A hot afternoon. There was to be a party that night. Mummy was nervous about it. Lots of people were coming. Lots of his friends. Mummy was having a rest before she had to go and get ready. She and the baby, Vanessa, were asleep on the beach. Marina couldn’t help but like the baby. She hadn’t wanted to, but Vanessa had such a big smile and she was so funny, crawling everywhere and waving and clapping her hands. And Marina liked her soft round body. Liked to cuddle her and hold her close. Dominic didn’t like her. But he didn’t like anyone except his snotty friends. There were four of them staying. Ben Roxby, who’d brought his ugly, noisy boat. Poor Mark Porter, who everyone teased because of his height. And the two girls: Gilly Kearon, who did nothing but giggle and pout, and Sophie Fitzgerald, who was tall and elegant and very clever. They went off by themselves most of the time. Dominic had places in the woods that were secret. He wouldn’t show them to Marina or Tom. Tom didn’t care. All he wanted was to follow the deer, climb the mountains, make fires and pretend he was an Indian. Marina wished she was like Tom. He was always happy, always carefree. She couldn’t understand him.
Everything peaceful and quiet. The sky blue, no clouds, no wind. Then, suddenly, the roar of an engine. Someone was in the motorboat. It had been moored at the far end of the lake, tied up in the little stone harbour. But it was speeding fast across the lake, far too fast. It looked as if it would flip over, it was so fast. So out of control. Marina watched it. She couldn’t work out who was at the wheel. It didn’t look like anyone she knew.
She stood and watched as the boat seemed to charge at the shore, then, at the last moment, wheel away like a horse refusing a fence. The wake from its charge washed up and over her feet and made her little boat shake. And then she heard him shouting and turned. He was running down from the house. Calling, ‘Marina, in the boat now. Get in and we’ll go out and see what on earth is going on.’ And before she could stop him he had pushed out the dinghy and jumped in.
And she said to him, ‘You’ve no life-jacket. You need a life-jacket.’
But he ignored her and bent over the outboard, jerking the cord so it spluttered into life, a little puff of blue smoke colouring the air around it. ‘Push us off, Marina, then get in,’ he shouted.
She struggled to pull herself over the gunwales, her shorts getting wet, her life-jacket bulky, making her clumsy, as he jerked the handle of the engine, spinning the dinghy in a tight circle. ‘Be careful!’ she shouted, her voice angry. ‘Be careful what you’re doing.’
But he was in charge now, and he was aiming the dinghy out towards the middle of the lake where the motorboat was idling, the boys on board sitting on the bow, feet trailing over the side. He stood in the stern, shouting at them, while Marina tried to keep the dinghy balanced, dismayed at his recklessness, his lack of sense. Remembering how her father had drilled into her, even when she was young, four, five, six: Never stand up in a boat. Always wear a life-jacket. Remember the danger. Be careful.
And as they got closer to the motorboat, its engine began to roar again, and again it leaped into life, its bow rising up, a wave with a white crest foaming in front of it as it ploughed through the water. And it seemed to Marina, as she crouched low in Bluebird, that they were doomed to be overwhelmed by it. But at the last minute it turned away so it was the wash that rushed towards them, that caused them to rock from side to side, the propeller of the outboard to lift from the water so it screeched and ripped at the air. But then the boat was back again, and this time Marina thought it really would smash into them – it was so fast, so direct. And she turned and screamed to James to see what was happening and he swung the tiller so they almost capsized and the engine stalled, coughed, spluttered, then died.
‘Shit.’ His voice sounded wild with rage and he bent over the stern, while the dinghy rocked and water sloshed in the bilges. And as he bent over, fiddling with the fuel line, the boys turned the motorboat towards them again, and again it came so close that Marina put her hands over her eyes, heard the sound of the engine, then the sudden lurch from side to side as the bow wave hit them again. And heard James shouting, ‘Marina, help me!’ and saw him topple over, try to hold on to the stern, then fall, head first, into the water. Screaming, sudden fear in his voice, ‘Help me, Marina, help me!’ as she sat frozen, and looked at him, thinking, You stupid man, I told you to put on your life-jacket. You wouldn’t listen to me. You thought you knew best. And remembered. When he had gone into the water from the beach, holding the baby against his chest, her mother had called, ‘Be careful, James, remember you can’t swim.’ And he had laughed and lolled around in the warm shallow water, holding up the baby so she giggled with pleasure and waved her chubby little arms.
