Path into Darkness

by Lisa Alber

  Danny led O’Neil through Nathan’s studio and out the back door. A firing shed occupied most of the backyard. Nathan’s bedroom overlooked the yard from the second floor. Danny peered up to see Nathan fading back into the shadows.

  O’Neil continued talking as they went on the hunt for a ladder. “I’m on to meet Merrit for dinner tomorrow tonight,” he said. “So you know.”

  “She’s a material witness now that she’s found the murder weapon that killed Elder Joe. The sleán’s your priority, not Merrit.”

  They’d gotten the lab results back. Someone had stabbed EJ with the sleán, which meant that someone had nicked it from Alan’s pub. Danny and the men would pass the next twenty-four hours talking to everyone who had entered the pub over the last few weeks.

  A ladder leaned against the side of the house near the trash bins. O’Neil tilted and lowered one end while Danny picked up the other end. They maneuvered the ladder around the corner of the house and leaned it against the siding below Nathan’s window.

  O’Neil anchored the legs into the soggy soil. “You know Merrit better than I do …”

  He let the sentence hang. Danny didn’t oblige him by either confirming or denying the statement.

  “It’s this,” O’Neil said. “Do you think she’d prefer Doolin for a night of good music or Ennis for a proper low-lit restaurant?”

  “You’re treading thin, you daft prick.” Danny climbed the ladder while O’Neil braced it. “Have you thought about asking her?”

  “No.”

  “There’s your answer. She’ll have no qualms telling you which she’d prefer. I don’t want to hear any more about it. That’s an order.”

  Danny peeked over the window trim. Nathan perched on the end of the bed, rocking in place. His blank expression spooked Danny. Also odd, Nathan’s slackness reminded him of the children when they slept. The smooth terrain of sleep, yet Nathan’s eyes were open.

  Danny pried at the window but it didn’t budge. He hesitated and then tapped the glass. Nathan pressed his hands against his ears, muttering to himself.

  “Grab a brick,” Danny said to O’Neil.

  O’Neil picked one of the bricks piled up against the side of the firing shed and climbed partway up the ladder behind Danny to hand it to him. With a hard thrust, Danny shattered the window and reached in to unlock the latch, taking care not to cut his arm on the broken glass. The window opened easily once he unlocked it. Danny spilled his long body onto the floor.

  Nathan gaped at Danny with slow-dawning awareness. “What are you about?”

  “It’s gone twelve. You’ve been locked in this room since Christ only knows when.”

  Nathan’s eyes shone a bleary blue from within taut, bruised skin and gaunt face. His gaze darted around the room, pausing on the bedside clock and jumping to the lock on the door.

  “Painkillers.” He reached for the crutches propped next to his bed. “I’m not supposed to put weight on my toe.”

  Danny let that lie go for now. Or the half lie, at least. Nathan’s toe may have been painful, but no way in bloody hell did a pain pill cause the fugue state that Danny had just witnessed.

  Nathan crutched his way toward the door to unlock it. The smell of rashers rolled into the room along with Zoe, who wrapped her arms around Nathan. Nathan let her hug him.

  “You frightened me silly,” she said when she let him go.

  “I’m fine. Didn’t I say I was fine?”

  “Not exactly.” She ushered Nathan down the stairs ahead of her with Danny in the rear. “Breakfast. You need breakfast.”

  Nathan paused at the foot of the stairs while Zoe rushed ahead. “Did she call you to check up on me?”

  “Yes,” Danny said.

  Nathan peered into the kitchen, where Zoe laid a fresh portion of rashers in a pan with O’Neil loitering nearby. Instead of the kitchen, Nathan settled himself in the living room. Danny followed, more perplexed than ever by Nathan’s behavior.

  “Zoe’s a social creature,” Nathan said. “Quite the chatter monkey, but she doesn’t say anything of substance. All those words with nothing to show for them.”

  “I expect that’s good for you,” Danny said. “She keeps your secrets like a good daughter.”

  “Good daughter.” Nathan pondered that for a moment with head tilted back and eyes on the ceiling. “Dutiful or doting are more precise, I think.”

  And that was it. No explanation about the interior lock, no apologies for worrying Zoe, not even annoyance at the broken window.

