by Zara Keane
He leaned back in his cheap plastic chair and supported the back of his head with his palms. “Is your purpose in visiting to bitch about my girlfriend and pray for my soul? If so, you can take your complaints and prayers elsewhere.”
His mother made a moue of disapproval. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to help.”
“But you’re not helping.” He leaned forward and gave his mother an imploring look. “I love Olivia. Once I get out of here, I want to build a future with her and Luca. Do you want every family event to be fraught with tension? I know I don’t, but you being rude to her isn’t something I’m prepared to tolerate.”
Mam’s mouth opened and closed, her lips forming unspoken words. Finally, her shoulders slumped in defeat. “If you’re in a relationship with Olivia, I’ll cope.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Cope? Does that mean you’ll be polite to her?”
She gave a grudging nod. “I want you to be happy. I can’t deny I’d rather you’d kept your distance and not gotten embroiled in this sordid business, but if you’re serious about Olivia, then she’s welcome in my home.”
“Thanks, Mam. It means a lot to hear you say that.”
Sergeant Mackey knocked on the door. “Time’s up.”
Mam muttered something indecipherable as she reached for her coat. It was her Sunday best. Why she deemed a visit to a son in a police interrogation room worthy of her Sunday best, he’d never fathom.
His chair scraped against the floor. “Thanks for the visit. Give my regards to Dad and a kiss to Luca.”
An envelope materialized from the depths of her enormous handbag. She tossed it on the table before him. “You’ll be wanting these,” she said defiantly. The rosary beads followed. “And you’ll be needing those.”
His fingered the envelope. It contained a ballpoint pen and crosswords, both the regular and cryptic varieties, neatly cut out from the past few days’ Irish Independent. No Irish Times in their household. His parents’ politics leaned heavily toward the conservative with more than a dash of nationalistic fervor.
He cracked a reluctant smile. “Thanks.”
She gave a stiff nod. The air of the martyr hung about her shoulders like a well-worn shawl.
The door clanged shut, and the bolt slid into place. Jonas fingered the envelope. He hated crosswords. He was a man of words but despised puzzles of all kinds. However, the pen would be confiscated at the earliest opportunity, and he might as well put it to good use. He uncapped it and contemplated three across. Ten letters. Solution: Redemption. He grinned to himself. Good old Mam.
Chapter Thirty-Six
THE CROSSWORDS OCCUPIED HIM until Sergeant Mackey announced another visitor—Olivia.
She looked beautiful, if sleep-deprived—hair mussed, dark circles under her eyes. He leaped up to greet her, the languid stiffness in his limbs miraculously disappearing.
“Jonas!” She ran to his arms and kissed him. She smelled damn fine.
In the background, Mackey cleared his throat. “I’m not supposed to leave you two alone, given the identity of the murder victim…Ah, feck it. If I lock the pair of you in, it should be fine.” He shook a warning finger. “No monkey business. I’ll have to chuck you out the moment Connelly gets back.”
“Thanks, Seán,” Olivia said with a smile. “We’ll behave ourselves.”
The metal door clanged shut.
Still holding hands, Jonas maneuvered himself into the seat opposite. “How are you?”
“Bearing up. More to the point, how are you?”
“Surviving. My guess? Connelly is stalling on the questioning to let me ‘stew.’ Then he’ll apply for one extension after another until he’s legally obliged to charge or release me.” He rubbed a hand across his unshaven jaw. “He’ll find some reason to charge me, even if it won’t hold up in court.”
“What evidence do they think they have against you?”
“Gant’s security camera picked up images of a man entering the house through the back door. Unfortunately for me, the cameras rotate. While they recorded the man arriving, there’s no record of him leaving.”
“To think I laughed at Aidan’s pretension when he installed those cameras last year.” She shook her head. “Go on. I assume the police think that man was you.”
“That’s what they’d like me to admit. Connelly was apoplectic when he learned I’d sold my Harley a few months ago. Apparently Aidan’s mysterious visitor arrived on the same model as the one I used to own. Fake plates, though.”
