by Alan Gorevan
“I don’t know anything.”
Wall smashed his huge fist down in a brutal arc. It hit the side of Donnelly’s face. His head snapped to the side with a crunch, and blood shot out his mouth.
Ken grabbed his brother.
“Hey, hey. Take it easy, Barry. Let’s give him a minute. You don’t want to kill him.”
No, Wall didn’t want to kill him.
Yet.
Chapter 67
Joe found a parking meter on Clyde Road and paid for twenty minutes. The small car park at the front of the Highfield Academy was taken up by a flashy sports car and a slightly less showy Mercedes. Joe was admiring them in passing when he heard Dunne’s voice.
“Are we in the wrong line of work?”
Joe spun around. Dunne was standing behind him. Today her hair was in a ponytail. She was wearing shades, a crisp black blouse, and dark grey trousers that clung to her body. The sun lit her up like she was on fire. She looked spectacular.
Joe guessed that Cunningham’s shift had ended and Dunne had taken over his security detail again.
“You seem to be doing okay. I mean, a Cartier watch?”
“Pretty, isn’t it?”
“Anyway, I thought you were meant to be doing surveillance,” Joe said. “Are you familiar with surveillance?”
Dunne smiled. “I like close surveillance. What are we doing here?”
Joe wanted to talk to Christopher, but he searched for another excuse for his visit to the school.
He said, “Ethel Kavanagh said her son goes to school at the Highfield Academy.”
“The superintendent said to drop it, right?”
“I will. I just want to see if the kid turned up. Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Joe started towards the door. Immediately, Dunne followed. She said, “I’m here now. I might as well come in.”
She started up the big granite steps.
Joe had never been there before. It looked more like a grand old house than a school. He could imagine them carving out a small exclusive graduate list, headed for law, finance and government. Christopher was a smart enough kid when he wasn’t trying to OD, but it was hard to imagine him in such a group.
The middle-aged lady at the reception desk greeted them with a scornful glance. Joe thought maybe only he got the scornful glance. Dunne looked like she belonged here, and wherever else she wanted to be, for that matter.
Joe introduced them.
“Identification please,” the receptionist said, checking it briskly. “Very good. How may I assist you?”
“John Kavanagh’s mother, reported him missing this morning.”
“John Kavanagh. A fifth year,” the receptionist said.
“Has he come into school today?”
“No,” she said. “I have already phoned Mrs. Kavanagh to let her know.”
Dunne turned to Joe. “Do you want to talk to his teachers?”
“Not at the moment,” he said. He turned back to the receptionist. “But, while I’m here, I’d like to speak to another one of your students. Christopher O’Malley.”
The woman peered at him suspiciously.
“Is this about John Kavanagh too?”
“No,” Joe said quickly.
“May I enquire as to the matter to which it does relate?”
“You may. I just want to have a word with him. I’m his father.”
She looked Joe up and down again, as if to confirm her initial assessment. “I thought your name was Byrne.”
“He doesn’t carry my name.”
“Do you have any proof that you’re his father?”
“Twenty-three chromosomes, all of them full of DNA. Ask Christopher, if you’re so dubious.”
She scowled like that was an outrageous request, but rose with laboured grace and strutted down the hall. She was wearing towering heels and a long skirt that prevented her feet from straying more than an inch apart.
Dunne broke her silence. “Your son goes to school here?”
“Yeah.”
The receptionist was back in a minute, accompanied by Christopher. He looked worried.
“Mr. O’Malley has confirmed your bona fides. You have five minutes until the next period begins. I would ask you not to delay him.”
“Understood,” Joe said. “Is there a garden out back?”
“The botanical education space is at the rear.”
“Dunne, I’m going to the botanical education space. At the rear.”
“Gotcha,” Dunne said. She sank into a rickety antique chair, placed between the front door and the reception desk. Her impassive face watched Joe.
When Christopher managed to tear his eyes away from Dunne, he led Joe down the hall and out the back door. The garden opened up in an explosion of colours and shapes.
“Lisa would love this,” Joe said. The back garden was full of all kinds of plants, some outdoors and others in a greenhouse to one side. All labelled.
“She does. She’s seen it.”
They sat down at a bench. Out in the light, his face fully illuminated, Christopher appeared even queasier than he had indoors. Joe wasn’t sure how to start, so he just launched into it.
“John Kavanagh’s mother came to the station and reported him missing this morning.”
“Oh?”
Christopher stared at his feet.
“It’s important that you tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re an awful liar,” Joe said. “Look, I’m not trying to blame you for anything. Whatever happened.”
That caught his attention.
“What do you mean?” Christopher said slowly.
“Let me tell you what I think. I think you walked home with John Kavanagh.”
“No. I didn’t.”
Joe took a breath. “Not arm in arm, best buddies, but you were in Herbert Park at the same time as him. And something happened.”
Joe looked deep into Christopher’s eyes and let the silence between them grow thick. Christopher began hyperventilating.
