Living Death

by Graham Masterton

  Three alternatives flashed into Katie’s mind. She could try to twist the gun out of his hand, although he might be able to angle it towards her while they were struggling and pull the trigger. Either that, or she could drop sideways to the floor, pulling out her own gun while she did so, and shoot him, if he didn’t shoot her first. Then again, she could kick him, as hard as she had kicked Keeno, but because he was standing so close it would be difficult for her to swing her leg for enough momentum.

  ‘I hope... I hope from the bottom of my heart that you never forget this,’ said Jimmy O’Reilly.

  Before Katie could grab his wrist he opened his mouth wide, stuck the muzzle of the gun between his white false teeth and fired. There was an ear-splitting bang and the back of his head burst open, spraying blood and brains across the plain beige carpet in a wide fan shape. There was even a fine haze of blood on the opposite wall, beside the couches, over Katie’s framed certificates.

  For a split-second, Jimmy O’Reilly was staring at Katie with the saddest, most desperate look in his eyes that she had ever seen, and then he toppled over backwards with his arms flapping like a man falling off a cliff. He hit the carpet with a thud and lay still.

  Inspector O’Rourke was the first one to come running into Katie’s office. He must have just come in from outside, because his windcheater was sparkling with raindrops.

  Katie was still standing beside her desk, with her hand pressed over her mouth in shock.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Inspector O’Rourke. Katie could tell that he was making an instant assessment of what might have happened. He saw that Katie wasn’t armed and that the nickel-plated Sig-Sauer was lying on the floor where Jimmy O’Reilly had dropped it.

  ‘Don’t tell me he’s topped himself, right in front of you.’

  Katie nodded, and then she turned and walked stiff-legged to her toilet. She went inside and brought up three heaving splashes of coffee and chewed-up oats into her washbasin.

  She lifted her head and stared at herself in the mirror. She was surprised by how calm and unruffled she looked, although her lipstick was smudged.

  She went back into her office. Inspector O’Rourke had been joined by Detective Sergeant Begley and Detective Markey and four uniformed gardaí. They were all standing around the doorway looking stunned.

  Inspector O’Rourke was prodding at his mobile phone. He looked up and said, ‘Are you right, ma’am?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ said Katie. ‘You’d best call Bill Phinner up here to take some pictures, and an ambulance, and Dr Cullinane.’ Dr Cullinane was the Cork City Coroner, and she would require formal proof of Jimmy O’Reilly’s identity, and evidence of his cause of death.

  ‘I’ve called Bill already,’ said Inspector O’Rourke. ‘He’s coming up here himself, along with a couple of his technical experts. I’m just ringing for a white van now. Dr Cullinane won’t be in her office today but I’ll leave her a message so.’

  It was then that Katie’s own phone played “Tá Mo Chleamhnas a Dhéanamh”. She answered it immediately and it was Conor.

  ‘I’ve managed to book us a table at the Hayfield, although it took some persuasion. When will you be finished?’

  ‘I won’t be, Conor, not today. I’m sorry. We’ve had a bit of a tragedy here, to be honest with you.’

  ‘A tragedy? What do you mean? What kind of a tragedy?’

  ‘There’s only one kind of tragedy, isn’t there? The kind that never should have happened, but did.’

  36

  Ger backed the ambulance up to the porch of St Giles’ Clinic and Milo opened the doors. It was raining so hard now that it was almost laughable, and water was clattering down the side of the porch from a broken gutter.

  Gearoid looked at his watch and said, ‘Where in God’s name has Lorcan got to? He said that he’d be here by two-thirty at the latest.’

  ‘He probably went down to Bandon to see that woman of his,’ said Grainne. She was dressed already in her paramedic’s uniform, and she was smoking a last cigarette before she climbed into the ambulance.

  ‘No, no. He’s finished with that one,’ said Gearoid. ‘He only used her so that he could work out how to break into her kennels. Well, to be fair, that wasn’t the only reason. It seems like she wasn’t getting much from her husband, and she was a bit of a tornado in bed.’

  ‘I know he’s your brother but he worries me sometimes,’ said Grainne. ‘He lets his heart rule his head, do you know what I mean, and he lets his mickey rule both of them.’

