by Laura Elliot
‘I’m not ready yet.’
‘Yes, you are. And I’ve something to show you that will change your mind.’
‘Can it wait until I shower?’ She was conscious of her flushed face, her hair plastered to her forehead.
‘Not until you’ve seen this.’ Adele was glowing, her body aquiver, as if touched by some internal spark, her brown eyes luminous.
She handed a photograph to Rachel and ran her finger lightly over the glossy image of a girl. One girl in the midst of a crowd, all of them trapped in what seemed to be an inferno.
‘Who is she, Adele?’ she asked.
‘Marianne.’
‘Marianne?’
‘She’s my mother, Rachel. And that’s me in her arms.’
Rachel sank into the nearest chair and examined the photograph. What was she to make of this? A child, for that was all Marianne Mooney was, a child carrying her baby, flames leaping from the windows of the house behind her.
‘I thought she was dead before that fire broke out but I was wrong,’ said Adele. ‘She died soon afterwards… or so I’ve been led to believe. Now, I’m not so sure. I’m afraid to hope again but there’s something inside me that tells me I must trust my instincts. Look again, Rachel. Do you recognise anyone else?’
It took her a moment to notice Jack Bale, looking younger and even more menacing than he did now. Her astonishment grew as Adele described the encounter that she and Shane had had with him.
‘You should have come to me with this information, like you did the last time,’ she said.
‘You have so much going on.’ Adele hesitated. ‘We didn’t want to burden you with anything else.’
They hadn’t trusted her, knowing she was worn down by grief and conflicting loyalties. They must have been disappointed when she told them the cigarette box was too little, too late, to be used as evidence. Justice struck down by time’s ruthless gavel. But something had changed and she suspected it was contained in a letter Adele was taking from the pocket of her jacket.
‘It arrived this morning.’ She opened an envelope postmarked Inisada and handed the letter to her. ‘Read it and tell me what you think.’
She waited expectantly as Rachel turned each page, the story unfolding like a ripple of silk that was constantly changing its shape, its shimmering hues.
Dear Adele,
It is a long time since I wrote a letter to anyone. I hope you can read my writing. Lilian told me you called when I was out. I’m sorry I missed you. She said you had questions to ask about your mother. I was upset after she left. Thinking about the Sodality of Thorns and Atonement messes with my head and forces me to remember what a gullible fool I once was.
I joined them after my wife died. We’d been unhappy together and all I could think about were those wasted years, hers and mine. She went to her grave with nothing but regrets. I’d a second chance and I wanted my life to have meaning. I heard Gloria Thornton talking at one of her rallies and I believed that’s what would happen in the Hard Wind commune.
I was wrong. Petty squabbles, jealousies and bullying, they were all there beneath the surface but hidden when Gloria visited. She came regularly to tell us to work harder in the fields, harder at fundraising, harder at establishing new markets for the stuff she sold.
Friendships were frowned on but I was drawn to your grandmother. Like me, she had lost her spouse. His death had changed her and, also, like me, she had been fooled by Gloria’s charisma.
She was very anxious about her daughter. Gloria didn’t like parents visiting Atonement. The expectant mothers were in her care and she claimed those visits upset them for ages afterwards. Your grandmother also suspected that Gloria was siphoning off the sodality’s donations and she was trying to put some order on the accounts.
Atonement needed painting and I was sent to do it because I’d been a painter and decorator before I joined the sodality. I was shocked when I saw those young women working long hours in those awful containers. The way they were treated by the Thorns disgusted me. I never had children and this was my chance to be a dad to them. Not that I knew much about fathering but kind words and gestures don’t need training.
Me and Marianne helped one of them to escape. Your mother was put into solitude as punishment. That finished me off. I decided to leave as soon as her baby was born. I’d have helped her to escape but the place was guarded like Fort Knox after Barbara got away.
