Lynch

by Merrigan, Peter J

  ‘She should be,’ Kane said. ‘It’s my fault.’

  ‘It’s David Bernhard’s fault,’ John said, then quickly added, ‘No offense, Margaret.’

  Walking a pace behind them, Margaret smiled and said, ‘None taken. But he’s right, Kane, this isn’t your fault.’

  Kane walked on in silence.

  As they gathered around the casket and watched it being lowered into the ground, Kane noticed movement in the distance. A small figure stood behind a stone angel, secretly watching the proceedings.

  Leaving the funeral cortège, Kane mounted the hill, his fists balled so tight his fingernails pained his palms, and he bore down on the woman behind the angel statue.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

  She stared at him blankly for a minute, then opened her mouth to speak, but he took her by the throat and pinned her to the stonework.

  ‘I know who you are,’ he said. She was smaller than he had anticipated, her hair more wiry than Jesse had described, but it was unmistakably Prabha, Jesse’s stalker. ‘What’re you doing here?’

  ‘I’m saying goodbye,’ she said, straining against his tightening fingers.

  ‘He’s not yours to say goodbye to.’

  ‘We’re all God’s children.’

  ‘You tried to murder him,’ Kane said, his other hand raised in a fist, anger flashing quickly in his eyes.

  ‘And you succeeded,’ Prabha said.

  Kane rocked. He had murdered Jesse just as she had said. It was no one’s fault but his own. He brought his fist back, tightening the springs of his muscles for the punch.

  ‘Kane, release her.’

  Kane turned his head, saw Mrs Whitaker and Margaret standing behind him, the congregation gathering below and watching.

  ‘Let her go,’ Mrs Whitaker reiterated.

  ‘Do you know who she is?’ Kane asked.

  ‘I know perfectly well who she is,’ Mrs Whitaker told him. ‘Now let her go.’

  Kane released his grip from her neck and she breathed deeply. ‘Katie,’ she said.

  Mrs Whitaker said, ‘Don’t speak to me. You have no right to be here.’

  Prabha rubbed her neck, her eyes flashing between Jesse’s mother and Kane.

  ‘Because of you, my grown son couldn’t sleep at night without a light on, was always checking locks and windows. Because of you, I have had a pain in my chest for six months. I ache inside for the loss of my son and it’s because of you.’

  Kane wondered if Mrs Whitaker’s tirade was directed solely at Prabha or if in part it was aimed at him, too.

  ‘I loved him,’ Prabha said. ‘I would have made him happy.’

  ‘You’re insane,’ Mrs Whitaker said. She pointed at Kane without looking at him. ‘Jesse spent mere weeks with this man and was happier than I’d ever seen him.’

  ‘He shouldn’t have been gay,’ Prabha said.

  ‘He was happy.’ She lowered her hand, adjusted her jacket. ‘Get out of my sight.’

  ‘In God’s sight—’

  ‘Leave.’

  Prabha mouthed some silent words, stared hard at Mrs Whitaker, then at Kane, and she turned and walked away.

  Mrs Whitaker turned to Kane. ‘If he told you about her, he clearly trusted you.’ She waved her hand for his silence when he was about to speak. ‘I can forgive you for what happened,’ she said. ‘It isn’t your fault. You made him happy, Scott. When you leave, at least take that with you.’

  Robert Mann and Pat Wilson were standing at either side of Clark’s hospital bed when Kane, Margaret and John entered the room.

  Kane was carrying a bunch of flowers and Margaret held a box of chocolates. They had returned to London less than an hour ago, complete with their entourage of Interpol security.

  ‘The three wise men,’ Clark said. ‘I’m on a diet and I’m allergic to pollen.’

  ‘I’ll eat them myself,’ Margaret said.

  Wilson nodded at them. ‘Mrs Bernhard. Kane.’

  Margaret shook his hand and said, ‘I haven’t been Mrs Bernhard in quite some time. I haven’t even been Margaret in a while, but I think I’ll go back to it, if no one objects.’

