The Exile

by James Patterson

  “Miss Joyce,” he said. “It’s quite all right. I feel exactly the same as you do.”

  She composed herself, reached for her glass of wine. “It added to the Salter sense of guilt,” she said. “Richard’s work was authentic, about Irish stories, Irish truths. But he kept this belief that somehow his family had stolen something from the very earth itself.” She looked up. “We’re given to superstition, we Irish, that’s the problem. Even now. Do you know, I caught Sean O’Connor and his business friends the other day, up on the hill there; one of them asked me about ghosts on the estate and if I thought holy water would protect against them, and if Father Anthony from St. Joseph’s would come and sprinkle some on their building site!” She laughed, then shook her head. “They’re just fools, of course. Dangerous fools, but fools none the less. Poor, dear Bridie, she’s allowed all these stories to warp her mind…I don’t know how to help her.” She sighed. “I’m hoping you do,” she said, her bright eyes fixed on his.

  “I hope so too,” he said.

  There were footsteps on the stairs. Bridie appeared, hollow-eyed with exhaustion. She collapsed into a chair. Vera poured her a glass of wine.

  They sat in silence. After a while, Vera got to her feet. “I’ll leave you in peace,” she said. “My cats need to remember who I am. There’s half a shepherd’s pie in the oven. It’ll still be warm.” She touched Bridie’s shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She glanced at O’Grady, gathered up her coat, went out of the door.

  “I’m not hungry,” Bridie said.

  “Nor me.”

  A coal shifted in the grate. Outside there was the hoot of an owl.

  O’Grady looked at Bridie. “I never stopped loving you,” he said.

  She raised her eyes to him. Her face glowed in the warmth of the fire. “Finn,” she said. She hesitated, reached across, took hold of his hand. “I’m a wife,” she said. “I made vows.”

  “A widow,” he said.

  “A vow of faithfulness…” she said.

  “Till death us do part,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I am not free,” she said. She got to her feet. “I can’t expect you to understand. But I am not mine to give.”

  She turned away. He heard her light step on the stairs.

  He sipped his wine and thought about Gregson Elliott. The only thing he would have wanted to tell me was the truth of Maura’s death.

  Sean O’Connor knew we were meeting that night. He was the only person who could have known that Gregson was heading for my hut. And now here he is, strutting around the ghost estate with MacAteer.

  O’Grady sat by the window, watching the moon through the window. He thought about the distant weir, that constant rush of water. He thought about the waterwheel, once at the heart of the Salter business, now reduced to a useless mechanism of cogs and wheels. He thought about young Bobby, all these generations later, taking such delight in their orderly circling. He had a sense of a thought taking shape, of things falling into place.

  Chapter 21

  Early on Sunday morning, O’Grady went to the ghost estate.

  The mist hung in the air, over the chill earth, the desolate houses. Smoke still drifted from the husk of the golf club.

  He could hear church bells ringing in the distance, calling the faithful to prayer. He paced the bleak land between the houses, the heavy scent of burned oil hanging in the air.

  A figure was coming into focus, through the mist. Sean O’Connor, he realized. At first Sean didn’t see him. He walked towards the derelict golf club and came to a standstill, staring at the blackened roof.

  O’Grady approached him.

  Sean heard his footsteps on the track. He turned, fists clenched, then breathed. “Oh,” he said. “It’s only you.”

  “And who were you expecting, Sean?”

  “No one.” Sean was sullen-faced.

  “Just as well it’s only me, then.”

  Sean eyed him.

  “What have they promised you, O’Connor—your friends, MacAteer and Hawthorne? What have they said you’ll gain by all this?”

  “Don’t know what you mean.”

  “You’re tainting yourself with evil, Sean. Contaminating your very soul. You should get away from those men.”

  Sean flicked him an uncertain glance. “I know who I trust with my business,” he said.

  “Business? You call this business?” O’Grady waved an arm across the site. “MacAteer needs you for one thing only,” he said.

  “Oh? And what’s that?” Sean blustered.

  O’Grady pointed down the hill, towards the river, the old mill building. “Water,” he said. “He knows damn well this land is worthless to him without that water supply.”

