The Kindness of Psychopaths

by Alan Gorevan

  Chapter 46

  Detective Sergeant Kevin Boyle arrived home late. He could smell the shit as soon as he opened the door to his ground-floor apartment. He groaned as he stepped inside. This wasn’t the kind of greeting he liked.

  “Babe?” he called.

  Boyle’s golden retriever was sixteen years old and even sicker than he was. Sometimes she couldn’t hold off until Boyle came home. On those occasions, she tended to let loose on the rug in the sitting room. Thankfully it didn’t happen very often, and when it did occur, Boyle thought Babe felt worse about it than he did. She looked mournful for hours.

  “That’s all I need,” Boyle muttered, stepping inside. “I should have got a rat. Shouldn’t I, Babe?”

  No answer.

  He stepped into the kitchen and set down his bag of groceries on the counter.

  Boyle had moved here after his bout of pneumonia the previous year. His last flat had required him to climb four flights of stairs. He was weak and the damn steps had nearly killed him. He was also in debt, and he suspected things were going to get worse. So a cheap flat on the ground floor suited him.

  Around the time he moved here, the doctors had finally diagnosed him with vasculitis. That his blood vessels were inflamed went some way to explaining why he was so tired all the time, why he had a rash, and joint pain, not to mention all the other health issues he’d suffered lately, which had probably been caused or exacerbated by his condition. The corticosteroids the doctors put him on had helped a bit, but Boyle had spent a fortune trying to recover his health, and he still felt like crap a lot of the time.

  Boyle walked into the sitting room.

  “Babe?”

  She was in the sitting room, like Boyle expected, lying on the floor with her back to him. A pile of faeces sat on the rug in front of the TV.

  The dog wasn’t moving, and Boyle had the terrifying thought that she was dead.

  Murdered.

  “Babe,” he shouted.

  The dog lifted her head, pricking up her ears and looking around, trying to determine where the sound had come from. When she caught sight of Boyle, she struggled to her feet on arthritic legs, wagging her tail.

  Boyle breathed a sigh of relief.

  The stupid dog was getting deaf as well as incontinent. He hunkered down and hugged her to him.

  “You had me worried, girl.”

  Babe wagged her tail and licked Boyle’s face. He stroked her under the chin, so happy she was alright that for a moment he forgot that he was meant to be mad at her. He pointed a finger at the pile of dirt on the rug.

  “Who did that?”

  Babe flattened her ears to her head and looked up at Boyle with big sad eyes. He couldn’t stay mad at her when she gave him those eyes.

  “Alright, alright. Never mind who did it.”

  He patted her on the head.

  Boyle wasn’t supposed to have a pet here, but his girlfriend had dumped him when the steroids made him gain weight, and he was damned if he was going to live without his dog as well as his partner.

  He got to his feet as his phone started to ring. Boyle swallowed when he saw the number displayed on the screen.

  Ger Barrett.

  He hit the green button and held the phone to his ear. The voice on the other end of the line was cold and business-like.

  “You picked the wrong man to screw over.”

  “I didn’t. It wasn’t—”

  “You think you can take my money and then turn on me when it suits you?”

  “No, it was Byrne. He was acting alone. I didn’t know.”

  “You’ve made your bed. Now you’re going to sleep in it.”

  The line went dead.

  Chapter 47

  The next morning, Joe set a big pot of coffee brewing while he took a shower.

  At six thirty, he’d woken up in the Honda with a sore back and a sour taste in his mouth. He’d driven home, feeling like he’d wasted the night. It had been uneventful. Joe had watched Aidan Donnelly’s building for hours. There was nothing to see. Nothing at all. He’d been tempted to go up to Donnelly’s flat and warn him that he was in danger, but O’Carroll had told Joe not to go anywhere near Donnelly, and that was a reasonable request, given their history.

  When Joe stepped out of the shower, the smell of coffee from the kitchen cheered him up. He found a fresh shirt and a clean pair of trousers, and left them on the bed.

