He laughed.
“Okay.” She swallowed, brain scrambling madly. “I’ll show you. They’re on the other side of the castle. West wing. Do you know where that is?”
He made an impatient gesture, then tugged at her hair again, pulling her head back at a horizontal angle. “If this is a bloody trick…”
“It’s no trick.” A sudden image of the narrow ledge and the churning ocean made her feel faint. She took a breath. Her shirt hung open, her jeans unzipped. Fitzpatrick’s hand clutched her hair. “Listen, Hugh. There’s no electricity over there and it’s about the temperature of Antarctica. Could I at least get my jacket?”
“You’ll live.” He yanked her to her feet. “Let’s go.”
His hand still holding her hair, she led him up the main staircase, along a narrow hallway and out onto a wide gallery that looked down over the main hall. Not sure she even remembered how to get to the west tower, she started down one corridor, up another. Her body shook so hard, it ached. Down more stairs and then into the dank corridors leading to the west tower.
Her pulse quickened. With a deep breath, she pushed open the heavy door leading into the tower. Instantly they were plunged into blackness. A blast of damp air struck her face. Behind her, Fitzpatrick stumbled on something, fell and let go of her hair.
Instantly, she broke loose, bolted down the corridor. Faster, faster, her breath pumping. Muscles screaming. Blind in the darkness. Another corridor, around the corner. A wall at the end. Fitzpatrick’s footsteps behind her. She felt along the wall for the heavy wooden door. Steel bolts on it, she remembered. Where was it? Fitzpatrick’s footsteps coming closer. Then her fingers touched the metal bolts.
As she pulled open the wooden door, she felt his fingers brush her hair and then the door slammed behind her. Salt air hit her face like a slap. Far below the narrow ledge on which she stood, she heard the roar of the ocean against the rocks. Panting, she flattened herself against the wall. In the pitch darkness, she could see nothing but the faint phosphorescence of the water. And then the door burst open and Fitzpatrick’s scream echoed in the darkness. Relief washed over her.
And then a hand gripped her ankle.
FEELING LIKE A CARICATURE of every prisoner he’d seen in the westerns he’d once watched, Niall peered through the bars on the holding cell. They’d taken his watch when they brought him in, but he guessed four or five hours had passed—filled mostly with telephone discussions with the solicitor. Now he tried to make out the time on the clock at the far end of the corridor. Nearly seven, as close as he could tell.
God, it was so damn ironic. Just that morning in bed with Kate, he’d wondered how he could keep her in his life forever. Now she was probably somewhere over the Atlantic.
He peered up and down the corridor. He didn’t even have her number back in the States. Annie would have it, he would ring her as soon as they let him out. They would let him out. His solicitor had assured him of that.
Deep in thought, he didn’t hear Michael Riordan approach the cell.
“You’re free to leave at any time.” Riordan unlocked the cell door and pulled it open. “But first I’d like to offer my apologies and fill you in on what’s happened.”
Niall followed Riordan to a small office at one end of the station.
“Sit down, will you.” Riordan moved to the chair behind his desk. “It appears likely that Hugh Fitzpatrick murdered Elizabeth.”
“Fitzpatrick?” Niall rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and stared at the sergeant. “Hugh Fitzpatrick?”
“It appears so. We’ve been watching him all week. Talked to all those young lads who congregate in Dooley’s. A few things Fitzpatrick told us about his whereabouts Monday night didn’t quite add up, and we had it from a couple of sources that he’d bragged about…” Riordan cleared his throat. “Apparently Elizabeth had been quite generous with her favors.”
Niall nodded, thinking over what Riordan had told him. Hugh had openly accused him of Moruadh’s murder. Framing him for Elizabeth’s was probably an act of revenge.
“Hugh’s been very keen to have you arrested,” Riordan said. “And after we picked you up this morning, he was down here at the station going on about how he’d known it all along and, well, a few things he said made us suspect we’d got the wrong man behind bars.”
“Where is Hugh now?” Niall asked.
Riordan shrugged. “When we went to the newspaper office to bring him in for questioning, he was nowhere to be found. His car’s parked outside, but no sign of him. No doubt realized we were onto him and he’s hiding somewhere. We’ve got men out looking for him though.”
