The Kindness of Psychopaths

by Alan Gorevan

  When Graham nodded, Joe eased the gun out of his mouth.

  “What about my passport? I need that.”

  “Tough titties, Graham. It’s mine now. You’re going to leave Dublin today. Within the next hour. A selfish prick like you will probably find some way to sponge a living off someone else.”

  “I’m not so bad. Despite what you think. I know blackmailing you was a shitty move, but my art isn’t paying yet. I needed some cash to hold me over.”

  “Shut up. I don’t give a shit about your bullshit fucking art. If you tell anyone anything, I’ll find you.”

  “You wouldn’t really hurt me.”

  Joe laughed. “Try me. I’m doing things I never would have thought I’d do.”

  Graham stared at Joe for a few seconds, as if deciding whether he meant it. Then he gave a little nod, like he’d made a decision.

  “I think I’ll do what you suggest – leave Dublin tonight. I’d like a break from the city, actually. It’s a good idea.”

  “Not tonight. In one hour. I’ll swing by later. Check your house and Lisa’s. If you’re around, if you’ve even visited there, I’ll put a fucking bullet in your head.”

  “Okay,” Graham said, nodding slowly. “I can do that.”

  “And forget about Crystal.”

  “Already forgotten.” He smiled. “I’m glad we could part as friends, Joe.”

  It took all the restraint Joe could muster not to shoot Graham right then.

  Chapter 86

  The detective drove the van for a long time, the best part of an hour. He and Christopher passed out of the suburbs and into hilly countryside. They were in Wicklow now, having left Dublin behind. Christopher grew more nervous with every minute that passed. He’d tried to turn his phone on, so he could call his mum or Joe, but the detective said that, for security reasons, he needed to leave it off.

  Christopher nodded as if he agreed, but he felt something was wrong, and he was trembling by the time the van pulled into an isolated driveway. A wooden fence extended both left and right. A big house lay ahead. Past it, the land sloped up into a hill. The detective turned off the driveway and parked next to a dilapidated building that looked like old stables.

  “Is this the safe house?” Christopher asked, eyeing the pine forest stretching away on both sides of the property.

  “Safest place there is. No one will find you here. Let’s get you inside.”

  Christopher pushed open the car door and stepped out.

  Something was wrong. He was sure of it.

  He had to do something.

  He pulled a long breath into his lungs. Then, as he exhaled, he forced his body into motion and set off running down the driveway.

  His legs worked harder than they ever had before, carrying him away from the strange man and the creepy stables.

  He thought he might make it.

  If he could just get out onto the road, a passing car might stop. Someone could help him. He would be able to call Joe.

  As he was thinking this, he heard the man come up behind him. The sound of fast, hard footfalls on the dry ground.

  Then the man tripped him.

  He fell to the hard ground, banging his head.

  When he opened his eyes, the man was crouched next to him, and he was smiling.

  “I can’t let you go,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  The man pulled Christopher to his feet. There was a ropey kind of strength in his slim arms. Dragging Christopher to the stables didn’t seem to take much out of him.

  “I’ll introduce you to the other guest,” the man said, unlocking the door with one hand while the other gripped Christopher’s neck like a vice.

  The door creaked open.

  Christopher recoiled. He was in a long room with rough stone walls. Stumps of interior dividers showed that the room had been gutted some time before, and it didn’t look like a very good job had been made of it. A number of rough wooden shelves lined the walls.

  A man – Christopher thought it was a man – was chained to the wall. He was such a mess of blood that Christopher could hardly make out what he looked like. He didn’t move when the door opened.

  Maybe he was dead.

  Christopher dug his feet in. He tried to resist the man, but he wasn’t strong enough.

  “Please let me go,” he said.

  “I may not have been entirely straight with you,” the man said.

  “You’re not a detective.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  He pushed Christopher toward the man chained to the wall. In a moment, Christopher’s wrists were cuffed too. Like the man, he was chained to the wall.