  Just as she said that, the black Opel turned into the driveway with its headlights on and parked beside the ambulance. Lorcan climbed out and hurried towards them through the rain.

  ‘I’m not going to ask you where you’ve been,’ said Gearoid.

  ‘That’s a mercy. I’ve been down to Riverstick, as a matter of fact, to feed Gerry’s dogs. They were starving, most of them. I think I can sell one or two of them, but the rest I’ll have to take up to Bartley, to use as bait.’

  ‘I hope he’ll pay you for them.’

  ‘Sure I won’t be asking him for money. All he has to do is give me a few tips on which are the gamer dogs, and then I’ll be going to Egypt for my holliers, first class.’

  ‘Egypt? You don’t want to be going there. It’s full of terrorists.’

  ‘You think I’m scared of terrorists?’

  Siobhán was wheeled out of the front door and then Dermot and Milo lifted her into the back of the ambulance. Dermot went back inside and came out a few moments later pushing Fearghal on a trolley. Milo helped him to lift him into the ambulance, too. Fearghal was staring upwards all of the time, as if he expected to see angels descending from the clouds, and he was making an extraordinary whirring sound in the back of his throat.

  ‘You know what that feller reminds me of?’ said Lorcan. ‘A fecking grasshopper I once ran over with my lawnmower, and chopped its legs off. It made that noise exactly.’

  Grainne climbed into the back of the ambulance and Milo closed the doors.

  Gearoid said to Lorcan, ‘Chill your gills this trip, and I mean it. Wardy’s had a new delivery in from Rotterdam and he says it’s huge. You may have to go over to Essex again the middle of the week, but we should have the second ambulance up and running by then. It only needs a new alternator, and Sonny says he can fit that in tomorrow.’

  ‘Tuesday I’ll be going up to Tipp, to Bartley’s place,’ Lorcan told him. ‘There’s some kennel owner from Carrigahorig who says he has a Neapolitan mastiff for sale, for fighting.’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Gearoid. ‘They’re enormous, those Neapolitan mastiffs, when they’re fully grown.’

  ‘That’s why I’m interested. You could fecking rake it in with a monster of a dog like that, in betting stakes.’

  Gearoid patted Lorcan on the shoulders and then he said, ‘Any road, it’s time for you to go. I don’t think this weather’s going to be improving, and I heard there’s new roadworks past Kilmacthomas.’

  Milo came up to them and said, ‘Are we out the gap, then? This rain’s going to get worse before it gets better.’

  Lorcan went back to his car. Before Grainne climbed into the back of the ambulance, she flicked her cigarette butt away, blew out smoke, and said to Gearoid, ‘I don’t know. I read my Tarot cards last night and I have a fierce quare feeling about this trip.’

  Gearoid shook his head in amusement. ‘Grainne, if I had believed in everything that fortune-tellers told me, I never would have done anything with my life, ever. I would have stayed in bed and lived on take-aways, too scared to go out.’

  ‘A fortune-teller warned you to beware of a baby, didn’t she? You told me that yourself.’

  ‘I only told you that to prove how easy it is to read anything into what fortune-tellers warn you about. We believe what we want to believe, and we turn a blind eye to everything else.’

  ‘Just like poor old Gerry,’ said Grainne. She stepped up into the ambulance and Milo closed the doors behind her. Ge
aroid stood in the porch and watched as the black Opel and the ambulance drove out of the clinic on to the Middle Glanmire Road and then turned sharp left into Lover’s Walk.

  Dermot sniffed and said, ‘You’ll be wanting to go up and see to Gerry. He woke up ten minutes ago and he’s been throwing a ghand ever since so I had to use the ball gag to shut him up.’

  ‘In that case, I think it’s time I took out his tongue,’ said Gearoid. ‘I think we’ve all heard enough from Gerry Mulvaney to last us a lifetime.’

  *

  They had only driven a short distance past Tivoli Docks when the ambulance’s engine started to make loud knocking noises. The knocking grew louder and louder until it reverberated through the whole body of the ambulance and Grainne shouted out from the back, ‘What’s wrong, Ger? Pull over, for the love of God, we’re getting mangalated here!’

