Sleeping Dogs

by Chris Simms

  ***

  By the time Jon reached the fields above the village, he guessed it was around lunchtime. Alice, he thought. I still haven’t rung her. She has no idea where I am.

  The path snaked across to a makeshift gate beyond which was the narrow lane leading to Malachy’s place. In the hedge to his side he found a stout length of branch. After stripping off a few twigs, he used it as a walking stick to take some of the pressure off his throbbing knee. When the bungalow came into view he could see Eileen’s old Nissan parked outside. He noticed the workmen who’d been dropping off materials on the building site earlier had gone. The front door to Malachy’s was ajar. ‘Hello?’ he called quietly, wondering whether to keep the wooden staff with him. ‘Anyone home?’

  Noise from further inside. He moved down the corridor, staff grasped in his right hand. ‘Eileen, is that you?’ He looked into the kitchen. Her back was to him and he watched as she passed an iron over one of Malachy’s shirts, the kitchen table doubling as a board. ‘Hi there.’

  ‘Hello.’ Her reply was clipped and cold and he immediately knew.

  He lowered himself into a chair, injured leg straight out. ‘Malachy asleep?’

  She gave a nod.

  ‘Thanks for patching me up.’

  Placing the iron on the stove’s hotplate to reheat, she turned round, eyes settling for a moment on the length of stick in his hand. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  He pointed a finger back over his shoulder. ‘For a walk. I ended up at the top of Errisbeg.’

  ‘With your leg in that state?’

  He glanced down. The blood pulsing through the joint was so strong, he expected to see his trouser leg quivering. ‘I wasn’t really thinking.’

  ‘What possessed you to go up there?’

  He looked at her. It’s obvious, he thought, that you know the answer to that. ‘I needed to clear my head.’

  ‘So you did speak to Malachy.’

  He leaned the staff against his chair. ‘Yes.’

  Her face clouded. ‘Shame on you, Jon. You played on his confusion, didn’t you?’

  He dropped his eyes.

  ‘I knew it! He was so unsettled, not certain if he’d said something to the wrong person. You pretended to be Joseph, didn’t you?’

  He watched the pad of his thumb as it scribed circles in his palm. ‘I didn’t…I just didn’t point it out to him, when I realised he’d got me mixed up…’

  ‘Well, isn’t that a fine excuse!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She hesitated a moment. ‘So, what did he say?’

  ‘I think you know what he said.’

  She stared at him with a mixture of anger and sadness. ‘Now you know.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She crossed her arms. ‘I hope you’re happy, finding out the way you did.’

  ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘I’m not.’

  When she eventually spoke, her voice was softer. ‘Well, now it’s done. But I don’t want Malachy to know. When he wakes, I’ll tell him it’s OK, he let nothing slip.’

  ‘But…I don’t know if I can pretend – ’

  ‘Then go now. I’ll say you called in and said goodbye.’ Her jaw was tight. ‘Which will it be?’

  More secrets, Jon thought. More bloody secrets to keep. Lies laid over lies. ‘OK, I’ll do it. I’ll pretend.’ He swallowed. ‘Who was he, Eileen? The man who…do you know who he was?’

  She smoothed her apron. ‘That is a talk to have with Mary and Alan, not me. And not Malachy either.’

  ‘Of course. Sorry I asked.’

  ‘And don’t ask again.’

  ‘OK.’

  She picked a card off the counter. ‘Malachy said the Guards were here.’

  ‘I know – I saw their car from the top. What did they want?’

  ‘They’re trying to find you. It’s very urgent, so they said.’

  ‘What did Malachy tell them?’

  ‘I’m not sure he made much sense. After you rushed off he had a try of the whiskey. I saw the glass in the sink. He sent them back to Clifden, saying you’d been staying in a hotel there. They left behind their number.’ She held the card out.

  Jon glanced at the name. Some officer working out of the station at Clifden. He dropped it on the table. ‘Good.’

  ‘What’s good?’

  ‘That Malachy sent them back to Clifden.’

  ‘Why? They’re the police, same as you.’