  Christopher said, “Why are you doing this?”

  “Blame the sham justice system,” the man said. “Blame Joe. He ruined my brother’s life.”

  The man took Christopher’s phone, then made his way to the door. Christopher was terrified by the idea of staying here with this bloody mess of a man in these dark stables.

  “Wait,” Christopher said.

  “Don’t worry,” the man said. “Aidan will keep you company when he wakes up. Anyway, I’ll be back soon.”

  The door slammed shut.

  Aidan? Christopher knew that name from the news articles he’d looked up about Joe. He squinted through the darkness. Christopher could not have recognised Aidan Donnelly. His face was too much of a mess.

  The chains were long enough to allow Christopher to sit on the stone floor. Would he die here? His heart hammered in his chest. He thought it couldn’t beat any harder until Aidan spoke.

  “Get out of here,” he said, his voice sounding low and wet and broken.

  “I can’t. I’m chained to the wall too.”

  He groaned. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Joe Byrne’s son. That’s why I’m here.”

  Aidan raised his head and looked at him. “You’re just a kid.”

  Christopher shrugged, affecting a nonchalance he didn’t feel. Barry Wall – the huge mountain of a man who’d escaped from prison and killed those people – must be around here somewhere.

  “Why did he hurt you?” Christopher asked at last, though he thought he knew the answer. He just wanted to break the silence.

  Aidan said, “They think I know where that woman is.”

  “Who?”

  “Barry Wall’s wife. Barry and Ken want me to tell them.”

  “D-do you know where she is?”

  The man shook his head. A tiny, defeated shake. “But they don’t believe me.”

  “Joe – my dad – he doesn’t believe you either.”

  The man gave a humourless laugh. “No one believes me.”

  “Do you think they’ll let us go?”

  Aidan laughed. In the darkness, the sound was terrifying.

  “Never.”

  Chapter 87

  Joe rang Lisa’s doorbell. He was coming to her empty-handed and he hated that. The air on the street smelled of barbecued chicken. It was Friday afternoon, segueing into evening. Most people were chilling out, enjoying the weather. Barbecue, beer, friends.

  Not Lisa and not Joe.

  Brakes screeched behind him. He turned to see Alice Dunne jumping out of her car. She ran over. Joe had almost forgotten she was tailing him. There hadn’t been a thing he could have done about it anyway. He’d had to follow the tracker. He wondered what she’d seen.

  “What are you up to?” she said. “Why were you at that hotel?”

  “Checking a lead,” Joe said. “It didn’t pan out.”

  He hoped she hadn’t seen the backpack slung over his shoulder as he left the hotel. It was now sitting in the back seat of the Honda. And John Kavanagh was still in the boot. If anyone looked in his car, he’d be done for. There was enough evidence to put him away for a thousand years.

  Dunne said, “What was the lead?”

  Joe decided to level with her more than he had, especially now that the blackmail angle was taken care of. He could afford to have offic
ial resources behind him now.

  “Listen to me. My son is missing. We need to find him.”

  “What?”

  “He disappeared from his school.”

  “Maybe he’s playing truant?”

  “No. The school said a detective arrived and took Christopher away for his own protection.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “I think it was one of Wall’s cronies.”

  The front door opened. Lisa appeared in the doorway.

  “Did you find him?” she said.

  “No, it was a false lead,” Joe said. “Have you got anything?”

  Lisa glanced warily at Dunne.

  “She’s okay,” Joe said. “You can talk in front of her.”

  He hoped that was true.

  Lisa said, “Not yet.”

  “Got anything?” Dunne said, arching one eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

  “Can you call this in?” Joe said. “Get everyone looking for Christopher? I’ll fill you in, in a minute.”

  “Of course.”

  Dunne jogged back to her car. She got behind the wheel to get on the radio to Control while Joe followed Lisa into the house. He left the door ajar so Dunne could follow.