  Danny pulled a photo of the sleán out of his pocket. “Do you recognize this implement?”

  “It looks familiar. What is it?”

  “An antique turf cutter.”

  “Right. Off Alan’s wall.”

  “Look closer.”

  Nathan squinted at the photo. “Is that blood?”

  “Yes. Do you know anything about it?”

  Nathan’s expression shuttered; that eerie slackness again. Danny almost shook him, but Nathan roused himself on his own. “Should I know something about it?”

  “That’s my question to you.”

  “I don’t know. My memory’s nothing but a sieve these days. Lack of sleep does that.”

  “Did lack of sleep have anything to do with your stay in the psychiatric hospital?”

  “You could say that, but I don’t see the point of your questions.”

  Danny thought it was obvious enough. “Someone used this weapon to kill EJ.”

  Nathan’s expression remained glassy-eyed and blank. “I can’t help you, I’m afraid.”

  “When was the last time you saw the sleán?” Danny said.

  “I don’t know. I remember it on Alan’s wall, though.”

  Zoe arrived and arranged a breakfast tray on Nathan’s lap. Scrambled eggs, more rashers, and coffee.

  “Eat, please.” Her attention caught on the photo that Nathan still held. She pulled it from his grasp and handed it back to Danny. “That’s nothing to do with him. He’s overtired from his antics last night. Let’s rest, shall we?”

  Nathan’s gaze jumped around the room like it had in his bedroom. “Antics?”

  Zoe returned to the kitchen.

  “Did you go out last night?” Danny said.

  “No.” Nathan peered down at his jeans, his jumper, his socks and shoes. “At least, I don’t think so. Zoe was referring to my usual restlessness at night.”

  “Tell me about your psychiatric stay. Involuntary, wasn’t it?”

  Nathan shoveled in a mouthful of eggs as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. Danny waited while Nathan finished the meal. At last, he sat back with a spark of life entering his eyes. “I had a mental breakdown.”

  “Caused by?”

  Nathan smiled. “They labeled me delusional and self-harming.” His smile faded. “I never agreed with their diagnosis. Here’s a tip: Best to go along with what the doctors say so that they’ll deem you sane.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Danny felt rather than saw Zoe hovering beyond the doorway. Nathan fell silent. A moment later, water gurgled from the kitchen taps.

  “Would anyone like more coffee?” Zoe called.

  “What did I tell you?” Nathan said. “Doting.”

  forty-two

  Merrit had let Simon O’Neil decide where to go on their Friday night date. She hadn’t cared, to be honest, still nonplussed by the idea of an outing with him. She sat at a crowded communal table in McGann’s Pub along with a pack of tourists and locals. In the corner, a trio made up of tin whistle, banjo, and accordion played a folk tune. Voices rose in song and in conversation while Merrit waited for Simon to return with their pints.

  A few minutes later he pardoned his way through the crush of drinkers. He mouthed “help me,” grinning all the while. Merrit liked his off-duty style. The jeans hanging low on his hips, the leather man-bracelet, the blue t-shirt layered under a casual v-neck sweater.

  He edged his way into the empty chair next to Merrit. �
�That was the mighty gauntlet.”

  She didn’t mind his arm pressed against hers or their knees knocking together. It wasn’t purposeful. They had nowhere to maneuver once seated.

  She lowered her voice. “You must know I’m going to ask—what’s the latest with the case?”

  “Sláinte.” He tapped his glass against hers. Someone jostled him. He held up his pint over the table to let the liquid settle down. “So that’s why you agreed to go out with me. To get information.”

  Merrit played along. “Of course, why else? I’m sure Danny must have mentioned my tendency to meddle.”

  “He did, indeed, and I was told not to humor you.” Simon lowered his voice. They leaned against each other in an attempt to privatize their conversation. “Between you and me? We’ve confirmed the turf cutter—the sleán—has EJ’s blood on it.”

  “You’re no fun. I already figured that out.”

  “Fish and chips!” One of the barmen arrived at the end of their table carrying two steaming plates. “On your way, then.”

