The Silence

by Linda Tweedie

  The men had been closeted in the canon’s room for the best part of an hour and she could contain herself no longer as she marched through the house and into the bedroom.

  “I don’t think Canon O’Farrell would be happy at strangers being in his private quarters.” she addressed the priest.

  “Oh, he’ll be fine once he sees what Mr Coyle here plans to do with the place.”

  “I would be happier if you waited till the canon returns.” Mrs Gavin stared pointedly at Father Jack.

  “And why on earth would we be interested in whether you are happy or not? And what reason would there be to wait until the canon’s return, which by the way could be weeks away?” replied Father Jack.

  “He’ll be home by the weekend,” the housekeeper retorted.

  “Good, that gives us another few days to finalise things.” Father Jack drew himself up to his full height. “Thank you, Mrs Gavin, that will be all. You can go now.”

  “I need to lock up after you gentlemen, just to make sure.”

  “To make sure of what? No, you’re fine. We’re not quite finished with the measuring and since it’s only you and I in residence, I don’t think we need to worry.” He closed the door with a bang.

  “You can bet your life she’ll be on to him toute suite and he’ll be on the next plane, so we have to work fast,” said Michael.

  Imelda Gavin was beside herself with temper, marching back through the house to her kitchen and into the scullery where she was again able to spy on the four of them, still crowded round the computer. She had to contact Francis; he would know what these interfering low-lifes could have access to.

  Thankfully she had insisted, many years ago, that he left her a number to contact him in an emergency. This was the first time she had ever been tempted. She would wait till Father Jack went off to take confession.

  “Hello Villa Blanca.”

  “Hello, can I speak with Canon O’Farrell please?”

  “Who’s speaking?”

  “Mrs Gavin, his housekeeper.”

  “I’m sorry, he’s not in at the minute, do you want to leave a message?”

  “Is that you, Pete?” queried the woman. Why would Pete McClelland pretend not to know her?

  “Pete, it’s Imelda. I have to get in touch with him, it’s urgent. We have a problem back here.”

  “Sorry, my dear, I was just being extra cautious. He’s not here just now, I think he went down to the Mission earlier, but I’m not sure. What’s the problem?”

  “I’ve had Father Jack and the Coyles snooping around for the best part of the day and they’ve been on his computer for most of that time. I’m worried Pete, really worried.”

  “Look, don’t panic; I’ll go find him and phone you back.”

  “As quick as you can. I’ll be on my own until about eight, then Father Jack will be around.”

  The line went dead.

  Pete was furious. The stupid old fool had given his number out to a bloody housekeeper, Christ, he might as well have announced their connection from the pulpit. Now he really would have to take action.

  Sipping a large brandy in a discreet little bar in the old town, Frank was enjoying the company of a beautiful young Algerian boy called Ahmed whom he’d met yesterday. The lad was a bit older than Frank usually preferred, but at least at this age he could be seen in public and this little diversion would take his mind off his more pressing problems.

  Pete had no difficulty locating his quarry. The old priest was a creature of habit and there were only two or three bars that Frank would frequent. Pete struck lucky in the third. His stomach flipped as he watched the old pervert caressing the young boy.

  It really was time to sever the connection.

  “My, my, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” drawled Frank, still caressing his young companion.

  “Get rid of him, we have a problem,” barked Pete.

  “I don’t think so. Remember, I’m on holiday.”

  “I said get rid. I’ve had the blessed Imelda looking for you. It seems your understudy has been entertaining visitors.”

  “Imelda looking for me?” the elderly priest paled. “Visitors, what visitors?”

  “The Coyles. Now why would that bunch of arseholes be interested in your computer?”

  “I don’t know, but if she’s worried so should we be.”

  Hurrying back up to the villa Canon O’Farrell was a worried man. “Why didn’t you stop them?” he yelled at his sister.

  “They were already in when I got back. Father Jack had spun some ridiculous cock and bull tale about the bishop visiting.”

  “The bishop visiting? What the hell was he coming for?”

  “He wasn’t, it was simply a ruse to get rid of me.”

  “And you fell for it? You stupid fool.”

  “Of course I didn’t, but they had a key to your room and there wasn’t much I could do.”

  “Go into my room now and check under the computer table. See if there’s a key taped there. Go now, I’ll hang on.”

  The echo of footsteps could be heard as the house keeper let herself back into her brother’s quarters.

  “No, no key. And before you ask, I have checked thoroughly.”

  “Damn,” swore the priest. “Damn. Okay, we’ll have to move quickly. If they don’t have the computer, they have no proof. I’ll phone you back directly.”

  Coming off the phone, the canon was deep in thought.

  “Well, what’s it about?” asked Pete anxiously.

  “I don’t know how, but the Coyles have got wind of something. The key to the safety deposit box is missing, so we can safely assume they’ve cleared me out, but it’s the computer I’m worried about. It’s the most incriminating, because everything else can be attributed to The Cause, but not that. I need to get it disposed of now, I’m surprised they didn’t take it, but trust me, they will.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Frank. How could you be so stupid?”