But now there was panic on his face as he sank beneath the surface. Then kicked himself up gasping for breath, calling to her, ‘For God’s sake, Marina, help me! Throw me something – a rope, an oar, anything!’ as he sank again, and this time it was longer before he came to the surface and his movements were weaker and his voice was feeble. And Marina looked at him. She sat and looked at him, just looked at him. And did nothing.
A hot afternoon. A hot Saturday afternoon. The lake, the blue sky, the woods, the mountains, the motorboat with its engine idling and the man drowning in front of her eyes.
And, suddenly, it was as if she woke from a dream. She jumped into the cold, dark water, her life-jacket keeping her head up so she could breathe, and she called out to him. She screamed his name over and over again. Then she tried to dive to find him, and she caught hold of his arm and began to pull him to the boat. But he was heavy, so very heavy. And she pulled and pulled, dragging the painter from the bow and tying it around his waist, then hauling herself back into the boat. Unable to pull him in with her. And she began to cry out, ‘Help me, please, someone help me! Help me!’
And saw the boys in the motorboat, turn it away, take it back into the shore. Scramble from it and run up the hill towards the road. Leaving her behind. Leaving her with the body of the man she hated.
‘Leaving her with the body of the man she hated,’ Gwen repeated.
‘I saw you.’ McLoughlin’s voice was quiet.
‘You know about that, do you?’ Gwen drummed her fingers on the steering-wheel.
‘And you do too.’
‘She told me when she got the first text message. She thought it was just a child or a joke or something. She didn’t get anything else for quite a while, a couple of months, really. Then she had phone messages. All different voices but all saying the same thing. Then silence again. And then someone sent her photographs that were taken of her at home. And the last straw was what happened with the apartments. Did you hear about that too?’
‘Yes, I did.’ It was very warm in the car. McLoughlin tapped the window. ‘Can I open this?’
Gwen turned the key and pressed the button. The window slid down. And McLoughlin saw, in the wing mirror, Dominic de Paor staring at them as they talked. ‘So who did she think it was?’
De Paor took his phone from his pocket.
‘Well, she knew it had to be someone who was there that day. But she couldn’t figure out who. She thought first of all that there might have been someone in the woods, with binoculars maybe. And one morning she phoned me early, very early, before I was up. She was hysterical. She said it must have been one of the boys in the motorboat, that was who it was. They were closer to her than she had thought. But then she changed her mind. Said it couldn’t have been them, because how would they have known who she was? She was all over the place about it.’ Gwen rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. ‘She was so upset. And, of course, her big fear was that whoever it had been would tell her mother.’
‘Tell her mother what exactly? That she saw James drown?’
De Paor had turned away now. He was pacing to and fro.
‘Tell her mother that she let him drown. Not that she saw him drown, that she let him drown.’
‘And did she?’
‘She said she di
d. She said she hated him. She wanted him dead. She saw the opportunity. She acted upon it.’
‘But she was fifteen.’
De Paor had ended his phone call. But he was still staring at the car.
‘Old enough, strong enough, a good enough swimmer. She certainly could have tried to do something. She was wearing a life-jacket. He wasn’t. The outcome might have been the same. He might still have drowned. But at least she would have done the right thing. And she knew she hadn’t. And that knowledge consumed her. Even before she began to get the messages and the rest, she had never been able to forgive herself for what she had done,’ Gwen said. ‘Or, rather, what she had not done.’
She began to chant: ‘We have left undone those things that we ought to have done; and we have done those things which we ought not to have done; and there is no health in us.’
