Final Betrayal

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘It’s just … Well, she was acting really weird this morning.’

  ‘Isn’t your mother always a bit weird?’

  Katie laughed. ‘You’re right there. But she’s been so much calmer and in better form since we moved. It’s great to see her something close to happy again. But she got spooked this morning and I don’t want her to go back to the way she used to be.’

  ‘Spooked by what?’ Rose held her breath, hoping that Bernie hadn’t already made her move.

  ‘I’m not sure. We were talking and then some sort of coin fell out of Louis’ jacket pocket and she kind of freaked.’

  ‘Don’t worry your head about it. I’ll have a chat with her when she gets home.’ Rose wondered just how that chat would turn out.

  * * *

  Tony nursed his pint. Sniffed at a cold that he felt was surely trying to take hold and found his thoughts returning to Conor. Mrs D was putting on an act. He was sure of it. He’d seen her a few weeks before Conor had been released, and no way was she that bad. Was she making him pay a second time for the disgrace he’d brought to their door? Conor had served his time, but Vera Dowling was a proud woman, and now that Tony thought about it, she could be a dangerous one also.

  The creamy head of the Guinness was seeping down into the black liquid.

  ‘Here, Darren, put a head on this for me.’ He handed the pint to the barman.

  If Tony hadn’t dirtied his bib, he’d still be married. He’d still have the house and not be living back in his old place. Just as well he hadn’t sold it. He missed his parents. One after the other they’d died, two years ago. A month between them. And only in their sixties.

  ‘Life’s a bitch.’

  ‘What’s that, Tony?’

  ‘Oh, nothing, Darren, just drowning my sorrows.’ He took the pint and swallowed half of it in one go.

  ‘Sad about those young women.’

  ‘The murders?’

  ‘Yes. The first two were in here Saturday night. Happy as anything. And now they’re gone.’

  Tony felt his breath lodge in his throat. ‘It is sad.’

  ‘Wasn’t one of those found this morning the daughter of the builder fellow?’

  ‘Cyril Gill.’

  ‘That’s the man. He’s your boss, isn’t he?’

  ‘You know everything that goes on in this town, Darren.’

  ‘I know a good bit, to tell you the truth.’

  Tony lowered his head. Too many people knew too much.

  ‘Saw your ex in here a while ago,’ Darren said.

  ‘I don’t care.’ But Tony felt the alcohol flip in his stomach.

  ‘With a detective. That Kirby fella. Lost his girlfriend a few months ago.’

  ‘Darren, I don’t want to know about her or anyone she cares to go out with.’ But he did care. Jesus Christ. A detective. That was all he needed.

  He finished his pint and left the pub with more confusion than resolution.

  * * *

  When he had emptied the last basin of filthy water down the sink, Conor dressed his mother in clean clothes. He cringed every time his hand touched her skin. It wasn’t right. Sons were not supposed to have to do this. If he didn’t know it was impossible, he’d say she had developed her disability as a way of punishing him.

  He shoved the dirty clothes into the washing machine and thought about that for a moment. She did have rheumatoid arthritis, didn’t she? He’d seen the knobbly bones protruding every which way on her hands and knees. When had it got so bad? Was it just before he returned home, or had she been like that for years? He didn’t want to bother the neighbours by asking them questions to which he, her son, should know the answers. They probably wouldn’t tell him anything anyway. He’d have to speak to Tony.

  He switched on the washing machine and dried the dishes. When the tiny kitchen was reasonably tidy, he peeped into the sitting room. She was snoring loudly. The odour was a little milder now. He’d sprayed Febreze on every surface, including the floor and curtains.

  Sneaking out the door, he felt like a fifteen-year-old escaping for an illicit cigarette. The thought gave him the urge for nicotine. He had Tony’s pack, but no lighter. Maybe he’d walk up to Tesco. The air was cold but fresh. The sky was dark. He didn’t mind. After years of artificial light in his cell, he welcomed the black sky above his head.