“Whoa, whoa, take it easy,” Joe said. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“I was there,” Christopher said, “and he was there, yeah.”
“Okay. What happened?”
“I thought I’d… tell him to… leave me alone. I’d brought… this is going to sound stupid.”
“Keep going. What did you bring? Tell me.”
“I brought a knife… so that I could scare him.”
Joe wanted to say that had been an awful idea, but he stopped himself. No point making things worse. “Then what happened?”
“He saw me coming and he took the knife off me.”
“Did you stab him?”
Christopher looked up. “What? No. He took the knife off me, and he said he was going to kill me.”
The bell inside began to ring. Joe guessed the period was over.
Time up.
“What then?”
“I have to get to class.”
“You’re not going anywhere until you answer my question. What happened?”
“I ran home.”
“You didn’t fight him?”
“No, I’m not good at fighting. I ran away.”
An impatient call came from inside the building. “Mr. O’Malley?”
“You didn’t hurt him?” Joe said.
“I wanted to,” Christopher said, looking at his feet. “But no, I didn’t.”
The receptionist came and stood just outside the door, looking down on the garden like it was her personal fiefdom. She said icily, “Mr. O’Malley. Class is commencing.”
“Okay.” Christopher got to his feet. “I better go to class.”
“Okay.”
“Are you coming to the recital today?”
“Recital?” Joe said.
“Didn’t Mum tell you? We’re performing Mozart for the parents.”
“I don’t know. I’ll try,” Joe said.
He watched Christopher head back inside. He was pretty sure that Christopher was telling him the truth. He hadn’t killed Kavanagh. But if he didn’t do it, then just whose crime had Joe covered up?
He started back into the building, walked along a corridor lined with the qualifications of the school’s teachers and awards in excellence which the school had received.
His phone buzzed.
There was a text message from an unknown number.
It said, Thanks for taking care of the body.
Chapter 68
The old stables were cool and dark. A horsey smell still permeated the air, now joined by the coppery tang of blood. Barry was breathing heavily with the exertion of questioning Donnelly for an hour.
Donnelly didn’t look like he was breathing at all, and it was hard to tell whether he was still alive, behind the mask of blood.
Ken took a hand mirror from the shelf on the wall and held it in front of Donnelly’s mouth. After a few seconds, the glass misted slightly. He gave his brother a thumbs-up.
“Breathing.”
“Good,” Barry said.
“The little bastard is tougher than he looks.”
Barry scowled. “He’s not tough. He’s nothing. What kind of man would pick on a woman?”
“I just mean, he’s holding out pretty well.”
Ken’s phone rang. He pressed the green button and pressed the device to his ear. An older lady’s voice spoke: “Please hold for Charles Pennington, Governor of Mountjoy Prison.”
What an unexpected pleasure. He listened to elevator music as he waited.
“Good morning, Mr. Wall.”
“Call me Ken.”
“Good morning, Ken. This is Charles Pennington from Mountjoy Prison. Is this a convenient time for you to talk?”
Ken looked at Donnelly, chained to the wall, beaten half to death, the dried blood on his eyes now drawing flies. Barry stood beside him, eager to finish the job.
“Now is fine.”
“I’m sure you know why I’m calling.”
“Because of Barry.”
“That’s right, Ken. Barry escaped custody on Wednesday afternoon at approximately four o’clock, Ken.”
Ken stifled a chuckle. This pencil-pusher thought he’d get on his good side by using his name a lot. Not a bad trick, but goofy when overdone.
“I know that, Charles.”
The Governor cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I wanted to let you know, Ken, that we’re eager to place your brother in custody again, for his own safety and the safety of the public.”
“How exactly does his own safety come into it, Chuck?”
“We think Barry is in a fragile frame of mind. He might not be thinking very clearly, Ken. We all know he’s had a tough time over the last year.”
Barry had just opened the door and was standing in the doorway, looking out. His bulky frame silhouetted against the early summer light. Blood dripped from his knuckles onto the door saddle beneath his shoes. He didn’t look fragile.
Ken said, “I hear you, Charlie. So what do you want from me?”
“You may not believe this, but I’m trying to help your brother. Ken, if he tries to make contact with you, I would urge you to inform the Gardaí or myself immediately. Perhaps, Ken, you could try and contact him. That would be best for him.”
“You’re right, Charlie.”
“So you’ll help us contact him?”
“No, I mean that I don’t believe you.”
Ken ended the call. He doubted they were trying to trace it. According to his source, no warrant had been issued to that effect. They were just fishing, and they were going to go home hungry.
Ken walked to the doorway and clapped his brother on the shoulder.
He said, “I better go take care of some business.”
Barry looked around.
“What was that about?”
“Charles Pennington says hello. He wants you to go home.”
Chapter 69
Joe felt dizzy. The phone slipped from his sweaty hand. He caught it before it hit the floor. Around him, the Highfield Academy’s beautiful corridor, with all its impressive certificates, seemed to twist. Joe was suddenly dizzy, plunging, reeling with vertigo.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath.