  There was no objection.

  Kane said, ‘I thought you had retired.’

  Wilson nodded. ‘I’m here in a strictly civilian capacity,’ he said.

  ‘He’s checking up on me,’ Clark said. ‘And this is Robert Mann, Wilson’s replacement.’

  ‘And a damn fine one, too,’ Wilson said.

  Mann came around the bed and shook their hands. After introductions, he said, ‘You’ve all been through quite the ordeal.’

  John said, ‘Your officers’ interrogation hasn’t helped.’

  Clark laughed. ‘I think that’s what he was talking about.’

  ‘My officers are thorough,’ Mann said. He looked at Clark. ‘Too thorough in some cases.’

  ‘Wait,’ Kane said. ‘You still class Ann as an officer? A detective?’

  Mann shrugged. ‘She’s been dressed down,’ he said.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Means I’m no longer a detective,’ Clark said, ‘but that I can resume a role as a desk sergeant.’

  ‘No,’ Kane said. ‘That’s not fair. Everything she did was to help us, to protect us—isn’t that her job? To protect and serve? We wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for her.’

  ‘That’s an American term, but yes. That’s why she’s still on the force,’ Mann said. ‘If she’d accept it.’

  Margaret took the chair beside Clark’s bed. ‘You’re not accepting?’

  ‘I don’t want it,’ Clark said. ‘I’ve got other avenues to explore.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to convince her,’ Mann said. ‘We both have,’ he added, indicating Wilson. ‘But she won’t have it. I’ll leave you to it; maybe you can convince her otherwise.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Wilson said. ‘I could do with stretching my legs.’ He turned to the others. ‘Good to see you both again. I have a house on the coast, down by Portsmouth. If you promise not to bring any bad guys with you, you’re more than welcome to visit.’ He winked at Margaret and smiled at Kane.

  When they had left, John said, ‘I think someone’s got herself an admirer.’

  Margaret swatted him like she would a fly. She turned back to Clark. ‘Why won’t you take the job?’

  ‘I have a few reasons,’ Clark said. She pushed the button attached to the frame and the bed rose behind her. ‘Firstly, it’s a demotion. I don’t do demotions. And secondly, punching María Herrera in the face showed me that I’ve been containing an anger for too long. I can’t release it on the force, not the way I want to.’

  ‘What will you do instead?’ Kane asked.

  ‘I’ve not decided yet,’ Clark said. ‘I might become a kickboxing instructor. Channel my energy into something productive like helping kids.’ She smiled, then her face assumed a sombre set. ‘I’m sorry about Jesse,’ she said to Kane.

  ‘I know,’ he said.

  ‘How was the funeral?’

  They all sat and they talked with her for a while. For Kane, his life as Scott was over, as short-lived as it was. There is no hiding from the past; it will always find you eventually.

  He remembered the feeling he had had as they left the warehouse in Oxford last week that he was done running, that he would stand and fight where he could. And he knew, given the chance, that he would.

  ‘Five minutes,’ a nurse said, signalling the end of visiting hours, and she left, walking further down the corridor to issue the same warning in other rooms.

  ‘What about you, John?’ Clark asked. ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘Now that your friends at NCIS are finished with me, I think I’ll go home again.’

  ‘I’ve asked him to stay with us,’ Kane said, ‘but he won’t.’

  ‘I have a life to get back to,’ John told them. ‘You do, too, if you wanted it. At least you’d be among old friends.’

 
‘I can’t go back there,’ Kane said. ‘It’s not that I don’t miss everyone, it’s that I miss one person too much to be surrounded by those memories again.’

  John nodded, turned to Clark. ‘I fly back on Friday. I won’t be sorry to see the back of you,’ he laughed.

  ‘Likewise,’ Clark said and smiled.

  Margaret stood with the use of her walking cane. ‘We should let you rest.’ She leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Take care,’ she said. ‘We’ll come back tomorrow.’