  Ger turned the ambulance into the narrow driveway that led to the Lota Brothers of Charity. Lorcan drew his car in close behind them. He came hurrying up to the ambulance in the rain, just as Ger and Milo climbed out.

  ‘What have you stopped for?’ he shouted, above the swishing of passing cars.

  ‘Sounds like the big end’s gone,’ said Ger. ‘There’s no way this feller’s going to England – not today, any road.’

  ‘I don’t fecking believe this,’ said Lorcan. ‘We have a shipment to pick up that’s worth hundreds of thousands, and now we can’t do it because a crappy second-hand ambulance has broken down.’

  Ger pushed his wet fringe out of his eyes. ‘Spot on,’ he said, with complete equanimity. ‘You have it exactly.’

  ‘Christ on a bicycle,’ said Lorcan. ‘We’ll just have to turn round and go back to the clinic. I’ll ring Gearoid and see if we can’t get one of the other ambulances going.’

  ‘The only one that’s halfway near ready needs a new alternator,’ Ger told him. ‘The other one, they haven’t finished fitting out the inside yet. There wouldn’t be nowhere to stash the stash, like.’

  ‘I don’t fecking believe this!’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do about it, boy,’ said Milo, as placidly as Ger.

  ‘You’re right, we’ll have to go back,’ said Lorcan. ‘But Jesus – Gearoid’s going to go mental.’

  He returned to his car while Ger and Milo climbed back into the ambulance. Ger turned the key in the ignition and the starter-motor whinnied, but all that happened was a loud and very final-sounding clonk.

  ‘Sure lookit, it’s banjaxed,’ said Milo. ‘Totally and utterly banjaxed. I’ll have to ring Sonny to come out and give us a tow.’

  Lorcan came back again and knocked on the driver’s door window. ‘What in the name of Jesus is going on?’ he demanded. Ger opened the door and climbed out again.

  ‘Won’t start,’ he said. ‘Milo’s calling Sonny to give us a tow back to Montenotte.’ As he spoke, though, he looked over Lorcan’s shoulder and said, ‘Sketch, boy. Shades.’

  ‘What?’ said Lorcan, turning around to see a Garda Nissan Terrano pulling in behind his Opel. ‘Oh shite. That’s all we fecking need.’

  Two gardaí came walking towards them, putting on their caps. One was a tall, burly man; the other was a small blonde woman.

  Lorcan said to Ger, out of the corner of his mouth, ‘You don’t know me, okay? You broke down and I’m a just passing motorist who stopped to see if I could give you some assistance. Do you have that? Because I’m out of here now.’

  Milo came around the ambulance and he quickly repeated the same words to him. ‘If they think we’re travelling together they’ll want to know why, and who I am, and right now I can’t think of any plausible explanation.’

  ‘What’s the problem here?’ asked the male garda, as he approached. ‘This is the road to the Brothers of Charity campus, are you aware of that, and I’m afraid you’re obstructing it.’

  ‘Oh, right, the Brothers of Charity,’ said Milo. ‘They’re the ones who look after the loonies, aren’t they? Well, I’m sorry about that, but our ambulance has broken down and we’re waiting on a tow.’

  Lorcan said, ‘I only stopped to see if there was anything I could do to help, but these fellers seem to have it under control. So I’ll be heading off, okay?’

  ‘Yes, okay,’ the garda told him, and Lorcan walked back to his car, climbed into it, and drove off. He could have turned around at the next roundabout, which was only a hundred metres further up the road, but he didn’t want the guards to see him going back the way he had come, so he turned left to return to Montenotte through Glanmire Village.

  Milo said to the gardaí, ‘I’ve rung Sonny Powers from Powers Motors in Togher, and he’s promised us a tow truck asap. So we won’t be blocking up this entrance for too much longer.’

  ‘Where were you heading?’ the female garda asked him.

  ‘Oh, well, Rosslare, like, for the ferry. We were on our way to a rehab clinic in England. It’s a regular run we have to make. We take our patients there for specialist therapy which unfortunately is not available to them here in Cork.’ That was the line that Gearoid had made him learn word for word, in case they were ever questioned by the Garda or by Revenue.

  ‘Do you have any patients on board now?’

