There were rocks below, landing on which could undoubtedly kill a man.
As much as Bunny had a plan, he was very much hoping to be the second man to land, as opposed to the first.
Tommy Carter sat propped against the back wheel of the van, breathing heavily. Just dragging himself to this position had been agony. He had been shot through the instep of his left foot and in the shin of his right leg. Standing was utterly impossible. The effort to drag himself three feet had caused him to scream in agony.
“Detective?”
There was no response, although he had heard movement. He guessed that DS Spain was still alive but, if anything, was in an even worse state than him. One of the shots Tommy fired off must have connected with something meaningful.
Tommy Carter being Tommy Carter, he had been running and re-running situations and permutations in his head.
Distracted by his own screaming, he hadn’t seen what had happened on the cliff, only the whoosh of a car hitting water had attracted his attention. He had then, through watering eyes of agony, seen two figures collide and disappear over the edge of the cliff. Since that moment, there had been precious little movement.
The sun had risen high enough that it was dazzling his eyes as he looked over at the cliffs, running things through for the third time. What if the authorities turned up? Life in prison. Defeat. And if the representatives of the Cruz Cartel come ashore? Assuming they hadn’t seen a car go hurtling off a cliff and thought better of it? Well, if you met a seriously wounded man who had sixteen million pounds worth of diamonds and no means of escape, you’d wish him well, put a bullet in him, and depart with your merchandise and your payment. It was what he would do; he couldn’t criticise them for it.
His only chance was John O’Donnell, so it was with great interest that he watched as a figure emerged from the waves and started walking towards the shore.
Tommy Carter smiled.
“Good morning, Bunny.”
“That’s Detective McGarry to you.”
McGarry looked like a drowned rat. Tommy raised his gun.
“Is John O’Donnell dead?”
“Judging by the crack when he hit those rocks, I’d imagine so, or else he’s going to be one hell of a limbo dancer.”
“You are showing insufficient respect for the man with the gun, Detective.”
“Ah well,” said Bunny. “If I need to have an epitaph, that’ll do. Where’s Gringo?”
Tommy waved his hand in the vague direction of behind the van. “Don’t you want to beg for your life?”
Bunny shrugged, causing his belt-less trousers, soaking wet, to fall down.
He looked down at them, a look of resignation on his face.
“Are you going for slapstick, Detective?”
Bunny shook his head. “To be honest with you, the last twenty-four hours have been like riding a bull who’s dipped his knackers in Deep Heat, so if it is all the same to you, if you’re going to shoot me, just fecking shoot me. I’m too tired for this crap.”
Just then, a sheep who had frankly had more than enough of this shit, emerged from the water and ran up the beach on unsteady legs.
For a moment, Tommy Carter and Bunny McGarry both watched it as it ran off towards the dunes.
“Well,” said Tommy, “there’s a thing you don’t see every day.”
Bunny hauled up his sodden trousers and started trudging up the beach, his shoes squelching on every step. “Put the gun down. We’ll phone you an ambulance. You’ll be fine.”
Tommy Carter shook his head. “No thanks.” He moved the gun to train it on Bunny. “Stop walking. Listen. I want you to promise me something.”
“What?”
“Tell them . . . tell Dad . . . tell them to give him my kidney.”
“Wait—”
Bunny barely had time to put his hand out as in one swift motion, Tommy Carter turned the gun around, stuck it in his own mouth and pulled the trigger.
Gringo watched the waves as they pushed and pulled against the land. He looked up at the sky, and suddenly it was blocked by Bunny McGarry looming over him.
“Jesus, Gringo.”
Bunny fell to his knees beside him.
Gringo found his voice, barely above a whisper. “You came?”
“Ah, I’d nothing else on for the day. And I went through your messages while you were in the shower.”
“Nosy bastard.”
Gringo was aware of his hands, clutched to his stomach, being moved to one side. They were sticky. Bunny pulled his sodden Johnny Cash T-shirt off and pressed it to Gringo’s wound.
“Aghhh!”
“Sorry.”
“What’re you getting naked for? Trying to take advantage of a dying man?”
“Shut up, DS Spain. Need I remind you of your sensitivity training. Besides, who says you’re dying?”
Gringo smiled. His life had been slipping through his fingers for what seemed like a long time now. Whatever the bullet hit when it passed through his stomach had caused a foul stench. He had been glad when the wind had changed and brought the salty tang of the ocean to push it away.
“It’s OK, amigo.”
“Hang on, I’ll – I’ll ring – shite, I’ve not got my phone. I’ll get . . . There’ll be a phone here somewhere, you just hang on.”
Bunny got up to leave but Gringo grabbed his hand. When he spoke, his voice was croaky and distant, as if hearing a recording of himself from another time being beamed across the water. “I’m sorry about . . .”
“Don’t be—”
“Listen, ye big idiot.”
Bunny kneeled down beside him, his big, warm face tear-streaked. Gringo tried to smile again. He could taste blood in his mouth.
“You were a good friend and I’m sorry for . . . y’know.”
