‘Why didn’t Anna tell me?’ Iris tried to take in the world that was being thrown at her from a lifetime ago. ‘Why didn’t she tell me I was her sister?’
Even saying the word, sister; it was what she’d always wanted, but here, now, in the quiet of the apartment, the word sounded hollow and unreal.
‘She had to come to terms with it too. I think she had to get her head straight. She left Crowe the week after she met you, never told him why, never said a word, so far as I know, the only one she told was me.’
‘And Veronique?’
He smiled at her, an evil grin that pulled up the corners of his mouth into something that was more mocking than happy. ‘I met her on the streets. She was a drunk; I knew it from the first day she moved into the cottage. Thanked the Lord me mother couldn’t see what I’d been driven to.’
‘And then you told her?’
‘No, she was bad news, I’d never have done that…’
‘You didn’t kill her?’
‘No, I never thought I’d have to bother. She was doing that all by herself. I expected to come home one of these days to a stiff anyway. We had a fair deal going. I got what I wanted, when I wanted, paid for everything and she drank from when she got out of bed until she was getting into it again at night.’
‘So what happened to her?’
‘I think greed. She was getting all she could out of me, but she knew I was keeping an eye on Anna. Maybe everything I knew, she knew.’ His voice seemed to dip to a depth further than Iris had ever heard, as if his words might be coming from hell. No doubt, he was a tortured man. ‘Anna asked me to take care of a box of files, little things she’d built up over the years: newspaper cuttings, that photo, lots of different stuff. I pulled a photo of you from that big case you worked in Dublin, couple of weeks ago, it clearly showed your thumb, the back of your hand. Something clicked with Veronique; something must have made sense to her. I think she contacted your father…’
‘Oh God.’ Iris couldn’t believe she was hearing this. She wanted him to stop talking. She wanted to protest, but these were the answers they’d all been so hell bent on finding and now, well, they just weren’t sinking in properly. The words seemed to stand on the air between them, resounding for much longer than possible after they were spoken.
‘Yeah, well, you can’t tell a drunk, can you?’ His voice was empty; the emotion had long since been drained from it. ‘Remember, when Anna confronted him she ended up dead. Veronique’s death wasn’t exactly going to keep him at up at night by comparison to murdering your sister, was it?’
Somehow, above all of the things she’d learned in the last half an hour, the idea that Jack Locke was capable of killing two sleeping kids and their mother was probably not really going to penetrate her consciousness at any real level for a long time. Maybe she’d always known he was capable of doing anything to keep her safe. Tonight, there was so much to take in, suddenly it felt as if they were talking about a total stranger, not her father. This was not the man she’d known all her life, not the man who meant the world to her.
‘That night, last week, out at the cottage, I thought you were going to kill me.’ She spoke gently, the memory still scared her. She knew now, looking at him, that if he wanted to kill her with his bare hands she wouldn’t stand a chance.
‘You are the reason she’s dead.’ His eyes bore through her now. The words were simple and she wondered if that had been his intention all along.
‘Why did Anna think you’d taken me all those years ago?’ She felt a quiver of fear rise through her as she asked the question not entirely sure that she wanted the answer.
‘I resented you. I told her that I wished you’d never been born. As soon as you arrived, she had no time for me. I was glad when I heard you’d been stolen. I laughed and jumped and thumped the air. It was like all my birthdays had come round together. I thought everything would go back to normal again.’
‘But they never did?’
‘No, they never did. And now,’ he said, taking a hunting knife from inside his coat, ‘now they never will.’
They were four floors up, with two exits, both locked. Bar a battering ram, there was no getting out the front door without wrestling the keys from Kerr, and she knew that in a brawl she stood no chance. The other exit, a narrow window that led onto the fire escape, would be locked also; she wasn’t even sure where the keys were and even if she could lay her hands on them now, she knew she’d never make it out the door before he’d catch her. Basic fire safety – lesson learnt for next time, if there was a next time to learn for. He was beginning to cry now, tears streaming from his eyes, falling into his thick beard. She knew better than to speak to him, knew she had to wait and let him take the lead. One wrong word and it could all go pear-shaped.