  The plates traveled hand-to-hand down the length of the table to Merrit and Simon. The food smelled heavenly, the fish fresh, the batter light and crispy. Humming “yum-yum-yum” under his breath, Simon sprinkled on salt and malt vinegar, and forked up a piece of fish.

  “Brilliant,” he said with mouth full. “Should be its own food group. Go on, then, give it a go.”

  “Tell you a secret. I’ve never tried fish and chips.”

  “What?” Simon addressed the table at large. “Do you believe this one? She’s never tried fish and chips.”

  “Hey,” Merrit laughed, “I’m from California. You’re more likely to find hummus on menus than fish and chips.”

  “Time to remedy that.” He repeated his seasoning ritual atop her meal and held up a forkful of fish in front of her mouth. Merrit paused amidst the urgings from their tablemates. This felt too intimate somehow, as if she was supposed to make a sexy production out of sliding the fish off the fork. Without fussing over it, she accepted the bite. The fish fell apart in her mouth, moist and savory with the crispy batter. Around them the crowd clapped as the band switched to a jig.

  “Delicious,” she said by rote, but after swallowing amended herself. “That is good.”

  “Now, a question for you,” Simon said. “You and matchmaking. Not your dream job, so why do it?”

  Merrit sputtered on a sip of beer. He was the first person to come right out and ask her this question. “I’m not sure.” She set her pint aside. “I’ve never been the ambitious type, you know? I studied journalism but didn’t do much with it. Career-wise, nothing grabbed me, so I drifted along like an untethered kite. And then along comes the father I’d never met before, ready to make my mind up for me. Liam keeps saying I’m charmed for matchmaking. What do you do when you’re being handed the family business?” She poked at a piece of fish with her finger. “I take that back. Not a family business. More like being handed a life, a community, a purpose. What do you do?”

  “Tricky, yeah,” Simon said. “That Liam, though. He intrigues me. The man’s a romantic at heart, don’t you think?”

  “Romantic? Liam?”

  “Think about it. You’re a matchmaker, bringing people together who’ve never met before. How could you not believe in love at first sight?”

  She stared at him. He couldn’t be talking about them, on what might be their first and last date. “Is this how you interrogate suspects when you’re not being the warm-up act for Danny? It’s quite effective.”

  He laughed. “Calm your qualms. It was only a question.”

  Merrit washed down her chagrin with a mouthful of beer. “Let’s listen to music now.”

  Simon kept up a light patter as one song led into another. Three songs later, Merrit offered to buy the next round and rose, feeling relaxed for the first time in—what, weeks? Months, even? It had been a while since she’d gone out “on the town,” or, since she was in Ireland, out “on the razzle.”

  Simon rose along with her. “Sit back, relax, I’ve got them.”

  Merrit caught a movement like colored plumage near the door of the pub. She craned her head for a better view over Simon’s shoulder.

  His smile disappeared. “Something wrong?”

  Between the layers of bodies, a flash of blue and blond. “Zoe’s here. Looks like she might be with someone.”

  Simon relaxed. “I’m not surprised. Everyone shows up when the Sons of Erin play.”

  “I’ll come along with you for the beer anyhow.”

  Merrit eased her way out from between the community tables into the bar area. Simon fetched up behind her, his hands touching her shoulders for a second to stop himself from knocking her forward.

  Zoe waved. “Merrit! Hello, Detective O’Neil. I thought Dad might want the car tonight so I cadged a lift from Sid here. If you’ll excuse me, I owe him a pint.”

  She pulled her wallet out of her purse and disappeared into the thick of it along the bar. Merrit waited, expecting a greeting from Zoe’s friend, but he stood by, smiling in a low-key way. Next to Zoe, he was so bland he needed the sartorial equivalent of a dash of salt and pepper. He unbuttoned a jacket that strained around his tummy and tucked his hands into the pockets. The stance emphasized his slouchy shoulders.

  Liam would love this pairing. He’d have much to say, Merrit was sure. A rumble sounded from her purse. Merrit excused herself and pulled out her mobile. She scanned a text from a phone number she didn’t recognize.