“Okay, you said the cameras picked up images of a man entering through the back door. As in ‘breaking and entering?’”
“No. That’s the unusual part. Apparently the man pushed open the door and strolled on in. No fiddling with locks necessary.”
Olivia frowned. “Now that is odd. Aidan was vigilant about setting the alarm after dark, even if he was at home and awake.”
“Could his mother have forgotten to switch it on?”
“I doubt it. As you may have noticed, Patricia is of a dramatic bent. All Aidan had to do to make sure she wasn’t scatty about setting the alarm was to tell her he might be in danger coming up to the election.”
“Do you think he was genuinely afraid?”
“Something was bothering him in the months before I left, but I assumed it was financial stress after the shopping center project collapsed.” She leaned forward and bit her lip. “Listen, there’s something I need to tell you. I—or rather, you—had a visitor just after breakfast.”
He frowned. “Who?”
She stared at him, chewing on her lower lip. “Luca’s mother.”
His heart rate shot up. “Susanne?” Feck. His hand flew to his forehead. He supposed she’d heard the news. The papers would be having a field day over his arrest. Bestselling murder mystery author arrested on suspicion of murder? Yeah. He could imagine the lurid headlines. “What the hell did she want? To gloat?”
Olivia recoiled at his aggressive tone. “To help.”
“She what?” Was he hearing right? Susanne actually gave a shit whether or not he went to prison? Realization dawned. Of course. If he were incarcerated, she’d be expected to make decisions for Luca’s future. He ground his teeth. No wonder she was worried.
Olivia stroked his hand. “Susanne offered to have her husband look into your case. He specializes in criminal law, and apparently he knows Seán Mackey. I accepted on your behalf.”
“I don’t need Barry Brennan’s help.” A film of perspiration formed on his forehead. The last thing he wanted was his ex reinserting herself in his life, and she and Barry came as a package deal. The last thing he wanted for Luca was contact with the mother who’d rejected him.
“Don’t panic,” Olivia said, as if reading his thoughts. “Susanne says she’s only here to help get the case against you dismissed. She’s not looking for custody of Luca.”
He gave a raucous laugh. “‘Help’ and ‘Susanne’ are two contradictory terms.”
“I think she’s serious. Let’s hear what Barry the Barrister has to say when he’s done ‘calling in his contacts.’”
“Did she ask to see Luca again?”
“No, but she offered money toward his upkeep.”
“I don’t want her stinking money,” he growled.
“Haven’t you heard the saying ‘Pride comes before a fall?’”
“I do well enough to support me and Luca.” Or at least he would as long as he wasn’t convicted.
“Why not let her pay into a savings scheme for Luca? You don’t have to touch the capital if you don’t want to, but at least it’s there for when he’s older.”
“I suppose,” he grunted. She was right, of course. Olivia usually was.
“You sound so enthusiastic.”
He gave a reluctant laugh. “I resent Susanne swanning back as if nothing happened and offering to throw money at me. She can’t buy back the time she’s lost with Luca.”
“No, and I don’t think she wants to. But she is
his mother. Let her contribute something toward his future.”
He ran a finger over her delicate skin. “You’re more reasonable than I am.”
“Naturally. I have less emotion invested. It’s easier for me to see both sides, even if I’ll never understand how she could walk away from that gorgeous little boy.”
He leaned over and gave her a kiss. “I meant what I said yesterday. I love you, Olivia.”
The look of fear and exhaustion on her face vanished. “I love you too. So very much.”
He squeezed her hand tighter. “Whatever I have to do to keep out of prison, I’ll do it—for all our sakes. So yeah, if that means accepting Barry the Barrister’s offer of help, I guess that’s what I’ll do.”
She smiled, and an expression of relief flickered across her face. “Thank you for being sensible.”
“Not a trait I’m normally accused of having.” He ran a hand through his overly long hair. It was in need of a trim. If they sent him to prison, no doubt he’d be treated to a buzz cut. “Is Susanne staying in Ballybeg?”
