All the Rage (24 page)

Michael took up the thread. ‘A convicted criminal gets a new identity, a new beginning, but can the past really be erased? Is there genuine remorse on their part? Can the history of violence resurface? Why does society protect those who by their very actions are a threat to that same society? I want to explore how the victim has become a secondary issue, or concern, in crimes of violence. Equally, how does a convicted killer, even with the cloak of anonymity, merge into so-called ordinary life without behaving like a misfit? '

‘And just how can I be of assistance, Michael? '

‘Many years ago you were involved in one such case. '

‘Ah, the Porter murder enquiry. Terry mentioned it. It's all on record. '

‘Indeed. ' Michael wanted to appear to be world-weary on this, avoiding any emotion on the subject, for fear of betraying his real motives. Keep it flat, Terry advised him. ‘But you were there, from the beginning. This is a classic case for my article. Taken as a broad sweep, a young girl – a minor – kills her father. But what other choice did she have? Subjected to a daily life of habitual abuse, she lashed out after being cornered with no means of escape. She retaliated.
That
was her escape. But years later, how does society successfully integrate her so that she can lead a normal life, and put the past behind her? My question is: why do we owe her that privilege? I would like to understand your perspective on it, as you were on the frontline so to speak. '

Paddy McGuire consumed the last remains of his Guinness. He indicated to the waiter to bring more drinks. He lit a cigarette, and watched the smoke unfurl away from him.

‘Do you smoke, Michael? ' He gestured with the packet of Marlboroughs.

Michael raised a hand. ‘No. '

‘Good man. They'll be the death of me, Angela says. But death reaches us all in the end. I've seen every kind, mind you. Death is always a shock, no matter how many times you witness it. ' He continued to inhale with pleasure, saying nothing more as a waitress brought the drinks. He thanked her, remaining on guard until she departed. ‘It has always been said that policemen get hardened to violent crime over the years,' Paddy continued. ‘Not so, if you consider the macabre roll call which we deal in: suicide, rape, murder, drug abuse, torture. Every case uniquely occupies a little corner of the brain. You convince yourself that you've seen it all. Nothing can further shock you. Eventually, the brain is full, then overflowing with inhuman debris. What is the final result to the immune system? Breakdown. Burn out. Of course we are affected. I still recall every minute detail of every case I've worked on. '

‘A hazard of the job,' Michael observed.

Paddy shook his head slowly, ‘More a damnation of the soul, if you want the honest truth. '

They drank quietly for a few moments. Paddy lit another cigarette as the sun moved off the terrace.

‘Laura Porter. Was she a victim? ' Michael prompted.

‘For sure,' Paddy replied. ‘The whole family were. The father was a beast, well known in the area for his brutality. As with a lot of families, Saturday night was a ritual of drunkenness and violence. Laura and her sister were sitting targets as they reached their early teens. Maggie, the eldest, eventually left home. This isolation left Laura in a very precarious position, at the mercy of this low-life. She was defenceless, or so we thought. On one such day, after hours of physical and mental torture at the hands of her father, she reached for a poker from the fireplace and battered him to death. He was unrecognisable from the attack. The first two or three blows would have killed him, but it was the ferocious assault on the victim which ultimately turned against her in the courtroom. A plea of self-defence became a prima face case of manslaughter. '

‘What happened to her? '

‘Laura was twelve at the time of the conviction. She was hospitalised for the next four years in a secure unit where she underwent a strict monitoring process to determine her state of mind. She was diagnosed as suffering from multiple personality disorder. Later, she was transferred to a psychiatric prison to serve her remaining sentence. Eventually, she was released under the protection of the law and gained a new identity. She now lives in Britain. '

‘Did you keep in touch with the family? '

‘I did for a long time. This is a small community. Delores, the mother, was a sick woman. She is now in a nursing home. The sister, who I've lost contact with, lives in Limerick, I believe. '

‘There was a baby brother, I understand? '