  “It’s been working fine for years, this is just a little glitch. Get me Imelda back, will you? I know just how to take the wind out of Mr Coyle’s sails.”

  “Imelda, it’s me. We have to disable the computer ASAP, so you have to make sure that Father Jack is in a deep sleep. Put a couple of your sleeping pills in his hot chocolate, that will knock him out.”

  “Okay, what next?” queried Imelda.

  “Wait for the knock. I’m sending a couple of lads to fix the problem.”

  “What if he doesn’t want a drink?”

  “For feck’s sake, woman, stand over him till he drinks it.”

  “I take it they’ll smash the thing up so no-one else can get into it?”

  “Better than that, they’ll simply take the main board out which will take minutes and the computer won’t look as if anyone’s been near it. Not, that is, until it’s turned on and then nothing will happen. There will just be a blank screen. No memory, no problem.”

  “How the fuck do you know all this?” Pete had to admit he was impressed by Frank’s knowledge, but it didn’t change his opinion that once this disaster was sorted, he’d have to go, and not back to Blighty.

  A boating accident, maybe?

  The Return

  “This is your captain speaking, welcome aboard Flight BA345 to Malaga. We are now cruising at 50,000ft and the outside temperature is minus 40 degrees. Our estimated time of arrival is 12.08.”

  Erin Coyle was an entirely different girl from the one who had first heard a similar announcement only weeks ago. Now there was no excitement about going off on her own, none of the silly chatter on her first flight. She still felt dread that somehow her father had found out and would storm the plane and drag her home. But no, not even the omnipotent Paddy Coyle could work that fast.

  She had simply left a note on her pillow when she crept out of the house just before 6am.

  ‘Gone away for a few days just to get my head cleared, don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.

  Love Erin xx�
��

  Bridget found it three hours later when she went to waken her daughter, thinking she’d overslept.

  “Jesus, Mary, Mother of God.”

  What had the stupid fool done? An abortion clinic, that’s where the silly girl had gone to. Would there be time to stop her? That was if she could trace the clinic, there were dozens throughout the city and how on earth would she keep it from her father?

  While Bridget was poring through the Yellow Pages, Paddy was equally engrossed in the problems of the previous evening. It had been a big mistake to leave the computer in situ and as soon as he had his wits together he would rectify the situation. Where could he store it though? That was the problem. If he got caught with it, there was nothing to tie the contents to O’Farrell. Paddy couldn’t think of him as his parish priest any longer, the man was an animal.

  A quick cup of coffee, a slice of toast and he was out of the house and on his way. Was it his imagination, or was Bridget a bit off this morning? And no sign of his beloved daughter. God, they’ve obviously fallen out and he was thankful he wasn’t to blame this time.

  His journey into the city was uneventful but arriving at St. Jude’s, he was met with by an extremely agitated Father Jack.

  “Stop worrying, man, everything’s under control. I’m going to take the computer from the premises for safekeeping. Listen, he’ll probably know by now that we’re on to him, so just keep calm and say nothing. I have to say, you look like shit.”

  “Trust me, I feel like it. I’ve got the hangover from hell and although not a drop passed my lips last night, I’ve got a mouth like the bottom of a bird’s cage.”

  “You sure you didn’t have a wee nightcap?”

  “No, in fact I was about to pour myself one when her ladyship came in with a cup of hot chocolate. I was pleasantly surprised since, as you know, she’d gone off in a huff.”

  “Oh, for the love of Jesus. You do know what she did?” asked Paddy. “I should have sussed it and warned you.”

  “Sussed what? What did she do?”

  “She spiked your drink, drugged you, probably with sleeping tablets. That’s why you feel like shit. Have you checked the room? My guess is the bloody computer will be long gone.”

  When they opened up the room, to their surprise everything looked intact. The computer was exactly where they’d left it the day before. The men unplugged the machine and carried it out to Paddy’s car.

  “I’ll be in touch later this morning, once I know how we are going to play this,” with that, Paddy was off.

  He had arranged to meet his brothers at one of the scrapyards, just in case he had to get rid of the evidence quickly and because they could work on the contents uninterrupted.

  Sean and Michael were already waiting for him and neither looked best pleased.

  “Morning, boys.” Paddy gave them the heads up on what had happened at St. Jude’s.

  “What exactly are you planning to do with this stuff, Paddy?” asked Michael.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. We’ve got to find a way to shut him down and still keep it under wraps for Father Jack’s sake.”

  “So you’re not thinking of cashing in on it?” Sean questioned.

  “For fuck’s sake, man, what do you take me for, a nonce? Trust me, that old bastard will suffer just as much as each of those kids did, take my word for it.”

  “Sorry Paddy, we didn’t think you would, but business is business.”

  “Not that kind of business. One thing that does concern me though, and needs to be sorted, is that that last lot of Micks who were staying in St Jude’s appeared to have been dealing on our turf and in our name for fuck knows how long.”

  “Rubbish,” said Sean. “There’s nothing goes on that I don’t get to know about.”

  “Well, this slipped under the wire, boy, and the only way it could, is through a doubler. At the least one of our guys is shifting their stuff and ours. Now, I want to know who and when I find out, God help them.”

