by Claire Allan
That was the first time I almost told her. The words were on the tip of my tongue. She was being kind. She was listening, at least. She was saying it was hard for us all. But she didn’t know the truth. She didn’t know that after my mother had died Joe had started to do those things to me. Maybe if I told her, she’d talk to him just like she was talking to me. She would tell him to stop. Tell him that he had to try harder, too.
I wanted so much to tell her, but I was eleven. I couldn’t find the words. I couldn’t say why it felt wrong, or how I knew it wasn’t natural, or how I just wanted it all to stop. So I curled up in a tighter ball and shrugged her hand away. I didn’t speak. Didn’t interact. And after a while she stood up and, without saying a word, left.
I think she had already made up her mind about me.
Chapter Thirty-One
Heidi
Now
‘I heard about your doll; I’m very sorry. You must be very upset about it,’ Ciara says. ‘I know how much she meant to you.’
I feel my cheeks burn. The room is silent. Kathleen is staring down at the table. She looks as if she has aged ten years overnight. I’ve come downstairs with Lily to find them all, apart from Stella, sat around the table drinking tea. Alex can’t quite meet my eye and I know without having to ask that they have been talking about me. I notice Kathleen looking at the dressing on my hand. God only knows what they have been saying, but I feel my paranoia grow.
Ciara sounds genuine in her sympathy, but she has always been one to manipulate a room.
‘It’s okay,’ I lie. ‘I’m over it. It’s only a doll, right?’
‘Oh, but she was your special doll, from your mum.’
Her tone is so subtle that not everyone would pick up that she is goading me. I try to ignore her. I don’t have the patience for her games right now.
‘Has there been any news?’ I ask, eager to change the subject.
Kathleen answers, ‘Not yet. Marie phoned earlier, said she was trying to get some information from that DC King woman. I just don’t like it one bit. This is cruel. To take him away from us like this. It’s cruel and unnecessary. You think they could at least keep us informed. I’ve had people calling, texting, asking what’s happening and what am I supposed to tell them? That he has unexpected marks on his body?’ She bursts into tears, her shoulders shuddering. ‘It’s mortifying.’
‘It’s just procedure,’ I say. ‘We have to keep telling ourselves that. I’m sure none of us has anything to hide.’
‘I’m sure Mum will call as soon as she has any more news,’ Ciara adds. ‘But maybe I’ll text her again to be sure.’
Kathleen nods as Ciara starts to tap a message to Marie on her phone. There’s a moment’s silence that does nothing to quiet my growing paranoia.
‘I think I’d like to stay here tonight,’ Kathleen says, breaking the silence. ‘In case there’s any word. I mean, it’s getting on a bit and I don’t want to be anywhere else if he comes home.’
‘I’d say they probably won’t release his remains until the morning now,’ Alex says.
Kathleen and Ciara both glare at him as if the thought has only just struck them for the first time.
‘I’m just saying, we’ve had no word at all. It’s almost eight now and if they did release him, sure it would be the best part of two hours down the road from Belfast. The roads are icing up, too. Might be better for everyone if we just settled ourselves to the notion it will be the morning.’
‘Well, we’ll be staying here anyway,’ Ciara pipes up. ‘And if Kathleen wants to stay then she should stay.’
‘But where will she sleep?’ I ask. ‘We’ll be in my old room. You and Stella are in the spare room.’
‘Sure, there’s Joe’s room,’ Kathleen says.
I look around, waiting for someone else to say that there’s something a little weird about that. His room, where he died. Where all his belongings still are. His bed, which he died in.
No one speaks. ‘Is that not a little …’ I start.
‘It’s not a little anything,’ Ciara snaps before turning to Kathleen. ‘I’ll get you some fresh linen and towels. I can ask Stella to pick up some of your things from Pauline on her way back here.’
‘That would be brilliant. I can call Pauline and let her know she’ll call in. It will really mean a lot to me to be here,’ Kathleen says, blinking back tears.
