for it. Awful. And there’s the Tipperary girl from your poster.’ She pointed to the bulletin board.

Frank shook his head. ‘I can’t read upside down. What are they saying about the investigation into Katie?’

‘No leads, basically. And that “a young man has been brought in a second time to help with enquiries”, as if no-one’s going to know who that is. And, they’re implying that you could be doing more.’

‘Implying or saying straight out?’ said Frank.

‘Well, saying straight out.’

‘It’s always the same,’ said Frank.

‘I’ll take this home,’ she said, folding the paper. ‘I don’t want you having a stroke on me.’ Frank smiled and went into his office. Nora walked into the hallway and was almost knocked over by Myles O’Connor. He barged into Frank’s office, closing the door behind him, slamming a newspaper on the desk.

‘What is this?’

Frank looked down. ‘What?’ he said, putting on his glasses.

‘This interview.’ He hammered his finger on the same spread Nora had started to read. ‘You shouldn’t have been talking to this guy. He should have been referred to Waterford. Especially if you’re not used to speaking to journalists. Jesus Christ.’

Frank stared at the page. ‘Oh. They were sniffing around. They must have been watching the station when the Lucchesis came in. I couldn’t risk…I don’t know, I—’

‘Ah yes, the I-don’t-knows,’ said O’Connor. He grabbed a highlighter from the desk and in light strokes went through the text. There were eight sentences highlighted when he was finished. All of them said, ‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s a turn of phrase,’ said Frank, taking off his glasses and looking up at O’Connor.

‘Well, it’s a stupid one when you’re being interviewed on a murder case,’ said O’Connor. ‘We look like gobshites. “I don’t know”. What were you thinking?’

‘I don’t know. He seemed like a nice enough chap, I thought it wouldn’t do any harm. He said he’d tidy up what I said.’

‘We’re doing a good job here, we don’t need this shit,’ said O’Connor. ‘We’re getting a bollocking for our perceived lack of progress in the investigation—’

‘Well, where is the progress? We don’t know a thing,’ said Frank. ‘We’ve got a couple of suspects and not a shred of evidence to tie them to anything. All we have is a few people helping us with our enquiries. Or not helping us…’

‘Look, journalists have been ringing here and getting no answer or being diverted to Waterford and they’re saying it’s no wonder people are getting murdered if there are no guards in the village.’

‘But it’s the same—’

‘Ah for God’s sake, I know – it’s the usual rubbish they come out with to sell papers.’

He fumed silently for a few seconds then snapped, ‘Someone did this.’ He hammered on the photo of Katie. ‘And I’ll be fucked if I’m letting them away with it.’

Anna was parking the Jeep outside the supermarket when Shaun tapped her on the arm.

‘Mom, it’s Mrs Shanley, I’m just going to ask her about work.’

‘Follow me into Tynan’s,’ she said.

Betty Shanley stood by her car outside the bakery, struggling to balance cake boxes and shopping bags. Shaun was at the other side of the street when he saw her. He jogged over to help.

‘Hi, Mrs Shanley,’ he said. ‘Let me take that.’ He reached out for the box. She held it tight.

‘It’s all right. I can manage it,’ she said. He looked at her. Something shifted in her eyes. He blushed.

‘Uh, I was wondering when you need me to come in…or is it quiet?’

‘It’s busy enough,’ she said, looking past him. ‘But I’m sorry. I won’t be needing you any more. My sister’s young lad is saving for a new car, a little Renault he’s getting. So I said I’d give him the work. Barry.’

Black Hawk Down Barry with his shaved head. ‘Oh, OK. He’s in my year in school.’ He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Joe’s stomach was churning, waiting through the painful silence as Henson thumbed through pages of documents at the other end of the phone. Joe heard him swallow a mouthful of something before he spoke.

‘Yeah, I got it here. Rawlins, William. Died in prison. Your dates were wrong too – he died in 1992, so he couldn’t have gone to prison in ’97. He was in for the murder of a Rachel Wade, 1988. Around the time of the Crosscut Killer, but they couldn’t pin any of the rest of them on him. It was vicious what happened to all those women. In broad daylight.’

‘It’s Duke I was asking about. Duke Rawlins.’

‘Duke’s this guy’s middle name.’

‘How old was he when he died?’

‘He would have been, let me see, fifty-four years old.’

‘That’s the wrong guy. This guy would be younger. Do you have any other Rawlins on file?’

