by Alex Barclay
‘Out!’ roared the referee. ‘You’re ejected. Go.’ He pointed the way.
Duke stared at him, then jogged off. He passed his coach who stabbed a finger towards him. ‘Get outta that uniform! Go sit in the stands.’
The mother of the nose guard pushed onto the field to her son.
Duke’s coach ran over to the referee.
‘I don’t want to hear it,’ said the referee, holding up his hand.
The coach’s voice was low. ‘What can I say, Mike? I agree with you.’
‘That’s good to know,’ said Mike. ‘The kid’s fucking nuts. Spearing a kid for—’
‘I know that, for Christ’s sake. You shoulda seen him in practice. Didn’t get the whole no-contact thing.’
They both looked toward the stands and saw Wanda stagger through the row, pushing Duke ahead of her.
‘Poor bastard,’ said the coach.
ELEVEN
‘I heard a scream,’ said Mae Miller.
Frank waited. ‘Did we not get a statement from you already?’ he said.
‘You didn’t. I was away until now, didn’t hear a thing about this ’til I got back. As a member of Neighbourhood Watch – your wife’s on the committee, of course – I’m well aware of the importance of keeping an eye out for suspicious activity and reporting it immediately, in this case, as soon as I got back.’
Mae Miller was eighty-six years old, slender and poised in an expensive maroon wool suit with a mandarin collar. She wore tan tights and black patent court shoes. Frank didn’t know much about makeup, but he wasn’t sure about her red lipstick. Mae Miller had taught primary school in Mountcannon for over forty years. Between the ages of four and twelve, most village children had sat in her classroom, in fear.
‘It was Friday night,’ she said, settling into a chair beside the door and sliding off green leather gloves. ‘Myself and Mrs Grant, Petey’s mother, had been playing bridge in a friend’s house in Annestown. I knew my son John was going to be home late that night, so I was staying with the Grants for company. They live, as you know, at the corner of that road that leads down to the missing girl, Katie Lawson’s house, where she lives with her mother, Martha Lawson. Her father, Matthew Lawson, of course, passed on several years ago. 1997 if I remember rightly. He was a fine man.’ Frank nodded patiently.
‘Anyway, I was up having a cup of tea in my room,’ she continued. ‘The guest room at the front of the house that overlooks the street.’
‘Did you look out?’ said Frank, moving her along. ‘When you heard the scream.’
‘I did,’ she said, nodding. ‘And I saw two people, walking down the road from the village towards the house.’
‘Men, women?’
‘A man and a woman, well, youngish, I would say, not too old. He was taller.’ She gave a short nod.
‘Did you recognise either of them?’ said Frank.
‘They looked familiar, but I can’t say for sure if the girl was young Katie.’
‘How were the couple acting?’
‘Like they hadn’t a care in the world.’
‘But the scream?’
‘Yes, that was after I had seen them out the window.’
‘Oh. I thought that’s what made you look out.’
‘No. I was looking out the window anyway. I turned to my tea, heard a scream and looked back. Then they were gone.’
She hesitated. ‘It could have been that Lucchesi boy I saw.’ She paused and leaned forward. ‘Do you remember his mother from years ago?’
Frank shook his head. ‘We weren’t here at that stage.’
‘Skirts up to her backside. I never saw a stitch of respectable clothing on her. It broke my heart that my John would have anything to do with the girl. I wouldn’t have her under my roof.’
He let her talk on, but she had no more details to give. When she got up to leave, he reached out to shake her hand, but she pulled him into an embrace. She pressed hard against his thighs. He let go politely, giving her arms a gentle squeeze, turning her towards the exit.
‘Mother of God,’ he said, when he closed the door behind her.
Sam Tallon liked to work early in the morning when everyone else was sleeping. He went straight to the lighthouse and was about to unlock the door when he realised it was already open. He climbed the steps, stopping for breath halfway. When he reached the lantern house, Anna was already there, picking up damp newspapers from the floor.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said when she saw the look on his face.
‘Ah, sure four hours is about all you need, if you ask me,’ he said. ‘I’ll get started on checking everything. We can find out fairly quickly whether or not this old lady can be fired up.’
