Guilty

by Siobhan MacDonald

  Biting into the sandwich, he allowed his eyes to wander around the kitchen. A pile of folded towels sat on the work surface. A collection of boxes and a syringe also sat on the surface. Medication for the cat. A tea set lay draining on the draining board. Too small to be of any practical use.

  Sophie followed his gaze. ‘Collecting tea sets is a hobby. Childish, I know.’

  ‘Some of us have pleasures not everyone would understand,’ he said.

  He felt himself drawn closer to this woman who provided a welcome distraction from all the gruelling sessions with Terence. He made a mental note to seek a gift to add to her collection. His eyes drifted beyond Sophie’s shoulder to an open shelving unit, coming to rest on a photo frame. It showed a younger-looking Sophie, a man’s arm around her shoulder. His arm was muscled and bulky and he was wearing a sombrero.

  ‘Me and Kevin,’ she offered, glancing over her shoulder. ‘On honeymoon in Majorca. At a bullfight.’

  He took another bite of his sandwich. He was surprisingly hungry.

  ‘You think it’s weird, don’t you? Keeping a photo of my ex like that.’

  ‘What would I know?’ He was hardly qualified to comment. Few couples could have a relationship as strange as his and Alison’s.

  ‘Kevin worked at the hydroelectric station on the river.’ She wiped some crumbs from her mouth. ‘He was a part-time car mechanic too.’

  Luke hoped he wasn’t prying. But Sophie seemed content to talk.

  ‘There were good times. Before it got messy. I prefer to remember the good times.’

  ‘Is Kevin still around?’

  ‘He moved away after the divorce and we lost touch. I wish him well, wherever he is.’

  It was as frank an exchange as they’d ever had about her ex. If he and Alison were to divorce, would Alison be as generous? He doubted it. Not that the subject had ever arisen. Luke appreciated Sophie’s sensitivity in not poking about the innards of his marriage. She made things easy. She never brought up separation or legal proceedings, in no rush to regularise their relationship in any way.

  A sickly sound came from the cat, hunched in his basket. Sophie sprang from her chair and crouched at the animal’s side. She craned her neck, looking at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s nearly time. I can give him another shot.’

  Luke watched as she tenderly injected the syringe into the cat. The animal stiffened then relaxed with a whimper.

  ‘How old is he?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Eighteen this year.’ Her eyes were wet.

  ‘Is he in much pain?’

  ‘I really hope not. The injections seem to help.’

  ‘Have you considered … do you think it might be kinder—’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly, making it clear that this was not something she wanted to talk about. ‘I’m too fond of him. I don’t know how I’ll bear it when he goes.’

  He hadn’t meant to be insensitive, and he sensed a shift in the atmosphere between them. Things were not going according to plan.

  ‘Of course. I understand completely. I get it. It’s just—’

  ‘I couldn’t put him to sleep. He’s only just started the injections. I need to give it time. He deserves the chance.’

  Turning her back to him, she went to the sink.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sophie. I’m not really thinking clearly.’ He hadn’t realised the depth of Sophie’s attachment to the animal. ‘The oddest thing just happened. I don’t know what to make of it.’

  ‘Yeah?’ she answered flatly, her thoughts clearly on the cat.

  ‘I got a note to collect a parcel from the post office.’

  She turned around, drying the miniature tea set with a tea towel.

  ‘Come and see,’ he said. ‘Outside, in the car.’

  The Doll

  Pulling on a raincoat Sophie followed Luke to the car. The boot opened like the curtains on some ghoulish stage play.

  ‘That looks like a … a coffin?’ She clutched at the folds of her unzipped coat.

  As Luke opened the casket, Sophie gripped his arm with one hand, the other flying to cover her mouth. Luke found the sight just as repugnant the second time around. Sophie stared. Her eyes were fixed, unblinking, absorbing the coffin and the doll that lay inside. Reaching in, he closed the lid, sealing off the noxious stench.

  ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘I know, it’s disgusting.’

  Sophie shuddered. ‘It looks like an effigy of some kind. And what was that taped to its head? Was it supposed to be brain matter?’

  He closed the boot. ‘Let’s get out of the rain.’ He clicked the key fob. The doors refused to lock. Nothing was going his way. Back inside, Sophie leaned against a kitchen counter. She turned to Luke.