I look at her and think of the vibrant young woman she used to be.
‘Of course it will,’ Ciara says, rubbing her hand. ‘This was your brother’s home.’
There’s no doubt this dig is entirely in my direction.
I bite my tongue again. Now is not the time to say I want space. I can’t in good conscience force them to leave, or tell them they should all go until we have news from Belfast. And I certainly can’t make a solid case for Kathleen not sleeping in Joe’s room, other than the thought of it makes my skin crawl more than a little. If she’s happy enough to do so, if it doesn’t make her feel uncomfortable, who am I to argue?
Kathleen stands up, wipes away her tears on the sleeves of her cardigan. ‘I think I’ll go and get the room ready. Maybe even have a sleep.’
‘I’ll help you make up the bed,’ Ciara says, getting to her feet.
I’m about to ask Alex if he finds it all as strange as I do, when the doorbell rings.
‘I’ll get it,’ he says and leaves me holding the baby and feeling an impending sense of doom.
I hear an unfamiliar voice, solemn, formal. Alex says, ‘I think you’d better come in.’ He calls to Ciara and Kathleen, and me, that DI Bradley is at the door with two of his colleagues and he would like to speak to us.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Heidi
Now
We expected a phone call. We expected the funeral directors. We didn’t expect DI Bradley to show up at the door. I’m not naive enough to think that a senior police officer calls out to a home at night without good reason or simply to pass on ‘good’ news.
DI Bradley follows Alex into the living room, asks if it’s okay to sit down. I follow them in. The woman in the room is DC Eve King who came out earlier. I don’t recognise the third colleague, but watch as he awkwardly sits down on one of the dining chairs we have moved into the room. He’s at least six foot four and looks as if he is made of right angles, his legs too long and gangly. I stare at his feet, which seem inordinately big.
DI Bradley introduces the big-footed man as DC Mark Black, who in turn takes out a notebook and pen, his large hands dwarfing the pencil in them. None of us speak, and we are joined by Kathleen and Ciara.
‘Is Ms Brown here?’ DI Bradley asks.
‘Stella’s running a few errands. She’ll be back in about an hour or so,’ Ciara says.
‘Okay,’ DI Bradley nods as if he is giving himself time to think.
I wish he’d just spit it out. I can’t breathe with fear.
‘I’m afraid I have some distressing news for you, and in light of this we will need to speak to each of you on an individual basis. We can speak to you all here, or if you would prefer, we can talk at the station.’
I see Ciara glance to Kathleen. There is panic on her face. Ciara never usually shows anything but cold coolness in her expression. That she is rattled makes me feel worse. I press my fingernails into the palm of my hand, hoping the sharpness will stop me from spiralling into a panic.
‘What is it, Officer?’ Kathleen asks, her voice thin and reedy. She is twisting her hands together, pulling the skin tight against her bones.
‘We have the preliminary results from the postmortem examination that took place this afternoon on Mr Joe McKee. These are, as I stated, preliminary results and we are awaiting further findings.’ He cleared his throat and continued. ‘It would appear from examination there is evidence to support the hypothesis that Mr McKee’s death may not have been natural or indeed accidental.’
Kathleen blinks. ‘What? Sorry? I don’t … Can you speak in plain English?�
��
‘What do you mean, not natural or accidental?’ Ciara asks, cutting across her aunt.
I just sit and try to take in how this has all shifted again. How Joe has become the victim for once.
‘There are early indications that Mr McKee, your father, died as a result of asphyxiation, most likely suffocation. There are further injuries on his body, which the pathologist believes are of a non-accidental nature.’
Ciara’s mouth hangs open. Her eyes are fixed uncomfortably on me before she staggers to her feet and gasps that she needs air.
DC Black is quick to stand, too, indicating to Kathleen that she should remain seated as he guides Ciara by the arm out into the hall, where the cold night air is whistling through the still open front door.