I watched everyone who came to see Gloria. One was a politician. I discovered he was the one who made sure she had the right documents to send those babies to the States. Oh, they were a right double act, and all the time more people were joining her sodality. We’re a needy lot when we’re troubled or when we’re too lazy to look behind the surface of easy salvation.
Your grandmother planned on being at your birth. But you were born early and you came quick. Your mother wailed so loud when they tried to take you from her. I swear to God the sound lifted my scalp. To stop her crying, it was agreed she could keep you for a day. But the door of the room was locked and Gloria was the only one with the key.
Another man arrived on that same day. Gloria got a shock when he turned up and she was a difficult woman to startle. They were in her office arguing loud enough for me to hear. I’d been painting in there earlier and was taking a cigarette break outside. He had a loud, hard voice. I could hear him though the open window. I used to carry a small recorder with me to record birdsong but that day I turned it on them. He wanted money but she knew enough to keep him tame, or so I thought. The house burned down that night.
They blamed me for the fire and maybe they were right. I’d knocked a bottle of white spirit over the sheets I used to catch the drips. I’d bundled them up and left them in Gloria’s office, intending to bring them to the laundry room later. That’s what caused the combustion but the source of the fire was later traced to Gloria’s computer. A faulty battery, we were told, but I’ve never known the truth of that.
The whole house was blazing and everyone was outside by the time the emergency services arrived. All except Marianne. I couldn’t find her anywhere. Gloria had forgotten about her in the mayhem and your mother was still locked in that room. It was on the ground floor of the south wing and thanks be to God the fire hadn’t reached her. But she was starting to cough from the smoke and I was fair sure you’d be dead. But you gave a little meow, just like a kitten, half-strangled but alive.
We felt our way along the corridor. There was light from the flames, they were still far enough away not to be an immediate danger. We were just entering the hall when we saw Gloria. She was like a wild thing trying to take you from your mother’s arms. Marianne pushed her away so hard she staggered back and that gave us a chance to escape.
I kept expecting Gloria to follow. When she didn’t, I ran back in to see what was keeping her. She was on her feet again and the man she’d been with earlier was coming out of another room. The stairs were beginning to blaze and I yelled at them to hurry up. I went back out and was convinced they were coming behind me. But he was the only one who escaped.
He grabbed your mother and accused her of killing Gloria. She’d hit her head when she fell and was already dead when the stairs came down, he said. Your mother kept saying no… no… no… It was obvious she was terrified of him. He was holding her arms and shouting at her about jail. I picked up a stone and smashed him over the head with it. It stunned him and then I saw your mother handing you over to Rosemary. Your grandmother must have arrived when the house was blazing. She took you into her arms and that’s the last I saw of any of you.
I heard that your mother died shortly afterwards. That didn’t surprise me considering how weak she was and demented with terror. However, I’ve learned not to take anything at face value so that’s something else I’ve never known the truth of. I wish I could tell you that she’s still alive and where you could find her. The only thing I’m sure of is that she did not kill Gloria Thornton. Gloria died either by accident or at the
hands of that man.
I watched the sodality fall apart afterwards. Gloria had been their lynchpin. Without her they were just troubled people searching for a new leader. I was done with all that.
I’ve lived my life simply since then. I meditate to the sounds of the waterfall. More often, I’m distracted by thoughts such as the ones I’ve just written down but the waterfall brings me solace. I hope you find yours in the knowledge that your mother loved you dearly.
Malachi Norris
Rachel folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. Where was the truth in it? So much of it was speculative, and yet she was on tenterhooks when she asked Adele if she had the recorder.
Adele handed a small device to her. Small enough to hold in one’s hand and be unnoticed. The atmosphere in the house was changing, igniting. Rachel longed to resist it, to stay becalmed in her own numbness, but she was peering at something through the dissipating fug. As yet it had no shape. Just disjointed limbs seeking a body and she must struggle to hold it together.
‘The voices are difficult to hear,’ Adele admitted. ‘But you’ll pick up the gist of their conversation. It’s time you returned to work, Sergeant Darcy.’