‘Don’t think so. Let me go check. Can you hold the line?’

Joe thought his chest would explode waiting for Henson to organise himself.

‘Oh, here we are,’ he said, coming back. ‘Rawlins, Duke, DOB 12/2/1970, knifed a trucker in a parking lot, 1997, sent to Ely, Nevada. You were right. My apologies. It’s my filing system.’

‘Is that it?’ said Joe. ‘Nothing else? No kidnap, nothing more violent?’

‘Nope,’ said Henson. ‘What d’you think the guy’s done?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Joe. ‘But thanks for your help. Hey, could you fax me through his mug shot?’

‘Sure thing.’

John Miller was stooped in the corner of Tynan’s flicking through a car magazine.

‘Not that I’ve got a licence or anything,’ he said to Anna as she tried to slip past him. He leered at her and raised an eyebrow.

‘Make up your mind, John. One minute you apologise, the next minute you’re behaving like this…and what have you been saying to Joe?’

He looked like he was trying to remember.

Anna glared at him. ‘I don’t want to talk to you,’ she said, jabbing a finger towards him.

‘Ah, come on,’ he said, reaching his arms out to her. His breath was ethanol. She jerked her hands away.

‘Don’t touch me!’ she said.

‘That’s not what you used to say.’

‘Jesus, John. Can you not get over it?’ She was furious. ‘I don’t get it. What went wrong? I can’t understand how you changed from a nice, normal guy into a drunken wife-beater!’ She stopped as the full weight of what she had said hit them both. It was too late. She lowered her voice.

‘Your mother,’ she said. ‘She told someone.’

A glimpse of clarity flashed across his eyes. He struggled to find a sober voice and steady his gaze. ‘I never beat my wife,’ he said, sadly. ‘My mother was talking about herself. My father. She slips back and forth into the past. She’s not well. Alzheimer’s. It’s not common knowledge.’ Then, ‘He used to kick the shit out of her.’

Joe went to the kitchen and made the call he’d put off the day before. Danny picked up straightaway.

‘…whole tip went green and fell off. Hello?’

‘One of these days, your mother’s gonna call and you’ll do that.’

‘She already has. Told her it was a nasty case I was working on.’

‘Danny, the police called Shaun in for an informal chat the other day that’s got me worried. They say he was cautioned, he says he wasn’t. Turns out he’d been lying to us anyway, so what’s another lie? But I think I believe him about this. He’s also admitted to having a fight with Katie the night she went missing. They know everything now, even that he and Katie were having sex before she disappeared and that they had an argument about it.’

‘Poor kid. Jesus.’

‘You know, I agree with you, but I really wanted to punch his lights out. It was the worst day of my life, watching him get grilled like that. You know, there I am, trying to help with the investigation—’

‘—be one of those people we hate…’

‘Pretty much. And my own son is lying his butt off.’

‘He’s young and scared. Makes people do shit they wouldn’t normally do.’

‘I know that, but now I’m worried a big huge finger is pointing in his direction and there’s no reason for it to swing anywhere else. They don’t seem to have anything and he’s their number one suspect.’

‘So am I just a therapy line or is there anything else I can do here?’

‘Thought you’d never ask.’

‘Do you want me to come over? Kick ass? Chat up a few colleens?’

‘I couldn’t put them through that. But, there is a helpful warden in Nevada who might let you talk to a certain cell mate.’

‘Rawlins’ cell mate.’

‘You know, see what it throws up.’

Shaun was sitting in an armchair with his feet up beside the television.

‘I know you’re probably not in the mood for anything,’ said Anna, ‘but I thought this might cheer you up.’

‘What?’ said Shaun.

‘Well, you know it’s your father’s fortieth on Friday. I thought maybe we could have something small to celebrate. I’m not talking about a big party or anything, obviously. Just the three of us.’

Shaun shrugged.

‘Come on, I think we need something to lift things a little. It will just be a cake, candles, that sort of thing…’

‘It’s not like I’m in the mood for celebrating.’

‘None of us are in the mood,’ said Anna. ‘But I think it would be nice. I think your father would appreciate it.’

‘Do you need me to do anything?’ said Shaun. Anna laughed.

‘Say it like you mean it,’ she said.

He smiled. ‘I do mean it.’

‘I’ll order the cake in town. And get balloons delivered to the house when your father’s out. But the big surprise, he’ll know about on the night.’ Shaun looked at her to find out more. She put a finger to her lips when she saw Joe walk into the room. He turned to her when Shaun left.