Everyone was in, a full house, save for Slattery and Locke. She’d be along later, no doubt. ‘Okay, okay. I know you’re all tired, but here’s the deal. We’re seriously considering Ollie Kerr for the Crowe murders now.’
‘It’s like musical feckin’ chairs, first the husband, then the artist, now this Kerr guy.’ A uniform from the back of the room had obviously decided to take up where Slattery had so recently left off. He had the good grace to half apologise into a throat-clearing cough. More than Slattery might have done.
‘Not for Veronique Majewski’s?’ A youngster in his freshly minted uniform had slipped quietly into Slattery’s chair and for some reason the move irritated Grady more than he’d have thought possible.
‘Not at the moment. No.’ Grady sounded far surer than he knew he had any right to feel. ‘Anyway, we’ve talked to Alan Gains tonight – he says that Kerr was always hanging around after Anna when they were younger. They assumed he was a bit slow, didn’t pay too much heed.’
‘How come he didn’t show up before?’ Cullen said from behind Grady’s back.
‘Maybe not as slow as Alan Gains thinks?’ Grady said. ‘He was meant to drop into Kilgee station today; there’s been no sign. I have reason to believe that he may have been watching the station here over the last few days.’
‘And now?’ Cullen arched a neglected bushy brow.
‘Now, I have Westmont keeping an eye out.’ Grady turned to look at Cullen. He hadn’t spoken to her since she’d told him about Slattery; now all he felt for her was contempt. ‘We’ll put whoever we have out in Kilgee tonight; see if we can’t catch up with him before morning.’
‘Whatever you think.’ She lowered her head, checking an incoming message on her phone. ‘We should put someone out at the cottage.’ He knew she was thinking of Locke, and the night she’d come across him hanging around Anna Crowe’s cottage. Somehow, he felt that Kerr had moved from there, was sure he was much closer to home now.
‘Sure, I’ll see if I can’t get two of the night-duty boys to hang out there.’ He looked around again; still no sign of Locke.
‘We’ve had Adrian Crowe on the phone wondering if Veronique’s death is connected to his family’s murders.’ June looked up at Grady.
‘And?’
‘I said we were treating that as a possibility.’
‘Did you ask him where he was at the time of the murder?’ Cullen lifted her head from the phone.
‘Yes, this time it seems he has a watertight alibi.’
‘Oh?’
‘He spent most of the day making funeral arrangements; he was with the local parish priest, picking out hymns and whatnot.’
‘That’s okay then.’ Cullen levelled a look at June that said conversation over. Grady felt the room was beginning to become stifling; he wasn’t sure if it was the number of people or the presence of just one too many.
‘So, bright and early tomorrow morning, yes?’ he said to the tired-looking team before him. He knew they’d put in far more hours than they’d ever get paid for, and there was little more they could do tonight, apart from picking up Kerr. He really didn’t think that Kerr was going to strike again, or at least if he did, he had a feeling that
he’d leave things as they were for a while. Any witnesses he thought might have given him up were gone.
The place emptied out noisily but quickly. They’d all had enough of this whole investigation. Grady walked to one of the tall windows that overlooked the street outside, opened the bottom sash just a fraction before turning off the lights. Just as he leaned towards the wall he spotted something on the floor, a bag left behind by one of the female officers. He kicked it beneath the nearest desk, noticing as he did that it was Locke’s. It was odd, he thought, and stood for a moment considering the bag. Then he fished out his mobile and rang her number, a cooling sense of panic rising up his spine. It rang out, went to messaging. Not like her. She usually picked up by the third ring. He scrolled down through the numbers. Got June.
‘Did you manage to get Locke for the briefing this evening?’ he asked, keeping his voice as even as he could.
