by Alan Gorevan
There were multiple entrances to Herbert Park, and Joe was familiar with them all. The park was only a couple of minutes away from the station, so he had been here often. He went back out onto Morehampton Road, and then turned down Auburn Avenue, a narrow road lined with small red-brick houses.
Joe wanted to talk to Christopher before he got home. Aside from the whole bullying thing, Joe wanted to ask him more about Graham. He didn’t trust that man.
At the end of the cul-de-sac, the road opened up into a small circle where a car could turn. Joe brought the car to a stop next to a pedestrian gate into the side of the park. He could see two figures coming towards him through the rain.
Christopher… and another boy?
The rain grew heavier. To his right, Joe saw a woman run into one a nearby house, out of the downpour.
Joe looked towards the park again and saw the two figures drawing closer. He’d wait for Christopher to get closer before he called out to him.
Joe’s phone rang. It was Dunne.
“What is it?”
Dunne said, “I thought you’d want to know that Lauren Fairview has died.”
The Irish Prison Service officer had done well to last so long, considering the injuries she suffered. Though Joe had never met her, he pictured her as one hell of a fighter.
“When did it happen?”
“Half an hour ago.”
Joe’s blood boiled as he thought of Wall hurting her like that.
“Hold on,” Dunne said.
Joe could hear talking in the background. He waited impatiently.
“What is it?”
“Just a second, Joe. I’m back in Donnybrook. We might have a lead.”
She must have driven even faster than him. He sat up straighter in his seat. “Tell me.”
“This is big… We’ve got two crime scenes. A house in Monkstown and one in Booterstown.”
“What kind of crime scenes? What does this have to do with us?”
“There’s a dead male at the Monkstown house. The wife found him beaten to death. It’s the judge who presided over Aidan Donnelly’s trial.”
This had to be Wall’s work.
Joe felt no satisfaction that he had been right and O’Carroll had been wrong.
“And the other scene?”
“Another dead male. Found outside his house. Also attacked violently. The house belongs to a Martin Costello.”
“Aidan Donnelly’s barrister,” Joe said to himself.
“A motorcycle was seen leaving the house in Booterstown.”
“Where’s the suspect now?”
“Driving north. Heading this way. Where are you?”
“Just outside Herbert Park,” Joe said.
“The Garda Traffic Corps are on a path to intercept the biker. I’ll meet you on Morehampton Road. Let’s bag this fucker.”
“See you in a minute.”
He ended the call, his head spinning. Joe had seen deaths on the job, but they had rarely been violent. Most were traffic accidents. The Aidan Donnelly case was completely different. Joe had never encountered anything like it.
It took him a moment to remember what he’d been doing before Dunne called. Christopher. He looked to see if his son had walked past yet but could see no one, so he turned off the engine and stepped out of the car. He could taste the early summer rain as it fell on his face.
He jogged around the back of the car and made his way through the pedestrian gate into the park. Shielding his eyes from the rain, he scanned the vicinity. For a moment nothing caught his attention.
Then Joe saw it.
A body lying in the grass. Motionless.
Joe recognised the pretentious Highfield Academy uniform.
He sprinted over.
As he got closer, he saw the blood.
Chapter 52
Aidan Donnelly woke up feeling like a turkey in an oven. He found himself lying in a single bed, covered by layers of blankets. He was drenched with sweat and had a headache.
Where was he? What had happened?
The aroma of fried bacon seeped into the room.
Aidan reached out his arm, feeling around on the bedside table for his phone. Its display told him it was well into the afternoon already, which wasn’t a surprise. Staying up late, until he felt like dropping, had become normal, just like the long walks had.
The text messages were a surprise though.
Mate, you’re so screwed!!! read one. It was from a lad who had been his friend before the trial.
You okay, bud? read another message. Best stay clear of your usual haunts.
There were two missed calls from his mother.
What was all that about?
He could hear his auntie bustling about beyond the bedroom door.
Aidan threw off the smothering blankets. He slipped on his tracksuit bottoms and opened the door. His auntie’s house was cosy. The bedroom led right into the combined kitchen/sitting room, where his auntie stood before the cooker, frying rashers and sausages.
“Morning, auntie.”
“It’s not morning anymore, love,” Maureen said with a smile. Despite the room’s warmth, she was wearing a yellow cardigan over her long, flowery dress. Aidan returned her smile.
“Oh yeah, I know. Sorry.”
“I thought the rashers might wake you up. You always did love a fry. Will you have a few eggs and sausages too?”
“I will, yeah. Cheers.”
Aidan began to remember last night. He’d walked so far, he decided not to go home. Instead, he’d headed for Maureen’s house. His mother’s sister lived alone, and she never minded him visiting.
“Thanks for letting me crash here, auntie.”
“You know you’re always welcome, love.”
Aidan scratched his head and tried to get his brain working. The bungalow had only one bedroom.
“Did I take your bed, auntie?”
“Don’t you worry about me.” Maureen cracked two eggs into the pan, then dropped bread into the toaster. Aidan was mortified.