“Forget about it.”
“Take care of Mum if you can.”
“Sure you’ll be doing that yourself, let me just—”
“And take care of yourself. You deserve a good life. Your sins are no worse than anyone’s and your good deeds should count.”
“Save your strength.”
Bunny looked down, blinking to try and push away the tears. His lips kept moving as if starting and rejecting something to say.
Gringo’s voice was a whisper to himself. “The end is nigh, amigo.”
Bunny looked around, desperation singing through his veins. “Just let me call the . . . Let me . . . I can . . . They can send an air ambulance or . . .”
When he looked down again, he was alone on the beach.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Bunny kept his left hand firmly on the doorbell, even as his right pounded on the door.
“C’mon, open up. I just want to—”
He took a step back as the door opened a fraction. Through the chained gap, Sister Bernadette’s intense blue eyes peered out. “Oh, it’s you.” Her voice was softer than normal. “Hang on.”
The door closed and Bunny could hear the chain being slipped off inside. It reopened, and Sister Bernadette glanced around him and then pulled her head back inside. He wondered if she was telling Sister Assumpta that she and the shotgun could stand down. Her face returned to the gap.
“Is she here?” asked Bunny.
“No.”
“Would you tell me if she was?”
Bernadette didn’t respond; instead she gave him a sad smile.
Bunny hadn’t seen Simone for two days now, not since he had left to follow Gringo. The plan had been to follow from a distance, to make sure Gringo didn’t get himself into any more trouble than he was already in. He’d felt he owed it to him, for all the good it had done.
The doctors had insisted on holding Bunny in hospital overnight for observation. They claimed he was showing the symptoms of concussion. Considering how hard he had hit the rocks – though nowhere near as hard as O’Donnell, who had borne the full brunt of the impact – a concussion, a sprained wrist and a few choice additions to his already impr
essive collection of bruises had been one hell of result. He also had a bit of swimmer’s ear.
At least part of the reasoning behind Bunny being kept in became clear that night, when he was woken from his sleep by DI Fintan O’Rourke. Being officially concussed, Bunny had been unable to give any form of a statement. In hindsight, this had allowed DI O’Rourke some precious breathing space. Bunny had listened quietly as he had laid it out. It was couched in diplomatic language, of course, but the reality was that Rigger and his bosses had figured out what was going on. Bunny was still unsure if they had been suspicious beforehand, but the carnage on Brònchluich Beach must have made it alarmingly obvious. Three of their officers – that they knew of – had gone into business for themselves, trying to rip off Carter as opposed to bringing him down. The scandal would rock the force for a decade at least, further damaging public trust. Officers O’Shea, Cunningham and Spain would also be demonised in the press, with their families losing their benefits and living with their shame.
But there was another way. A gang of vicious cop killers and thieves had been brought to justice. The actions of a few brave officers had resulted in the largest drug seizure the state had ever seen. The Wings of an Angel luxury yacht had been boarded fifteen miles off the coast by the Irish Navy with backup from the Brits, and seventy-two bales of pure cocaine had been seized. All Bunny had to do was to support the version of events O’Rourke would lay out and any mumbles of doubt amongst his colleagues would be drowned out by the marching band warming up for the proverbial parade. O’Shea’s family, Cunningham’s husband and Gringo’s mother would receive their full death benefits and be warmed by memories of a fallen hero.
Bunny had agreed to it. He had been so far beyond tired and he would rather have Gringo remembered as a hero than a pariah.
The next day he had given his official statement to DI O’Rourke and Butch Cassidy. Now and then Butch had looked slightly suspicious, but she didn’t probe. Thanks to the mountain of evidence against Tommy Carter, Dinny Muldoon was due back on full duty in the morning, so she had some skin in the game too.
Bunny had lied through his teeth, engaged in a massive cover-up, and then they had popped him in the back of a patrol car and dropped him home.
Simone hadn’t been there.
Which had led him here, to the doorstep of the Sisters of the Saint, once again.
Bernadette looked up at him. “I’m afraid she has gone.”
Bunny sagged against the doorframe. Knowing it had been coming didn’t make it any easier.
“Don’t go looking for her, it isn’t what she wants. I think you should respect that.”
“But . . .”
Bernadette took something from the small table beside the door and handed it to him. A letter. “Would you like to come in?”
Bunny shook his head.
Bernadette gave him a long, lingering look. “Take care of yourself, Detective. You’re one of the good ones.”
As she closed the door, he turned and sat on the cold stone steps.
Then he opened the letter.
My dearest Bunny,
This is the hardest letter I have ever had to write. I’m so sorry about Tim. I know you will have done everything in your power to try and save him, just as you did for me. Please don’t beat yourself up about it. You can’t save everybody, but I do so love that you try.
I have tried and tried to think of a way around it, but the reality is that my past is always going to keep coming after me. I’m sorry I dragged you into it, and I can’t in all good conscience continue to do that. With every fiber of my being, I’d love to stay with you here for the rest of my days, but it wouldn’t be fair. You’re a good man and you deserve better than this.
