“I kept telling both of you,” said Izzy. “I kept telling you what they were doing to Fergus. But you wouldn’t listen, either of you. Dad was too busy. And you, Mum, well, I tried. And every single time you said you’d look after it. You told me not to worry. But you never did a thing, Mum. You never did a single thing.”
Her dark eyes seared into Kate. Accusing her. Blaming her.
“Who else was going to sort it out for Fergus?” Izzy challenged.
Kate was reeling. She looked to Mannix for support. But Mannix didn’t open his mouth. He was listening carefully.
“But we didn’t bring you up like that, Izzy,” Kate protested. “We didn’t bring you up to take the law into your own hands, to act like a savage.”
“No, you didn’t, Mum. But you made us go to school with them.”
Kate slumped back on the sofa, winded.
She never expected this. To be so judged by her eleven-year-old daughter. She’d seriously miscalculated. Had she really failed her children that badly? Kate felt sick. Sick at the thought that she’d failed in the most fundamental of all parental duties—to make her children feel safe. Had she failed so abysmally in providing a duty of care to Izzy and Fergus that eleven-year-old Izzy had been forced to take matters into her own hands?
Kate’s head was a mess. She’d always thought of herself as a good mother and Mannix as a good father, for all his faults.
“Come here and sit down, Izzy,” Mannix said quietly. “Now, this is important. I want you to tell us exactly what happened that night. Every last detail. You may not think so, but this is really important.”
Mannix, ever practical, was thinking ahead. He seemed calm, seemed unscathed by the criticism, but in truth, the worst of it had been directed at Kate.
“You already know what happened,” Izzy said petulantly.
“Tell us, step by step, Izzy.” Mannix was firm.
Sitting down, Izzy stared at her feet, curling her toes. “Well, I took the hammer, for starters—okay, so you know that already. I took it out of the toolbox in the hall at home. I knew that night that Frankie would be at home on his own. He was always boasting, Frankie, you see, about how when his mother was working he’d have a can of cider from the fridge and watch a load of horror movies. He’d been talking all day about this horror movie he got from his uncle. He showed everyone in the yard a video clip on his phone of his uncle biting off a guy’s ear.”
Good God. Kate winced. It was all coming out now. The scale of the intimidation. The pedigree of their classmates. Kate looked at Mannix, shaking her head. Her stomach churned. Mannix was listening intently.
They’d had no idea. Choosing the school had been a joint decision. It had a good social mix. There were middle-class kids and kids from disadvantaged areas. And as Mannix often argued, in life, the children would meet all sorts. They needed not to be judgmental and to negotiate the social divide. But at no point had either Mannix or Kate realized the rawness of that divide.
“I had the hammer in my Girl Guides bag along with the pillowcase that Dad got for me. You dropped me off at Guides that night, Dad, remember?” Izzy looked at her father.
“Not really, but carry on . . .” Mannix stared at his daughter with a blend of shock tinged with respect.
“Well, you did. I remember.”
Izzy was adamant.
“And the Flynns’ house is around the corner from the community center. So when Dad dropped me off, I waited until he’d driven away and then I went around the corner to the Flynns’.” Izzy paused to draw breath. “I knew the house. Everyone knows the house. There’s a shopping trolley in the front and there’s a car with no tires on it set up on bricks. There’s a big bush at the front door that nearly covers the door completely. It’s all overgrown and everything.”
Mannix nodded as if he too knew where the house was. Kate had never seen it.
“It was dark,” Izzy continued, “but I could see that Frankie was inside the sitting room watching TV. He was eating crisps and drinking from a can. I rang the bell and waited. I waited behind the bushes in the dark. But I don’t think he heard me. The TV was really loud, so I rang the doorbell again. He came to the door this time and I ran back behind the bushes. There was something not right with him—the way he was walking. I think he really had been drinking cider. Frankie started shouting ‘Who’s there?’ but I stayed where I was behind the bushes. Then Frankie turned around to go back in. That’s when I got him . . .”
“You got him?” Kate repeated, her throat getting tight. She was finding it hard to listen to this.
