‘Can you let the News of the World go? We’ve moved on.’
‘Gentlemen,’ the woman said, a quiver in her voice belying the apparent composure which the formality of the word had given. ‘Nobody has to die,’ she said. ‘I’ll get you the money you want today. Let’s just go back to my hotel room.’
‘How do we know you’re not going to pull another stunt?’
‘I’m twenty-eight stone. I don’t pull stunts, and I don’t do kneeling. Any second now I’m going to fall over the edge if both of you don’t help me up. You don’t want to kill me. You don’t want to kill anyone. It’s not like I can go to the police, as you know.’
Niall looked at Paul. Paul looked at Niall.
The woman started to sway.
‘Would you have shot me afterwards, if I had done it?’ Niall asked Paul, helping the woman back up.
‘I was wondering the exact same thing about you,’ Paul said.
61
CHRIST, LIZ THOUGHT, flattening herself against the wall of the corridor, thirty metres from intensive care where Derek was being treated. There was a uniformed garda standing in front of the room. He was six foot five – at least – with a set of scrum-half shoulders in a short-sleeved blue shirt under his sleeveless stab-proof vest. Tackling him to the ground wasn’t going to be an option, then.
She glanced back over her shoulder towards the communal TV room, where she’d left Conor. Their near-death experience hadn’t knocked a stir out of him. He was too trusting to believe his father capable of hurting him. He’d run through Amanda’s blazing office, his only concern afterwards that Derek, who he’d caught a glimpse of in the back of an ambulance, was all right.
But Liz had just about held it together. What Derek had done in the past had finally registered now he had tried to kill them, too. She’d done the mental maths in the minutes before help arrived. If she told her rescuers what Derek had tried to do, if he was convicted of all of his crimes and became Ireland’s most notorious killer, it would shape the rest of Conor’s life. She’d enough money to take off and start a new life for them.
There was only one loose end that needed tying up first: Derek. If he survived, it was only a matter of time before the gardaí got enough evidence to charge him. But if he didn’t survive, the case against him would disappear into the ether. And that was why she was here.
By the time the cops came for her statement tomorrow, Derek would be dead – if she had anything to do with it. There’d be wires, or a drip, or switches she could interfere with. All she had to do to was get near him.
She walked up to the officer. ‘I know it’s not visiting time, but can I see Derek Carpenter? I’m his …’
She didn’t get the chance to finish. A middle-aged man in a leather jacket had appeared from somewhere. ‘You’re Derek’s wife, aren’t you?’ he asked, flashing a smile she didn’t trust. ‘I’ve some good news for you. Visiting hours don’t apply in there.’
‘Yes, I’m Liz Carpenter.’
‘I was told you wanted to go home,’ he answered, extending his hand. ‘I’m Chief Superintendent Alfie Taylor. I’ve been very worried about you.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ he said.
‘Can I see him?’ Liz asked.
‘Sure,’ Alfie said. ‘Why not?’
‘There’s another member of his family in there at the moment – his sister,’ the officer explained to both of them.
‘His sister?’ Liz repeated, her breath catching on the word. Derek’s family were spread out all over, and not close knit. Apart from which, they couldn’t have heard the news of what had happened so quickly. She tried to work out who else might have bluffed their way in there: someone from Mervyn’s Meats who wanted their money back … their neighbour, Paul … or maybe the other neighbours had taken a contract out on Derek’s life. Kim and Kate had the contacts …
She shouldn’t argue, or look surprised. She should keep her cool and let them do the job for her.
‘This is the lady now,’ the uniform said as an obese woman emerged from the door behind her.
She looked at least twenty-five stone – dressed brightly in a huge floral dress and sneakers. There was something familiar about the size and shape of her teeth, set in a little smile in the middle of her gigantic face, that Liz couldn’t stop staring at.
To her surprise, the woman took her in her arms and pulled her close. ‘It’s me, Liz,’ she whispered, in a light American accent.
And then the ground come up to meet Liz as her breathing tried to keep pace with her heart. Ellen.