  Sean blinked.

  “They’re not interested in helping you make money, Sean,” O’Grady went on. “They’re using you, for the Salter inheritance.”

  “You’re talking fucking crap, O’Grady.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. And you know it. And even if you wanted to escape, I’ll wager they’re telling you there’s no way out. Not after Gregson’s death and your part in it.”

  Sean put up a hand against the wall, as if to steady himself. “You can go to the Devil, O’Grady. Murphy was a friend of mine.”

  “The night that Maura Salter died, you were the only person other than Gregson who knew her whereabouts. There you were, hammering away on your roof with Gregson, and him chatting happily about how he was going to meet her at the bus stop as usual. Who else was there to hear? Only you, O’Connor, only you.”

  “What’s all this to me?” Sean was shouting now.

  “And then Gregson was hounded out of town, in fear of his life. But before he left, he agreed to meet me. He was going to tell me everything he knew, about the killing of Maura Salter, and the part you played.”

  “I did nothing—”

  “You tipped off your friends. How much did Hawthorne pay you? A hundred? Fifty? Ten?”

  Sean squared his shoulders, readying himself to fight. “You’re a fucking loser, O’Grady. I started with nothing and I made something of my life.”

  “You mean this? These worthless shells?”

  Sean’s eyes narrowed. “If anyone’s responsible for the death of Gregson Elliott, it’s you. You were the one who lured him to your house—”

  “Shut it right there, O’Connor. You and I both know who pulled that trigger to silence him. You told Hawthorne where to find him. You sold your friend for thirty pieces of silver. You’re on the road to hell, O’Connor, when you could have chosen a better path, like your brother did—”

  “Don’t bring my brother into this.”

  “Despite your father’s violence, despite the beatings—”

  “What are you saying?” Sean raised his fist, ready to throw a punch.

  “‘Danny Boy,’ was it? That your mother used to sing?”

  “How fucking dare you—”

  O’Grady began to sing. “Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling—”

  Sean aimed a punch at his chest. O’Grady deflected it and delivered a sharp upper cut. Sean stumbled backwards. He stood, breathing hard.

  “You can fight me all you like, O’Connor, but it’s not going to stop me. Not now. I’ve had it with you and your friends. And talk of the Devil—here they are.”

  Kiley MacAteer was walking towards them, flanked by two figures. Stig and Dooley Devlin came into focus through the mist.

  “Spot of trouble, O’Connor?” MacAteer stopped, eyeing O’Grady.

  O’Grady faced him. “We were just chewing over the past, weren’t we? Reminiscing like two old fellas.”

  Sean’s eyes flashed rage.

  “I’m surprised you dare to show yourself here, MacAteer,” O’Grady said.

  “I own this land.”

  “Yeah? At what cost?”

  MacAteer gave his hoarse laugh. “Get the hell out of here, O’Grady, while you still have a choice.”

 
; “Are you going to make me?” O’Grady met his eyes. “Or will you keep hiding behind your hired prizefighters here?”

  The Devlin brothers shifted on their heavy feet.

  MacAteer gave another empty laugh. “You’re powerless, O’Grady. You know you are. This land is mine. Anything I want, I get.”

  “You didn’t get Maura Salter. And you decided no one else would have her either.”

  A theatrical sigh from MacAteer. “These old, tired lies, O’Grady.”

  “And you two.” O’Grady turned to the brothers. “How much did Hawthorne pay you to take care of Gregson Elliott?”

  The Devlin twins exchanged childish grins.

  “Oh, Stig, Dooley,” O’Grady said. “What would your poor mother make of you now? Sitting with her quilting, so proud of her sons when you were small. So little to be proud of now. Which of you was Sebastian, then? And which Ignatius?”

  Their smiles vanished. They stared at O’Grady.

  MacAteer looked at them. “No,” he said. “Really?” He laughed his mocking laugh. “Sebastian and Ignatius,” he repeated.

  “After the saints,” O’Grady explained.

  “The saints,” MacAteer echoed. He jerked his head back towards the road. “You can go and sit in the van, you two. St. Stig and St. Dooley,” he laughed, as they turned to go.

