I Confess

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I Confess Page 10

by Alex Barclay


  ‘My dad definitely had a polo shirt,’ said Edie, nodding.

  ‘And I’m sure I saw Laura with a g-er,’ said Murph.

  Patrick looked at him. ‘What’s a g-er?’

  ‘Ah, Patrick,’ said Murph. ‘A g-string – the things women stop wearing when they catch sight of their arses properly in those changing rooms with the three mirrors.’

  Clare, Laura, and Helen nodded.

  ‘Except Clare,’ said Murph. ‘She still wears them. “Eyes ahead”.’

  Edie looked across the table at Patrick. He was staring off into space.

  ‘Patrick,’ said Edie.

  He looked over at her and she smiled. ‘Could I ask you to do me a favour, please?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said.

  ‘While we’re gone – would you mind going down to the cellar and grabbing a couple of bottles of Prosecco? I asked Johnny, but he probably got distracted.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Murph. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Patrick, standing up. ‘Stay where you are.’

  Patrick walked across the hall, his black hiking boots silent on the tiles. He went down the stairs and was guided by emergency lights to the wine cellar. A soft light glowed from inside. He walked in. Ahead of him, was a tall wooden table with a metal worktop. Johnny was leaning over at one end, his nose buried in the tail end of a fat line of coke. He looked up, saw Patrick, and jumped.

  Patrick raised his hands, palms out.

  A flash of anger crossed Johnny’s face. He glanced down at Patrick’s boots. ‘Did you wear them especially?’

  ‘Especially what?’

  ‘To be a sneaky prick.’ He smiled. ‘So … what has you down here?’

  ‘Edie asked me to bring up two bottles of Prosecco.’

  Johnny turned around, and scanned the shelves. He pulled out two bottles, and put them on the table. ‘You didn’t see this, by the way.’ He gestured to the coke.

  Patrick nodded. ‘I didn’t see anything. But … she doesn’t know?’

  ‘Why do you give a shit?’ said Johnny.

  ‘I don’t,’ said Patrick. He reached out and took the bottles. He was about to turn away, but he stopped. ‘Why the hostility, as a matter of interest?’

  ‘Hospitality, surely,’ said Johnny. He flashed a smile.

  Patrick sucked in a breath. He eyed the coke. ‘I’m not sure that agrees with you.’

  ‘And I’m sure’ said Johnny, ‘That I don’t really give a fuck.’

  Dylan and Mally ran across the front gardens of the inn, staying close to the hedges that bordered the car park. Rain was pouring down, and they both slipped in the same waterlogged hollow, crying out, grabbing for each other, then righting themselves. They laughed, then shushed each other.

  ‘This is insane,’ said Dylan.

  ‘I know – I love it!’ said Mally.

  ‘If we get caught, we’re dead.’

  ‘You’re always saying that,’ said Mally. ‘We did get caught! And we’re aliiiive.’ She spread out her arms.

  ‘Yeah, but I’m already in trouble,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Don’t be a wuss!’ said Mally. ‘And stop making me talk – I’m getting rain in my mouth. I literally have puddles in my mouth. Ducks will literally fly in. That’s how I’m going to die.’

  ‘I am not a wuss,’ said Dylan. ‘You’re the one who’s all “No – I can’t drink, my mom will kill me”.’

  ‘Mam can literally smell blood,’ said Mally.

  ‘Stop saying “literally”.’

  ‘But she LITERALLY can,’ said Mally.

  ‘I know!’ said Dylan. ‘It’s your favourite excuse to risk … nothing. All the danger in our lives happens entirely on my property.’

  ‘Danger,’ said Mally.

  ‘Trespass is danger!’ said Dylan.

  ‘Your property,’ said Mally, mimicking his voice. ‘Cut to: your parents lying dead in the kitchen and you, clutching their will in your fist and shaking it in the air in triumph.’

  ‘“Literally I’m going to choke to death on ducks,”’ said Dylan, mimicking Mally’s voice.

  They both laughed.

  They kept running until they came to the trees that curved around the chapel.

  ‘Do you have the key?’ said Mally.

  ‘Yes!’ said Dylan. ‘See? Theft is also dangerous.’

  ‘Forgive us our trespasses,’ said Mally, joining her hands and looking up.

  Dylan turned the key in the door.