  Lisa led him to the kitchen, where her laptop was plugged in. She slumped in front of it. Joe remained standing.

  “I used my attack-computer, upstairs, and got into the company server,” she said. “I’ve been looking at their list of properties, but I haven’t found anything interesting. They’re the same ones that are listed on the website. I don’t know what to do now.”

  “Keep looking,” Joe said. “There must be more information. Something hidden.”

  “It’s not there.”

  Lisa’s voice was tight, and a vein bulged on her forehead. This was all because of him. If he wasn’t in Lisa and Christopher’s lives, no one would ever have taken Christopher. No one would ever have thought of hurting him. Of killing him.

  Joe said, “Maybe it’s not in the name of this company.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “These smart business people, they like to set up lots of companies, right? Maybe companies within companies?”

  She nodded. “This company could have subsidiaries.”

  “Or it is a subsidiary?”

  “Or it has a sister company. How are we supposed to check every possibility?”

  Lisa began pounding furiously on her laptop. Joe pulled out his phone and began to search the Companies Registration Office, looking for businesses Ken Wall might be involved in. After a minute, he found something.

  Joe said, “VLV Holdings?”

  “I’m way ahead of you.”

  “Got anything interesting on it?”

  Joe was eager to get moving.

  “Give me minute, for God’s sake.”

  “Sorry.”

  He looked down the hall. Through the crack in the door, he could see that Dunne was still on the radio.

  He got a phone call on his mobile.

  “Yes?”

  It was the station. The desk sergeant was letting Joe know that Philippa Lee had returned his call. Graham’s ex-wife had left a message, saying she wanted nothing to do with her ex-husband and had nothing to say about him.

  “Fine,” Joe said. He ended the call. He’d wanted to talk to her to see if she could tell him anything about Graham. But Joe had already learned enough by himself. Bad as he was, Graham wasn’t a killer or a kidnapper. Joe had no interest in wasting anymore time on him.

  Joe closed his eyes and refocused on the task at hand: finding Christopher. VLV could stand for Valentina López Vázquez. If so, Ken and his brother were rubbing Joe’s nose in it. The initials were a reminder of why they hated him. Because he’d let Aidan Donnelly walk free, even though they all knew Donnelly had killed Wall’s wife.

  Joe turned to Lisa. “Got anything?”

  Her shaky hand was jerking the wireless mouse around like it was a boiling kettle.

  “I think I have,” Lisa said.

  There was excitement in her voice.

  “What?”

  “This company doesn’t have much to it. Maybe it was just set up to own property. Anyway, they don’t have much in the way of security.”

  “So what have you got?”

  “VLV Holdings owns an office in the city centre and a car park in Booterstown.”

  “They don’t sound promising. Anything else?”

  “One more. Let’s see… a property in the Wicklow mountains.”

  Joe felt a rush of excitement.

  “That could be it. Where?”

  “Hold on,” Lisa said. With a few clicks she brought up the map. Then photos of it. Joe looked at it over shoulder. The property was perfect. A large piece of land with nothing close to it.

  “On my way,” Joe said.

  “I’m coming with you,” Lisa said.

  But he was already running for the door.

  “Tell Dunne the address,” he called over his shoulder.

  He didn’t want her with him in case things got nasty. And he had a feeling that they would.

  Chapter 88

  Barry Wall stepped out of the house and started off for the stables, with a pair of garden sheers gripped tight by the handles. The sky over him was blank and dead. Ken met him when he was halfway there, emerging from the treeline like a ghost.

  “I took a walk around the perimeter,” Ken reported. “Nothing.”

  Wall nodded, quickened his step.

  The anticipation was murderous. Aidan Donnelly was tougher than Wall ever would have expected. He’d seen men break during his time in prison. Physical violence helped, obviously, but it usually wasn’t enough. What usually made people break was a thought, an idea. The idea of more pain to come. The idea of something worse.