“Ah, I’m sorry. Where did you sleep?”
She waved him away. “I’m fine.”
“Were you on the couch? Why didn’t I take the couch?”
“The couch is more comfortable anyway. You were tired. You’d drunk a can or two, hadn’t you?”
Aidan lowered his head. “I had a few cans of cider by the canal. It was the weather for it.”
He thought of the two girls who’d gone away to avoid being near him. He’d had a few more cans after they left.
“You know you’re a lightweight,” Maureen teased. “You’ve never been able to handle your drink.”
“I’m so sorry, auntie. You should have made me sleep on the floor.”
“It’s fine, love. Don’t you worry.”
“Yeah, but that’s not right.”
She shook her head and tipped the fried food onto a plate. She gave him a smile as she brought it over to the couch. Her house didn’t have a kitchen table. There just wasn’t enough room for one. Normally, Maureen ate with her plate on a tray, resting on her lap. She was usually watching reality TV or one of the English soaps.
“You eat up now.”
Aidan sat down on the couch, and Maureen placed the tray on his lap.
“I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”
“Cheers, auntie.”
Once she had poured them both a cup, she sat beside Aidan. She flicked on the TV but kept the volume low. He became aware that she was shooting nervous glances at him.
“Are you okay, auntie? You look like you want to say something.”
“I don’t know how to say it, love.” She gave a chuckle.
“If it’s about the cider, you know, I don’t really drink a lot. I might have been a bit dry what with the weather being warm”
“No, it’s not about cider.”
“What is it? I had some missed calls last night from Ma. Is it something to do with that?”
Maureen nodded. “I c
alled her and told her you were with me, and not to worry. Nothing bad happened to you.”
“Why would they think something bad happened to me?”
She nodded to herself. “I thought you hadn’t heard, from the way you were talking last night. You didn’t say anything about him.”
“About who?” Aidan said.
“About your man, Barry Wall.”
“What about him?”
“He escaped from The Joy.”
Aidan flinched, slopping tea over the side of his mug.
“What?”
“The Guards are after him, though. You don’t need to worry, love. It’s just that when you didn’t answer your phone last night, your mother was worried. But I called her up, I said Joanna, Aidan is here with me. Don’t you worry about him.”
Aidan put down his fork.
“What are you going to do?” Maureen asked. Just then a phone rang. “Oh, wait. Here’s your mother again.” Maureen answered her phone. “Yes, yes, he’s up. Hang on a second. I’ll pass him over.”
She handed Aidan the phone.
“Hello?”
The voice of the other end of the line was harsher than normal.
“Aidan, are you trying to give me a heart attack? Why don’t you ever answer your phone?”
“Sorry, Ma.”
He held the phone back from his ear while she ranted at him.
“Come here to us, where you’ll be safe, will ya?” she said at last.
His mother had moved out past Blanchardstown with her new boyfriend. Aidan hated both the boyfriend and the place, so he wasn’t about to go there now.
“Listen, Ma. I’m going to stay with my mate. I’ll be safe. Don’t worry about me. I’ll talk to you later.”
She began to say something, but Aidan ended the call, and handed the phone back to Maureen.
“I don’t like that look on your face,” she said.
“Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay,” he said.
Chapter 53
Joe threw himself onto his knees on the wet grass, feeling the moisture soak through his trousers. The swollen sky over Herbert Park seemed to be getting darker every second, the rain heavier.
Joe turned the body over. The boy’s shirt was soaked with blood and his eyes stared sightlessly into the sky. Obviously, he was dead.
And he wasn’t Christopher.
Thank God, Joe thought. He knew it was selfish, but a boy was dead, and Joe was only glad that it wasn’t his son.
What had happened? Christopher had been here, with this boy, just minutes earlier. There had been no one else around.
So where was Christopher?
Joe looked around but saw no one.
He thought he knew who the teenager was. He had the same muscular build and Neanderthal forehead as the Superintendent.
This had to be John Kavanagh.
The bully.
This looked bad for Christopher. Seriously bad.
Motive? The Kavanagh kid was bullying him so badly, Christopher had tried to kill himself. Which meant Christopher had a motive to kill Kavanagh.
Opportunity? Christopher just been alone in a deserted park with the victim. Joe had witnessed that much himself.
Evidence? Once crime scene tape had been set up around the body, the forensics people would go to work, turning up all kinds of trace evidence.
This was an unlawful killing and it had been done by Christopher. There could be no other suspect. It was an open and shut case. Joe let the realisation sink in – Christopher had killed someone.
That was what all the evidence said, but it couldn’t be right. Christopher wasn’t a killer. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Whatever happened to John Kavanagh, he must have brought it on himself. Perhaps there was a struggle? Christopher must have been defending himself.
Still, if this wasn’t murder, it was certainly manslaughter.
Joe jogged back to the car. He sat down in the driver’s seat, and steeled himself to call the crime in. He could picture the scene in twenty minutes. The place would be swarming with people, with his colleagues. Joe would have to tell them everything he knew.
