For Your Sins: previously published as Joseph's Mansions

by Richard Pitman

  Maggie Cassidy turned toward him. Her shoulder-length hair was thick, and looked to Frankie as if the grey had been rinsed back to her natural rich brown colour. She said, ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘You had breakfast then before you left home?’

  ‘I haven’t been at home but I did have a fine breakfast this morning.’

  ‘And what did you have then?’ She asked.

  ‘I had porridge and bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade and two cups of tea,’ Frankie said, feeling rather like a child.

  Maggie laughed lightly. ‘If I’d eaten that at eight o’clock, I’d be a stone heavier by now!’

  ‘Ah well, I went for a run beforehand,’ he said lamely.

  ‘Maybe I should take up running?’

  Frankie shrugged and smiled then looked away, suddenly feeling awkward. Maggie brought two yellow mugs of tea to the table and sat down opposite Frankie. She pushed his across and he reached to take it. He smiled a thank-you and sipped. He could see the lines now around her eyes and mouth, and judged that she was mid-to-late forties. She wore a light covering of make-up; no lipstick but some sort of stuff on her skin and a trace of eye shadow and mascara. She returned his smile and he saw a deep intelligence in her hazel eyes, but there was vulnerability there too; she was obviously finding it tough to mask the stress of what had happened.

  ‘How is your husband?’ Frankie asked.

  She was silent for a few moments, then said, ‘Philosophical, I suppose. That would be the best way to put it. At least that’s the face he’s putting on to others. I know he’ll be gutted at the thought of Gabby being away from him, never mind with some kidnapper. Graham’s spent his life bouncing back from things; he’ll find a way to handle this.’

  ‘Is he around?’

  ‘He’s out with the horses. Getting on with things. Making the best of what’s left.’

  Frankie saw the facade drop away now; the lightness of the last few minutes collapsing as she looked tired and very strained. He was tempted to say something about there being a chance of getting the horse back, something to offer some comfort, but he knew it might just raise false hopes. He said, ‘Have the police been?’

  ‘Been and gone. Seemed interested from a novelty viewpoint but I’m afraid I wouldn’t hold out much hope of them getting Gabby back.’ She stared at the floor, looking almost blank for a few seconds then she looked up. ‘Were you involved with the last kidnap?’

  ‘Involved in trying to solve it.’

  She smiled wearily. ‘Of course. That was what I meant. Did you feel there was ever a chance of getting that horse back, what did you call him?’

  ‘Ulysses.’ Frankie felt suddenly put on the spot. ‘It was a very tough situation. We had little contact from the kidnapper, just three calls in all. And the owner was…’ Frankie knew he’d need to be particularly careful here. ‘… extremely upset and emotional about the whole business, perfectly understandably.’

  ‘Did he ever consider paying the ransom?’

  Frankie was reluctant to get much deeper in. The racing world was very insular. Nice as she seemed, he didn’t know Maggie Cassidy or what her capacity for gossip might be, and the last thing he needed was Christopher Benjamin hearing on the grapevine that Frankie had been discussing his private business. He said, ‘We would always advise that the ransom shouldn’t be paid.’ He thought he saw a definite look of relief in her eyes.

  ‘How much did they ask for?’

  ‘Quarter of a million pounds.’

  ‘Did the owner actually want to pay?’

  Frankie was growing increasingly uncomfortable but he understood what Maggie was doing. She was simply trying to prepare herself for the unknown. He said, ‘Nobody wants to pay out that sort of money, Mrs Cassidy.’

  ‘Please call me Maggie.’

  He sipped his tea. ‘My name is Frankie.’

  She nodded slightly and looked thoughtful. Frankie said, ‘Will your husband be out with the horses for a while yet?’

  ‘Had enough of me, Frankie?’ She smiled tiredly.

  He felt himself blush slightly and raised his mug to try and cover his face he said, ‘I just wondered if we shouldn’t go through the questions together, all three of us. Just to save repetition.’

