Darkhouse jl-1

by Alex Barclay

  ‘Damn,’ he roared, slamming his hands against the machine, kicking it with his boot. ‘Damn.’ Everyone was quiet around him. The owner didn’t move. Duke piled everything back into his bag and walked out the door, past a woman holding a pair of white trousers with a grass stain on the knee.

  ‘Molasses will get that out,’ he snarled as he walked by.

  Joe stormed into the hall of the station, shouting, ‘You better not have Petey Grant in here for your sake,’ even though he could see Petey sitting there as pale as death, wringing his big hands.

  ‘What’s it to do with you?’ asked Richie.

  Joe said hi to Petey, then ushered Richie back into the hall.

  ‘What the hell is going on here?’ said Joe. ‘What are you doing questioning Petey without a responsible adult present? Are you nuts? It’s illegal.’

  ‘No it’s not. He’s not under arrest. And it’s none of your business anyway,’ said Richie.

  ‘I’m making it my business,’ said Joe.

  ‘Make it your business all you like,’ said Richie. ‘I did nothing wrong, the guy wasn’t being arrested. I just wanted to have a little word with him.’

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you do that at the school?

  You’re terrifying him,’ said Joe. ‘It’s written all over his face. A guy like that. I’ve talked with him. He knows nothing about Katie.’

  ‘Oh, well, the great American detective has spoken. We can all go home now, case closed.’

  ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m just telling you you’re going about this the wrong way.’

  ‘And I’m telling you – stay the fuck out of things you don’t understand, right?’

  ‘Do you have a fucking clue what you’re doing?’ asked Joe, raising his voice. ‘Petey Grant, for Christ’s sake! The guy is harmless. I know Petey Grant, Richie—’

  ‘We’ve all known Petey Grant a hell of a lot longer than you and—’

  ‘And WHAT? What deep dark secret do you know about him that I don’t?’

  ‘He knows something. He’s not all there, he—’

  ‘Is that the term? A shitty twist of fate is why Petey’s where he’s at. You know what happened? Yeah, I’m not surprised you don’t. The kid didn’t get enough oxygen at birth.’ He threw his hands up. ‘That’s it. There’s your big secret.’

  ‘So what? That doesn’t mean he couldn’t—’

  ‘Oh, come on, Richie. You know damn well that Petey Grant wouldn’t hurt a fly. I had to tell him what a hooker was for Christ’s sake. You think a guy like that…you saw Katie. You honestly think Petey Grant—’

  ‘Look, he fancied her—’

  ‘You could lock up half the guys in Mountcannon for that,’ said Joe. ‘This is bullshit, this is total bullshit. There’s probably some fucking psycho out there and who are you looking at? Petey! Have you ever worked a serious crime in your life?’

  ‘You arrogant prick,’ said Richie. He stopped himself inches from Joe.

  ‘Don’t even try it,’ said Joe. Richie stood in front of him, fuming. His face was crimson. Veins pulsed at his temples. He had a few inches on Joe, but none of his composure. He was all rough edges and rage. Joe went back in to Petey.

  ‘Right,’ he said to Richie who had followed him in. ‘Ask him your questions. If he’s only helping you out, there’s nothing to stop me being here. Isn’t that right, Petey?’

  ‘Actually, Mr Lucchesi, would you mind if I did this on my own?’

  Joe opened his mouth, then stopped. ‘Uh, sure, Petey. If you’re sure you’re OK. You’re not under any pressure here, are you?’

  ‘No. I’m fine.’

  ‘OK. Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it then.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Richie. ‘I appreciate it.’

  Joe walked past him and out the door.

  ‘OK. I’m going to ask you again,’ said Richie. ‘Do you know anything about all this?’

  Petey took a deep breath. ‘Sort of.’

  Richie shifted in his seat.

  Petey looked up. ‘I met Katie on the Friday night.’

  ‘What do you mean you met her?’

  ‘I bumped into her,’ said Petey. ‘She was crying.’ He looked down, then straight back at Richie. ‘She said she had a fight with Shaun.’

  Richie smiled.