  Wall gripped the garden shears tightly.

  The idea of loss was incredibly powerful.

  He unlocked the stables. The narrow building was dark inside, the only light coming in pouring through a small window near the ceiling. Too small for anyone to escape through.

  He flicked on the light.

  Christopher O’Malley looked up at him with big doe eyes, wet with tears. Wall wasn’t sure Ken should have grabbed him, but he was here now. Ignoring the boy, Wall crouched down next to Donnelly and lifted his chin.

  “I’m going to ask you one more time.”

  The painter opened his eyes.

  “I know nothing.”

  “Tell me what you did with my wife.”

  Donnelly simply shook his head.

  “In thirty seconds, I’m going to start taking your fingers. You better think about that.”

  “I don’t know anything!”

  Wall exchanged a look with Ken, who pulled Donnelly’s hand forward, immobilising it under his armpit. Donnelly squealed and tried to pull his hand away, but Ken held it tight.

  Wall opened the blades of the shears and lined them up with Donnelly’s thumb.

  “Sure you have nothing to confess?”

  “No… please…”

  He brought the blades together and squeezed, lopping off the digit. Donnelly screamed as the thumb dropped to the floor. Blood spurted from his wound.

  “Shut up,” Ken shouted.

  Donnelly’s screaming echoed around the building.

  Christopher brought his hands to his ears to block out the sound. He placed his head between his raised knees.

  Wall said, “Are you ready to tell me the truth? What happened to my wife? Where’s her body?”

  “I know nothing,” Donnelly screamed. “You crazy idiot. I didn’t do it.”

  Wall shook his head. “I’m going to take your left index finger. Then I’m going to ask you another eight times.”

  Over the next few minutes, they sheared off Aidan Donnelly’s fingers, one by one. Donnelly screamed and begged and cried, but he gave them nothing. Not a word. He stuck to the line he’d held all along. He knew nothing and had done
nothing.

  After the tenth finger, Ken bandaged the stumps so that Donnelly wouldn’t bleed to death.

  They left him to his screams and his insistence that he hadn’t hurt Valentina.

  Outside, Wall closed the door. He exhaled loudly and looked around.

  “I don’t understand. He didn’t give in. He didn’t tell us anything. Why not? He has nothing to lose by talking now.” Wall frowned. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Don’t worry,” Ken said. “We haven’t shown him his surprise yet.”

  *

  Maureen woke in darkness. Not complete darkness, though. Light came from above. Or from the side? She was disoriented. Where was she? What had happened? She tried to remember. Her back was sore and something rough pressed against her.

  She tried to move her head, but her neck was very stiff, and she was held in position. Something was pressed against her whole body. A carpet? A rug? Yes, that was it. She was wrapped in a rug and lying on the ground.

  She was outdoors somewhere.

  Light came in at the top and the bottom of the rug, several feet beyond her head and feet. Her arms were stuck by her side. She couldn’t get them up.

  Maureen felt sick.

  She began to remember.

  The man at the door. The detective.

  He’d had his van outside. He talked to her for a minute, looked up and down the road, and then pressed a cloth against her nose. She remembered nothing after that.

  “Hello?” she called. “Can anyone hear me?”

  *

  In Donnybrook Garda Station, Detective Sergeant Kevin Boyle was hanging around the radio, drinking a lukewarm cappuccino, when the news came in. He was in a rotten mood. Jessica Nolan had just come up to Boyle and more or less assaulted him. All kinds of crazy shit came out of that woman’s mouth. Something about car alarms and evidence lockers.

  What the fuck?

  Boyle had no idea what she was talking about. But he quickly grasped that Ger Barrett’s cash was missing.

  That caught Boyle’s attention.

  Barrett was breathing down Boyle’s throat as it was, and Boyle had got no closer to killing Byrne. There just hadn’t been an opportunity. Boyle didn’t even know where Byrne was. The slimy rat had gone AWOL.