  There was half a quiche in the fridge. Ham, cheddar, leek. Joe polished it off while he drank his first coffee.

  Once he’d poured his second cup, he gave Christopher a call. He wanted to catch him before he left for school. Christopher answered after two rings.

  “Hi Joe.”

  “You okay? How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  “Were you able to sleep last night?”

  “It took a while. Mum kept checking on me. Asking me if I was dizzy or felt sick or whatever. I thought she’d keep me awake all night but eventually I drifted off.”

  “Good.” Joe smiled. That sounded just like Lisa. “I’ll talk to your principal today.”

  “You probably need to make an appointment. He’s always busy. He might not have time to see you.”

  “Don’t worry about that. He’ll find time for me.”

  “I should go. I didn’t get my history homework done last night because of… you know, everything. I’m trying to finish it now, but it’s really not my best subject.”

  “You don’t like history?”

  “I prefer music.”

  “Maybe I could give you a hand with that some time. Did your mother ever tell you I’m a history buff?”

  “No. She never mentions you.”

  “Oh. Well, anyway I can help you sometime if you like. I better let you go. Just avoid that boy for the moment.”

  “I always avoid him.”

  Joe ended the call and returned to his coffee. He replayed the conversation in his mind.

  She never mentions you.

  He realised he still had the tickets he’d planned to give to Lisa the previous evening. What a stupid idea that had been. He tore them up and dropped them in the bin on his way out the door.

  *

  Joe found Anne-Marie Cunningham at her desk in Donnybrook Garda Station. Kevin Boyle was at his. Boyle glanced at Joe but said nothing. If he was worried about yesterday’s fiasco, he was doing a good job of hiding it. And he ought to be worried. Joe planned to get him.

  Joe tried to focus on the Barry Wall case, which had taken precedence over everything else.

  They still didn’t have any definitive identification of the men killed in the explosion.

  Joe rang the Technical Bureau to remind them he was waiting for the DNA test results, but they already knew that. Someone was always waiting for results, and it was always urgent.

  Joe figured everyone hoped the test would come back positive, telling them that some of the remains at the site of the explosion belonged to Wall. Case closed. Onto the next. It would be nice and easy that way.

  And as the morning went on, Joe became more and more convinced that it wouldn’t work out like that.

  He spent some time revisiting his original case notes. Once he was done with that, he decided to take a field trip. If anyone who knew where Barry Wall would be, Joe figured it would be Wall’s brother or the former prisoners Wall had come into contact with. O’Carroll already had a couple of uniforms trying to contact the recently released prisoners, so Joe decided to pay Ken Wall a visit. At this time of day, he figured Ken would be at work.

  Dunne appeared at the door just as Joe was throwing on his jacket. She wore a navy trouser suit today, with a pale grey blouse. Her hair was straight like a ruler. Her eyes looked more green than hazel today.

  “Mind if I tag along?” she said.

  Joe didn’t mind at all.

  *

  Ken Wall’s company had an office in the city centre. Joe parked in front of a gleaming sign saying WK Partners.
It was a small office, set on the corner of a busy street.

  “What are they?” Dunne said. “Estate agents?”

  Joe nodded. “Lettings, sales, all kinds of stuff.”

  The windows were spotless, all the better to show off the cards displaying properties for sale.

  “Ken must know of some vacant properties. Places where his brother might hide.”

  Joe turned to Dunne.

  “You’re almost as cynical as me.”

  “I’m sure I’m worse.”

  Grinning, Joe got out of the car and crossed the footpath. Dunne followed as he pushed through the gleaming glass door. The only person he could see was a receptionist, a pink-haired girl with pink nails and pink lipstick.

  In his experience, estate agents usually had big, spacious places, painted white and decked out with lots of expensive computers. There were usually plenty of chairs for potential buyers to sit and chat. There was a welcoming, informal atmosphere.

  Not here.