Before she left, she opened her arms in a spontaneous gesture and Rachel, without hesitating, walked into them. She was aware of Adele stiffening, drawing back, her eyes questioning.
‘Did he know?’ she whispered, and when Rachel shook her head, she sighed then pressed her hand gently against the growing swell of Rachel’s stomach.
The tape had been cleaned by forensics and the voices were finally audible. Gloria Thornton spoke softly yet distinctly as she discussed the trafficking of babies. Admittedly, that was not the term she used. Her mission was to find good homes for unfortunate children born with the stain of sin on their brows. Rachel was sickened by her pious utterances. Jack Bale kept interrupting her. No mistaking his forceful tone, his self-assurance as he stated that babies were a lucrative business, especially on the other side of the Atlantic. He was not being paid enough for the risks he was taking, especially as he would be the first to take a fall should the powers that be start asking questions.
‘Not near enough, Mother Gloria.’ His mockery was as pronounced as ever. ‘I’m giving you the opportunity to make up the deficit. The Mooney baby, for instance. A girl, I’ve heard. I wonder if she resembles her mother… or her father?’
‘Don’t threaten me, Jack.’ Gloria spoke calmly. The hypnotic timbre of her voice as she warned him against the sin of greed soon silenced his demands. She was not going to increase his payments and if he insisted on making threats, she had gathered enough evidence to destroy him. Forged documents, kickbacks from property developers, drunk-driving charges quashed, false evidence given in court… his career was an open book to Gloria Thornton and well documented.
‘You’re overstepping yourself, Jack,’ she said. ‘I can bring you down as quickly—’
At that point the tape abruptly ended but the story, as far as Rachel was concerned, was only beginning.
Later that evening he opened his front door to her. ‘Back so soon,’ he said. ‘I’m beginning to look forward to these unexpected visits. You’d better come in in case my neighbours start gossiping. A man is never too old to gain a reputation.’
In his spotless kitchen Rachel tried to ignore the uneasy lurch in her stomach. The room was still infused by a fishy smell that nothing, she believed, would eradicate.
‘I’m returning to work shortly,’ she said.
‘Law and order returns to Reedstown.’ He smiled and pulled out a chair. ‘Sit yourself down there and tell me what’s on your mind this time.’
‘I’ll stand, thanks. I simply wanted to let you know that I’ll be opening an investigation into the trafficking of babies from the House of Atonement.’
‘The trafficking of what?’ He stood before her, legs apart, his hands resting on his hips. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘Is there anything you’d like to share with me before the investigation officially begins?’
‘Rachel, you’ve worried me for a long time. Have you seen a counsellor? I’m amazed your superior hasn’t had you in for an assessment—’
‘You ran a racket with Gloria Thornton and Christy Lewis. Illegal adoptions mean illegal documentation, illegal shortcuts, illegal anything that helped those babies to be brought from Ireland to the States. Your boast that you always ran a tight ship has stood you in good stead until now. But there’s always the danger of a stumble, especially when you get too greedy, as you did on the night that hellhole caught fire. Take a moment and listen to this. Like you said before, voices from the grave…’
She switched on the recorder and waited impassively as the voices, clearer now, sealed his fate.
‘Where did you get that?’ Too stunned to hide his panic, he wiped his forehead yet the sweat still glistened on his brow as he switched off the recorder.
‘Come now, Jack, do you honestly expect me to reveal my source?’
‘I’m warning you—’
‘This evidence is a timebomb waiting to explode,’ she said. ‘As your two partners are dead, you’re the only one left to take the fall. I intend making sure it’s a very deep drop. But if you’re cooperative, that will make things easier all round.’
‘What exactly do you mean by “cooperative”?’ he asked eventually.
‘Destroy the recording you made with Christy Lewis.’
‘And if I do?’
‘I destroy this one.’
‘Quid pro quo? How do I know you don’t have another?’
‘I can say the same for you.’
‘They used to call this the Cold War.’
