Robbie was eating his own dinner when Lucy went in. He smiled as she entered the room, leaning towards her to accept her kiss.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he said.
Lucy smiled, sitting on the bed next to him. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Sore,’ he said. ‘But I’ll recover.’
Lucy took his hand in hers, was reminded in the gesture of the feeling of her father’s hand earlier.
‘I am sorry, Robbie. For this. And for us, too.’
He smiled sadly. ‘I know, Lucy.’
‘I’d rather it had been me,’ she said. ‘You didn’t deserve all this.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m glad it wasn’t you,’ he said.
‘When do you get out?’ Lucy asked, embarrassed by his comment.
‘The next day or two,’ he said. ‘I’m going to go home for a while. To my folks.’
‘Do you want me to give you a lift up? I’ll check under the car before you get into it this time,’ Lucy said.
‘And so you should,’ Robbie joked. ‘No. My dad’s going to collect me.’
Lucy swallowed, shifting on the bed. ‘Will I see you over the holidays at all?’
Robbie looked at her, his eyes soft in their kindness. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure what’s happening.’
‘With the holidays or with us?’ Lucy said, trying to smile, pretending indifference.
‘Both,’ he said. ‘Either. I’m not sure.’
Lucy patted his hand with hers, then lifted it again and, clasping it between both hers, drew it to her lips and kissed the skin between his finger and thumb.
‘I am sorry,’ she repeated.
She didn’t go to the cemetery in the end. Instead she found herself once more on Petrie Way, glancing in the mirror at the wrapped gift that sat on the back seat of the car as she pulled up outside the house.
She sat, watching the house, wondering whether she should leave the gift at all. Perhaps wait until the sky darkened and then leave it on the doorstep. But she knew they would never give it to the child, not knowing whence it came.
Finally, she got out, clutching the gift in her hand. She made it as far as the driveway of the house before stopping. Through the large front window she could see, in the lounge, the Kelly family sitting on the floor. Joe sat at the centre of a scattered collection of new toys, his foster mother helping him play with a truck while her husband recorded it.
Lucy could see, for the first time, how happy the child looked, how content was the whole family. She knew that, if she knocked at the door, left her gift, she would have to explain how she knew the child and why she felt responsible for him. She would have to share Mary’s sacrifice with them. She knew that the knowledge of what had happened to him would profit none of them. In the end, she turned to leave.
Across the street, a neighbour was standing at his car, watching her. ‘Are you looking for someone?’ he called over.
‘No,’ Lucy said. ‘I’ve the wrong house,’ she explained, moving back to her car.
Around four she went to the soup kitchen where Tom Fleming was working. She helped them to prepare the meals for the homeless. As she helped laying the tables, she watched out for Janet, the girl who had featured so prominently in Lucy’s own father’s past. The last time Lucy had seen her she had been living on the street, an alcoholic, abandoned by her own family. Lucy hoped and feared, in equal measure, that Janet might appear at the soup kitchen for food, but she did not.
After the dinner, she and Fleming stood in the kitchen of the church hall, drinking coffee.
‘Pudding?’ Fleming asked, offering her a dish.
Lucy shook her head. ‘I’m stuffed.’
‘I’m not allowed it,’ Fleming said, putting the dish down a little ruefully. ‘Because of the brandy. In case it sets me off on another bender,’ he added with a smirk.
‘How is it going?’ Lucy asked.
‘I’m OK,’ he said, smiling lightly. ‘I had to dry out for a few days. It was a little hairy, but ... it’s done now.’
Lucy nodded. ‘I did tell them you didn’t miss that stuff in Kay’s. I told them it was planted.’
Fleming patted her arm. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Your mother told me. But she was right, Lucy. I needed a break, to sort myself out. I wasn’t doing anyone any favours, the state I was in.’
‘Are you OK now?’
He nodded. ‘I will be,’ he said. ‘I heard about the attack on your car. Are you OK?’
Lucy nodded, busying herself with rinsing her cup. ‘Robbie was the one who was hurt.’
‘You’re not having dinner with your mum today?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘No. I must feel more at home here, I guess,’ she said, looking around at the ragged dinner guests sitting before her.
