by Jo Spain
Tom paused for a moment before he asked the next question. It was one of many outlandish possibilities that had been playing on his mind.
‘Linda, do you think Sara Blake would kill somebody for her husband?’
Chapter 20
Darragh McNally’s head felt fuzzy. It was like a blanket had been wrapped around his brain, muffling the sounds of the world and blurring his vision.
It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling. Years ago, if he had drunk this much, the desensitising effects of the alcohol would have been countered by the weight of his guilt. There was no need to feel remorse now. It didn’t matter if he drank. There was nobody left to worry about him and nobody in this world he cared about.
Anyhow, he had a plan and he needed the alcohol to give him the courage to carry it out.
Darragh swayed slightly as he stood to fetch a fresh bottle from the cabinet in the corner of his living room. He’d bought the half-litres of whiskey yesterday in three different shops – a hangover (ha!) from his drinking days, when he had tried to hide his habit by buying little and often. He refilled his glass then returned to lying on the couch. He was drinking it neat. No ice, no mixer. He could almost hear his liver screaming for mercy. The doctors had told him just before he stopped drinking that he had been tipping into cirrhosis territory. Darragh had already guessed. The skin on his palms had begun to yellow. His mother had asked how many cigarettes he smoked before suggesting that maybe he was drinking too much.
Darragh had felt so ashamed.
No. Enough of that.
He couldn’t be mawkish tonight, even if that was where the booze wanted him to go. He needed a degree of clear-headedness.
A noise announced itself – muted, as though from a long way down a tunnel. He raised his head from the couch and felt the room spin.
There it was again. Rapping on a door. His door.
Who would be calling at this hour?
Darragh stood up slowly, finding his balance. It was amazing, really, his tolerance for alcohol. Even now, after so many years dry. He could drink enough to float a small boat and still function – partially, anyway.
He stumbled into the hall, driven by curiosity. Maybe this was the distraction he needed to prevent him acting on his intentions. A chance at redemption.
It was only as he was lifting his hand to turn the latch that he noticed the outline of the man through the stained glass window. A familiar figure. He suddenly felt a sense of danger.
It was too late. His hand had worked automatically, his brain not sending the signal to stop the action fast enough.
McNally clutched the open door and stared at the man, knowing this wouldn’t end well.
‘You,’ he slurred, suppressing a hiccup. ‘What the hell do you want?’
*
‘Do I think Sara Blake would murder somebody for Aidan?’
The psychologist repeated Tom’s question, paused, then shook her head adamantly.
‘No, I don’t. Being willing to lie for a man is a far cry from being willing to kill for him. Sara is no fool. She’s a shrewd, capable, and compassionate woman. She might be a supportive wife but she’s her own person and has her own career and dreams. We live in different times – her future does not depend on her being happily married and her husband being a paragon of virtue.
‘If Aidan Blake got himself involved in something desperate, she could just extricate herself. She’d survive it. But you might be onto something with your earlier point. If Blake had asked her to give him a false alibi, maybe she was panicked into a bad move or maybe she even believed him. Maybe he told her something serious enough to be convincing, like he was with another woman or something. Perhaps she’s in denial that the man she shares a life with could be capable of anything worse than that. I’d keep checking in with her if I were you, because if he did it, and she suspects, she’ll crack. She was fond of that Ryan fellow and she won’t jeopardise her charity for Blake. Not once she’s had time to think.’
Tom was conscious they’d been monopolising each other’s company. Everybody at the table was eating contentedly, but as the main man, he’d have to re-engage soon. He had needed to voice the Sara theory aloud, even though her alibi had been verified by several people. He agreed with Linda, though. He had seen enough of the minister’s wife to sense she wouldn’t kill somebody for her husband.
‘You know Darragh McNally’s mother just died?’ he said, moving on. ‘They seem to have been very close.’
‘I heard. I’d say she was the only person in his life he was ever close to. He’s been too busy mowing people down in his quest to get to the top to give a damn about anybody else.’
