Little Bones
Page 33
The explosion was instantaneous, lit the sky like it was the 5th of November, the sound shattering windows at the end of the street.
Watching her through the rear window, O’Rourke had already hit reverse, was about to take his foot off the brake when the flash blinded him. The force rocked the BMW, shattering the windows, detonating the airbags, knocking him senseless for a split second.
‘Cathy!’
His own cry still ringing in his ears, O’Rourke came to, dizzy, the interior of the car filled with white smoke-like powder. He heaved open the door.
The air outside was rank with the smell of burning, bitter, acrid, catching in his throat. Falling out of the car, he staggered, then ran towards the drive. All around him car and house alarms were going off. The Mini was blazing, the heat searing his eyebrows, drying his lips, smoke billowing into the night. He could see a body lying across the neighbour’s lawn.
Covered in blood. Not moving.
‘Cathy . . .’ It came out as a croak.
O’Rourke fell to his knees beside her. Cathy was lying on her back, arms thrown above her head where the blast had carried her backwards, her face blackened, blood running from her nose, her ear, down her forehead. Her leather jacket had taken the brunt of the blast, was in tatters, shards of glass embedded in it, catching and reflecting the flames. O’Rourke ripped off his own jacket, balling it, pressing down to stem the flow of blood from her side. Then, slipping his fingers under her chin, he searched for a pulse. He held his breath, the sound of his heart hammering in his ears. Finally he found it, weak, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. Fading with every beat.
He heard his own voice shouting into his phone like it was someone else’s.
‘Member down. Ambulance. I need an ambulance . . . Corbawn Lane, Shankill . . . Fast. I need it fast.’
Cathy’s eyes were closed, her skin china white. Bending over her, he kept up the pressure on the wound in her stomach, not allowing himself to think about anything else except keeping her alive. In the grass beside her head his eye caught something familiar, something metallic. Holding his jacket in place, he reached for it with his free hand. It was her necklace, the chain broken, the silver dog tag hot, searing his palm. But O’Rourke hardly felt it, clutched it tight. ‘If found return to Tiffany’s’. She’d loved it. She’d bought him aftershave. He scooped her into his arms, cradled her head on his knee, his tears hot, falling freely.
‘Cathy . . .’ He heard his own scream, echoing in his ears like a banshee.
Then the road was filling with people. Far away he could hear the wail of a siren, quickly joined by more, heading towards them.
Acknowledgements
No story comes together without a massive contribution from a huge variety of people – it is their expertise and patience that turns an uncut idea into something tangible and shiny, and that shiny thing into a book. A lot of people have helped as this story developed and if I have missed anyone, mea culpa, but trust me, I am truly grateful for all your support.
First and biggest thanks go to my awesome agent Simon Trewin, whose faith in this story has brought it to your hands. Joel Richardson, my editor at Twenty7, has been amazing since day one and has made that early manuscript into something real.
Cathy owes her sporting prowess in its entirety to Glen Heenan at Elite Martial Arts in Dún Laoghaire, who has had the incredible patience to teach me the basics of kickboxing. Glen has trained many, many real champions and introduced me to the national champion Damian Darker, who was invaluable in explaining exactly what it takes to get to the top. Massive thanks to you both – and to all the guys for not hitting me too hard! Thanks too to Jason Flynn at the Glenview Health Club for keeping me in shape, or I would never survive Glen’s classes!
Any police procedural relies totally on the experts who share their experience, knowledge and stories to ensure that every detail is plausible and correct – any that aren’t are entirely my doing (and that includes a few liberties taken with geography and ferry timetables – it is fiction after all). My husband, Shane O’Loughlin, was a member of An Garda Síochána for thirty years and I hope, as a result, I bring a sense of what the job is about to Cathy, O’Rourke and the team.
Garda Joe Griffin and Garda Dave O’Sullivan have endured my writing efforts from the very beginning (I hope it’s getting better, guys!) and are always at the end of the phone when I’ve needed to fact-check. Detective Inspector Frank Keenaghan lent Dawson O’Rourke his tie and Irish State Pathologist Dr Marie Cassidy has been inspirational from the first draft of the very first (terrible) book I wrote, and she kindly critiqued. I still have my own copies of the books she lent me, way back then, in my ‘black library’. Thanks, too, to Jenny Hynes in the State Pathologist’s Office for all your help.
Garda Steve Monaghan and retired Special Branch Detective Colm Dooley were utterly invaluable in ensuring the final drafts of this book rang true. Thanks also to Roger Robson of Forensic Access for his assistance in clarifying detail.
My sister Louise Fox is the real creator of the fabulous triptych that features in this story. Trained in textiles, she is an incredibly talented artist, gallery owner and event curator, currently director of the Cornwall Film Festival – thanks Lou for letting me borrow one of your most epic pieces. (She wrote the words that are embroidered on it too – not me.)
Getting a half-Jewish American consultant psychiatrist right required assistance from many sources, including the immensely helpful Ellen Rovner in Boston, whose PhD on American Jewish ethnicity, food, gender and memory helped inform Tony. Bonnie Sashin of the Boston Bar Association, Dr Rohilla at Newcastle Hospital here in Ireland, Consultant Psychiatrist Brendan Kelly and Mary Igoe (whose surname I borrowed too, thank you!) were all essential in developing this part of the story.
Thanks too to Elizabeth Murray, now published as E. R. Murray, who helped with the poker references, and to Professor Gabriel Cooney of University College Dublin and Linda Fibiger of Oxford University for their expertise on carbon-14 dating.
Kristi Thompson, Mary Igoe, Sally Clements, and Sophie and Paul O’Rourke Walker all read early drafts – I cannot thank you enough and I hope you can see an improvement in the finished product!
Without my amazing writer friends Sarah Webb, who gave me the best advice ever, so long ago – just keep writing; Niamh O’Connor, my partner in crime, who is always on the end of the phone, truly thank you for everything; and the fabulous Alex Barclay, who was instrumental in this book happening in more ways than one, plus many, many more, I wouldn’t be a writer at all. So THANK YOU GIRLS chink.
My wonderful family, husband Shane and two beautiful children, Sophie and Sam, have a lot to put up with (no writer has a tidy house) – huge thanks to them for all their support since I started this writing thing.
And last but by no means least, a massive thank you to all the Inkwell writers and visitors to Writing.ie who colour my days with your fabulous stories and successes – this book is for all of you.
About the Author
Sam Blake is a pseudonym for Vanessa Fox O’Loughlin, the founder of The Inkwell Group publishing consultancy and the hugely popular national writing resources website Writing.ie. She is Ireland’s leading literary scout who has assisted many award winning and bestselling authors to publication. Vanessa has been writing fiction since her husband set sail across the Atlantic for eight weeks and she had an idea for a book.
Follow Vanessa on Twitter @inkwellhq, @writersamblake or @writing_ie.
First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Twenty7 Books
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Copyright © Sam Blake, 2016
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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p; The right of Sam Blake to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-7857-7024-1
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Twenty7 Books is an imprint of Bonnier Publishing Fiction, a Bonnier Publishing company
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