Look Closer

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘Will!’

  He jumped as the detective’s hand slapped the table and raised his eyes.

  ‘How the hell did you trick Amy into helping you?’ he said. ‘What happened? Did you latch onto her at university? Realise she was an asset?’ He stood and began to pace the room. ‘Did you even stop to think of the danger you’d be putting her in? Just to expose Rossiter the way you did? For Christ’s sake, Will! She was your girlfriend – or didn’t that mean anything to you?’

  ’She wasn’t my girlfriend.’

  ‘What?’ Lake stopped pacing. ‘What did you say?’

  Will sighed. ‘She wasn’t my girlfriend.’

  ‘Since when? She gets shot, ends up in a coma, and dies – and you decide to move on and sleep with Erin, is that the way this goes?’

  ‘No. She wasn’t my girlfriend.’ Will stared at the detective, his arms crossed.

  The man moved closer and leaned on the table.

  ‘Then who the hell was she, Will?’

  ‘My sister.’

  43

  Belfast, Northern Ireland – Autumn 1999

  Everyone turned at a surprised shout from the hallway.

  The boy’s sister suddenly appeared from the living room where she’d been hiding, raced into the kitchen, and levelled a kick at the leader’s head as he bent down to strike her father once more.

  The gangster roared in pain, rose from his crouching position, and launched across the room at the girl, where she’d retreated to a corner next to the pantry.

  Grabbing her by the arm, he pushed her hard, towards her mother.

  Except that the force of his anger carried her momentum past the arms of her mother.

  Instead, the little girl stumbled, lost her balance, and fell against the edge of the kitchen table.

  She crumpled into a heap on the floor, where she lay unmoving.

  A deadly silence filled the room before the boy’s mother began to wail as she crawled across the floor to her daughter.

  ‘Oh my god, what have you done? What have you done?’ the boy’s father cried. He began to raise himself up off the floor, wiping blood from his nose and mouth as he tried to steady his rocking body.

  The leader crossed the floor in a heartbeat and planted his boot in the small of the man’s back, forcing him to the ground once more.

  ‘Stay still, you bastard. We haven’t finished with you yet.’

  The boy’s eyes widened as his mother reached his sister and gathered the girl’s motionless body to her. As she gently turned the girl’s face, the boy noticed the deep cut to the girl’s forehead, an angry red line that started at her eyebrow and tapered towards her hairline.

  ‘My baby, my poor baby,’ his mother wailed.

  The girl’s eyes remained closed, her face immobile and devoid of expression. To the boy, she appeared to be sleeping.

  ‘Is she breathing?’ asked his father, his voice muffled through broken teeth. ‘Can you feel a heartbeat?’

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ The younger intruder’s voice floated from the front door. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Shut up. Just stay where you are.’ The shorter of the three intruders turned his attention back to the boy’s mother and sister.

  He bent down next to the mother and prised away her hands. ‘Let me see.’

  The woman slapped his hands away. ‘Stay away from her, you bastard. Don’t you touch my baby.’

  He hit her face, the sound reverberating around the kitchen.

  She rocked back on her feet in shock, and he took that moment to pluck the unconscious girl from her lap.

  The boy watched, stunned, as the man ripped open the collar of the little girl’s jumper and placed his fingers against her neck.

  ‘Still a pulse,’ he grunted. ‘She’s just out cold.’

  ‘She needs an ambulance!’ begged the boy’s father. ‘For pity’s sake – let us call an ambulance for her!’

  He cried out in pain as the leader’s boot turned against his skin.

  ‘We’re not calling an ambulance,’ the man hissed. ‘Not until we’ve finished with you.’

  He bent down and hauled the boy’s father to his feet. ‘Now, where have you hidden the photograph, eh? Where do we find it?’

  The boy’s father staggered, his head lolling to one side. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he whispered.

  ‘So be it,’ said the gangster. He removed a gun from his waistband and slammed the butt of it across the man’s cheek bone, then aimed a punch at the man’s stomach.

