by Val Collins
FIFTY-FIVE
Aoife choked back a scream. She had to keep Jack talking. As long as her car was parked outside, she had a good chance of survival. Moaney would come looking for her. Maura would tell him she was meeting a friend in Dublin. Moaney would think first of Orla and then Jack. Who else would she want to talk to about Tadhg’s death? He would go to Orla’s house and eventually he would come to Jack’s. When he saw her car parked outside the house, he wouldn’t just walk away. Would he?
‘You told Elaine you saw Maura and Brendan in Dublin the night Danny was killed.’
Jack smiled. ‘That was almost too easy. I rambled on and on about how I wanted to protect Maura and her boys, and I was telling Elaine what I saw in strictest confidence. Of course Elaine would never betray her Uncle Jack. But if the police ever suspect me, I can count on her to tell them what I claimed to have seen.’
‘And you were the anonymous caller. You claimed you’d seen Danny with Eimear.’
‘I wanted the police to stop investigating Triona’s disappearance. It was a lot safer for me if they concentrated on one of the other girls.’
‘And it didn’t bother you that Danny, who you claimed was like a son to you, would be remembered as a serial killer?’
‘Danny is long dead. Nothing can hurt him now.’
‘Maura can be hurt, though, and you had no problem framing her for Danny’s murder?’
‘I hope the police never charge Maura with murder. But if they do—’ He shrugged. ‘Better her than me.’
‘And what about me, Jack? Why are you doing this to me?’
‘You think I want to? After Danny, I swore I’d never touch another girl. Shortly afterwards my uncle died and I inherited the farm. It was worth nothing until the building boom, but then everyone wanted the land. It was a prime location, two minutes’ walk from the beach and a ten-minute drive to the nearest town. With the proceeds, I set up the charities. I never allowed females on the premises. When I wasn’t at work, I was home alone or with Bridget. I was safe. Then you turned up. But I managed to quell any feeling I had towards you. Orla was harder. And when she killed Tadhg—well, that was the end.’
FIFTY-SIX
‘Orla didn’t kill Tadhg.’
‘Yes, she did.’
‘She did not. You wrote that email about the drugs and left it in Tadhg’s computer.’
‘Oh, that! It was an insurance policy. Something else to point the investigation in another direction if the police ever suspected me. Actually, I rather hoped the police would find the email. I’d have liked to see that bitch locked up for Tadhg’s murder. After all, it’s her fault he’s dead.’
‘What are you talking about? How could Orla have caused Tadhg’s death?’
‘The poor boy would never have known about the missing girls if that slut had stayed away from him. That reminds me, I need you to phone the detective again and leave him a message telling him all about Cian’s confession.’ He paused. ‘No, that wouldn’t work. They could trace the call. You’d better write a letter. Let me think—yes, you’d better address it to Orla. Say you couldn’t face telling her in person. Tell her about Cian’s confession, exactly the way you told me. The last thing I need is you disappearing without telling anyone your suspicions. God knows what direction the police investigation would take.’
‘How could you kill Tadhg? I thought you loved him.’
‘I cared about him. I didn’t love him.’ He shook his head. ‘Oh no. Danny taught me never to love anybody again. But killing Tadhg was still hard. It was such a waste. He could have been my first big success.’ Jack took the cigarette lighter out of his pocket and twirled it between his fingers. ‘I try really hard with those boys. It’s the least I could do to make up for the girls I had to kill, but it’s not easy. Some of them are beyond help. Most years I throw at least one of them out of the house for drug use or excessive drinking. That’s where I got the pills to plant on Tadhg’s body. I’ll probably never again find someone with Tadhg’s potential.’
There was a long pause. When it was obvious he didn’t intend to explain further, Aoife repeated the question.
‘Why did you kill him?’
Jack blinked. ‘What? Oh! After my birthday party, he came to my office. Did you know he got photos of me from Bridget and had them enlarged?’
Aoife nodded.
‘About a month after Danny disappeared, we had a special mass for his safe return.’
Aoife raised an eyebrow.
‘I know,’ Jack said. ‘But Bridget wanted it and I could hardly refuse. All the neighbours came and there wasn’t enough space in Bridget’s tiny sitting room, so we had it in my house. We lit candles and made a little altar of photos of Danny throughout his life. Bridget took pictures.’
‘That was one of the photos she gave Tadhg?’
Jack nodded. ‘Yes, me all dressed up in my priest outfit saying mass. Ironic, isn’t it?’
‘Why was it ironic?’
‘If Tadhg hadn’t wanted a photo of me acting all saintly, he’d never have discovered how wrong he was about me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I thought I had cleaned the house out before the mass. Obviously the girl’s body was long gone. But I hadn’t planned to take Triona, you see. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I saw her on the street. She recognised me because I had been in the car one time Danny gave her a lift.’
‘How did Danny know her?’
‘He saw her walking home from the supermarket. Her bags were too heavy and she’d put them down on the ground to give her arms a rest. Danny stopped and offered her a lift. After that he gave her a lift anytime he saw her.’