‘He has depression, apparently.’
‘So would I, if I were him.’
Linda, blunt as ever.
‘Shane Morrison had to drive him home yesterday. He was in a bad state.’
‘That’s Morrison. He loves a victim.’
‘You know him, too? What do you mean by that?’
‘Of course I know him. He’s been around Leinster House for aeons. The man loves being in charge. He’s at his happiest when he’s the knight in shining armour. Especially for the ladies, mind. He’s not married, you know. It would have ruined his fun.’
‘His fun?’ Tom repeated. ‘Actually, have you heard of a place called The –’
‘I’ve never had erectile dysfunction in my life,’ Emmet belatedly interjected, banging on the table and casting the psychologist a foul look. He’d just realised her earlier comment about it ‘happening to all men over a certain age’ was directed at him.
‘Aren’t there any presents at this party?’ Tom practically shouted, attempting to forestall an argument about penile deficiency.
‘Oh, but it’s not your actual birthday,’ Louise remarked caustically.
‘Anyone who doesn’t have a gift can leave now,’ Tom declared.
Emmet was the first to stump up. The inspector unwrapped a pack of Diplomaticos cigars, Cuba’s finest.
‘Perfect!’ Tom enthused. ‘They must have cost you a pretty penny. Thanks, Emmet.’
McDonagh waved his hand dismissively.
‘You might share one with me later. I think I’ll need it after tonight.’
Generous with the Diplomaticos, not so good with the diplomacy, Tom thought.
He received his remaining gifts graciously, nearly falling off the chair when Louise handed him a card with a brochure for Cuba inside.
‘I thought next summer,’ she said. ‘You can stock up on cigars in person.’
Tom grabbed her around the waist and kissed her, to the cheers of the table.
‘A toast!’ Maria cried, raising her glass unsteadily. ‘To my dad. Half a century old.’
‘Not yet,’ Tom rebuked, but joined in the celebratory drink. He could do with skipping dessert and having a coffee. As could his neighbour. Linda was pouring drink down her throat like it was the elixir of life.
‘You won’t find happiness at the bottom of that glass, hag,’ Emmet muttered.
‘No, but I will find blurred vision,’ Linda retorted, her hearing perfect. ‘And you are sat across from me, you old codger.’
‘You’d never think you two had been an item.’
June’s interjection with the unmentionable was met with stunned silence.
‘Good God, who gave you champagne?’ McGuinness moved to take the half-empty glass from his wife’s hand.
‘I think that was mine,’ Anne said, embarrassed.
‘You shouldn’t be drinking. Not on your medication.’ McGuinness stretched for the flute but June held it away from him.
‘Fiddle-cock.’
‘What?’ McGuinness spluttered.
‘Oh, you know what I mean. Fiddlesticks, poppycock. Whatever. Don’t worry, I wasn’t being rude. Who’s the dotty one here?’
The chief flushed red to the roots of his grey hair.
‘Louise!’ Tom yelled, desperate to create a diversion. This was the hardest he�
�d ever worked at a birthday party. ‘I think we need coffees.’
‘And some cake,’ Louise said, leaving the room with Maria.
‘She started it,’ Emmet muttered in Linda’s direction.
‘She has a name, and you started it with your puerile insults. Hag, indeed! You used to have another name for me, need I remind you?’ Linda retorted.
‘Bitch?’ Emmet snarled.
‘Okay, that’s enough,’ Tom snapped. ‘You two, give it a rest.’
‘See what you did?’ Linda hissed. ‘You’ve ruined his birthday.’
‘When the lights came on and he saw you, the evening was already tainted.’
‘Stop!’ Tom pleaded.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to say any more, as Louise and Maria returned holding a cake lit up by the brilliant glow of fifty candles and leading the chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’. The inspector almost expired with relief. He waited for the rounds of ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow’ to finish and leaned forward to blow out the candles.