Joe picked up a length of timber from a stack by the workbench. He secured it with two clamps and stood staring at it. From the top shelf, he chose a plane and started to work along one of the edges, shaving away thin slivers. Then he unclamped the wood and threw it back on the pile. He jumped when he saw a figure standing in the doorway.
‘Martha,’ he said. ‘You scared the hell out of me. How are you?’
‘I was wondering if you could help, Joe,’ she said. ‘With Katie. You’ve got experience in these things.’
‘Yes,’ said Joe. ‘But—’
‘What do you think happened?’ she asked.
‘Honestly, Martha, I don’t know. I don’t have all the facts.’
‘You were there for all those questions too. I’ve filled you in over the last few weeks. You know as much as I know, which is as much as the guards know.’
‘They may have more information than they’re letting on,’ he said.
She looked down.
‘You don’t think she ran away, do you?’ she asked.
‘She could have,’ said Joe. ‘If you’re here because of my experience, I’ll tell you one thing I’ve learned and that’s keep an open mind. Especially with a teenager. You don’t know what’s coming next. I’ve no idea what’s going through Shaun’s head sometimes.’
‘Is there anything you can do, can you see if the guards will let you help them?’
He smiled. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do on that score. It’s just not the way it works. What do they think happened? Where do they think she went that night?’
‘It doesn’t make sense. It seems like they believe she’s run away. But they won’t tell me why they think she’d do that. Their theory is that she left Shaun at the harbour, walked up through the village, took a left to go home and then it all gets a bit vague. I think they haven’t a notion.’
‘Well, I guess I can ask a few questions,’ said Joe, ‘see if there’s anything that doesn’t seem right. But it’s not like I’m on the job back home with all my regular resources.’
She nodded sadly.
‘Look, maybe if you keep me up to date on anything new the police tell you, that would help.’
‘All right,’ she said. She looked him right in the eyes. ‘What if she’s dead?’
He didn’t miss a beat. ‘Remember that open mind,’ he said, squeezing her arm.
She nodded. ‘I think she is dead.’ She hurried from the workshop without looking back. He wondered, not for the first time, why people felt they could tell him things he knew they’d never tell another soul.
Betty Shanley was walking out of Tynan’s when she saw Shaun across the street. She waved him over.
‘Sorry, sweetheart, I know you’re on your lunch break, but I just wanted to let you know; we have guests coming to one of the houses for the weekend. Would you mind getting it organised?’
‘Sure, Mrs Shanley,’ he said. ‘For Friday?’
‘Yes. You could go in after school, though. They’re not arriving ’til about ten.’ She gave him a quick hug. ‘I hope you’re OK,’ she said. ‘You poor divil.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, walking away. ‘Oh, which house is it?’
‘Fifteen,’ she said. His heart lurched.
Joe sat in the den with hi
s PowerBook in front of him.
‘Hi,’ said Anna, sticking her head in.
‘This case is a goddamn nightmare,’ said Joe. He tapped his fingers on the keys.
‘What case?’ said Anna.
He looked away. ‘Shit. I meant Katie.’
‘Case?’
‘Sorry, you know what I’m saying. It’s just, you know, not being in the loop—’
‘I don’t like where you’re going.’
‘Look, I’m close to this, I know the players, it’s just I need to know everything if I was to—’
‘Whoa,’ said Anna. ‘You’re on a break, detective.’
‘Come on,’ said Joe. ‘Who would you trust more?’
‘You don’t know what the guards are doing,’ she said. ‘They could be, as you would say, “sitting on their perp” right now. Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Listen to me. I just assumed someone did something to her, that someone’s—’ Tears welled in her eyes.
‘Aw, honey,’ said Joe. ‘Come over here.’
‘I don’t know which is worse,’ said Anna. ‘That someone’s got her somewhere or that she’s…I mean…’
‘I know, I know. That’s why I want to help.’
‘You’re serious,’ she said, wiping away her tears.
‘No shit, I’m serious. Our son’s girlfriend has disappeared. He’s a wreck.’ He looked down. ‘And Martha asked me to help.’
‘Ah. I see,’ said Anna. ‘You have someone’s blessing.’
He said nothing.
‘Do you mind?’ she said, reaching across him, using the track pad to click on the Stickies icon at the bottom of the screen. Over thirty yellow, green and blue computerised Post-Its opened in front of her. She smiled and shook her head.