‘I’m missing something,’ he said. He looked at his watch. ‘You know, it’s been exactly a month since Katie went. I’m going out to walk that road again and see if I don’t think of something I didn’t the last time.’

‘Before you do that – against my wishes,’ said Anna, ‘I just want to tell you one thing, because it’s relevant to the investigation. I spoke to John Miller…’

Frank walked along the harbour with his head bowed and his hands in his pockets, obsessing about his earlier embarrassment. He felt a sudden flash of resentment at the Lucchesis that he could only explain by drawing a line between before they moved to Mountcannon and after. Because he couldn’t blame them for Katie’s death. But before they arrived, the village was what it was – something he could take for granted because life was good. Now he wanted to rewind and appreciate every day he investigated a stolen car because it was the worst thing that could happen.

More rifts had appeared in the village in one month than in its entire history. People fought with neighbours over who suspected whom; they cursed the guards, they defended the guards, they got frustrated trying to fit theories to facts. Families were arguing over who left the back door unlocked when it had been that way for sixty years. The only thing that united them all was their desperate need for a killer to be found and locked away. It was a heavy collective power they wielded. Frank wasn’t surprised that O’Connor’s composure was starting to waver. He knew nothing about the man’s home life, but part of him hoped he had a Nora waiting for him every night to ease the burden.

He didn’t want to think about his own position. It broke his heart that his last year would be marked by tragedy. He only hoped it would have a resolution.

He sat on a battered bench by the edge of the water, closed his eyes and started to pray.

Joe followed the same route he knew Katie had taken. He wondered if he was also walking in the footsteps of her killer. She had been alone on an exposed stretch of road. It was quiet. He could hear his breath, the vinyl of his jacket, the gentle waves of the sea, even the rubber soles of his shoes. Katie would have heard footsteps. But it could all have happened too quickly; a door opening, one man driving, the other pushing her in, a van door sliding back, a group of men grabbing her. Or it could have been someone she knew, someone she trusted, someone who had walked her home or pulled up beside her and offered her a lift. But none of this felt right.

He took a left into the cemetery and stopped again at Matt Lawson’s grave. He traced a path slowly back out and stood at the bend where the Lower Road met Manor Road. If he took a left at the end, he would be at Katie’s house. He looked around and stopped when he saw a car up ahead, pulled in to the right-hand side of road. He walked towards it and saw Richie Bates inside, his stereo cranked up. Joe knocked on the passenger window. Richie jumped.

‘What do you want?’ he barked, rolling down the window.

‘Nothing,’ said Joe. ‘Taking a walk. What about you? Stereo busted at home?’

Richie shouted over it.

‘You’ve some nerve,’ he said. ‘I’ve an investigation to run, here.’

Joe snorted. ‘I heard a D.I. from Waterford is doing that.’

‘Fuck you,’ said Richie. His right leg was out of control, jerking up and down.

‘Doing this on your own time?’ asked Joe, looking at Richie’s jeans and sweater.

‘Would you ever just get lost?’ shouted Richie. ‘I’ve a pain in my fucking arse with you.’

‘Jesus, relax,’ said Joe. Richie revved the engine and reversed to within inches of Joe, turning the car towards the village. Joe walked back and took the road for Katie’s house.

D.I. O’Connor’s eyes were on the untouched mug of hot tea in front of him and the Danish beside it. He rolled backwards in his chair, leaned down and pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk. There was a white lighter with the slanted green and yellow logo of a soup company across it. He remembered finding it in his pocket the morning after a charity ball. He was about to reach for it when his phone beeped. He hit speaker.

‘Call for you on line one.’

He closed the drawer and picked up.

‘Is that Detective Inspector O’Connor? Hi, it’s Alan Brophy from the Technical Bureau. The fragments from Katie Lawson’s skull? It turns out they’re from a snail.’

‘What?’

‘I know. Here it is: the fragments come from a thick-walled shell, dark with yellowish white spirally things. It’s been identified as the Sandhill Snail or White Snail. You don’t need the Latin, right? If you do, it’s Theba pisana, sounds like a Spanish painter to me. Annnyway, it’s found on sand dunes, cliff faces, that kind of thing. It clings to plants and stuff. So there you have it. The most likely scenario is that she was struck with a rock, snail attached, shell embedded in skull. Next thing we know, she’s in the forest. Maggots eat away the snail – escargot, thank you very much – and leave the shell behind.’