  EIGHTEEN

  Stinger’s Creek, North Central Texas, 1986

  Ashley Ames stood at her bedroom mirror deciding whether or not she had finished her makeup. It was subtle on her pale skin; blush, mascara and a slick of frosted lipstick. She emptied her cosmetic bag and ran her fingers over the products. She found what she was looking for, a black eyeliner she barely knew how to use. She uncapped it and leaned in to the glass. Her nine-year-old sister Luanne lay behind her on the bed.

  When she was finished, Ashley turned to her, holding a hairbrush up to her mouth: ‘Today, Ashley Ames is modelling a hot-pink off-the-shoulder top with a butt-length grey sweatshirt-skirt, complemented by a pair of classic white Keds. Or today, Ashley Ames meets her man in a hot-pink off-the-shoulder shirt with a mid-thigh ruffle skirt worn with black high-heel ankle boots.’

  Luanne continued. ‘Could her hair be any higher, could her eyeliner be any heavier—’

  ‘Shut up, Lu,’ said Ashley. ‘So, what am I wearing?’

  ‘The ruffles,’ said Luanne. ‘But Daddy’s gonna freak.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s kinda slutty,’ said Luanne.

  ‘Like you’d know.’ Ashley wriggled into the skirt, zipping it at her side. A small roll of flesh slipped over the band. She turned and patted herself on the butt.

  ‘Bask in my glory, Lu, bask in my glory.’

  She sat on the bed and zipped up her boots over her chubby calves, tilting her legs to the side. She grabbed her bag, threw in some makeup and walked tall to the door. As she walked into the living room, Westley Ames lowered his newspaper.

  ‘I don’t know, Ash, honey,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘You don’t know what, Daddy?’

  ‘If they’re the right clothes for a young lady, if they’re saying the right thing.’

  ‘What do you think they’re saying, Daddy?’

  ‘Don’t you challenge me like that, Ashley.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Daddy. It’s just everyone…I mean, it’s not like I’m the only one, I like my clothes, they’re not saying anything to anyone.’

  ‘And what’s all that black around your eyes?’ he said.

  ‘It’s eyeliner, Daddy, no big deal.’

  ‘And who is this young man, anyway?’ said Westley.

  ‘Donnie Riggs, Daddy. You know Donnie.’

  ‘I know of Donnie, Ashley, I do not know Donnie and neither do you. We can only pray he’s nothing like his father, because if I so much as catch a whiff of alcohol on your breath when you come home, you’ll never see the outside world again. Do you hear me, Ashley?’

  ‘It’s the middle of the day, Daddy. And you know I’d never drink,’ she said and turned to walk out of the room, smiling.

  Donnie Riggs sat on the kerb between two cars, a block away from Ashley’s house. He flicked his cigarette butt on the road and stood up, smoothing down his dirty jeans. His legs were shaky and his face was hot. He didn’t want to look Westley Ames in the eye today.

  He rang the doorbell and Mrs Ames answered, her right arm hooked around her narrow waist, a string of pearls lying flat against her chest.

  ‘Hello, Donnie,’ she said, giving him a weak smile.

  ‘Hello, ma’am,’ said Donnie. ‘Ashley here?’

  ‘Come on in.’

  She turned her head and smiled when she saw her daughter walk from the living room. She was close to tears when she looked at Donnie.

  ‘You look after her,’ she said.

  ‘Mom!’ said Ashley.

  ‘You don’t mind me saying that, Donnie, do you?’ said Mrs Ames.

  ‘Of course not, ma’am,’ he said. ‘And don’t worry, I�
��ll take good care of her.’ Ashley smiled, taking Donnie’s arm.

  The sun was high, sending ripples of silver light across the water. Duke sat in the darkness of the densely packed trees, his legs drawn to his chest. A flashlight lay on the grass beside him. After waiting quietly for half an hour, he heard footsteps along the path and a girl laughing. Then he heard Donnie’s voice and the dull clink of beer bottles. The sounds drifted away as they moved towards the water’s edge.

  ‘Nah. I didn’t do too well in that one,’ said Donnie. ‘Geography’s not my thing. And I hate Baxter. He’s a loser.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ashley.

  Donnie fidgeted with a bottle cap, flicking it in the air with his thumb over and over.