  The small boy glared at the masked man, his fists clenched, and rushed at the gangster’s leader.

  ‘Leave my dad alone!’ Will collided with the back of his legs and pushed him off balance.

  The man grunted in surprise, and the boy’s father stepped forward, knocking his arm upwards.

  The sound of gunfire exploded in the small space.

  Will’s mother screamed, while the shorter of the three thugs rushed to help his accomplice.

  ‘Are you shot? Did the bastard shoot you?’

  The leader shoved him away and swung round to face the boy’s father who was backed against the kitchen sink, panting, his eyes wide.

  Will watched as both men glanced at the ceiling, a small hole raining plaster dust onto the kitchen tiles between them.

  Then the leader swung the gun across his father’s face once more.

  Blood sprayed across the kitchen cabinet and he cried out, clutching his mouth and nose.

  The thug then swept round to face Will and backhanded him across his cheek before shoving him hard.

  Will stumbled, and cried out as his backside hit the kitchen floor, the shock jarring his hips.

  ‘Please, stop it – don’t hurt them!’ cried his mother. ‘Whatever it is you want, please – just take it, then go!’

  ‘Boss, we’re out of time – the neighbours will have heard the shot,’ murmured the shorter man. ‘We’ll have to take him with us.’

  The leader tucked his gun back into the waistband of his jeans, then grabbed the boy’s father roughly and spun him round to face the back door. ‘Move.’

  He turned and shouted over his shoulder to the youngest of the three, still standing at the front door. ‘We’re leaving – come on.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Billy – go back inside!’ urged his father as he was dragged down the garden towards the back gate. ‘Look after your sister – get help for her!’

  His words were faint under the torrential rain, a cold wind howling through the back yards of the terraced houses, sending debris flying in the air.

  ‘Daddy!’

  ‘I love you, Billy…’

  His words were cut short as the leader punched him in the stomach and he collapsed onto the grass, gasping.

  The men opened the back gate and then returned for the boy’s father, dragging him from the ground and balancing his weight between them.

  ‘Go, go!’ urged the leader. ‘Down the alleyway – he’s waiting at the car for us!’

  ‘Daddy!’ screamed Will and stepped from the warmth of the kitchen. ‘No!’

  He began to run after the men who were pushing his father through the gate, but then stopped as the leader spun on his heel and aimed the gun at him.

  ‘Stay there, boy, or I swear to God I’ll put a bullet through your skull.’

  Will slid to the ground, and then whimpered as urine trickled down his legs.

  The man nodded. ‘That’s right, boy. Stay where you are.’ He turned and ran after his accomplices.

  Will began to sob, huge choking cries that wracked his small frame. He tumbled from the back step and crossed the wet grass, his hair and clothing soaked in seconds.

  He ignored the cold seeping through his socks and hurried to the back gate. He slowed as he approached, then stopped and peered round the frame.

  Four shadowy figures, one stumbling between the arms of two others, reached the end of the alleyway, their silhouette
s muted by the rain-filled pyramids of street lighting.

  A car skidded to a stop in front of them, and the boy watched as his father was shoved into the back seat, and the three attackers jumped into the vehicle before it sped away.

  It was only then that Will’s attention was drawn back to the house, and the sound of his mother’s wailing.

  He ran back to the open kitchen door and stepped inside, water pooling around his feet.

  His mother sat on the floor, his sister cradled in her arms. Blood pooled from the cut above the small girl’s eyebrow, and she lay still, as if asleep.

  His head twitched round as a pounding began on the front door, shouts beyond from the neighbours trying to enter.

  ‘Get them, Billy – let them in!’ urged his mother. ‘Tell them to call an ambulance!’

  Will raced from the room and down the hallway. He swallowed as he reached for the latch and regret consumed him.