  The room was stubby and bare. The only place to sit was a leather couch positioned in front of the desk where the punk sat playing with her phone. Joe walked up to the desk.

  “Can I help you?” she said.

  From her manner, Joe took it she’d never had any customer service training.

  “Is Mr. Wall here?”

  “No.”

  “Good,” Joe said.

  He showed her his ID. Her eyes widened. Her grip on her phone slackened, but she didn’t put it down.

  “Oh my god, yeah. I read about his brother on the news.” She lowered her voice. “Did you find him yet?”

  “Not yet. What’s your name?”

  “Clarissa.”

  “Clarissa, do you know Barry, Ken’s brother?”

  “No, I’ve never met him.”

  Dunne said, “How is Ken Wall as a boss?”

  Clarissa blinked. “I haven’t worked here very long. Only a month. He’s okay, I guess. Wears too much aftershave.”

  Joe nodded.

  “Was Ken here yesterday afternoon, say from 3pm to 5pm?”

  “Yeah. I remember he went out and grabbed a bagel for lunch. He actually bought me one too, which was kind of nice. Then he stayed in his office for the rest of the afternoon. He had a conference call with a client.”

  “Do you know who that was?” Dunne asked.

  Clarissa tapped away on her keyboard.

  “Give me a second…. No,” she said at last. “His diary doesn’t list a name.”

  Joe said, “Okay. And when did you see Ken again?”

  “I guess he was still on the call when I left? I finish at five, but Ken is often here later. He comes and goes a lot.”

  “I wonder if you’d be able to give us a list of properties you’re handling?”

  “Sure. I mean, most of them are on the window and on our website.”

  She pointed a pink fingernail at the displays.

  “What about unlisted properties? New ones maybe?”

  “I can get a printout—”

  A door swung open behind Clarissa. Joe recognised Ken Wall right away. He’d last seen him in court. Ken wore a crisp green shirt and tight pants. Joe had never seen such shiny shoes as the pointy-toed black leather ones that he was wearing.

  “What’s this?” Ken said,

  His voice was clipped, authoritative, and surprisingly deep for a man who stood an inch shorter than Joe.

  Clarissa said, “These are officers – I was – they’re from—”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’m surprised you’re still on the force, Joe.”

  “How’s Barry doing?”

  “I haven’t heard anything from him.”

  “Sure. I was asking Clarissa if she could give us a list of all your properties.”

  Ken smiled. “Do you really think I’m concealing a fugitive in a company property? That wouldn’t be very smart.”

  “People have done stupider things,” Joe observed.

  “They certainly have. Like botching murder investigations.”

  Joe let that one go. Ken looked preoccupied, like something important was on his mind. Joe deliberately slowed his speech to annoy him a little.

  “So help us out,” he said. “Give us a list.”

  “It would be of no use to you. And it’s commercially sensitive information. Now, I’m busy, so if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Do you have somewhere to be?”

  “I have work to do,” Ken said. “You should try it sometime.”

  Joe smiled. “Thank you for your time.”

  Ken glared at them, then disappeared through the doorway.

  They stepped outside.

  “Well, that was fun,” Dunne said.

  She headed for the Honda, but Joe walked down the road and around the corner.

  “What are you doing?” Dunne called.

  “Clarissa said Ken wasn’t in the office.” Joe peeked around the corner, then joined Dunne at the car. “The office has a side door. Looks like it leads to a back office. I guess Ken can go in and out as he pleases without Clarissa noticing.”

  “Huh,” she said. “That’s pretty handy if you want to go visit your brother on company time.”

  “My thoughts precisely. And it means his alibi is worthless.”

  Chapter 48

  Barry Wall made his way up the driveway to the bright blue door of the huge house called Glenavogue, where Mr. Justice Paul Roberts lived with his wife Maria.

  There was something imposing about a house that had its own name, rather than a number. Especially when the name was as portentous as Glenavogue, which was engraved on an oval of ceramic next to the door.