  Clark nodded, took Kane’s hand and signalled he should wait behind.

  ‘I’ll be right out behind you, Margaret.’

  Understanding their need for a private chat, Margaret nodded and John said, ‘We’ll wait for you in that bar across the way.’

  ‘Have one for me,’ Clark said.

  When they were alone, she said, ‘Sit down.’

  Kane sat on the edge of the bed and kept hold of her hand.

  ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘I’m stronger than I used to be,’ he said.

  ‘I know.’

  Kane brushed some hair from her forehead and smiled. ‘I can’t imagine you not being a detective.’

  Clark shrugged. ‘It’ll take some getting used to, even for me, but I can’t go back on the force. Not now.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to give you some makeup tips.’

  They laughed.

  ‘You know this isn’t over, don’t you?’ Clark said. ‘They’re letting John go because he wasn’t important, he wasn’t really involved. Local police in Belfast can protect him. But you and Margaret…’

  ‘I’m not going back into Witness Protection,’ Kane said. ‘I’m done pretending to be someone I’m not.’

  ‘I know,’ Clark said. ‘But to do that, you’ll always be on the run.’

  ‘When I refuse Witness Protection, I know I’ll be on my own.’

  ‘You’ll have me,’ Clark said. ‘For what it’s worth.’

  ‘That’s worth more than you can know,’ Kane said. ‘But I’m not going on the run.’

  ‘They’ll send more people after you.’

  ‘Then I’ll fight them.’

  ‘I’ll be with you every step,’ Clark said.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  Clark looked across the room at the window, at the blue sky, traced her eyes along the vapour trail left behind by an airplane. She held his hand up and cupped it with her free hand.

  ‘I’m saying I’ll be with you for the fight. I might not be an officer of the law any more, but I haven’t lost my spirit.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Kane said. And he really meant it. He hugged her. ‘You want this as much as I do?’

  ‘A job is a job,’ she said. ‘I can take it or leave it. But what’s life without a bit of adventure?’

  ‘Miserable,’ Kane said.

  ‘And boring,’ she confirmed. ‘Miserable and boring. So let’s fight back. I won’t sit around feeling sorry for myself and neither will you. I won’t let you.’

  ‘Have you got a plan?’ Kane asked.

  She nodded and shrugged at the same time. ‘As my grandma always said, “The best defence is an offence.”’

  The End

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Although the act of writing is a solitary pursuit, no novel is every truly the child of only its author. I would like to thank the many people who helped me along the way in both my thought processes and the editing of Lynch. While Kane Rider, Margaret Bernhard, Ann Clark and the rest of the characters that span the pages of Rider and Lynch have been with me for some years now, the following people have all helped shape them in some way or another, and deserve my unending gratitude.

  Susan ‘Sooz’ Simpson, an invaluable editor whose talents with a raw work of fiction are only surpassed by her hilarity with a vodka and Coke in her hand.

  My sister, Mary Merrigan, always my harshest critic and best proofreader, who pushed me from the start and kicked me when I got things wrong. I’m still smarting!

  My parents, of course, who encouraged my creativity as a child at every pass and didn’t mind when I spent hours with my head in a storybook instead of playing football in the park.

  And I could never have completed Lynch without my partner, my best friend, and my confidante, Anthony, who sat quietly while I mused, and told me who Jesse should really be.

  I love you all.

  PJM, December 2013

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Peter J Merrigan was born and raised in Derry, Northern Ireland before moving to London to read English & Creative Writing at university. In 2010 he relocated to Yorkshire and now lives between Leeds and Manchester with his partner. His first novel, The Camel Trail, was published in 2011 and Rider was released in 2012. Lynch, the sequel to Rider, is his third novel.

  Find Peter online at

  www.peterjmerrigan.co.uk

  On Twitter: @pjmerrigan140

  And on Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorpeterjmerrigan

  ALSO BY PETER J MERRIGAN

  The Camel Trail

  Rider