by Alan Gorevan
Lisa’s garden shed was practically a house. Made of brick, with two large windows, the shed was plumbed and wired for electricity. When Graham and Lisa started dating, she’d said he could use the shed as his artist’s studio, if he wanted, as she never used it, and Graham said he had nowhere to paint. She’d given him his own key to the side gate, so he didn’t have to go through the house to get to it.
“That’s a good idea,” Graham said. “Maybe I’ll paint for half an hour. If you don’t mind, that is.”
“That’s fine. Why don’t you start now? Then it will still be bright when you finish. You’ll be able to do the hedge before dark.”
Graham set his beer down on the counter. He went around behind Lisa and placed his hands on her shoulders.
“Are you upset?”
“I’m just disappointed that Joe let Christopher down again.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not really father material, is he?”
Lisa shook her head. “I shouldn’t have invited him.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Graham hugged her tight.
“You know you could join me in the studio for a while. I know how to help you relax.”
He pressed his crotch against her backside.
Lisa pulled away. “Christopher could see,” she hissed.
“He’s upstairs.”
“And I’m really not in the mood to fool around right now. I’m sorry, Graham.”
“Okay, no problem. I get it.”
“You go and relax for a while,” Lisa said. She inserted a washing capsule and started the machine.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I have to work. I’m updating my parents’ website.”
“So they’re still making you work for free, are they? All the work you do for them? You should send them a bill. It’s not like they’re short of cash.”
“What? Why would I want to do that?”
“Your parents are loaded,” Graham said.
“Well, they’re comfortable.”
“But they don’t want to spend a cent on their website. They’re taking advantage of you.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.” Lisa smiled. “They’re family, Graham. They’re not trying to exploit me.”
“Okay then.”
He pulled another beer from the fridge and took it out into the garden, shutting the door behind him. He liked how spacious the garden was. Every square foot cost a fortune in Donnybrook.
He lit a cigarette and looked up into the still-blue sky. He felt like having some female company. If Lisa was too busy to spend time with him, that was okay. He could find someone else. He dug into his pocket for his phone.
He dialled Crystal’s number. The phone rang as he walked down the garden path. Crystal picked up after a couple of rings.
“What do you want, Graham?”
“What’s up with you?”
“You locked me in a shed, you bastard.”
“Are you still mad about that? It was only for half a minute.”
“It freaked me out.”
“I thought you liked a laugh.”
“That wasn’t a laugh, Graham.”
“Okay, okay. Now I know.” He stepped into the studio and closed the door behind him. “So are you busy?”
“Now?” Crystal asked.
“Yeah, I have some free time.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the studio.”
“You mean the shed you locked me in?”
Graham grinned. “How about I lock us both in it this time?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? You can come around the side. No one will see.”
Crystal giggled.
“I can’t. My sister is here with me. We made spaghetti.”
“Come on. You’re not going to leave me with my dick in my hand, are you?”
“We’re in the middle of dinner. Can I ring you back? How about later, when my sister goes?”
“Come now. You can bring your sister too.”
“Graham. I’m not doing that.”
“Prick-tease,” Graham said.
He ended the call and looked around the shed. An easel was set up in the middle of the room. Paints rested on a workbench, beside which stood a sink. The place was cosy. Lisa had even put a spare kettle there, and left an armchair in the corner.
Graham didn’t feel like painting right now. He lowered himself into the chair and closed his eyes.
Chapter 36
The drive to the scene of the explosion gave Joe a chance to fill Alice Dunne in on the Barry Wall case. From the passenger seat, she gazed at him with those big hazel eyes while he told her about Valentina López Vázquez’s disappearance, and how they arrested Aidan Donnelly. Joe was surprised she hadn’t seen it all on the TV. The media had made a big enough deal out of the story.
Dunne said, “So in the end, you couldn’t secure a conviction against Donnelly?”
“No, it’s hard to secure a murder conviction when there’s no body.”
“Her body has never been found?”
“No.”
Joe rolled down the window. The acrid smell of smoke wafted on the evening air, tainted by plastic, metal and petrol. Ahead, traffic was slowing. It must have been chaos earlier in the evening.
Dunne shifted in her seat. Her skirt had ridden well above her knees, and Joe caught a glimpse of shiny black tights before forcing himself to look away.
He said, “That night, when I brought Aidan Donnelly into custody… I was later accused of violating his rights.”
“Did you?”
“I was trying to save a woman’s life. I hoped she might still be alive somewhere. I thought every second’s delay might mean her death. I did everything I could to get Donnelly to tell me where he put her.”
“You slapped him around?”
Joe blinked quickly a couple of times. “His legal team accused me of a lot of things. Questioning him while he was under the influence of alcohol, keeping him in custody too long, assault… The Director of Public Prosecutions had big issues with the case. Very reluctant to prosecute. Finally, they did, but the judge threw it out. Directed the jury to acquit him.”
Dunne nodded. “So that’s why Wall hates you.”
“Because of me, his wife’s killer went free.”
