Local Whispers

by C K Williams

  His blue eyes look down at the card in his hands. “The police advised us not to talk to you.”

  Kate’s back is ramrod straight. “It’s… Pat, you must know that I’d never, never…”

  Patrick Walsh’s eyes well up. It happens so quickly, Kate does not even have time to finish her sentence. He starts crying.

  “Pat,” Kate takes a step towards him, then stops. Pat wipes his eyes.

  “Meg’s coming downstairs, Kate. We’re off to the graveyard, they’re putting up a … a thing, a cross, a memorial of sorts, seeing as we cannot have the body yet… You’d better go.”

  “All right,” Kate says. “Of course. Sorry. We’ll be off.” Patrick Walsh closes the door. Again we turn to the car.

  “The poor man,” Kate says. She seems shaken to the core. “The poor man.”

  Just then, the front door is thrown open once more.

  “How dare you?”

  This time, it is Megan Walsh standing in the doorway. She is wearing her blue cardigan. She is wearing red lipstick. “How dare you come here, you bitch?”

  Intuitively, I step in front of Kate.

  “Come on, Kate,” I say and open the car door for her. “Let’s go.”

  “If you ever come back here again, I’ll kill you,” Megan Walsh says. She is not listening to her husband, who is trying to hold her back. She is not shouting, either. No. Her voice is eerily calm. “You better get out of this town, Kate. I don’t ever want to see you again. I’ll make you regret it if you don’t.”

  “Meg,” her husband says, “Meg, please…”

  She turns to her husband. “Stop crying. Just stop crying.”

  He doesn’t.

  “We have to go,” she goes on. “You have to stop, Pat, because we have to go to the graveyard, and we cannot fall apart.”

  “What are you doing at the graveyard?” Kate asks quietly. “Will there be—”

  “Don’t you dare show up there,” Megan says. “Don’t you dare. I’ll fucking kill you if you do.”

  And all of a sudden, Kate looks like a small girl that someone has dressed in a suit.

  12:12

  Kate, back in the passenger seat and thank God for that, reaches for her breast pocket again. No cigarettes. It irks her that I saw. She pouts at my admonishing glance.

  Then she puts her feet up on the dashboard.

  Then she drops her forehead to her knees. “Drive me to the church?”

  “Kate,” I say, once more doing my utmost to stay calm and reasonable. “She made it perfectly clear that she doesn’t want you there.”

  She turns her head to the side. Looks at me. “Not to the graveyard. To the church. I want to see Daniel.”

  12:31

  The graveyard sits to the left of the church, old headstones spreading out across a hill covered in snow, the mountains rising grey and shapeless in the background. An ancient yew tree grows at the crest of the hill, its limbs as thick as battering rams of old. I took a class on the Classics at university. Greek Religion. In Ancient Greece, yews were considered to be the tree of Hecate, the liberator of souls after death. The roots of Hecate’s yew tree grow into the mouths of the dead so that they may remove the soul.

  The Romans looked at it a little differently, I think. They thought the yew tree grew in hell.

  That is how Christian culture came to associate yew trees with death.

  Crows are rising from the nearby fields as I park the car. We get out and make for the church gates through the thick white snow. They are made of old wood, carved with leaves and spirits and demons. There is a monstrous Jeep parked in front of them, and Sean is leaning against it as casually as a drug dealer. There are more of those posters everywhere. Neighbourhood Protection. Sean flips away his cigarette. Kate looks at it longingly, I disapprovingly. If there is one thing I cannot abide, it is littering. Kate glances at me and knows exactly what that expression on my face is.

  “You dropped something,” I point out as graciously as I can.

  Sean does not pay me any attention. “Sorry, Kitty,” he says. He even looks it.

  “About what?” she asks.

  “Come on,” he says, physically barring her path. “You know they don’t want you here.”

  “I’m here to see Daniel.”

  He shrugs. “Well, you can’t. He’s got better things to do.”

  She glances over her shoulder. “Just let me through, Sean. I don’t want to be here when Meg and Pat arrive. They’ve just lost their daughter. I’m the one who found her. They don’t need to see me standing here.”

  “That’s right,” Sean says. “So piss off.”

  Kate swallows hard. “You don’t think I did anything to her, do you? You can’t think that, Sean. You know me. I’d never hurt anyone, I’ve sworn an oath—”

  “Well, you don’t take that one too seriously, do you?” Sean interrupts.

  “What do you mean?” she asks.

  “You think killing babies is okay,” he says.

  “Woah,” I say, “all right, let’s calm down, everyone.”

  “Do me a favour, stay out of this,” Sean says, his sharp blue eyes suddenly focused on me. “This is none of your business.”

  “Come on, Kate,” I say. “Let’s go. You can call Daniel once we’re home.”

  But Sean steps up to me. I can feel his breath on my face when he speaks. “You staying with her, eh? Funny timing, isn’t it?”

  “Back off,” I say. He is ten years younger than me and lifts twice as much weight at least. I have no doubt that he’d love to punch me, Sean would.

  “Listen, buddy,” Sean says. “None of this is any of your business. Go back to where you came from. Take her with you while you’re at it.”

