The Killing House

by Claire McGowan

  She saw guilt bloom in his eyes, but the panic was greater. ‘Be quiet,’ he said roughly. ‘Wallace, I need a way out of this. I have my life here, a family, an election campaign.’ If people knew he’d paid to have his father’s killers bumped off, that would be the end of his political ambitions, his job, his life. He had a lot to lose.

  ‘We’ll sort it,’ said Wallace. He nudged Paula. ‘Go on.’

  She stumbled ahead over the muddy ground, into the hut.

  Inside, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw a chair, and Mairead Wallace tied to it. In the corner was a sleeping bag and the remnants of a scratched meal – the place smelled stuffy and airless, the only light coming in from high windows with reinforced glass. It occurred to Paula that her mother was kept like this. Miles from anywhere. Humiliated, restrained. Tortured, even. She thought of Prontias Ryan, on his back in front of his TV, Mark O’Hanlon. Sean Conlon, kicked to death in the parking lot. Fintan McCabe, dead in the earth. So much death.

  Mairead had seen her, and her eyes widened, but she said nothing. Paddy gestured to another chair at a small camping table, and Paula sat. What was he going to do now? Dunne had followed them in, looking about him in a way that told Paula he hadn’t known what Paddy was doing here. ‘What the hell?’ he said again. ‘What is this, Wallace? Who’s that?’

  ‘I’m his sister,’ said Mairead in a hoarse voice. ‘He kidnapped me.’

  Paddy tutted, pulling another chair for himself to sit on, leaning across its back. ‘Always the drama queen, our Mairead. I just wanted us to talk. Be together as a family. When this is all over we can go back to how things were – you, me, Aisling, Ciaran. Carly, even. Seemed like a nice girl.’

  ‘You put Ciaran in prison,’ she said. ‘I know it wasn’t him killed that man.’

  ‘Well, at least I knew where he was. None of you had any loyalty, sneaking off on me. After everything I did when Da died, keeping the farm for us, and the first chance you get you run out.’

  ‘I had to.’

  ‘Oh yes, for wee Carly. Looks just like Emer, doesn’t she? But then she would, wouldn’t she? All I wanted to know was who her daddy was, Mairead. Who did you betray me with? Why didn’t you tell me you were having another baby?’ Another. So it was true then, about Emer.

  Mairead didn’t answer, her head bowed.

  Paddy went on. ‘No matter, I got it out of old Rambo. Seems everyone knew you were sneaking about with Conlon behind my back. Everyone but me. Shame he’ll never know he has a lovely daughter, seeing as he’s dead.’

  Mairead did not react to this. Had she any feelings for the man now, after twenty years? She was trembling, with fear, maybe, or rage, or both. ‘Mammy would have made me give her up. You know that. She wouldn’t have had her in the house, not after . . . Emer.’

  ‘Oh yes. How did you feel about that? Your own daughter murdered. Your daughter that you abandoned. Our daughter.’

  ‘Shut up!’

  He went on. ‘But that’s what she was. Yours and mine. What kind of mother are you, Mairead?’

  Mairead was trembling. ‘She was never mine. Mammy took her. I didn’t know she was . . . I never even knew she was dead. She was, she was . . . she wasn’t right, Paddy. You know that.’

  ‘Was that any reason to abandon her, leave her to be killed in cold blood? She was only a child.’

  ‘I was only a child.’ She was shaking so hard her voice faltered. ‘I was a child too, Paddy, when it happened.’

  ‘Poor Emer. And our own sister covered it up – lied to me. It must have been Conlon killed her. Your fancy man. Did he have a go at Aisling too? Why stop at one of my sisters?’

  Mairead’s voice shook. ‘You think I don’t care? Why do you think I came back to this hellhole in the first place? I wanted to know, was it her or was it our Aisling in that grave? My sister who was dead or my . . .’ She tailed off. ‘You don’t know, Paddy. You don’t know how it was for me to leave. But I had to. For Carly.’

  Dunne, who had been pacing maniacally, now stopped and slammed his hands on the table. ‘Paddy! We have to sort this. What are we going to do? You can’t just keep this place forever – my wife’s da owns it, he might decide to visit.’