‘You and me both,’ Fleming said, putting his arm around her shoulders and briefly pulling her close. ‘Happy Christmas, Lucy.’
‘And you, Tom.’
She drove down through the Waterside on her way home. As she passed the shops at Gobnascale, she glanced across. They were closed for the day, their shutters pulled. Despite that, a group of kids still gathered outside them, standing in a loose circle.
As she slowed to glance across, Lucy saw a car sitting in the parking bay opposite, the door open, the owner sitting half out of the car, watching over the group, a cigarette in his hand.
When he saw her, Eoghan Harkin stood and moved across to the fence between the shops and the road.
Lucy rolled down the window as she pulled abreast where he stood.
‘Have you no home to go to?’ Harkin asked. ‘It’s Christmas.’
‘I could say the same,’ Lucy said.
‘Someone needs to keep an eye on this crowd. Give them some direction. Now that there’s a vacancy in the area, what with Jackie Logue in the wind.’
‘Not any more. They found his body on the railway tracks last night.’
‘Did they now?’ Harkin asked. ‘Imagine that.’
He smiled at her, his grin feral. Lucy tried to ignore the sickness gnawing at her guts.
‘So what about Alan Cunningham? Any rumours on his whereabouts?’ Lucy asked.
Harkin straightened, looking across the top of her car a second, drawing a final pull on his cigarette. ‘I wouldn’t know anything about that, now,’ he said. ‘Though wherever he tries to go from here onwards, he’ll be getting a cold reception. He’ll have no more bolt-holes. He’ll have to resurface eventually. When he does, you’ll need to be ready to grab him, Sergeant.’
Suddenly, two figures stepped out onto the road from the pavement opposite and passed in front of her. Gavin, his arm wrapped protectively around Elena’s shoulder, his head held high, crossed in front of Lucy’s car while she waited, staring in at her as he did so. Lucy held his stare until finally the boy had to turn away to step up onto the pavement where Harkin stood. At his arrival, the group of youths, who had been at the shop, moved towards him, their voices raised in greeting, as if to welcome a returning conqueror, encircling him the way they had once done for Tony.
Harkin smiled and raised his voice to be heard above the noise of the youths. ‘That’s the thing about your bad deeds. They’ll always resurface eventually,’ he added. ‘You take care for now, Lucy Black. I’ll be seeing you again.’
Lucy watched as he turned to lead the gang back to the shops, Gavin by his side, the youths trailing in his wake.
‘I can promise you that,’ she said.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Finbar Madden and all my friends and colleagues in St Columb’s College for their continuing support, and to Bob McKimm and James Johnston for their invaluable advice.
Thanks to all the team at Constable & Robinson, particularly James Gurbutt, Lucy Zilberkweit, Clive Hebard, Sandra Ferguson and Martin Palmer, and to Jenny Hewson of RCW and Emily Hickman of The Agency.
Continued thanks to the McGilloways, Dohertys, O’Neills and Kerlins for their support, especially Carmel
, Joe and Dermot, and my parents, Laurence and Katrina, to whom this book is dedicated.
Finally, my love and thanks to my wife, Tanya, and our children, Ben, Tom, David and Lucy.
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author BRIAN MCGILLOWAY was born in Derry, Northern Ireland. After studying English at Queen’s University, Belfast, he took up a teaching position in St Columb’s College in Derry, where he was Head of English. His first novel, Borderlands—published by Macmillan New Writing—was shortlisted for the CWA New Blood Dagger in 2007 and was hailed by The Times as “one of [2007’s] most impressive debuts.” The second novel in the series, Gallows Lane, was shortlisted for the 2009 Irish Book Awards/Ireland AM Crime Novel of the Year. The third, Bleed a River Deep, was selected by Publishers Weekly as one of their Best Books of 2010. He is the author of three Lucy Black novels, all to be published in the U.S. by Witness Impulse, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. Brian lives near the Irish borderlands with his wife and their four children.
www.brianmcgilloway.com.
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Also by Brian McGilloway
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book was originally published in 2013 by C&R Crime, an Imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, under the title Hurt.
SOMEONE YOU KNOW. Copyright © 2013 by Brian McGilloway. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition MAY 2014 ISBN: 9780062336705
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062336712
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