Joe told her what happened after the trial. Wall kidnapping Donnelly, trying to make him talk, the bomb he had rigged up. The explosion. And what happened afterwards – Barry Wall being sent to jail for his attempt at vigilante justice.
Dunne shook her head when he was finished. “Donnelly kills the guy’s wife but gets off. Then Wall tries to get justice and he’s sent down? That’s messed up.”
“I get that, believe me.”
“What would you do?”
Joe glanced at Dunne. “What do you mean?”
“If you were Wall, would you have taken the law into your own hands?”
Joe shrugged. “I think I’ve learnt my lesson. Better to stick to the rules as much as possible.”
They turned a corner, and the wreckage of the petrol station came into view. The forecourt roof was lying drunkenly on its side. Twisted metal poked out of the debris like skeletal limbs. The shop was ruined too. The glass there was all blown out and the walls were blackened and crumbling. A car, out on the road, was covered in debris. There was little trace of the vehicle that had been the centre of the explosion. Its remains must have been scattered all over the place.
Four fire engines were on the scene, and fire officers swarmed around, putting out the last of the flames. Uniforms were keeping the crowd well back. Several ambulances were dotted around, and an army bomb-disposal van was jammed in between the ambulances, its olive-green paintwork ominous.
Joe ditched the Hond
a at the side of the road. He and Dunne walked through the crowd of onlookers, up to the nearest uniform who was manning a barricade. Even though the flames were now out, Joe could feel the heat radiating out from the centre of the fire. The air was dense with petrol-scented smoke.
Joe flashed his ID at the officer, then shouted to him over the noise. “Do you know what caused the explosion?”
“We don’t know the details yet, but we believe it was a bomb of some kind.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“Six people. The poor kid who worked behind the counter has been taken to hospital for some minor injuries. A man and his daughter were a little battered and bruised, but they’ll be okay too. And three men were killed.”
“Three men? Together?”
The officer nodded.
“Are you aware of the Barry Wall situation?”
“I am.”
“Tell me Wall was one of them.”
The officer stepped closer. “A man matching his description was seen getting into the car just before it exploded. We’ll have to wait for the forensics to know for sure. If they can even find pieces of the men.”
Explosives matched Wall’s previous form. Perhaps he’d been playing with another bomb. But he’d got sloppy and blown himself up.
“Thanks,” Joe said.
He and Dunne headed back to the car, as there was no use hanging around, getting in the fire brigade’s way. Joe sat down behind the wheel and dug out his mobile. He had a dozen missed calls and texts from Lisa. He sighed.
“What is it?”
“I forgot about my son’s birthday.”
“You have a son? Are you married?”
“No, it’s not like that. We’re not together.”
Not at the moment, anyway. But he had the tickets for that gig. Maybe Lisa would want to go with him.
He’d deal with Lisa in a minute. First, he phoned O’Carroll on his mobile because he’d want to know immediately. O’Carroll answered after one ring.
“This better be good, Joe. You’re disturbing me in the middle of the news.”
O’Carroll was religious about watching the news. In the background, Joe heard a man’s voice, shushing O’Carroll. It must have been his husband.
Joe said, “Anything on the news about a petrol station explosion?”
“Yes,” O’Carroll answered slowly. Joe could picture him sitting up in his chair. “Terrible thing that. Why do you ask?”
Joe said, “It might not be so terrible.”
Chapter 37
The hideout was a semi-detached house in north Dublin, with cream-painted walls and brown PVC windows. The roof was covered in sombre brown tiles, which was nice, but the front lawn had been dug up and covered over with crazy paving, which wasn’t.
It was like the owners had woken up one day and thought, Enough cutting the grass. Screw this place.
“The owners were a couple. They separated,” Ken said as they pulled into the driveway. “They were in such a hurry to unload that they would have taken a jar of pickles as payment. I’m going to make a hundred and fifty k selling it on. As soon as we’re finished with it.”
A trickle of blood ran down Wall’s arm. He’d been digging his fingernails into his palm for the last mile – so hard, he’d cut himself. This should be his moment of triumph. And Ken was messing everything up.
Wall said, “I want to go there now.”
There meant straight to Aidan Donnelly’s flat.
Ken killed the engine, stepped down to the ground and turned to look back at his brother.
“That’s an awful idea, Barry. Use your head. We have to wait for dark.”
“I can go alone, if you don’t want to risk it. They think I’m dead.”
“And we want to keep it that way. They’re not going to learn any different in the next few hours. In real life, that CSI stuff takes time. We’ll get Donnelly later. I know you’ve waited a long time, but you can wait a little longer, alright? Let’s just stay out of sight until the sun goes down. Then we’ll pay him a visit.”
It was true. Wall had waited so long. Every day in prison, he’d thought of Aidan Donnelly. Whenever he closed his eyes, he pictured him.
He got out of the van. He made a promise to himself as he followed his brother up the driveway.
Aidan Donnelly will pay. And Valentina will get the burial she deserves.