  Please come. Hurry.

  forty-three

  Danny strode through the death scene and out the front door, where he paused to let his eyes adjust to the glare of the security lights. They were bright enough to sizzle ants, transforming night into day around Annie Belden’s house. On the porch steps, the scenes of crime techs had set up a perimeter around a ragtag bouquet of flowers bound with a purple ribbon. Danny recognized yellow carnations but not the purple flowers that matched the ribbon.

  Benjy the Bagger appeared from around the side of the house with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips and hands adjusting his belt. As ever, the irreverent pathologist made Danny smile, and he welcomed the chance to smile.

  “Taking a break, you lazy bastard?” Danny said.

  Benjy managed to keep the cigarette in his mouth while he spoke. “A man’s gotta piss, a man’s gotta piss.”

  “Have you been inside yet?” Danny said.

  “Ay. A peaceful death.” Benjy ducked away to light the cigarette with yellowed fingers. He inhaled long and sighed with pleasure on a slow exhale. “We’ve been here a few hours.”

  Which was his way of asking how Danny fared. “I’d switched off my mobile at the hospital today and forgot to turn it back on. Ellen’s recovering from a lung infection.”

  Benjy shook his head. “Nothing anyone can do to prevent such things when the body’s prone like hers. I’m sorry for it.”

  Danny’s paper coverall crinkled as he shifted. “Tell me what you know.”

  Benjy squinted up at him from beneath shaggy eyebrows. “That way, eh? Right then, the deceased is in full rigor. What time are we at?” He checked his watch. “Oh-one-hundred-hours, Saturday morning. None of this is set in stone, mind you, but I can state that she died on the couch, wearing her pajamas, about twenty-four hours ago. Thursday night, early Friday morning. That’s my prediction, but you’ll have to wait for the report like everyone else.”

  “You said she died peacefully.”

  Benjy pinched his cigarette butt out and dropped it in his jacket pocket. “Ay, but peacefully doesn’t mean naturally,” he said as he walked away.

  Danny glanced at the bouquet of dead flowers that someone had positioned in front of Annie Belden’s house. Not thrown down, but propped up against one of the steps. With care. With the same care that saw her covered with a blanket. The scene didn’t make sense. The shriveled flowers said “contempt” but the blanket pulled over Annie’s face said “respect.�
�

  Beyond the bright circle cast by the lights, O’Neil waved Danny over from the edge of Annie’s property. O’Neil sat on a drystone wall between Merrit and Nathan. Danny called O’Neil toward him. “What’s Nathan doing here?”

  “He received the same text message as Merrit. From Annie’s mobile number. He was here when we arrived. In his car banging his head against the headrest.”

  “Bloody hell.” Danny glanced over O’Neil’s shoulder. He recognized Nathan’s slack appearance. Awake, sort of, but lost somewhere inside his head.

  “He got here fast because he recognized Annie’s number,” O’Neil continued. “Merrit didn’t know who the text was from until I got her home. She wanted to check that the message wasn’t about Liam. He recognized the number.”

  Danny nodded understanding, not interested in hearing how the text message had curtailed their date night. “Did you try calling Annie’s mobile number?”

  “Yes. Turned off. And so far no mobile found in her house.”

  “First thing tomorrow, put in the paperwork to track the phone. We can hope.”

  Danny surveyed Annie’s house, a traditional stone-built farmhouse with a solarium addition on one end. Decorative red shutters on the second floor matched the door, and a stained glass fantail window above the door added a classic touch. Outdoor lanterns had probably infused the yard with a friendly yellow glow. Instead, they’d been disengaged in favor of the obnoxious security lights.

  “She hasn’t had the security lights for long,” Danny said. “The lanterns are relatively new and in good shape. This is all wrong. Annie didn’t send the text messages. According to Benjy, she died yesterday. We’ll proceed as if this is a suspicious death.”

  “I’d say so, and look at Nathan. He’s about to slip out of his skin he’s that terrified.”

  Nathan braced himself on the wall with his hands gripping the stones. His jaw vibrated up and down. Danny called him over and sent O’Neil back to wait with Merrit. Nathan hobbled forward on his crutches.

  “Tell me about Annie,” Danny said.

  Nathan rubbed at his side, looking pained. “She lived in the moment. That’s why I liked being with her. I think she wanted to help me. I think that’s what she does—helps people. Or what she did.”