Gallows Lane

Chapter Seventeen

Sunday, 13 June

We attended early Mass the next morning. The air felt superheated, the atmosphere inside the church warm and heavy. As we were leaving, I saw Agnes Doherty making her way to her car, a young boy holding her hand. When she saw me, she stopped.

‘You must be Sean, is that right?’ I said to the boy as I approached. ‘And how are you, Miss Doherty?’

‘Jesus, Agnes’ll do. How is the. . how are you?’ she said, stopping herself mid-sentence.

‘Fine. The investigation is going well, I think. I’m certain we’ll get the man responsible. We have some very promising leads.’

‘I heard there was another attack,’ she said, shooing her son into the car.

‘Yes, a young girl. She’s recovered, though; given us a very good description. As soon as I have something I’ll let you know. I promise.’

She nodded, looking into the distance, considering unspoken thoughts. ‘If you get a chance, Inspector, don’t arrest him. Just shoot the bastard and have done with it, will you?’ Almost as soon as she had said it, she blessed herself and muttered, ‘God forgive me,’ then went to climb into her car.

I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘We’ll make him pay.’

‘Not nearly enough,’ she stated simply.

Williams and I sat in the office later that day, discussing the case. I told her all that had happened in Club Manhattan, the sighting of the suspect, and the subsequent events in the alleyway.

‘Are you okay now?’ she asked. ‘Shouldn’t you be off work, or something?’

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ I said. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘You need to be more careful,’ she said with annoyance.

‘I know. Anyway, what do we know now?’ I said, fidgeting with the notebook that lay open on the desk in front of me. ‘About our man?’

‘We know he’s big and bald. We know he drives a silver BMW and we know he has a tattoo of Cuchulain.’

‘Actually,’ I said, ‘we know he has several cars: black, red and silver.’

‘We also think he might be a boxer, or fighter of some sort.’

‘Possibly,’ I agreed.

‘Fair enough,’ Williams said. ‘So let’s hit all the local gyms, see if anyone recognizes the tattoo. Maybe follow up Peter McDermott again, too. See if he found anything for us.’

‘Let’s just gather our things. Nowhere will be open today anyway. Besides, the NBCI people will be arriving tomorrow. I’m going to take my paperwork home with me and get it sorted for them. And I have to go to Sligo for this bloody interview tomorrow as well.’

Caroline placed her hand on top of mine. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll all be fine. You’ll see,’ she said, smiling a little sadly.

I spent the rest of Sunday with Debs and the children, trying desperately to forget that the following morning would see the arrival of both the NBCI detectives and the panel which would be conducting my interview. But despite our better efforts at levity, neither Debbie nor I could escape the looming presence of Miriam Powell in our lives once more.

Debbie was quieter than usual that evening, half answering questions and absentmindedly dropping conversations mid-sentence. She stood with her back to me in the kitchen, her arms deep in the sudsy water, staring, motionless, out at the back garden where Frank was playing with one of Shane’s small footballs.

‘I still don’t know what to say tomorrow,’ I said, hoping that Debbie would tell me what to do and thereby allow me to abdicate responsibility. That thought reminded me of my more recent action involving Declan O’Kane’s car.

‘What?’ she said, still turned from me.

‘I said I don’t know what to say tomorrow,’ I repeated.

‘I don’t know, either, Ben,’ she replied sharply. ‘Say whatever you want to say.’

‘What’s wrong?’ I said, walking over behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist from behind.

She shrugged out of my hold, tutting with annoyance. ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ she said. ‘I can’t make up your mind for you.’ She lifted the tea towel from beside the sink and rubbed vigorously at her hands and arms.

‘Should I tell them about Patterson planting the drugs?’ I asked.

She turned and looked at me quizzically for a moment. ‘You know, honesty isn’t always a virtue, Ben. Don’t delude yourself into self-righteousness.’ She handed me the balled-up towel and walked away.