Second Sight

by Aoife Clifford

  Rather than getting angry at me, his eyes swell with pity as though I’m just not seeing the obvious.

  Something clicks in my mind.

  ‘Dad already knows?’ I ask in a dry dead whisper.

  The expression on Gavin’s face tells me that I am right. His eyes flicker to the doorway and I’m aware that someone is standing there just beyond my peripheral vision. For one moment I think it is Dad. We are in a room filled with his belongings and we’re talking about his case, the one Pat said he was obsessed with, the family he gave money to. His daughter’s best friend.

  I turn very slowly, edging my head around as if one false move will make him disappear, but it isn’t my father at all.

  It is Tess.

  ‘It was me,’ she says. ‘I killed Grace.’

  28

  New Year’s Eve 1996

  Mick

  Sergeant Mick Carmody stood at the top of the embankment and looked down at the crowd of people on the beach waiting for the sun to set. He could recognise just about every face. Tourists had seen the forecast of rain for the entire week, the landslides and blocked roads and decided to stay in the city until summer finally turned up.

  The other coastal police stations had been told to take care of highway traffic, which was bypassing Kinsale anyway, so it would just be the three of them on shift. Mick hoped for a quiet night because there wasn’t much chance of outside help.

  ‘This bonfire’s a waste of time and money,’ Senior Constable Alan Sharp said. Sharpy was a drive-by cop, all lights, sirens, guns and bad guys. Paperwork and community relations didn’t figure at all and Mick had given up trying to get him to do his share.

  Mick’s radio crackled.

  ‘The Boy Wonder radioing in on the dot.’ Sharpy smirked.

  ‘It’s his first New Year’s,’ said Mick. ‘Give him a break.’

  ‘Ten bucks says it’s his last.’ Sharpy had hated Gavin from the start. Mick guessed it was because he instinctively knew that, long term, a more experienced Gavin would leapfrog over him. On paper Gavin looked great. In real life, the new probationary constable was proving to be a headache. Mick had been finding jobs for him to do all day – farm visits, returning property, checking in on emergency services and road closures, anything to wear down his enthusiasm to manageable levels. Even so, hours later, the excitement was still in his voice so Mick told him to meet them at Main Beach.

  ‘If he’s coming, I’ll head off,’ said Sharpy. ‘Do a patrol of the town.’

  ‘All right,’ said Mick. He suspected that Sharpy had some woman he was keen to catch up with. Lately he’d been ending phone calls quickly when Mick walked into the room, and volunteering for more night shifts and patrols than usual. If Mick had to guess, he suspected it might be the new nurse in town who had laid a complaint about an ex-boyfriend hassling her a few weeks back. Still, it wasn’t any of his business as long as it didn’t affect Sharpy’s work.

  As Sharpy walked away, Mick went back to searching through the crowds. He found his youngest daughter, Eliza, conspiring with her friends. She felt his gaze boring into the back of her skull and turned around, her head momentarily drooping when she realised it was him, but recovered almost instantly and looked brazenly blank in the other direction. He gave a big parents-are-so-embarrassing wave as the other two girls’ guilty faces followed suit. Eliza had something planned for tonight, he could tell. Even as a young child she had been an adventurer, scarpering off at a moment’s notice to get up to mischief. Mick always wondered if it was because Helen had died when she was so young, if Eliza had realised too early that life was short and needed to be seized, or maybe it was the accident with her eye that made her look at the world in a different way. He looked at the girls, trying to decipher what they were up to, when his view was blocked by Janey Bayless making her way towards him. She walked with a pendulum momentum to her hips that was best appreciated from behind.

  ‘Eliza pretending she doesn’t know you?’ she asked. Janey never missed a thing.

  And Mick suddenly remembered a different Eliza, a smaller version who would cling to his legs like a stick insect, begging to be taken everywhere with him. What he would give for her to be like that again.

  ‘Turns my hair grey that one,’ he said.

  ‘Bright as a button, she is,’ laughed Janey. ‘Her mother’s genes.’

  Mick looked at Janey. Not many people talked about Helen to him these days.