‘Wow.’
Each note had a reference to Katie’s disappearance and comments underneath. Joe moved her hand away and pulled down the screen.
Shaun breathed in when he saw what was inside the fridge. Tiny cake crumbs. He pushed down on them with his finger and they stuck. He swept the rest of them into his palm and stood, his hand suspended over the sink, wondering if he would be jinxing something by throwing them away. He tipped his hand over and turned on the tap, watching the crumbs float, then swirl over the drain, then disappear. He walked around the house into every room, checking everything he was supposed to check, accidentally doing his job. He went into the master bedroom. His heart thundered in his chest. He lay on the bed with the pillow over his face. He sat up. The room was so empty. He opened and closed the wardrobes. He fixed the bed. He cried. He went downstairs. He turned on the heating. He lay the welcome note on the table. He locked the door. He left the keys under the mat and walked home.
Joe jogged into the station and asked Richie if he could speak with Frank.
‘I suppose so,’ said Richie. ‘Frank,’ he shouted. ‘Mr Lucchesi is here to see you.’ His smile was wide and fake.
‘Well, both of you can hear this, actually,’ said Joe.
Frank came out to the counter.
‘It’s about what I was trying to tell you that time in Danaher’s. Shaun gave Katie a white rose on the Friday she disappeared and I found it on her father’s grave. So I think she went down Church Road and stopped at the graveyard on the way. It’s still there. You can go check.’
‘That’s all well and good, but we’ve got a witness who says otherwise.’ Frank told him briefly about Mae Miller.
‘Oh,’ said Joe, confused. ‘Well, I’m sorry to have…it must have been another rose…maybe Martha…’ He turned away, then nodded back at them. ‘Thanks for hearing me out.’
Anna called into the lighthouse. Sam was finishing up, arranging a set of spanners into a tidy yellow toolbox. He wiped his hands on an oily cloth and smiled.
‘I have good news for you,’ he said. ‘I didn’t have to do much. There were a few kerosene leaks and I had to replace the buckets in the air pumps.’
Anna had been expecting bad news.
‘What I’m saying is, I couldn’t find anything to stop you lighting the light.’
She hugged him tight and patted his back. ‘Thank you so much, Sam.’
‘Oh, there’s one more thing,’ he said. ‘This!’ He pulled out a small pink and cream silk mantle.
‘Wow! Thank you again.’ She took it from him and held it in her palm. ‘It’s not what I expected at all. It’s so light. It looks like something my grandmother would crochet.’
‘Good things come in small parcels,’ said Sam, winking at her.
Joe closed the front door behind him and walked along the hallway, obsessing about Frank and Richie and Mae Miller. He felt like the guy in school who puts up his hand to answer every question, but always gives the wrong answer. He needed to go back to the start. As he walked, he realised he was slowing down. Then something made him stop – a strange and vague hope. He hovered at Shaun’s bedroom door. Part of him ached at what he was about to do, but the rest was on auto-pilot. He pulled the door open and walked down the stairs. He moved around the room, touching as little as he had to. Anything he did pick up, he imagined it glowing like Luminol as soon as Shaun walked back in. The bed was made and a movie magazine lay on top of it. The only poster on the wall was Scarface. There were no photos of models or actresses in the room – Shaun had taken them down when he started going out with Katie. Joe didn’t expect he’d ever put them back up. He stood by the open wardrobe, taking in the boxes stacked on the top shelf. They had small black and white prints of trainers on the front, but they were overflowing with photos, concert tickets and small plastic toys. Joe reached up and pulled out a Magic 8 Ball. He shook it. He didn’t hear the creak from upstairs.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ shouted Shaun from the doorway.
Joe turned around slowly. ‘Uh…’
Shaun ran down the stairs and grabbed the ball from his hand.
‘That’s mine.’
‘I was just…’
‘What?’ said Shaun. ‘Spying?’
‘No!’ said Joe. ‘No. I…’
‘You’re full of shit.’
‘Watch your language.’
Shaun snorted. ‘This is not about my language. This is about you invading my privacy. You wouldn’t search a lowlife crackhead’s house without a warrant…what were you looking for?’