Olivia shot him an impish grin. “She and her designer luggage are putting up at Clonmore Castle Hotel.”
That made him laugh. He kissed her softly, aching to run his hands down her body and take her here and now, regardless of Seán maintaining a discreet presence on the other side of the door. He settled for a second kiss.
Olivia stroked his wrist and dropped a kiss onto his pulse, sending a stab of awareness down to his groin. “I’m due to join them for coffee at their hotel later this afternoon. Barry thinks he’ll have news by then.”
Jonas frowned. “He’s down here as well? I wouldn’t have thought Ballybeg would be his scene.”
“Ah.” Olivia gave a mischievous grin. “Clonmore House Hotel has a golf course, remember?”
“That figures.” While he’d attended a couple of weddings there, the luxury hotel was way outside his price range.
He drummed his fingertips on the table separating them, his mind racing. Olivia massaged the thumb of his other hand. His cock stirred in response. Jaysus. He shouldn’t be feeling turned on at a time like this. She smiled, and his heart skipped a beat. If he went to prison, he’d lose not only Luca and his freedom, but also the chance at a future with Olivia. He swallowed hard. He couldn’t bear the thought.
“Are you sure you’re okay with Barry looking into your case?” Her forehead was creased with concern. “Susanne caught me unawares, and I didn’t know how to react. She seemed…reasonable…so I thought it couldn’t do any harm to let him see what he’d turn up. Did I do wrong?”
“No.” He gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. “I can do with all the help I can get. Barry’s got a fearsome reputation in the courts. I doubt he got it without reason. Let his minions find out what they can.”
Her relief was palpable. “Thank goodness. I was afraid you’d be angry with me.”
“Hardly. You’re one of the few people on my side. That Susanne is another is a turn-up for the books, I’ll admit.”
“I don’t like her.” Her direct gaze met his. “But I realize I’m prejudiced. I can understand not wanting children. Aidan and I decided against it, and I have no regrets. But to have a child and then reject it…it turns my stomach.”
“Fathers do it all the time,” Jonas said gently. “Society judges them less harshly.”
Olivia’s laugh was bitter. “That was Susanne’s defense.”
“Whatever her reasoning, I’m determined to make up for her absence and give Luca the best upbringing I can provide. That’s why I need to get out of here.”
“You will.” Olivia leaned in and touched her mouth to his. He pulled her head closer and deepened the kiss.
A rapping at the door reminded them of Seán’s presence. “Time’s up, folks. Connelly and his team just pulled into the car park.”
He dropped a last kiss onto her silky soft hair. “Thanks for visiting.”
“It’s the least I could do. You’re in here because of me.”
“Don’t say that,” he said in a hoarse voice. “And don’t think it. I’m in here because the cops screwed up. They had their eye on us from the start and were too lazy to look elsewhere.”
They both looked up when Seán strode into the room and cleared his throat.
Olivia gave Jonas a last lingering kiss. He could feel the tingling on his lips long after she left.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
OLIVIA’S EYES BUGGED. So this was the suave barrister who’d stolen Susanne away from his son. For the life of her, she couldn’t see the appeal. Barry Brennan was short and squat. The bristly black hair covering his ball-shaped head owed its vibrancy to Grecian 2000. However, his jovial features did not bespeak the grumpy barrister she’d envisaged from the newspaper articles.
Susanne sat next to him, resplendent in a cream tailored suit. They should have been caricatures of the aging wealthy man and his much younger trophy wife. To Olivia’s amazement, Susanne seemed as smitten with Barry as he was with her. Could theirs be a love match? Well, Olivia had hooked up with Jonas against all the odds, so who was she to say anything against Cupid’s mysterious machinations?
They were seated in the lobby café in Clonmore Castle Hotel. Its five-star splendor put even the Ashbourne to shame. The chain that had converted the house into a premier hotel had spared no expense. They’d retained the old-fashioned feel of the house while bestowing it with every modern convenience. In its heyday, the Clonmore estate had been famous for its beautiful gardens. They’d fallen into disarray in the early twentieth century but were now restored to their former glory. Most of the farmland belonging to the original estate had been sold off, but the hotel retained a sizeable plot that had been turned into a golf course.