‘Yeah.’ It sounded like June was driving, the phone attached to her ear rather than the hands free device her sons had purchased for her. ‘She was back at her flat, cleaning up beforehand – beautifying herself, more like.’ She cursed, obviously missed a light. ‘I didn’t see her at the briefing, though, was she there?’
‘No.’ The one word and in that second, Grady had a feeling that he’d been wrong. Ollie Kerr had one more piece of unfinished business. It was why he’d been watching the station, why he’d moved off so quickly out in Kilgee rather than face Locke and gamble on her recognising him. ‘Where’s the flat?’ He listened while June rhymed off the address. He knew the place well enough; it was a recent redevelopment, high-end living in what had been, until Ireland became so obsessed with property, low-end storage.
Grady didn’t wait to pick up his coat; he just grabbed his keys and headed for the car. He had to get there before it was too late.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Iris felt as if they both spotted the gun at the same time. Then: that wasn’t possible, since Kerr’s back was turned on it – but something made him bolt, perhaps he’d noticed her eyes, slip towards the small table, calculate how likely it was that she’d make it there before him. He was a step away from her, directly in her path to her hand gun. If he realised what she was thinking in that moment, she knew he’d have reached out and finished things there and then. When he turned towards her, she still had a chance. He hadn’t seen it. He hadn’t figured what had flashed, for one brief, mad moment through her mind. If she killed him with it, would it be premeditated? Would anyone have to know what had been said here tonight? Would anyone have to know what had happened all those years ago? But you’d know, a small voice whispered deep inside her head, you’d know.
‘I thought, once she’d found you, all would be well. I thought everything would be exactly as it should be. I’ve spent a lifetime in a half world, trying to convince myself that I’m not some kind of monster.’ He looked at her, his eyes holding out a flicker of hope. He was consumed almost completely by wretchedness, apart from that one small glimmer. He scratched his beard, perhaps drying the last tears that had fallen, part anguish, part anger, maybe some guilt, too. Impossible to tell how much of each; she knew she couldn’t take any chances with him. ‘Now it feels as if I’m sitting on the edge…’
‘The edge – I don’t understand,’ she said carefully, keeping her voice low and even, careful not to change her body language too much. She needed him to sit. If he just sat on the low couch, even the movement of having to hoist himself out of it would be enough to slow him down; she’d have the upper hand before he knew what was happening. He’d have his back to her then – could she shoot him in the back?
‘I think,’ she paused. ‘I think we should sit down for a while. Please, tell me everything.’
‘I…’ He eyed her warily, and then looked at the arrangement of the sofa and chairs. To her frustration, he dropped down into a single chair. To the side of his head, only slightly beyond his line of vision, the Sig Sauer sat cold and ready on the table. ‘I’ve watched the cottage for years, even when there was no one near the place. I think I was watching it for you, hoping against hope that somehow you’d come back, that fate or maybe accident might send you back. Then she found you and I still watched the place, looked out for her.’ He quivered slightly. ‘Maybe I knew then that he couldn’t let her live, not once he knew.’
Iris sat back in the chair, mirroring his movements as much as possible, still hoping he’d sit back and relax a little. The words were hanging in the air between them, too awful to fully take in.
‘The day Veronique was killed I’d taken a shot gun out across the bogs. I came back to see a big hulk of a car parked before my front door. Habit, I suppose, but I slipped back into the trees. I watched him come out. I could see it on him then, something in the set of him. He will kill again to keep this secret.’ He cleared his throat; his voice was becoming thick with emotion. ‘I thought I heard her move.’ He bowed his head.
‘Inside the house?’
He nodded. ‘So I let off one bullet into the air. It was enough to spook him, I guess. He got into his swanky car and drove off.’
Kerr started to unsettle himself in the chair, but she couldn’t stir. It was as if time had stood still, complete silence about them, as though the world beyond this room had stopped. Iris felt her chest constrict. Felt as if she’d never breathe again, as if all of the oxygen in the room had finally given up and been gobbled by the blackness. Then he shifted, just a little nearer to her, held out his hand to her and she knew that regardless of whatever else happened, regardless of who was what or whether her world would ever be the same again – she wanted to live.