  ‘I can’t trust them, Eileen. Some of them are working for the de Avila family. The people who were behind this.’ He waved a hand at his face. ‘It’s worrying enough they’ve been here.’

  She frowned. ‘They attacked you because you’re for finding that girl, Zoë? Why is she so important?’

  Jon sighed. ‘It’s gone beyond that now. Way beyond that. I’ve been looking into their business interests, too. How they make their money.’

  ‘Convila.’ She nodded to her side. ‘The building firm behind that thing out there.’

  ‘That and more. I don’t know what kind of things they’ve done to build up the family business.’

  ‘You’d have to ask Kieron. He knows all the gossip, not me.’

  Jon rubbed his hands together. ‘Eileen, I really need to ring my wife. She was expecting me back last night.’ He looked at the clock. Almost three. ‘My mobile’s broken. Can I borrow yours?’

  ‘You’re welcome to, but it’s in my house. Or you can use Kieron’s, he’ll be here soon.’

  ‘I’d prefer not to wait, I should have rung hours ago.’

  ‘Fine. My back door’s always open. I think the phone’s just inside, in my handbag on the windowsill. When can I check your dressings? That tear to your ear should have been stitched yesterday. I hate to think how it’s mending.’

  Jon tapped at the bandages. ‘Feels OK – don’t worry about it. Your house is by the church isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it’s the one with the circular window at the – ’

  A knock sounded on the front door. Eileen turned towards the corridor and was about to open her mouth.

  Jon held up a hand. ‘Don’t!’ he whispered. ‘Don’t say come in. See who it is, first.’

  Clutching the crucifix at her neck, she stepped out of the kitchen and peered down the dim corridor. ‘One moment!’ She looked back at Jon. ‘It’s a man.’

  ‘Alone?’

  She nodded.

  ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘Your age? A bit younger? He’s wearing a black leather jacket.’

  ‘What’s his hair like?’

  ‘Straggly.’

  ‘A bit ginger?’

  ‘Yes.’

  They’ve found me, he thought, struggling to his feet. Jesus Christ, they know where my grandad lives. What sort of trouble have I brought down on this family?

  ‘Alice, it’s Rick. We’ve got some positive news.’

  ‘Is he in Roundstone at his grandad’s?’

  ‘We think he was. A patrol car called by earlier and the officers spoke to an old man – is it Malachy, the grandfather’s name?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK, there’s a bit of confusion but we believe Jon slept there last night. The old man said he’d got into a bit of a scrape. Black eye and some other stuff.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘Alice, come on. That’s nothing worse than what he used to get on the rugby pitch most weekends. He’s a big boy, can take care of himself.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘We’re not sure. Back to Clifden, according to the grandfather.’

  ‘He’ll be still trying to find Zoë.’

  ‘Sounds like Jon: refusing to give up. We’ve got more information from the airport, too. He hired another car from there, a black Peugeot this time. We’ve got its registration. Officers are combing the town for it now. In fact, the whole place is crawling with police. Door-to-doors, road side checks. We’ll find him soon, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Keep your mobile
on so I can get hold of you as soon as we know he’s safe. And if he rings you, tell him it’s vital he calls me.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Holly OK?’

  ‘Yeah, a bit subdued. She thought he was going to arrive this morning. But she’s used to him missing stuff because of work. Rick, he’ll lose his job over this, won’t he?’

  ‘Alice, you think there’s been time to even think about that? Let’s get him home in one piece first – then he can worry about the bollocking heading his way.’

  Jon made an effort to walk normally as he approached the front door of the bungalow. The man waiting in the porch saw him and moved back out on to the drive. It’s him, Jon thought. The one who helped kill Punch. The one probably with Devlan at Center Parcs, too.

  Analysing the situation he was now in almost caused a bitter laugh to break from his lips. To think I originally came out here hoping to have a quiet chat with Darragh to sort things out. How wrong you were, Spicer. How bloody wrong you were. He tightened his grip on the knife’s handle, its nine-inch blade hidden inside his sleeve.