Christopher would be in a holding cell before dinner.
And that would be it. He’d be put away for life.
Joe raised his phone and took a breath. He prepared himself to say the words. Then he made the call.
“Go ahead,” said the professional voice at the other end of the line.
Joe opened his mouth – and no sound came out.
That was when he realised he couldn’t do it.
This wasn’t right.
Christopher was a good kid. Joe didn’t know exactly what had happened, but his son wasn’t a danger to society. It wasn’t fair to send him to prison, to ruin his life before it had even started. There was a chance to prevent that from happening, but the odds were against it, and Joe would have to work fast.
“Apologies,” he said. “False alarm.”
“No problem.”
He ended the call, then stepped out into the rain again. He looked around at the dozens of neat little houses. This was a densely populated area, but the rain was keeping people indoors. Though Joe didn’t see anyone, someone could appear any second.
Joe popped open the boot of the car. His muddy wellies, flashlight, umbrella and other tools of the trade lay there on a sheet of plastic. So did the heavy black case containing his Sig.
He grabbed the gun case and wellies and threw them in the back seat. Then he grabbed the sheet of plastic and pulled it out from under the remaining bits and bobs.
He brought it with him as he ran back into the park. There was still no one around. Joe rolled the body onto the plastic sheet, wrapping it up like a burrito.
Once he had Kavanagh wrapped up, he flung him over his shoulder and ran as fast as he could back to the car. Joe lowered the body into the boot and slammed it shut. The damn thing wouldn’t close. It was caught on Kavanagh’s legs. Joe lifted them up, then shoved him farther into the boot.
Then it shut fine.
Joe got behind the wheel and closed the door. He’d been as quick as he could, but there was no way to guarantee that had been quick enough. He could only hope that no one had seen him.
Did anyone see Christopher do it?
Joe felt a chill as he thought about that.
Then his phone rang and he had to snap out of it.
“Yeah?”
“Where are you?” Dunne said. “I’ve been calling.”
Joe could see the little icon indicating missed calls.
“Oh, yeah… sorry…”
“What are you doing? Are you still near Herbert Park?”
“Never mind,” Joe said. What had they been talking about before? He shook his head, trying to remind himself. Wall. “Where’s the motorcycle now?”
“Nearly here.”
“I’ll be there in a second. Like we agreed.”
Joe ended the call.
His fingers were sticky. In the overhead light, he could see that there was blood on his hands. Not metaphorical blood. Fresh red blood from a murder victim, whose corpse was now concealed in a police vehicle by a detective, whose son was the killer.
If things could have gotten any messier, Joe couldn’t have imagined how.
He dug out a packet of tissues he kept in the glove compartment. He grabbed a handful of them and did his best to clean his hands.
His phone began to ring again.
Dunne.
“Fuck off,” Joe snapped.
He tried to keep a cool head and take stock of where he stood.
There was a corpse in the boot and it was a timebomb. He’d have to get rid of it as soon as possible. And he had now created a trail of evidence, from his door handle to his phone to his glove compartment, to the bloody tissues with which he was trying to clean himself. Every one of these things was trouble.
Joe avoided thinking of them as exhibits. He could never let these items be logged as evi
dence.
The phone stopped ringing.
Then it buzzed with a text message.
Hurry up, Joe.
Dunne knew where he was. The phone records would be able to confirm that. The time and the place.
Panic began to swell in his chest.
He adjusted the mirror and checked himself for any visible signs of blood. There was some on his jacket, so he wriggled out of it and dropped it on the floor. Aside from that, his hands were the only problem. The tissues hadn’t really done the job. But Joe had a bottle of water in the back seat. He poured water onto a fresh wad of tissues and wiped his hands.
The phone began ringing again.
Joe rejected the call, then wiped the phone with a wet tissue. He dumped the tissues at his feet, on top of his jacket.
The evidence was multiplying like rabbits and the crime had only happened minutes ago. Joe had to get rid of all the evidence as soon as possible.
His phone buzzed again.
Dunne was on the other side of these red-brick houses, just a minute’s drive away. Joe started the engine and pulled away from Herbert Park. He wanted to get to her before she came looking for him.
The last thing he needed was a suspicious detective after him.
Chapter 54
Christopher staggered in the door of his house. He was home. Safe.
Everything was shaking, the whole house, or maybe that only him, his shoes slipping on the bare wood floor, the blood pounding in his ears, rain and wind lashing against the window. He tore off his raincoat, and then Mum was in front of him.
“Christopher? Oh my God. You’re bleeding,” she said.
“No, no, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. You’re cut.”
She sounded as alarmed as Christopher felt.
“It’s nothing. It wasn’t… it’s nothing.”
Mum’s face was pale.
“What happened? Why are you bleeding?”
“I fell down. That’s all. I fell down when I was in the park. It’s nothing.”
Mum’s panicked face reflected his own. “Christopher, don’t lie.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I swear.”
“We need to be honest with each other.”
He swallowed. “I know that.”
She stared at him for a moment. “I’ll get a plaster for you, and some antiseptic.”