Maybe he was no threat, but by now adrenalin, and training and too many close calls in undercover were all kicking in together. She dived towards the small table; half ran, half jumped, so she felt as if she’d almost taken flight. She grabbed the gun and fell to the ground, turned as quickly as she could to face Kerr. It was the last thing she wanted now, but she’d shoot him on the spot if she had to; let him bleed to death slowly while she rang Grady or Cullen or whoever decided to answer first. She levelled the gun, felt as if everything was moving in slow motion, pulled back the release, her hands shaking, tears and snot now streaming down her face. He’d brought her as low as it was possible to go. This was Limerick, it was Murder, and it was what she’d wanted for so long. What was wrong with her? Pull the bloody trigger. She knew, in that instant, she couldn’t shoot him from behind and so she walked slowly, her back to the wall, sidestepping so she kept her eyes on his hunched figure. One more step and she would be facing him. She dropped her eyes on his face first, a knowing, sly look pulled his mouth upwards; his eyes were hard, the glassy stare of a hunter who has no empathy for his prey. And then, she looked downwards and she began to tremble, for there, through his great overcoat she could see where he’d plunged the hunting knife as close to his heart as he could manage. ‘Away with us she’s going, solemn-eyed; hear no more the lowing…’ She heard the words drift across the room a soft song emanating from a dying man.
‘I’ve told you all I know, it’s time to go back to her now.’
Grady didn’t get bad feelings so much any more. Sure, when he arrived at a crime scene, there was always the odour of something foul. He could still be shocked by what man could do to his fellow man, but he’d managed, somehow over the years, to quell the revulsion, the sick shaky feeling that things were not right. He figured it was the only way to survive. Early in his career, he’d finished work and cried for the dead, cried for the living and drank himself into a stupor with lads of his own age. They’d called it craic; it was survival. At some point, he’d looked around him, knew that if he didn’t harden up – well, the role models for that path weren’t too inspiring. Maybe the feeling in his gut now was as much about the fact that he was praying he would be in time to save her. He took the steps two at a time, his adrenalin pumping because until he knew otherwise, there was hope.
He rang the first bell. The apartme
nt belonged to a G. Birmingham. He answered almost immediately and buzzed Grady through as soon as he’d explained who he was and that he was concerned about a neighbour who wasn’t answering the door or the phone. Just as he was about to go through he spotted Slattery, bounding like a madman along the path towards him.
‘What the…’ Slattery said as he rounded the steps to him.
‘I think our man could have Iris up there.’ Grady kept his voice low, knew that there was no chance Kerr would hear him, but he needed Slattery to calm down. He watched as the older man took in his words.
‘Come on, what are we waiting here for?’
‘You can’t come… you’ve been suspended, remember.’ He felt like shit, knew that he could do with Slattery covering his back, but at the same time, knew that Cullen would have him for breaking and entering if it all turned out to be Grady’s imagination working overtime.
‘Has the paperwork actually been submitted?’ Slattery said with a smile, a familiar devil dancing in his eyes.
‘I wouldn’t think so.’
‘Well then, maybe she shouldn’t be counting her chickens just yet.’ He took a look at the list of names on the door frame. ‘Fourth floor. Lift for me, I think.’
Grady ran the four flights of stairs, conscious that he should be conserving his energy. Kerr was a big man, it’d take both of them to arrest him if he gave trouble. The corridor on the fourth floor was silent as the Burren in January snow. The door when he touched it was solid oak, with a Chubb lock and a spy hole.
‘No battering down that baby,’ Slattery said and reached for the bell. ‘This will be a nice surprise for her anyway, if she doesn’t already have company.’
Grady hoped that whatever Slattery had up his sleeve for Cullen and perhaps Iris would just be enough to get him reinstated. He reached out and pulled Slattery’s hand away from the bell for a second. ‘You’re sure you know what you’re doing here?’
Silent Night: An absolutely gripping crime thriller Page 24