This Irish House

by Jeanette Baker

  “Someone must go first.”

  “It won’t be us.”

  “Fair enough. As long as Kevin looks like he isn’t trusted, it suits my purposes.” He walked to the door. “I’ll wait for you to reach me. I want to know what’s happening before it happens. At all times I want to know where Kevin is. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Nolan?”

  “Perfectly clear, Mr. Anderson.”

  Kate pulled into the only empty space in the hospital parking lot, decided she was too close to the neighboring car’s passenger door, backed out and reentered. A painful crunching noise and the sudden impact froze her into immobility. “Dear God, not again,” she moaned. This time her insurance surely would cancel her.

  Backing out again, she maneuvered her Volvo into the spot at a dead center position and climbed out of the car. The side panel of the sporty Rover she had been trying to avoid was seriously crushed. She closed her eyes, leaned against the side of her Volvo and gave herself up to self-pity mixed in with an unusual dose of temper. Why this? Hadn’t she enough on her plate? If she were to compose a résumé of her problems, a daughter so traumatized she’d fallen into a coma, a son caught selling drugs, a husband who’d planned assassinations, who’d cheated with her best friend and was murdered for his pains, no one would believe her. She must have done something dreadful when she was young; something so terrible she could no longer remember what it was because she’d blotted it out. That was it. Retribution. She was Catholic. All Catholics believed in retribution. It was a fact of life, like mortal and venial sin, novenas, no meat on Friday, no divorce, no birth control and Purgatory. A thought occurred to her. Thank God Patrick was dead. Otherwise she would have to divorce him or join half of Ireland and live in sin.

  The thought cheered her. Suddenly she felt stirrings of positive energy. Deirdre was recovering and surely Neil was sorting out Kevin’s mess. Maeve had fled to New York and Patrick— No, she wouldn’t go there. Not yet.

  Once again, she looked at the dented Rover. Her Volvo was barely scratched. Summoning new reserves, Kate reached into her purse, pulled out a notepad, scribbled a brief message and her phone number and placed it under the windshield wiper. Immediately she felt better. It was an unfortunate incident, but it was only a car. If the owner was unreasonable, she would offer to trade places with him, his life for hers. The absurdity of her reasoning struck her. She laughed out loud. She was still smiling when she opened the door to Deirdre’s room and stepped inside.

  The sight of her daughter sitting up in bed reading a magazine as if nothing more had happened to her than a scraped knee stopped Kate short. She stood quietly in the shadow of the door unable to do more than stare in grateful appreciation that her child’s resilience had overcome her demons.

  “Hello, love,” she called out softly.

  Deirdre looked up and smiled. “Hello, Mum. Where have you been?”

  Kate closed the door and pulled a chair from the corner to a place beside Deirdre’s bed. “I’ve taken Grandda to his hotel.”

  Deirdre’s smile faded. “How is Kevin?”

  “Kevin’s going to be fine, Deirdre. I have a good feeling that we’re all going to be together again soon.”

  “How can that be?”

  “I’ll explain later. Right now I want you to tell me what happened to you.”

  Deirdre twisted the fringe of the blanket between her fingers.

  “Peter gave me his version. But I think there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

  Deirdre looked up guiltily. “I wasn’t going to see him anymore, Mum, but I really needed the help in history and he volunteered.”

  “Good Lord, Dee. Whatever gave you the idea that you shouldn’t see him? He’s a perfectly nice boy.”

  “He’s a Protestant,” Deirdre sat flatly.

  “Is something wrong with that?”

  Deirdre looked confused. “You told me to be careful.”

  “Yes, I did. I would give you that advice about any boy. The fact that the two of you are living in a city where Catholics and Protestants don’t usually mingle makes it more difficult. But I never meant for you to believe you couldn’t be friendly with someone of a different religious affiliation. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”

  “You were right,” Deirdre said, her voice low. “Because of me, Peter was nearly hurt.”

  “That isn’t quite right, Deirdre. None of this is because of you or Peter. Your fathers are responsible. Because of who they were and what they did, you and your friend were held accountable.”

