“You’re a danger to yourself, Dominick. Crashing a man’s birthday when he’s surrounded by family and friends is a sign of sickness, not to mention dangerous.”
Dominick leaned against the doorframe. “No one knew me.”
“You were lucky.”
“We owe it to Patrick to take the boy out, Liam.” Dominick’s eyes burned feverishly bright.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Murder holds no appeal for me.”
“Since when?”
Liam sighed. “I’m no killer, Dom. You know that. Nothing like this has been ordered for a long time. Tom is dead. Let things lie for a while.”
“Don’t pretend to be a saint. You were one of us, too, in the thick of it.”
“Only when there was a purpose and no other way.”
Dominick pushed away from the wall. “I’ll do it myself.”
Liam shook his head. “No, you won’t.”
Dominick’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t stop me.”
“Aye. I can.”
“Will you be informing on your own flesh and blood, Liam?”
“Deirdre is my flesh and blood, too,” Liam countered. “You seem to be forgetting that.”
“Deirdre is fraternizing with the enemy.”
“She doesn’t see it that way.”
Dominick frowned. “What do you know about how she sees it? Have you been talking to her about this?” His voice roughened. “So help me, Liam, if you’ve—”
Liam rose, a tall man, taller and thicker than his younger brother, with the same black hair and vivid blue eyes. “Don’t be threatening me, Dominick. I told you I’d stop you. I’ll do it my way, no matter if it suits you or not.”
With a strangled curse, Dominick flung himself out of the room.
Liam rubbed the furrow between his eyebrows and shook his head. He had never known Dom to behave so strangely, so irrationally. He was always the cool one, collected and sane, a man who looked at all the angles before making a decision. It was almost as if someone else had taken possession of his brother’s body. Blood or not, he could not allow Dominick to carry out his macabre foolishness. He made a single phone call, wrote the information he needed on a slip of paper, lifted his jacket from its hook on the wall, walked through the kitchen and out the back door.
The boy answered the door on Liam’s first knock. His look of surprise was replaced by wariness.
“May I help you?” he asked politely.
“Do you remember me, lad?”
The boy nodded.
“I need to speak with you. Will you invite me in?” Liam saw the hesitation. “It’s important.”
Peter stepped aside. “I’m sorry. Please, come in.”
“You’re in danger,” Liam said bluntly when he was safely inside. “Is there somewhere you can go for a bit?”
“It’s the middle of the term.” Peter looked skeptical. “What is this all about?”
“It’s your life I’m talking about.”
Peter whitened. “I don’t understand.”
“My brother knows your father was involved in covering up the investigation of the execution of Patrick Nolan.”
“It isn’t true.”
Liam said nothing.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Dominick wants to even the score.”
A voice came from behind him. “What’s going on?”
Liam winced and turned to face his niece framed in a doorway.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“How long have you been here, Deirdre?”
“An hour or so. Peter is helping me with a class. What’s happening, Uncle Liam?”
Liam sighed. “I didn’t want you involved in this, lass. I’m sorry.”
Deirdre looked first at her uncle and then at Peter. “Will someone please tell me what’s happening?”
Uninvited, Liam sat down on the nearest chair. There was no avoiding it. She had to know. “Geoffrey Clarke, Peter’s father, was one of the men involved in the cover-up of the murder of your father.”
Deirdre gasped. “No.”
Liam hurried to explain. “He wasn’t in on the killing, just the investigation.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It isn’t so unusual,” he admitted. “People protect their own. We all do.”
Deirdre sat down. To Liam it looked as if the blood had completely left her body, so white and spent was her face. Her question surprised him.
“Why was my father targeted?”
Liam heard the tick of a clock. Somewhere outside the window, a bird trilled and, in the Mews, the quiet, upscale streets surrounding Queen’s, he heard the faint sound of an impatient hand on a horn. “Patrick had a gift for getting men acquitted for their crimes,” he said quietly.
