Truth Lies Bleeding drb-1
Page 30
The television was on but the sound had been turned to mute. Brennan watched a few seconds of Antiques Roadshow — an old man had brought along a collection of toby jugs and twitched every time the presenter picked one up. Brennan lasted nearly a full minute before he got out of his seat, briskly, and turned the television off.
Lorraine returned with the wine. ‘Make yourself at home.’
Brennan took the glass. ‘I want you to know this is the first chance I’ve had to see you since I took this case.’
She stared at the orange juice in her own glass, swirled it round the base. ‘I saw the news. It’s over, then?’
Brennan sighed. ‘ Really.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
He sipped the wine. ‘Nothing.’ He reached to place his glass on the table, retrieved his jacket from the back of the chair. He was about to remove the picture he’d been carrying around but something occurred to him. ‘Do you remember those sessions we had, ones where we talked about my brother?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
‘I got him… Andy’s killer.’
‘ What? I mean, how?’
Brennan fiddled with a button on his jacket; the words felt trapped in his throat. ‘It doesn’t really matter.’
Lorraine put down her glass, moved closer. ‘You still don’t like talking about this. You know, if you’ve found some kind of closure, then maybe now’s the time to tell me.’
Closure? What was that? Shrink-speak. Brennan looked at Lorraine. Her hair was up; she had no make-up on. He hardly recognised her. ‘Okay. What do you want to know?’
‘Whatever you’d like to tell me.’
Brennan stopped himself, let the last twenty-four hours’ events flood into his memory banks and mix with what he knew about Andy.
‘There was a man, Grady…’ he said.
‘Go on.’
Brennan took a breath, hesitated, then continued, ‘He was a businessman, one of those with fingers in several pies. I had seen his name mentioned a couple of times when… well… does it matter?’
Lorraine leaned forward, took his hand.
‘Andy had this job, a roughcasting, big payer but you need the weather for it so… Am I boring you?’
She shook her head.
‘He was telling me about it and it came out that it was for Grady.’ Brennan tightened his hold on Lorraine’s hand. ‘I told Andy not to take the job. I told him Grady was bad news, his name was coming up in investigations again and again. There were connections to Ulster and-’
‘Grady sounds serious.’
Brennan frowned. ‘Serious trouble. But Andy didn’t want to know. He took on the job and we rowed. I told him he had a family to think about and he shouldn’t do it… heavy stuff. He wouldn’t listen.’ Brennan could hear his voice growing weaker as the memory played. ‘We argued and argued and eventually I wore Andy’s patience down. He broke. It all came out: how he resented me for leaving home and making him give up his ambitions to paint in favour of the family firm; he said he had to do the job because I wouldn’t… He blamed me for everything. He’d never said any of this before.’
Lorraine put her free hand on Brennan’s face; it felt cold as she spoke: ‘It’s okay. People say things they don’t mean all the time.’
Brennan felt the hurt welling in him again. ‘No. Andy meant it. I could tell. And do you know what I did? Nothing. I left it. I never said another word. I should have pulled him from that job with my bare hands but I let my ego get in the way.’
‘Rob…’
Brennan pushed Lorraine aside. He stood up. ‘I could have saved Andy, but I was too bloody pig-headed. I let him get killed.’
Lorraine stood up too; there were tears in her eyes. Brennan put his fingertips to her face, wiped a drop away. ‘That’s not going to help anyone.’
‘Why are you telling me this now, Rob?’
‘You asked.’
‘No. I mean, why now?’
Brennan watched her rise, take a tissue from a box on the shelving by the wall. She went to sit down again and he leaned over, picked up his jacket and removed the picture. ‘Maybe this is part of it.’
Lorraine froze for a moment, then snatched the picture, tore it in two.
‘You don’t get it, do you, Rob?’
He watched the two pieces of the image he’d carried around fall to the floor. Then turned his gaze to her. ‘Lorraine?’
Her shoulders shook as she cried into her hands. For a moment Brennan was confused, then something sparked in him as Lorraine raised her head and showed her flushed cheeks. ‘There is no baby.’
Brennan thought he’d misheard. ‘ What?’
She turned, screamed at him, ‘I printed it off! It’s just a picture!’
The words didn’t make sense to him. ‘Lorraine, what are you saying?’
She got up, turned away to face the wall. He watched her wipe her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan. ‘I wanted to hurt you. You’d hurt me. I wanted to build up your hopes and then let you down, like you’d done to me.’
Brennan listened but couldn’t believe it — when it had sunk in he knew he couldn’t look at her again. He collected his jacket and walked for the door.
Lorraine chased after him. ‘Rob, I was wrong.’
He turned the latch, pulled. Lorraine stepped in front of him, blocking the door. ‘Rob, I was wrong. It was a mistake. I’m sorry.’
‘Get out of my way.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘So am I.’
‘Rob, I–I didn’t realise-’
He pulled her by the arm, flung her back into the hallway. ‘Neither did I.’
In the street Brennan felt the cold sting at his eyes. There was more moisture in the air now. As he got in the car he turned back to see Lorraine on her doorstep; she was still crying, wiping at her tears with her hands. He looked away, started the car.
The traffic was light. Brennan worked up to the speed limit and then felt his temperature rising; he touched his brow — he was sweating. His hands were clammy on the steering wheel and he felt a shortness of breath. He followed the row of cars he was in to the traffic lights, passed through them and took a left into a residential area he didn’t know. For a second or two he felt lost, but he didn’t care.
Brennan pulled over the car, killed the engine and got out.
He walked to the end of the street and turned down a darkened path that led to open playing fields. It was raining now. As he walked he could feel his warm brow cooling. His shirt front was wet. A woman with a West Highland terrier on a lead smiled at him as he reached an open grassed area. He looked away from her, headed for a bench under a street lamp. When he reached it he sat and tried to settle the mash of thoughts he now carried around; but he knew it was beyond him.
How? Why? He had no answers any more.
Brennan felt the wind cut into his arms; his shirt and hair were wet now, soaked through. He’d left his jacket behind in the car, hadn’t even taken the keys out of the ignition. He stood up, looked back towards the path and started walking again. It seemed easy enough to do, so he continued, kept going. As he went, his phone started to ring. He took it out, looked at the caller ID — it was Sophie.
‘Hello, love,’ he said. ‘I’m on my way home.’
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Document version: 1
Document creation date: 19.07.2012
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