  At the end of his road, a car approached with full headlights on. It swerved up onto the footpath. Conor tried to jump out of the way and fell into a neatly trimmed evergreen hedge. Thorns tore through his jeans and scratched his hands as he pulled himself upright.

  ‘What the …?’ he yelled. ‘What do you think you’re playing—’

  The words drowned in his throat as a fist smashed into his face. He felt one of his teeth crack, and blood poured from his mouth. As he attempted to stand, the second thump caught him on the side of the head, and he fell back into the hedge once again. He tried to see his assailant, but the car lights were blinding him. A kick to his stomach and a jab to his balls and he curled up with a scream. The black sky appeared to be full of twinkling stars where only a moment ago it had been boot-polish black. Then they began to disappear one by one. His eyelids drooped. He tried to focus, to see who had attacked him.

  The last stars blinked out and the blackness melded into one long sheet of coal.

  His eyes closed and his pain disappeared into unconsciousness.

  Thirty-Nine

  Lottie could sense that something was wrong with the first step inside her front door.

  ‘Katie? Chloe? Sean? Where are you all?’

  She burst into the kitchen. Her mother stood with her back to the counter, arms folded like a sergeant major. But the spark of mutiny that so often glinted in Rose’s eyes was missing.

  ‘What’s wrong? Where are the kids?’ Lottie threw her bag and jacket over the back of a chair and noticed the stack of clothes all ironed and neatly folded.

  ‘They’re upstairs.’

  ‘Why? What’s going on?’

  ‘They’ve eaten. There’s a plate of dinner in the microwave for you. Chloe and Sean are doing their homework, under protest, I may add, and Katie is putting Louis to bed.’

  Lottie sighed with relief. ‘Oh. Thank God.’

  She heard Rose move towards her. She eased past her and switched on the microwave, suddenly overcome with the need to eat.

  ‘We have to talk,’ Rose said, sitting down.

  ‘I have to eat.’

  ‘Don’t be so belligerent.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m hungry.’

  She waited impatiently while the plate twirled around inside her sparkling new microwave. Hearing the ping, she took out the plate, got a knife and fork and sat down at the table opposite Rose. The steak looked appetising, and she knew the mashed potato would be full of butter and milk.

  ‘This is lovely. Thanks. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘Tell me about the coin you found in Louis’ clothes.’

  ‘Katie told you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘It’s a sign.’

  ‘Don’t go all superstitious.’ At least Rose didn’t know about the seeds, Lottie thought.

  ‘I have something to tell you,’ Rose said.

  Lottie was starving and wanted nothing more than to dig into the food, but she laid down her fork. ‘Go on. Tell me.’ She looked at her mother, really looked, and saw that the lines were more deeply ingrained into her forehead and the crow’s feet seemed to have multiplied in the last year. So much had happened. So much had eaten its way into both of their hearts, and most of it had not been good. The only shining light in their lives was the birth of baby Louis just over a year ago. Her heart contracted tightly with a love tinged with fear.

  Rose took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘Bernie Kelly called to my home last night.’

  ‘What?’ Lottie stared at her, her mouth hanging open. ‘Are you okay? Did she harm you?’ She could feel her blood beginning
to bubble towards a hysterical boiling point.

  ‘I was just a little shaken. She didn’t threaten me, but she did frighten me.’

  Trying to control her breathing, Lottie gasped, ‘What did she do?’

  ‘Nothing. It was her words.’

  ‘Go on. Tell me. I have to know what she’s up to. She’s a very dangerous individual.’

  ‘I know that,’ Rose snapped. ‘You knew she’d escaped?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a nationwide appeal out for sightings of her.’

  ‘And you didn’t warn me personally, or your children for that matter?’

  ‘I put plans in place to protect you all, but I’ve four murders to investigate.’ That was no excuse, and Lottie knew it. She waited for the onslaught.

  ‘Once again you’ve put your job before your family. When will you learn? We could’ve been killed by that woman while you were out there working.’

