by Alex Barclay
‘No-one wants these crimes to be connected,’ said Frank. ‘But look.’ He unfolded the map until he could see the southern half of the country. He drew a ring around Doon where Mary Casey had been found dead in the field, then Tipperary town where Siobhán Fallon had disappeared. Slowly, he did the same around Mountcannon. He looked at Richie. ‘These towns are all along the same route.’ He paused. ‘I think Joe is a step ahead of us. And in fairness, after the whole snail business, it seems he was right about where Katie went that night, regardless of Mae Miller. We have to follow up on this. Remember, Joe bypassed us to go direct to the State Pathologist…’ Richie nodded.
‘…so there’s something he’s not telling us,’ said Frank. He threw down his pen and sighed. ‘Not that I blame the man.’
TWENTY-SIX
Stinger’s Creek, North Central Texas, 1990
Donnie looked down at an imaginary clipboard. ‘I’m lookin’ for a Homemaker,’ he called. ‘A Miss Suzy Homemaker.’
‘Very fuckin’ funny.’ Duke was standing in his front yard in grey track pants and a pair of yellow rubber gloves. He was wringing dirty water out of a dish cloth.
‘Well, holy shit,’ said Donnie. ‘Your house was white all along.’
‘He’s on fire this mornin’.’
Donnie stepped around a pail of water to get closer to the clapboard house. The left hand side was a dull brownish grey and the right side had been washed down, leaving it as white as it was ever going to be. The paint was chipped and peeling and skinny rivers of dirty water had dried onto the surface.
‘You need to blast this with a hose,’ said Donnie.
‘Yeah, after I do my little rain dance here in the yard,’ said Duke.
Donnie made a move to sit on the step.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ shouted Duke, throwing a wet sponge hard against his bare chest.
‘Son of a bitch,’ said Donnie. He picked up the sponge, slapped it into the pail beside him and threw it back, wide. Duke laughed, then ran after him, grabbing him from behind. Donnie wriggled against him. ‘Aw, c’mon,’ he said. Duke ground the filthy sponge into Donnie’s face until he was weak from laughing.
Donnie pulled away, leaning over and spitting out grit. ‘Point fuckin’ blank,’ he said, shaking his head. He went into the house, and stuck his head under the cold tap. ‘Isn’t it weird not havin’ Wanda here?’ he called. He got no reply. ‘I said,’ he shouted, sticking his head out the window, ‘isn’t it weird—’
‘I heard you the first time,’ said Duke.
Donnie came back out, grabbed the sponge from the pail and started washing down the wood.
Every few minutes, he stopped and said, ‘I hate this shit.’
Duke ignored him.
‘I really do,’ said Donnie. ‘I hate this shit.’
‘That’s it,’ said Duke. ‘Go over and pack some of that crap away. Do you think that’s a job you can handle?’
‘Hallelujah.’ Donnie threw down his sponge and walked over to a big cardboard box marked with an X.
‘Let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘Anythin’ with an X we’re gettin’ rid of.’
‘Yes,’ said Duke. ‘Like I said.’
Donnie looked around the yard and saw Xs everywhere.
‘Didn’t you leave anythin’ inside?’
He bent down to one of the boxes.
‘The mystery box from the closet. I recognise the Keep Out sticker. You know that was supposed to be for your bedroom door.’
He wrapped his arms around it and lifted it to waist height. But he squeezed too hard and the bottom fell through. He stared, open-mouthed.
‘Where did you get all this shit?’ he asked. He turned around to Duke for an answer, but Duke was staring into space. Donnie knelt down and started picking through the piles of toys, all unopened. Pristine action heroes behind clear plastic windows, tipper trucks, fighter planes, boxing gloves, a candy dispenser, a mechanic’s tool kit. Bright primary colours shining in the sun.
‘You had Space Invaders all along?’ blurted Donnie, pointing to another box. ‘Hey, look at this little guy,’ he said, picking up a pale yellow teddybear with a tag that said Benton. ‘How could you hide poor Benton here in a dark closet…’ he picked up a tall black figure, ‘…with Darth Vader. Unless he’s…’ he lowered his voice dramatically, ‘…his father.’ He laughed nervously. He looked over at Duke. He waited in the silence, then stood up and started packing the toys into an empty box beside him, holding each one in his hand a fraction longer than he had to.
