Nine Lives

by Kevin McManus

  “Wow.”

  “Look, McGarry, I need you to do something for me. I just emailed you a photo. It was probably taken in May 1979 and it is of Hazel Devereaux, Donal Keane and a third person who I can’t make out. Could you get that whizz kid, Whelan, you know, the computer nerd, to try to enlarge the image and clean it up? The mystery man in the photo is wearing a rugby jersey, he looks like a rugby player. There is a team crest on the jersey, see if you can make out what is says after Whelan works on it and give me a ring back as soon as you can. If we know the name of the team, we might be able to find out who he is.”

  “Okay, Logue, no bother. I’ll get onto it and get back to you in a few hours.”

  “Good man, McGarry, hopefully I’ll be back home soon, I’ll see you then,” Logue said as he hung up.

  After deleting the scanned image off the desktop screen, he removed the photo from the scanner and brought it with him back to the conference room where all the files taken from Keane’s bunker were being held. He looked around to see if anybody was watching and then opened the Devereaux file and slipped in the photo he had previously removed. Just as he was closing the file, Harper walked in.

  “Hey, Ray, good work this morning,” Harper said.

  “Cheers.”

  “I just got the preliminary report on the body found this morning, it’s most certainly Donal Keane. He was decapitated in the same manner as the other male victims, John Barry and Richard Clarke. So, it looks like there were two murderers working together, Keane killing the three women and the other person killing the three men.”

  “But why did he murder Keane if they were collaborating?”

  “Maybe the other killer knew we were onto Keane and that he would eventually crack.”

  “Possibly… Or maybe Keane wanted to be a victim, maybe he wanted to be killed, he was a sick and twisted fuck after all.”

  “You could be right, Ray… it would all be very poetic, don’t you think?”

  “Yea, but poetry was never my thing.” Logue smiled.

  “Why does that not surprise me?” Harper laughed as he gave Logue a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Anyway, we also discovered skin under Keane’s nails. It looked like he put up a fight. We are taking DNA samples now, it should help us to match it to the killer. Inside his coat pocket we found an envelope containing a note, a line from the eighth verse of A Paean: Thus, on the coffin loud and long I strike the murmur sent.”

  “Right, so it all matches up, Keane was victim number eight.”

  “Yes, he was, but who is the other killer?”

  As Logue was about to answer, his phone rang and he hit the green button to take the call.

  “Hi, Ray, its Jim Mulcahy here.”

  “Hi, Jim.”

  “Jack showed me the photo you just emailed him, and he told me about Donal Keane.”

  “Yea, I wanted Noel Whelan to do his magic on the photo.”

  “There is no need, I know who the third man in the photo is.

  “He is called Paul Austen. I met him in the early ‘80’s at a function in Galway. Inspector Harding introduced me to him. He was his nephew… it all makes sense now, he is the Paul on the bracelet found on Hazel Devereaux’s body. We just ran a check on him, he moved to Boston in the mid-eighties, he is a lecturer at Madison College at present. It’s all so clear now. That’s why that bastard Harding closed down the case in ‘79 and pinned the blame on Frank Rudden. He was protecting his own nephew because he knew he was implicated in the murders.”

  “Are you sure it’s Paul Austen? We spoke to him before when we were inquiring about Keane. He told me that he went to Trinity College for a year or so and played Rugby for an Irish team.”

  “That’s the same fucker, he must be around early fifties now.”

  “Yes, tall and still strongly built.”

  “That’s your man, Logue, he was Keane’s accomplice, I’ll bet my career on it. Bring him in. Finish the fecking job that I couldn’t do.”

  “Thanks, Jim, I’ll do my best,” Logues said as he ended the call and turned towards Harper.

  “That was my superintendent back in Ireland, he identified the third person in the photo taken in 1979 in Blairstown,” Logue said and went over to the Hazel Devereaux file and handed the photo to Harper.

  “That’s weird, I never noticed that photo in the file before.”

