by Des Ekin
His eyes widened and his entire body appeared to stiffen. The childish whispering died out. Instead his breath began to come in tiny, half-stifled gasps, like an old-fashioned train building up a head of steam, growing faster and faster.
For a long time he stared at the face that lay just behind Emma’s, another face from another place and time. Then he suddenly lunged forward. His pudgy, powerful fingers grabbed a hank of her reddish-blond hair and began stroking it. His panting breath strengthened and became more rapid, more agitated, until finally …
‘Night-night, ducks,’ he whispered in a high-pitched, childish voice. ‘It’s time to go to sleep.’
‘WHERE to now?’ Hunter shouted above the roar of the Golf.
Mary Smith shrugged. ‘We’ve checked all the Catholic churches within walking distance. I’m heading outwards now, towards the suburbs. But it’s getting less and less likely that we’ll find anything. We’d better check in with the Bear.’
Just as she pulled the mobile from her pocket, the phone rang.
‘Found the car,’ the Bear’s voice burst out. ‘It’s at St Michan’s.’
‘Got it. Michan’s.’ Mary grabbed the handbrake, sank her foot on the accelerator and hauled the steering-wheel hard right. The tyres squealed as the Golf did an impossible U-turn.
‘How long will it take us to get there?’ Hunter yelled.
‘The way I drive,’ shouted Mary, ‘we’ll be there in ten minutes.’
EMMA looked at the expression on Valentia’s face and knew that the rest of her life could be measured in seconds.
Anger Retaliatory killers don’t explain their actions. They don’t get their kicks from feedback from their victims. They attack suddenly, in a concentrated hail of blind, furious blows. A few moments, and it’s all over …
Only a few seconds. A few seconds in which she had to force herself to keep calm – to think.
If she viewed herself as just another helpless victim, she was lost. But she wasn’t just another victim. She was an experienced psychiatrist, dealing with a man with a serious mental disorder. She had to act that way. And it would only work if she could change the scenario, assume control.
With a supreme effort of will, she imagined she was no longer in this hell-hole of a vault. She was in her clinic, with sunshine pouring through the windows, and this was just another patient. A violent patient, a disruptive patient, but a patient like dozens of others …
‘No,’ she said with authority. ‘We’ll go to sleep in a minute.’
He froze, his breath still rasping. She had to fight hard to steady her nerves. She’d bought some time, but not much. Not enough. Maybe just a few seconds.
Think, Emma. Think …
Valentia was concentrating on her hair. He was seeing her red hair as a symbol. She tried to remember what the old monsignor had told her about the red-haired nanny called Lizzie and the little boy whose name was … was …
‘JoJo,’ she said, and years of practice kept her tone level and emotionless. ‘We’ll go to sleep in a minute, JoJo. I want to tell you a story.’
His expression softened slightly. His fingers continued to tug at her hair, but this time more gently, almost nostalgically.
‘Ugly Duckling?’ he said in the same eerie, high-pitched voice.
‘No, not “The Ugly Duckling”. A new story. An even better one, JoJo.’ Emma decided to risk sitting upright. She dragged her pain-racked body up onto one elbow and propped herself against the wall, bringing her eyes to slightly above the level of his. To her immense relief, he didn’t react in any way. ‘It’s a story about a little boy who went for a walk in the woods. Do you like to go for walks, JoJo?’
He nodded, his eyes studying her warily.
A positive response. Thank God. First hurdle over.
‘Well, this little boy was called JoJo, just like you. And this little JoJo was walking in the woods and it was a beautiful sunny day, so very warm, and the bees were buzzing gently in the bushes, and he could smell the lovely smell of the wild roses, and the smell was so heavy in the air, so heavy and so peaceful. It was so peaceful, so beautifully quiet there in the woods, and he felt so safe and warm in there, that he thought he’d lie down for a few minutes and rest.’
Valentia’s breathing was slower, calmer. He continued to stare at her.