  “Dan!” Kate calls out just then.

  Steps on the gravel. Sean looks over my shoulder, then takes a step back. I risk a glance over my shoulder, wondering who managed to make Mr Riot Police cower.

  It is Father Daniel striding towards us. He looks very tall and very thin, his expression stormy, and I am reminded of the impression he made on me in the church last night. A demon rather than an angel.

  “Oi,” he says. “Break it up, whatever this is. Meg and Pat will be here any moment.”

  “Exactly,” Sean says defensively. “Seeing Kate is the last thing they need right now.”

  “Is that your cigarette butt?” Daniel asks. “Would you mind not littering my churchyard?”

  Grumbling, Sean bends down to pick up his cigarette butt. It is fascinating to realise that Daniel is an authority figure. Sean holds onto the butt with an expression of distaste. He looks around, presumably for a rubbish bin. Kate rolls her eyes and takes a small metal box out of her bag. I made her carry that around while she was smoking, because I could not stand it when she would drop her litter everywhere. Funny that she would still have it with her.

  Sean looks darkly at the proffered box before he drops the cigarette into it. “Happy?” he asks Daniel, who has come to stand between Sean and me.

  “Do I look happy?” Daniel asks, and no, he does not. “If Kate wants to speak to me, she can speak to me.”

  Sean raises his brows. “You picking her side?”

  “Kate is part of my congregation,” Daniel says sharply.

  Sean presses his lips together. He is evidently fighting some internal battle. When he speaks, the words sound a little pained: “I’m afraid that isn’t only up to you, Father. I’m the Neighbourhood Protection Co-ordinator, and I think that it isn’t safe for her to come to the church currently. She is the only suspect the police have taken in so far, after all.”

  Something passes across Daniel’s face. “Is that what you think, Sean?” he asks. His voice is quiet. An unpractised observer might take this to mean that he is intimidated, but that is not what I see. I see a man who is saying it quietly to give Sean the opportunity to change his tune without losing face.

  I see a man who is ready to make Sean change his tune.

&nbs
p; Suddenly, I am concerned for this strange, thin priest who would not hold out one second against Sean. Not that I could necessarily hold my own for much longer, but at least my body shape roughly matches his.

  “It’s not what I think. It’s what I’m doing,” Sean says. Give a man like him a measure of power and he’s going to make the most of it. He turns back to Kate. “I’m sorry, but it’s my responsibility to keep this community safe. That’s the most important thing. I don’t want you to come back here. In fact, I think you should leave for a bit.”

  Daniel takes a step towards Sean. Before I have time to think about it, my arm has shot out, wrapped around his wrist, to hold him back, although all I want to do is hit Sean myself. “Calm down, everyone.”

  Daniel looks at me. More specifically, my hand on his arm. For a moment, his expression stays absolutely blank, almost as if he was in shock.

  I let him go immediately.

  “It’s all right,” Kate says. “I’ll call you, Dan.” Then she sweeps past us, returning to the car. I follow her quickly.

  16:15

  The whiskey bottle is back out and French electro hip hop back on. Our feet are bare and cold in the sitting room. Kate is swaying to the music. So am I. She is an intensely elegant creature when she dances, so much so that everything about her seems heightened, changed. If she turned her back to me, I might not even recognise her.

  The less said about my dancing the better.

  After a couple of songs, I am on the sofa, rethinking that knee surgery that Kate claims I need and that I refuse to consider before I have turned forty. Kate is sitting next to me. We are both breathing heavily.

  “Do they really believe it?,” she asks suddenly, quietly.

  “Believe what?” I ask.

  “That it was me,” Kate says, reaching for the whiskey bottle. She’s only had one shot so far. Looks like we are gearing up for another. “That I could have murdered Alice Walsh.”

  “You know them better than I do,” I say carefully. “What do you think?”

  She pours both us another, then she wraps one hand around the sole of her bare foot. She takes a sip. Considers.

  “Well,” she finally says. “I expect some of them do.”

  And then all she does is clutch her shot glass and say nothing.

  “We could do something about that, too, you know,” I say, trying to find a way to comfort her.

  “Do what?” she asks, still staring off into the distance.

  “We can make some enquiries of our own. See if we can help produce another suspect.”

  Kate glances at me. Then she looks away again. Puts her fingers to her lips.

  “There may be something…”

  She hesitates.

  “Yes?” I ask.

  “There may be something that could help us. Something I haven’t told you.”

  “What? Why?”

  “There is a secret I have to keep,” she says. “Because I promised that I would. I promised.”

  “Is this in any way connected with the bloody clothes of Alice’s?”

  “Yes,” she replies, after a moment’s hesitation, looking back at me. “With the procedure that she’d had, and why she came to me.”

  “I want to help,” I say. “If you think it helps, tell me.”

  Kate tilts her head. “I could go and ask her for permission.”

  “Go where?” I ask, a little confused.

  “To the graveyard. To her memorial.”

  “That’s a terrible idea,” I say. “Did you hear what Sean said?”

  “He’ll be gone by now,” she says. “They all will.”

  She reaches for her breast pocket. Realises once more that she no longer has any cigarettes there. “Fuck everything. I’m going.”