The clapping died down. Louise was about to ask who wanted a slice when a further interruption from June silenced her. The older woman had turned to her husband, a puzzled expression on her face.
‘Is it someone’s birthday? Did we bring a present?’
*
‘I’d no idea things were that bad. God love Sean. Is he still working full-time?’ Louise finished applying lavender-scented cream to her face and neck and lay down beside her husband, fluffing the pillows and wriggling down the bed until she was comfortable.
‘Yep. It’s a bad time to ask for leave.’
Tom turned over on his side and studied his wife’s profile. Louise’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling, her brow creased with concern.
‘I should go over more.’
‘We both should. Sean won’t ask for help but he needs it.’
‘I couldn’t bear it.’ Louise turned to him. ‘I saw it with my granddad. When he died, my gran said it would have been better if he’d been hit by a bus or had a massive heart attack. She spent years providing round-the-clock care for a man she’d loved all her life and he didn’t even know who she was.’
Tom stroked his wife’s cheek.
Louise exhaled loudly and kissed his palm.
‘Did you enjoy tonight?’
‘As much as any man who’s been unwillingly aged could.’
‘Oh, get over it.’
‘Why in God’s name did you invite both Emmet and Linda? Don’t you know I spend most of my working life trying to make sure they’re never in the same room?’
Louise giggled.
‘I’m serious. You weren’t stuck sitting between them. I knew you were up to mischief. You’re really fond of Linda, aren’t you? I mean, I like her alright, but half the time I think she’s bloody nuts.’
‘She isn’t.’
‘Really? You should have seen the outfit she almost wasn’t wearing when we were in her house on Sunday. Poor Ray didn’t know where to look.’
Louise shook her head.
‘You really don’t get it, do you?’
‘What?’
‘She plays mind games. That’s her thing. She’s eccentric – I’ll give you that. But she’s not some wanton woman, overcome with lust every time she sees a man. Tell Ray he’s safe.’
‘She plays the part very well.’
‘That’s exactly what she’s doing. Acting. She zones in on what disturbs a person, what makes them uncomfortable, and she adopts that characteristic. If you’re unsettled, she’s in control of the interaction. She obviously has you and Ray pegged as two frigid prudes.’
Tom blinked. Was that what the psychologist was doing? Prodding his subconscious like he was a specimen in a lab?
‘Well, whatever. I really thought those two were going to kill each other tonight, though. I’d love to find out what the hell happened between them.’
Louise turned to face him.
‘Don’t you know?’
Tom leaned up on his elbow.
‘No. Nobody at the station does.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Hold on a minute. That’s a very loaded “hmm”. Do you know something? You do, don’t you? How on earth . . .?’
‘I just asked. At one of your work Christmas parties as it happens, a couple of years ago.’
‘I’ve asked and I was told to keep my nose out. You’ve known for two years? Bloody hell, Louise. You’re good at keeping secrets, aren’t you?’
‘Huh.’ His wife bit her bottom lip.
‘Don’t you dare not tell me. I’ve considered investing team resources to figure this one out. We’re not leaving this room until I get a confession.’
Louise took a deep breath.
‘I’ll kill you if you breathe a word of this. It’s obviously more hush-hush than I thought. You know they had the affair, then?’
‘That’s common knowledge. Their poor spouses.’
‘Well, they were madly in love. I mean, crazy, passionate, fiery, red-hot . . .’
‘Enough! You’re searing images onto my brain.’
‘I think Linda has you down pat, Mr Puritanical. All right then, they were very attached to each other. But Linda comes from a certain type of family.’
‘The strange type?’
‘You missed your vocation as a comedian, do you know that? Linda’s family has money and they also have very set opinions. When her father entered politics, it was Linda’s mother’s job to be his faithful rock. She raised their family and supported him at every turn. Not so unusual for the day, but they also believed their daughters should follow suit. Linda was indulged when she decided to study psychology. That she specialised in criminality upset them, but they presumed when she got married she’d settle down and leave all that grubby police work behind.’ Louise smiled as Tom flashed her an indignant look.