  So that was the link. Paula tried not to think what it meant that he’d said this in front of her. There was no obvious link between the two men, so no one would think to look for her here. No one knew where she was, and around them stretched the countryside, miles of fields and bogs and barren ground.

  ‘We’ll sort it. It’ll be over soon.’

  And what did that mean? She met Mairead’s eyes, saw the panic there, and tried to speak calmly. ‘You don’t want to hurt Mairead, Paddy. She’s your sister.’

  ‘She was quick to hurt me, taking up with Conlon behind my back then running away from me.’

  ‘Well, she thought she’d lose Carly if she didn’t. It was a long time ago. And Conlon’s paid for it. You’re all together again now. You don’t want to keep running all your life, do you?’

  He hefted the gun in his hand. ‘And what do you suggest as an alternative, Miss Paula? Your mammy used to talk about you, you know. As if we’d change our minds, just because she had a wean.’

  What could she suggest? What way was there out of this? ‘I couldn’t prove anything,’ she said. ‘Just let us go, and you can vanish again. The Ghost, right?’

  ‘She’s seen me,’ said Dunne. He didn’t seem able to look Paula in the eye. ‘Who told you to come to my house? Where did you get my name?’

  She hesitated. But Paddy had got there first. ‘Our Ciaran, was it? Aye, he’s worked it all out. Had a lot of time to think. Can’t trust anyone these days.’

  It echoed what his mother kept saying: ungrateful pack. Disloyal.

  ‘We can’t let her go,’ Dunne said decisively. ‘I won’t take the fall for this, Wallace.’

  She knew better than to plead Maggie. It hadn’t worked for her mother; it wouldn’t work for her. But somehow, although he’d tortured her mother and murdered so many people, she did not believe Paddy Wallace would shoot her. Disloyalty, betrayal. Those were his triggers. ‘I was just trying to help my family,’ she tried. ‘My fiancé. My mother – I don’t know if she’s alive or dead. I just needed to know.’

  He looked at her curiously. Weighing it up.

  ‘You’d do anything for your family, Paddy. Wouldn’t you? Didn’t you do it all to get them back? That’s why you let the farm be sold. It was you arranged for the payments, wasn’t it, to your mother’s nursing home? Watching over her as best you could. But if the farm was sold, and they found what was under it, you knew that was the way to bring you all back together again, get Aisling, find out what really happened to Emer.’ She went on, putting it together as she spoke. ‘It was Carly’s Facebook post, wasn’t it? Looking for her family. You didn’t know she existed before that, did you? It was all for them.’

  ‘Not that they’re grateful.’ He prodded Mairead with his gun. Her head was slack, all the fight gone out of her. Another mother trying to protect her child.

  There was a noise outside and everyone jumped – Paula watched the gun jerk up. Wallace turned on Dunne. ‘Who’s that? Your in-laws?’

  ‘No! They’re away on a cruise.’

  Wallace swung the gun to Paula. ‘Did your wee mate call the peelers?’

  Paula’s heart beat hard. ‘She doesn’t know where we are. We never mentioned Tom in front of her, did we?’

  He squinted at her, then grudgingly nodded: that was true. He motioned to Dunne. ‘Open it.’

  ‘Me? You’re the one with the gun!’

  But as they bickered, the handle was turning and the door opening, letting in a slab of blank white light. A figure stood there in a beige overcoat, despite the season. There was a gun in his hand too – Paula recognised it as RUC issue, the same one her father had squirre
lled away in the gun safe he thought she didn’t know about. It was Bob Hamilton.

  Her heart sank. She might have been able to talk her way out of this, and help Mairead too – she still didn’t think Paddy would hurt his own sister – but now Bob was here, and she couldn’t protect him, and his hand was shaking as if he hardly had the strength to hold the gun up. She’d hoped he would make the connection to Dunne, send the police to rescue her. Not come himself.

  Paddy seemed to recognise him. ‘I know you.’

  Bob’s voice shook too. ‘Let the women go.’ He saw Dunne, frowned in recognition, then back to Wallace. ‘Come on now. This war’s long over. You’ve no fight with these two.’