  ‘I didn’t put my job first. I never do.’ At least she didn’t think she did. Not intentionally. ‘I told Katie to stay in the house and I organised a taxi to bring Chloe and Sean to and from school. Anyway, Bernie has had ample opportunity to do something, but she hasn’t. I just need to find her.’

  Rose wrung her hands together. ‘I saw the news report this morning.’

  Oh shit, Lottie thought. ‘Cynthia Rhodes will be hearing from me just as soon as I get my head together.’

  ‘You never told your boss back then?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘That Bernie is related to you.’

  ‘He wasn’t my boss then.’ She sighed loudly. ‘But he knows now, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Don’t be such a smart-mouth, Lottie. It doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘Sorry.’ As usual her mother had reduced her to her inner child. And that was never a good thing.

  ‘Everyone will think I was a baby-snatcher.’

  The fuse blew. Lottie jumped up.

  ‘You! It’s always about you. What about me and my family? What my father did was inexcusable, but the fact that you never told me is even worse. You kept the secret from me all my life and I had to find out at the end of a knife held by the woman who claimed to be my sister. She might as well have stuck it into my heart, the hurt was so hard to bear. I’ve been through worse and come out the other side, but now my children will have to know. How do you propose I tell them?’

  Rose shook her head wearily. ‘It’s a mess, and I have no idea how to fix my wrongs.’ She looked at Lottie, her eyes watery and older than their seventy-odd years. ‘Bernie gave me a message for you.’

  ‘She left a message for me last night too. A handful of seeds on my front step.’

  ‘How do you know it was her?’

  ‘Who else was obsessed with that kind of thing? Who else had a book on herbs and requested it for her cell? What did she want me to know?’

  ‘I didn’t want to tell you. I wasn’t going to, but then I saw the news this morning and I knew I had to.’

  ‘Go on.’ Lottie wasn’t at all sure she wanted to hear anything Bernie Kelly might have told her mother. She knew those words might be lethal.

  ‘She babbled a lot. Talked incoherently for a while. Then she said I had to tell you that she would not go back to being incarcerated. She’s going to disappear.’ Rose’s voice faltered. She coughed and continued. ‘But before she does, she’s going to kill each one of your children, and your grandson.’

  Lottie felt bile rise from her stomach. ‘Over my dead body.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Rose’s voice quivered.

  ‘I’m going to kill her first.’

  Forty

  At first the young man wasn’t very accommodating. Neither was his mangy dog. But she needed somewhere to sleep where no one would ask questions. She peeled off a fifty from the bundle of notes she’d stolen from Leo Belfield and waved it in the air.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked the dirty-faced man.

  ‘Everyone calls me Mick.’

  ‘Well, Mick, here’s some money. I want to rent your sleeping bag and this corner for the night. Deal?’

  He swiped the money, unfurled himself from the boxes and newspapers and tumbled out of the sleeping bag. Wrapping the leash around his hand, he walked off with his dog.

  She cast an eye around warily, wondering if anyone had seen the transaction. The supermarket across the road was closing for the night, shutters coming down. The car park was virtually empty. The corner was secluded enough. No one noticed the homeless people any more. They had become part of the infrastructure.

  She could blend in. She was a master of impersonation. And a lot of other things. The smell didn’t faze her. The young man had sweaty feet, but the bag was clean enough. Pulling it up over her head, Bernie Kelly settled down for the night, to plot and plan for tomorrow.

  Forty-One

  Conor was late for work on Thursday morning. He hadn’t slept well. When he’d eventually been prodded from unconsciousness by a passing dog walker, he’d stumbled home, his head throbbing. He’d entered the house as quietly as possible, slunk up the stairs and fallen on top of his bed.

  Now, sneaking on to the site, the collar of his coat turned up, he tightened the Velcro on the cuffs of his gloves and picked up the wheelbarrow.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going with that?’

  Bob Cleary was panting his way towards him, splashing sludge everywhere. If Conor was in charge, he’d have the site hosed down every day. It didn’t cost much to be clean.