Then he looked at the text message again. It didn’t read any better the second time.
Thanks for taking care of the body.
Someone knew.
And Joe figured that that someone was the real killer. The one who had sunk a knife into John Kavanagh’s side and left him dead in the grass. They couldn’t have been expecting an idiot like Joe to come along and take the corpse, but that was what had happened.
Christopher hadn’t killed anyone. Someone else had, and Joe had helped them get away with it.
It was all over. Joe had hoped to find a way out of this mess, but it was never going to happen now.
He looked at the unfamiliar phone number. There was nothing to lose by calling it. He hit the green button and waited as it rang. His body flooded with adrenaline. More and more. He couldn’t keep still, couldn’t stop shaking. The phone just rang and rang. Joe ended the call.
He tapped out a text message. I think you have the wrong number.
“Excuse me?” A woman’s voice. The secretary was standing next to her desk. She was peering down the corridor at him. “Detective Sergeant Byrne? May I assist you with something?”
“I don’t think so.”
He began to walk towards her. At that moment, his phone buzzed. He could feel the secretary staring at him, willing him to leave the building, but he stopped to read the new message.
No mistake, Joe.
Then another message.
I see you still have poor John in your boot. Does he smell bad yet?
“Oh, fuck,” Joe said.
He sensed rather than saw the secretary put her hands on her hips.
“Detective Sergeant Byrne, kindly refrain from such profane language while on the grounds of this—”
“Shut up,” Joe said.
“Excuse me?”
He slipped the phone into his pocket and walked to the door. Dunne was standing there.
“What’s up?” she said. “You’re sweating.”
“It’s hot,” Joe said.
“Did you tell that woman to shut up?”
“Let’s get out of here.”
Joe brushed past her, wiping the sweat off his brow while he went. He felt like he could barely breathe.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your son?”
“Christopher had to go back to class. I barely got to speak to him. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”
They walked out into the sun. Dunne started down the steps. Joe traipsed after her.
I shouldn’t have moved the body. That was a mistake. Now I’m going to pay for it.
He was about to be exposed. Blamed for covering up a murder. Maybe he’d even be blamed for carrying out the murder.
How could he have been so stupid?
The best thing to do now was turn himself in. Admit what he’d done and face the consequences. Because that was the only way he could point the investigation into John Kavanagh’s disappearance in the right direction – and start looking for the real killer. Joe thought of Ethel and Michael Kavanagh, waiting for John to come home.
“What now?” Dunne said without looking back. Her feet crunched on the gravel of the driveway. Should he let Dunne do it? Slip the handcuffs on and take him to the station?
They reached the end of the driveway. Dunne stopped next to her car. Only then did she turn and see his face.
“Joe, what’s wrong?”
She touched his arm. It was almost more than he could take.
“Joe?”
He turned away from her and wiped his face with his sleeve. Dunne grabbed his shoulder, pulled him around.
“You can tell me. Whatever it is. I won’t judge, okay?”
> Joe snorted. She’d judge alright if she knew what he’d done. Anyway, there was no point drawing out the inevitable.
“I like you, Dunne.”
“Thanks,” she said slowly, looking a little taken-aback.
“You know, I’ve always tried to be a good person.”
“Okay,” she said. “Maybe you have a fever. You want to see a doctor?”
He took a long breath and let it out. “No, I don’t.”
“You sure? I’m getting a weird vibe here.”
Joe took out the key fob for his Honda. He pushed it into Dunne’s hands.
“The boot,” he said.
“What?”
“Go to my car. Look in the boot.”
She gave him a quizzical look, then turned and started walking to his car.
Chapter 70
Maureen didn’t get many callers, so she was normally cautious about opening her door. Today was an exception, though. When a knock came, she opened the door eagerly, sure that it must be Aidan. She’d called him to make sure he was okay, but he hadn’t answered his phone. His mother couldn’t say where he was, though there was nothing new about that. It would be just like him to appear at her door, though.
However, when she opened up, a stranger stood outside. A man, about forty, with a shiny bald head, in a sharp shirt and trousers, and well-shined leather shoes. Maureen thought she knew him from somewhere.
“Oh, hello,” she said.
He took out his ID and held it up so that she could read it. The man was a Garda.
“What’s wrong?” Maureen asked. Even before Joe Byrne had brutally attacked her nephew, her family didn’t have much love for the police. Now that one of them was standing at her door, she felt worried. Was this officer here to tell her that something had happened to Aidan? “Is it about my nephew?”
The Garda nodded grimly.
“I’ll need you to come with me,” he said.
She was right. Something terrible had happened.
“Let me get my cardigan,” she said.
Chapter 71
Alice Dunne walked to Joe’s Honda, glancing back at him as she did so. He watched her, saying nothing. His life was just seconds away from ending. Everything he’d worked for, all his hopes and dreams – dashed. He’d sleep in a cell tonight, and for many more nights to come.