Hard Evidence

by Mark Pearson

  'He used to help find the young stars for our films. He came and went as he pleased. Isn't that right?'

  Andy nodded, and Delaney looked at him. 'So what changed?'

  Andy shrugged. 'Uncle Billy found me. Saw I was holding some serious folding and wanted to know where I was getting it from.' He smiled humourlessly. 'He beat it out of me.'

  'The thing was, Andy knew Moffett from when his mum was making Sin Sisters,' said Walker. 'Billy went to Moffett and put the squeeze on him. Moffett hired Norrell to take care of the problem,' he shrugged, 'and the rest you know.'

  Delaney looked at the young boy. 'So what now, Andy? Your mother loved you, you know. She'd have done anything to protect you.'

  'Which is why I had Moffett dealt with, as soon as I knew what was happening.'

  'So Jackie Malone's death was nothing to do with you?'

  'Of course not. And Andy is a bright lad. He's learned from experience. Something it seems you're incapable of doing.'

  Delaney turned the full glare of his hatred back on Walker. 'You think you can just walk away from all this? What do you think you're going to achieve here?'

  Walker smiled thinly. 'Closure, Jack. Isn't that what we are all seeking in the end?'

  'Closure?'

  'Because you're taking the fall, as our American cousins would say. I had information that you were keeping young Andy here against his will, and I acted on it. Isn't that right, Andy?'

  Andy looked at Delaney, deadpan. 'I told my mother about you and my uncle abusing me. That's why you killed them both.'

  'And that's why you killed Sergeant Bonner when he put two and two together. Your DNA is going to be all over him. You couldn't have been more helpful if you'd tried.'

  'Put the knife down, Walker, and I'll see you get help. You're a sick man.'

  'Because I showed affection and love? Because I cared for those kids when nobody else did?'

  'Love,' Delaney almost spat.

  Walker was not fazed at all. 'Yes, love, Delaney. Something those runaway kids never knew. Why do you think they do run away? Living on the streets like animals. We helped them. The home Moffett and our associates set up for them was the first real place they had ever felt secure.'

  Delaney looked over at Andy. 'Is that right, Andy?'

  Andy shrugged. 'They were a lot better to me than my uncles ever were.'

  'You see, Inspector.'

  Delaney glared back at him. 'Enough talk. Just let my daughter go now.'

  'All in good time.'

  Walker nodded at Andy. 'Keep an eye on her.'

  Andy held the blood-stained Sabatier knife up as Walker put his own knife down on Siobhan's lilac-coloured chest of drawers. The lethal blade obscenely incongruous amongst the toy ponies and the Barbie dolls. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pistol.

  'It's an unregistered gun. The one used to kill your good friend Bonner. We struggled, you died. Everything is cleared up.'

  Delaney looked at his daughter, his heart breaking as he saw the terror in her young eyes. 'And Siobhan?'

  'She'll be cared for. She won't die, I can promise you that.'

  'And my sister-in-law?'

  'Already dealt with. You always were a violent man, Delaney. It's a matter of record.'

  Delaney felt the rage build inside him, felt the impotence. 'Everything is disposable to you, isn't it? Nothing has a value.'

  'That's where you're wrong. You see, I understand what is valuable and what is not. But look at you, Delaney. You value nothing. How can you value others if you don't value yourself? You say you love your daughter, and yet you leave her to the sister of your dead wife to bring up. What kind of love is it that throws children away?'

  Siobhan whimpered as Walker adjusted his grip. 'Daddy?'

  Delaney forced a reassuring smile. 'It's all right, sweetheart, everything is going to be okay.'

  'Closure, Delaney. It's time for closure.'

  'Why me?'

  Walker laughed. 'Because nobody cares about you, Jack. Least of all yourself.'

  Delaney looked into Walker's eyes; they were cold, intelligent and quite insane. He was sure of that. He ran through his options. If he reached into his jacket for his gun, Walker would shoot him before he had time to clear it. He calculated the distance between him and Walker. Did he have time to reach the superintendent before he pulled the trigger?

  Walker read his mind and smiled. 'Don't even think about it.'

  'Give it up, Walker. This makes no sense. I've spoken to people. They know what's going on. There is no way you can just walk away from all this.'