  The two men lumbered away, hunched like sulking children.

  MacAteer looked at O’Grady. “How did you find that out, then?”

  O’Grady smiled. “Oh, you know. We Gardaí. There’s lots we know. Isn’t there, Sean?”

  Sean was leaning against the wall, gazing after the Devlin twins. He shrugged.

  “Which is why I know you’re behind the Salter deaths,” O’Grady said.

  MacAteer’s smile died. “These lies again, O’Grady. They mean nothing to me. Tall stories, all of ’em.”

  “And what about the other stories, MacAteer? What about the Green Man?”

  An uneasy glance flicked between Sean and MacAteer.

  “You’ve seen him too, then,” O’Grady hazarded. “After all, something must have made you ask about sprinkling holy water on the building site.”

  O’Connor stared at the ground. MacAteer was silent.

  “Last night, was it?” O’Grady went on. “Yesterday afternoon, perhaps. Through the smoke of the fire you set? As the soul left the body of Jason Salter—”

  “That’s enough.” It was O’Connor, shouting. “I said, that’s enough.”

  “Or perhaps you just heard him,” O’Grady went on. “The strange singing that everyone says you hear when he passes.”

  MacAteer stepped forwards. “Get out,” he said. “Get away from here.”

  O’Grady’s fists were clenched at his sides, but then he heard someone calling his name, “Mr. O’Grady.” A woman’s voice. He turned to see Vera running towards them. “It’s Bridie,” she was saying. “She’s gone missing. I think she’s at the mill race. I’ve left Bobby with my neighbor, Mrs. Friel. I came as soon as I could.”

  Chapter 22

  Vera ran ahead, down the hill, towards the old waterwheel. The stream was high, the waves crashing downwards.

  Water, O’Grady thought. The fourth element. The fourth cause of death.

  He could hear a soft, lyrical singing. It took him a moment to realize it was coming from a female form, standing by the water’s edge.

  “Bridie,” he said, breathing with relief.

  “Bridie!” Vera called to her.

  She seemed not to hear them. “Seoithín, seo hó, mo stór é, mo leanbh…” she was singing. “Hush-a-bye, baby, my darling, my child.…”

  Vera turned to O’Grady. “I’m so worried about her. After her sister…after the…after the thing happened, after she died, Bridie would stand here for hours.” She went up to Bridie and put an arm gently around her. Bridie blinked, turned to her and seemed to see them both for the first time.

  “Come on,” Vera said. “Let’s go home.”

  They tucked Bridie into bed, and she fell into a deep sleep. Vera retrieved Bobby from her neighbor. The day drew on. Bobby played on the hearthrug with a wooden puzzle. Vera chopped onions and sliced a lamb shoulder for a casserole.

  “That man,” O’Grady said, peeling carrots. “That evil man. Striding around the neighborhood.”

  “He got away with it. He got away with the murder of beautiful Maura and he’s getting away with it still.” Vera’s voice was raised. “That’s what I can’t bear.”

  “I tried,” O’Grady said. “I tried to bring him to justice—”

  They stopped, hearing Bridie’s step on the stairs. She seemed calmer now, as she went to Bobby, helped him with his puzzle. O’Grady lit the fire.

  The casserole was eaten with baked potatoes. Bobby went to bed after Teddy Peter had insisted it was time, with O’Grady putting on the voice again—a fire-and-brimstone preacher he seemed to have become, but Bobby still laughed.

  Vera agreed she would stay. She went to the back door and drew the bolts across.

  “I’m taking no chances,” she said. “And you should have curtains on these,” she said, pointing to the large bay windows. “Just because your dear pa said this room was for living in, not hiding in. Curtains would make it homely.”

  Bridie looked up. “One day,” she said.

  “Get me some nice red velvet and I’ll sew them for you,” Vera said. “Or maybe a fifties print, Festival of Britain…”

  Bridie smiled, and for a moment the room settled, calmed. But as Vera went to the front door and turned the key in the lock, the air around them tightened again.

  “Sleep well, my dear.” Vera patted Bridie’s arm and tiptoed away up to the spare bedroom.