  ‘Who sent you this? More to the point, why?’

  Luke shook his head and shrugged. ‘This was in the casket.’ He showed her the metal tag.

  Sophie stared at the tag in his hand. ‘RIP Nina Forde-Thompson,’ she whispered. She looked at Luke. ‘What’s all this about? You must have some idea.’

  He shook his head. ‘Someone has gone to a lot of effort. First the death notice, now this. I don’t know what to make of it,’ he answered carefully. ‘It’s scaring me, to be honest.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ said Sophie gently. ‘But you know that Nina’s OK. I mean, you’ve spoken to her and everything?’

  She took the metal tag.

  ‘I have, but even so …’

  Despite their efforts, Alison and Cornelius’s investigations so far had come up empty. They were none the wiser about the announcements in the Herald.

  ‘Well, one thing is obvious to me,’ said Sophie, handing the tag back.

  ‘It is?’

  ‘Someone’s got it in for you or your family.’

  ‘I think that much is clear. But the question is, why? And where is all this going? For the moment, Nina is safe in Australia, but what if someone’s intent on causing her real harm?’

  Sophie looked at him. ‘I think the police have to be told. But what are your thoughts?’ she asked. ‘What’s going on in your head?’

  Luke didn’t answer. He was thinking hard.

  ‘You are going to take this to the police, aren’t you?’

  ‘Probably, I don’t know.’

  From the basket came a plaintive whimper. It sounded like the cat’s medication was wearing off. Another whimper followed.

  Sophie rushed to the basket and sank to comfort the animal.

  ‘Soph, I’ll leave you to it. We can talk later,’ Luke said quietly. ‘I need to think this through.’ Opening the back door, he pulled up his collar and headed back out into the rain.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, he pulled up outside Crow Hall. Gilligan’s twoseater was parked at the house next to Cornelius’s Jaguar. Alison’s car was nowhere to be seen. Luke guessed it was round the side. Alison spent more time at Crow Hall than her constituency office. The draughty house always drew her back. It was in her marrow. These days, she rarely bothered to return Luke’s calls or texts.

  He flung his car door open, letting it wallop against Gilligan’s vehicle. Getting out, he examined the dent. ‘Oops,’ he muttered. He headed for the front door and let himself in.

  Cornelius and Gilligan were in the kitchen. They were leaning over the table. A flustered Cornelius slurped at a cup of coffee. He was jabbing at a sheet of paper.

  ‘I think that would be better sited here …’

  Both men looked up as Luke’s footsteps sounded on the flagstones.

  ‘If it isn’t the professor,’ declared Cornelius. A button on his shirt had popped. His cheeks were like a veiny jellyfish.

  ‘Where’s Alison?’ asked Luke.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks for asking. My daughter’s in the yard, helping Sly.’

  Luke headed for the back kitchen.

  ‘It’s busy out there,’ Cornelius warned. ‘I had to call the lads in on a Saturday. I’d ordered five extra loads.’ He hel
d up five fat fingers.

  Crow Hall labourers had been distributing sandbags to flood sites all around the lough. There had been no public talk of any profit to Cornelius from this enterprise. Such talk would be considered disloyal.

  Every Christmas Cornelius threw a lavish party for the staff and their families at Crow Hall. No expense was spared. Outside caterers were hired and the large library would fill with sounds of laughter, carol singing and backslapping. In return, Cornelius was invited to every funeral and christening for miles around the county.

  Luke edged past the men as he headed for the back kitchen and the exit to the yard. He snatched a glance at the plans draped across the table.

  ‘I think we’re done here, Cornelius, old pal,’ Gilligan said nervously.

  ‘Ordnance survey?’ Luke enquired. ‘Or turbine locations?’

  Luke recognised the tiny symbols and the Zephyr Energy logo.

  Gilligan grappled to fold the expanse of paper.

  ‘You stand to do quite well out of Zephyr, Roddy, by all accounts. All the turbines on your land, if the proposal goes ahead? A nice little earner every year. A nice little windfall.’

  ‘You’re not here to cause trouble, are you?’ Cornelius eyeballed Luke.

  Luke squared his shoulders and looked directly at Gilligan.

  ‘The only thing I want here is a word with my wife.’