  Deirdre looked directly at her mother. “What happens now?”

  “We go on.”

  “What about Uncle Dominick?”

  Kate’s face hardened. “Dominick behaved foolishly. I’m afraid he’ll have to pay for that.”

  “I’m the only one who knew it was him.”

  Kate lifted her daughter’s hand from the bed cover and held it between both of her own. “Dominick is IRA, Deirdre. This aborted kidnapping of Peter is a very small thing compared to what he’s done. I’m afraid he’s a suspect in the murder of Tom McGinnis. That’s what the charge will be when they arrest him. You won’t be involved at all.”

  Deirdre was silent for a long time. Finally she spoke. “Tell me about Da.”

  Kate chose her words carefully. How much to tell? How much to leave out? “What would you like to know?”

  “I figured most of it out a while ago. People aren’t murdered the way he was without cause. The reasons you and Grandda gave made no sense to me. Liam told me the rest.”

  Kate sighed.

  “He didn’t want to,” Deirdre hurried on, “but when he came to warn Peter, I asked him and he told me.”

  Kate nodded.

  “I’m glad he told me, Mum. It cleared up some things for me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Deirdre’s cheeks were flushed. Her forehead wrinkled in concentration. “The man in the mask with Uncle Dominick was the same man who came for Da. He was in our house that night.”

  Kate paled. “That’s impossible, Dee. The men who murdered your father weren’t IRA. They were Loyalist paramilitaries.”

  “It was the same man,” Deirdre insisted. “I recognized his voice and his eyes. He’s the same one, Mum. I know it.”

  Kate could barely swallow. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

  Deirdre nodded. “Da was killed by his own.”

  “But why?”

  “Perhaps we should tell Mr. Anderson.”

  “Yes,” Kate replied absently. Questions crowded her mind. Who, among his own people, would have wanted Patrick dead? Patrick was a rarity, a barrister from the Falls. A man loyal to his roots, Patrick gave them his knowledge, his money, his loyalty. How would anyone have benefited from such a loss? Perhaps Neil would know.

  Deirdre’s words resurfaced. “How do you know Mr. Anderson?” Kate asked.

  “He was here when I woke up. I heard his voice. He talked for a long time. In the beginning I was too tired to pay attention, but then he talked about you and how much you needed me to be well and healthy. I believed him,” she said simply. “He seems like a very good man.”

  Kate wet her lips. “He is a good man.”

  “Is he a Protestant?”

  “No, but he’s an Englishman, which is even worse.”

  Deirdre laughed. “You sound like Grandda.”

  Kate smiled. “Don’t be cruel. I was teasing.”

  “I think he likes you, Mum.”

  “Yes, he does.”

  Deirdre looked surprised. “Have you been seeing him socially?”

  “Not really.”

  “It’s all right, Mum. You’ve been a widow for a long time.”

  Kate shook her head. “It’s more complicated than that. I’m not sure about anything right now. Learning about your da was a shock and this business with Kevin has been dreadful. Right now I want to go home, dig a hole in the sand and crawl into it.”

  Deirdre held out
her arms. “Poor Mum. Everything will turn out the way it’s supposed to. You’ll see.”

  Kate hugged her daughter fiercely. “How did you get to be so smart?”

  “I had a wonderful role model.”

  “Bless you for that, Dee,” her mother whispered.

  Twenty-Seven

  Thoughts of Dominick dominated Liam on his drive north. There was something not quite right about his brother. Most of the time he appeared completely normal, but occasionally his behavior veered into the irrational, even the unbalanced. The Peter Clarke situation was an example. Liam didn’t know what to make of it. His instincts told him to cut a wide, clear path as far away from his brother as possible.

  The seaport town of Portstewart was lovely and clean with cozy tearooms, souvenir shops, a boardwalk, air thickly scented with salt spray and curbstones painted red white and blue, Loyalist colors. Dominick had chosen this location, rabidly Protestant, because it was completely devoid of sentiment for the IRA and the last place anyone would look for one of its members.

