by Jo Spain
‘Hold on a minute,’ he said to Ciaran, before typing as fast as his freezing fingers would allow. He sent the text to Ray.
Priest’s alibi looks suspect. Keep an eye on house if possible. Worried he’ll do a runner.
The phone beeped almost immediately.
Heading back that direction. Will do.
Michael returned his phone to his pocket.
At least there’d be no issues with the priest’s whereabouts for the next hour or two.
Chapter 33
Darren, the fair-haired Kilcross guard who drove Laura to the nursing home, could have passed for sixteen. He spent the short few minutes of the journey subjecting her to cheesy chat-up lines.
Laura rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window. Darren had the car heating on full blast and between that, his incessant nattering and what she’d uncovered in her aunt’s file, her head was pounding.
‘Here we are,’ the young guard said, pulling into a driveway.
The sign on the gate said ‘Autumn Oaks’. Laura hoped that when she got old any family she had would either take her in or shoot her. She hated the thought of ending up in one of these places, which invariably boasted the most clichéd, patronizing names imaginable.
‘Are there many elderly people from the village here?’ she asked Darren. ‘Don’t they have families to care for them?’
The guard’s face only registered confusion. He had a Dublin accent, and Laura supposed he considered nursing homes the most normal thing in the world. They didn’t have the same sense of family in the capital, from what she could see.
‘This home serves most of the south of the county,’ he replied. ‘I guess some of them don’t have families, or the families have left the area. I’d rather my parents were in a place like this than rattling around on their own in a lonely house, wouldn’t you?’
She made a non-committal murmur.
The snow lay mainly undisturbed in the car park. She’d have thought Sunday would be the busiest day here, but the weather had evidently given family members a convenient excuse to abdicate their visiting duties and stay at home.
They entered the building to a blast of hot air that made the inside of Darren’s car seem like the North Pole.
Laura immediately removed her coat and cardigan.
‘Are they roasting the old people?’ she exclaimed. She could already feel tiny droplets of sweat start to form on her brow and under her arms.
Darren laughed. ‘It’s like this all year round. The elderly feel the cold more. Luckily, most of the nurses are from warmer climes.’
Bereft of her outer layers, she caught Darren taking in her figure appreciatively. Laura wished she hadn’t undone that extra blouse button for Ray’s benefit this morning, especially as it was now apparent he’d look through her if Ellie were standing on the other side.
‘Do we wait here?’ she snapped at the unfortunate Darren, the only man within snapping distance. ‘Will someone come out to us?’
‘Oh. No,’ Darren answered, bruised by her sharp tone. ‘Barney’s room is down there.’ He pointed to the end of the hallway.
‘We can just wander into his room? Not very safe, is it?’
Darren shrugged. ‘What’s there to fear?’
‘Indeed. Who’d kidnap and murder an old person?’
The young guard shrank farther into himself.
Laura started to feel a little ashamed. She fanned herself with her hand.
‘Shall we?’ she said, straining to find a kinder tone.
Down, but not out, Darren reacted like a puppy offered a doggy treat. He bounded ahead, stopped at the last door on the corridor and knocked.
The door was opened by a short, dark-skinned woman, about Laura’s mother’s age. She had a round pudgy face with smiling eyes, and smelled strongly of clean cotton and fabric conditioner.
‘Hello, Carla, is the patient receiving visitors?’ Darren said.
‘Patient, my eye,’ Carla scoffed, with an accent that held a touch of the exotic but had been corrupted by the broad flat brogue of the Irish Midlands. ‘You’re just in time. I’d like him arrested for pinching my bottom. Randy old man.’
‘Consider it done,’ Darren replied. ‘Carla, this is Detective Brennan.’
Laura held out her hand, and the other woman shook it firmly. The detective was surprised by the strength of her grip, until she remembered that this woman lifted people in and out of baths and beds, dressed them and did all the other tasks their daily routine required.
