Darkhouse

THIRTY-ONE

D.I. O’Connor wrenched open the door to the interview room and charged down the corridor. He grabbed the phone from the front desk and punched in the number for Mountcannon station. He was instantly diverted back to his own switchboard. He ran for his car. The siren rang out through the city as he sped onto the road to the small village.

Joe was bent over the drawer in the kitchen, dragging his hands frantically through blister packs and bottles of medicine that would do nothing to stop the pain building all over his skull. He filled a glass of water and tried to drink, but the cold ripped through his teeth and made his head spin. His mind ran through images like slides from a projector, flashing white corpses and black blood. He tried desperately not to imagine Anna among them, injured or dead or…he couldn’t consider what else Duke Rawlins was capable of. Somewhere inside him, a shutter descended to preserve his sanity. He willed himself to think of every beautiful image he had of Anna – walking down the aisle, holding Shaun on her hip, painting their new apartment, standing in the hallway with her tousled hair when he was going to sleep in the spare room.

He wiped away tears and concentrated on the man he knew he would be forced to face. Duke Rawlins had gone to jail for a minor stabbing, but had got away with his vilest crimes. He had managed to get an alibi from a Police Chief that lasted him over ten years. Joe knew he was unlikely to ever find out why. What mattered now was that he had been sucked into the world of a psychopath. His actions on a sunny day in a New York park had brought this killer to his family and to the village they loved. Joe decided he deserved the pain he was feeling.

His one consolation was that he had already struck what he hoped was the final blow to Rawlins’ plan. He had stripped it of its reason for being. He had told him that his wife and his best friend had betrayed him. Then he realised, with a desperate surge of panic, that he had just created a situation where Duke Rawlins had nothing to lose.

The phone rang.

‘There is somebody waitin’ for you at the end of your garden,’ said Duke. ‘And I mean…Some. Body.’

Joe’s stomach spasmed. He ran, grabbing a torch and sprinting from the house into the dusk. He slipped on the damp grass, breaking his fall with his hand, pushing himself up again and running until he came close enough to see the figure lying face down by a tangle of wild bushes. He moved the beam slowly across the grass towards it. His breath caught, then slipped out as a small, guilty sigh of relief. Siobhán Fallon had been trying to run away when two arrows from behind had pierced her flesh. Blood pooled out from under her, showing up black against the grass. Joe recognised the slash on her arm. He remembered the way she had looked at it, surprise replaced by anger. Now he understood. It was the first wound from a man who had promised her the world to join his game, then taken it all back when her part was played.

The phone rang in Joe’s pocket. He pulled it out. After a silence that stretched for several seconds, Joe realised Duke was struggling to breathe he was laughing so hard.

‘Aw, man!’ he said, chuckling. ‘Aw, man.’ Then his voice dropped to a growl. ‘Happy now? It’s just you and me – one on one.’

Joe closed his eyes and spoke slowly through a mouth he could barely open.

‘In some dark corner of your mind, you think what you do is noble, that what you do when you hunt down and rape and murder is noble. You have your technique, your games, your bullshit. But when you strip away the technique, Rawlins, what’s left? Vengeance. Plain old vengeance. A low motivation that makes you no different to the next pathetic piece of shit and the next and the next.’

‘And if you got the chance,’ said Duke, ‘you wouldn’t put a bullet through my heart for what I’m about to do?’

‘What do you mean what you’re about to do?’ Then Joe pulled the phone away from his ear and shouted into it. ‘You know what? I’m not playing anymore, you cowardly, fucked-up son of a bitch!’ He threw the phone across the grass. His vocal cords were raw. Pain erupted across his face. He buried his head in his hands. Then he realised Duke Rawlins wouldn’t be getting any pleasure from all this if he wasn’t watching. So he stopped and looked around, focusing on the best vantage point he could see.

‘Don’t you want the file?’ he roared into the dark. ‘I’ve got the file.’

Suddenly a thick beam of light swept across him and out to sea.

‘Ah, for God’s sake,’ said O’Connor, leaning to his left, trying to watch the road and punch Frank’s number into the new mobile phone mounted by his radio. The tiny joystick in the centre was lost under his finger. ‘You fiddley little shit,’ he said, pulling into the side of the road. He took the phone in his hand and scrolled to Frank’s number. He dialled and got his message minder.