‘Balance of power, Jack. Isn’t that what it’s all about?’ She would meet him bluff for bluff, and see who blinked first.
56 Rachel
The Loy was running high this evening. A week of intermittent rain had broken the hot spell and the earth was greening again as Rachel bent, stretched, flexed. Two hours passed. She was conscious only of her breathing and the steady slap of her running shoes. She crossed the humpbacked bridge over the Little Loy, aware the light was dimming fast and that it was unsafe to run alone along this uneven track.
She slowed down to a walk, conscious that she was the only person on this rough terrain. Branches heavy with leaves obscured the way forward at times and she was forced onto the grass by the edge of the river. The path was just a pale ribbon before her as the twilight deepened. She quickened her pace when she heard a rustle within the thicket, too loud to have been made by an animal. Someone moved from the trees and stood before her. Hooded and crouched, the stance of the figure suggested only one thing. Danger.
‘You killed him.’ The voice was female, a furious shriek that Rachel recognised, despite the hoodie shading the figure’s face. The last time they had spoken, Haylee Ford was loudly demanding a lawyer to refute the accusation that she had stolen an engagement ring. This time she held a knife and when she lunged at Rachel, narrowly missing her arm, her accusation shattered the tranquillity of the night.
Dazed and disoriented, Rachel swivelled instinctively as Haylee slashed at her again. She managed to remain standing, aware that the woman in front of her was dangerously unbalanced. Kick-boxing had been her favourite sport when she was younger, and it was this combat training that protected her when Haylee lunged again. One well-aimed kick was all that was needed to stun her. Collapsing to her knees, Haylee still held onto the knife until another defensive blow sent her sprawling. The blade of the knife caught the glint of the moon as it fell from her hand. Rachel kicked it into the river and pulled her to her feet.
The fight had gone from Haylee and she was snuffling loudly into her hood. ‘You killed Jonathan…’ Her voice broke on his name. ‘He’s dead because of you. You paid those thugs to string him up in his cell.’ She was so frightened without the protection of the knife that her knees buckled and she would have collapsed again if Ra
chel had not held her upright.
Maddened by the belief that Rachel was responsible for the death of her partner, she let loose a tirade of abuse that only one person could have orchestrated.
‘Listen to me, Haylee, whatever happened to Gra— Jonathan had nothing to do with me,’ she said. ‘Someone is feeding you false information. I know who he is, and so do you. He sent you out here to attack me.’
‘You’re a fuckin’ liar…murderer.’
‘Do you honestly believe he’s going to let you walk away from your crime?’ Rachel’s warning eventually forced her into silence. ‘Jonathan is dead because of him,’ she continued. ‘So is my husband. You have to talk to me, Haylee. Otherwise, he’ll make sure you go the same way.’
‘Jonathan never meant to shoot your husband. He thought…’ She began to sob uncontrollably.
‘He thought what?’ Unable to bear the sound, Rachel resisted the temptation to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled. She continued talking, aware from Haylee’s stance, steadier now but still wary, that she was listening.
‘Whatever he told Jonathan that night frightened him enough to take a gun and commit murder. He signed his own death warrant by doing so. You need to tell me who is responsible for the fact that we’ve both lost the men we loved. Is he the same person who convinced Jonathan he’d get an early release if he stayed silent?’
‘What does it matter now?’ When Haylee lifted her arm, it was only to wipe her nose with her sleeve. ‘They’re both dead, aren’t they?’ Her voice was thick with an anguish Rachel understood. ‘He fed me this shit about you being the bitch what organised Jonathan’s death. Maybe he’s right. What the fuck do I know any more?’
His name dangled just out of reach and when Haylee finally uttered it, Rachel made her repeat it, but more loudly this time.
‘He’ll kill me if he knows I’ve told you.’ No longer crying, she spoke with a sharper awareness. ‘I need money to get away from him. Jonathan’s parents won’t let me near his apartment. His money’s frozen in the bank and there’s no way I can take it from the ATM.’