  Meanwhile, Michael, engrossed in the set-up of the computer, seemed to be having some difficulty. “Sean, hand me that screwdriver, I can’t get this fucking thing to open up. There’s power and the lights are on, but nothing else.”

  “Maybe something got knocked loose in the move?” ventured Paddy. “But we were extra careful handling it.”

  Michael opened the casing and let out a curse. “Fucking bastards. You wouldn’t fucking believe it.”

  “What’s wrong?” shouted Paddy.

  “What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s fucking wrong. Some clever cunt has only come in and taken the guts out of this. All that’s left is a shell. I never suspected a dickey bird. That’s why the old witch drugged Father Jack, so he wouldn’t hear anything or interrupt them. You have to hand it to O’Farrell, he’s no mug.”

  “So what do we do now?” Sean said, kicking the door, “we can’t touch him.”

  “Oh, I think we’ve hurt them alright, remember I’ve got the best part of three quarters of a million of his dosh and a key to a locker that would put him away for a nice long holiday.”

  “Aye, but if we get caught with the key, we do the time,” a disgruntled Michael put forth.

  “I’ll deal with that, you two get on to the dealer’s case and meet me back here later.”

  While all this activity was going on at home, Erin and her travelling companions were checking into their hotel right in the centre of Marbella. Carol was failing miserably at trying hard to be pleased and grateful. She felt awful and put it down to air-sickness, but it was nearly two hours since they’d landed and she was still in a bad way.

  “Look, I’ll take Amy and go and get you something to settle your stomach. Have a lie down, we’ll be back soon.” Erin scribbled the note.

  Carol was fast asleep in the darkened room before her friend and daughter got out of the lift.

  Amy was as excited as a frisky puppy dancing along the seafront, past the cafes and bars full of glamorous holidaymakers. She was on the lookout for the green cross of the pharmacy to get something to make her mummy better.

  “I see it, I see it,” the little girl squealed, taking off like a shot. She ran in and out of the crowds, her eye on the green cross and ran slap bang into an elderly gentleman, out walking with his grandson.

  “Whoa there, girlie, where are you going in such a rush?” said the nice old man in a sing-song Irish lilt.

  Erin raced up to them and grabbed Amy by the arm, shaking her to let her know how angry she was. Turning to the man, Erin almost collapsed on the spot. Looking at him, dressed in baggy shorts and a lurid Hawaiian shirt, she thought it couldn’t be. No way, but it was.

  “Erin, what a surprise,” said the elderly man. “Are you on holiday with the family?” terrified that Big Paddy Coyle would appear in front of him any minute.

  Erin shook her head and wrote, “No, with friends, nice to see you, in a hurry,” and off she ran into the pharmacy. With some difficulty they managed to get a few remedies for Carol’s ailment.

  Imagine bumping into the canon. Was that weird or what, and who was that he was with? All that concerned Erin was that he’d alert her family. Bloody hell, that was all she needed.

  Once he had satisfied himself that the big Glasgow hardman was not scouring the cobbled streets of Marbella, O’Farrell dumped his current paramour and made his way back along the sea front. This could be the opportunity of a life time, but he would have to tread very carefully.

  What could Erin Coyle be doing in Marbella with a small child? Whatever the circumstances, he had to get to her. She had to be stopped from alerting her father, it was just the sort of remark she would make. “Oh, you’ll never guess who I just met, Canon O’Farrell and his boyfriend.” Damn, that was all he needed.

  For a seventy-year-old he could move, and he sprinted off down the street on the lookout for the two girls.

  Amy spied the old man she’d bumped into and was jumping up and down and waving her little hand.

  E
rin motioned her to be quiet, but she was too late, they’d been spotted. Canon O’Farrell made his way through the packed street and caught up with his quarry.

  “Well, well, how nice. We meet again, and who is this little cherub?” he asked stroking the wee one’s hair.

  “She’s my friend’s daughter, her mum’s ill. We just came out to get her some medicine,” wrote Erin.

  “Oh, I must sit down, dear. I’m not feeling too well, it’s the heat, you know.”

  “It’s bloody Spain,” thought Erin, who couldn’t wait to get away.

  “Come and sit beside me for a bit, just till I get my breath back,” said the wily old man.

  “I’m fursty, Erin, I’m fursty” said Amy, bouncing up and down on the sea wall. “I need to wee wee noooow.”

  “Look, you take her off to the ladies and sort her out. Leave your packages with me and I’ll order us a cold drink.”

  “No, honest, it’s fine. I need to get back to her mum.”

  “Ten minutes won’t make any difference, and I should be okay by then.”

  Erin grabbed Amy by the hand and off they went to find a toilet, leaving their things with their companion.

  They had only been gone a few minutes, but in that time the Canon had managed to procure two iced drinks, ice cream sundaes and a pot of tea. God, she thought, it would have taken half an hour just for someone to take her order. She laughed.

  “So, my dear, what brings you back to Marbella so soon?”

  Erin jerked up in surprise. How did he know she’d been in the resort before?