  After opening the inner door, he checked to his left then craned his head to the right in order to check that side with his good eye. Clear. There was a car parked on the track and Jon could make out someone in the passenger seat. He stepped into the porch and examined the man standing outside. ‘Got a name?’

  He clasped his hands in front of him, legs slightly apart. ‘Sean.’

  Jon felt a jolt in his chest. The voice – it’s the same one from the pony auction place. This bastard ripped the top of my ear off. Calm, he told himself. Take it calmly now. Without turning his back, he pulled the front door closed behind him. ‘Well, Sean, where are things at now?’

  He held his hands out. ‘Just delivering a message. I’m not carrying anything.’ His eyes went to the arm Jon was keeping close to his side.

  Jon drew out the carving knife. ‘What message?’

  ‘First, Gerrard de Avila wants to say whatever happened at Center Parcs was not authorised by him. It shouldn’t have happened and he regrets any distress caused.’

  Jon felt his teeth clamp tight. So it was the son, then. That bastard will fucking pay. He regarded the other man. The bloke obviously had more brains than Devlan. ‘And what was your part in that? Was Devlan on his own or were you trailing after him like the poodle you are?’ For a moment he thought the other man was going to rush at him. The knife came up. ‘Go on, try.’

  He stayed where he was and said, ‘Gerrard wants to meet you – alone. Give you Zoë and put an end to all this.’

  Jon wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. ‘You what?’

  ‘He’ll give you Zoë to put an end to all this.’

  My God, Jon thought. She really is here. He tried to not let his surprise show. ‘Gerrard wants to meet me, does he?’

  ‘You take Zoë and leave. No more acting the maggot.’

  ‘Acting the…?’

  ‘Being a general pain in the fucking arse.’

  Jon examined the angles. It seemed too good to be true. ‘That’s the deal? They’ll just hand over Zoë?’

  ‘In return for something of theirs you took.’

  Jon tilted his head. ‘Something of theirs?’

  ‘That you took from the nightclub…’

  His jaw fell open. ‘The tapes?’

  ‘Give the boy a gold fucking star.’

  ‘They want the security tapes for Zoë?’ The signs his hotel room had been searched now made sense.

  ‘Give them the tapes and forget whatever you know about their business. If they get a visit from the Guards, the Bureau, whoever, they’ll take action over the fact you entered their premises illegally, broke the doorman’s nose and assaulted the owner.’

  Right, Jon thought. As if that it matters now. My career’s finished. But, he realised, this could be a way to end the nightmare – and make sure Zoë’s safe. He cast his mind back to dumping the tapes in the bin at Gorteen beach. Christ, how long ago was that? An entire week? Will they even still be there? ‘I can do that.’

  ‘I need to see them first. Those are my instructions.’

  ‘Are they? Tell the de Avilas I need to see Zoë first. Those are my instructions.’ He stared at the other man.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘When do they want to meet?’

  ‘Soon as you’re ready.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The farm – where the pet food is made.’

  ‘And if I don’t go?’

  Sean glanced quickly back at the vehicle beyond the drive then looked down at his feet. ‘Why the fuck didn’t you leave before?’ His voice was barely a murmur.

  Jon frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘In the yard by the pony auction place.’

  A partial memory came back. The bloke had whispered something as he lifted his knee from my neck. What was it? Something about giving up and going home. ‘Why did you try and get me to leave?’

  He checked over his shoulder another time. ‘Must have been feeling generous,’ he said quietly. ‘Or sorry for you.’

  Jon looked at the car before focusing on Sean once again. You don’t want your mate to hear any of this, do you? His gaze shifted to the line of distant mountains. The clouds had thinned again and their snowy peaks were lit by an amber glow. The sun was beginning to set. ‘You didn’t answer: what if I don’t want to meet them at their farm?’

  The man made a show of looking at the bungalow’s roof, then its windows, then its porch.