  Walker laughed again. 'You've spoken to no one, Jack. No one of any importance. You have no credibility. You haven't had for years. I've got a squad car round the corner. A forensic team. My people. Trust me, this will all be taken care of and it will all be down to you, Cowboy. Everything and everyone. Closure.'

  Walker's eyes hardened as Delaney heard footsteps behind him and Kate stepped into the room, Kevin Norrell's gun held in both hands and pointing at her uncle's head. 'Drop the gun now or I swear I'll kill you.'

  Walker ignored her, keeping his attention focused on Delaney. 'Goodness me, Cowboy. Is this your new mount?'

  Kate pushed her hands forward, her aim unwavering.

  Walker brushed the back of his hand across his cheek. 'She used to be as pretty as your daughter once upon a time, Jack. Gave me this little scar late one night, so I could never forget how pretty.'

  'If you don't think I'll do it, you're wrong. Drop the gun and step away from the little girl.'

  Walker shook his head. 'You could pull the trigger, I'd still have time to kill her.' He looked back at Delaney. 'Here's the deal. You tell Kate to put down her gun or I will kill your daughter. Do you believe me?'

  Jack looked into his eyes and did.

  'Tell Kate to put the gun down, Jack. Or I will do it.'

  Delaney looked over at Kate. Her long hair falling over her forehead in a curly tumble, her eyes bright with pure, glittering hatred as she stared at her uncle and said, 'I'm not going to put the gun down.'

  The scream seemed to hang in the air like a parachute, the sound ripping into Delaney's consciousness like a dousing of ice-cold water as he realised what he was doing. But it was too late. The shotgun blasted, fire and destruction hurtling from both barrels towards their car. The windscreen shattering, the front nearside tyre ripping apart, the car spinning out of control. The screaming blended with the screech of brakes and the crumpling of metal as the car smashed into a barrier. Delaney was out of the car, oblivious to the people rushing towards them. Oblivious to the shouts and the screams, as though he was cocooned in an impenetrable fog. He had his wife in his arms and he could barely see for the tears in his eyes as he laid her on the forecourt floor. Her curly hair fanning around her head like a nimbus. The blood pooled a little behind her head as he took his jacket off to make a pillow. And he said a prayer, for the first time in twenty-five years, pleading with God not to let her die. He knew it was all his fault. He could have stopped being a policeman for one minute but he didn't, and now his wife was dying on a cold petrol station floor. As the petrol station manager called an ambulance, Delaney held on to his wife's hand as if he could transfuse his own life into her, and he begged God to make it so.

  'Come on, Jack.'

  Jack looked up as Father O'Connell held the door to the vestry open and nodded, resigned. The man's wind-scraped face and rough white beard made him look more than ever like a visitation from a tortured place. Jack shivered again despite himself as he walked into the room.

  Father O'Connell shut the door behind him and pointed to a pair of armchairs that sat alongside a tall bookcase. 'Sit down there.'

  Jack sat in one of the armchairs and Father O'Connell in the other, picking up a Bible from the table in front of him.

  'Do you know what the Bible is, Jack?'

  'I do, Father.'

  'Then you're a wiser man than most. And do you kno
w what a priest is, boy?'

  'It's a holy man, Father.'

  Father O'Connell laughed. 'Indeed he should be.' He patted the book in his hand. 'You see, the Bible is a collection of stories. Hundreds of stories that teach us all how to live. Each and every one of them for a different crossroads, a different hurdle in life. A different decision to make. Do you understand, boy?'

  Jack nodded, not sure that he could keep the lie from his voice if he answered out loud.

  'And part of a priest's job, if you like, is to prescribe a particular story to a person when he needs it. Like a doctor prescribing medicine. Do you see?'

  Jack nodded again.

  'So the stories in the Bible are like spiritual prescriptions to cure spiritual ills. A dose of medicine that cures the black spots on your soul.'

  He leaned forward, fixing Jack with his wild bloodshot eyes. 'So tell me truly, Jack. Do you believe in the Devil?'

  'I do, Father.'