They sat in silence for a moment. Then McLoughlin said, ‘She hated him that much? Why? What was going on between them? He wasn’t – you know?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I did wonder when she spoke of him with such vehemence. But I think it was something much more obvious. She was jealous of James. She, her mother and her brother were a tight-knit family unit.’ She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. ‘But when Sally got together with James he blew it apart. And Marina was truly bereft.’
She leaned across McLoughlin and opened the glove compartment. He was conscious of her pressing against his thigh.
‘This is something else you should know about.’ She sat up again. She was holding a cassette tape in her hand. She fed it into the slot on the dashboard. ‘She got this just before she died. She brought it into the office.’
She pressed play. There was a moment’s silence. Then a voice began to sing. McLoughlin recognized the song. He had heard it on an old album of American folk singers, one that Janey had loved and played over and over again.
‘I’m gonna tell,
I’m gonna tell,
I’m gonna holler and I’m gonna yell,
I’ll get you in trouble for everything you do,
I’m gonna tell on you.’
The chorus repeated again. McLoughlin reached out and ejected it from the machine. ‘Is there anything else on it?’ He turned the tape over in his hand.
‘Just the one song. You know it?’ She seemed surprised.
‘Yeah, I know it all right.’ He whistled a couple of notes. ‘Funny little thing, isn’t it? I always thought it sounded sinister, sort of creepy.’
‘Marina was terrified when she got it. I wanted her to go to the police about all of it. Especially the photographs. But she wouldn’t. She said that when the job on the apartments was finished she would leave Dublin. She still had friends in New York. She said she would go there. Her mother could come and see her in America. She thought she could leave it all behind.’
McLoughlin glanced in the wing mirror again. De Paor had gone.
‘You know, there’s a couple of things about Marina that I don’t understand,’ he said. He put the tape into his pocket. ‘I don’t understand her friendship with Porter, or why she went to the party. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘She didn’t tell me she was going. She told me Mark had asked her. I advised against it. Not something I would usually do. Nothing good could come of it, I said.’
McLoughlin took his keys from his pocket.
‘And the second thing?’ Gwen asked. ‘The other thing you don’t understand?’
‘I spoke to her mother and I emailed her brother.’ McLoughlin scratched his chin. ‘They both told me that she and Dominic de Paor did not get on. The word “hate” was used. Sally said that Dominic was jealous of Marina and Tom, and felt threatened by them. Tom said he thought there was a bit of a game going on between Dominic and Marina. That to begin with she was well able for him. That it was only after James died that he intimidated her. And yet I have reason to believe that she was having a relationship with him – recently that is. Did you know about that?’
‘Dominic?’ Gwen’s voice rose. ‘No, I didn’t. Although, to be honest, it doesn’t surprise me. There was always a self-destructive element in Marina’s personality. The abuse of drugs and alcohol, the way she depersonalized her sexual relationships. She knew Dominic was bad news. She talked about him. She admired him in some ways. She told me he was very good-looking, very clever, successful. Everything I suspect she thought she wasn’t.’ She sighed. ‘But if she was involved with him, in any way, it was the one thing she never told me. She always spoke of him in the past tense. Why do you think there was something going on between them?’
McLoughlin described the images from the CCTV.
‘So, they were in the apartment block at the same time. Maybe Dominic was involved with the developer. Maybe it was that?’
‘I’m no expert on body language, but you wouldn’t need to be one to figure out what was happening. They went into that apartment for one thing, and one thing only. And it wasn’t to look at a colour card or to pick a few cushion covers.’ He smiled at her. ‘Anyway, I’d better go. My house was burgled last night. It’s still a terrible mess.’
‘Was much taken?’
‘No, but there was a lot of damage, and I’m afraid it won’t clear itself up.’
She put her hand on his arm, then kissed his cheek. ‘In that case I owe you even more for coming to meet me. It’s not like me, you know. I’m not usually in confession mode. But I had to tell you about Marina. I feel so bad about her. If I’d been able to make her feel that her step-father’s death wasn’t her fault then maybe none of this would have happened.’