  ‘Earth to Donnie, earth to Donnie,’ said Ashley. He turned to look at her as if he had forgotten she was there.

  ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘Want another beer?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said.

  He reached behind them to grab a bottle and when he sat up his face was inches from hers. She closed her eyes. He leaned in and kissed her on the lips, guiding her gently back onto the grass beside him.

  ‘Above the waist,’ she said, smiling, slapping Donnie’s hand away.

  A twig cracked. Duke had been standing over them, watching silently. Ashley bolted upright, fixing her top, staring at Duke. Donnie sat up, panic flashing across his face.

  ‘Hi, Pu—, uh, hi Duke,’ she said, confused.

  ‘Keep goin’, guys, don’t worry ’bout me,’ said Duke.

  She looked at him, alarmed. Then she smiled.

  ‘Sure,’ she said, looking at Donnie, laughing. Donnie looked nervous. She looked back to Duke.

  ‘Seriously,’ he said, his voice ice cold. ‘Keep. Going.’

  Donnie put his arm around her waist, pulling her towards him. She pushed him away.

  ‘What y’all talkin’ about?’ she said, getting up. ‘Are you crazy?’

  ‘Just do it,’ said Duke, shoving her on top of Donnie. Ashley’s eyes were wide. She knew these guys, she could identify them. Then her heart sank. She knew she never would.

  ‘Get down to it,’ said Duke. ‘I’ll sit back here and take it all in and maybe I’ll get myself a bit of the action later.’

  ‘Come on now, Ashley,’ said Duke when it was all over. He shook out her handbag, then picked up her compact. ‘Fix that face of yours. You’ve ruined your mascara. Go on, now.’

  He pushed the mirror in front of her face. She saw the tears roll down her cheeks. He picked up her brush from the grass and began brushing the back of her hair. He pulled out the leaves and shook the dirt that clung to the matted brown mess. ‘What would your daddy think? He would think his little girl was a whore, his little princess was out on her first date, givin’ it up to a no-good like Donnie Riggs.’ He laughed. Donnie stayed quiet beside him. Ashley took the brush from Duke and dragged it through her hair. ‘Leave me alone,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m not going to tell anyone, I can’t tell anyone. Just leave me alone. Please go.’ Duke picked up the bloodied flashlight and walked away.

  ‘Molasses takes out grass stains,’ muttered Donnie as he turned to go.

  Ashley looked into the tiny mirror and saw the mascara streaked down her face. When she wiped it all away and smeared on more makeup, she looked almost the same as when she had walked out her door. Except for her eyes. She picked herself up off the ground and walked slowly to the edge of the woods and out on to the road.

  As she walked the final few metres to her house, Duke passed her by and nodded.

  ‘It coulda been a lot worse, Ashley.’ He waited a beat. ‘You should see what we do for our next trick.’

  NINETEEN

  Richie stood by a black station wagon, scribbling a parking ticket. He folded it and slipped it under the windscreen wiper. Shaun walked out of the coffee shop and rolled his eyes.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a quick word,’ said Richie, jogging up behind him. ‘I just want to clear something up.’ He stopped and took out his notebook, tilting it to avoid the misty rain that had started to fall.

  ‘Sure,’ said Shaun. ‘But I’m on my way back to school.’ He pulled up the hood on his parka, casting a shadow over his eyes.

  ‘Just remind me again,’ said Richie. ‘Where exactly did you say goodbye to Katie?’

  Shaun took a breath. ‘Over there, I guess, by the wall down to the harbour.’

  ‘Did you hear the singing?’ asked Richie.

  Shaun froze. ‘What?’

  ‘You said you were down by the dry dock before then.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So was a Spanish boat with twenty drunk sailors singing at the top of their lungs.’

  Shaun said nothing.

  ‘So where did you go when you left Katie’s house? It doesn’t look like you were at the harbour.’

  Shaun’s heart pounded. Cold sweat trickled down his side.

  ‘We were at the harbour, but earlier…’

  The owner of the station wagon came out of Tynan’s and threw his hands up in the air.

  ‘Ah, for Christ’s sake, guard. I was two minutes. Look – a newspaper! How long do you think that took? I’ve just come down from Dublin for a couple of days—’

  Richie shrugged and turned away.