‘Where are you, you dozy…’ He instantly felt bad. He liked Frank. But right now, he wanted to slap him, even though this was something everyone had missed. O’Connor swerved back onto the road and put his foot to the floor. What happened to Katie was so wrong. A wave of sadness swept over him as he thought of a girl he knew only from a photograph. With D.I. Myles O’Connor at the helm, they had all let her down. His name would always be associated with a travesty of an investigation. All he could do now was get there in time to bring it to the only close that would do Katie Lawson justice.

Richie Bates had parked the squad car carefully behind a row of bushes outside Shore’s Rock. He was transfixed by Joe Lucchesi, cast in an eerie light from an upturned torch on his lawn, slamming something into the air and roaring. He saw him run for the lighthouse.

O’Connor screeched to a stop outside the station within an inch of the wall. He jumped out and ran for the door, about to slam the heel of his hand into the intercom. He stopped, took a deep breath and pressed the button gently. He waited. He rang again. He shouted for Frank. There was no answer.

Anna was slipping in and out of consciousness, slumped forward, folded over the rope that bound her to the ladder, weak with the pressure that cut through her stomach. Her knees had buckled, her feet desperate to take the weight. Bound by thin strips of wire, her wrists were curled tight behind her. A thick piece of tape stretched across her mouth.

‘Jesus Christ!’ said Joe, his voice cracking. Her eyes were closed, her body limp. He slipped the file into his jacket and pulled the tape from her mouth. He reached around the back of the ladder and pulled at the bloody rope. It quickly slipped free and hung in loose folds around her thighs. He tried to pull her close but his hand slid across her lower back with a sensation that turned his stomach. He drew his hand up slowly and, over her shoulder, saw his hand and forearm dripping with blood. He looked down. Her sweatshirt and the top of her jeans were soaked.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps, then a roar behind him. ‘Mom! Mom!’

He spun around. Shaun stood and stared at his parents, shocked into silence.

‘I told you to stay in the house,’ Joe yelled over the noise. Upstairs, the wind howled around the lantern house, slamming the door loudly back and forth.

Joe shouted at him, ‘Close the door up there.’

Joe tried to ease Anna onto the floor in the tiny space and had to kick the loose rope out from under her…rope that had come free with the smallest of efforts. A chill swept over him with a buried memory. Too. Easy. Anna spasmed against him and she was awake. She shook her head violently from side to side. Her eyes were screaming.

Shaun pushed the door closed against the force of the wind. It smashed back against him, knocking him to the ground.

Joe looked up towards the noise and saw Duke Rawlins through the trap door, his face tight against Shaun’s, the dried blood of his knife wound flaking onto the boy’s skin.

‘You just don’t fuckin’ learn, do you?’ said Duke. ‘Things just don’t fall into your lap, detective.’ He grabbed Shaun harder, jerking him back, pushing a curved blade against his throat.

‘Oh,’ he said, reaching down to Joe, handing him a string. Joe took it and looked up to see a silver helium balloon floating at the other end. Duke smiled. ‘Happy birthday.’

As Frank Deegan drove away from the mountains, his mobile beeped back to life. It stayed in coverage long enough to tell him Myles O’Connor had tried him seven times. But not long enough that he could do anything about it.

Richie closed the car door gently behind him and stepped across the ditch and through a gap in the hedge. He crouched low and moved towards the lighthouse and the shadows dancing high in the tower.

‘She tried to help that fat bitch,’ said Duke, nodding towards Anna, her tiny body slumped against the wall. ‘Sheba.’

‘Siobhán,’ muttered Anna. ‘Her name was Siobhán.’

Duke snorted and made a face like he didn’t care. He nodded at Anna again. ‘She even got away from me…but just for a little while.’ He smiled.

The lighthouse lens rotated above them, sending out a sound like a giant blowtorch. Joe looked at the brass vents that ran around the room at floor level and at six feet. He knew from Anna that either the north- or south-facing vents should have been open, depending on the direction of the wind. But they were closed and there was no way to suck out the fumes from the kerosene that were filling the cramped space.

‘OK. This won’t take long,’ said Duke. ‘It’ll be one of those quick decisions, you know, like whether or not to shoot an unarmed man, for example. Yup, I know he was unarmed, detective, because all poor Donnie was holding was the pin. And that was for a reason. He was keeping that close to him for a reason that you will never understand. Loyalty…’ He closed his eyes.