  If only he hadn’t opened the door. If only he’d been braver and attacked the masked man sooner. If only…

  Mr Matthews from next door stood on the front step, his face ashen. ‘Billy – what on earth’s happened?’

  Behind him, four other men, also neighbours, peered over his shoulder. One carried a baseball bat.

  As the shock of the past few minutes taking over his emotions, Will’s bottom lip trembled. He pointed towards the kitchen and stepped back as the men pushed by and went to his mother’s aid.

  As the voices from the kitchen washed over him, Will slumped to the floor in the hallway, the front door still open, his robot toy abandoned, forgotten.

  In the distance, a siren began to wail, and he let the tears streak down his face as the emergency services drew closer.

  44

  Will unfolded his arms and leaned on the table as the detective pulled out his chair and ran his hand over his face.

  ‘Keep talking.’

  ‘After dad was taken, our mum fell to pieces. Sure, the neighbours helped where they could, but I got into trouble at school – truancy, that sort of thing. About a year later, one of mum’s cousins turned up and took us all back to England to live with her. In a way, it was good – it got mum the care she needed.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘It felt like they were trying to forget dad,’ said Will. ‘It was like they were trying to pretend it didn’t happen.’

  ‘Maybe they were scared?’

  Will snorted. ‘Of course they were.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘It was pretty obvious that the police were never going to find out what happened to my dad, so when I was about fifteen, I mentioned to Amy that perhaps we should try.’ He smiled. ‘She was really into her mystery books and already talking about going to university, so I encouraged her. Suggested she look at becoming a journalist.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘She was a natural.’

  ‘So you waited until she got out of university, then turned her loose, is that it?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘What did you do in the meantime?’

  ‘Kept my head down and my eyes and ears open. We had scraps of information – things we’d overheard as kids, stuff the police would tell mum when they phoned with updates. Amy started researching archived newspaper articles about organised crime in Northern Ireland back when the peace accord negotiations were taking place – Belfast was rife with armed gangs. Some of the names sounded familiar, so we started there and she began to establish a pattern.’

  ‘Which is how she traced Mack.’

  ‘I guess.’

  Lake took a sip of water, and then turned the glass in his hand. ‘What I don’t understand, Will, is if she had all this information, why didn’t she tell you? Why send you cryptic messages and send you running round half the country to piece this together once she’d been shot? What went wrong?’

  Will looked down at his hands. ‘We had a disagreement on Sunday night.’

  ‘What sort of disagreement?’

  Will sighed. ‘It was stupid, just one of those stupid arguments that happen.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She wouldn’t tell me what she’d found out because she was scared what I would do with that information.’ He picked up the robot toy and turned it in his hand. ‘She was worried that I’d kill whoever killed our dad.’

  Lake leaned back in his chair and stared at Will. ‘And would you?’

  ‘At the time, I was pretty angry, yeah.’ He paused. ‘But in hindsight, what Amy proposed made a lot more sense. I was going to tell her Monday morning that she was right, that I’d do what she said.’ He wiped his eyes. ‘She was a great reporter. It would have made her a star.’ He sniffled. ‘But when I went to apologise, she’d already gone. I didn’t get the chance,’ he whispered.

  The detective moved across the room, picked up a box of tissues from a corner cabinet, and slid it across the table to Will.

  ‘I’m not even going to bother trying to tell you that you should’ve brought everything you had to us,’ he said.

  Will nodded, pulled a tissue from the box, and blew his nose. ‘I know we should have,’ he said. ‘But trust me when you’ve spent most of your life listening to people tell you they can’t help, that they can’t do anything for you, you give up – or fix it yourself.’

  ‘Did you know Mack was going to go to Rossiter’s house?’

  Will shook his head. ‘I thought Rossiter’s men found Mack and took him there.’

  ‘So you’ve never seen this?’

  Will’s eyes opened wide as the detective pushed a plastic bag across the table towards him. Inside, a revolver shone under the plastic, despite the white forensic powder that blotched its surface in places.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Should I have?’