That was important to her family. They were religious enough to go to church just about every day. Valentina believed in God, heaven, hell. The whole deal. Wall had never been able to credit that stuff. He was never going to be reunited with Valentina. It was important to him, though, that he honoured his wife’s beliefs.
When they went inside, William “Dinky” Talbot appeared at the top of the stairs. He was one of the better men that Wall had met inside.
“My man.” Dinky took the stairs two-at-a-time and threw his arms around Wall. “Alright, Brick? I saw it on the news. It worked.”
“Don’t call me that,” Wall said, disentangling himself. “That was prison bullshit.”
“Sorry, man. You got it.” Dinky grinned. “We’ve got food, we’ve got beer, we’ve got weapons. This place is like a holiday camp.” Wall glared at him. Dinky said, “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just glad to see you. You look different without the beard.”
They followed Dinky into the kitchen.
“I set up a dart board for you,” he said, gesturing to the back of the kitchen door. Three photos were pinned to the board. On the outer circle, there was a photo of Judge Roberts, who’d told a jury to acquit Donnelly. Wall stepped closer, staring at the man’s solemn face.
“The learned judge erred,” Wall whispered.
Closer to the centre of the dart board was a photo of Detective Sergeant Joe Byrne. Wall poked Byrne’s eyes out with his fingers.
And right in the centre of the board was Aidan Donnelly.
The photo was taken outside the Criminal Courts, right after the acquittal. Donnelly wore a black and grey tracksuit. Unshaven, he ran towards a taxi. That scumbag had made a mockery of them all.
“The sham justice system,” Wall said, touching the dartboard.
“Everyone is here,” Dinky said.
“Not the barrister,” Wall said. He hadn’t forgotten that prick, Costello.
Ken said, “How do you feel?”
Wall looked into the sitting room, peered at the two couches and TV, and continued down the hall.
“Impatient.”
“No, I mean, about those lads from the prison?” Ken followed him. “You don’t feel bad?”
Wall turned. “Why should I feel bad?”
“Not saying you should. But they’re dead.”
“It wasn’t any great loss. Handsome liked to rape girls in his taxi. Buzz was an absolute nutjob. And Leech stole his own mother’s pension for three years. He broke her collar bone when she tried to stop him. That’s why he was in prison.”
“But taking a life…”
Wall shrugged. “They deserved it. Simple as that.”
Handsome had been a friend to him in prison, but Buzz was an asshole. And he hardly knew Leech at all. He didn’t even remember the man’s face.
“Everyone dies,” Wall said. “It’s just a matter of when.”
Before Valentina was taken from him, Wall would never have been able to kill three men in cold blood, would never even have been able to contemplate such a thing. He wasn’t a bastard like some men, like his father, who used to discipline the young Barry and Ken by wrapping them up in a rug and beating them with a plank of wood. When he was really mad, he’d roll them down the hill at the back of their garden. They’d lived in a farmhouse at that time, and there had been a rocky stream at the end of the garden. It was a six-foot drop from the garden level. Sometimes Wall still thought of that moment of terror, when he rolled off the last inch of grass and fell through the air, never knowing if he would dash his brains out on a rock (if the water level was shallow), o
r remain stuck in the rug and drown (if the river was full). It was a miracle he’d even survived.
But that was ancient history. These days, Wall rarely thought of anything except Valentina, and whatever it was that had happened to her.
“I’m going to make some food,” Ken said. “Any special request, Barry?”
“No,” Wall said flatly.
He was thinking of Valentina, not food.
He remembered coming home that day. The upside-down clock, mocking him from the mantlepiece. The upside-down fruit bowl in the kitchen.
And the fingers.
The fingers.
Wall followed Ken back to the kitchen. While Ken heated oil in a frying pan, Wall slumped in a chair to wait for darkness.
Chapter 38
Joe and Dunne headed back towards Donnybrook after leaving the scene of the fire. Along the way, Joe spotted a McDonald’s. His stomach rumbled loud enough for Dunne to hear.
“Let’s grab a burger,” she said with a smile.
They went inside and loaded up on hamburgers and chips. The restaurant was cool and quiet. A reassuringly typical McDonald’s.
Joe felt better thinking there was a chance that a very dangerous man was no longer on the loose. O’Carroll had certainly sounded pleased when Joe told him.
“This isn’t exactly the restaurant I planned to show you,” Joe said between mouthfuls.
“Don’t worry about it. You can show me that place another time.”
“Will do.”
“So, you have to hurry home to your son?”
Joe washed down some chips with a mouthful of Coke. She was right. He’d have to get to Lisa’s house soon.
“It’s not my home. He lives with my ex. Like I said, I’m not with her.”
“When did you split up?”
“Nearly seventeen years ago.”
“Wow,” Dunne said. “How old is your son?”
“Sixteen.”
“So you left her as soon as she got pregnant?”
Joe snorted. “You ask a lot of questions, you know? Offensive ones.”
“You don’t seem like the type to take offence easily.” Dunne grinned. “What age are you? You can lie if you like.”
“Thirty-five. You? Since you seem so comfortable asking me personal questions.”