She came back quickly as if the subject wasn’t new to her, as if she’d taken the time to think about it. “So did Martin Walsh and Michael Whelan. They worked with him and continued to do the same work for years after. Why was it my father who was killed?”
Liam was silent for long minutes. He hated his role in all of this. He shouldn’t be the one to tell her. He didn’t know who he was angrier with, Kate, for protecting her children from what was real, or Dominick for creating the entire mess in the first place. “Your father believed in a united Ireland and equal rights and opportunities for Catholics,” he said at last. “He was frustrated by the lack of progress. That frustration led him to the IRA.”
“My father was in the IRA?”
Liam nodded. “He was a very important member because of his education and his ability to influence people.”
“The IRA is illegal. They’re terrorists. How could my father be involved with an illegal organization? He was a barrister. He believed in the law.”
“I don’t know how he rationalized it, lass.”
Her question was pointed, accusing. “Are you in the IRA, Uncle Liam?”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The admission was difficult for him. “I am.”
Her cry tore at his heart. “How can you be? They’re killers.”
“No one has killed in years, Deirdre. We don’t sanction murder anymore. Believe me.”
She turned the subject. “Why is Peter in danger? Why doesn’t Uncle Dominick go after the men who actually killed my father?”
“Dominick never got over your father’s murder. He wants to blame someone. We don’t know who actually came into your house that day. The investigation wasn’t conclusive. Peter is a logical target because of Geoffrey Clarke. Dominick recognized his name as soon as I did.”
“You just said murder was no longer sanctioned.”
Liam sighed. “Dominick is not himself. I don’t believe he would actually carry out his threat, but—” He hesitated. “He needs time to sort it through, to cool down a bit.”
Deirdre’s hand was at her throat. She raised frightened eyes to her friend’s face. “This is my fault,” she whispered. “It’s because of me that he recognized you.” Panic hurried her words. “You’ll have to go away. Please, Peter. You don’t know what it’s like.” Threading her fingers through her hair she lifted the weight of it off the sides of her face. “I can’t do this again. You must know that I can’t do this again.” She appealed to Liam. “What can we do?”
“Leave for a while. See nothing of each other. Allow Dominick to find another cause.”
“Will he do that?” Peter was clearly skeptical. “Suppose I’m gone for a month, or two, or even three. Will he forget or will I have to relocate forever?”
“It won’t be as long as that,” Liam assured him. Peter shook his head. “This is absurd. I won’t do it. I refuse to let anyone do this to me.” He threw back his head and looked at Liam. “I appreciate the warning, Mr. Nolan, but I’ll take my chances.”
“No, Peter,” Deirdre pleaded.
Liam ignored her. “Informing on my brother won’t help you, lad. He�
��s done nothing. The Special Provisions Act has been remanded. It’s no longer legal to arrest Catholics because they might be dangerous.”
“I have no intention of informing on your brother. What if someone retaliated against Deirdre?”
Liam stood. “You’re a good lad. I came here to warn you. I’ve done that. Whatever you do now, my conscience is clean.” He appealed to Deirdre. “Do me a favor, lass, and stay away from Peter. It’s dangerous for you and it won’t help him.”
She wouldn’t look at him. “This is my fault. I won’t leave him to deal with it alone. We’re in this together.”
Liam swore, caught himself and tried again. “Think of your mother, Dee. She’s already suffered more than most people.”
Deirdre was silent.
“Will you call her?”
She nodded. “I’ll call her, Uncle Liam.”
“You’ll tell her what I said.”
“I’ll tell her.”
Liam breathed a sigh of relief. Kate would convince Deirdre to be reasonable. He would rely on Kate to take care of Patrick’s daughter.