‘But there was no sand on the body—’

‘No, but these little beauties are also found on waste ground near the sea, so that could explain the no sand. It could have happened on a grassy bit or near a stone wall or something.’

Mariner’s Strand flashed into O’Connor’s mind. ‘OK, Alan. Thanks.’

‘My pleasure.’

Joe walked back through the village and slipped into Danaher’s for a last drink. Ray and Hugh were sitting at the bar.

‘Welcome, sir,’ said Hugh, dragging a stool out for him.

‘Thanks,’ said Joe. ‘I’ve had a shit day, evening, night…’

‘I’ve a shit life, if that makes you feel any better,’ said Hugh, shrugging. Joe admired the two messers. They came to Katie’s funeral in black suits, white shirts and black ties, both so respectable. Even Hugh’s ponytail looked groomed. The men had tears in their eyes that day, but they never brought the subject up unless he wanted to talk about it. They knew their job was to keep things light.

‘I had a run-in with Richie Bates tonight,’ said Joe, knowing this would stir them.

‘He used to be called Rich Tea Biscuits at school,’ said Hugh pretend-fondly. Rich Tea Biscuits were an Irish tradition, plain, flat and round – made to dissolve in hot tea.

‘Didn’t anyone tell you you’re supposed to shorten people’s names?’ said Joe.

‘My name is Hugh. You can’t shorten Hugh.’

‘Wasn’t there a guy called H in that pop band? That had to have been short for an H name,’ said Ray.

‘Gentlemen, my Richie Bates story? He was in his car tonight by the strand, the stereo blasting like a—’

‘Goon,’ said Ray. ‘Gimp?’

‘Asshole?’ said Hugh.

‘I was gonna say loser,’ said Joe.

‘We can apply all four,’ said Hugh.

‘…and I scare the shit out of him,’ said Joe, ‘and he loses it, shooting his mouth off like a psycho.’

‘I’ve got a better one,’ said Ray. ‘He went loop the fucking loop the other day on the road outside the house. Because my garbage bag split. And I’m saying garbage for your benefit, Joe. I would normally be calling it rubbish.’

Joe laughed.

‘I’m telling you. He lost it. Total—’

Joe vaguely heard Ray say something about Richie and road rage as he was distracted by a bony hand on his arm. He turned to see one of the local hard drinkers, his pinched face looming close. He pointed a finger at Joe.

‘It’s well you may knock back a pint and laugh, Mr Lucchesi, with everything that’s gone on.’ And as he was walking away, he muttered loud, ‘Ya fuckin’ blow-in.’

Joe finished his drink, grabbed his jacket and left Danaher’s, irritated by the bitter old man. He was shocked at how the family had been welcomed to Mountcannon, then pitied after Katie’s death and now suddenly rejected. He realised that frustration was never the right word when an innocent person found themselves a suspect. Frustration was harmless. This was overwhelming, suffocating, exhausting. It wasn’t just Shaun they were doubting. It was Joe because of his experience with crime, it was Anna for possibly covering up for her son or her husband. They had been plunged into a situation they had no control over. Then he realised – this is exactly what someone might want.

Danny Markey walked in at the end of the lunch time rush when the crowd at Buttinsky Burger had thinned out. Wrappers and boxes littered the tables and floors. He waited until the last customer left the counter.

‘Cheeseburger, regular fries, regular Coke,’ he said. The large black man behind the counter pulled two cartons from a lukewarm shelf behind him and slid them onto a tray. ‘And anything you’d like to tell me about Duke Rawlins.’

Abelard Kane looked up slowly, his huge brown eyes staring into Danny’s.

Danny shrugged, ‘I’m afraid I’m a buttinsky.’

‘Couldn’t you find someone else’s life to butt into?’

‘Yo’ the man,’ said Danny.

‘Duke Rawlins.’ Kane’s broad face lit up. ‘What’s my fly guy done now?’

‘Fly guy?’ said Danny.

Kane picked up the cheeseburger carton and guided it through the air.

‘The guy was obsessed.’

‘With flying.’

‘With birds.’

‘What kind of birds?’ said Danny.

‘Whoa now,’ said Kane. ‘No introduction, nothin’. Who the hell are you and what’s your business?’

‘Detective Danny Markey, NYPD.’

‘That’s how you found me. But why you lookin’?’