Emma looked deeply into his eyes. ‘And so JoJo found a little secret clearing, a place where he felt perfectly safe and warm and comfortable, and he lay back on the warm dry grass and he looked up at the clouds. He watched the fluffy white clouds floating past against the beautiful blue sky. He watched them floating past, so light and floaty and free, and he felt as though he was as light as the clouds, and as though he was floating up into the air along with the clouds … floating … floating …’
The muscles of his face had relaxed. The breathing was as gentle as a baby’s.
‘And he thought that, just for a game, he’d count up to ten, and with every number he’d feel himself getting lighter and lighter, floating higher and higher into the warm blue sky. And as he counted up to ten, his eyelids would become heavier and heavier until he could hardly keep them open any more.’
She had to fight hard to keep her voice steady. Cold perspiration was running down her forehead and into her eyes, but she couldn’t risk raising her arm to wipe it away.
‘And by the time he reached ten he’d be fast asleep.’ She paused and swallowed. ‘Are you ready for me to count to ten, JoJo?’
He kept staring at her silently, and for a moment she thought she’d blown everything. But then, slowly, the dark silhouette of his head nodded.
Emma began to count, forcing herself not to hurry, to leave the proper gaps of silence between the numbers. ‘One … two … three …’
She prayed silently that he would respond.
‘Four. You are completely relaxed. Five. There is a wonderful warm feeling spreading through your whole body. You want to sleep. Six. Your eyelids are getting heavy, heavier and heavier. Seven. You can hardly keep them open any longer.’
To her immense relief, she saw his eyelids slowly close as she continued the count.
‘Eight. Now they are closed. With every word I am saying, you are getting sleepier and sleepier. Nine. You are going to sleep. Deep, sound sleep.’
His eyelids were firmly closed.
‘Ten. And now you’re asleep, JoJo, fast asleep, and yet you can still hear me. In this special game, even though you’re sleeping, I can still ask you questions and you can still answer me, without waking up at all. Do you understand, JoJo?’
‘Yes.’
She un-tensed her own taut muscles. The immediate threat of violence had passed, but she knew she was still in dreadful danger. Valentia was under hypnosis, but he could snap out of his trance at any moment. She couldn’t risk doing anything stupid, like trying to disable him or tie him up, even if she had had the means to do so. It was better that she didn’t move, not even to tend to Charley’s horrific head wound. The only thing she could do was continue to talk in this same quiet, reassuring tone and pray she could keep him under until help arrived.
If help arrived. She hadn’t even hinted at her whereabouts. Her ordeal could last hours, even …
But she had to stop thinking like that. It was a matter of survival. Her voice would crack and waver, and Valentia would notice the despair in her tone. The spell would be broken.
‘Tell me about Lizzie, JoJo,’ she said.
‘Lizzie.’ His face brightened. ‘Best nanny in the whole world.’
‘Why was she so good?’
‘Played with me. Nobody else would.’
‘What about your mammy and daddy?’
‘Shh!’ Valentia looked genuinely alarmed. ‘Daddy’s busy working. Mammy’s got another one of her headaches. Lying down. There’s no time to play with JoJo. Never any time.’
‘But Lizzie always had time to play?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘Sang “The Ugly Duckling”. Splash
ed me in the bath. Took me for big walks down to the pier.’
‘Were you sorry when she had to leave?’
‘No!’ The voice was an angry shout. ‘Had to go. Did a really bad thing. Got a baby inside her without being married. Bad, bad, bad.’
‘Who told you this?’
‘Daddy told me. Said Lizzie had to go to special place to get punished, have her baby, then get sent away somewhere she’d never see any of us again. Glad she’s gone. Dirty whore. Bloody bitch-bum carrot-head whore.’
He was rocking violently back and forward, his shouts echoing and shattering against the limestone walls. Emma fought desperately to calm him down.
‘It’s okay, JoJo. It’s okay. She’s gone now, she’s gone, and you’re all right again. You’re all right.’ She kept her voice low, soothing. ‘Tell me about your daddy.’
‘Best daddy in the whole world.’ The childish voice became belligerent. ‘My daddy’s smarter than your daddy. My daddy’s got more money than your daddy. My daddy can beat your daddy.’