‘Did she get into your car willingly?’
‘Oh yes. Danny had told her I was a friend and a priest. She thought I was safe. Once she was in the car, what was I supposed to do? There was a new housing estate nearby and only a few of the houses were occupied. I said I was collecting a friend. I parked in front of an empty house and I choked her until she passed out.’ He glanced at Aoife, waiting for a reaction. When she said nothing, he continued.
‘I stuffed her in the boot and parked the car in my garage. There’s a connecting door to my kitchen, so the neighbours didn’t see anything. Of course, the girl started screaming the second I opened the boot, so I had to choke her again.’ He banged his first on his forehead. ‘So stupid. If only I’d waited a few days and planned it properly. Anyway, I dumped her on the couch in the sitting room and she came to while I was looking for something to gag her with. In the struggle she must have lost her necklace. It was months before I found it behind the TV cabinet. That was the cabinet we moved to set up the altar for Danny.’ He sighed. ‘When Tadhg had the photo Bridget gave him enlarged, he spotted the necklace beside one of the table legs. He would never have noticed it otherwise.’
‘Tadhg knew you’d murdered Triona? Why didn’t he go to the police?’
‘He knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. He came to my office after the party and asked me about it.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said I had no idea how that necklace ended up in my sitting room. I insisted we had to take the photo to the police immediately.’ Jack smiled. ‘Tadhg was bright, but he was so vulnerable. He didn’t want me to be a murderer, so he chose to believe I wasn’t. Once we were outside, the rest was easy. I had taken a knife from the kitchen and some of the drugs I’d confiscated over the years. I stabbed Tadhg as he was getting into the car. Then I pushed him inside, shoved the pills in his pocket and dumped him in an alley.’
‘How could you do that? Tadhg loved you. You were the closest thing he ever had to a father.’
‘I know. That’s what I counted on when I lied about the necklace.’ He stubbed the cigarette butt into the mug containing the burnt SIM cards. ‘It wasn’t as hard as having to kill Danny, but it still destroyed a part of me. Then I remembered it was that bitch who’d shown Tadhg the picture of the necklace
. It was her fault Tadhg knew anything about those girls. Tadhg was going to be my success story, but that bitch took him away. I got quite excited planning how I’d make her pay.’
‘I was the one who told Tadhg about the necklace.’
‘Don’t lie for her, Aoife. She’s going to pay for what she did to Tadhg and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Every time she mentioned his name, I wanted to punch her in the face. All that bleating on about how much she’d loved Tadhg, but she couldn’t have a relationship with a teenager? If Tadhg’s family had money, Orla would have overcome her scruples soon enough. What she meant was she couldn’t tie herself to a penniless young man with a very uncertain future.’
‘Orla might not have known what she wanted, but it was you who killed Tadhg. Don’t try to blame someone else. Don’t you have any conscience? You’re a priest.’
‘That wasn’t my decision. And I’m only a priest in name. I don’t actually believe in God.’
‘How convenient.’
‘Why, because otherwise I wouldn’t do this? I believed in God when I was fifteen and felt the urge to kill. I believed the first time I murdered a young girl. Afterwards I prayed all day every day for an entire week. I begged God to take the desire away. After my second kill I knew God didn’t exist.’
‘Or you told yourself that because it relieved the guilt?’
‘I still feel guilty. I just accept that this is something I can’t control. I keep trying to control it, mind, but it gets away from me sometimes.’
‘What is it you’re trying to control? Your instincts or the risk of getting caught?’
‘You’re determined to think badly of me, aren’t you?’
‘I tend to have a low opinion of murderers.’
‘I’m a nice guy, Aoife. I take care of the homeless, and I gave Maura a job even though it meant allowing you on the premises, a risk I wouldn’t normally take.’
‘You do those things so you can convince yourself you’re a decent person with an unfortunate condition you can’t control. You’re scum, Jack. If Maura, the boys you helped, Danny or even your own mother knew what you were really like, they’d despise you.’
Something changed. Aoife saw it in his face. When he stood up, she was certain she had seconds to live.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Jack raised his fist in the air. Aoife shut her eyes and ducked her head. When she opened them, Jack was once again sitting in his chair. ‘You’re a silly little girl, Aoife,’ he spat. ‘And you have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t I? I know you believe in God. You pretend you don’t so you can do things you know are wrong.’
Jack smiled. ‘I knew you had no idea what you were talking about. I used to pray that God would change me and make me a better person. Then I spent a short time in one of those industrial schools and I realised I wasn’t half as bad as I thought I was. At least my victims were adults. I never touched anyone under eighteen and most of them were bitches.’
‘Because they didn’t live up to your idea of morality?’
‘Because they knew they could twist men around their little fingers, and they got pleasure from doing it.’
‘And that’s so much worse than being a murderer?’