  They found Graham in one of the boxes, grooming a dappled grey gelding, brushing methodically, quietly, unaware of their presence. Frankie saw a slight change in Maggie’s face as she watched him and he couldn’t interpret it. There was steeliness in it. He couldn’t pin it down beyond that. Still, he had no way of knowing how this disaster would affect the Cassidys, what damage it might do to them. Crossing the yard he’d become acutely aware of what this loss must mean to such a small set-up. Losing any horse from here would be a major blow; to have the Grand National favourite snatched away, well, he just couldn’t imagine how they must be feeling, for all Maggie’s smiles and brave face.

  He watched her. Her mouth was slightly open as though about to speak but seemed transfixed by the sight of her husband. He wore tan jodhpurs tucked into ankle-length rubber and canvas boots, and a dark green fleece top with a horse’s head and the word Aintree large on the back. He looked very lean and fit to Frankie and still had a full head of hair although the grey showed through clearly even in the gloom of the box. There was no sound except for the brush sweeping a perfect rhythm down the horse’s bright flank and Graham Cassidy’s equally rhythmical breathing.

  Maggie said quietly, ‘You’ll brush the spots right off him.’

  ‘Bet I don’t,’ said Graham without looking up.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Bet you fifty pence.’

  ‘Better make it ten. We’re saving up for a ransom.’

  The joke seemed to end there for Graham and he stopped brushing and stood completely still as though he’d been knifed. She said, ‘Cheer up, Mister Houlihan’s here.’

  The trainer turned slowly, a sheen of sweat on his brow. As he came toward the half-door, he forced a smile on to a face that looked ingrained with desperation and hopelessness and Frankie admired him hugely for the effort. The smile was fully formed as he reached for Frankie’s hand. ‘How do you do, Mister Houlihan? I’m so sorry to have called you on Christmas Day. Been bothering me ever since I put the phone down.’

  Frankie took his hand, feeling the fine grit that layered his skin from the hard grooming. ‘No need to apologize. I was having a very quiet time. It’s nice to meet you. I’m just sorry that it’s under these circumstances.’

  ‘Yes. Well… don’t worry.’

  Frankie could see he was at a loss. He reached to touch the trainer’s arm. ‘I’ll help in any way I can. Don’t be thinking it’s a lost cause, Mister Cassidy.’

  ‘Graham, please,’ the trainer said.

  ‘Graham.’

  ‘Frankie.’

  ‘Typical men,’ said Maggie, ‘only met a minute ago and already into monosyllabic conversation.’ All three smiled. Graham said, ‘Shall we go inside and have a cup of tea? I’m sure you’ll want to ask some questions then get back to your family and your Christmas celebrations.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. My family are not around this Christmas, so I’m in no hurry at all.’

  Maggie touched his arm and said, ‘Oh, you’ll have Christmas dinner with us then!’

  Frankie blushed again. ‘I hope you don’t think I was angling for an invitation now, giving you some sad story! ‘

  Maggie said, ‘Of course we do!’ as Graham was saying, ‘Of course we don’t,’ and all three ended up chuckling. It lifted Frankie’s spirits, cheered him to see the momentary relief of Graham’s burden. Laughter had been the last thing he’d expected to find at the Cassidy house. Laughter and friendliness in a troubled place. On Christmas Day. Praise be to God.

  On the way south with Angel Gabriel, Monroe had decided to stay off the motorways. He couldn’t be certain when the alarm would be raised at the Cassidy place. That howling storm had helped him
simply walk the horse out of its box. He couldn’t believe how easy it had been - but that also planted a thought that he might be the victim of some set-up.

  The eaves had moaned, the windows shook in their frames and the slates had rattled, but not a dog had barked. And there hadn’t even been a lock on the stable door. He’d simply slid a couple of bolts back and led Angel Gabriel out. The horse had hesitated at the door and spooked slightly a couple of times on the way to the horsebox but otherwise had been a real gentleman. But it had all been just too easy, and Monroe wondered if he was being tailed or something.