  ‘I’ve plenty of fight with my sister.’ Recognition dawned, and Paddy smiled. ‘Sergeant Hamilton, isn’t it? You arrested me a whole heap of times, back in the day. Nothing could stick, though. That’s why they call me the Ghost.’

  ‘It was Conlon your fight was with,’ Bob said. ‘He was your informer. Came to me for help – he even gave me your name. But he’s dead now, so why keep this going?’

  ‘Because, Sergeant, I don’t like people who aren’t loyal. What about you? Did you keep faith with the RUC – or did you lie? We thought you’d at least come and search the farm when we lifted Margaret Maguire. Wouldn’t have taken much to find out where we did the interrogations. Draw out the informer that way. But no one ever came near the place. What does Miss Paula think about that, eh? You couldn’t even lift a finger to find her mother?’

  Paula breathed. How to get out of this one? ‘It’s all in the past now. There were reasons. My mother, she’s long gone now, whether she’s alive or dead.’

  ‘Oh, she’s alive, and I know where she is,’ said Paddy easily. Paula froze. ‘Why do you think I tipped the Commission off? Get them to do the digging for me, no sign of her body, so where is she? Must have got away, so that means she never got her punishment. I’ve plenty of fellas in London can help me out still. Was planning to pay her a wee visit after all this is wrapped up.’

  Paula just stared at him. ‘They found her? Already?’

  ‘Oh aye. Do you want her address? I’ll give you it if you want. Assuming you make it out of here.’

  Alive. She was definitely alive, she was really in London. Paula felt herself give way, and had to brace herself to stay on the chair. Was it true, or more of his games? She could hardly let herself believe it.

  ‘Paddy, stop it,’ said Mairead, her voice exhausted. ‘Don’t torment her. You know what it’s like to lose your family. Just leave her be.’

  ‘Aye, I do, don’t I? Thanks to you. Your mother was guilty of a very serious crime, Paula. She was sentenced, and that sentence still hasn’t been carried out. She’s on the run too, in her way. I feel no guilt about it, Miss Paula, sorry to tell you.’

  Was this it, then? Was she going to die there, unable to tell anyone what had happened to her mother, unable to send a warning, and then Paddy Wallace would make his way to London, to whatever door her mother lived behind, painted or faded or wood or metal, and deliver the bullet that had been hers twenty years ago? Was this all for nothing? She couldn’t bear it.

  Bob stepped forward, using his other hand to steady his wrist under the gun. He looked like someone’s granddad, a harmless wee man. What could he do against the Ghost? ‘Patrick Wallace, I am arresting you for the murders of . . .’

  What was he doing? Even Paddy looked surprised for a moment, then he laughed. ‘Ah, come on now, Bob.’

  ‘. . . Prontias Ryan, John King, Fintan McCabe, Mark O’Hanlon, Sean Conlon . . .’

  Aidan. Aidan could be released, if Wallace went down for killing Conlon. She just had to live through this, that was all.

  ‘. . . do not have to say anything . . .’

  ‘Do something!’ Dunne’s voice cracked. But Paddy seemed to be amused by the whole scene, the tired and broken-down man holding a gun in shaking hands, reciting his code, as if men like these followed the rules. ‘Stop him!’

  ‘. . . may be taken down and used in evidence . . .’

  Then Dunne was lunging across the room, trying to tear the gun from Paddy’s hand, failing, screaming as Bob put a bullet in his shoulder. Shaking hands or not, he could still aim. A small shriek escaped Mairead, and she began to strain on her ropes, trying to move back out of the line of fire.

  ‘Sir, you must stand down, I repeat, stand down.’ Poor Bob. Still relying on the rules, the law, as if that had ever done him any good.

  Paddy still had that strange little smile on his face as Bob advanced on him, Dunne now stumbling onto the floor, clutching his arm. ‘Stop him, for fuck’s sake!’

  ‘Pity,’ Wallace said. ‘You always seemed a decent enough sort, Sergeant.’ And he lifted his gun, and fired at Bob.

  Margaret

  2006

  ‘Come on, we’ll be late. It starts at half seven.’ Edward had his coat on and car keys in his hand.

  ‘Sorry, sorry.’ She couldn’t find her purse. Her daughter had moved it, maybe, taking out money for her school lunch or whatever it was today. She went to the bedroom door and knocked. The flat was so small every room could be reached within ten paces.