“Yes,” said Izzy.
“I threw the pillowcase over Frankie’s head so he couldn’t see and then I hit him with the hammer. I hit him hard. He fell. I kept hitting him on the arm. I wanted him to pay for everything he did to Fergus. Frankie was roaring his head off. Roaring and screaming, going crazy. You should have heard him cursing lying there on the ground. He ripped the pillowcase off and threw it out on the footpath. I hid behind the bush again but when he pulled the pillowcase off, I ran. I picked up the pillowcase and I ran as quick as I could, back to the community center.
“Oh my God, Izzy. Oh my God.” Kate went numb. What had her child done? What had she let her child in for?
“I know you’re saying ‘Oh my God,’ Mum. Like you’re really disappointed and stuff. But I’m not sorry. That’s God’s honest truth. I’m not one bit sorry for what I did. If I had to, I’d do it all over again.”
Kate stared at Izzy, seeing her anew. She felt a sudden spasm of panic.
“Do you realize what you’ve done, Izzy? What the Flynns would do to us all if they ever found out?” Her own voice was shrill in her ears.
“That’s not helping, Kate,” Mannix said calmly. “Izzy has told us what happened. Like we asked her to. Now we have to deal with it.”
How could Mannix be so calm?
Izzy looked her straight in the eye. “Well, Mum, the Flynns haven’t found out anything so far and they’re not going to either. Frankie has no idea who did it. Like I said, he was drunk.” Izzy looked from Mannix to Kate. “Can I go back to bed now?”
It was as if she’d told them nothing more unusual than an account of a book she’d just finished or a movie she’d watched.
“Yes, Izzy, off you go.” Mannix was equally casual. Ridiculously unperturbed. Was Kate the only one who was totally petrified and bewildered by all of this?
“Is that all you’re going to say to her?” Kate exploded.
“Take it easy, Kate. Let the child go. You and I need to talk.”
Reluctantly, Kate signaled that Izzy should follow her father’s advice. Kate was shaking. Her confidence as an able parent shattered. Her view of Izzy forever altered.
“Oh my God, Mannix, what are we going to do about this? I feel so guilty. So very, very guilty . . .” Kate stared at Mannix, expecting him to follow suit. But he was lost in thought. Mulling it all over. For a while, they both sat in silence, gathering their thoughts, absorbing a side to their daughter they never knew she had.
Kate thought back over the last few months. She had spent so much time concentrating on Fergus, she’d never noticed the effects on Izzy. All this time, Izzy had been brooding, harboring a vengeful hate for Frankie Flynn, and a sneering disdain for Mannix and Kate.
It was frightening. Kate tried to think back to her own childhood. Would she have been capable of such a thing? In spite of her youth, Izzy had managed to concoct a plot that had inflicted serious injury. Izzy had coolly analyzed the situation, and with a focused determination had carried out her plan.
But none of this was Izzy’s fault. Kate was the one who’d let her down. She’d let the situation slide and fester. In her role as Izzy’s protector, Kate had surely failed. She’d exposed her children to danger, putting them in harm’s way. And by her own desperate actions, Izzy had brought he
r childhood to an abrupt and bloody end.
“We don’t have to talk about it all again, do we?” Izzy said, arriving into their bedroom that morning. Despite her insistence on going back to bed the night before, she looked like she hadn’t slept a wink.
“What’s that, Izzy?” Mannix had said, propping himself up on his pillow.
“You know, the stuff we spoke about last night? I don’t want it to ruin the holiday. Fergus’s holiday. We were having a really nice time. I’d just like to go back to having a nice time.”
“Okay, Izzy,” Mannix said. “If that’s what you want. We won’t talk about it for the rest of the holiday. I don’t want to spoil a nice time either. But when we get home, we’ll have to talk about it again. It’s not over.”
Izzy seemed relieved with this.
“Okay, Dad.” Her mouth turned up at the sides, but the smile stopped short of her eyes. “Until we’re home.” She turned on her heel and left the room.