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure he can.’
‘My daddy never lets anybody hurt him. That’s why Lizzie …’ His voice trailed off.
‘That’s why Lizzie what?’
He shook his head in stubborn refusal.
‘That’s why Lizzie had to go away?’
He remained petulantly silent.
‘Why? What did she do to your daddy?’
‘Not telling you. Not to tell anybody.’
‘But you have to tell me, JoJo. That’s the rule in this special game.’ Her voice was gentle but firm. ‘You have to tell me, whether you want to or not.’
He shook his head again. Emma felt the sweat chill on her forehead as she wondered whether she was pushing him too far, too hard. Her heart thumped hard against her ribs. She pressed on, knowing the repeated question could force him out of his trance. ‘What did she do to your daddy, JoJo? You have to tell me.’
His head thrashed from side to side. The words emerged in a tearful cry of anguish.
‘She hurt my daddy! She hurt my daddy!’
‘She hurt him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me how she hurt him.’
He shook his head again, the tears running down his cheeks.
‘JoJo, we’re going to go deeper asleep, even deeper, to a place deep down where you remember everything that happened as though you were still there. It’s playing on a screen like a movie. I want you to imagine you’re back at the time when you found out how Lizzie hurt your daddy. Tell me what’s happening.’
His face relaxed. The tears suddenly stopped, but he wiped his brow as though he’d become intolerably hot.
‘I can’t sleep. I’m all hot. Hot and sweaty. Not well. Mammy gave me some medicine but it didn’t work. I want a drink of water. I need a drink of water. Mammy! Mammy!’
‘What age are you?’
‘Eight and three-quarters and a bit.’
‘And what happens next?’
‘Hear this strange noise, a wumpy-wumpy noise coming from above, and I’m scared.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I go running into my mammy’s room. But she’s not there. I remember she’s gone out. Gone to Granny’s.’
‘So what do you want to do?’
‘Go to find Lizzie. Lizzie will help me, get me a drink of water, tell me a story. Make me all better.’
‘Where do you go?’
‘Go up the stairs to Lizzie’s room. Open the door and …’
‘And what? What do you see?’
‘Lizzie in bed. Daddy in bed, too.’ He grimaced. ‘No clothes on. And …’
‘You have to tell me, JoJo.’
‘And she’s wrestling with him and really hurting him, he’s groaning and moaning and shouting like he’s really hurt. Daddy! Daddy! Don’t let her hurt you, Daddy.’ He collapsed in angry sobs. ‘Hit her back, Daddy! Hit her back!’
Emma stared at him speechlessly.
‘My daddy can beat anybody. Why’s he letting her hurt him? Why’s he crying all funny like that? Hit her, Daddy, stop her!’
Valentia suddenly sprang to his feet and began lashing out blindly with his fists, screaming at the top of his voice.
‘Hit her! Stop her!’
‘Calm down, JoJo –’
‘Kill her!’
His yells echoed around the vault. And Charley was awake, her eyes widening, transfixed with horror. She saw her father howling like a child. She felt the sticky blood running down her own face and hair, and it was all too much. Charley screamed at the top of her voice, a loud, prolonged scream of terror. The two voices intermingled and echoed nightmarishly back and forth along the crypt.
Valentia froze. His face changed. His eyes became aware, aware of his surroundings, aware of the dreadful secret that had just been dredged, dirty and oozing and dripping, from the depths of his subconscious.
Emma glanced back at Charley. She was on the floor, scrabbling desperately at her handbag. She glanced back towards Valentia, but Valentia was moving fast towards Emma, already on top of her, his knees pinning down her chest again, only this time he was grabbing a huge chunk of limestone rock from the floor.
He raised it high above Emma’s head, aiming it directly at the centre of her forehead. Emma twisted and turned, flailing and thrashing, trying desperately to get clear. But she knew it was pointless. The rock, with its vicious jagged edges, swung upwards. It paused for an instant at its apex, then plunged downwards, ready to smash her skull like an eggshell.