  Bridie looked at O’Grady. Her eyes were hollow with fear. She went to him and touched his shoulder. “I can’t sleep alone,” she said. “Will you come with me?”

  Wordlessly, she led him to her room.

  Chapter 23

  O’Grady lay next to Bridie in the wide double bed with its fine linen sheets. The moon washed the room with silver light.

  Bridie, still dressed, had lain down and almost immediately fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep. He watched her, not daring to touch her; her fine features, her hair spread across the lace-edged pillows. He felt a wave of tenderness towards her.

  The house was still. The night was silent.

  Suddenly there was a click of the gate. A faint step on the path.

  O’Grady was out of bed and on his feet.

  The window lock downstairs rattled.

  O’Grady went to his jacket and picked up his gun. Noiselessly, he slipped out of the room and made his way down the stairs.

  The living room was in darkness except for the moonlight streaming through the uncurtained windows.

  A crunch of a step outside.

  A shadow crossed the window.

  A face. A wide, green-hued face, eyes staring out from a mask of leaves, a mane of tangled twigs, a mocking smile.

  O’Grady stared, unable to believe what he was seeing. The face stared back. And then he heard it, the growling hum of the song coming through the windowpane.

  O’Grady watched, transfixed. His fingers touched the handle of his Glock.

  A soft step in the room behind him, a gasp, a scream. He whirled. Bridie was standing, her hands on her face, her eyes wide with terror.

  A loud thump as the Green Man’s fist hit the window.

  O’Grady ran to the door, wrenched the lock open and ran outside.

  The masked figure had fled and was nowhere to be seen.

  O’Grady heard a footstep behind him. He whipped round, saw a male figure, raised his gun and fired.

  The man fell. But from the trees came laughter, and then, again, the low notes of the Green Man’s song.

  O’Grady stood in the shadows of the garden. The man he had shot was still breathing, his chest rattling. O’Grady took a step towards him, but then, behind him, he heard the cock of another
pistol.

  Again O’Grady turned, saw a second figure lumbering towards him, and fired. The figure shouted, a raucous male voice, and fell forwards.

  It was as if time had slowed. Then the singing again. And now the Green Man emerged once more, a looming shadow. He unlatched the garden gate as if coming home, his uneven grin a slash across his face. In front of him, pointed directly at O’Grady, he held a hunting rifle.

  His singing stopped. He took aim and fired.

  But O’Grady had fired first.

  The Green Man fell, his bullet hitting the wall behind O’Grady in a hail of plaster.

  There was silence. The rattling breathing had stopped. A low moan came from the second, injured man. On the path the Green Man lay twitching, gurgling. Then he too quietened and grew still.

  O’Grady let his arm drop to his side. He breathed, turned slowly round.

  Bridie was standing in the doorway, rigid with terror. O’Grady walked towards her and took her in his arms. “Bridie…my love,” he murmured. “Everything is going to be all right. I know who these men are.”

  Chapter 24

  O’Grady pulled out a torch and shone it on the first man, who was now lifeless, his eyes staring. “Sean O’Connor,” O’Grady said. He crouched down next to him. “A coward’s life. Your tip-offs, your gossip. Your thirty pieces of silver. All ending with a young man burned to death.”

  He got to his feet. “And as for you…” He walked over to the second man, who was lying, moaning, cursing, his heavy body sprawled across the grass. “Brian Hawthorne,” O’Grady said. “I’ve no doubt you would have aimed to kill me. But don’t worry, boy—I’ll call you an ambulance. Perhaps.”

  In reply, Hawthorne, twisted with pain, spat out a few grunts of hatred.

  “And this…” O’Grady stepped over to where the Green Man lay, lifeless. “What plot was this that these three hatched? To terrify the Salters. To inherit the Salter land. And to get me out of the way once and for all. Just to make sure their scheme couldn’t fail. And here we are.…” He bent down, his hand on the mask. It was made of green plastic, with holes for eyes and mouth, on which had been glued a collection of leaves and twigs. He lifted it away. “Kiley MacAteer,” O’Grady said. “His greed was beyond limits. His cruelty made victims of everyone he touched. Well, it’s over now.”