The Other Side Of The Wall: A Gripping Psychological Thriller

by Andrea Mara

  Eight million. His cousin the electrician has just told him that he has eight million euro in drug money and God knows what else, and he wants him to launder it. Sam sifts through the bank books. Each one is different, with various names, account numbers, and cash balances.

  “And I need it to be an ongoing channel,” Michael continues. “I want you to move money for me from now on, so that I can centralise it in this account, where it’s clean and I have access. And I want you to make more money for me – legit profits, by investing some of what I have. Make my eight million into eighty million.”

  Sam lets out a bitter laugh. “Is that what this is all about? You broke my legs with a hammer and drove my wife out of the house so that I could help you with money laundering?”

  “I told you. I needed your house too, as a base. So it all worked out perfectly – you know your stuff on the money side, and you have a house.” He sounds as though he’s talking about hiring someone to do odd jobs.

  “Why didn’t you just ask?”

  “Ah here, you say that now but you know you’d have refused. It’s illegal – there’s no way you’d have done it.” He passes the laptop to Sam. “I’ll be here, sitting with you while you work. In case you get any ideas about going online or messaging anyone.” He picks up the newspaper from the floor. “You get going, and we’ll have a tea-break in about an hour.”

  “Wait.” Sam’s voice sounds stronger to his own ears, though it’s still little more than a hoarse whisper.

  Michael looks up from the paper.

  “I’m not doing it,” Sam says. His first moment of control and it feels good. He folds his arms.

  Michael puts down the paper. “Sam, are you under some kind of illusion that you have a choice? Have you forgotten what I did to you?”

  “No, but if you attack me again, I’m even less likely to be able to help you. There’s nothing in this for me, Michael, and I have nothing left to lose. I don’t get the impression you’re planning to let me out of here any time soon. So, no. I won’t do it.”

  Michael smiles, then takes out his phone and types something.

  “What are you doing?” Sam asks.

  “I’m texting your boss.”

  “Why? What has my boss got to do with anything?”

  “Oh – I forgot to tell you, he says hello. And to get better soon after your fall down the stairs. He says not to worry, things will be quiet for the next few weeks anyway, and you won’t be missed.”

  Fuck. Sam closes his eyes. Then he opens them again. “So why are you texting him now?”

  “An anonymous tip-off.”

  “A what?”

  “About the photos on your drive at work.”

  “What photos?”

  “The kiddie-porn pics you downloaded online and saved to your work folder.”

  “Jesus, Michael, what did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything, Sam – you did it. Sure how would anyone else have access to your work files? I’m just a dumb electrician from the flats, right?”

  Sam wants to throw up. What would happen once his boss gets the message? If he believes it, he’ll get IT to check his files and then – what? The Guards? Jesus. They would call the Guards – they’d have to. That’s how you always hear about it on the news. Sam covers his face with his hands, trying to think. Then it hits him – if the Guards are called and they come looking for him here, they’ll find him locked up and the truth will come out. It won’t matter then what’s on the computer at work – he’ll be safe in hospital and Michael will be in jail. Petrified that Michael will read his thoughts, he keeps his hands over his face.

  “So, are we in business, Sam?”

  Sam shakes his head. “I can’t do it. I can’t launder your money.” His words come out muffled through his hands. “The prison sentence for that would be much higher than for child porn.” He has no idea if that’s true or not but maybe Michael doesn’t either. There’s no sound for a minute or two, and still he’s afraid to look.

  Finally Michael speaks. “If that’s your decision, Sam, that’s your decision. You may find you’ll wish you’d taken this deal when it was on the table.” He stands up and walks to the door. “I’ll see you later, and you’ll know then what you’ve done.”

  Chapter 58

  Sam – Thursday, July 28th/Friday, July 29th

  The evening light is fading and sleep is beckoning again. Is Michael coming back tonight? Sam looks again at the empty water glass on the locker. For about an hour now, Michael has been stomping about and slamming doors – sulking like Seth and Jamie do when they don’t get their way with something. Sam smiles in spite of himself. Michael can say whatever he wants – he’s standing firm. Well, lying firm. He drifts into sleep.

  He wakes with a start. Shortly after, the back door bangs shut downstairs and he hears the key turn – Michael must be locking up now for the night. Will he bring water up? Maybe he can do without the water – it might be worth it for some peace. But no, there’s the familiar sound of steps on stairs.

  Sam closes his eyes and tries to slow his breathing. The door is opened and he can feel Michael looking down at him. Then the glass is taken away. Good. Minutes later, Michael is back upstairs, placing the glass back on the locker. It’s working.

  When it hits, the shock is even greater than the pain – at least at first. Sam opens his eyes and lets out a cry, looking down at his legs. It’s difficult to focus – the pain is making him dizzy and sick, but he can see now that Michael has slammed the laptop on his shattered knees. This time he cries. He doesn’t care about anything except the pain.

  Michael stands over him, smiling down. “I need you awake – there’s something I want to show you.”