‘Anyway, she met Geoff and he wasn’t short of a few bob, but she was adamant about continuing with her career. Geoff stood with her in defying her family’s expectation that she become a stay-at-home mommy and society belle.’
Tom chuckled at the idea of a domesticated Linda. An image filled his head of her vacuuming while drinking a Long Island Iced Tea, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of her lips and tots hanging onto her rake-thin legs.
‘But they couldn’t have been that shocked,’ he interjected. ‘Anybody who knows Linda can see she’s not cut out for daytime TV and pram-pushing. And this must have been – when? The early ’80s? Women were entering the work force in their droves.’
‘Are you listening to me at all? Not from Linda’s class, not women of her background. Don’t make assumptions based on your experience of the world, Tom.’
‘Fair enough. She has a set of balls on her. What has that got to do with her having an affair with Emmet, though?’
‘Oh, pet. The only thing Linda’s family would consider worse than her not fulfilling her marital duties was a failed marriage. She fell in love with Emmet and told her parents she was going to leave Geoff. She was informed in no uncertain terms that she would be utterly ostracised by her family if she did. And, while Linda loves her mother, she utterly adored her father.’
‘I’d gathered that. I thought he was a progressive man. Hardly somebody to sever ties with his daughter for the sake of what the neighbours might think.’
Louise tutted.
‘Progressive politically, maybe. Not in his personal life.’
‘Okay, so threatened with being cast from the bosom of her family, what did Linda do?’
‘She forged ahead with the plan. She and Emmet agreed to come clean to their respective spouses.’
‘And what happened?’
‘Linda told her husband and packed a bag. Went through all the recriminations, the tears and screaming rows. She broke Geoff’s heart in two, the man who had taken her hand when she stood up to her family the first time. And then Emmet welched on the deal.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He refu
sed to leave his wife. Said he couldn’t do it to her.’
Tom gawped at Louise. Emmet was his friend. He’d known him for years but he hadn’t known this. There must have been a good reason for his change of heart.
‘What happened then?’ he asked, enthralled and aghast in equal measure.
‘Linda was heartbroken. Her husband – and the man is a saint – forgave her and begged her to come back. She agreed. But her parents didn’t talk to her for five years.’
‘Jesus. She’s never said anything. Hold on – isn’t her father dead?’
‘Yes. He died without seeing her and she had to beg to be allowed to attend the funeral. They only permitted it because there would have been talk if she’d been missing. Age, and probably the absence of the father, has mellowed her mother. They have a relationship now but it’s never been the same.’
Tom was speechless. He had never felt anything for Linda other than a grudging professional respect and irritation at her amateur dramatics. Now, he felt overcome with sympathy for the woman. She’d talked so fondly of her father when they’d met in her house recently.
‘I don’t understand one thing,’ he said finally. ‘Linda and Emmet are as bad as each other when they’re together. Why is Emmet not filled with remorse for what he did to her? Why does he pick at her? If he’s completely in the wrong, why is he so offensive?’
‘He has cause. After a couple of months, the combination of the heartbreak and being cut off from her family made Linda bitter. She told me she drank a half litre of vodka one night, then got a cab to his house. She banged down the door until his wife came out. Linda told her loud enough for all the neighbours to hear that she’d been screwing her husband, he’d been about to leave her, what a cowardly shit he was, etc., etc.’
‘I can imagine that wasn’t very pleasant for Emmet but what did he expect? That she’d just slink off into the night?’
‘He was an arsehole but, it seems, not a total one,’ Louise continued. ‘He’d decided to stay with his wife for good reason but hadn’t the bloody cop-on to tell Linda what that was. Maybe he was in shock, maybe his wife didn’t want anybody knowing, or maybe he just likes drama. Anyway, his wife had breast cancer. And when Linda went around shouting the odds, she’d just finished a bout of chemo.’