‘I can’t tell you,’ said Danny, ‘but I just need to know a bit more about Rawlins, anything that might help us understand him better.’

Kane whistled. ‘Good luck to you, detective.’

‘Just tell me what he was like. You lived with him for five years.’

‘N.U.T.S.’

‘Anything more specific?’

‘Yup. All capital letters.’

Danny looked at him.

‘Like what specific?’ said Kane.

‘His temperament, what he was into, likes, dislikes – whatever, you know?’

‘Dating Game stuff,’ cried Kane. He put a hand on his hip, raised his pitch an octave and lisped. ‘Hello, my name is Duke and I like shooting tin cans and sleeping with my cousins. My pastimes include—’

‘All right, big guy. Cut to the chase. Help me out here.’

‘Is this where I say no, but you slip me a few benjis across the counter?’

‘And then I tell you I’m not a good cop, I’m a real bad cop and I’ll break every bone in your body if you don’t tell me what I need to know.’

Kane grinned.

‘Tell me about the birds,’ said Danny.

‘Hawks. Harris’ Hawks. Pictures all over the cell, books, bullshit about them, you name it. I coulda got a job in a bird place by the end of my time.’

‘That’s it? What about the kidnapping his friend had planned?’

‘Loser got killed. Wouldn’t want to be puttin’ no faith in that man’s plans. I’d be lookin’ for someone else to get plans from, I was you. Man, you should have seen Pukey that day. That was his nickname, Pukey Dukey. The guy lost it. He started off upset, then angry, then real fucking angry, saying Donnie should have known better, that he shouldn’t have trapped himself in a corner. Then he blew chunks.’

‘Anything else?’

‘He said the only thing Donnie got right was killing those two people when that woman called the cops. “You make good on your promises,” he’d say.’

‘Honourable guy,’ said Danny.

‘Yeah,’ said Kane.

‘Did he say he had any plans himself, for when he got out?’

‘Sure. He showed me blueprints of bank vaults and gave me times, dates and locations. Oh, and Oswald was a patsy.’

‘All right,’ said Danny. ‘All right. But nothing else you can think of?’

Kane shook his head. ‘Mystery to me,’ he said. ‘You know, you give them the best years of your life…’ He chuckled and turned back to the till, putting his hand out. ‘Burger, fries, coke. That’ll be six dollars ninety-nine.’

Danny tossed some one-dollar bills on the counter. ‘George Washington’s the best I can do.’ He walked away.

‘Hey, detective. One more thing,’ said Kane.

Danny spun around.

‘Your drink,’ said Kane, shaking a Coke. ‘What? You think I was gonna solve your case?’ His laugh echoed off the stainless steel. Danny had to smile.

‘You know? There was something,’ said Kane.

‘Do you know what was funny? Ha-ha, not peculiar?’

‘What?’

‘Duke was beating himself up about the whole kidnapping/shooting mess, because Donnie was getting this money for him, but rumour has it, there was a whole other person about to hit the jackpot, someone who needed money so’s not to be around when Duke Rawlins got out.’ He laughed. ‘No doubt about it, Dukey’d be seriously pukey if he knew who that was. Techni-fuckin’-colour pukey.’

Joe stopped the Jeep to let a group of children cross the street to the harbour. He looked down at the mug shot on the passenger seat. Duke Rawlins stared back at him from a bad fax. Joe thought of the Italian doctor in the eighteen hundreds who studied criminals’ faces and came to the conclusion that most of them had a long face, prominent jaw and thick dark hair. Not Duke Rawlins. Joe drove on, pulling up outside the station.

‘Magnum’s back,’ Richie muttered to Frank when he walked in.

‘Look, there’s something you should know about Mae Miller,’ said Joe.

They looked at him blankly.

‘She’s got Alzheimer’s.’

‘There is nothing wrong with Mae Miller’s mind,’ said Frank, standing up. ‘The woman is as bright as a button.’ He tapped his temple with two fingers. ‘Why would you go around saying a thing like that?’

‘I’m not saying it for the hell of it,’ snapped Joe. ‘John Miller told Anna. Uh, confidentially.’

‘Well, it’s absolute nonsense,’ said Frank. ‘She seems perfectly fine to me. It’s John Miller’s sanity I’d be worried about.’

‘There was nothing you thought unusual about her when you two spoke that time?’ said Joe.

‘No,’ said Frank. But his mind went back to the strange sexual embrace he had been pulled into by the respectable schoolteacher.