  ‘Only the two. But they’ll be grand altogether for the moment. There’s a nurse in there with them in case they need anything, you know like a drink or any medicamation.’

  ‘Would you open the doors, please, so that we can see them?’

  ‘Well, now, I wouldn’t want to be disturbing them. They’re probably out for the count, do you know what I mean? We always give them a sedative before they travel, so they don’t get distressed. Like I said, they’ll be grand altogether.’

  ‘Would you open the doors, please, so that we can see them?’ the female garda repeated.

  Milo wiped the rain from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘They have serious disabilities, the both of them. I can’t be responsible if they have some kind of a seizure.’

  ‘Open the doors, sir,’ said the male garda.

  ‘If you insist,’ said Milo, and puffed out his cheeks in resignation. He opened the doors, and then stepped away. Inside, Grainne was sitting between Siobhán and Fearghal, and she stood up apprehensively as the two gardaí came up close to the back of the ambulance. Fearghal was sitting strapped in a harness in a metal chair, while Siobhán was lying on the trolley, covered in a pale blue blanket. Both of them were awake, and when Siobhán heard the doors open and the sound of traffic and rain outside, she flapped her arms, and managed to make a honking noise in the back of her throat.

  ‘Poor creature, she’s fierce easily upset by strangers,’ said Grainne.

  Fearghal remained motionless, staring at the darkness inside his head.

  ‘Would you put down the steps, please,’ said the female garda.

  Grainne was about to protest, but Milo caught her eye and shook his head. Gearoid had warned him to keep any encounters with guards or customs inspectors as low-key as possible. ‘Get up their nose, Milo, and they’ll start sniffing around.’

  Milo lowered the steps and the female garda climbed inside the back of the ambulance. She looked closely at Fearghal first, and waved her hand in front of his face. ‘He’s very unresponsive, isn’t he?’

  ‘Blind, deaf, and double amputee,’ said Grainne. ‘He was in a road accident when he was twelve. Both of his parents were killed so he was lucky.’

  The garda said nothing, although it was plain from her expression what she was thinking. If Fearghal was lucky, God have mercy on anybody less fortunate than he was.

  Next the garda turned to Siobhán.

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘Brain tumour,’ said Grainne. ‘She’s blind, and unable to speak, or walk, or grasp anything in her hands. It’s a very sad case because she’s a fine half, isn’t she?’

  Siobhán was aware that the garda was standing close to her, and again she honked and flapped her arms. Grainne laid her hand on her forehead and sai
d, ‘Ssh, now, darling. It’s only the guards making sure that you’re being well taken care of.’

  The female garda took out her iPhone and quickly prodded it. When she found what she was looking for, she swiped her finger quickly to the left. She peered intently at the screen for a moment, and then she glanced down at Siobhán, and then she put her phone back in her pocket.

  ‘I’m very concerned about this young woman’s condition,’ she said. ‘I’m calling for an ambulance to take her to the University Hospital.’

  ‘What?’ said Grainne. ‘You can’t do that. She’s legally in the care of St Giles’ Clinic. We have all of her records and all of her medication, and we know exactly how to deal with her anxiety fits, which they won’t know how to do at the hospital. You’ll be putting her life at risk if you take her.’

  The female garda ignored her and called emergency services. Out in the rain, her male colleague had been taking pictures of the ambulance, as well as Milo and Ger. When he saw her talking on her iPhone, he said, ‘What’s the story, Róisin?’

  ‘This young woman looks like she’s suffering some kind of an episode,’ said the female garda. ‘I’ve called for a white van to take her into CUH.’

  She turned to Grainne and said, ‘What’s her name, please?’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you that. And I’m protesting most strongly about you taking her.’

  ‘Please tell me her name. Does she have next of kin that I can get in touch with? I’d like their contact details too.’

  ‘I can’t tell you anything without the permission of the doctor in charge of St Giles’. This is outrageous, do you know? This is totally outrageous.’

  ‘So what’s the name of the doctor in charge of St Giles’? We can ring him and get his permission right now.’

  ‘Dr Fitzgerald. Dr Gearoid Fitzgerald. But he’ll tell you the same as me. Siobhán is our patient and you have no right at all to take her out of our care. He’ll make sure that your boss gives you down the banks for doing this, I swear to God.’