  There was also the factor of having to go even more slowly with the horse in the back and the strong crosswinds. It had been hairy enough at times, he thought, doing some pretty low speeds on the way up with maniac drivers suddenly finding themselves halfway up your arse. The last thing he needed was an accident. Anyway, as he was driving through the night, he could stick to the A and B roads. They’d probably be quieter than the motorways too.

  He spent some of the journey refining his plan, plotting how best to handle things with Hewitt. If only he knew what the guy was doing at that big house on the hill and how the Irishman, Gleeson, was involved. Was Gleeson just the bagman for a bigger organization or was it some scheme of his own? Nah, couldn’t be, thought Monroe, the guy surely didn’t have the brains to come up with anything halfway decent. It had to be funded by someone else.

  Whatever, there had to be scope in it for him to get a share. He’d proved in these past few weeks he was smarter than many. Much cleverer than some of the big shots who thought they were something in this game. He hated most of the people still involved in racing, despised them just for being at the hub while his fear and his past had condemned him to a life on the edges. Monroe the nobody - well, that’s what they thought. The Cassidys wouldn’t be thinking that when he rang them. He wasn’t on the edges any more. He had the racing world by the balls. When news of Angel Gabriel broke, they’d be shitting themselves from Portman Square to Perth.

  Much as Monroe wanted to terrorize the racing world by leaving butchered horses for them to find, Mrs Cassidy was a very rich woman and if he asked for half a million this time there had to be a chance she’d pay it.

  If they did decide to pay, how could he make sure he’d get the money without the cops appearing from everywhere? He was smart enough to know that the establishment punished people like him a hell of a lot more severely for extortion than for killing horses. If he got caught trying to haul away a bag with half a million quid in it he knew he was probably looking at fifteen years in jail. There were other ways of making money from this. Long-term payback, maybe, but much, much safer. He’d need to think about it. In the meantime, he’d enjoy thinking about the rich Cassidys and how anxious they’d be, and there was only one person in the whole world who could ease that anxiety for them. And it sure wasn’t Santa Claus.

  24

  In the Cassidy kitchen, they settled down to Christmas dinner just after three o’clock. Maggie and Graham sat on one long side of the big rectangular table. On the opposite side, Frankie sat between Jane and Billy. The tension was almost tangible; it had been building all day, and Frankie felt that his presence was a hindrance to the natural expression of anger and frustration that they must feel. Jane in particular looked very distressed. Her eyes were red and puffy and seemed constantly close to tears.

  He’d left them alone for a couple of hours to go and visit the police. When he’d returned it was obvious that Jane and her mother had been crying. Since then it had been politeness in front of the guest and stiff upper lips all round, although Graham seemed to be the one trying hardest while suffering most. The trainer was obviously upset and anxious for the call they all knew had to come, but he strove to present an air of steadfastness, a sense that whatever happened they would plough on through life.

  Maggie drank a glass of chilled Chablis. The others had soft drinks. Graham carved the turkey methodically while the kids and Maggie made comments about his carving style and Frankie smiled dutifully and even laughed lightly at some of the gentle ribbing. He knew it was mostly for his benefit, to try and make him feel more relaxed and he admired them for trying so hard, but when all the plates were filled with turkey and stuffing, roast potatoes and mixed vegetables, he felt it was time to say something.

  Before he picked up his cutlery he said, ‘I’d like to thank you all for making me feel so welcome. Especially on a day when you really should be alone with each other… If you know what I mean! Kind of Irish, I suppose! ‘ And he dropped his eyes as they smiled and laughed and he felt the blood come to his face again.

  Maggie said, ‘Don’t be daft. If you weren’t here we’d be fighting already, throwing sprouts at each other and knocking drinks all over the tablecloth.’

  Graham nodded, smiling approvingly at his wife.

  Frankie said, Thanks. What I wanted to say too was that you mustn’t feel bad that you can’t let rip because I’m here. I’m sure you’re all very frustrated and very angry over Gabby and I know this dinner won’t be sitting too well in your stomachs worrying about him. I want you to feel free to say anything you like if it makes you feel better.’