‘And you’re really sure she didn’t contribute to it?’
‘Yes, I am. Absolutely sure.’ Her voice was calm.
He patted his pocket and opened the car door. ‘I’ll hold on to the tape, if you don’t mind, for the time being.’ He got out of the car. ‘Look, I’ll give you a ring tonight. And if you need anything, well, you have my number.’
He watched her drive away, then went to find his own car. The traffic was heavy and progress was slow. He was tired. It was hot. His eyes closed as he sat and waited for the traffic-lights to change. He forced them open. Pressed the button and the window slid down. Tried to fan some air into his face. It was stuffy, dusty. Like the air in a prison cell. And as he sat in his car, the engine idling, he could imagine Portlaoise high-security prison. Its population a potent mix of paramilitaries, drug-dealers, murderers and what the newspapers called crime bosses. A man called Gerry Leonard sits in a small, windowless, inner room and waits. His barrister is due to visit. He is going to discuss his appeal against his sentence. He’s been lucky to get this particular guy. His reputation is first class. He’s the best. He’s never met him before. But he knows what he looks like.
The door opens. He doesn’t stand. He doesn’t speak. Dominic de Paor takes a seat. He opens his briefcase and pulls out his files. He goes through the case. He explains his defence. Leonard nods and smiles. It sounds good.
‘OK, Mr Leonard, is there anything else you want to say? Any questions?’ De Paor gets ready to leave.
Leonard looks at him and smiles again. ‘It was terrible what happened to your da. Terrible to die like that.’
De Paor doesn’t answer. He puts on his coat.
‘It was that girl’s fault. She just sat there, the fucking bitch. Sat there and watched him drown.’
De Paor looks at him. ‘What did you say?’
Leonard waves towards the chair. ‘You didn’t see it, did you, Mr de Paor? Well, why don’t you sit down?’ He twists himself sideways and crosses his legs. ‘I’ve a story to tell you. If you’re sitting comfortably I’ll begin. Once upon a time there was a gang of lads and they went off one day out into Wicklow. It was a grand hot day. And they fancied a bit of a swim or, even better, a spin in a big, fast boat.’
The lights had turned to green. The car behind was hooting its horn. The sound was all around him. ‘OK, keep your fucking hair on.’ McLoughlin jerk
ed forward. The car behind was on his tail. He looked in the mirror. ‘Arsehole,’ he shouted.
The driver smiled. He put his hand out the window. He held up his index finger. His shirt was rolled up. The snake coiled around his wrist, the jaws wide open. And the fangs extended.
TWENTY-SIX
The water was cold, but not unbearable. Vanessa lay on her back and floated. It had been such a lovely day. Helena had brought a picnic and they had walked down the hill towards the little clearing by the edge of the lake. The horse had followed and so had the dog. Helena had lit a fire, in the circle of stones, and she had boiled water for tea, then heated a frying-pan when the stones were hot and fried eggs. She had cut thick slices of bread and buttered them, and Vanessa had eaten her egg, the yolk dripping on to her skirt. She had thought it the most delicious meal she had ever had.
‘When’s your birthday?’ Helena had asked. And Vanessa had told her it was the day after tomorrow.
‘What are you doing to celebrate? It’s a big day, your eighteenth.’ Helena stirred the embers with a stick and a flame shot out, glowing orange with a hint of green.
‘I don’t know. Mum isn’t very happy at the moment. And all my friends are away. That’s one of the problems with having a birthday at the beginning of August.’ Vanessa held out her mug for more tea. ‘I’d have been going too if my sister hadn’t died. I was going to Italy for the summer, to stay with a family.’
‘Lovely.’ Helena broke up some twigs and fed them to the embers. ‘But maybe not as lovely as here. And, anyway, if you were so far away you wouldn’t be able to take possession of your new house, would you?’ A twig snapped loudly in her hands. The dog looked up. ‘Are you going to the solicitor in the morning to sign the papers?’
I Saw You Page 26