Carla looked her up and down. ‘Hmm, he’ll like you –’ she picked up a basket from beside the door – ‘I’ll go do his laundry and see to my other dears. You can have him.’
The room was cosy, made all the cosier by the dialled-up heating. A large bay window revealed a spectacular view of the rolling hills behind the nursing home. Today, their usual forty shades of green had been reduced to a simple palette of white.
A large mahogany bed covered with a patchwork quilt sat between two bedside lockers and facing a wardrobe large enough to host Narnia. An old television sat atop an ornate map chest that looked like it had been liberated from a pirate ship.
There were large comfortable leather armchairs on either side of the bed. Laura imagined they were there for visitors of residents confined to their beds.
Barney Kelly was not in that category.
He was leaning forward eagerly in one of the chairs as they entered, and when he set eyes on Laura, his face lit up.
‘Well, well, am I dreaming or have my dreams come true?’ he said, rising from his chair. ‘Fáilte.’
Barney Kelly was Santa Claus.
That was Laura’s first impression as she took in the tall, stout man standing in front of her, with his rosy cheeks and full white beard and moustache.
She shook his bear-like hand.
‘You’re real,’ he said, his eyes glinting as he wrapped his other hand around hers, so she was trapped in his grip. She felt like replying: ‘You’re real!’ And maybe tugging his beard for good measure.
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Laura Brennan from the National Bureau of Criminal Investigation,’ she said. ‘The murder squad.’
Barney raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t get too many visitors as beautiful as you, Laura. May I call you Laura? You’re a picture of an Irish cailín . . . Darren, if you’d be so kind?’ He indicated the chair on the other side of his bed while sitting down and making himself comfortable.
Darren, who’d been marvelling at the elderly man’s ability to speak to a beautiful woman with such confidence, sprang into action. He fetched the chair and placed it in front of Barney.
‘I bet if you chase Carla, she’ll get us a cup of tea,’ the old man suggested. ‘It’s Sunday; she shouldn’t be doing laundry, anyway.’
‘No, just catering to all your other whims,’ Darren retorted.
Barney ignored him and, resting his elbows on the sides of his armchair, gave Laura his undivided attention.
‘How do you take your tea, dear?’
‘Milk, no sugar,’ Laura replied, her eyes not leaving his.
‘Carla knows my order, Darren. See if you can get her to give you a few biscuits, as I’ve visitors. She might let up on the regime.’
Darren sighed but went to do Barney’s bidding.
The old man’s face was one of the kindliest Laura had ever seen, but when they were left alone, the jocularity was replaced by a keen interest in what she had to say.
‘It’s been a good while since I talked to someone from serious crimes. I can’t see what you’d need from me. Ciaran’s a good lad. You’ve met Ciaran, haven’t you?’
‘He’s helping our team right now. I’m here for your recollections more than anything,’ Laura said. ‘I’m assuming you won’t have heard this yet, but Mother Attracta from the convent was murdered on Thursday. She was kidnapped, tortured and stabbed. Her body was left in the Phoenix Park in Dublin.’
Laura cut to the quick. S
he addressed the former guard as she would her dad – no sugar-coating necessary – but she hadn’t realized how she was expecting him to react, until he did the opposite.
Instead of being shocked, Barney just shook his head incredulously and said, ‘So, it’s true. God does move in mysterious ways.’ He sat back. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to sound unsympathetic. It’s an awful way to die. But Mother Attracta and I go back a long way, and I’d be a fraud if I sat here and pretended to mourn her.’
‘Sergeant McKenna suggested we speak to you,’ Laura said. ‘When we found the body, we couldn’t imagine who would kill an old woman so violently, but she seems to have made enemies easily.’
‘That’s putting it mildly. Mother Attracta, in my opinion, was downright evil. More like a bride of the Devil than a bride of Christ.’