  He couldn’t care less that Gilligan was probably screwing his wife, but he damn well wanted the guy to be uncomfortable about it.

  ‘Off outside, so.’ Cornelius dismissed him as he laid strips of bacon on a baking tray.

  ‘That dent on your car will set you back a bit, Roddy. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it but someone’s given it a right gouge.’ Luke left the two men to it.

  In the yard, he was greeted by the sight of crushed metal segregated into heaps for collection by recycling operators. He took in the multicoloured accordions of crushed cars, the white goods and mounds of aluminium sheeting. The large compactor was silent. The rest of the yard was busy. A truck idled by a pile of rusted metal radiators.

  He spotted Alison. She was chatting to the driver of the truck, an umbrella in one hand, the other on her hip. The guy in the truck grinned down at her. Sly Hegarty. She handed Sly a piece of paper. He saluted, revved the diesel engine and lumbered off out of the yard, the back of his truck loaded with sandbags. Luke watched as she headed across the yard to talk to three young lads loading up another truck. They greeted her warmly.

  ‘Alison!’ Luke shouted.

  She looked around and raised her arm in acknowledgement. She started across the yard.

  ‘What a nice surprise,’ she gushed. ‘You came to visit.’ She kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘Not a social call, Alison.’

  The charm evaporated. ‘So I see from the look on your face. More trouble? Nina again?’ She raised a hand directing him not to answer. ‘Of course it is.’

  ‘Come with me.’

  Alison wasn’t easily shocked. Despite that, Luke noticed her flinch as she examined the contents of the casket.

  ‘Any ideas?’ he asked her.

  No answer. He studied her face for clues.

  ‘Give me a moment,’ she said. ‘I need to think.’

  He walked with her back to the yard.

  ‘Hey, lads!’ She shouted across at the youths loading the sandbags. ‘Take a break. Get something to eat back in the house.’

  She turned to Luke. ‘What on earth is Dad up to? He said he was making sandwiches ages ago. I don’t know why he insists on doing them himself – makes him feel more involved, I guess …’

  ‘He’s in there, all right, poring over some map with Gilligan.’

  Alison shook her head. ‘Jesus, I don’t understand why he’s so upset about this. There’ll be two turbines on the boundary with Roddy’s estate. We won’t be bothered by either of them here at the house.’

  Luke couldn’t care less if Alison and Cornelius were kept awake all night. In fact, he hoped they were.

  ‘So what do you make of the casket?’ he prompted again.

  ‘Well, I don’t think we need to involve anyone else, if that’s what you mean.’ She looked over her shoulder. The yard had emptied and it was only the two of them.

  ‘No? Maybe Cornelius’s connections aren’t what they used to be. Your contacts haven’t dug up much on the death notices. And now this.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure I know who’s behind it.’ Alison pursed her lips. ‘In fact, that little creation in the boot of your car bears all the hallmarks.’

  ‘Of who?’

  The rain plinked on her umbrella as she spoke. And when she told him, it made sense.

  ‘I’ll deal with it,’ he said.

  ‘You’re sure you’re up to it?’

  ‘I’m sure.’ He turned to go, then hesitated. ‘Just one thing. Answer me this. I’ve always wondered – why on earth didn’t you just marry Gilligan in the first place?’

  ‘Roddy?’ She looked at him in surprise. ‘But I can have Roddy any time. Now where would be the challenge in that?’

  Luke shook his head. He was glad to leave the yard.

  Encampment

  Luke wasn’t sure if he could find it again. As he swerved to avoid a flood, he heard the casket thud in the back of the Range Rover. He was a mile outside the town, concentrating hard, looking for the opening to a small side road along the hedgerow. He’d been here once before. He remembered a long-haired shaggy dog staring wildly at him as it barked into the night. The animal had been tied to a fraying length of rope.

  There it was. He turned and followed the boreen to a small clearing housing two metal structures – a mobile home and a smaller caravan dovetailing it at a right angle. The mobile home was speckled with orange rust. Luke skidded to a stop on the mud outside.

  He sat for a moment, allowing his eyes to take in the site. Perhaps in sunshine or on a dry day the place might exude some kind of romance. Not today. A bare wicker sofa bereft of cushions leaned against the mobile home. Above, the branches of a twisted tree reached down to touch the roof. Outside the mobile home was a length of blue rope but no sign of a dog.