  'I see the lie in your eyes, boy. But my job is to make you realise that he exists. He lives, breathes and walks amongst us.' He leaned in closer so that Jack could smell the musty wine on his breath, see the yellow tobacco stains on his crooked teeth, the passion dancing in his eyes like a jig, like a reel.

  'My job is to make you believe in the Devil, boy.'

  'Time's up, Jack.'

  Delaney blinked. He looked at Siobhan, her eyes pleading, her voice muted by terror, then across at Kate, her hands steady, her eyes cold as an executioner's.

  'Put the gun down, Kate.'

  Kate hesitated for a moment.

  Walker stared across at Delaney. 'See that look in your daughter's eyes, Jack? She's terrified. Jackie Malone had that look. Just before she died.'

  Delaney turned back to Kate. 'Please . . .'

  Kate still didn't take her eyes from her uncle, fury sparking from them as her hand trembled a little, then she slowly lowered the gun to the floor and stood up again.

  'You see, she can be a good girl when she wants to be.' Walker smiled at Delaney, then turned back to his niece, still smiling as his finger tightened on his gun's trigger, and shot her twice in the chest.

  Kate flew backwards, gasping with shock as she crashed to the floor.

  Walker's smile broadened and then died as he suddenly cried out in surprised pain, and looked down to see Andy twisting the cook's knife in his side. Siobhan screamed and broke free of Walker's grasp as he staggered back, grabbing hold of the knife handle and watching the blood flow over his fingers. He turned to Andy, who watched him emotionlessly. 'Why?'

  Andy bared his crooked teeth. 'You told me you weren't there when my mum was killed. You lied to me.'

  Walker slowly lifted the gun again, but before he could point it, Delaney reached for his own gun and fired, shattering Walker's right elbow. Walker fell back against the wall, grunting with pain like a wounded animal as his gun fell harmlessly to the floor.

  Delaney looked back at Kate, who lay motionless on the floor, her arms outspread and her hair fanned out in a monstrous echo of his dead wife. A monstrous echo of his own fault, his own culpability. People who got close to Jack Delaney got hurt. Wasn't that what Karen Richardson had said? He swallowed hard and turned his pistol back to Walker, who was on his knees now, gasping with agony. He levelled his gaze into Walker's pleading eyes.

  'Don't do it, Delaney. Please don't do it.'

  Delaney brought the gun up and pointed it at Walker's face.

  'Jack?'

  Jack looked up at Father O'Connell. 'Was your mind wandering, boy?'

  'No, Father.'

  Father Connell walked back from the cabinet he had just crossed to and held up what was in his hands. 'Do you know what this is, boy?'

  'Yes, Father.'

  'This is the communion wine, is it not?'

  'So it is, Father.'

  Father O'Connell nodded. 'So it is. And would it be a sin, do you think, to be drinking it?'

  Jack nodded, his face flushed as he realised that Father O'Connell was getting down to the serious business now, and squirmed a little in his chair.

  'Yes, Father, I suppose it would be.'

  Father O'Connell looked at Jack for a while, making Jack squirm even more under the relentless gaze. Then he raised the bottle to his lips and took a long swallow.

  'Does that make me a sinner then, Jack?'

  Jack was confused; he didn't know what to say. Father O'Connell put the bottle of wine on the table and sat opposite him again.

  'Are you familiar with the story in the Bible of the wedding at Cana?'

  Jack considered for a moment; he was sure he ought to be, it did sound kind of familiar, but he didn't want to be caught in a lie.

  'I'm not sure, Father.'

  'The one about Jesus at a wedding feast, when they run out of wine and Jesus turns the water into wine. Do you remember that one?'

  Jack smiled. 'Yes, Father. Dad's always saying it would be a handy trick to have, especially round Christmas.'

  'So you mind the facts? Jesus took a pitcher of water and turned it into wine for the guests and himself to drink.'

  'Yes, Father.'

  Father O'Connell leaned in again, all good humour leaking from his face. 'So was Jesus a sinner too?'

  Jack was thoroughly confused now; he shook his head, not trusting himself to say anything, but he had to try.

  'But that wasn't the communion wine.'

  Father O'Connell pointed to the bottle on the table. 'That's just a bottle of wine; it hasn't been consecrated. It was a sin for you to drink it, because you stole that drink. But in the main scheme of things it's not such a big sin, is it?'