  “You must have missed it. Anyway, left to right it’s Donal Keane, Hazel Devereaux and Paul Austen. Remember, the Physics lecturer we met at Madison College when we were looking for Keane. He told us he only met Keane for the first time a few months earlier. He was lying, he knew him from Ireland back thirty years ago. Austen went to Trinity College, remember the picture on his office wall. Hazel Devereaux also went to Trinity College and she was going out with a guy called Paul. A bracelet found on her body said To Hazel from Paul. I think that Paul Austen was Keane’s accomplice.”

  “Right, it sounds very plausible but there is nothing there to tie him to any of the murders. There is no concrete proof, Ray.”

  “It’s enough to bring him in for questioning, surely.”

  “Okay, we can do that. I’ll get Woods to find out his home address and I’ll send around some officers to bring him in.”

  Chapter 21: Distant Early Warning

  Monday 7th December 2009

  Mayfield Street Precinct

  11:00 PM

  Harper, Callaghan, Logue and Woods were all physically and mentally exhausted. It had been a long but very productive day. All four of them stuffed their faces with a Chinese takeaway meal and washed it down with copious amounts of coffee.

  “How are you getting on with the video tapes we found in Keane’s bunker, Woods?” Harper asked.

  “I’m getting through them slowly. The picture quality is poor, especially on the early ones as you can imagine. I transferred them to digital and I’m trying to clean them up.”

  “Most be terrible stuff to watch,” Logue said.

  “It’s bloody gruesome to be honest, it’s about one of the roughest things I have ever seen.”

  “Keep with it, Woods, you are doing a good job,” Harper said.

  As the four were finishing off their food the door to the conference room opened.

  “Yes, Officer Greene,” Harper said.

  “Sorry to disturb you, but we have Paul Austen in room four whenever you are ready.”

  “Thanks, we’ll be right out,” Harper replied. “Okay, Logue and I will talk to Paul Austen. Callaghan, have you got the stomach to give Woods a hand checking out those videos?”

  “Yeah,” Callaghan replied.

  “Are you sure?” Logue asked.

  “I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

  ***

  When Logue and Harper reached Interview Room Four, Paul Austen was sitting down waiting for them. He looked nervous and jittery and had obvious red scratch markings on his face which he was trying to hide with his hands.

  “Where did you get those scars on your neck and face, Paul? They look nasty and sore,” Logue asked.

  “I was gardening yesterday, and I was cutting back bushes and they scraped my face.”

  “Gardening in December, cold weather for it.” Logue smiled.

  “Why did you bring me in here? I told the officers in the car that I have no idea where Donal Keane is. How would I know? I barely know him,” Austen said.

  “Really?” Harper asked.

  “Yes, really.”

  “How long have known Donal Keane?” Harper asked.

  “About two or three months that’s all. I told you all of this when I spoke to you at the college a few weeks back.”

  “So, you never met him before that,” Harper asked.

  “No.”

  “What about this photograph then, do you recognize this woman?” Logue said and pushed the photo of Hazel Devereaux in front of him.

  Logue watched Austin’s reactions very closely, he could see that he was shaking, sweat running down h
is face. He knew it wouldn’t take much to crack him.

  “I… don’t know who she is, I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

  “I find that very hard to believe, Paul, because I think that you went out with her when you were both students back in Trinity College in Dublin in 1979. You even gave her a bracelet, with the words To Hazel from Paul inscribed on it.”

  “No… No, you’re mistaken, that’s rubbish.”

  “Look at this other photo, Paul, this is taken in a bar in Blairstown in Galway in May 1979. There is Donal Keane and next to him Hazel Devereaux and that’s you, Paul. That’s you sitting next to them. Now you can’t deny that it isn’t you. I know it’s thirty years ago and we have all changed a lot in thirty years, Paul. You got a bit heavier but you’re still in good shape. I bet you could still put in a good performance on a Rugby pitch. You’re a big strong man, Paul, look at those shoulders. I wouldn’t like to get a box from you. Sure, you could take a man’s head clean off with that right arm of yours.” Logue smiled widely.