‘Maybe…I mean, shouldn’t these be goin’ to some children’s home or somethin’?’
‘Are you fuckin’ blind? There’s an X on the side of that box. A big fuckin’ black X.’
Duke carried a pot of red paint into his bedroom. The walls were grey and streaked with beige. Wanda had never finished the wallpaper job she started when they moved in.
‘OK. What’s next?’ said Donnie, walking in behind him. He looked around the room, rubbing his bare belly with his hand. ‘The dresser?’
‘I’m thinkin’ of doin’ one wall red, one wall black,’ said Duke, pointing. ‘What do you reckon?’
‘That’s cool. Are we takin’ the dresser?’ he said, slapping the top of it.
‘Yup,’ said Duke.
They bent down and gripped each end, rocking it back to keep the drawers from sliding. Donnie slammed his shoulder into the door jamb on the way through.
‘Goddammit,’ he said. He dropped his end and reached around to feel the damage. ‘There’s a big flap of skin back here,’ he said.
‘I’ll get you some ointment in a minute,’ said Duke. ‘Now, take a hold of this and get movin’.’
‘In the pickup?’ said Donnie, backing down the front steps.
‘Yup,’ said Duke.
They heaved it up and walked back towards the house.
‘That’s it, except for the bed,’ said Donnie.
‘I’ll take care of that,’ said Duke.
‘Not on your own, you won’t.’
‘Go have a cigarette,’ said Duke, taking the steps two at a time.
Donnie shrugged, pulled a pack of Marlboro from his jeans and walked into a shaded corner of the yard. He could see Duke silhouetted in the window, struggling to keep the mattress upright.
‘I can come in, help you, when I finish this,’ he shouted.
‘I got it,’ said Duke, letting the mattress spring back onto the bed. He disappeared, then showed up minutes later with a saw.
‘Probably right,’ said Donnie when he walked back into the room. He looked around at the chunks of wood and mattress. ‘I don’t think the whole thing would have fitted through the door.’
Duke threw down the saw.
‘Ointment,’ said Donnie.
‘Oh yeah. In the bathroom.’
Duke opened the cabinet and pulled out a flattened tube curled up almost to the top. He squeezed some ointment onto his finger tip and turned Donnie by the shoulders towards the light. Donnie caught sight of himself in a mirror on the door and sucked in his gut.
‘Have you done it yet?’ he asked, trying to crane his neck around.
‘I’m doin’ it right now,’ said Duke, smoothing the ointment in gentle strokes across the broken skin. He picked the tube up again and squeezed out more. Donnie shifted slightly on his feet.
Duke stepped back. His hand hovered, trembling, over the base of Donnie’s spine.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Joe stepped out of the shower, focused, reeling from the fright he had given himself with the pills, shocked by the control he had felt slowly slip away from him. He wrapped a towel around his waist and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked tired, but his eyes were clear. He was shaken by his recklessness – leaving the house, leaving Shaun alone, driving with his head spinning. He barely remembered getting to Waterford. He went into the bedroom and grabbed a lime green LV8 from the dresser. He used it to knock back four hits of Fuel It. Th
en his mobile rang. Anna’s number flashed across the screen. His knees buckled.
‘Thank—’
‘Rise and shine.’
Joe went rigid at the sound of the Texan drawl.
‘Hello?’ said Duke. ‘Hello?’
‘Do you have Anna…my wife?’
‘I know who she is. And what do you think?’
Joe’s heart thumped. Shards of pain exploded inside him.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘Please don’t hurt my wife.’
Duke laughed. ‘Only if you promise not to shoot my partner dead.’
Joe hesitated.
‘Let’s talk about that some other time,’ said Duke.
Joe jumped in. ‘You need to know…’ He thought of those two words from the Gray file and the battle began – should he tell Duke Rawlins what he knew or was it better to hold back? ‘…uh, that my wife…’
‘What?’ snapped Duke. ‘Is a diabetic? Needs sugar, doesn’t need sugar? Needs medication or she’ll die? You know, like the movies?’