  The rain was easing. Through jagged tracks of water on the windscreen, he watched the door to the mobile home open a sliver. He waited. It opened a fraction more. Unfastening his seatbelt, he stepped out of the car. The mud was slippery underfoot. Someone peered through the crack in the door and the barking started. Furious, spitting, snarling. Luke kept on walking.

  ‘Put that animal on a leash,’ he shouted.

  The door to the mobile home slammed shut. A second later a woman appeared, gripping the dog by the collar. The animal was muzzled. Luke stood in the drizzle while the woman fixed the animal’s collar to the length of rope.

  ‘I admire your neck.’ Lucy Considine swung around to face him. Her eyes were flashing. ‘Have you come to apologise?’

  Apologise? Was she serious?

  ‘Where’s your son?’ Luke asked calmly.

  ‘My son wants nothing to do with you or your family ever again.’

  Luke stared. The feeling was mutual, though he had no idea why the woman was so aggrieved. The dog was spinning on the rope, throwing the full force of its body into every bark. Luke sloshed through the muck and banged on the door of the smaller caravan.

  ‘Open up!’

  Lucy Considine approached. Mud oozed between her toes in her open sandals.

  ‘He’s asleep.’

  It was the middle of the day and this useless lump was still asleep?

  ‘I don’t care.’ Luke thumped louder.

  The door swung open.

  ‘What the …?’ Sebastian shielded his eyes against the daylight, his torso covered in scars. Luke got the whiff of cannabis. He wanted to throttle this stoner’s scrawny neck, to land a punch in the plain of his belly.

  ‘Get some shoes,’ he ordered. ‘I have something to show you.’

  ‘We got the message, man. Piss
off and leave us alone.’

  ‘Now!’ Luke shouted.

  Lucy Considine stepped away and studied Luke as if considering him for the first time. ‘People like you and your wife think you’re different, don’t you?’ she said. ‘You think this country is your playground. That you can take whatever you want, do whatever you want, use the law as you want.’

  Luke said nothing. He waited for Sebastian to step out of the caravan in his unlaced work boots and a crumpled T-shirt. He was smoking a cigarette.

  ‘Well?’ He looked at Luke.

  ‘This way.’

  Luke walked around to the back of the car. Sebastian followed behind, blowing smoke in Luke’s direction. For the third time that day, Luke unveiled the contents of the boot and of the casket. He watched for Sebastian’s reaction.

  ‘Well, fuck me sideways. What’s that?’ Sebastian stepped back and broke into laughter. ‘Hey, I kind of like it though,’ he said. ‘It packs a punch. Why are you showing it to me?’

  Lucy had backed away and she was holding a hand over her mouth. Their performances were convincing but Luke wasn’t fooled. He pulled the metal tag with Nina’s name from his pocket.

  ‘This mean anything?’ He looked from one to the other.

  ‘Seriously?’ asked Sebastian. ‘This is a nice little project you’ve got here, but I’m afraid I can’t lay claim to this one. No, sir. This is not my work.’ He blew a smoke ring into the air.

  Lucy Considine said nothing, as Luke expected. She would stand by her son.

  ‘Are you telling the truth, Sebastian?’ Luke hated having the guy’s name in his mouth. It had a taste of something rotten.

  ‘Really, Doc. It’s class. But you’re not putting this on me.’

  ‘Funny that,’ Luke replied. ‘Because it’s just a bit too similar to all the other stunts you’ve pulled – my wife’s election posters and that latest crap you pulled outside her constituency office in town. All a bit extreme. You see, Sebastian, I think this is exactly the kind of stunt you’d pull. It has the hallmarks of a sick and twisted mind. You have issues, pal.’

  In his latest stunt, using red graffiti spray, Sebastian had scrawled Murdering Bitch on the window of Alison’s constituency office. The one displaying her clinic times and her photo. He then arranged himself on a fake animal fur outside the office, slashing his chest again. This time, he went the extra mile. He slit his wrists. Carefully, precisely, in a way designed not to bleed out quickly, just enough to be dramatic. This all took place at a busy lunchtime, ensuring he wouldn’t bleed out alone. Sebastian’s timing guaranteed him a sizeable audience by the time the ambulance arrived.