Niall thought of the doll, which was almost certainly Hugh’s work. Thought again of Kate. As much as he’d wanted her to stay in Ireland, he hoped to God that she’d caught her flight. He used the phone on Riordan’s desk to call Annie.
“I thought she’d decided to stay in Sligo,” Annie said. “Her flight would have left hours ago, but her suitcases and most of her clothes are still here.”
RIORDAN DROVE HIM to the castle. Rufus was out in front, barking. Kate’s Peugeot was there, parked next to the Land Rover. In an instant, Niall was out of the car, his feet crunching on the gravel. As he pulled open the unlocked front door, he felt his face freeze. The great hall looked as though a child with a tantrum had been through it. Broken lamps on the floor, up-ended chairs. A small table on its side.
As if in a dream, Niall bent to pick up a yellow ribbon. He’d seen it that morning in Kate’s hair. He walked with it in his hand over to the couch. Something glittered on the rug. A tiny glass button. Blindly, no direction in mind, he ran up the stairs to the first floor, calling Kate’s name.
His brain mapping the castle, he tore through the maze of rooms and corridors. From the state of the great hall, she must have been trying to get away from Fitzpatrick. Was she hiding? He yelled her name again. Did Fitzpatrick have her locked away? He tried to remember the areas he’d shown her. The studio. Convinced for a moment that he would find her there, he flung open the door. As he called out her name, he almost smiled in anticipation. But the room was empty, no sign that she’d been there.
He started down the corridor to the west tower. At the heavy door to the ruined banquet hall, he paused. Kate knew that Moruadh’s papers were in the room on the other side, but she’d nearly fainted in broad daylight. Alone, in the dark of night, she wouldn’t try to cross that narrow ledge. He started back down the corridor, retracing the steps he’d taken, then stopped. Would she? Nothing Kate did would surprise him.
A few moments later, he pushed open the door and felt the gust of wind and sea on his face. He peered into the darkness. Even in bright daylight, it was difficult to see much. When he called out her name, his voice was lost in the roar of the water. Torn with indecision, he edged a few feet along the ledge. An image of the upturned furniture downstairs flashed across his brain. He was wasting his time. She wasn’t here. Meanwhile, Fitzpatrick could be doing God knows what to her.
“Kate.” He held his hands to his mouth. “Kate.”
Nothing. He waited for a moment, then turned back.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AFTER A WHILE, Kate lost all track of time. She had no idea how many hours had passed. Reality was the stone wall behind her, the narrow ledge on which she stood. Reality was the ocean crashing hundreds of feet below. The sound of it filling her ears. Reality was blackness. Blackness above, below, all around. Blackness punctuated every so often by forked lightning.
Reality was numbing, paralyzing terror. She’d managed to shake her ankle free from Fitzpatrick’s grasp, but she had no idea whether he’d fallen or managed to scramble up the rocks. She braced her back against the wall, terrified that the slightest movement would either draw his attention or send her tumbling to the rocks below.
All she had to do, she told herself over and over, was hold on. Hold on and stay alert. Eventually, it would be morning and, in the light, she could back out. Deep breaths, don’t lo
ok down. Stay back against the wall.
More lightning. A moment of crackling silence and then a roar of thunder exploded in her ears. People made it through incredible ordeals. She tried to think of some. After the San Francisco earthquake, they’d found a man in his car under the collapsed Oakland Bay Bridge. Alive three days later. Avalanches, too. People lost in the desert. A raft on the ocean.
If Fitzpatrick was dead, she could make it. All she had to do was hold on. Wait for the light. If she survived this, nothing would ever frighten her again. And she would tell Niall—again—that she loved him.
“NO, SIR, still no sign of her,” the Garda said. “No sign of Fitzpatrick, either. We’ve had men all over the castle and we have the dogs out on the grounds at this moment.”
Niall nodded. In a daze, it occurred to him that the great hall was full of people. Gardai all over the place. Detectives. Annie. Caitlin. People kept saying things to him. Asking questions. He walked to the window. Gardai cars, two of them in the rainy morning light. Another coming up the hill. Someone said his name.