I hear muttering. Kathleen is blessing herself and whispering what I think are the prayers of the rosary. It’s hard to tell through the buzzing in my ears. Lily starts to fuss and Alex tries his hand at settling her, but I can see he is thrown, too.
‘What indications?’ I ask. ‘He looked very peaceful when Alex found him.’
And he had. When Alex had called us up, Joe had been lying in his bed as if he was merely asleep. One hand was under the covers and the other arm curled across his chest. He was flat on his back, his mouth just slightly open as if he were about to snore. His head turned just a fraction to the left. The bed was tidy. The room was tidy. I can still see it now.
‘The pathologist will provide more information in due course,’ DI Bradley said. ‘Suffice to say, the pathologist is a very experienced professional. I believe there may be some unexplained bruising, to the torso and one of his hands. Some internal markings also.’
‘But couldn’t whatever marks you found just be down to the surgery, or bruising afterwards, or him bumping into something or falling or any number of things?’ I note there is more than a hint of hysteria in my voice and yet I seem powerless to quell it.
I think of how Ciara stared at me. Does she think I did it? Did she think I was capable of killing someone? Maybe I need some air, too. Am I allowed to leave the room? Will DI Bradley have to escort me?
‘As I’ve said, the state pathologist is a very experienced professional. We expect that further results will corroborate his hypothesis.’
Big words with a big impact. I see Kathleen look up from her prayers. Her brow furrows. She looks at me and I wonder, is she thinking I’m responsible? Has Ciara been whispering in her ear? Am I being judged for the messed-up teenager I was?
‘We fully appreciate this must be a terrible shock,’ DI Bradley says.
It seems such a bizarre thing to say. So completely understated.
‘A terrible shock? You’re telling us one of us might be a killer and the best you can say is that “this must be a terrible shock”.’
I feel Alex’s arm on mine, steadying me. He is trying to ground me. I shake it off. I don’t want to be grounded. I’m scared. I’m scared that someone in this room might be a murderer and I’m terrified that most of the people in this room seem to think that the murderer is me.
‘What happens now?’ Alex asks. ‘Are we all under arrest? How does this work?’
Under arrest? No. That can’t be …
DI Bradley shakes his head. ‘No. We are still gathering evidence, which is why we need to speak to you all. There isn’t sufficient evidence to arrest anyone at this time. You may, if you wish, have a solicitor present while we talk, but I want to make it clear that we are examining all possibilities and no one person is under direct suspicion at this time. What we do need to do is have forensics come in and look around the house, in particular Mr McKee’s bedroom, where we believe he died. Can I ask, has anyone been in that room since this morning?’
‘We’ve all been in it,’ Kathleen says. ‘The girls tidied and stripped the bed. I’ve just put new bed sheets on. I was going to sleep there. Alex, you were in too, weren’t you?’
He nods. ‘I think so, earlier. Yes, I brought some laundry up, put it in his chest of drawers.’
‘Okay,’ DI Bradley says with a slight shake of his head. ‘We’ll still need SOCO to come in and look around, although the scene has been compromised. The bed linen? Has that been washed yet?’
Ciara comes back into the room, her face sheet-white, and answers, ‘Yes. Washed and dried. It’s still in the dryer, though.’
DI Bradley sucks in air through his teeth. ‘That’s unfortunate. We’ll take it anyway, just in case. Detective Constable Black will be staying here with you until SOCO arrive. We’ll appoint a family liaison officer. It might be less distressing for you all if you have somewhere else you can go while the team examine the house.’
‘I’ll be staying here, thank you,’ Ciara says. ‘I don’t want you rifling through my father’s belongings without a family member present.’
Kathleen has stopped praying and finally speaks. ‘This has to be a mistake,’ she says. ‘I don’t care how experienced your pathologist is, he or she is wrong. No one murdered my brother! That’s ridiculous. It makes no sense. Who in here would be so brutal as to hurt a frail old man?’