62
SEXTON DROVE TO Nuns Cross, as Jo was too preoccupied. The clock was against her. At any moment the call could come that a cornea donor was available or that Alfie had had Derek charged, and that would be it, she’d have to throw in the towel, let the case that had snowballed against Derek Carpenter take its own course. She reached into her bag and took out a tube of hand cream, squeezing some on to her hands, rubbing them together and wondering how she’d got so bloody close to this case that it had shut out the rest of her life. She still hadn’t managed to tell Dan she was about to be hospitalized. He was clearly determined not to talk to her until she’d apologized. That she would do as soon as the case was solved.
Gripping her hands, she tried to quieten them. They had a life of their own, and she kept rubbing her lap, tilting her head against the passenger window, eyes closed. It was a grey day, but her eyes were so sensitive any light had become unbearable. Her head was pounding in time to the wipers, which were slashing at the drizzle. Would Liz have gone to Nuns Cross with everything going on? She doubted it. If she was an innocent and in danger, that was the first place the people who were trying to harm her family would look. Jo willed her brain to work it out, to come up with the answer that she believed was staring her in the face.
Sexton was the first to break the silence.
‘There’s no shame in getting it wrong, Jo,’ he said, glancing across.
‘Can you just drive? Because I’m one hundred per cent certain that Liz Carpenter is not safe at home.’
‘You can’t still believe Derek didn’t do it?’
Jo sighed. ‘You’ve got very friendly with Alfie all of a sudden. He tipped you off about the fire at Amanda’s, didn’t he?’
He didn’t deny it. ‘Maybe Derek was planning to kill Liz and then do a flit. Maybe his injuries from yesterday’s crash caught up with him. I don’t know. And neither do you. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘And neither does Alfie,’ she clipped, glad when her phone rang.
‘Hi,’ she said into her phone, pointing to the bus lane so Sexton could weave out of the traffic and inject some speed. They were hitting clear road in spots, but still had a fifteen-minute drive ahead of them.
It was Rory. ‘Mum, something’s happened to Dad,’ he said breathlessly.
Jo felt for the handle on the passenger door. ‘What?’
‘I can’t get the front door open. I can see Dad’s legs through the letterbox. He’s lying against the door. Harry’s hysterical. I’m trying to talk to him through the letterbox … I’m going to break a window.’
‘No,’ Jo shouted. She didn’t want Rory to see something that might haunt him for the rest of his life. ‘Keep Harry talking. I’m on the way.’
‘You’re not here now, Mum. I might be able to help Dad. Just call an ambulance; I’m going in.’
63
A TORCH THE size of a pen was being shone into Dan’s eyes by a paramedic holding the lids open with his thumb when Jo and Sexton arrived. Jo jumped out before Sexton had brought the car to a halt, and almost lost her footing in her effort to get to Dan, sprinting over to the stretcher. Rory was rocking Harry in his arms. Harry’s sleeping head was resting on his elder brother’s shoulder.
‘How is he?’ she asked the green-suited paramedic.
‘Sore,’ Dan said, coming to.
‘Thank God,’ Jo said, leaning in to kiss
his face. She cupped it with her hands. ‘I thought …’
She sighed so hard she had to take a deep breath to refill her lungs.
‘We’ll take him in to get him X-rayed, make sure there’s nothing broken, and no head injury. They may want to keep him overnight.’
‘I’m coming with him,’ Jo said.
‘No,’ Dan said. ‘Stay with the boys.’
Jo looked over her shoulder, and realized she couldn’t leave them.
‘Did you see who it was?’ she asked Dan.
‘It was the oven cleaner you organized,’ Dan said.
Jo didn’t want to worry him by arguing that she had done no such thing. ‘What did he look like?’
‘Skinny. Slitty eyes.’
Jo blinked. It was Paul Bell.
‘I came back and caught him in our bedroom, and I wasn’t strong enough to stop him getting away,’ Dan continued. ‘I tried, but I had to keep Harry safe.’
Jo clicked her fingers remembering where else she’d seen Paul. It was at the electricity meter: he was the man she’d passed late last night. He must have been wearing a false beard.
Jo stepped into the ambulance to kiss Dan on the forehead, muttering sorry over and over into his ear. Then she walked over to Rory and hugged him as they watched the ambulance drive away.