  He walks around the bed and Sam flinches, waiting for the second blow. But it doesn’t come – Michael heaves the wardrobe away from the window and pushes Sam up so that he’s sitting.

  The movement brings fresh pain and Sam cries out again.

  “Now, look out there – what do you see?”

  Sam looks out the window down onto the garden. He doesn’t trust his voice so shakes his head – what is he supposed to be looking at?

  “Down there,” says Michael, pointing towards the end of the garden. “Look at the pond.”

  Sam does so. At first, the pond looks just as it always does. But there’s something in the middle of it – something dark floating in the water. His vision is still blurry – he squints then opens his eyes again, and it comes into focus. It looks like a person – a small child. Floating in the pond. Jesus. It’s too dark to make out if the child is face up or face down. He turns to Michael.

  “What is that – Michael, what have you done?”

  Michael doesn’t say anything.

  Sam tries to shout but what comes out is nothing more than a croak. “Tell me that’s not a child – Michael?”

  Michael picks up the newspaper and stabs a finger at the picture on the front page. “See, Sam, this didn’t have to happen. If you’d done what I asked, I could have let the drugs wear off her and put her back at her mammy’s front door, safe and sound. I only took her in the first place in case you wouldn’t do what you were told and, to be honest, I was fairly sure the porn would be enough, and that I’d be putting her back. But you wouldn’t listen, and this is your fault.”

  “Is she – did you . . . Michael, what did you do?”

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t hurt her, I just topped up the morphine and sent her into a deeper sleep, then put her in the pond. She won’t have felt a thing.”

  Sam swallows and tries to focus but dizziness is taking over again – from pain or terror, he can’t tell. “Is she lying on her back, Michael?”

  “No, Sam, she’s face down.” Michaels pushes the wardrobe into place to block the window and sits back down on the chair beside the bed. “We need to be really clear about something – you did this. She’s been out there for twenty minutes now, face down in the water. Because you wouldn’t do thin
gs the easy way.”

  This time Sam does throw up, all over the duvet. Michael pulls it off and takes it out of the room, then comes back with the duvet from Jamie’s bed and throws it on. “Now, I think we should be ready to go, right, Sam? Will we get a bit of work done?”

  Sam is lying back on the pillow, pale and sweating and shivering. He doesn’t speak.

  “Because now that we’ve tested it out, maybe your little neighbour next door would like a midnight swim. I saw her yesterday out with her nanny – tiny little thing.” Michael leans down closer to him. “Or maybe I can pay a visit to Galway and have a day out with Seth and Jamie – do they like the pond, Sam?”

  Sam’s eyes fly open. “Don’t you dare say their names. I’ll do it – give me the laptop. But don’t ever say their names again.”

  Chapter 59

  The Woman – July 2011

  It’s now or never. The woman takes a deep breath but stops again. Across the room on the other couch, he’s deeply engrossed in something on his laptop. The TV is on mute because he can’t concentrate when there’s noise in the room. She checks her phone – it’s on silent. This might be easier if he looks up first. She clears her throat. An irritated frown meets her attempt at a breezy smile.

  “Yes?” he asks.

  “I was just going to tell you that I have to go to a conference with work next weekend – it’s in Cork. You’ll be here, won’t you?”

  He puts down his laptop. “What do you mean a conference at the weekend – nobody goes to conferences at the weekend.”

  “It’s just how they’re doing it – teambuilding exercises, talks, and a dinner on the Saturday night.”

  “And where are you supposed to stay?”

  “The Merryman Hotel – it’s where the conference is on. Work are paying for everything.” Maybe that would swing it – he likes to get things for free.

  But no. He gets up and moves over to her couch, sitting down so close beside her that she has to move her legs out of his way. “And who else is going on this trip?”

  “Everyone – the whole office.” Her voice has a tell-tale quiver now.

  “You’re trying to tell me you want to go away for a weekend with your boss and all the men in your office, and I’m supposed to be fine with this? Do I look stupid?”

  She shakes her head.

  “No, really, do I have ‘dimwit husband’ tattooed across my forehead? Do you think I don’t know what goes on at these weekends away?” He stands up now, leaning down over her, eyes bulging.

  She should never have asked. It’s so obvious now. “I won’t go. It’s fine – I just thought I’d mention it.”

  “Oh, so now you’re going to sulk, is that it – it’s all my fault for not letting you go? You can’t wait to get away from here – to go and get drunk and do God knows what with that crowd from your office, and yet I’m the bad guy for not letting you go?” He’s shouting now. “You make me sick!” he roars.

  She sees his hand go up and braces herself, covering her face with her arms. The punch catches her off-guard, hitting her deep in her stomach, winding her.

  The woman’s eyes fill with tears for the baby he doesn’t know is there. And then she wonders if perhaps it’s for the best.