  Jack shook his head, confused. 'No, Father.'

  'So what's the importance of the wine, do you think, Jack.'

  'I don't know.'

  'The point of it is that we all have choices to make, Jack.'

  'Choices?'

  'Between good and evil.'

  'Do you mean like between the Devil and Jesus, Father?'

  'It comes back to the wine, you see. When this wine has been consecrated, it becomes the blood of Christ, and you know what that means?'

  'Yes, Father.' It had not been so long since his First Holy Communion, after all.

  'I don't suppose you do. But I'll tell you. What it means is eternal life, boy. Jesus is the best wine saved till last. By embracing him in the holy communion, he becomes part of you and you become part of him.'

  'Yes, Father.'

  'It is your choice to make. Throughout life, you are going to have all kinds of choices. Because just like you can choose to be part of Jesus, you can choose the other too. Because when I said that the Devil walks and breathes and lives amongst us, I meant that the Devil is human. He's not a mythical beast with horns and a red tail who lives in the pit of hell.'

  'He isn't?'

  'No, son. He lives in Ballydehob or Luton. In New York or Bombay or Islamabad. He's us. He's you or me, if you let him be. Do you understand?'

  'I think so, Father.'

  'So you have a choice to make now. You can go on stealing wine and getting into fights and trouble and bit by bit letting the Devil into you. Or you can choose not to.' The old man leaned in and looked him in the eye. 'Because in the end, choices are the only thing we've got. They make us.'

  Delaney swallowed hard and looked at the man who knelt before him. He looked into his pleading eyes, heard the sore gasp of his laboured breathing and remembered his wife as her support machine was switched off, her mechanical breathing as laboured as that of the man in front of him. He remembered his own unbearable pain as the heart monitor line went flat; he thought of the fear in his daughter's eyes; he remembered the cut and mutilated body of his friend Jackie Malone; and finally he thought about the shots fired into Kate Walker's body. He pictured the closing of her eyes, and her body stilling as it lay on the floor, discarded by the man in front of him as carelessly as someone dropping litter in the street, and he stepped forward, centering the gun on the man's
forehead, pressing the cold metal into his sweating skin. And he made his choice.

  'Please.' Tears formed in Walker's eyes.

  Delaney lowered the gun.

  Walker sobbed as his body crumpled with relief. 'Thank you.'

  Delaney shook his head coldly. 'Don't thank me. Where you're going, when they found out who and what you are, you'll wish I had killed you.'

  Walker collapsed back against the wall and Delaney turned to Andy. 'Thanks.'

  Andy looked blankly at Walker. 'He lied.' He turned and smiled at Siobhan, and another cold chill ran through Delaney's heart. 'And I like your daughter.'

  Delaney picked up his sobbing child and held her in his arms, unable to stop the tears that stung his eyes and ran down his cheeks as he looked at the still body of Kate Walker.

  33.

  There was a slight chill in the air, and the young nurse shivered a little as Delaney watched her close the window and angle the slats of the Venetian blind against the still bright rays of the sun.

  She hurried out of the private hospital room, leaving Delaney alone with the woman who lay on the bed, tubes coming out of her arms and monitors keeping a constant check on her.

  The woman groaned slightly as she opened her eyes and propped herself up on the pillow, focusing on her visitor. She smiled, her voice a soft, croaky whisper.

  'Jack.'

  Delaney stepped forward and put a basket of fruit on her bedside cabinet. 'Hello, Wendy.'

  'You brought flowers last time. You going off me?'

  Her voice was undeniably sexy with that husky croak in it, and Delaney laughed. 'Never going to happen.'

  'I don't blame you, you know.'

  'Maybe you should.'

  'We're family, Jack. Never forget that.'

  'I know.'

  'What's going to happen to the boy?'

  Delaney looked at her for a moment. 'Nothing good.' He looked out of the window and saw Wendy's husband walking across the car park with Siobhan.

  'I've got to go, Wendy.'

  Wendy looked puzzled. 'You just got here.'

  'I know. I've got a funeral to go to.'

  Delaney walked towards the door.

  'Jack.'

  He turned back as Wendy flashed him a sympathetic smile.