‘I’ll put Harry down for a nap in a minute, son. Take him inside for now.’
Alone with Sexton, she told him, ‘You were right about me getting it arse ways. If those journalists left Dan alive, they’re not the killers. I’ve got it all wrong. Amanda Wells wasn’t a victim. Ellen Lamb wasn’t murdered. The only reason Amanda’s phone was in her hand was because the journalists aren’t the killers, they’re just incompetent. That’s why Amanda was holding her phone. They wanted it to lead us straight to Derek.’
64
LIZ SAT ON the edge of Ellen’s sumptuous hotel-room bed in the Shelbourne on St Stephen’s Green, gripping her sister’s hands. She didn’t know how she was ever going to bring herself to let go again. Conor was fast asleep, tucked in under a snow-white, feather-filled duvet, and Liz was marvelling at her sister’s complete transformation – her strawberry-blonde hair was gone, even the shape of her eyes looked different now her face had filled out.
Liz was in ecstasy, on a high from the rush of holding her actual, warm, living and breathing sister. It was the first moment of pure unadulterated happiness that Liz had had since Ellen had gone. Even Conor’s birth had been tinged with sadness because Liz hadn’t had her sister with her to share in the wonder of her perfect baby boy. She held on for dear life as she listened to Ellen explain why she’d let a lifetime pass since they’d last seen each other.
‘Dad started abusing me when I was seven, I think,’ Ellen announced. ‘A counsellor told me it was probably earlier, but that often victims block it out from their early memories to cope.’
Liz caught a breath. Her life had started to drain out of her from some invisible hole. Everything was sinking. The ecstasy of the moment vanished as she tried to process the unbelievable. She started to blink rapidly. Their dad had what?
Ellen’s eyes had filled. She lifted Liz’s chin with her fingers to make her lock eyes. ‘By the time I got to sixteen, I knew that if I didn’t get away from him, I’d either kill him or myself. I hated how he’d made me feel about my own body. Like it was always dirty. I hated myself for not having been strong enough to get him to stop. I wanted to die to escape the demons. I’d started self-harming. Each time I took the knife to myself the wounds got deeper. I knew I was getting braver, and part of me was scared I would go through with it. I had to go, so I went. I was out of choices.’
Liz puffed out her cheeks and tried to process the information again. ‘Our dad?’
Ellen sighed. ‘I know he never laid a finger on you, and I wasn’t going to take the chance that you wouldn’t believe me by telling you. I tried several times, but because he was dying and you and Mum were so intent on nurturing him, I just couldn’t do it. My head was done in from it, not knowing whether to tell you, or to top myself. I thought if I killed myself and didn’t leave a note, he’d have got away with it. But if I’d left a note telling you why, I’d have caused you even more pain than if I’d just come out with it. So in the end, running away was the only option.’
‘Our dad?’
‘There was only one, as far as I’m aware,’ Ellen said crossly. Her expression became pinched. ‘You don’t believe me.’ She sat back and let go of Liz’s hands. ‘You always did that, you always treated me like I was lying.’
Liz was in the jaws of a flashback, back outside the bathroom door the last time she’d seen Ellen, when they’d started to bicker and snipe. She snapped back to the present. This time she would not let the moment unravel. She grasped Liz’s hands again.
‘That’s not true. It’s just that Dad’s memory is so dear to me. This is such a big shock. I can’t, I don’t …’
Ellen rolled her sleeves up to show Liz the scars. Liz gasped at the extent of the staggered criss-cross silvery-red lines that stretched from Ellen’s wrist right up to the crook of her arm. There were fresh wounds and bandages around her precious wrists. Liz reached out, horrified. Her fingertips hovered over them, afraid of hurting her more.
‘It helps, believe it or not,’ Ellen explained. She tapped a temple. ‘The pain in here doesn’t go away, but when I have something to look at that shows how much I hurt, it helps me to deal with it. It makes what’s inside here real. It takes the pain outside my head. And I know it’s wrong, but when I’m in the moment, I get relief from watching my dirty blood drain out of my body, because new, clean blood takes its place.’