‘No,’ said Joe slowly. ‘This is a very real situation. I know that. This is important for both of us. We both need something here and what I need is Anna, my wife, home safe.’ A slight tremor shook his voice. ‘What do you need…Mr Rawlins?’ He stared up at the ceiling and waited.
He heard a rattle as Duke put the phone down and started to clap. After several seconds, he picked it back up.
‘You know your shit. Mr Rawlins – I like that. But I wouldn’t have taken your wife if I was just gonna bring her right back. Where’s the sense in that?’
‘Is Anna OK?’ said Joe. ‘Have you hurt her in any way? Let me talk to my wife. Please.’
‘She said to say hi,’ said Duke. ‘Except no, she didn’t.’
‘Please tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you,’ said Joe. ‘I can promise you that.’
‘What I need? That’s my business. What you need? Now that’s a lot more interesting. That’s my priority here, with all this.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Joe.
‘When it’s all over, it won’t matter a good goddamn what you understand or don’t understand, detective. It’ll be over. A dead end. It doesn’t matter how the hell you find yourself there when it’s the end of the road.’
‘Let me talk to my wife.’
‘No.’
‘Can I see her?’
Duke snorted. ‘Come to the parkin’ lot at that big high cliff by the harbour in five minutes. What are those things again? Oh yeah, lemmin’s.’
The phone, slick with sweat, slid through Joe’s palm and clattered onto the floor.
Frank Deegan was halfway down the path when Nora shouted after him.
‘What I was trying to tell you the other night…I may have done something stupid.’ She walked out to him. ‘I let Anna Lucchesi see that picture that Joe gave you. The mugshot.’
‘How did you manage that?’
‘I’m sorry. It was an accident. It had slipped in among my papers. She seemed a bit shaken by the whole thing. I thought maybe she was angry that Joe hadn’t let her in on it, whatever it was.’ She paused. ‘But now that I think about it, she actually seemed quite nervous.’
‘How do you mean nervous?’
‘Well, I thought I saw the page shake when she took it. Then she put her hand to her mouth. She was sort of looking around, a bit panicky.’
Frank was familiar with that reaction. It usually ended with, ‘That’s him. That’s the man.’
Joe ran for the Jeep and pulled out of Shore’s Rock. He drove towards the village, his mind racing, the caffeine high kicking in. He had taken in the equivalent of eighteen spoons of coffee.
He thought about Hayley Gray. He remembered her parents waiting, powerless, because they’d called the police. Gordon Gray had sat on the sofa, reading the newspaper. Joe thought he was cold and detached. But then the man had bolted upright, shouting, ‘What do I do here? What am I supposed to do? Do I watch TV, do I work, what the hell do I do when this is going on? Someone has taken my child!’
This powerful businessman had collapsed against a police officer, sobbing, ‘This is torture, this is torture – why is this happening?’ Then he stopped suddenly. In the silence that followed, his quiet words sounded roared.
‘I did this.’ His eyes were wide and blinking, his mouth open. ‘Oh God, this is my fault. All of it.’
Joe stared ahead. He knew now exactly how Gordon Gray felt. This was his fault. This was payback for Donald Riggs. He might have been wrong about Katie, about the women in Texas, but he was right about one thing: a man called Duke Rawlins had him in his crosshairs.
He wondered what to do with the information from the file. The thought of making a call on it made the panic surge again. He clenched the steering wheel and floored the accelerator. He thought about calling Frank Deegan. He even reached out for his mobile. Then he was jolted back to the last seconds of Hayley Gray’s life…and realised that Duke Rawlins could be safe in the knowledge that he was never going to call the police.
‘Who do you love most, your husband or your son? If you had to choose,’ Duke said suddenly.
‘My son,’ said Anna calmly.
Duke laughed. ‘Just like that?’ he said.
‘Yes. I’m leaving my husband.’
‘You bullshittin’ me?’ said Duke.
‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s over.’ Her heart thumped. Duke studied her face.
‘You better not be bullshittin’ me.’
‘I’m not. Please don’t touch my son.’