  “That’s not me in the photo,” Austen said nervously.

  “Oh yes it is, Paul, yes, it is, look at it again,” Logue pressed.

  “It’s not me, please stop saying it’s me, it’s not me, please just let me go, please… I don’t know where Donal Keane is… I don’t know who murdered him.” Austen broke down and started sobbing profusely.

  “Murdered, Paul, murdered? How do you know he was murdered? Nobody told you he was murdered, we just told you he was missing. How do you know he was murdered, Paul?”

  Austen continued to cry, unable to answer. Harper passed him a handkerchief.

  “Maybe we should take a break, Ray,” Harper said.

  “No, are you serious, we have him on the fecking ropes,” Logue whispered as a knock came to the door. The uniformed officer who was standing at the back of the room opened the door and Callaghan walked in and immediately went over to Logue and Harper.

  “Guys, there is something important you have to see on one of the video tapes myself and Woods are examining.”

  “Can it wait, Olivia? We are really getting somewhere here,” Logue whispered.

  “Believe me, Ray, you have to see it.”

  “Okay, okay, let’s go,” Logue said and followed Harper and Callaghan towards the door.

  When they reached the conference room, they could see that Woods had connected his laptop to the data projector and a disturbing image of a female tied to a chair was paused.

  He stood in the middle of the room and spoke to Harper and Logue as they came in. “I think that I found something important here, guys. This is the most recent video and the best quality. The image is steady as if the camera was on a stand or tripod. The subject matter is obviously horrific to watch. The lady we can see tied to the chair is Carissa Meyers who was murdered as we all know back on June third of this year. Okay, we will roll it on.”

  “I’ll get it,” Callaghan said, hitting the play button on the laptop.

  “Thanks, Olivia. Now we can see the Gurkha knife which was discovered in Keane’s bunker being held to the victim’s throat and now we get a close-up image of Donal Keane himself as the video pans out. Right, at this point the victim isn’t killed yet. Unfortunately, the sadistic bastard is just prolonging the inevitable. But watch this, the image swings around and there is a mirror to the right of Keane, the camera operator inadvertently swings the camera on the stand and we get, fortunately for us, an excellent image of him in the mirror reflection. Just hit pause, please, Olivia.”

  The image froze on the screen and it was clear who the person was.

  “It’s Paul Austen, fair fucks to you Woods,” Logue roared.

  “Yea, well done,” Harper replied.

  “Let’s nail this bastard,” Logue said and left the room and stormed down the corridor back to the interview room. He opened the door, quickly followed back to the table by Harper. Austen had his head down on the table and was muttering to himself.

  “Right, Paul, are you ready to answer a few more questions?” Harper asked.

  “Yes,” he replied feebly as he lifted his head from the desk.

  “Paul, we know that you were there at the murder of Carissa Meyers. We have just watched an image of you on film proving that fact. You were an accomplice to the murder. We know that you lied to us about your association with Donal Keane. You’ve known him for up to thirty years. Another fact is that you were going out with his first murder victim, Hazel Devereaux, back in 1979. A bracelet was discovered on her arm with your name on it. We also know that Donal Keane put up a fight before he was decapitated. Human flesh was discovered under his nails and those scratch marks on your neck and cheeks look very suspect.

  “We know who killed the female victims, Hazel Devereaux in 1979, Emma Wilson in 1989, Gloria Fitzgerald in 1999 and Carissa Meyers this year in 2009. We believe that it was Donal Keane, your friend, associate, accomplice or whatever you want to refer to him as,” Logue said as he pushed the images in front of Austen, whose eyes were red from crying. He did not respond. “But who killed the male victims, Frank Rudden in 1979, John Barry in 1989, Richard Clarke in 1999 and your old buddy Donal Keane. I think it was you, Paul. It was, wasn’t it? On the morning of June third, 1979, Donal Keane murdered Hazel Devereaux and you took care of Frank Rudden, because Frank was in the wrong place at the wrong time, giving Hazel a lift to the police station. Frank was a big strong guy, it would take somebody of your strength to handle him, to overpower him. Donal Keane was smaller he would be no match for Frank Rudden, so it was decided that he would kill Hazel and you would kill Frank, isn’t that right Paul?” Logue said as he hammered the desk.