“Drink this.” Annie held out a cup of tea. “There are a dozen men looking for her, Mr. Maguire. All you can do at the moment is wait.”
He stared at her.
“Come on, sit down.”
He shook his head. Unable to stand the inactivity, he decided to try the west tower again. Five minutes later, the echo of his feet on the stone floors of the west tower rang in his ears. Then he stopped. At the end of the corridor, outside the door to the banquet hall, he saw her slumped against the wall.
FITZPATRICK WAS ATTACKING HER AGAIN. She felt him catch her arm. Breathing hard, she tried to fight the blackness. She couldn’t lose it now. Screaming and flailing out with her arms and legs, she pulled free. Teeth clenched, she kicked him with all the strength she could muster.
“God, Kate. Take it easy, will you? It’s me, Niall.”
“Niall?” It was Niall’s voice. She peered at him, saw him as if in a dream. Niall’s face. Niall doubled in pain. “Niall, are you…I thought you were in jail.”
“I was.” He straightened with obvious effort. “It might have been wiser to stay there.”
“God, I’m sorry. Are you okay—”
“I am.” He gave a wry smile. “Just don’t expect a dazzling performance anytime soon.” Then he caught her shoulders, stared into her eyes. “God, Kate. I was beside myself. Are you okay? Did Fitzpatrick…where is he?”
She shook her head. “I brought Rufus back and I thought I’d get Moruadh’s note. Hugh chased me into the west wing and then…” Suddenly the horror of it washed over her and she started to shake. “He pushed Elizabeth. He admitted it. I played this trick on him, it was the only way I could get away.” Her teeth started chattering. “I wanted to get the note from Moruadh’s office, but I couldn’t do it…”
He took off his leather jacket, wrapped it around her shoulders and kissed her on the forehead.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
HE TOOK HER BACK to Annie’s where she slept for ten hours. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw a ring of anxious faces around her. Niall on the edge of the bed, Annie and Caitlin in the doorway. Michael Riordan.
“Break it to me gently, guys,” she said. “Did I die?”
Niall grinned, but his face was pale, unshaven. “No, but Hollywood called. They’re remaking The Perils of Pauline and you’ve got the starring role.”
“You’ll be fine,” Annie said. “You’ve just had an awful scare, but you’ll be up and around in no time. Now, I can’t say the same for this lad.” She nodded in Niall’s direction. “He’s been going around like death warmed up. Gave us all a bit of a fright, you did.”
Niall stroked her hair. “Do you need to sleep some more? We can leave you alone.”
“She needs to eat something,” Annie said. “A soft-boiled egg, Katie? And some buttered toast?”
“Or bouillabaisse,” Niall said. “Have I told you about the fine bouillabaisse I make?
“Yeah, I think you might have mentioned it. I’d probably die of starvation before you ever got it ready.” She smiled into his eyes, swept by a huge rush of emotion. For a moment they were the only people in the room.
“You’re an incredible girl. You know that?” His eyes lingered on her face. “I still can’t believe what you did.” He looked at the group in the doorway. “Kate doesn’t have much of a head for heights.”
“That’s an understatement,” Kate said, then winced in pain. “I just about passed out the first time I went up there.”
“And you trying to run from Hugh, too.” Annie’s face was somber. “Holy Mother of God.” She shook her head. “I still can’t take it all in. That someone I’ve known since he was a boy would be capable of such a thing. All the rejection just affected his brain and that’s all there is to it. Not that I’m excusing him, mind you.” She came over to the bed, peered again into the water jug on the table, smoothed the bedspread. “A good thing it was that you didn’t listen to me, Katie. Lucky for you, too,” she said, with a smile at Niall.
Kate looked at him. “When did they release you?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Are you sure?” Niall looked worried. “You’ve been through an awful ordeal. Maybe you should rest a bit more.”
“I’m fine, Niall. Really.” She looked at Michael. “Fill me in.”