  The beach cottage stood apart, a lonely structure on the blip of a variegated shore. Of indiscriminate color, two stories with three gables and a large empty porch, its walls had been scoured and worn by sand and wind, salt and sea. The yard appeared deserted and shades covered the windows. The only evidence of life was a thin line of smoke from the chimney.

  Liam pulled into the gravel driveway and turned off the ignition. He walked around to the back door. A tricycle and several hand tools lay rusted and forgotten in the yard. The steps leading to the door were as weathered as the house but in better repair.

  He knocked loudly. Minutes passed. He looked around, knocked again and walked inside. The house was dim and sparsely furnished. The air was still and empty as if no one had breathed it in for some time. The floorboards creaked under Liam’s feet. He walked through the back room, the kitchen, down a long hallway and up a flight of steep, uncarpeted stairs into a small bedroom, stark and severely appointed enough for a monastery. Dominick sat in the single straight-backed chair, his hands quiet in his lap. Kevin sat on the floor, his back to the wall.

  “Hello, Liam,” he said softly.

  Liam nodded, looked around for a place to sit and found none.

  Dominick turned his gaze on his brother. “What brings you here?”

  “You’re a suspect in Tom McGinnis’s murder.”

  “How did you find out that interesting bit of information?”

  “It’s already news.”

  Dominick shifted his eyes to another spot in the room. “Tom died of natural causes. It wasn’t murder.”

  “According to the autopsy, he was murdered.”

  “Ah, the autopsy.” Dominick grinned. “Modern forensics certainly changes the picture, doesn’t it?”

  “Did you do it?”

  “Let’s just say I was instrumental in helping him along.”

  Kevin swallowed a gasp.

  Liam released his breath. “What are you doing to yourself, Dom?”

  “How is Deirdre?”

  “Time will tell.”

  Dominick lit a cigarette, blew the smoke into a circle above his head. “What are you really doing here, lad?”

  “Anderson sent me to convince you to turn yourself in. He said if you gave him the information he needed, he could help you. Your sentence could be lighter.”

  Dominick’s eyes narrowed and a muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Did he now?”

  “Aye.”

  “So, Kevin, you think I should turn myself in? Give myself up to an English court with Protestant judges and lawyers and hope they do well by me?”

  “Special Forces will be looking for you, Uncle Dominick. I don’t want you to die.”

  “Bless you, lad. Everyone dies. It’s simply a matter of when.”

  “You’re not old enough to die.”

  “No,” said his uncle. “I’m not.”

  Liam swore. His voice rose. “Damn it. Are you bloody insane, Dom?”

  A flash of anger broke through the younger man’s calm. “What’s it to you, Liam? You’re the one who freed Peter. We would have been home free without you.”

  “There’s no proof you had anything to do with Peter Clarke. You were wearing a mask.”

  “Deirdre knows.”

  Liam shook his head angrily. “She didn’t see you. No jury will convict on such flimsy evidence.”

  “I won’t give them a chance.”

  “They have you on the McGinnis murder, Dom. You’ll be a marked man. Even the Republic won’t keep you.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Have it your way.” Liam stood. “I’ll be going and I’m taking Kevin.”

  Dominick’s gaze slid from his brother to his nephew. “Kevin stays with me. I’ll return him later.”

  Liam froze. Fear slowed his heart. It was an effort to breathe. Seconds passed. One minute. Two. Finally his heart resumed its regular rhythm. “Kevin’s expected back.”

  Dominick’s voice was sharp, edgy. “When did you become such a rule follower, Liam?”

  “When you went over the edge.” his brother shot back. “Come along, Kevin. We’re finished here.”

  “Stay where you are, lad,” ordered Dominick. “We don’t want this to get ugly.”

  “I’m taking the boy, Dom.”

  Dominick reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol. He leveled it at his brother. “Kevin stays with me.

  “Do you expect me to believe that you would use that on us, Dom?” Liam scoffed.

  Dominick laughed and the frightening, unbalanced sound of it stopped the blood flow in Liam’s veins.

  “I’m a desperate man,” said Dominick.

  “Don’t do this, Dom,” Liam pleaded. “For God’s sake. He’s Patrick’s son.”