The words ‘Satan’s whore’ flashed in front of Laura’s eyes. She looked at the old but still powerfully built man in front of her. When he mentioned Attracta’s name, his whole body tensed. She mentally shook herself. It wasn’t possible.
Barney laughed. ‘I can see you, you know. Sitting there, wondering if you should add me to your list of suspects because I hated the old bitch. Well, do. But it’ll be a waste of time. I had an epiphany a long time ago – that woman would answer for her sins to the man below, but she wouldn’t meet him through any act of mine. I’m old and I’ll be meeting my own maker soon enough, but I won’t be bringing the baggage that woman had.’
Laura shook her head at the notion that Barney was on his last legs.
But the old man nodded. ‘I may look hale and hearty, but I have lung cancer. Forty cigarettes a day will do that to you. Not everyone knows, but the nurses here do. I can’t win this fight.’ Barney smiled resignedly. ‘I’m happy. You get to my age, you’ve no family left and really, you just get tired. I’m tired.’ His shoulders sagged.
Laura was overcome with sympathy. She’d only met him minutes ago, but the genial old man seemed like such a life force.
‘I’m really sorry to hear that, sir. Are you up to this?’
‘Absolutely. I’d welcome a break from obsessing about mortality.’
‘Well . . . if you’re sure. You said something about an epiphany?’
‘Indeed. I was driving home one night in this terrific storm and I saw her – Mother Attracta – ahead of me on her bike, wobbling all over the road in the wind. She must have been out in the village for something and got caught. She looked like that witch out of The Wizard of Oz. You know, the one who steals the little girl’s dog? For just a moment it crossed my mind – a cloud of madness – to run her over! Turn the wheel and knock her off the bike. It would have killed her for sure. Thankfully, sanity prevailed. Why would I commit a sin for her sake? No, she would get hers. People always do.’
He leaned back and sighed, evidently relieved to have got his confession, for what it was worth, off his chest.
The door opened and Darren came in carrying a tray. He placed it on the locker beside Barney.
‘Ah, Jaffa Cakes and Jammie Dodgers. Lovely. Now if you two young people will do me a favour and try not to scoff the lot, I’ve found a new hiding place. My belly. Carla will never know.’
Laura took the hot cup, wondering what she’d been thinking agreeing to drink tea in temperatures akin to the tropics. There were no other chairs, so Darren perched on the side of the bed nearest Laura. They had to wait for Barney to down four biscuits before they could resume.
‘But why did you dislike her so much?’ Laura asked, as the old man slurped his tea. ‘I’m also curious about something of a more personal nature.’
‘Start with the latter. I’m intrigued.’
‘Well, my aunt was sent to the convent when it was a Magdalene Laundry in 1964. She died there. Her name was Peggy Deasy. Sorry, are you okay . . .?’
The colour had drained from Barney’s face, and his teacup clattered noisily against the saucer. Both Darren and Laura jumped forward, concerned.
‘Did you say Peggy Deasy?’ The old man’s voice was barely audible.
‘Yes, she was my aunt. I think you looked into her death . . .? Do you need me to get someone?’
Laura was alarmed. Barney was slumped in his chair, his breathing shallow. She turned to Darren, who was hovering nervously, deliberating whether or not to run for help.
Before either one could act, Barney banged his fist on the armrest, startling them.
‘I knew it!’ he roared. ‘I knew it! I knew that girl’s death would come back to haunt Attracta. And there she is – murdered – and Peggy’s niece is sent down to investigate. That’s no coincidence.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Laura shook her head, confused. ‘What does Mother Attracta have to do with my aunt’s death?’
Her quiet words had the effect of calming the old man. He returned his teacup to the tray and, edging forward, took Laura’s free hand in his.
‘Everything, dear. You asked me why I disliked that nun. Your aunt is the reason why I hated her and all those dried-up old shrews in that convent.’
Laura glanced at Darren, who looked as confused as she was, and back at Barney.