  “No, no, it’s not true,” Austen replied.

  “Paul, you are going down as an accomplice to the murder of Carrisa Meyers anyway and those marks on your face are telling me that you could very well be guilty of the murder of Donal Keane. You are facing a long stretch, why don’t you just help us out,” Harper said calmly.

  Austen sat upright in his chair, his tears dried. He stared coldly and blankly at the wall at the back of the room. He didn’t speak for a moment and then his mouth slowly opened.

  “We both loved her.”

  “Loved who?” Harper asked.

  “Hazel… We both loved her, she was beautiful. But she was too much of a free spirit, she wanted everything, everybody. I just wanted her, but I wasn’t enough for her… I was jealous, so was Donal, if we couldn’t have her then nobody would. So, we decided that she couldn’t live and torture us anymore.”

  Harper looked at Logue.

  The Irishman leaned forward towards Austen. “So, did you kill Hazel or was it Donal Keane?” Logue asked.

  “Donal killed her and I got rid of Frank Rudden, there couldn’t be any witnesses.”

  Harper checked that the recorder was running to make sure they were getting the confession on tape before he asked a question. “The rest of the victims, why were they murdered, Paul?”

  “They were a tribute, like the title of the poem A Paean, to praise Hazel, a tribute to her, they were sacrifices to our Goddess. We found the killings of Hazel and Frank empowering, strangely satisfying, we had control over them. So, we killed a man and woman every decade in tribute to Hazel.”

  “Did you kill the male victims here in Boston, Paul?” Logue asked.

  “Yes… to follow the pattern, the design and the sequence of the first murders in 1979. it all had to be exact, immaculate and impeccable. Donal and I shared a life number which is nine, as did Hazel, Frank and all of the others, nine, nine, nine, nine, nine, nine, nine, nine.”

  “But why did you kill Donal?” Logue asked.

  “Donal was dying anyway, he had only months to live, the cancer was eating him alive. I eased his pain and his suffering. He told me to do it, he wanted to be one of the victims, one of the sacrifices. He thought that would make the entire idea so perfect and poetic.”

  “But why did he put up a fight, then?�
�� Harper asked.

  “Wouldn’t you? It’s just basic animal instinct to fight for your life at the end.” As Austen was speaking he continued to stare at the wall over the heads of the two detectives towards the uniformed police officer at the back of the room and towards the door. He suddenly sprang from his chair and using all his power and his experience from the Rugby field he ran around the table and with one heave from his shoulder knocked Harper and Logue to the floor. The police officer at the back of the room reacted quickly, unclasping his gun and taking aim towards Austen who was sprinting towards him, but he was pulled to the floor as Austen dived at his legs. The firearm fell to the floor and Austen grabbed it. He wrapped his left arm tightly around the officer’s neck and pulled him upwards to his feet and with his right arm he buried the muzzle of the gun into the policeman’s temple.

  Harper and Logue moved cautiously towards Austen.

  Harper tried to slowly reach for his gun.

  “Don’t try it, Detective, you won’t be quick enough, this officer will die first,” Austen shouted. “Don’t you see that there have to be nine lives, and as it says in verse nine, Thou didst not die too soon, nor with too calm an air. Can’t you see how final, how perfect this is? There have to be nine lives, and this is the ninth one,” Austen said and pulled the gun away from the police officer’s forehead, placing it in his own mouth and pulling the trigger. His body dropped to the floor under a crimson shower.

  Chapter 22: Feet on the Ground

  Wednesday 9th December 2009

  Mayfield Street Precinct

  4:00 PM

  Sam Harper addressed the assembled crowd of detectives and officers who had worked on what had become known as the Paean Killer case. He started off by outlining the proof that had been collected and that tied Paul Austen to three of the murders.