‘A loyal man wouldn’t sleep with your wife, Rawlins.’

‘Well, that’s just the thing.’

‘The file,’ said Joe, pulling it out, staining the cover with Anna’s blood. ‘It’s here. Her name is in this. She was in New York the same day in the same park. Can you explain that? She has admitted to the Grayson County D.A. that Donald Riggs was getting that ransom money for them, not for you – for her and Riggs so that they could be as far enough away from you as possible when you became a free man.

‘Donnie wanted to die holdin’ that pin—’

‘No, he did not,’ said Joe calmly, setting the file gently on the floor between them. ‘He wanted to throw it away.’ He nodded down at the stack of photos, witness statements, autopsy findings, court reports, all held in their light cardboard folder. Duke flashed a glance at it, but he was shaking his head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘No.’

They stood in silence like that for some time, Duke swaying gently as he stared into space. Joe held his breath as he watched him, unnerved by thoughts of what could explode out of the growing calm.

‘You can leave now,’ he said. ‘You won’t be caught. You won’t have to spend the rest of your life in jail for all those murders.’

‘What murders?’ said Duke, shrugging. Then something snapped in him again and when he spoke, his voice was ice.

‘Look, I’m not wastin’ my time here, detective. I’m givin’ you a chance. Real quick.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘You gotta be quick.’

Richie Bates could see now that Duke Rawlins had arrived…and had brought with him an opportunity that could change everything.

Shaun stood on the three-inch ledge that ran outside the railing to the balcony. Duke’s arm was gripped around his chest.

‘Shaun, hold tight,’ shouted Joe through the noise of the lens above him and the wind rushing in from the balcony. The pain seared through his jaw and he jerked his hand to his right cheek reflexively.

‘Somethin’ hurtin’ you?’ said Duke, a smile breaking out across his face. He took a step towards him. Shaun rocked back and forth.

Joe’s breath caught. He tried to shake his head.

‘Somethin’ like this?’ said Duke, smashing his fist against Joe’s fingers, driving the pressure deep into his skull. A sharp spasm tore through Joe’s stomach. He doubled over. Water streamed from his eyes.

‘Now, shut your mouth,’ said Duke. He pulled out a mobile phone with his free hand and punched in a number with his thumb. He held it up for Joe to see: 999.

‘I think your wife could use an ambulance,’ said Duke. Joe turned around and looked at Anna. She was in a pool of blood, her face grey, her eyes closed.

‘So here’s your choice,’ said Duke. ‘I drop the phone or I drop your son. Which is it?’

Joe was rooted to the floor. He looked around the room for something, anything that could help his decision or help him kill the man standing in front of him. His eyes fell on the file again.

‘Please,’ he said. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

Duke stepped forward, but instead of bending down, he kicked the file open with the toe of his boot. Then he kicked again and the wind caught the sheets and blew them into the air.

‘No,’ said Duke, kicking again. ‘One more time: I drop the phone or I drop your son. Which is it?’

Joe looked again at Anna. For just a second, her eyes flickered open. She shook her head, a tiny movement that took all her energy. Joe stepped towards her.

‘Get the fuck away from her,’ said Duke as he hit SEND on the phone. ‘Ambulance, ma’am,’ he said. He locked eyes with Joe. ‘OK. Time up, detective. Which do I drop – the phone or the boy?’ He stretched his arm out, the phone hovering over the balcony.

‘The phone,’ Joe said quietly.

‘Can’t hear you,’ said Duke. ‘What’s that you said?’

‘No, Dad, no!’ roared Shaun. ‘No!’ He bucked against the railings.

‘What’ll it be, detective?’

‘The phone,’ roared Joe. ‘Drop the fucking phone, you sick son of a bitch.’

‘Ambulance, hello, can I help you?’ The voice was tinny and distant as Duke leaned over the balcony and let the phone fall thirty feet onto the ground below, shattering on impact.

Shaun cried out as Duke released his grip on his chest, then jerked him back quickly towards him at the last second.

‘Oh, I’ve cut the line from your house too,’ said Duke. He spoke to Shaun, ‘Hook your hands into the railing. Then you can come in and say hi to your dad. He’s just killed your mom.’

Shaun climbed back over and as soon as he turned to walk back in, Duke put a foot in the small of his back and sent him forward, landing against Joe, who stumbled backwards with the weight. Shaun staggered away and Joe lunged for the door, but Duke was too quick, out onto the balcony and gone.