  ‘Helen’s been gone a long time now,’ said Janey. ‘It must be lonely. You should get out more. Might find someone who can help with the girls as well.’

  There was always a hidden agenda with Janey but she played her cards well, Mick had to give her that.

  ‘Two women in the house is about all I can handle,’ he said. ‘We’ll muddle through.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Sure, I was a tearaway myself at the same age. The hidings I got from my dad.’

  From what he had heard, Janey’s father never needed much of an excuse to use his fists.

  ‘I’d like to know what they’re up to,’ he said, nodding in the direction of Eliza and her friends.

  ‘I can tell you that,’ Janey answered. ‘Boys tell their mums everything.’

  Mick, who had regular dealings with a significant cross-section of Kinsale’s teenage population, had his doubts about that.

  ‘They’re going around the rocks to meet a few fellas at Crummies. My Tony included.’

  ‘Who else?’ he asked, suspicious now.

  ‘That young Gus, Luke Tyrell as well. I’ve told Tony to keep an eye on the girls, make sure they get home. Could be worse. They’re all good lads.’

  Mick nodded. Still, he would get Gavin to take a detour along the bush track later on, just to check.

  The smell of petrol drifted over to them. Jim Keaveney was dousing the wood.

  ‘Crowd’s disappointing,’ she sighed. ‘Stupid council, could have made it more of a carnival with rides and sideshows. Get the families in. No vision, this lot.’

  ‘You should stand next election,’ said Mick.

  Janey laughed. She had a throaty, sexy, groin-tingling kind of laugh that was designed to have the punters lining up to put money in her till. ‘And give Wes a heart attack.’ She patted Mick on his chest, holding her hand there for a beat too long before removing it. ‘You know, a bad summer’s trading would finish off quite a few businesses.’

  ‘The pub all right?’ asked Mick.

  ‘You have to be pretty hopeless to make a loss on a pub,’ said Janey. ‘The Castle’s a different story but Wes is too busy showing the world that a working-class boy can end up king.’

  ‘I heard there might be a buyer,’ said Mick.

  Janey gave him an appraising look. ‘Where’d you hear that?’

  ‘A policeman never divulges his sources.’

  ‘You’re a dark horse, Mick Carmody. Wes doesn’t even know anything about it yet, so you keep quiet. I need to wave a wad of cash in front of his face to try and convince him.’

  ‘I promise,’ said Mick.

  ‘Thanks. Always had a soft spot for a man in uniform.’

  Janey was flirting with him but Mick didn’t let it go to his head. It was practically a professional requirement in her line of work.

  ‘Besides,’ she went on, ‘if you can’t trust the police, who can you trust?’

  Mick almost laughed in reply.

  ‘Better get moving. Lovely light at sunset for taking photos,’ she said. ‘And Wes needs me back at the pub.’

  ‘Take a nice one of Eliza and her mates, and check if they’re planning to go anywhere else after the beach.’

  ‘A police informant now, am I?’ Janey answered. ‘You’ll need to buy me a drink sometime to keep me sweet.’ She was dialling the flirting up a notch now and Mick felt almost relieved when Janey turned and began walking away. He watched her arse swinging saucily in her short summer dress. Flicking her head around, she caught him doing it. A sly cat-like stare a
nd then a wink and she was on her way again, carving a path through the crowd.

  • • •

  Gavin was already standing out the front of The Royal when Mick got there just before 3 am.

  ‘How’s it been?’ Mick asked.

  ‘Talked a few out of driving who shouldn’t,’ said Gavin. ‘Otherwise all quiet.’

  ‘Did you drive down to Crummies?’

  ‘No one there, Boss,’ Gavin said. ‘Even put out their campfire properly. Very responsible.’ He pushed open the door to the pub.

  Wes, squat and sweaty, was behind the bar. Sighting the two policemen, he quickly called out last drinks to a jovial crowd.

  ‘All good?’ asked Mick.

  ‘Nothing we can’t handle,’ said Wes.

  Mick looked around for Janey but he couldn’t see her.

  ‘Your wife about?’ he asked.

  Wes was pouring a beer at the other end of the bar. ‘Headed out to pick up Tony,’ he said. ‘Mollycoddles that boy.’