Olivia could recall precisely three occasions on which she’d visited Clonmore Castle Hotel. This was the third. People often asked her if it felt strange to drive past the imposing gates and know the house and gardens had belonged to her family for generations. In fact, she had no extraordinary connection to the estate except to admire its beauty. The days of the wealthy Protestant landowners had ended well before her birth. Even her mother had never lived at the house. She was glad it was preserved as a part of Irish history, but it held no personal significance. Thankfully, Barry and Susanne were unaware of her link to the old estate, sparing her from questions about its history and architecture that she wouldn’t have been able to answer.
After the initial awkward small talk, a crisply uniformed waitress brought their coffees. Barry heaped sugar into his black coffee and then withdrew a slim leather folder from his briefcase. “As far as I can tell,” he said in his rich baritone, “the case against Jonas is flimsy at best. First, forensics indicate Aidan was most likely killed by a right-handed person. Jonas is left-handed.”
Olivia frowned. “Surely they shouldn’t have arrested him if they knew that. Isn’t that a basic fact to check out?”
Barry shook his head, once again drawing Olivia’s attention to the unlikely color of his hair. “It’s not quite as simple as that. Real-life crime investigation isn’t like it is on TV. While the forensics experts concluded that the person wielding the fatal weapon was probably right-handed by nature, it’s not impossible for someone to fake it.”
He flicked through his folder and removed a piece of paper. “More compelling is this—we got hold of CCTV footage from the Ashbourne. From the time of his arrival until the following day, Jonas doesn’t leave the hotel via the main or rear entrances. Witnesses saw him at the hotel bar and dance club well after midnight. In order to make their accusations stick, the police are asking us to believe that Jonas shimmied down a drain pipe from the third floor of the hotel without anyone noticing him—and this in Dublin, the city that never sleeps—drove to Ballybeg at breakneck speed in an as-of-yet unlocated vehicle, killed Aidan Gant, drove back to the Ashbourne, somehow reentered the hotel without anyone noticing him, and was back in his room by the time Seán Mackey showed up
looking for you. Timewise, it’s possible, but barely. He’d have had to break every speed limit on the way down to and back from Ballybeg. On a six-hundred-kilometer stretch, that he wasn’t picked up by control radar anywhere is possible but adds yet another unlikelihood to a long list of improbabilities.”
“Why did the police never mention the CCTV footage from the hotel?”
“Because it wasn’t found during their initial search. The relevant recording was damaged, and it took a while to locate the backup.”
“But you found it?” asked Olivia with a raised eyebrow.
“My people did, yes.”
Impressive. Olivia stirred her latte and thought. She’d compiled a list of relevant questions for Barry, but the most pertinent ones hardly needed her to consult a piece of paper.
“What about my conversation with Aidan about the settlement? I told two of my friends about it. They can back me up.”
“All they can do is to confirm what you told them of the conversation after it happened. They weren’t at the café when Aidan arrived and can’t say firsthand what was discussed. From a legal point of view, we only have your word that Aidan ever contemplated granting you a financial settlement substantially higher than what you’ll now receive as his widow.”
“Damn.”
“Damn, indeed,” agreed Barry. “Aidan’s solicitor knows nothing about a settlement, and his mother is denying they ever discussed it. The police examined his various computers to see if they contained a draft, but found nothing.”
Olivia frowned. “It’s odd he didn’t mention it to Patricia. I was under the impression she’d agreed to let him give me some of her money.”
“Mrs. Gant is adamant she knows nothing about it. I don’t believe her for an instant. She’s determined you and Jonas be found guilty.”
“You’d think she’d want the real killer to be found,” Olivia said bitterly.
Barry gave her a long look. Despite his uninspiring appearance, his eyes were shrewd and intelligent. “Perhaps she genuinely believes you murdered her son. Or that Jonas did so on your behalf.”