Deirdre checked her watch comparing it, once again, with the clock above the display case in the coffee bar. Peter was nearly thirty minutes late. It was very unlike him. She rubbed the worry lines from her forehead. Liam’s warning the day before had left her with a serious case of paranoia. He was probably delayed for a very good reason that had nothing to do with Dominick Nolan. Most likely he had car trouble or someone stopped by to chat. Perhaps he had a phone call. She fingered the keypad of her mobile phone. No voice messages. Again she looked at the clock. She would wait ten more minutes before checking his flat.
Two minutes passed. Three. Deirdre hitched the strap of her backpack over one shoulder and left the coffee shop. The lovely cobbled streets and brick buildings surrounding Queen’s soothed her spirits. There was something about academia that put things into perspective, erased boundaries, brought people together in an atmosphere of cooperation. The Mews was like that. Peter’s flat was on the south end on University Road. She climbed the stairs, lifted the brass knocker and pounded twice on the yellow door. She heard movement inside, footsteps, rustling. She knocked again. Still no answer. Peter had given her a key, insurance for an early arrival and poor weather. She opened the door and stepped into the entry. “Peter,” she called out. “It’s Deirdre. Are you home?”
His voice, muffled and strange, came from the kitchen. “Stay where you are. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Frustrated, she sat down. What was the matter with him? Normally she would have walked right in. Wasn’t that what one did when one had a key?
When he finally joined her, she was shocked to see him so pale. “Are you ill, Peter? Do you need a doctor?”
“I’ll be fine in a day or so, but I don’t want you to catch it. You should leave, Dee.”
“Not on your life.” She shook her head vehemently. “I’ll make you soup and tea. I’ll read to you. That’s what friends are for.”
“No,” he said, too forcefully. “You must leave. I can’t have you here, now.”
She frowned. Maybe it was something else entirely. A thought occurred to her. “Have you someone here, Peter, another girl, maybe? Is that what this is all about?”
He exploded. “Of course not. What would I want with another girl? I can’t explain right now. Please, leave. I’ll call you later.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re being ridiculous. I won’t leave without an explanation.”
He took her arm and pulled her from the chair. “You’ll probably hate me forever, but I really can’t do this now. I’m throwing you out, Dee. There’s nothing more to say.”
She began to struggle. “What’s the matter with you, Peter? I’ve never seen you like this. You need a doctor. I’m going to ring your parents.”
“Don’t.” His face tightened. “Just go home. Please.”
She pulled away from him and stamped her foot. Fury had replaced her worry. “No,” she shouted.
He cursed. “What am I going to do with you? Why won’t you trust me?”
Deirdre looked over his shoulder and froze.
Peter turned and groaned. A man in a black balaclava pointed a gun directly at them. Another stood behind him.
She recognized the blue eyes and leanly muscled build of the man in front immediately. “Uncle Dominick,” she whispered.
The other man spoke quickly. “You’re mistaken.”
Deirdre stared at the man she was sure was her uncle. She wasn’t mistaken. Somewhere underneath the black clothes was Dominick and he was here for Peter. Her heart pounded. She backed away. “I’ll be leaving now,” she said.
“I’m afraid not, lass.” The same man spoke. “You’ll both be coming with us.”
Deirdre panicked. “Don’t do this, Uncle Dominick.”
“Easy, lass,” said the spokesman. “Nothing will happen if you do what I tell you. Come along now. Don’t be making this difficult for us.”
Deirdre’s eyes flicked from one black mask to the other. Then she looked at the guns and the years rolled back. The man who was not her uncle spoke quietly, soothingly. He was saying something. What was it? Why did he sound so familiar? He started toward her. She backed away, small whimpering sounds coming from inside her throat. He reached for her arm, clamping down hard above the elbow. The pressure of his fingers, his smell, the panic stealing her breath was all so achingly familiar. Deirdre opened her mouth and began to scream, loudly, hysterically, the sound filling the small flat, rooting the three men to the floor, rendering them clumsy and slow to react.
“Shut up.” The man lifted his right hand.
The blow came down hard on her temple and she fell, unconscious, to the floor.