Joe turned to Shaun. ‘Get help. Tell the police what’s happened. She’ll be OK.’ He went outside, pushing against the wind. It whistled through his mouth, finding the gaps to create more agony, layering it on top of pain he had never before experienced. When he looked around, the balcony was empty and a lone rope swung in the wind. Joe turned to run back through the lighthouse when he was lit from behind by flashes of blue and white.

‘It’s the guards,’ he shouted to Shaun. ‘They’ll send an ambulance. I have to go.’ He looked down as someone climbed out of the car. ‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘It’s Richie.’ The guy would never believe him.

O’Connor pulled out a cigarette and lit up. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. His mobile vibrated once, then rang at the highest volume he could have set.

‘Myles, it’s Frank Deegan.’

‘Where have you been?’ barked O’Connor. ‘I’ve been trying to get through to you all afternoon.’

Frank hesitated. ‘The Ballyhoura mountains, the coverage is up and down like a yo-yo. I’m nearly back now. I’ve a bit of news for you. I’ll tell you when I see you.’

‘No, you fucking won’t,’ snapped O’Connor.

Frank was stunned. ‘Pardon?’

‘You’ll tell me now, Frank, what the hell is going on.’

‘What do you mean? About what? I was finding out about that Mary Casey woman in Doon. That Duke Rawlins man that Joe Lucchesi was talking about – I’ve seen what he’s done to women back in the States. And it’s exactly what happened to that woman in Limerick, except the Americans were arrow wounds, instead of knife wounds. But if all someone had was a knife…I’ve a feeling this crime was more about opportunity than anything else. The man’s in the country. I’ve no doubt about it.’ He couldn’t hear O’Connor shouting over him to shut up and listen.

‘That’s Limerick’s case,’ boomed O’Connor when Frank stopped talking. ‘If you kept your eye on the fucking ball here—’

Frank’s face burned.

‘Look,’ said O’Connor, ‘you’ve passed on the information and that’s enough—’

‘What?’ said Frank. ‘But what about Katie Lawson? I think he changed his M.O. to make us think that Shaun or Joe—’

‘Something’s come up with Katie Lawson,’ snapped O’Connor. ‘Just go straight to the Lucchesi house. Don’t go in. I’ll see you there.’

Joe ran towards Richie, ready with his explanation, but he didn’t need it.

‘What the fuck was that?’ said Richie. ‘Some psycho pulled open my door and smashed in my radio.’

‘I need an ambulance for Anna,’ said Joe. ‘It was him. Rawlins. He’s done something to Anna.’ They both looked at the shattered radio, sharp shards of plastic sticking out, its wires hanging, useless.

‘Where is she?’

‘With Shaun in the lighthouse. But…’ Panic flared in Joe’s eyes.

‘I know,’ said Richie. ‘You need to get the fucker. Get in. The ambulance won’t take long. I’ll use my mobile.’

Richie moved away from the car to find a signal. He spoke urgently, then ran back to the car, starting the engine and screeching across the grass and onto the road.

‘He’s in a white Ford Fiesta van. He only has about five minutes on us,’ said Richie. ‘He’s gone up the hill. I won’t use the lights or siren, he’ll panic. Where do you think he’s headed?’

‘He knows he’s screwed,’ said Joe. ‘He’s wanted for too many crimes back home, he knows that now. He’ll want to get the fuck out of Dodge, but he won’t make it onto any plane.’

‘But he could get to England or Wales,’ said Richie.

‘On the ferry.’

‘From Rosslare? Would he know that?’

‘The guy is not stupid. He would have planned every bit of this.’ ‘Do you think we should call Frank?’

Richie raised an eyebrow, ‘And follow the rules?’ He glanced over at Joe. ‘This guy tried to kill your wife…’

He got his answer in Joe’s silence. They rounded the next bend and sped past the right-hand turn into Manor Road that would have brought them past the church and up through the village. They both glanced right. Richie braked.

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Joe, slamming his fist onto the glove box. Richie reversed and the abandoned white van came into view. ‘What the fuck is he doing in the village?’