Her voice is getting louder. She looks at me while she spits out her last few words and I have all the confirmation I need that I am very much in the frame for Joe’s murder. In the eyes of his nearest and dearest, at least.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Heidi
Now
The clock in the hall ticks loudly and the old radiators rattle as the heating comes on. It’s bitter cold outside now, I can hear the rain lash against the windows.
The police van has pulled up, officers are coming in, dressed in white suits, carrying cases and bags and lights, and people are asking questions. I can see curtains twitching across the street. A neighbour’s car pulls up, but he doesn’t go straight into his house, despite the cold. He stands and watches. I see him lift his phone. The word will spread quickly.
It’s late now. After ten. I’m exhausted and I can feel my nerves jangling. I want to do just what DI Bradley suggested and go elsewhere while the police pull the house apart, looking for God knows what, but Ciara has stated her intention to stay, as has Kathleen, and there is no way I’m leaving them to it. I dread to think what they could say or do to point the police in my direction. I’m still hoping the pathologist, for all his experience, is wrong. Not that Joe didn’t deserve to be murdered – but just that the thought of there being a killer in our midst is unsettling and exhausting.
I yawn. ‘I’m really tired,’ I say as Alex and I sit together in the living room.
We haven’t spoken much since DI Bradley left. I don’t think we know what to say to each other. We’re in shock.
I rest my head against Alex’s shoulder and feel that he is tense. Guilt washes over me for embroiling him in this mess. I feel him kiss my forehead. It’s typical of him that he is trying to comfort me.
‘Curl up here,’ he says, wrapping his arm around me. ‘Take a nap here on the sofa if you can. I’ll not leave you.’
He has barely finished talking before I’ve started to drift off.
I jump awake to Marie’s voice, loud and distressed, in the living room.
‘It’s a nightmare,’ she says. ‘A nightmare.’
Ciara walks into the room and flings herself at her mother as if she is still a child and the pair sob loudly, dramatically.
‘I didn’t hurt him. I didn’t do anything,’ she sobs, her shoulders heaving up and down.
Marie pats her back, kisses the top of her head the way Alex had kissed me. They rock together, keening and sobbing, and Marie whispers over and over again that of course she knows that Ciara did nothing. Sure, Ciara doesn’t have a bad bone in her body. She would never …
‘I wanted to make it right between us,’ Ciara cries. ‘I thought we would have time. I thought he would’ve …’ She descends into floods of tears again.
It feels as if they are putting on a show for the police’s benefit. There had been no obvious indicati
on before now that Ciara had wanted to make anything right with her father. Like me, she was tolerating him out of a sense of duty. This display does nothing to reassure me that a narrative that will ultimately point the finger of blame in my direction is being played out in front of me.
I can’t bear to listen to them or watch their spectacle unfold any more, so I go to the kitchen, where I’m surprised to find Kathleen alone, her mug in her hand. No police officer is near.
‘That big tall fellah has gone to make a phone call,’ she says. ‘I’m surprised he left me alone. If you’re making a fresh cup of tea, I’ll have one. This has gone cold.’ She gestures to the murky beige liquid in the cup in front of her.
I hadn’t been planning on making a cup of tea at all, but I fill the kettle and switch it on anyway.
‘I just keep running everything over and over in my head all the time. Trying to make sense of it,’ she says, her voice cracking as she struggles to keep her emotions in check. ‘I can’t help but wonder what they found … what they saw …’ Her sentence drifts off.
I don’t answer her. I simply make her tea and stir in a sugar before sitting it in front of her.
‘I should’ve come home earlier,’ she says. ‘I should have, as soon as we knew he was sick. Sooner even.’
‘Sure, we didn’t know how sick he was. Not until the operation.’
That operation had changed everything. When his treatment had turned from curative to palliative. When we knew we were in the end game, we had a limited time to say all we needed to say and do all we needed to do. She came as quickly as she could after that.