‘I never said that was why I killed them. Or even that they deserved to die. Killing them is a purely physical thing for me. Some men need sex, I need this. I tried to always choose the less deserving.’
‘Tried?’
‘Sometimes I could control the desire better than others. And I have to admit there’s something very special about killing the pure and innocent.’ He had a faraway look in his eyes. ‘But I rarely allowed myself that pleasure.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, it was only pleasurable for a short time. The guilt afterwards was terrible.’
‘Oh really!’
‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Aoife. I regret taking Triona more than anything else in my entire life. I didn’t prepare and Danny paid the price. I even considered killing myself afterwards.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I’m a coward. And then there was Maura. Without me, who would have given her money each month?’
‘That was you?’
‘Of course. I robbed her of a husband. It was the least I could do. You see, I told you I was a nice guy.’
*
Jack lit another cigarette, leaned back in the chair and puffed with an air of self-satisfaction. Did this monster have any sense of reality?
‘You think you’re nice? Nice! You killed Maura’s husband and then you tried to frame her for his murder.’
‘I didn’t try to frame Maura and I don’t want her arrested.’
‘You put her fingerprint on the envelope of cash.’
‘Another insurance policy. Obviously the police will never be able to link Maura to the money, so she doesn’t have anything to worry about.’
‘How did you get her fingerprint on that envelope anyway?’
‘That was easy. Remember when you both came to Bridget’s house to discuss the funeral arrangements?’
Aoife nodded.
‘When Maura tried to sit down, the couch was covered in papers and magazines. I’d stuck several empty envelopes amongst them. I knew Maura’s fingerprints would end up on one of them. I was still wearing gloves when I took the papers from her and I watched carefully to see which envelope she was touching.’ He shrugged. ‘It was child’s play.’
‘But how did you get Angela Power to post the envelope? Bridget said you never even met her.’
‘I didn’t. I wasn’t even aware she was Brian Connolly’s niece until last week.’
‘Brian Connolly? The priest who married Maura and Danny? Angela was at Maura’s wedding because she was related to the priest?’
‘Brian always had a soft heart. He knew Danny’s marriage was going to be a miserable affair. Bridget certainly wasn’t going to fork out money for flowers or music. That’s why Brian asked his niece to sing at the wedding. Apparently, she used to be quite the singer in her day.’
‘Since when are singers included in wedding party photos?’
Jack laughed. ‘That’s typical Brian. He had a real affection for “those poor girls”, as he called any girl who got pregnant outside marriage. “No flowers, no music and not a kind word from anyone.” He used to force the entire congregation to contribute. Anyone who could sing avoided him like the plague if they knew one of those weddings was coming up. And he practically ordered the women who helped out in the church to cover the place in flowers.’ Jack flicked the cigarette ash into the mug and took a long drag. ‘Brian was quite a character. Those women adored him, but they were terrified of him too. The morning of one of those weddings they’d arrive really early to do the flower arranging Brian insisted on. They’d try to sneak out before Brian arrived, but he usually caught one or two of them and forced them to take part in the wedding photos. “What kind of wedding photos will that poor girl have to show their children?” he’d say. “A bunch of scowling relatives trying to sit as far away from the ‘fallen woman’ as possible.” I was at one of those weddings.’ Jack broke into peals of laughter. ‘Aoife, you should have seen their faces. Those poor women were mortified.’
One look at Aoife’s face and the laughing stopped. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be telling jokes at a time like this. It’s just I hadn’t thought of Brian in a long time. He was a great guy.’
*
‘How did Angela end up posting your envelope to Maura?’
‘Every now and again, one of my parishioners would get herself pregnant. If she was lucky enough to be able to support herself, she could stay out of the laundries. But, of course, she couldn’t go home, and every one of them would have died rather than let their families know they were unmarried mothers. The girl had to come up with a reason why she could never visit her family. Usually she pretended she’d found work in England. I didn’t share Brian’s sympathy for those girls, but I couldn’t turn my back on them. We were a lot
alike, really. We were all slaves to our instincts. Some of the girls came to me in confession. I got them to write a letter home each month and give it to me. Then I posted it to Brian. He was glad to help. Brian posted the envelopes from England so the girls’ families could see they had an English postmark. We did that for several girls over a period of about thirty years or so. Of course, unmarried pregnancies stopped being a family disgrace long ago, but I told Brian there was one girl in my parish whose family were fundamentalist Christians. He didn’t even question it. He just posted the envelope every month, same as he’d always done.’
‘But how did Angela Power end up posting the final envelope?’
‘Brian took his commitments very seriously. When Angela went to England, she stayed with her uncle for a few months. Later she married and had a family of her own, but she and Brian were always close. He left his few possessions to her in his will. He also left a letter asking her to continue posting my envelope each month.’ Jack sighed. ‘Brian was one of the finest men I ever met, and he was a credit to the Church.’
‘Unlike you.’
‘Aoife, you’re beginning to annoy me. If you keep this up, I might have a little fun with Orla and force you to watch.’