Shaun cradled his mother’s head on his lap, feeling strange to have her so close. Her eyes were shut, her face pale. He had been rubbing her forehead compulsively for the fifteen minutes since Joe had left. A chill wind was whipping rain around the lighthouse and his ears hurt. He stopped and put his hand over Anna’s ear so she wouldn’t feel it. His sweatshirt lay across her stomach. He pressed it against her wounds. But he knew there was blood everywhere and he couldn’t look down.

Richie parked the car at an angle, its headlights trained on the battered van. Joe jumped out, quickly wrenching the back door open with a crowbar. Empty, the small space seemed huge. He ran back to Richie, squinting against the light.

‘Go! Let’s go! There’s nothing there. He’s gone.’

‘Fuck,’ said Richie, turning the car towards the village, flooring the accelerator.

He hit seventy as he took the next bend, his mind on the chase, not on his driving.

‘Jesus Christ, look out!’ said Joe.

Richie jammed on the brakes, stunned by the scene ahead. There was no way through. The road outside the church was filled with cars, most of them parked, some of them moving and one at a ninety degree angle, its driver frozen by the speeding squad car bearing down on it. Richie jerked the steering wheel to the left and they spun out of control, skidding across the wet surface, sending up a spray of muddy rainwater, finally shuddering to a stop inches from impact.

‘This is fucked up,’ said Joe.

Richie jumped out and slammed the door violently. The glove box popped open. An icy fear flooded Joe’s body. He grabbed Richie’s mobile from the dash and ran. All around him, people were rushing for their cars, struggling with umbrellas in the wind. Drivers flashed headlights and honked their horns. As he ran, Joe hit redial to find Frank’s number. Rain splashed onto the screen. He wiped it away and read through the list of dialled calls. Then he bolted, past the church steps where the crowd was at its thickest, where people were beginning to notice something wasn’t right. He kept running. A cigarette tip caught on his sleeve, shedding a spray of sparks. Someone cursed behind him. As the crowd thinned out, he caught up with Richie. He dived for his legs, tackling him to the wet tarmac. He turned him over and punched hard, splitting the skin under Richie’s eye.

Shaun heard the wail of a siren. Tears started to stream down his face. Lights flashed again outside the lighthouse. He heard the engine cut and shouts in the distance, slowly getting closer.

Joe sped through everything he knew. Richie’s anger, his road rage. Ray’s puzzled face when he had mentioned it. Ray hadn’t said road rage, he’d said ’roid rage. Steroids. Drugs. The edgy cokefuelled arrogance. Jumpy Richie by Mariner’s Strand a month after Katie’s death. He was probably there a month before, and would be there the following month too…a regular meeting with a dealer he could tip off. An image of Katie standing alone in the dark flashed into his mind. She was holding her mobile and she was calling Frank Deegan because she knew he was the only person she could trust. But she never got the chance to finish the call because a drug-addled six-foot-three keeper of the fucking peace—

Richie punched him in the jaw, sending pain rocketing through him. He staggered backwards and landed hard. A reluctant crowd had started to gather and Richie gestured for them all to stay back. He walked over to where Joe was lying and crouched down beside him.

Frank Deegan took the steps, two at a time, up to the lantern house. He climbed the ladder and raised his head carefully through the trap door. The first thing he saw was blood. He had to put his hands in it to push himself up. He had to sit in it before he could stand. His voice cracked as he called down to O’Connor,

‘Get an ambulance, for the love of God, Myles.’

‘Shaun,’ said Frank gently. ‘Who was here?’

‘The guy who did this,’ he whispered, squeezing his mother. ‘My dad’s gone after him. He’s with Richie.’

Frank looked down at O’Connor. Their eyes locked. O’Connor grabbed his radio.

Joe leaned up into Richie’s face. ‘I saw your cell phone.’

‘Give me that fucking phone,’ said Richie, slamming his elbow onto Joe’s wrist, releasing his grip.

‘You didn’t even call Anna her ambulance, you evil son of a bitch. They’ve found prints on Katie’s sneaker from the harbour. Frank told me they’d ruled Shaun out. And you were hoping you could pin this on Duke Rawlins, get me to take care of that—’

‘Oh, I think I could pin it on you after this,’ he said, nodding towards the people who were starting to move up around them.

Joe snorted. ‘They’ve got no respect for you.’