  They went quiet. After a few minutes Jane said, ‘Do you think he’ll call today, Frankie, the kidnapper?’

  ‘I hope he does. The longer he leaves it the more on edge we’re all going to be.’

  ‘What sort of ransom do you think he’ll ask for?’ Jane said.

  Frankie shrugged and cut a piece of turkey. Mopping gravy with it he said, ‘There’s no way of knowing.’

  There was silence again for a while then Billy, still chewing, spoke. ‘I thought you weren’t supposed to go to the police if somebody kidnapped you, I mean kidnapped your son or your horse or whatever.’

  ‘I think that’s what the kidnappers would certainly prefer,’ said Frankie.

  Billy said, ‘Well, Dad called them right away.’

  Frankie spotted the potential for conflict but was sure Graham wouldn’t take what he’d said the wrong way. ‘Your father was absolutely right in calling the police. For a start, the horse has been stolen. It might not even be the kidnapper; we’re just kind of making that assumption.’

  ‘But it looks favourite that it’s the kidnapper, doesn’t it?’ Billy said.

  ‘Coming so soon after the last one, I suppose it does. You’re right,’ said Frankie.

  Billy warmed to Frankie then. Not many adults had ever told him he was right about something. Maggie had been watching, scanning each of the faces as they spoke. Frankie’s sincerity, his mild blushing and lack of worldliness endeared him to her as though three children sat opposite. She said, ‘How long have you worked for the Jockey Club?’

  ‘I only started a few weeks ago.’

  Billy said, ‘Phew, this is a big job for you then isn’t it?’

  Frankie chuckled. ‘I suppose it is if you look at it that way.’

  Graham said, ‘Were you in racing before this then?’

  ‘Only as a spectator. Me da… my father loved the racing and used to take me to the Curragh and Leopardstown when I was Billy’s age. Ever since then I tried to go as often as I could, which wasn’t as often as I liked.’

  ‘So what was your job before this?’ Jane asked.

  Frankie had been trying to prepare for answering this question. When Kathy had been alive, the question hadn’t bothered him too much, because she was almost always around when it was asked and as far as she was concerned that was testament enough, that people could see her, see how easy she must be to love; so back then he’d answer easily, unfazed. But this was the first time he’d been asked since Kathy died. He had never been among people, socially, who hadn’t known. Now they were waiting, these kind people who’d taken him in when they had plenty of troubles of their own. He knew as he opened his mouth to answer that his relationship with all of them was about to start changing, because he knew the questions that had to come next.

  ‘I
was a Catholic priest.’

  Jane and Maggie stopped and looked at him. Graham and Billy carried on eating although Billy, chewing again said, ‘I’ve seen priests at the races quite a few times. I used to plan to follow them to the bookies ‘cause I thought they got tips from God.’

  They all laughed.

  Jane asked, ‘How long were you a priest for?’

  Maggie tutted. ‘Jane! That’s none of your business.’

  ‘Oh, Mum! I was only asking!’

  The first awkward silence. As the architect of it, Frankie thought it best that he filled it. ‘I was a priest for eight years. I spent a year of that as chaplain to a police force. They gave me some training in police-type stuff and that, believe it or not, was a sound enough background to get me this job.’

  ‘So, did you get made redundant from being a priest?’ Billy asked.

  ‘Billy!’ Maggie said, although she was more curious than any to hear Frankie’s answer, and she was relieved when Frankie raised a hand and smiled in a way that said, ‘It’s OK, don’t worry.’ He said to Billy, ‘I sort of made myself redundant.’

  Billy said, ‘Oh, I’ve heard about that too. They do that in factories when they need to cut jobs down. They say there’ll be voluntary redundancies. They do it when they’ve got too many workers. Is it the same? Did they have too many priests?’

  Frankie was conscious that only Graham was eating now, showing no particular keenness to hear his answer. Maggie and Jane were riveted. Billy was just curious. Frankie said to him, ‘Well, it wasn’t quite like that. I sort of failed my own quality control test if you like, and decided it would be better for the Church if I found myself another job.’