  One of the old barflies was walking past and leaned into the Dublin man. ‘He won’t listen to you, you know. “Double yellows” he’ll tell you. And he’ll point at them. He’s a bollox.’

  Richie ignored the muttering behind him and stared at Shaun.

  ‘Then we went to…for a walk,’ said Shaun.

  ‘Now you’re talking shite to me, Shaun. Where were you really?’

  ‘I told you. For a walk.’

  ‘Leave the young lad alone,’ shouted the barfly as he disappeared into Danaher’s. ‘Y’bollox,’ he muttered.

  ‘Where did you go for a walk?’ said Richie.

  ‘Up through the village and—’

  ‘Out of town, then all the way back here out of the way of her house to say goodbye?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Through the village where? Up to your house, then back here out of the way to say goodbye?’

  Shaun couldn’t stand still.

  ‘Was something wrong, Shaun? You can tell me. Did you have a fight?’

  ‘No. Everything was fine. I’ve said all this before.’

  ‘So you didn’t have a row or anything.’

  ‘No,’ said Shaun.

  Richie started writing. ‘She wasn’t upset.’

  ‘No,’ said Shaun.

  ‘She wasn’t crying. She didn’t tell anyone she had a fight with you a few minutes before she disappeared.’

  ‘No.’ His voice caught.

  ‘You’d swear to that.’

  ‘I…don’t know.’

  Richie kept writing, then closed the notebook and nodded. ‘Cheers,’ he said.

  Frank was standing in front of the bulletin board at the station checking the notices were still in date. He pulled out tacks and repositioned posters, throwing the old ones in the bin. He didn’t hear Joe come in.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, but there’s something I think you need to know. It might have a bearing on your investigation.’

  ‘What is it?’ said Frank.

  ‘About a year ago, I killed someone,’ said Joe. ‘On the job. A guy called Donald Riggs. He kidnapped an eight-year-old girl, collected the ransom, then blew her and her mother to pieces. I saw it all. I shot Riggs and he was lying on the ground, dead. I walked over to him and he had a pin in the shape of a hawk in his hand. That same pin is in an evidence bag somewhere in One Police Plaza in New York. So why did I find one outside Danaher’s on Sunday?’ He held out his palm.

  Frank looked at the pin, then looked at Joe.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  ‘I think someone is after me and my family,’ said Joe. ‘The man’s name, I think, is Duke Rawlins.’

  ‘That could be any old pin and—’

&nb
sp; ‘It’s not any old pin,’ said Joe. ‘It’s specific to an event,’ he could barely say it, ‘that happened back in the eighties when…look, I know it sounds nuts, I don’t know who this guy is, but he’s—’

  ‘You’ve been through an awful lot,’ said Frank.

  ‘What?’ said Joe.

  ‘You’re under a lot of pressure.’

  ‘Of course I’m under a lot of pressure,’ said Joe. ‘But that’s got nothing to do with this. I think he’s come to Ireland.’

  ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘No,’ said Joe. ‘But there’s no other explanation for that pin being there. No-one here would know about it and no-one attached any significance to it at the time of the crime. It was just another personal effect of a dead perp. The only reason it means anything to me is the fact that it was the first thing I saw in the hand of the first – and hopefully the last – man I ever killed.’

  ‘There’s not a lot I can do with that information,’ said Frank.

  ‘It could be related to Katie in some way. He could have gone after—’

  ‘We have no way of finding out if he’s here.’

  ‘What? Immigration! At the airport!’

  ‘Joe, it doesn’t work that way. If he’s a criminal, he’s not going to come here with an official work permit. And if someone travels here on a short holiday visa, we don’t take a record.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘They can pretty much do what they like.’

  Shaun walked in to the empty computer room at St Declan’s and sat down at a PC. He clicked on Mail and typed in his password. There was one message in his inbox. The subject was blank and the sender was a string of letters that made no sense. He opened the message and a photo appeared. It was the lighthouse. Flames burned on the grass in front of it. It was from his mother’s shoot. He jerked the mouse across the mat, clicked the file closed, then grabbed his bag from the floor beside him. He was still furious when he got home.