‘Says the loose cannon murdering cop? I’m the one in uniform here, remember,’ Richie hissed. ‘You haven’t a fucking hope. There are no prints, Joe. And you’re covered in blood, for fuck’s sake. You’re in a strange country. And we look after our own here. No-one’s going to believe you. Watch this.’ He looked back over his shoulder. ‘Someone help me out here,’ he shouted, his voice full of authority. ‘This guy’s a maniac.’ Joe looked up at him, amazed. Anger flared inside him. He heaved Richie off him and struggled to his feet. Two stocky men stepped forward to face him, but were blocked by Petey Grant. Petey leaned forward awkwardly, his big hand holding the lapels of his coat tight under his chin. Rain streamed down his pale face.

‘You didn’t help your friend,’ he said, pointing at Richie.

‘Joe’s not my friend,’ said Richie, standing up slowly.

‘You didn’t help him.’

Richie ignored him and turned back to Joe, his fists clenched.

‘You didn’t help him!’ shouted Petey. ‘Your friend! Justin Dwyer. In the sea. I saw you. You stood there. He died.’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Richie.

‘He was crying and you didn’t help him—’ A gust of wind caught his coat and it swung open, rain soaking quickly through his white shirt.

‘It was an accident—’, said Richie.

‘I know, but you didn’t help him. You can swim. Why didn’t you help? Why? You were watching him drown. I saw you. I was there. Hide and seek…’ Petey started crying.

‘Shut up, you idiot,’ said Richie. ‘Just shut the fuck up.’

‘No,’ sobbed Petey. ‘I can’t. No.’

For seconds, the only other sound was the falling rain. The crowd stood suspended in confusion, thrown by the violence in Richie’s tone, unsure of who the victim was in all the chaos. Mrs Grant stepped forward and reached for Petey’s shaking hand. Before she had time to pull him back, he locked eyes with Joe, his face pleading and uncertain. Joe reached out and gripped Petey’s shoulder, nodding to him proudly. Then he turned to Richie. ‘You son of a bitch,’ he said, charging him to the ground. He looked back at the crowd. ‘Don’t even think of trying to stop me. Your guard here…’ He wanted to roar what Richie had done, but he could see Martha Lawson clinging, terrified, to her sister’s arm and he knew he didn’t want her to find out this way. Richie got back up quickly. Joe’s hand shot out and clamped around his neck.

‘You better let me after that bastard or…’

‘Or what?’ smiled Richie, looking over Joe’s shoulder. The two men rushed past Petey and grabbed Joe, yanking his arms behind his back.

Anna was rushed from the ambulance into the resuscitation area of Waterford Regional Hospital. Shaun tried to follow, but a nurse laid a gentle hand on his arm and guided him down the corridor to wait in the relatives’ room.

Richie was quick with the handcuffs. Joe struggled wildly, pleading with the other men. ‘Don’t fucking do this to me. Please don’t do this to me. My wife is dying. Anna is dying, you fuckers.’ He was roaring.

‘That’s what happens when you attack your own wife,’ said Richie. He nodded at the others. ‘This is a sick man we’re dealing with here.’

‘You son of a bitch! At least call an ambulance,’ said Joe to the men. ‘Someone call an ambulance to Shore’s Rock.’

‘Don’t worry, guys,’ said Richie. ‘I can take care of that on the radio.’

‘He’s broken his radio,’ shouted Joe hysterically. ‘He broke his own radio with his torch. It’s in the glove box. There are pieces everywhere.’ But Richie was shouting louder, telling the men Joe was unstable, gesturing them away from the car, slamming the door shut, putting his foot to the floor.

The nurse slipped quietly into the relatives’ room. She faltered when she saw the blood soaked into Shaun’s T-shirt. He made a move to stand up.

‘Stay where you are,’ she said, sitting down beside him. ‘Your mother is very sick. She’s critical.’

Shaun thought he was going to cry again. What he didn’t realise was that since he got into the ambulance he hadn’t stopped.

Joe was paralysed by anger and frustration. He had to get to Anna. His mind sped through options he didn’t have.

‘Finally,’ said Richie.

Joe looked up, but Richie was speaking into his mobile: ‘I’ve been trying you all fucking day.’

Joe remembered the mobile and the fifteen dialled calls to someone called MC.

‘Where the hell are you now?’ Richie was saying. ‘Yeah? Well you stay right fucking there. I’m on my way.’

Shaun rushed into the corridor as soon as he heard the knock on the door.

‘What’s going on?’ he said.