The phone rang and Richie picked up. ‘OK,’ he said. He turned to Frank, ‘The Water Unit’s here.’

‘Water Unit?’ said Joe. ‘Why?’

Frank shook his head. ‘Joe, I have to go.’ He grabbed his keys and walked out the door. Joe followed him.

‘Frank, look, before you go…’

‘I’m on my way to the harbour. Can this wait?’

‘No, no,’ said Joe. ‘I’ve got a mug shot for you to look at. Of the guy I was telling you about? Duke Rawlins. Just in case. I have some friends checking into him in the States.

‘And this,’ said Joe, handing him the email. ‘Someone emailed this to Shaun the other day, no return address. Read the confidentiality note. This can’t all be a coincidence. I’ve spent time on this. I know what I’m talking about.’

‘OK, Joe. I’ll report this all to Waterford in the morning. They can check this Rawlins man out through Interpol, but with all the red tape, I’d say your friends in the States will be able to get back to you quicker.’

‘Thank you, Frank. I appreciate this.’ He grabbed Frank’s arm as he was trying to get into the car. ‘You’ve found something new, haven’t you? That’s why the Water Unit’s down at the harbour. What did you find?’

‘You know I can’t tell you that.’

‘What does it mean for Shaun?’

‘I think it’s what it means for Katie that matters most.’

Frank got into the car and looked at the email again. He decided to make a detour on his way home that evening.

Anna filled two buckets with hot water, squirting liquid soap into one. She pulled a grey fleece hat low over her head and slipped on a pair of gardening gloves.

Shaun was slumped in the window seat.

‘Want to help?’ she asked cheerily.

‘Yeah, right. Only moms think housework makes people feel better.’

She sighed. ‘OK, OK. I was just asking.’

Anna tucked a bag of cloths under her arm and pushed her way out the back door. It was eleven-thirty a.m., but so overcast, it was almost dark. She barely looked up as she crossed the grass, keeping her eyes on the water level in the buckets. She couldn’t help but feel better when she arrived at the lighthouse. She unlocked the doors and went up to the gallery to start cleaning the lens. Within twenty minutes, she was in the workshop, pulling out as many buckets and cloths as she could find. She went back into the house to Shaun.

‘Sorry, but you’ve got no choice. I can’t keep going up and down those steps all day. You’ll have to help me take some water up.’

Shaun glared at her. ‘I can’t believe you’re making me do this right now. I’ve just lost everything in my life, even my shitty job, and you want me to—’

‘Carry some buckets, Shaun. Nothing more dramatic than that. It will take half an hour. I’ll make it up to you. Believe me, I would rather not be doing this myself, but unfortunately life goes on.’

‘You sound so cold,’ he said. In her face, he got the reaction he was hoping for.

When he was finished helping her, he went to his room and lay on the bed, reaching for the remote control. It switched on to the news. ‘A team of Garda divers has arrived in Mountcannon, Co. Waterford, following the emergence of new evidence in the Katie Lawson murder inquiry…’ The shot cut to the harbour. A reporter in a beige coat and red check scarf raised her microphone. Shaun jumped up and grabbed his jacket.

For four hours, Anna washed down the lens, inside and out, then swept and scrubbed the floors. Darts of pain ran across the small of her back. Her shoulders ached and she was starving. She went back into the kitchen and there was a sandwich and a bottle of Coke on the counter from Shaun with a note beside it – gone out. She ate quickly and headed out again, rolling the top of a pair of overalls down to her waist, tying the arms in a knot. She pulled a blue sweatshirt over her T-shirt and walked towards the lighthouse.

‘Excuse me? Mrs Lucchesi?’ She turned around to see a man smiling down at her.

‘Hi. I’m Gary. Mark from Lawn Order can’t make it today or tomorrow. Personal stuff. He sometimes calls me to fill in.’

‘Oh,’ she said, puzzled. ‘He didn’t say anything about that. It would have been OK for him not to come in for a couple of days. There’s no real need for you to be here.’

He looked down at the pot he was carrying. ‘Well, I’ve brought some things, so I may as well just unload them.’

‘That’s very pretty,’ she said, touching one of the leaves. ‘What is it?’

‘Uh, that’s a—’ he looked at the label, ‘Hosta.’

Anna studied his face. ‘Well, you can put it down there,’ she said. ‘Near the bottom of the steps. Are you sure that’s it? That it’s something personal, that’s why Mark didn’t come to work?’