  Wall looked up at the white stucco house with its bay windows, and at the freshly cut grass, fringed by lilacs, on both sides of the garden. It was nice, very nice. The spoils of the sham justice system.

  Ken had had an encounter with Joe Byrne an hour earlier. He said he was fine, though he looked a little shaken. Ken stayed at the front, while Wall went around the back, followed by Dinky Talbot. The back garden was lovely. It had a little fountain, surrounded by a rockery, and a wooden bench lay at the end of the garden, next to an apple tree.

  And, at one side of the garden, there was a thriving lavender plant, with bees buzzing around it. It was exactly like the one Valentina had planted in their garden. Wall stared at it. He had to tear himself away.

  He went up to the back door and looked through the glass. No one seemed to be home, not on the ground floor anyway. He saw no movement.

  Taking a step back, and looking up, Wall squinted at the box mounted to the wall, emblazoned with the name of a security company.

  “Do you know them?” he said, turning to Dinky.

  The man looked at the box and smiled. “Indeed I do.”

  “How long will it take to get around it?”

  “About a second.”

  Dinky picked up a stone from the rockery, and threw it through the glass of the door.

  Wall braced himself but there was nothing. No shrill siren. No phone call from an alarm company.

  “It’s a bluff,” Dinky said. “The box is empty. More popular than you’d think, especially with cheapskates.”

  Wall couldn’t believe that the judge used a dummy alarm. He, of all people, should have been aware of the risks. Judge Roberts must have thought no one would dare break into the home of someone of his status.

  Wall reached through the broken window. He unlocked the door with a turn of the key on the inside.

  “See?” Dinky said. “Easy.”

  Wall stepped inside. Dinky walked down the hall to let Ken in the front door, his steps sounding heavily on the wooden floor.

  “Is no one here?” Ken said.

  A wisp of steam rose from a half-filled electric kettle. A cup sat on the counter next to the kettle. There was a tea bag in it, which was brewing. Wall touched the cup, found it hot.

  “I don’t think he’ll be long.”

  “Let’s ha
ve a look around,” Ken said, heading upstairs.

  Wall walked around the ground floor in a slow circle, beginning in the sitting room and examining each room as he went.

  Photos of Paul and Maria Roberts were scattered around the tables and sideboards of the room, often pictured with what appeared to be their adult children, and their grandkids.

  Dinky drew back his foot, the kicked out at a huge TV. The screen shattered and the TV fell onto the hardwood floor. Dinky took off up the stairs after Ken.

  Wall continued to explore the ground floor. He paused in the sitting room to look at the ruined TV. He was about to head upstairs too when the front door opened. The door to the hall was closed, so he listened. He waited as the steps went up the hall to the kitchen. Then Wall went back the way he had come, through the dining room.

  Mr. Justice Paul Roberts was peering at a newspaper, which he had laid out on the kitchen table next to a gourmet sandwich that could have fed half of Mountjoy Prison’s population.

  “You can afford a decent security system,” Wall said, stepping through the doorway into the kitchen. “You really should have got one.”

  The judge’s body jerked in surprise. He turned around, his eyes narrowing as he recognised Wall.

  “What are you doing here? How dare you? Get out!”

  Wall took a step towards him. “The learned judge forgets himself.”

  Roberts peered over his glasses.

  “Mr. Wall, what do you—”

  “I said you forget yourself, asshole. You’re not in court anymore.”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  “You thought wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time. But it will be the last.”

  The judge turned, but his escape route to the front door was blocked. Ken and Dinky blocked that route.

  “I’m not going to be intimidated,” the judge said, standing straighter and looking Wall in the eye.

  Wall stepped closer, the wooden floor groaning beneath him with every step. He walked into the older man’s personal space. The judge’s eyes were level with Wall’s chest. Wall took another step, until he could smell the judge’s sour breath. Wall lowered his massive head until his mouth was next to the judge’s ear, until the hairs on the older man’s ears tickled his lips.