Liz bent her head and lifted one of Ellen’s precious arms to her face, holding it against her skin, kissing it. Ellen pulled it free, stood up and walked to the window.
‘But if you knew Dad had died, why didn’t you get in touch?’
Ellen stared. ‘I’d too much to lose by then. I’d a life of my own. There was no way I could have answered your questions about where I’d been without risking getting Jack in trouble.’
‘Jack?’
‘He’s the person I owe everything to. He’s the reason I’m still alive. He saved me from myself. I knew that if I did come back, even if you’d agreed not to ask me any questions about where I’d been, the press would never have let me alone. They’re still writing about me. If they had got the true story, it would have been the ultimate betrayal of Jack. All his work would have been for nothing.’
‘Why? Who is Jack?’ Liz asked, wanting to understand. She’d hero-worshipped their father.
‘Jack is … my angel.’
Liz tried to rub some warmth into the tops of her arms. It was so cold. The hotel might be the best in town, but right now it felt old and draughty. ‘But I still don’t understand. Derek had your uniform, your shoe was found up in the mountains …? ’
‘We staged all that,’ Ellen said. ‘Derek helped me to get away.’
Liz swallowed. ‘What?’
‘Derek brought me a change of clothes so I wouldn’t be recognized, and planted the shoe in the mountains because of all the talk of a serial killer.’
‘Derek knew?’
Ellen nodded rapidly. ‘I went to him like I told you I would the last time I saw you when we rowed. Do you remember that day?’
‘I remember.’
‘I wanted you and Derek to break up so badly back then. I thought you were the only one I’d ever be able to tell what Dad was doing to me. But you were spending all your time with him. Maybe I was a bit jealous that you were so happy, too, when I was in such agony.
‘I told Derek he was ruining your life, and, by proxy, mine too. He said he loved you. I told him that where love goes, hurt follows. Dad was always telling me he loved me, and look where it got me. Derek said I was fucked in the head. Those were his exact words.’
Liz shook her head.
Ellen shot her a strange look. ‘You still doubt
me. You used to say I was a pathological liar.’
‘No, I don’t think that now. Go on.’
‘Derek asked me why I was being such a “bitch”, and that’s how it all came flooding out. I told him everything Dad had done to me. I told him I wanted to die. He said he’d help me to run away. He took my uniform, and he gave me an old pair of his jeans, a T-shirt and coat, and a cap. He put my old clothes in the Henry Norton’s grocery bag that I’d been carrying with the stuff Dad wanted me to get after school. He cut my hair. He brought me to see a garda he said he trusted, who gave me the money for the ferry to Holyhead, and drove me there. I was out of the country before I was even reported missing. By the time my picture was faxed to the ports, I’d made it to continental Europe. That’s where I met Jack.’
‘But why didn’t Derek tell me you were alive after Dad had died? Why didn’t you get in touch?’
‘If it’s any consolation, Derek wrote to me many times begging me to tell you. But I had a new life. As the years went by, my reasons for staying away got more complicated, because of Jack. Derek’s last email made it clear he was going to tell you. And when I met Derek again, last Friday, he showed me the Henry Norton’s bag he’d kept all those years, and told me he had my uniform still, so I couldn’t get out of telling you what had really happened.’
Liz stood and walked over to her sister and hugged her tight. ‘Did you marry Jack? Are you a mum? Does Conor have cousins? I want you to tell me everything about your new life. All about what you do now, too. You’ve obviously done very well for yourself if you can afford to stay in a place like this.’
Ellen sniffed. ‘Jack’s dead. We didn’t marry. It wasn’t like that. He was already married. His clients became like my children. But even his passing hasn’t affected my work in his memory. It keeps him alive.’
‘But what did Jack do?’
‘I already told you, he was an angel. It’s hard to explain, but I can show you,’ Ellen said. She reached to the ground for her bag and put it on her lap. ‘Close your eyes,’ she told Liz. ‘The reason you’re so cold is because I switched off the heat. When you get to my size, you don’t need any extra help in that department. But I’ve got something that will make us both feel warm again. Go on, close them.’
Too Close For Comfort Page 25