  “Patrick.” Dominick’s voice carried a tender, regretful note and for a minute, Liam thought he’d reconsidered. But then he shook it off and his face hardened again. “He’s my only chance. Without him I’ll be on the queen’s dole for the next thirty years.”

  “You’ll add kidnapping to the rest of your charges,” Liam said.

  “Nothing’s worse than murder.”

  “Haven’t you done enough to Kate?”

  “There’s truth to that, Liam,” Dominick said. “More than you know.”

  Neither man noticed that Kevin was no longer sitting on the floor. “What have you done to my mother?” he demanded.

  “Leave it, Kevin,” Liam warned him and turned back to his brother. “Go now, Dominick, while we’re here.”

  Kevin walked across the room to stand beside Dominick. His hands were clenched. “Tell me what you’ve done to my mother.”

  Sanity returned to Dominick. “Settle yourself, lad. It was no more than an expression. I meant nothing more than what was kept from her when your father was alive.”

  Relieved, Liam sighed. “Let’s go, Kevin.”

  “Kevin stays.”

  Liam was frantic. “Be reasonable. You can’t hide the boy. They’ll be looking for him. You’ll be better off alone.”

  Dominick’s hand tightened on the gun. “I won’t hurt him as long as he’s cooperative. He’ll have a bit of coin to call his mother when I’ve crossed the border.”

  Liam started forward.

  “Stay back, Liam,” Dominick said softly. “I said I wouldn’t hurt Kevin. I’ll do what I must with you. I haven’t forgotten that you betrayed me.”

  “For Christ sake, Dom. I did it to save you.”

  “I’m not saved, am I, Liam?”

  “I didn’t know you’d murdered Tom McGinnis.”

  “You know it now.”

  “Aye.” Liam backed away. “But I don’t know you, Dom. Something’s happened to you. You’re not my brother.”

  “I imagine there’s more than a bit of relief in that knowledge, isn’t there, Liam?”

  “I pity you.”

  “Save it, lad,” Dominick said, “and give my
regards to Kate. Tell her I’ll return her son when I’m safely out of the Six Counties.”

  “Take me instead,” Liam said.

  “Don’t be a wanker, Liam. You’re not important enough. Special Forces will have us marked, trussed and sewn up in body bags before the cocks crow. Now, the lad here is different. They’ll be using kid gloves with our Kevin.” He smiled engagingly at Kevin. “You don’t mind helping out your uncle, do you, lad?”

  Liam held his breath, praying that the boy would say nothing to antagonize Dominick.

  Kevin swallowed and shook his head.

  Liam relaxed and gave himself up to the inevitable. “Do you want me to wait until you’ve gone?” he asked.

  “Not at all. I want you to drive back to Belfast immediately and tell Neil Anderson that I’ve got Kevin and if he wants him back in one piece, he’s to allow me to leave Northern Ireland with the papers you’ll supply for me.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Aye.” Dominick ran his free hand through his thick hair, a habit carried over from childhood. “I’ve no demands, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Immediately or in the end?”

  “In the end.”

  Dominick shrugged. “I’ve no real plans. Away from Ireland, I think. I’ve no real stomach for the place anymore.”

  Liam nodded. “Take care of the lad, Dom. Don’t take risks.”

  Dominick nodded. “Go along with you, now. The traffic home is a bugger.”

  Liam held out his hand to Kevin. When the boy took it, he pulled him into his arms for a hard, brief hug. “Take care of yourself, Kevin. Be smart,” he said, pulling away and walking quickly out of the room, down the hall, out the back to the car parked in the gravel driveway.

  Neil Anderson swore. His eyes blazed black and the pencil he carried snapped in his hand. He walked to the window, pushed the blinds aside and stared out at the rainy world that was Belfast. He waited a full five minutes, enough time for the white-hot rage consuming him to settle a bit, before addressing Liam.

  “I didn’t think he would use Kevin. Was there no other way?”

  “You should know the answer to that,” Liam replied patiently. “If there was any possibility of taking Kevin with me, I would have. He’s my nephew, my blood.” “I could accuse you and your brother of orchestrating this between you.”