  Mick trusted Janey enough to make sure Eliza made it home as well. He began walking through the crowd. There were backslaps, handshakes and ‘Happy New Year’s and an equal number of backs turned and cold stares, which was the policeman’s lot in a country town. Everyone had an opinion. As people finished up their drinks, he made his way back to the bar.

  Wes held up a beer and gestured it towards him. Mick shook his head.

  ‘Numbers down. You missing a few?’ he asked Wes.

  Wes made a great show of shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘Don’t see anyone from the club?’ Mick said. Outside of the pub, the football club was the other social hub in town. ‘Went past the clubhouse earlier, all locked up. Where’s the party this year?’

  Wes’s face was expressionless as he grabbed a cloth and began wiping down the bar. It didn’t matter how many young men wrapped their cars around trees, how many fenceposts had wilted bouquets sticky-taped to them, people’s attitudes didn’t change. Mick had tried talking to Wes weeks ago, in the hope he would put a stop to it or at least arrange for someone sober to drive the lot of them home. Wes had nodded his head and said he’d see what he could do but still the undercurrent was ‘boys will be boys’. Mick was determined to take Wes to the next crash and see if that generated action.

  Stepping outside into the street, Mick could smell the sea. It was one of those nights when the salt wrapped itself around the town. Kinsale was slowly partying itself to sleep. Next to the patrol car stood a disappointed Gavin, looking as though he’d expected an event with a bit more punch to it.

  ‘Heard from Sharpy?’ Mick asked.

  ‘He said he’d meet you back at the station,’ said Gavin. ‘Anything else you want me to do, Boss?’

  Mick shook his head. He half-thought about sending him out on the road to see if he could find wherever the footballers’ piss-up was, but what was the point? This late in the night, a lone cop, especially one as inexperienced as Gavin, might just make matters worse.

  ‘Stay here for a bit longer until they clear out.’

  Mick walked back to the police station. The place was empty except for Sharpy, who had his feet up on the desk nursing a beer.

  ‘More in the fridge,’ Sharpy said, and when Mick frowned at the beer, Sharpy justified himself by saying, ‘Quietest New Year’s Eve on record, I reckon.’

  ‘Turns out I don’t like quiet,’ said Mick. ‘Makes me think we’ve missed something. The Royal was missing a few of the recalcitrants.’

  ‘Did a drive-by of the usual spots. Park. Oval. Clubhouse,’ said Sharpy. ‘No-one there.’

  Mick grunted in surprise at Sharpy’s dedication to the job. Feeling slightly guilty at presuming the worst of him, he looked at his watch.

  ‘You can head home,’ he said to Sharpy. ‘Give Karen a hand with the night feed.’

  Sharpy shook his head. ‘Spoke to her earlier. Looks like the baby has gastro so I’m in no rush.’

  The nurse must have turned him down as well, thought Mick.

  ‘Maybe I should let Gavin head off,’ he said. ‘Seeing he’s the first one back on shift.’ Gavin would spend most of tomorrow tracking down all the missing pets that had been spooked by the fireworks that had been going off at irregular intervals all night.

  Sharpy snorted at this. ‘It’s not like Boy Wonder’s got anyone warming his bed. You go, Boss.’

  It wasn’t like Mick had anyone warming his bed either. Still, he would head home and check that Eliza had got back in one piece. Tess was at Bridie’s so he had to remember to pick her up tomorrow morning.

  ‘Call me if there are any problems,’ he said.

  ‘What could go wrong?’ asked Sharpy, and then laughed like a drain before getting another beer from the fridge.

  • • •

  The first thing he saw when he walked through the door was a shrunken Tess huddled up on the armchair with the look on her face. He knew the look. All cops did. He’d seen it on girls younger than ten and women who were grandmothers. The occasional boy as well. It was when their eyes grow wide with what has been done to them while their mouths disappear into nothing because words can’t really describe it.