  The policeman’s lips pursed and he pushed a second plastic wallet across the desk.

  Will recognised the photograph. It was the one Mack had given to him, the one he’d handed over to the detective on their arrival at the police station.

  The one his dad had taken.

  He blinked, not understanding.

  ‘It’s the same gun, Will.’

  He glanced across at the detective, then reached out, picked up the plastic wallet, and squinted at the image.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Lake leaned back in his chair. ‘In fact, as we speak, my colleagues are talking with our counterparts in Northern Ireland about a cold case they have. A businessman who turned up dead several years ago, a single gunshot wound to his head.’

  He leaned forward and tapped the photograph, then the gun.

  ‘I’m not usually a betting man, Mr Fletcher, but I’ll wager the ballistics match this gun.’

  Will sensed the pieces falling into place. ‘Mack never meant to shoot Rossiter, did he?’ he said in wonder.

  The detective shook his head. ‘I don’t believe so, no. I think he wanted to make sure that gun was in Rossiter’s possession when we turned up.’ The policeman gathered the evidence bags together. ‘I don’t think even he imagined that Rossiter would take his own life.’

  ‘Mack didn’t shoot him?’

  ‘No. Rossiter panicked,’ said Lake. ‘Caught us all by surprise. The moment he realised he was going to be placed under arrest, he shot himself.’

  Will exhaled, a wave of relief engulfing him. ‘So Mack’s free to leave?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said the detective. He folded his arms on the table. ‘Mack’s been a wanted man for years, Will. He’s not innocent. He did some pretty bad things in his time.’

  Will opened his mouth to ask what Mack had done, then thought better of it. ‘What will happen to him?’

  ‘He’s been formally charged.’ Lake rubbed a hand across his eyes, and Will realised for the first time how exhausted the policeman looked. ‘Given his past track record, he’s going to be looking at a long sentence.’

  ‘You know he has cancer?’

  Lake nodded. ‘And he’ll get looked after by the prison authorities; don’t
worry. In fact,’ he sighed. ‘He’ll probably last longer in prison than he would have in that damp two-up two-down he was renting.’ He leaned forward. ‘Is there anything else you need to tell me, Will?’

  Will shook his head.

  ‘I need you to state that out loud,’ said Lake, pointing at the recorder.

  ‘No,’ said Will. ‘There’s nothing else. That’s it.’ He reached for another tissue and wiped his eyes, drained of all emotion.

  The detective stopped the voice recorder, stood, and motioned Will towards the door. ‘One of our people will be in touch once this has been typed up,’ he said. ‘You’re welcome to go and wait in the cafeteria on the second floor – there’s a television there and magazines. You’ll be asked to read through the statement and sign it.’

  ‘And Erin?’

  ‘She’s been speaking to a female police officer. We have her statement as well.’ He led Will along the corridor. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where you can wait.’

  Will followed him towards the elevators, their footsteps muted on the faded blue carpet.

  As they turned the corner into the reception area, his gaze found Erin’s, and she rose from her seat, her face pale.

  He met her halfway, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her hair.

  ‘It’s over,’ he whispered.

  She raised her eyes to his. ‘Thank you.’

  They moved towards the cafeteria, the senior policeman showing them where to find the coffee machine before leaving them alone with the instruction they were to stay in the room until he returned.

  Will waited until Erin had sat, then fetched them a hot drink and switched on the small television in the corner.

  Grabbing the remote control, he joined her at the table and sifted through the channels, surfing aimlessly between the programmes.

  ‘Wait.’ Erin’s hand hovered over the remote. ‘Go back.’

  Will pressed the button until a news bulletin appeared, the familiar red and white logo next to the reporter’s face, and turned up the volume.

  ‘Sources close to Mr Rossiter’s political party are currently unavailable for comment regarding the allegations that appeared in the newspaper earlier this morning. However we understand that Mr Rossiter was wounded in a home invasion last night…’