  ‘I love that you have a chapel,’ said Mally.

  Dylan glanced back at her. ‘You love that we have a confession box.’

  ‘Terry totally thought we were having sex in there,’ said Mally.

  ‘He was probably all “is nothing sacred anymore?”.’ Said Dylan.

  Mally held her hand to her heart. ‘The truth,’ she said. ‘The truth is always sacred.’

  ‘Well, I confess,’ said Dylan, ‘that recently, I’ve been lying quite a lot to my parents.’

  They high-fived each other. ‘Anxiety,’ said Mally, ‘the Get Out of Jail Card that keeps on giving.’

  ‘Oh my God – you’re so mean!’ said Dylan. ‘I do have anxiety!’

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Mally, ‘but some of it is fake news. You’re lucky your mom is so nice.’ She paused. ‘But I do think your dad is onto you. I try to frighten him away with my glare when he gets too close to the truth.’

  17

  DYLAN

  Pilgrim Point

  17 November 2018

  Dylan was kneeling in the confession box, shifting his weight from side to side before finally settling.

  ‘You wouldn’t want to have had a lot of sins,’ he said.

  ‘No, my child,’ said Mally, looking up from the opposite side. She slid back the grille, and made a sign of the cross.

  Dylan passed an XLR cable through to her. She took it, and plugged it into a large diaphragm microphone, set on a small stand in front of her.

  ‘Ready?’ said Dylan.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mally, pulling her long, dirty-blond hair back, twisting a red elastic band around it. ‘Yes, I am. The fashion-backward ponytail is in place. Which means business.’

  Dylan pulled on a pair of Bose headphones, and checked his laptop screen. ‘Say something,’ he said.

  ‘Sinnah!’ boomed Mally. ‘I cast out—’

  ‘Shhh!’ said Dylan, staring up at her, wide-eyed. ‘We’ll get caught.’

  ‘Sorr-ee,’ she said, shrugging. ‘I just … the power!’ She gestured around her. ‘It’s going to my head. You common penitent.’ She paused. ‘Or are you … penitent?’

  ‘That’s better,’ said Dylan. ‘I’ve got your levels.’ He hit the track pad, and a red dot appeared on screen. He nodded.

  Mally started to speak:

  ‘You are listening to episode one of the true crime podcast: Girl Eleven, Girl Sixteen: The Jessie Crossan Story.

  ‘On July thirtieth, 1983, in the small fishing town of Castletownbere on the Beara Peninsula in Cork, an eleven-year-old girl put on her pyjamas, got into bed, and wrote in her diary about the wonderful day she had just had. It was the first Saturday of Regatta week – the high point of Beara’s social calendar – when the town is filled with people, the harbour is filled with boats, and the pier glows with the multicoloured lights of the funfair.

  ‘Jessie’s “Best Day of the Year” had begun at breakfast when she got to open an early birthday gift from her aunt in America. That afternoon, Jessie danced in a talent contest on the square. She didn’t win, but, in her heart, she did. She closed her diary, turned out the light, and went to sleep a happy girl. It was eight thirty p.m.

  ‘Three hours later, Jessie’s father was to walk into her room to discover his daughter’s almost lifeless body, lying on her now blood-soaked bed. Jessie had been beaten, raped, and stabbed multiple times. There were no signs of forced entry. And her rapist was never caught.

  ‘Though Jessie survived he
r horrific attack, she was not to live for much longer. Five years later – on Hallowe’en Night, 1988, Jessie lost her life in a fire that tore through a derelict building in the grounds of the Sisters of Good Grace Convent on nearby Pilgrim Point.

  ‘Jessie’s parents, devastated by their daughter’s rape, were already under strain, and their marriage did not survive the trauma of her death. Her mother moved away, never to return, and passed away in 2004. Jessie’s father, Kevin, remained in Beara. Where fathers in similar circumstances might hound detectives investigating the case, Kevin seemed to come to terms with the possibility that Jessie’s rapist would never be found. Some would say the fight drained out of him through the cracks in his broken heart. Others would say that it was not in Kevin’s interest for the guards to find the culprit. Sadly, it was under that cloud of suspicion Kevin Crossan lived until his passing in 2017.