  He stood there waiting for Tess to start talking, to tell him he was wrong but instead there was a terrible silence as if she wanted him to take charge. He crouched down in front of her, balancing on his toes, and already he could feel himself starting to assess her like a cop, because right now it hurt too much to be her father. She was wrapped in her fluffy dressing gown, which she only wore when she was sick. He could tell from the slicked back hair that she had showered, which would have washed away evidence but there was still a chance there was something under her fingernails and perhaps on her clothes. How badly was she hurt? Which doctor could he get to come out and look at her? Photos must be taken. Should he pick Tess up and put her in the squad car and drive like a madman through the back roads to find a way out of town and to a station that would have female officers to take her through the examination?

  He had all those questions in his head but the one he asked was ‘Who did it?’ and even though he didn’t mean it to, it sounded like an interrogation. At the same time he reached out to hold her, to let her know that she was safe now, that he would get whoever was responsible, but the movement frightened her and she flinched, her face changing. He recognised that look, too. It said she blamed him, that he was supposed to protect her and now this had happened. Mick stood up, feeling as if he wanted to tear the place apart. He backed away from her and then Tess spoke in a small voice.

  ‘I hit something in the Mustang, Dad.’

  ‘What did you hit, love?’ he asked, more gently this time because right now he couldn’t care less about a car.

  ‘I don’t know,’ and she began to cry, an ugly cry of humiliation and despair.

  ‘I’ll call Dr Liu,’ he told her. Liu would be methodical but kind. He had a daughter and would understand. ‘You need to be checked out.’

  Tess shook her head, crying so hard her whole body shook and he knew he was losing control of the situation.

  ‘You have to tell me who did it.’

  The name Tess eventually told him was one he could have guessed himself if he had been thinking straight, someone he would have warned other parents to keep their daughters away from but had never thought to tell his own because they were far too young for any of that. He could see the letters of it forming in front of his eyes and he mentally drew a black line through them. Standing up, he pulled out his keys from his pocket.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Tess grabbed at his hand, her fingers digging in so hard he almost expected blood to appear. She dragged him back down until their faces were level.

  ‘I’m going to . . .’ and he almost said something dangerous but stopped himself in time, ‘arrest him.’ Arresting bad guys was what he did.

  ‘No,’ she was pleading now. ‘Don’t leave me alone. Don’t leave me alone.’

  She said it over and over unt
il Mick got one of the sleeping tablets he sometimes took during the day when he was on night shift and tucked her into bed. He stayed beside her, holding her hand until she fell asleep. What if she didn’t remember in the morning? She could wake up and he’d tell her it was a nightmare and she was just the same as she had always been. That nothing had changed at all.

  Looking at her face, moon-pale in the half-dark, he could remember the jubilation he had felt when he held her as a baby for the first time, amazed that something so delicate and small could be related to him. ‘You’ve got a beauty on your hands, Mick,’ the nurse had said. ‘All the boys will be after her,’ and he had laughed because he knew he’d never let any of them get close. Whenever he looked at Tess he saw her mother, the girl he fell in love with when she was the age his daughter was now. If Helen was here she’d know what to do, how to make Tess all right again.

  Mick sat at the kitchen table, thoughts galloping in his head but not getting anywhere. Cops talked about this on the slow shifts, in whispers and broken sentences. The ‘what if’ conversations where it was your daughter or your wife. He had never given an answer when asked but had listened to the others. The response was always biblical, an eye for an eye. No-one ever said they’d lay charges. They had all seen what defence lawyers did. He assessed Tess’s case. She had been drinking, he had smelt it on her breath. She was at a party. All his friends would have been there and none of hers. But most of all, he knew how the courts treated girls like Tess and what juries will ignore for young men who play football well.

  He thought about how he hadn’t protected his daughter, until the hot stink of shame came from every pore. It wasn’t until the sun started coming up that he even bothered looking at the car in the garage. Kneeling next to the car, his fingers traced the damage done, running along the ugly marks and newly made hollows. He found a smear of blood and wondered what Tess had struck, but not for long. Instead, Mick stored every nick and groove in his mind, resolving to inflict much worse on Travis Young. He knew what fists could do but had never really understood the anger required to punch someone until your own hands were raw and bloody. Now he could imagine battering Travis Young’s skull until the bones splintered, getting his head between his hands and squeezing until it cracked.