Duke stared, then reached back and slapped her hard with the back of his hand. Her bottom lip split wide.
‘Nice fuckin’ try,’ he said, brushing her hair from her face to look into her eyes. She was crying.
‘Don’t you dare fuckin’ lie to me,’ he said. ‘You’d never be able to choose between them. It’s written all over your skinny little French face.’
‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’
Duke shrugged. ‘Too late,’ he said. ‘Plan B, just for the holy hell of it.’
Barry Shanley was on his way to school punching a text message into his phone when he felt someone grab the back of his knapsack and wrench him to the ground. The phone spun out onto the road. Barry lay on his back on the path, struggling to find his feet. He managed to turn on his side, but Shaun pulled on his bag again, dragging him backwards. Barry’s hands scraped across the stone.
‘Fucking get off me,’ said Barry, trying to stand up.
‘Fuck you,’ said Shaun. ‘You sick fuck. Sending me emails like a fucking psycho.’
‘Got you there, Lucky, didn’t I?’
‘Are you nuts? My mom was—’ Shaun had to stop. He squeezed his eyes shut.
‘Oh, your mom!’ said Barry. ‘You pussy.’
Barry let his bag slide off his shoulders and dumped it on the ground. He started moving on the balls of his feet in front of Shaun, his arms raised. Shaun snorted.
‘You’re scaring me, Karate Kid.’
Barry reached out and tried to chop Shaun across the neck. Shaun grabbed Barry’s wrist and twisted it behind his back, pulling it up until he cried out. He pushed him forward onto the ground.
‘I’m not going to bother fighting you,’ said Shaun. He bent down and picked up Barry’s phone. He scrolled through the message on the screen. He read it out loud. ‘“Tape Home and Away for me. I’ll be back at 7. Kiss Kiss.” Now, who are you sending that to? Oh yeah, here we are: Mom. Fuck you, Shanley.’
Joe frowned. Up ahead, a woman was standing by the side of the road.
‘What the?’
She was swaying back and forth like a drunk, trying to flag him down with heavy arms. He frowned and checked the clock. He had three minutes to get to the car park. He looked around, hoping someone else would drive by and help this woman. Then he saw the blood, dripping from her arm. He looked for signs of a crash or another person, but she was alone and the closer he got the more hyste
rical she became. She suddenly started flailing wildly.
‘Shit,’ he muttered, pulling in beside her. She grabbed at the handle, missing it several times before the door finally opened and she could heave herself up onto the passenger seat. Something about her made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
He watched her as she sat back in the seat. ‘Thanks so much for stopping, sir, thank you,’ she said. Her face was flushed and slick with sweat. Her breathing was heavy. She pushed back her hair and tried to smooth it down, catching a wiry strand in one of three tiny gold hoop earrings.
‘What happened?’ said Joe.
‘Some maniac attacked me! I was going for a walk and he just came out of nowhere.’ She stared at him with wide eyes. ‘I think he was going to rape me,’ she added. Joe took in her bulk. The seats of the Jeep were wide, but she was filling hers and almost spilling over. Only a very large man would try to tackle her down. Maybe that’s why she’d got away.
‘I need to get to a hospital. He stabbed me. With a knife.’ She looked amazed. Then a strange flash of anger passed across her face as if she was about to finish with, ‘The asshole.’
‘Show me,’ said Joe, nodding at her arm. She hesitated. ‘I’m a police officer,’ he said.
She pulled back the sweater wrapped around her arm and he saw a deep slash stretching diagonally across her fleshy forearm. It was a clean slice, delivered – Joe imagined – with quick downward force as she was raising her arm to deflect it. He started the engine and turned to her.
‘You’re gonna be just fine,’ he said. ‘But I can’t take you to the hospital. I have a meeting—’
‘A meeting? You’re a policeman!’ she said. ‘You can’t just—’
‘I’m off duty,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. What I will do is leave you at the garda station and the sergeant in there, Frank Deegan or the guard, Richie Bates, will take you to the hospital. Tell them Joe Lucchesi left you off.’ He glanced down at the clock. He was already three minutes late as he turned onto the main street and pulled up outside Danaher’s.