  ‘What?’ The girl had her headphones on, sprawled on her bed in jeans and a vest top. She was now the age Paula had been when Margaret left Ireland, and she could not shake the sense that she would get no further with this daughter either. That she would somehow lose them both, and it was no more than she deserved.

  ‘Have you seen my purse?’

  ‘Oh yeah, it’s in the living room. I took out the money for the school trip. You forgot again.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She was forgetting a lot of things of late. Stress, Edward said. Nothing to worry about. He could always fall asleep, a habit from years in the Army, bedding down in war zones. But she hadn’t learned the habit, and lay awake most nights, listening for scuffles outside. She gave her daughter the usual spiel. ‘Dad and I will be back about eleven – don’t open the door to anyone under any circumstances. Don’t answer the phone. Keep the windows and all the doors locked.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ She wasn’t sure their daughter had ever grasped the seriousness of the rules. She’d been running all of her short life; it was normal to her. She probably thought her parents were terrible fuddy-duddies. Even this trip to the theatre, a small local one, was the first time they’d gone out in months. ‘Go on, you’ll miss the play.’

  ‘You’ll be careful?’

  ‘Mum, I’m not leaving the house, there’s nothing to be careful about.’ She put her headphones back in again. It was still a shock to Margaret to have a daughter growing up as a London teenager. Sharp English accent. Hanging round the bus stop in Croydon with her friends, girls with pierced noses and long straightened hair and confident voices.

  ‘Bye then. I love you.’

  ‘Love you.’ They bandied those phrases around in this house, something she had not said enough to Paula. You just didn’t, in Ireland, not in those days. It was always implicit.

  She hurried downstairs, finding her purse under a sofa cushion, noting that her daughter had cleaned her out of cash again. She made a few final checks – windows, alarm – and went out, locking the door behind her. Edward was in the car already, impatient. He’d dressed up, put on that shirt she’d bought him for Christmas. They should go out more. It wasn’t much of a life, him working in private security from an office outside the M25, her loitering at home, over-cleaning the small flat. It was the tenth one they’d lived in since the last incident.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes, um . . . Sorry. Did I lock it?’

  ‘You locked it, come on!’

  ‘Let me just check.’ She ran quickly up the three steps and took out her key. Behind her, she heard the engine rumble into life. His way of hurrying her.

  ‘Come on, we—’
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br />   She didn’t see it when it happened. That was something to be grateful for. That it could have been worse. It could always be worse. There was a whoosh and a suck of air, a terrible heat and a noise and then a quietness, and she was thrown back against the door, the skin on the back of her neck seared.

  It was a full thirty seconds before she could bring herself to turn around and see what they’d done to him.

  Chapter Forty

  The blood was pumping out from him. Paula was on her knees, pressing her hand into Bob’s chest. But she couldn’t stop it. There was so much blood. Bob’s eyes were staring at the ceiling, the damp stains on it, the cobwebs in the corners. The last thing he’d see if she didn’t get him away from here. ‘Please!’ she shouted to Paddy Wallace. ‘We need help! He’s hurt.’ Dunne too was still howling, swearing, clutching his shoulder.

  She felt something on her shoulder. Wallace’s hand. Gentle, almost. ‘There’s no point, Paula. Look at his eyes.’ She saw what he meant, the light leaving them, the hardening of his face into pain and out the other side. But she didn’t want to believe it. She kept scrabbling, trying to find a way to stop up the bullet wound, give CPR. But there was so much blood her hands just slipped and slid in it.

  ‘I’ve seen this a hundred times,’ said Wallace. ‘It’s too late for him.’

  Someone was saying, No, no, no. It was her.

  Wallace’s hand tightened on her. Outside, she heard noises. The sound of sirens. Rescue. What her mother must have waited and waited to hear locked in that barn, and never had. She’d be dead if it wasn’t for Sean Conlon, the man who’d killed so many others.

  ‘Ah,’ said Wallace, very softly.

  Dunne was struggling to his feet. ‘We have to go! They’re coming!’

  She tried to think. The last message she’d left for Corry. The connection to Dunne. Had it been enough? Had Bob called the police before setting out himself? Had Saoirse?