‘Is your father here yet?’ said the nurse.

‘No.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be here any minute, don’t you worry.’

‘I hope so.’

‘OK, with the type of injuries your mother has suffered, we need to take her to theatre now.’

‘What do you mean, the type of injuries?’ said Shaun.

‘A wound that could seem quite small on the surface, may have caused some internal damage. Maybe not, but it’s something we have to look out for.’

‘But all that blood…’ He pointed at his T-shirt.

‘Yes, she has lost a lot of blood, but she’s also been given six units.’ She paused. ‘Come on, if you’re quick, you can see her before she’s brought up.’

Richie drove the car carefully around the deserted square at the centre of the rundown council estate. Weeds pushed up through cracks in the concrete, litter was strewn everywhere and in the corner, Marcus Canney leaned against the last garage in a row of five. Richie made the turn and slowed, pulling to a stop and jumping out of the car. He walked over to Marcus.

‘What’s the story?’

‘No story,’ said Richie.

‘What have you been up to?’

Richie looked at him. ‘Just give me the fuckin’ gear.’

‘Hold on a minute.’

Marcus stepped sideways, the garage door shot open and four guards burst out, honoured to make this one of Richie Bates’ most memorable arrests.

Shaun could barely get past the shock of tubes and wires that connected Anna to monitors he didn’t understand. He didn’t know where he could touch her. He eventually reached out and put a hand on her forehead. He could sense the urgency of the staff. He didn’t want her to go anywhere. She was alive now. He wanted her to stay that way. Surgery might make it worse. People died in surgery.

The tears still fell, but he wiped the last of them away and let out a shaky breath. He knew his words to his mother wouldn’t be eloquent and if they were the last words she’d ever have to hear, he knew she wouldn’t expect them to be.

He reached down and gently squeezed her finger tips. ‘You’ll be OK. I promise.’ He hesitated. ‘You will, Mom. I know you will. You’re Lucky too.’

Joe burst through the hospital doors. He was covered in blood – his, Anna’s, Richie’s.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Frank, rushing up to him. ‘Rawlins got away, but every guard in the country has been alerted. Anna’s just gone to theatre. Shaun’s in the relatives’ room.’ He looked down. ‘We had no idea about Richie…’

‘I know,’ said Joe.

He kept walking. He took a left through the door Frank had pointed to. Panic hit him in waves. He rounded a corner. Further down, an elderly woman was leaning against the wall, her body twisted in grief. A young man was trying to support her. Joe’s heart lurched. He looked at the row of doors. He knocked on the first one and it was empty. He tried three before he heard a muffled yes. He walked in. Shaun raised his head, then rushed towards him.

‘What?’ said Joe. ‘What?’ Shaun clung to his shoulders, sobbing.

Richie Bates was led through the doors of Waterford Garda Station with his hands cuffed behind his back. His jacket gaped where the buttons had been pulled loose and his skin was split from temple to jaw. An old classmate stood by the front desk, slowly shaking his head.

Shaun spoke in anguished bursts, each breath quick and shallow.

‘She was messed up real bad. They worked on her in the ambulance…and here…and now she’s in theatre.’

Joe watched Shaun trying to be a grown up. It almost broke his heart. He wondered where he had found the strength after everything he had been through.

‘Come here,’ he said, pulling Shaun close. ‘Come here. You shouldn’t have had to deal with this on your own.’

‘I’m OK,’ said Shaun.

Joe wanted to cry at the simplicity of it. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘You did good.’

They sat down together and Joe put an arm around him. He remembered going to the hospital with his mother when he was fourteen and showing none of this strength. She was distraught because she knew she was about to be told she had cancer. And all he was thinking about was himself. He was worried he’d meet the doctor who used to patch him up at the back door whenever he got into a fight.

‘I can’t do this – just sit here, waiting,’ said Joe. ‘I’ll be back. I need to…’ He ran for the emergency department. He looked around, panicked. A nurse rushed past him and before he realised it, his hand shot out and he grabbed her arm. ‘Please,’ he croaked. ‘My wife. Anna Lucchesi. Is she…tell me is she going to be OK?’ He took his hand away. ‘I’m sorry, I’m…’

‘Hold on,’ said the nurse, gently. She disappeared behind one of the curtains and brought back the nurse that had spoken with Shaun.

‘I don’t even know what happened to her…’ said Joe.