Emma, knowing she was about to die, felt time slowing down as the rock descended directly towards her face.
None of us knows how long we have left …
She saw Charley struggling to her feet, but realised with a sense of detachment that she was still three, four metres away. Much too far away to help.
She watched as Charley pointed at her father, screaming.
‘No!’
And then the downward-plunging rock filled her field of vision. She felt her skull explode in a roar of pain and noise. And when the lights went out, she knew in her heart that, this time, they had gone out for ever.
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘YOU loved her, didn’t you?’ said Charley.
Hunter turned away as the gravediggers began spading the loose earth over the coffin. It fell on the polished wood with a dull rattle.
A fine rain was falling over the cemetery. On a gorse bush beside the well-trodden grass path, the droplets on a spiderweb glistened in the winter sunshine.
‘Yes,’ he said, buttoning his cashmere overcoat over his suit. ‘She was one of the kindest, warmest, most decent people I’ve ever known. Yes, of course I loved her.’
‘But not in an erotic way. You were close friends, soulmates, but you would never have been happy as lovers.’
Hunter shrugged uneasily. He didn’t feel comfortable with Charley’s New Age directness. Not at this time.
‘I’m too confused to analyse things right now, Charley,’ he said. ‘You must be feeling the same way.’
Charley studied the clouds and the treetops. ‘I’ve no regrets about my father’s death,’ she said. She glanced over towards the grave. ‘I’m just sorry that an innocent woman had to die too.’
Hunter stuffed his hands further into the pockets of his overcoat and said nothing. There was nothing to say.
‘Excuse me, Mr Hunter?’
He turned around. A middle-aged woman in a camel coat was hurrying to catch up with them. He recognised her. She’d been among the front row of relatives at the grave.
‘Yes, I’m Hunter.’
She grasped his outstretched hand. ‘After all the years you’ve known my daughter, it’s odd that we never actually met. How sad that it has to be in such circumstances.’
‘Yes.’ Hunter shook her hand. ‘I just … I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’
The woman studied his eyes and nodded understandingly. ‘I can see your grief for myself, M
r Hunter.’ She lowered her voice. ‘If it’s any consolation, the family does not regard you as in any way responsible for her death. We know you did your best to save her.’
‘I did. But it wasn’t enough.’
‘Self-blame is one of the most corrosive and utterly pointless of emotions, Mr Hunter,’ she said sincerely, and he couldn’t help remarking how much she sounded like her daughter.
She put her arm through his and they began to walk away together through the trees towards the cemetery gate. ‘The police told us that she would have died instantly at the Slane roadblock if you hadn’t thrown your body across her to protect her from the shotgun blast,’ she explained. ‘We’ve been told it was just sheer bad fortune that she was hit by a stray ricochet from one of the bullets. We’ve been told it was also bad fortune that those complications developed in hospital. I do not agree. I believe that these things are ordained by God, for reasons we don’t clearly understand.’ She gave him a serene smile, a smile he recognised instantly. ‘But one thing we do clearly understand, Mr Hunter, is that you were prepared to give up your life to save Claire. And for that, we’ll always be grateful.’
EMMA parked her BMW on the roadway and hurried across to meet Hunter and Charley. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ she said breathlessly. ‘The doctor wouldn’t let me leave until he was absolutely satisfied that the follow-up tests were clear.’
‘It’s okay.’ Hunter embraced her warmly. He gestured towards Claire’s mother, who was walking away towards a waiting taxi. ‘Claire’s family has invited everyone to the Rivercourt Hotel for refreshments. Can we take a lift with you?’
‘Of course.’ Emma turned towards Charley as they walked back towards her car. ‘How did you get along at the police station this morning?’
‘Fine.’ Charley grimaced. ‘They say I won’t face any charges for shooting my father. It was obvious from your statement that I was acting in self-defence and trying to save your life.’
‘There. I told you there was no need to worry.’
‘But they were a bit pissed off that I’d been toting an unlicensed revolver around the streets of Dublin without so much as a please or a by-your-leave.’