  ‘It seemed there was no one left to fight for justice for Jessie. Until a new sergeant came to town. Known for her keen eye and her methodical approach to investigations, Valerie James was a newly promoted sergeant when she moved from Cork city with her family to start a new life in the close-knit community.

  ‘James inherited the Jessie Crossan rape case – a case long-since gone cold. With daughters of her own, James felt a particular resonance with the case and vowed that Jessie’s rapist would be brought to justice.

  ‘But conscious of being a stranger in a small town and with no local connections, this was a vow James shared with only her family and a small circle of trusted friends. If she were to solve this case, she would have to separate the facts – the physical evidence, forensic evidence, sworn statements – from the conjecture and rumour that, in a small town, can often be mistaken for the truth.

  ‘How do I know all this? I am Mally James. And the woman who made that vow is … my mother.’

  Mally spread her arms, and bowed. She took a drink from her Diet Coke, and stretched her legs.

  ‘The acoustics are awesome,’ said Dylan. ‘It’s the insulation panels.’

  ‘Mally looked at him. ‘Stolen insulation panels, my child.’

  ‘Borrowed,’ said Dylan. ‘It’s not like we attached them to the walls.’

  ‘So,’ said Mally, ‘What do you think?’

  ‘The “How do I know all this?” is lame. So is the sentence about the cracks in the heart. And some of it is a tiny bit too dramatic.’

  ‘But it IS dramatic,’ said Mally. ‘And so sad. I feel like I know her now.’

  ‘That’s because you keep asking Mom about her. “Hey, Edie, love your make-up, so what about that dead friend …?”’

  ‘Dark,’ said Mally.

  ‘Plus, by the way, your mom obviously doesn’t trust my parents because they haven’t a clue – pun intended – about this vow she made.’

  ‘But I’m sure they want the guy to get caught too,’ said Mally, ‘so they’d be delighted Mam was being so secretive.’

  ‘Unlike her daughter,’ said Dylan. ‘She would go mental if she knew what you were up to.’

  ‘It’s a college assignment,’ said Mally. ‘It’s not like it’s a court case and I’m like emailing a link to the jurors. It’s only for my lecturer.’

  ‘Your journalist lecturer?’ said Dylan.

  ‘Ooh,’ said Mally, ‘I forgot that part. But I won’t do it if it’s not confidential obviously. But if I can do it, that means when Mam does solve the case, he’s going to be like pointing at me from the top of the class going, “This one breaks stories! First for her!”’

  ‘Or,’ said Dylan, ‘he’ll be “Mally James: Future Journalist Most Likely to Be Fired/Jailed/Shot because of Poor/Illegal/Both Journalistic Practices.”’

  ‘I’m literally on the pilot episode and you’re shooting me down. It’s not like I’m doing a whole series closely following the progress on the case.’

  ‘Oh my God – you totally are! Nosing through your mom’s files the whole time.’

  ‘I meant not following it “out loud” – like, in my assignment.’

  ‘Everything you said there was true,’ said Dylan. ‘Your mom would go nuts.’

  ‘Well, that’s the risk you take when you leave your curious daughter – I heard that too – when you leave your inquisitive daughter at your desk in the station while going to find your purse to give her money for her lunch.’

  ‘Yeah – what a bitch.’

  ‘And I haven’t nosed in a while. Which is killing me.’ She paused. ‘OK – can I read you the new developments bit? It’s not quite finished.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not recording. We have to go.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ said Mally, checking her notes. ‘Right: the first new development is the kind that one usually sees in reverse: a missing box of evidence – which included items of Jessie’s clothing – reappeared. As DNA testing was not available to investigators in 1983, this has opened up the possibility that a DNA profile of Jessie’s attacker could be obtained.

  ‘The second development came from the same box of evidence – in the form of Jessie’s diary. A seemingly insignificant detail was discovered by Sergeant James in the last entry Jessie made – only hours before the rape. In it, Jessie mentioned three pairs of underpants sent to her as part of her birthday gift by her aunt in America. When Sergeant James went to check the items of clothing taken into evidence, she discovered that not only was the underwear not there, neither was there any record of them in the inventory of items taken away from Jessie’s bedroom that night: a pyjama top, matching shorts and a hair band. In Jessie’s mother’s statement at the time, she said it was Jessie’s habit to wear either a nightdress or a pyjama top and bottoms to bed, but that she did not wear underwear. To Sergeant James, this meant that this rapist may, perhaps, have taken away trophies from the scene.’