  Jon took a step towards him. ‘If anything happens to the people who live…’ His words petered out. He couldn’t protect them, not forever. ‘OK – if I come, they have to all be there.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The family. Devlan, Darragh and Gerrard. If we’re going to settle this, it has to be agreed by all of them. And if Devlan changes his mind and tries to touch any of my family – here or in England – I won’t stop. I’ll find him and I’ll rip him limb from limb. Tell him that.’

  Sean gave a knowing smile. ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘And tell them to bring my rucksack – it’s got my passport and other stuff in.’

  ‘OK.’ He took a piece of paper from his pocket, stepped to within reaching distance and held it out. ‘My number. Call me when you’re coming. It has to be today.’

  Jon didn’t lift his hand.

  The man waved the scrap of paper.

  Jon cocked his head. ‘What was it like?’

  Their eyes met and the other man’s eyebrows lifted.

  ‘What was it like,’ Jon continued, ‘locking all the doors and windows then turning the gas on, knowing a pregnant woman and a six-year-old girl were inside?’

  The piece of paper dropped slightly and the man blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me. The gas was on full and the place sealed tight. Did it make you feel like a man?’

  Sean’s eyes crept to the side and he murmured, ‘The son of a bitch.’

  Jon jutted his chin forward. ‘What was it like?’

  He looked up. ‘Were they...did they...?’

  ‘Get out? Yeah, they did.’

  The car horn tooted and the man snapped back to the present. He looked coldly at Jon. ‘What’s it like to know how your country has brought such misery to mine? Shall we start with the potato famine? How about the Black and Tans, the RUC, the beatings, the killings, the torching of entire towns. The executions in Croke Park? Innocent people just there to watch football. Bloody Sunday? Paratroopers opening fire on unarmed marchers? Don’t fucking lecture me, you English piece of shit.’ He balled up the scrap of paper and threw it at Jon’s chest.

  Chapter 46

  Devlan walked towards his father, face and clothes spattered with blood. Gerrard looked up from his newspaper. With every step his son took, his face grew darker.

  ‘Da,’ Devlan started to say. ‘Before you go off on one – ’

  ‘What did you do?’ The old man’s fingertips were pressing
into the newspaper, threatening to break through.

  ‘Listen, Da – you have to – ’

  ‘Did you kill him?’ Gerrard’s voice was menacingly low.

  On the far side of the room, Denis slunk behind the breakfast bar and reached down a glass.

  ‘It had to be done,’ Devlan replied.

  ‘In his office? You did it there?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I set fire to the place. There’ll be no evidence.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus.’ Darragh took off his glasses and placed them on the desk. ‘Shit.’

  Devlan raised a bloody hand to his face and scratched at an eyebrow with the nail of his thumb. Tiny flakes of dried blood drifted down. ‘He was trying to arrange bullets for all of us.’

  Gerrard glanced to the kitchen area. ‘Out.’

  Denis lowered the half-finished glass of water and headed straight for the door. Once the three of them were alone, Gerrard turned to Devlan. ‘Clean your hands and face, for fuck’s sake. You’re covered.’

  Devlan removed the mobile phone from his pocket and handed it to Darragh. ‘Play the video. The most recent one. That’s Hazel’s phone.’ He walked across the room to the kitchen sink.

  Looking with distaste at the rust-coloured smears on the casing, Darragh started pressing keys. ‘Most recent one, you say?’

  Devlan nodded as he worked at his face with the washing-up cloth.

  The recording began to play and when Darragh and Gerrard heard themselves speaking, they both stood absolutely still. When the recording finally came to a stop, neither spoke.

  ‘Now you see?’ Devlan asked, a damp tea towel and small vegetable knife in his hand. He sat down by the wood burner and began to scrape the blood from beneath his nails.

  ‘What was he going to do with it?’ Gerrard asked.

  ‘Sending it to Sinn Féin. The offices of Rory Durran in Stormont,’ Devlan replied. ‘It was already in a padded envelope, ready to go.’

  Darragh’s hand was shaking as he put the mobile down. ‘They’d have killed us.’

  ‘They’d have to get into Clifden, first,’ Devlan retorted. ‘We control these roads. This area belongs to us.’