Kate looked at Mannix and held her tongue. Typical Mannix. Why do today what you could put off until tomorrow? Kate knew she couldn’t let this slide. Somehow Izzy would have to realize the gravity of what she’d done. She couldn’t behave like that and get away with it. It would be far too dangerous to let her think she could behave with such impunity. And, as always in these matters, it would be up to Kate to nudge their child back on track. Other things would stuff their way into Mannix’s headspace, and what seemed urgent today would fade into inconsequence. Kate sighed. It was true, they had been having such a wonderful time. Maybe Mannix’s advice was the best they could do for now. She’d deal with Izzy once they got back home.
• • •
They were sitting in a coffee shop in Greenwich Village. “This is a very different Halloween,” said Fergus, entirely unaware of just how right he was. They were finished with the cruise and tired of trawling around the secondhand shops in search of some great vinyl find for Mannix. They’d abandoned him and his “old-folks’ music” to the shadows and mustiness of the one-roomed shops down the street.
The coffee shop was busy and they’d decided to have a sandwich before the parade kicked off in about an hour. Even though Fergus’s sandwich was minus the crusts, as requested, Izzy threw her eyes to heaven as he still insisted on slicing off the edges and making a neat tower at the side of his plate.
As Kate sat sipping her coffee, a familiar face peered in at them through the fogged-up window. It was Mannix—brandishing a square-shaped plastic bag and a wide smile. At least the quest for that elusive album was over.
“Mission accomplished,” he said, beaming. Kate was always amazed at his powers of recuperation. At his ability to pigeonhole the distressing things in life.
By the time they entered the street again a Mardi Gras atmosphere was building. Street artists with ghetto blasters were putting on performances. They passed at least three Michael Jackson look-alikes doing versions of “Thriller.” As they made their way to Broadway, police were ushering the crowds back from the roadside with the gravitas of bomb disposal experts.
Mannix found them a spot next to a basketball park where he reckoned they’d have a view. Their corner was thronged with Chinese tourists taking photographs of themselves taking photographs. The noise and excitement was growing and people kept looking to the left, wondering when the parade would start.
“Here they come!” screeched a bystander from the other side of the road. This time, the urgency in the voice had the ring of truth. Fergus was hopping up and down, trying to see over the heads in front. Minutes later, carnival sounds were followed by a giant paper dragon that weaved and shimmied, manned by a line of puppeteers pumping poles like pistons in an engine.
“Is the whole of the New York Police Department on duty down here?” Mannix asked.
There seemed to be as many police officers manning the barricades as there were street performers.
“Oh, wow . . .” gasped Fergus as a sea of floating eyeballs lit the sky.
“Now, that’s impressive,” Mannix remarked.
The eyeballs were fashioned from white helium balloons festooned with ribbon nerve endings. The naked eyes without their sockets were macabre against the dark night sky. An excited woman in front shifted and stood on Kate’s foot. “It’s getting a little crowded, don’t you think?” Kate was starting to feel uneasy. The crowds had become more dense and packed more tightly. “I think we should make a move,” she shouted at Mannix above the din of the music. But Mannix hadn’t heard. He was busy pointing out the display of skeletons coming up the road. The skeletons danced and leaped far above the crowd, jaws dropping and closing, limbs flailing, skulls lolling.
“Ow!” A couple jostled into Fergus. There was the sound of scuffling as if there were some aggravation behind. All of a sudden, there was tension. People were being pushed about.
“Come on, kids,” said Mannix. “It’s a bit too busy just here . . .”
“Aww, Dad. Can’t we see the rest of the skeletons?”
“Maybe farther on. Come on, Soldier,” he said firmly and took the lead. “We’ll catch some more a few blocks up.”
With a start Kate realized her mobile was ringing. She rummaged about her nylon bag and located the lit-up phone. Spike. What on earth did Spike want? And why was he phoning her? Pinpricks of alarm went off inside her head. It must be after two in the morning back in Ireland.
“Spike? Is everything okay?”
They had stopped dead on the pavement. Mannix was looking at her curiously now, with a very strange expression.
“Hi, Spike, can you hear me?” said Kate. The line was crackling.