‘I don’t know. Something that would help. I want to help. You want to know what happened to Katie, don’t you?’
‘Damn right I do,’ snapped Shaun. ‘But if the answer was in my bedroom, I think I might have found it by now. And what the hell was that about with Robert? Do you think we’re all stupid? “What’s that scratch on your hand?” Do you think he didn’t know what you meant? You’re screwed up, Dad. All you can see is the bad in people. Even in your own son. Even when you’ve quit your stupid job. That’s really sad.’
The chair was damp against Duke’s back. His lids were heavy and his head lolled backwards and forwards. Somewhere outside, he heard a cry from the trees. His eyes shot open. He gripped the arms of the chair and raised himself up slowly. He moved towards the back door and stepped into the garden. In the next field, he saw two backpackers, laughing, helping each other over a stile. There was a long trail of flattened, yellow grass behind them. Duke bristled. He walked around the front of the house and down the road to where it started. A small hand-painted sign showed a stickman walking. The arrow pointed towards the backpackers. He reached out and rocked the sign back and forth until it came free. He flung it into the undergrowth, turned around and strode back to the van. He sat inside and drove until he saw the sea.
With one hand on her coffee mug and the other holding a coaster carefully underneath, Nora Deegan burrowed into the vast armchair.
‘He knows his coffee. I’ll give him that,’ she said, bending to inhale the rich steam.
‘Joe?’
‘Yes. This is another Colombian blend. I could sit here smelling it all night.’
‘It was nice of him to bring it back
for you,’ said Frank.
‘Yes. It’s a coffee thing, though. Coffee drinkers are the smokers of the beverage world.’
Frank chuckled.
‘I’m serious,’ she said. ‘We’re becoming pariahs. “Oh my God, I’d be up all night if I drank as much coffee as you” or “Do you not worry about what it’s doing to your insides?” or “No, no. Decaf for me”. There are more chemicals in decaf—’
‘Some of us have no choice,’ said Frank, making a sad face.
‘I’m not talking about you, pet,’ she said. ‘I’m talking about people who haven’t a thing wrong with themselves cutting coffee out of their diet. Madness.’
‘What are you going to watch?’ he asked, nodding at the TV.
‘I’m watching,’ she said, putting on half glasses and raising a folded newspaper to her face, ‘Pompeii’s Final Hours. It’s history night.’
‘Grand. I’m heading down to Danaher’s to meet Richie, run over a few things in the case.’
‘You’ll be sick of the sight of each other by the end of all this,’ she said.
‘Hmm,’ said Frank.
Joe sat down at the kitchen table. His nerves were still jangled. What kind of father had he turned out to be? He remembered when he worked in Sex Crimes how Anna had arrived into the station one day with Shaun. Joe hadn’t seen her for five days. He had been asleep upstairs on a sofa in the lounge when the call came through from the desk. He was exhausted after his shift, but he was staying back to work on a case. On the floor beside him was a file, topped with a glossy colour photo of a four-year-old Hispanic boy in pale blue pyjamas covered in little red aeroplanes. He was laughing, his upper body tilted, his arms held out like he was gliding. Joe still remembered his name. Luis Vicario. He had been lured to a house by a young prostitute hired by the owner, a filthy overweight trucker who had just moved into the neighbourhood. He had told her Luis was his son and his wife never gave him access. The prostitute promised Luis a ride in a real aeroplane, led him into the house, then left. His tiny body was found three hours later. He was barely breathing. An ambulance rushed him to hospital where he was intubated, his wounds were treated as best they could, his arms were stuck with needles and he was hooked up to a life support machine. Joe visited his family every week for three months until their son lost his fight. The neighbour had fled. The prostitute saw the story on the news and came forward. She was waiting in an interview room for Joe. He got up and ran downstairs to Anna who, without a word, pushed six-year-old Shaun towards him and said, ‘This is your son, Shaun.’ Joe found it hard to look at him, but he bent down and hugged him, patting his back, all the time staring at Anna. She had tears in her eyes. After a minute, he stood up. Anna took Shaun’s hand and turned around. ‘Au revoir,’ she called to Joe as she left. He knew that didn’t just mean goodbye. It meant ‘until the next time we see each other’. But he’d rather have her mad at him than try to explain.