‘You don’t understand,’ the old sergeant said. ‘Let me tell you the story. Drink your tea . . . good girl . . . you see, I was only a young officer when I was sent from Dublin to Kilcross. A little village like this held no appeal for me, I can tell you. It was the late sixties and Dublin was starting to come to life after the misery of the fifties, but I was sent to the back of beyond. I mean, what kind of crimes would be committed in a place like this? Ha! I wasn’t long finding out that even the tiniest village can harbour the deepest wickedness.
‘A place this small is like a microcosm of the world. Every emotion is heightened. Everyone knows your business. What might be a short-lived squabble among neighbours in a city can turn into a century-long feud here. There’s nowhere to go, you see.
‘It was worse, back then. If a lad went through a rough patch as a kid, he was marked for life as the bad ’un. If a girl got in the family way before she was married, well . . . that’s where the laundries came in . . .’
Barney paused to sip his tea. Laura waited, spellbound.
‘I didn’t interact much with the convent at first. It was the big house outside the village, somewhere you heard about but didn’t see. I didn’t buy into the notion, though, that the laundry was heaving with wanton women. I knew it wouldn’t take much more than a kiss down the lane and maybe letting a lad have a fondle for a girl around here to be described as “loose”.
‘My first real encounter was when one of the girls was reported missing. The nuns rang us and said the girl was simple-minded, that her family had entrusted her to their care and she’d wandered off. You can imagine, I was happy to take part in a search party. My partner and I found her walking on the road to the city. She started running when she heard the car – I don’t know why she didn’t keep to the woods, where we might not have seen her. Maybe she was so frightened she wasn’t in her right mind. But we caught her.
‘I tell you, it took me all of five minutes to realize that girl was not some simpleton. And it took me less than that to realize that the bruises on her arms and head were not caused from running into tree branches. She sobbed the whole way back and begged us to let her go.’
Barney’s face darkened as he replayed the scene. ‘I was torn. My sergeant had told me to find the girl and bring her back to the convent. My gut said there was something very wrong. But I was afraid to disobey an order. I gave myself the excuse that I would find out exactly what had happened to get her in that state, and I drove her back.’
He shook his head angrily. ‘I listened to that girl sobbing with a knot in my stomach that I thought would make me sick, telling myself all the while that it wouldn’t be anything the nuns had done. We pulled up and I helped drag her into the house. Mother Theresa was in charge then, and she met us at the door with two of the other sisters, who took the girl off with them.
Barney looked shamefaced. ‘I listened to their excuses. Then I left, patting myself on the back because I sounded very stern and refused a cup of tea. I left her there and went home and made myself a lovely supper that I couldn’t eat a scrap of. But I made it my business after that to keep an eye on the place. I’d call up on the pretext of seeing how things were going. I was hoping to catch a sight of the girl, so I could reassure myself she was all right.’
‘And did you?’ Laura asked.
Barney sighed. ‘Sometimes. But in trying to look out for her I saw so much else that disturbed me. I started making notes. Those girls were treated disgracefully. They were slaves to those nuns. Then your aunt died . . .’
Barney stopped. The room was silent, bar his ragged breathing.
Laura was frozen, afraid to move or speak.
Can they see me? I’m looking out at them, looking in.
People rarely see me. They see the surface. What I want them to see. A normal, functioning person. My superficial self.
They don’t see me. They don’t see my soul and all the badness that lies within. The rot. The thoughts that consume me. The vengeance I must seek.
It’s not my fault. I am what God made me. What this world made me.
If I could have chosen something different, I would have. What I wouldn’t give to love and be loved. To be happy. To be free of the rage that courses through my every vein and the sadness that can be found in every fibre of my being.
I refuse to carry guilt. I refuse to be shamed – I have nothing to be ashamed of.
The people I hurt are entitled to nothing better. I am superior to them in every way. I used to fear such people, feel redundant in their presence, but I have turned my fear into strength.