  Chapter 60

  Sam – Tuesday, August 2nd 2016

  It’s hypnotic, staring at the white stripe of sky above the wardrobe – he doesn’t know how long he’s been doing it. Michael is engrossed in his phone and hasn’t given him the customary rap on the knuckles yet. It will come, but for now he wants to watch the sky. His eyes are sore from looking at the screen for four long days now, and his shoulder hurts – sitting in the bed is not like sitting on his ergonomically designed chair at work. Work. What would they be doing now? He looks at the clock on the screen – 10.14am. The morning meeting would be winding up – they’d be grabbing coffees on their way back to their desks. It seems a world away. He turns his gaze back to the sky but Michael spots him this time and clicks his fingers.

  “Back to work, Sam – no daydreaming.”

  “I need a pen and paper,” Sam says.

  “For what? Let me guess – you’re dreaming about writing a note to the cops and making a paper plane to fly out the window?”

  “No, Michael, wonderful as that idea is, it’s just how I work. In the office, I mean. I need to make notes as I go through the trades every day.”

  Michael pulls a chewed pen out of his pocket and hands it over. “I’ve no notebook. Is there one somewhere in the house?”

  “There’s loads downstairs in the big drawer in the kitchen – Kate buys millions of them.”

  Michael gets up to leave but turns back and takes the laptop with him. “Not that I don’t trust you or anything, Sam, but you know . . . can’t have you opening Facebook when you’re supposed to be working. It’s against company policy.” He cracks up at his joke. Sam doesn’t smile.

  The notebook he brings is small and already half-filled with Kate’s cramped handwriting: to-do lists and phone numbers and reminders about school meetings. The minutiae of what was once important mocks him, and seeing her familiar handwriting is a fresh blow.

  Michael is oblivious. “So I was thinking of going down to Galway – what do you reckon?”

  Sam freezes. His voice catches in his throat. “I’m doing what you asked,” he whispers. “There’s no need to go near them. Please, Michael.”

  “No, just to visit. To pass on messages, and to make sure Kate stays down there out of our way – you know? Look, I’ll text her now. You can help me. It’ll be a bit of craic.” He pulls Sam’s phone out of his pocket and types something, then holds it up.

  Kate, I’m so sorry for everything and I really want to see the boys. Do you think I could come down for Seth’s birthday?

  Sam reaches out to take the phone for a closer look, but Michael pulls it away.

  “Ah-ah! Hands off, Sam.”

  They both wait, then hear the familiar ping. Michael looks at the screen.

  “Right, let’s see what she says. ‘Sam, I’ve told you not to contact me. And no, of course you can’t come down for Seth’s birthday. I don’t want to see you.’” He makes a face. “Aw, I guess you’re not forgiven. Right, let’s try this.” He types something and again shows it to Sam.

  Have you told the boys?

  Sam winces.

  Michael smirks as he waits for the reply. “She says she hasn’t. Right – I’ll tell her someone needs to bring down that present for Seth. She’ll say no to you bringing it . . . who else could I suggest . . . what about yer man Miller, her brother? She’ll say no to him too, won’t she?”

  Sam shrugs.

  A reply pings back, and Michael nods. “Yeah, she says ‘no way’ to sending the brother down – nice.” He types again and shows it to Sam before he sends it.

  Michael is another option – he said he’d do it if you didn’t want me to go down.

  The reply is immediate, and Michael grins when he shows it to him.

  So does Michael know about your cheating?

  “What will we tell her – let’s say you did tell me, will we?”

  Sam tries to grab the phone but he’s too slow.

  Michael shows him the message from a distance.

  I told him at the weekend. He gave me a bollicking.

  When the next reply comes, Michael bursts out laughing, then shows it to Sam.

  I always liked Michael. Fair play. Fine, if he wants to bring it down, tell him to come Saturday.

  Sam stares at the phone – his whole life just out of reach and in a madman’s hand. “Please don’t go there, Michael. I’ll do whatever you want but don’t go near Kate and the boys.”

  “Relax. I’m not going to do anything. Just making sure she doesn’t arrive here unexpectedly. Though she seems to like me – I might see if I’m in with a chance now that you’re out of the picture, will I?” He laughs hard at this. “What’s the story with the brother by the way?” he asks when he calms
down. “He’s a feckin’ weirdo – he called here yesterday even though Kate and the kids are away. Does he do that a lot?” Sam nods. “I hope he’s not going to be trouble,” Michael says. “He’s the only person around here who might think I don’t look exactly like Sam Ford.” He pauses. “We were like peas in a pod growing up, weren’t we, Sam? Do you remember my mam used to put us in matching jumpers – you were like the second son she never had. I think she nearly preferred you to me.”

  Sam lies back against the pillow and closes his eyes.

  “Do you remember when she brought us to see Santa in the Ilac one year – I was about eight and you were five? The Santa thought we were brothers and Mam didn’t say a thing to put him straight. And when yer man said you were very smart for your age, she didn’t even say it then – she just beamed. I remember that – the big smile for the son that wasn’t hers at all. Poor old Bella. It was fitting really that you were there when she died, wasn’t it?”