He stopped. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘That’s all it is.’

Anna watched as he walked away, then went back into the house and dialled Mark’s number. It was diverted.

When Shaun got to the harbour, the first thing he saw was the crew from the TV station, the cameraman heaving off his equipment and swinging it through the open doors of a news van. The reporter stood a few feet away, pushing away the hair that blew across her face, then climbing into the passenger seat. Shaun watched as they drove up the slope, the driver nodding as he passed him. Small crowds had gathered to watch the activity by the dock. Shaun stood far enough away to go unnoticed.

Seven men in black drysuits stood on the harbour wall, looking into the water, a line of boats rocking back and forth against the concrete beneath them. One of them nodded and the first diver slid down the side into the water, holding a thick rope in his hand. His head stayed above the surface. Then three divers pulled on black masks and jumped in after him, each with white dual cylinder oxygen tanks mounted on their backs. They held on to the rope and moved under the boats.

Martha Lawson brought a tissue up to her nose and looked away, as though they were immediately going to find a new horror for her to face. She linked her sister’s arm. The divers continued for hours, moving around the harbour, then further out, working from a small boat.

Shaun was still there after most of the onlookers had gone home. Everything he saw depressed him. The boats that could have spent a month carrying evidence out to sea in tangled fishing nets, the churning tides crashing off the rocks, even the hungry seagulls that flew overhead. The secrets of the harbour today were not the same secrets as a month ago. Suddenly, he heard a shout from one of the divers in the boat. The three divers in the water surfaced. One of them held a pink sneaker in his right hand. Shaun watched as it was placed into a clear plastic evidence bag. He started to cry. He loved those sneakers. They were so Katie.

Victor Nicotero was sitting on his deck with a cardigan zipped up to his neck and a can of beer that was freezing his hand. Patti handed him the phone.

‘Nic, when do I call you?’

‘When you’re looking for something, Joe.’

‘I know, I know. And this time, it’s for another alarm bell check. Because they are ringing loud, here. But honestly? I don’t know if a part of me is wanting something to be this way or not…’

‘Spell it out for me.’

‘OK, if you heard what I’m about to tell you…what would you think? Two guys from the same small town, one a kidnapper/murderer, the other – done time for stabbing a guy. The big crime around the area before then is the rape of nine women who were then hunted down like animals and killed. Case goes unsolved. Years later, the first guy is shot dead. The second guy’s out of prison and within two months, a new girl is found dead in the woods where he’s at. Meanwhile, the Police Chief in their town, head of the original serial killer task force, commits suicide.’

‘I gotta tell you, I’d be hearing a ringing too, Joe. Especially if it was my son’s girlfriend…’

‘You don’t miss a trick.’ They were quiet for a while. ‘So, how’d you like a trip to Texas, Nic?’

‘I’m old. I need heat. I say yes.’

‘If you hiked those pants up to your armpits like you’re supposed to—’

‘You’re right behind me, buddy. When’s the big five oh?’

‘Four days. And ten years.’

‘Sure, Lucchesi. So, what’s the plan?’

‘I need you to go talk to the lonely widow of a man called Ogden Parnum. Find out what you can about why her Police Chief husband decided to blow his brains out. And anything you can about the Crosscut case he had been working on—’

‘Crosscut? OK. I’m on it.’

Nora Deegan stood at the wall in front of her favourite painting, a simple watercolour that picked up the greens and purples in the living room. She was holding a paint card beside it, moving along rows of small squares, each with a different shade of white.

‘I can’t make up my mind,’ she said. ‘For the gallery.’

‘Too many shades of white,’ said Frank. He pointed to one. ‘I like that.’ Nora nodded.

‘I need you to do something for me,’ he said suddenly. ‘On one of your little coffee mornings.’

‘What do you mean little? They’re huge, important affairs. Do you mind?’

‘Of course they are,’ said Frank, smiling. ‘I just need you to, I don’t know, settle things down around the place.’

‘What?’

‘The Lucchesis. It’s all around the village about Shaun,’ he said. ‘But the lad’s not involved. If he was, he’d be locked up by now. He’s in bits. I’ve seen how people are reacting. And Anna and Joe. Joe has been a pain in the backside since this all happened, but you can’t blame him. I think the poor man is driven mad. He’s getting fierce paranoid. He got this email in and it was total nonsense and he was thinking the worst as usual. Anyway, enough of that, it’s safe to say, the family is under a fair bit of pressure. Is there any chance you could, I don’t know, say the right thing to the right people? I know you tell the golf ladies about my cases.’