“I can, I can hear you perfectly. Kate, I’ve got some dreadful news.”
Her heart sank like a stone. This was going to be bad.
“What is it, Kate?” mouthed Mannix.
Kate looked away, concentrating on the call.
“What’s happened, Spike?” she asked with dread.
“Hazel Harvey is dead.”
Kate went weak.
“Dead?” she said.
“Dead?” echoed Mannix, sharply.
“I’m afraid so, Kate. Look, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Mannix—I couldn’t get him. His phone is off. The thing is, Kate, well, you see, the thing is, it very much looks like she was assaulted. In fact, she was assaulted.”
“What happened, Spike?”
But in her heart she knew already. She’d had that feeling. That really bad feeling.
There was a delay of a second or two and she heard her own voice echo back at her.
“You’re not there on your own there, are you, Kate? Manny’s there with you?”
“Yeah. He’s here. Standing next to me.”
Mannix put out his hand to ask for the phone. She shook her head.
“The guards are here, Kate. It looks like Hazel was assaulted in the driveway outside.”
Assaulted? Jesus. She turned her back on the kids and managed to walk a few steps away. Her legs felt strange.
“What do you mean, assaulted?”
“Her skull was bashed in with a garden spade.”
“Oh, my God . . .”
Kate made no protest as Mannix prized the mobile from her grip.
“Spike? Spike? What’s going on there, man?”
Kate could see that the kids were becoming alarmed and she led them away to some steps outside a shop.
“What’s happened, Mum?” asked Izzy. Already Izzy knew that it was serious.
But Kate was unable to answer. She sat on the step shaking her head. Oh, God. How could this have happened? In the driveway of her home, a woman had been murdered. Her skull smashed in. Kate was finding it hard to take it all in. This was unthinkable. They were an ordinary family. Why was this horror being visited on them? And yet in her heart she felt she knew exactly what had happened.
Mannix spent the next few minutes speaking in hushed tones as he scuffed imaginary stones in the street.
“Let’s get back to the apartment. Now,” he said to Kate.
Fergus and Izzy didn’t say a word.
“I know who did it,” Kate said quietly, as soon as the kids were out of earshot.
“You do?” said Mannix, looking at her strangely. “I really don’t see how . . .”
“Oh, I know who did it, all right,” she said. “And so do you.”
Mannix
RIVERSIDE DRIVE, MANHATTAN
HALLOWEEN
It was past ten o’clock when they got back to upper Manhattan. Mannix knew that Kate was dreading that Du Bois might be on duty and was relieved to see he wasn’t. She couldn’t face him, knowing what they knew. In the cab, Kate had told the kids that there had been an accident at home, that they would be heading back to Ireland ahead of plan, just as soon as they could change their tickets.
“Is it the lady who’s staying in our house?” asked Fergus.
“Yes, Fergus. It is. She’s had an accident. A dreadful accident.”
Without asking any more questions, the children seemed to know that she was dead.
“I’d better go and pack my things,” said Izzy, making for her room.
“Me too,” said Fergus, sadly. He fiddled with the shoulder straps of his backpack. Mannix knew that Fergus would spend the next hour or so packing and repacking his suitcase, until it was just to his liking. Red T-shirts could not be packed on top of navy ones. Dirty underwear would have to be bagged in three layers of plastic bags and at the opposite end of the suitcase from his toilet bag. The task would take even longer tonight, as Fergus was upset at the news. Bravely trying to absorb it all, but upset nonetheless.
Mannix was upset too. Tragedy had come to visit them. A knot of dread twisted in his gut. He knew that this was bad, all right. And it was also possible that at this moment, Mannix was the only one who knew just how bad this was.
Heart in his mouth, he turned his mobile phone back on and waited for the signal to appear. Sure enough, just as Spike had said, there they were. Seventeen missed phone calls. Spike had been trying him for hours. Releasing a held-in breath, Mannix began to check his texts. There were only three since he last used the phone. All from the same sender, just as he expected. Holding his breath again, he opened them in quick succession.
Twisted River Page 19