  ‘I’m bringing this around the back. Gerry said he needed it for shifting sand.’

  ‘I’ll shift Gerry out the gate if he doesn’t do what he’s told. Put it down and come with me. The boss wants a word with you.’

  ‘I didn’t think he’d be in today.’ Conor felt a snake of worry crawl through his blood.

  ‘And why wouldn’t he be?’

  ‘His daughter. She was murdered, you know.’

  ‘Of course I bloody know. The man is inconsolable. Doesn’t stop him working. I reckon he needed to get out of the house and do something constructive. Come on.’

  Constructive, Conor thought. Like firing me. He chewed the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to see the boss. He was sure it’d been Gill who’d beaten five shades of shite out of him last night.

  ‘I have to bring this round or Gerry will fire me.’

  ‘I do the hiring and firing and I say put the fucking thing down and come with me.’

  Should he run or stay? Conor decided to take his chances.

  * * *

  Lottie had hardly shut an eye all night. The old anguish had taken root deep in the pit of her stomach, and she felt she could crouch over the toilet all day puking up her fear.

  She’d spent the hours of darkness checking in on her children: stroking their hair while they slept; standing over Louis’ cot listening to him breathing. If anything happened to any of them, she would never survive the pain and the guilt. She had to protect them.

  With a mug of coffee turning cold on the table, she sat looking at her phone. Who could help? Leo Belfield? No. He’d already lost Bernie; he’d be useless despite the fact that he was a NYPD captain. She couldn’t spare any of her diminished team. They were too busy. A squad car outside the house could only do so much. Could she justify putting her family under unofficial house arrest? A direct threat had been made, but she knew McMahon wouldn’t sympathise like her old superintendent, Corrigan, would have done. He was too focused on his own performance and that of the district. Freeing up dwindling resources to house-sit his inspector’s children was not on his agenda. Could she keep Chloe and Sean at home without telling them why? She didn’t want to worry them, but at the same time they needed to be alert. What was she to do?

  The doorbell shrieked through her musings and she knocked over her mug. She almost freaked out as she slowly headed to the door. Cynthia Rhodes stood on the step.

  ‘Not you!’ Lottie said with a groan.

  ‘I com
e in peace.’

  ‘Yeah, tell me another one.’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Cynthia, I’m about to leave for work. I haven’t time.’

  ‘A minute. That’s all. I think I can help you.’

  Lottie relented and led the reporter into the kitchen. Wiping up the spilled coffee she said, ‘Tea or coffee?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  When they were seated, Cynthia fixed her black-rimmed spectacles on her nose and stared at Lottie. ‘You look like you could do with a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘What do you want, Cynthia?’

  ‘I want your story.’

  ‘You can feck off. You’re wasting my time. I’m going to work.’ Lottie stood.

  ‘Give me two minutes.’

  Lottie remained standing, looking down at Cynthia’s short dark curls. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I want the full Bernie Kelly story, and in return I might be able to help with the murders of the girls.’

  ‘I don’t buy into blackmail.’

  ‘It’s not blackmail.’

  ‘Sounds like it to me.’ Lottie picked up her jacket from the back of the chair and began to pull it on.

  ‘I know something about Louise Gill.’

  ‘Our investigation is just starting, so anything you can tell us will have to be recorded by a member of the team. You need to make an official statement.’

  ‘Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?’ Cynthia tapped a fingernail on the table.

  They didn’t have anything to go on with the girls’ murders, so Lottie felt she was being taken hostage. But she wanted to know. ‘Yes, I do, but I’m not promising anything in return.’

  ‘That might make it more difficult for me unless I get something from you.’

  ‘Tell me what you know and I’ll consider it.’ She had no intention of divulging anything to the reporter.

  ‘Don’t double-cross me.’

  ‘Oh for Christ’s sake, Cynthia, what do you know?’ Lottie sat back down, her jacket half on, half off.