The man who never spoke, cried out for the first time. He shouted a single, hoarse, “No!” and leaped forward cradling the girl in his arms. “What in bloody hell are you doing?” he said in the same hoarse voice.
“She was hysterical. Someone could have come in at any time. Let’s go. I’ll take the lad. You carry the girl and take your mask off,” he ordered. “I’ll blindfold the boy.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, tied it around Peter’s face and ripped off his own mask. “We’ll not be getting far with these.”
Dominick felt for Deirdre’s pulse, found it and sighed gratefully. He pulled the balaclava from his head, stuffed it into his pocket and hoisted his niece over his shoulder. “Say your prayers. If she’s hurt, you’ll be paying for the rest of your life.”
“The RUC will be looking for the boy, not a Catholic girl.”
“It isn’t the RUC I’m worried about. It’s the girl’s mother.”
“This is your brain-child, lad. I won’t be the only one answering up.”
Twenty-Five
Kate Was silent for most of the seven-hour flight back to Belfast. Neil instinctively knew not to press her. She needed time to process what she’d learned. Loss was never easy and Kate had lost more than her share in a few short hours. He followed her out of the plane and left her waiting on the footpath while he picked up his car from the overnight car park. The drive back to her lodgings was equally silent. Neil walked her to the door, squeezed her arm and told her he would be in touch.
“I think I’ll go home to Ardara for a while,” she said wearily.
“Good idea.”
“Promise me you’ll see to Kevin.”
“He’s my first priority.”
She smiled, her first in two days. “Thank you.”
He had no more than walked back to his car and strapped himself inside when she ran out of the B & B after him. Her face was white and he could see that her breathing was difficult and erratic.
He set his brake, opened the door and walked toward her. She clung to him, her words mixed with strangled gasps for air. “Deirdre is at the Royal Victoria Hospital. She’s in a coma and Dominick has kidnapped Kevin.”
“Get in the car.”
“How did it ha
ppen?” he asked when they were on the road.
Kate shook her head. Her breathing had resumed with help from her inhaler. “I don’t know. The message from the hospital was on my machine. My father is there and Liam, Deirdre’s uncle.”
Alarm bells sounded in Neil’s brain. He pulled a light from the back seat of the car, fastened it to the hood and turned on the siren. Cars pulled over to the sides of the road. He increased his speed and within minutes pulled into the emergency car park of the Royal Victoria. He dropped Kate at the entrance and then looked for a space to park.
John O’Donnell clutched his daughter’s icy hands.
“Thank God, you’ve come.”
Liam Nolan and a boy near her daughter’s age rose from their chairs.
“Where’s Deirdre?” Kate asked.
“She’s in Intensive Care,” said John. “Liam brought her in last night. When you couldn’t be reached, he called me.”
Kate looked at her brother-in-law. “What happened? Where’s Kevin?”
Liam didn’t mince words. “Deirdre was knocked unconscious from a blow to the head. However, it is the doctor’s opinion that it wasn’t serious. Something else is keeping her from waking up, something emotional.”
Kate pushed the hair back behind her ears and sat down in the row of seats facing the ICU. Something wasn’t right. “Where is my son and what does all this have to do with you, Liam?”
Neil walked down the hallway. He stood beside her. Liam frowned. “What is this? What are you doing here?”
“This is Neil Anderson,” Kate said. “He brought me here.”
Neil did not offer his hand.
The boy stepped forward. “I’m Peter Clarke. Perhaps I should explain.”
Clarke. The Protestant from Queen’s. Kate waited.
“I was helping Deirdre with her history class when Mr. Nolan came to warn me that I was a paramilitary target.”
Kate frowned. “Why would you be an IRA target?”
Peter drew a deep breath. “My father was part of the cover-up of the investigation of your husband’s murder. His name is Geoffrey Clarke. He’s an RUC constable.”
Kate drew a deep shuddering breath. “I see. What does this have to do with Deirdre?”
This Irish House Page 26