  She is already on her feet. I follow her, hurrying to keep up. “Let me at least put on some shoes before you chase me out into the snow,” I begin, but she interrupts me. “No, you’re not coming.”

  I look up at her. “Trust me, I am.”

  “I’m serious,” Kate says, barring my way.

  “So am I,” I say, incredulous. “Kate, what is the matter?”

  She stands firm. “You can’t be there. I have to be on my own when I ask her.”

  “I can sit in the car,” I offer, as gently as I can.

  “I don’t need you sitting in the car!” Kate says fiercely. “I need to be alone. Just for five fucking minutes!”

  Breathing hard, she stares at me. Then she adds: “Please.”

  “Okay,” is all I can say. Even as I glance at the letters on the table.

  “Good,” Kate says back.

  She isn’t looking at the letters at all.

  16:25

  I watch her drive off.

  For a moment, I consider following her.

  Then I go back inside.

  23:08

  It is dark and it is late. My feet are bare and cold on the sitting room floor. My head feels heavy against the sofa. The house and the trees and the wind are making all kinds of noises. You can hear it when you take the time to listen. When you are alone on a sofa in a house that sits all alone on the slopes of the Mountains of Mourne. That is when you hear it. The whisper of sharp branches. Scratching across thin glass and frail stone. Bending in the wind to slap against the wood of the back door. Slap. Slap. Slap.

  Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

  The noise of snow falling, silently, soundlessly, as softly as a caress of fingers along your throat.

  And then you start imagining that it might not be branches and wind and snow at all.

  It might be footsteps.

  It might be footsteps at the back of the house. Footsteps wandering down the dark mountains and through the trees. Coming closer and closer. It might be footsteps coming towards the house. Circling it. Working their way towards the back door.

  I open my eyes. Shake my head. I should not have had that second glass of whiskey. My vision is a little blurry. I tilt my head to one side, then to the other. Then I try to say “bouillabaisse”.

  It comes out all right, I suppose.

  I sit up and rub my hands across my face. Whenever I close my eyes, what I see in front of me is the face of Father Daniel, and that will not do.

  I haven’t even told Kate yet. That I’m into men. Jesus Christ.

  I stand up. I need to do something. Walk around. Clear my head. Alcohol is not good for me. It makes me emotional at first, then aggressive. My only excuse is that it’s a family trait. My sister suffers from the same condition. Once, we were both walking home drunk and she threw a full paper cup of Coke at a car that was going too fast. The fucker was doing fifty kilometres an hour in a residential zone, it should be said. I almost got beaten up for her pains, but someone must have talked the driver down. Not me, let me tell you. I was ready. Even though I would have almost certainly lost.

  I keep walking through the dark house, out into the hall and around the back and into the kitchen. I have not turned on the lights since night fell. I lean against the kitchen sink in the dark, put away the tumbler, then I leave the room. I should get ready for bed.

  It is in the hall that I hear it again.

  Those noises.

  Trees reaching. Branches scratching. Snow softly suffocating.

  Footsteps.

  Footsteps around the back of the house. Footsteps at the front.

  I realise, a little too late, that I might not be imagining them after all. I realise, a little too late, that there is a murderer on the loose.

  There is the wind in the trees and the branches scratching against the windows behind the curtains and the soft, soft fall of snow.

  And then, there is a clacking noise.

  It only takes me a moment to realise that it was the letter box.

  I rush out into the hall. There is another slip of paper on the floor.

  I bend down to pick up the letter. I read it.

  It is in my power to do you harm.

  I drop the letter
where I stand and throw open the door. Cursing, I stumble out into the darkness. The cold hits me like a baseball bat. My feet are bare, the snow is freezing. It is so dark, too dark, I cannot see anything…

  Or was that a movement? Towards the woods?

  Before I can check, lights cut through the darkness, bright and blinding. A set of headlights. There is a car coming up the road. As it comes towards me, I recognise the man driving it. It is Daniel.

  When he gets out of the driver’s seat, I call his name. My feet are cold in the snow. It is as white as Daniel’s face.

  “Jannis?” he calls out.

  “What’s the matter?”

  He pushes a button. The passenger door opens. He’s driving a Tesla. A fucking Tesla.

  “Get in,” he says. “Kate is in hospital.”

  Evidence #10564

  Notes of the medical examiner (excerpts); victim: Alice Walsh

  […] It is evident that the victim was a healthy young woman prior to death. Her records show that she had undergone no major treatment since early childhood, when she broke an arm. The fracture has healed fully.

  So much for the records.

  Because it is obvious to this medical professional that she had undergone a procedure very recently. One that was not documented or reported.

  It is very likely that the victim aborted a foetus days before her death.

  Day 3

  Friday 4th January 2019

  Evidence #10574

  Notice amended

  NEIGHBOURHOOD PROTECTION

  * * *

  PROTECT YOUR NEIGHBOURHOOD

  At Neighbourhood Protection we believe in partnership between the local communities and the police (Policing and Community Safety Partnerships (PCSPs)). We help you protect YOURSELF, we help you protect YOUR property, we help reduce YOUR fear of crime in YOUR community.