She raised an eyebrow.

‘You’re the sergeant’s wife, honey. They’ll trust you.’

Lime-scented steam filled the bathroom. Joe walked in and stepped around a pile of Anna’s clothes that lay crumpled on the floor.

‘Don’t go near them,’ she shouted from the shower. ‘Toxic.’

He tried to smile.

‘I’m serious. I had to do everything today. Some of the workmen didn’t show up and neither did Mark. I’m starting to get nervous.’

He made a face. He opened the mirrored door of the cabinet and started searching through it.

‘Well, would you show up for work if you thought someone was being questioned in the house about a murder?’ said Anna.

Joe kept searching, holding a finger up to let Anna know he couldn’t speak. A flash of frustration crossed her face.

‘But Shaun went in voluntarily,’ he managed, ‘no big deal.’

‘That’s not the way people’s minds work. I think something funny’s going on, Joe. With you trying to stick your nose in and Shaun being questioned, I think everyone’s avoiding us.’

‘Don’t be silly, honey.’

‘At least Mark had the decency to send a replacement. Even if he was a bit clueless. You know the way Mark strides around, knows every bit of the land. This guy seemed out of it. I sent him away, though. I’d rather wait.’

‘Mark will be back and so will the others.’

‘I’m the one who needs a rest,’ said Anna. ‘I’m exhausted.’ She turned off the shower.

Joe reached for her bathrobe. She saw him wince when he turned his head.

‘I got you some heat packs for your jaw. Like eye masks. They’re in hot water.’ She pointed to the sink and the round objects floating in it. Joe looked in and saw two gel-filled plastic faces. One was Homer Simpson, the other was Bart. He looked at her and raised his eyebrows. She smiled.

He took them out, dried them on a towel and put one up to each cheek.

‘Hmm. Warm.’

Suddenly, they heard frantic pounding on the front door. They exchanged glances. Joe looked at his watch; it was almost midnight. He put the packs back in the sink. They both walked slowly downstairs into the hall, Joe holding his hand back to keep Anna behind him. She pushed it away.

‘Uh-oh,’ said Joe as he looked through the glass. He opened the door.

‘What is wrong with your family?’ said Martha hysterically. ‘What is wrong with you all?’ Her eyes were dark and sunken, her hair pulled back into a thin ponytail. In one month, she had lost thirty pounds from her slender frame.

She looked from Joe to Anna. ‘Your son comes over here, has…has sex with my daughter…I didn’t raise my daughter to be having sex before marriage! Then he lies to the guards. What did he do to her?’ Anna almost cried at what she was witnessing, more for the broken woman before her than what she was saying about her son.

‘Martha…’ Joe’s jaw felt like it was being torn apart.

‘You’re a murderer!’ she shouted. ‘Who are you to comment on anything? Shooting someone dead, I heard. And I came to you looking for help! You, of all people. Was I mad? You…carried her coffin!’ She raised her hand, then lowered it, clenching it into a fist in front of her. ‘If I find out that…he, that…I swear to God…’ She trailed off. Joe stared at her.

‘Have you nothing at all to say for yourself?’ she shouted.

Anna finally spoke. ‘Shaun really loved Katie. You know in your heart, Martha, he would never hurt her.’

‘I know nothing,’ she cried. ‘Nothing about anything! I don’t know what to think! Why did he leave her to walk home alone?’ she said, her voice strangled and desperate. Shaun had come to the door. Tears were falling down his cheeks.

‘I don’t know why,’ he sobbed. ‘I don’t know why either. It was a mistake.’

‘Martha, I’m so sorry about Katie,’ said Anna. ‘We all are. But none of us knows why it happened.’

‘Someone has to know!’ said Martha. ‘Someone has to know! What else do you know?’ she pleaded with Shaun. ‘What else haven’t you told them?’

Shaun was wailing, his hands covering his face. ‘Nothing, nothing, nothing. I’ve told them everything now. She’s just gone. I can’t believe any of it.’

‘Lies, lies and more lies,’ said Martha. ‘You’re a disgrace of a family.’ She turned and staggered down the path. Shaun ran to his room.

Joe shook his head and looked at Anna.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘This is a fucking nightmare.’