Please don’t try and find me. I hope you get what you truly deserve in this life. Thank you for giving me the happiest time in mine, at a time when I thought I could never be truly happy again.
I love you,
Your Simone
Epilogue
Three weeks later
“Phil Nellis, what in the name of Christ on a llama are you doing? Put your helmet back on, fella, would ye? For Jesus’s sake! I can’t imagine severe brain damage would impact you much, but the sight of a sliotar ripping your gormless noggin off might upset the other children!”
“D’ye know what his problem is, boss? He has no appreciation of the fundamentals of the game.”
“You’re not wrong, Deccie, you’re not wrong.”
“Also, he’s thick as pig shit.”
“Deccie! You can’t say that.”
“But you said it last week, boss.”
“Well – you’re not allowed to repeat the things I say.”
“How’s that fair?”
“Who the feck told you life was fair, Deccie?”
“You did, boss.”
“Well . . . exactly. Proves my point.”
“What does?”
“Are you giving me cheek, Deccie?”
“No, boss.”
“Michael Dolan, do not kick the ball! We have given you a large stick for a very good reason!”
“D’ye know what his problem is, boss?”
“Yes, Deccie, I’ve a very good idea.”
“Boss, the—”
“What?”
“The you-know-what are back, boss.”
Bunny looked over his shoulder to see DI Fintan O’Rourke standing behind him.
“Ah,” said Bunny, “it’s the pigs.”
“But, boss—”
“You’re not allowed repeat things I say, remember, Deccie?”
“This is bullshit!”
“Welcome to life. Now – head over the far sideline and shout at Larry Dodds every time he shoves a finger up a nostril.”
“Every time? Jesus, I’ll lose me voice.” Deccie stomped off disconsolately down the sideline.
“Bunny.”
“Detective Inspector, I should warn you that if you repeatedly turn up at under-12s hurling matches without a child, I am supposed to report you to the authorities.”
“Duly noted. I hear the insurance company wrote off your car?”
“They did. And I bought it back off them for scrap. Terry Frisby is currently drying it out for me. He reckons he can get it back up and running, given time.”
“That’s wonderful news. And speaking of things taking time . . .”
“Is that what they call one of them segues, inspector?”
“I guess it is. Are you coming back? The offer still stands.”
Bunny turned briefly to look at DI O’Rourke before returning his attention to the game. “What’s the matter, Fintan? Would you rather have me in the tent pissing out? Is that it?”
“You’re a good detective. We need you.”
“Yeah,” said Bunny, “I’m surprised that wasn’t mentioned more on my fitness reports.”
“Your skills have been re-evaluated. In fact, the commissioner would like you to know that, if you come back, your name will be on the next list of detective sergeants.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“Sure you do. It’ll give you a whole new rank of people to shout at.”
“Vinny Curry, tackle the fellas in a different colour jersey to the one you’re wearing. We have been over this!” Bunny kicked one of the kit bags lying in front of him, then he glanced behind him as if he had forgotten O’Rourke was there.
“Well, I delivered the message.”
“You have.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that.”
O’Rourke gave a little laugh. “Actually, I would.”
Bunny turned to look at him.
“You’re a natural copper, Bunny, there’s nothing else you know how to do. It’s in your blood. I’ll see you back in work Monday morning.”
“We’ll see.”
“We will.”
Get Your Free Novella!
Hey there reader,
Thanks for c
hecking out Angels in the Moonlight, I hope you enjoyed it. If you’re a new initiate into the cult of Bunny then you’re in luck, the first two books of The Dublin Trilogy are awaiting your hungry eyes. If you’ve already devoured them, then rest assured the final part will be available in early 2018.
In the meantime, as a thank you for supporting my work, I’d like to offer you a chance to get a free novella called Sisters Gonna Work It Out which is the origins story of the arse-kicking Sisters of The Saint. All you’ve to do is Click here and sign up to my readers group. You’ll get a very occasional e-mail from me with info on my forthcoming books and freebies like this one.
Slainte,
Caimh McDonnell
Big Thanks To . . .
The following list of proper legends:
Mrs Caimh, without whom none of this would be possible as I’d undoubtedly be dead by now.
Scott Pack, Julie Ferguson and Penny Bryant for making me appear to be a semi-coherent human being, well — at least in print.
Sarah Millican and Gary Delaney for their monumental support of their support.
All the McD family, without whom, I would literally not exist.
To all the bloggers whose continued support means so much.
Linda Scully, Ian McLaren, Jakky Foster, Rhonda Seegers, Denise Collins, Frank Carr, Andrew Mackie, Ann June Sielemann, James Tormey and anybody who I’ve forgotten!
And thanks to all of my readers, especially those so dedicated that they’ve even read to the end of the thank yous bit.
Also by Caimh McDonnell
The Dublin Trilogy (featuring Bunny McGarry)
A Man With One of Those Faces
The Day That Never Comes
Where All Roads Lead (Coming early 2018)
Angels in the Moonlight_A prequel to The Dublin Trilogy Page 29