‘As soon as she’s out of surgery, the doctor will come and talk to you, Mr Lucchesi. We know where to find you. What I can tell you is your wife is critical and we’re doing everything we can.’ She looked at him with kind eyes. ‘You’re soaking wet,’ she said. ‘Let me get you some towels, you can dry off.’ She paused. ‘Is there anyone you think you might need to call?’

Frank Deegan stood with O’Connor in the waiting area, his head bowed. ‘And I was stupid enough to think he wanted to be a guard to save people, to give himself a second chance. But watching that Dwyer boy drown…well, some part of him must have got a kick out of it.’ He shook his head.

‘It was a power thing with Richie,’ said O’Connor.

‘And this was the only job he thought would give him that? Jesus Christ.’

‘How he came to that conclusion…’

‘Did he feel he had to fight against something?’ said Frank. ‘But, you know, there was always a fight in him. You could see it there, waiting for a reason to—’

‘There’s no point,’ said O’Connor. ‘You didn’t know. I didn’t know…’

‘Has the whole world gone mad?’ said Frank, his voice cracking. He pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it against his eyes. ‘This is it for me,’ he said. ‘You were right, what you said. I’m on my way out.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘And this is it.’

Joe couldn’t bring himself to call Anna’s parents. He would wait until he had good news, until she came out of theatre. He sat with Shaun and they tried desperately to fill the growing silences and keep their imaginations from making up the wrong endings. They talked about sport and school and New York and movies and books.

‘We could talk about Mom,’ said Shaun.

‘I can’t,’ said Joe. ‘I just can’t.’

The red Renault Clio stood in a quiet corner of a reserved parking lot at Rosslare ferry terminal. Duke Rawlins sat low in the cramped passenger seat. He sensed the presence at the window, then grabbed his bag from the floor and got out.

‘Come on,’ said Barry Shanley. He was dressed in black combats and a green parka. Underneath he wore a grey T-shirt with a black Apache helicopter and You Can Run But You Can’t Hide stamped across it. He led Duke along a darkened passageway through a thick wooden door and up a short flight of concrete steps.

‘It’s through here.’ He checked his watch. ‘We’re going to have to wait a minute.’ He leaned back against the wall. The strip light above him shone on his shaved head.

After two hours, a young surgeon knocked on the door. Joe stood up, his heart pounding and nodded for Shaun to stay where he was. He guided the surgeon into the corridor.

‘How is she?’

‘The surgery went well.’

‘What happened to her? I haven’t been told.’

‘She was hit from behind with an arrow that pierced her left kidney. It caused some damage to the kidney itself but, more importantly, to the main artery to the kidney. She also suffered a deep cut to her abdomen, but we didn’t find any obvious damage to the bowel.’

‘Was she assaulted in any other…’

‘No. That was her only injury.’

‘Will there be any long term…’

‘She will have scars and she may have pain for quite some time, but it should be minimal. She’s on her way to ICU. We’ll see how the next few hours go. You can see her when she’s settled.’

‘Thank you,’ said Joe. ‘Thank you.’

The surgeon nodded, then walked away, leaving Joe standing, shaken, in the empty corridor. He took a deep breath and turned around as Shaun was pulling open the door.

‘Your mom is one hell of a toughie,’ he said, ‘for a short-ass.’ And he got the smile he wanted, not the tears.

Duke put a hand firmly on Barry Shanley’s arm. ‘You’re sure this is all good,’ he said.

‘We always come this way because of my old man,’ said Barry. ‘Employee privileges.’

Duke stared at him.

‘Look, it’s cool, OK? Dad’s friend will let us on. It’s no problem. You’re my friend, you’re coming with me, we’re going to Fishguard. Then I’ll get off after you’re on board.’

‘The guy’s gonna say somethin’—’

Barry smiled. ‘This guy says nothing to no-one.’ He looked through the small frosted glass panel in the door. ‘This is all so easy for you, anyway,’ he said, glancing back over his shoulder. ‘Fucking Delta. Unreal. How can you walk around all normal after fast-roping down from a fucking Black Hawk into the middle of a shitstorm like that? Unreal.’

Duke shrugged. ‘You do what you have to do.’ You fuckin’ sucker.

Barry looked back through the glass, then pulled the door open.

‘OK. Go, go, go,’ he said. And Duke Rawlins went.