  ‘That is beyond creepy,’ said Dylan.

  They heard a rattle at the chapel door.

  ‘Who’s that?’ said Mally.

  ‘How would I know?’ said Dylan. ‘Not my parents, anyway – there’s no way they’d be back from Cork yet.’

  ‘Hello? Hello?’ It was a man’s voice.

  ‘It’s Terry,’ said Dylan. ‘We’re dead.’

  18

  Murph stood up from the dining-room table and reached out to Laura. ‘Come with me.’

  She frowned. ‘Where?’

  ‘Just do as you’re told,’ said Murph, taking her hand.

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Laura.

  ‘Shhht.’

  As they walked down the hallway, Terry was coming towards them. He slowed.

  ‘Did you see Johnny, lads?’

  ‘He’s around somewhere,’ said Murph.

  ‘How are ye enjoying the night?’ said Terry.

  ‘Grand out,’ said Laura, without breaking her stride.

  Terry nodded as they passed.

  Murph laughed when they were out of earshot. ‘“Grand out” meaning “Fuck you”!’

  ‘Good enough for him, the skeevy bollocks,’ said Laura.

  Terry met Johnny coming up the stairs to the basement. A flash of irritation crossed Johnny’s face.

  ‘I had to come in,’ said Terry, shrugging. ‘I couldn’t find you. Have you five minutes? There’s something you need to see in the chapel.’

  Murph held open the door to the honesty bar for Laura and she walked through. He turned on the flashlight on his phone and started checking each bottle, tilting the labels into the light to read them. He glanced back at Laura.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I’m taking you on holiday. We are going on the Pisco.’ He held up a bottle of 1615 Pisco Torontel. ‘I’m assuming you went to Peru on these South American travels of yours.’

  Laura’s eyes lit up. ‘Ah, Murph – you’re a dote.’

  He put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. ‘Well – it might take you back. But I’m hoping it’ll take you forward too.’

  She looked up at him.

  ‘Don’t shut your life down, girl,’ he sai
d. ‘You’ve another fifty years in you, yet. Nothing to stop you.’ He paused. ‘Apart from those shite-looking kids.’

  Laura laughed. Murph poured the drinks, and raised his glass. ‘The life!’

  ‘The soul.’

  ‘The ass.’

  ‘The hole.’ They clinked glasses.

  He gestured to the window. ‘Madame, a seat? Overlooking the pitch-black?’

  They sat opposite each other, and drifted into a brief silence.

  ‘Do you not think it’s fucked up, though?’ said Laura. ‘That they bought this place? After everything …’

  ‘But you know Edie,’ said Murph. ‘Look at the renovation job she did on Johnny.’

  Laura laughed.

  ‘Mind you,’ said Murph, ‘I think he’s already started the demolition job.’

  ‘Ah, leave him alone,’ said Laura. ‘In fairness, the place always gave me the creeps, even when I was a child. I’d hear Dad talk to Mam about it when it was an industrial school and he’d be called up to “put manners” on the boys – that’s what Consolata would say to him. There were a couple of “Houdinis” he’d call them. He was told they were under “strict supervision” by one of the Brothers but they’d still manage to get out and they’d be found wandering the roads or drinking down in The Anchor. He said it was the boys making a big show of saying their prayers were the biggest brats. They’d be in and out of the chapel the whole time, Consolata thinking she was doing the Lord’s work. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out how they got out, except for one of the Brothers being in on it.’

  ‘Sure, of course they were,’ said Murph.

  Laura eyed him. ‘Are you getting any weird kind of vibe tonight?’

  ‘No,’ said Murph. ‘What kind of vibe?’

  ‘Between Johnny and Patrick,’ said Laura.

  ‘I thought you were going to say, “Johnny and Edie.”’

  ‘What?’ said Laura. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘No – I just wanted to shit-stir. But no – I’m not getting a weird vibe anywhere.’

  ‘I’d say Johnny’s not too happy not being the fittest man in the room.’

  Murph sucked in a breath. ‘Harsh.’ He sat back and looked around, stopping at Johnny and Edie’s wedding photo on the sideboard, gesturing to it with his glass. ‘Do you think they’ll make it to twenty-five?’

 

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