“Well, the long and short of it appears to have been revenge.” He scratched the back of his neck. “We’ve not been able to talk to Fitzpatrick, of course, but—”
“He’s…” Kate swallowed. “Dead?”
“Kate, you don’t have to hear this now,” Niall said.
“No.” She shook her head. “Tell me.”
“Well, we’ve got divers out in the water,” Michael said, “but that would appear to be the case.”
Kate lay back against the pillow, listening to Michael explain the events of the last couple of days.
The phone rang downstairs, and Annie went to answer it. A moment later, she was back, trailing a long extension cord.
“It’s for you.” She handed Kate the phone. “Your editor.”
NIALL LEANED against the doorjamb of the kitchen, watching Annie move around the room. In unspoken agreement, they had all come downstairs, leaving Kate to her phone call. Michael had gone back to the station, and Caitlin sat at the table before a little round magnifying mirror plucking her eyebrows.
“Don’t make them too thin, Caitlin, love,” Annie said. “It makes you look awful hard.” She smiled at Niall. “The things women do to be beautiful. You men have it easy.”
Caitlin smiled at him. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Mr. Maguire, you’ve got lovely eyelashes. Really long they are.”
“They’re false,” he said. “I buy them at the chemist’s. The glue’s a nuisance, though.”
Caitlin and Annie both laughed politely. He’d been invited to stay for supper. Annie had apologized so profusely for her past suspicions that, embarrassed, he’d asked her to stop. Clearly, though, she didn’t feel entirely comfortable around him. Every so often she’d cast an uncertain smile in his direction. He felt a bit like a dog, known in the past to bite but now generally considered safe.
“It’s been a difficult time for everyone,” Annie was saying. “I still have a hard time believing that Hughie…” She shook her head. “I’d rather not even think about it.
“The thing is, no one really knew what to think,” Caitlin said. “When I found out that Rory had been with Elizabeth—”
“She kissed me a few times,” Rory said from the doorway. He removed his hat and coat and came into the kitchen. “I’ve told you over and over that’s all there was to it.” He dropped a kiss on Caitlin’s cheek, then saw Niall. “Maguire,” he said. “How’re you?”
“Fine. Yourself?” he asked, but avoided McBride’s eye. He suspected that McBride had been one of the ringleaders clamoring for
his arrest and he wasn’t keen to deal with him now.
“Niall’s staying for supper.” Annie took a bowl of peaches from the fridge, put it on the counter. “Hungry, are you?” She smiled up at him. “I thought a leg of lamb would be nice. You like lamb, do you?”
“It’s great, Annie.”
“And roast potatoes.”
“I love roast potatoes,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I had them.”
“Ah well, you’ll have to find a wife who’ll cook them for you.” She brought a saucepan over to the table, sat down and started peeling the potatoes. “I try to tell Caitlin that. ‘When you and Rory are married, Caitlin,’ I say, ‘he’ll want a hot supper on the table.’”
“Ah God, Mam, don’t start that again.” Caitlin rolled her eyes.
“I owe you an apology, Maguire.” Rory took a couple of beers from the fridge and handed one to Niall, then sat down at the table. “Annie and Caitlin might as well hear this, too. I haven’t exactly been proud of myself these past few weeks.”
“Rory’s having a bit of a problem with the drinking.” Caitlin nodded at his beer. “Not that I’m nagging or anything, Rory, but—”
“Ah, leave off, will you, Caitlin. And I’ll tell this myself if you don’t mind.” He looked at Niall. “Not to make a long story of it, but when I met up with Elizabeth in Galway the day it all happened—”
“They’d been drinking,” Caitlin said. “The two of them together—”
“Caitlin, let Rory tell it himself,” Annie said.
Rory studied the beer in his hand for a moment. “To tell you the truth of it, I don’t remember a lot about the evening except that we were in the car and we had a bit of a fight because Elizabeth wanted me to break off things with Caitlin, and I told her I wouldn’t.”
“Can you believe that?” Caitlin addressed Niall. “Trying to steal him right out from under my nose, she was.”
“Anyway…” Rory said. “Elizabeth gets out of the car and goes off walking along the cliffs and meets up with Hughie.”
The Man on the Cliff Page 23