‘That would be Patrick. He died aged three or four, if I recall correctly. It was a very long time ago. The findings from the official enquiry indicated accidental death. He fell backwards from the top of the stairs and sustained multiple internal injuries. To this day I am of the opinion that the father was responsible, but nothing could prove his guilt. No one was spared his bullying. Even the family dog was kicked to death. '

‘The police enquiry into the father's death became headline news, both here and in England. Why did Laura need specialised medical help? '

‘Firstly, she was a minor in the eyes of the law and secondly, because she perceived herself as the victim, there were serious concerns for her health, which was deteriorating rapidly. In hospital, she attempted suicide on several occasions. The magnitude of what happened had virtually destroyed her. You could ask: why was she on trial in the first place? According to Laura, she acted in self-defence. If she had not protected herself that day, she was convinced that he would have killed her. After being raped and then beaten, she snapped, having been taken to the limits of human endurance. It was not then surprising that Laura would need sensitive psychiatric help. She was a broken child after all, Michael. '

‘As the senior police officer on the case, did you concur with all the legal findings which led to a guilty verdict? '

‘I deal with solid evidence, Michael. It was a straightforward investigation. I had a victim, a motive, and a confession from the killer. Rarely has anything been so open and shut in all the years of serving the force. '

‘Was the father dead when you arrived? '

‘Yes. '

Where was Laura found after the attack? '

‘Being comforted by her sister,' Paddy replied, as if it had all happened only yesterday. ‘We found them huddled together in an upstairs bedroom. '

‘Where was their mother? '

‘Delores had been away for the day. She returned several hours later, to a scene of utter carnage. It was she who identified the body after it had been taken down to the morgue to be cleaned up. It was bludgeoned beyond all recognition. '

‘Who found the body? '

‘The sister. Laura was discovered wandering the garden at the rear, in deep shock. There is a gate at the back, where Maggie gained access. Laura had earlier telephoned her with the news of what had happened. She pleaded with her to come home. On finding her sister, Maggie investigated the house and discovered the body. She then contacted the police. '

‘And that was that. '

‘Indeed. '

Michael pondered his next move, acutely aware of not overstepping the mark. Already, he felt his line of enquiry was close to the wind. He decided to push it further anyway. ‘Ideally, I would like to look at the files. Is that possible? '

Paddy shifted uneasily in his seat. His eyes narrowed. ‘Enough for today, Michael,' he said. ‘I am tired. The files cannot be scrutinised,

I'm afraid. Besides, I have told you everything. '

They stood and shook hands.

‘You certainly have, Paddy. I'm very grateful. One last question though: Given the terrible circumstances of her past, did Laura eventually discover a kind of life worth pursuing? '

Paddy and Michael walked in silence to the front of the hotel. They shook hands once more.

‘I always wished for her to find a kind of peace, if that was possible,' Paddy said, adding, ‘But I believe the past was so shocking that it would always shape her future. '

Michael knew the truth of the statement. He asked, ‘A curse then? '

The retired detective summed it up. ‘We all live with our own inner demons, Michael. In her case, the curse is magnified a million times. Draw your own conclusions. '

Michael watched in silence as Paddy McGuire hailed a taxi and vanished from sight. One from the old guard, thought Michael. The trashy modern world today was so far removed from his perception of good old fashioned morality. Michael had a great deal of admiration for such tenacity against all the odds.

 

***

 

Ronald closed the gallery at midday and dashed by taxi to the British Museum on Great Russell Street. He was angry at this unwanted intrusion into his life and angrier still with Michael for playing this game, if indeed it was him. But he had no choice but to play it. It was a case of proving a point and removing an unnecessary stain from his good character. He was determined to clear this matter up once and for all.

On entering the building, one that he knew well, he quickly crossed the Queen Elizabeth II Great Court and took the west stairs which led to the Mesopotamia Room, via the glass bridge. His head pounded. Scanning the faces of those visible to him, he saw no one he recognised. Unable to relax, he then searched each darkened aisle, ending with the same disappointment. The tall glass display cabinets, containing ornate gold caskets, loomed either side of him. Where was Michael? Turning full circle, he retraced his steps and quickened his pace, to no avail. At the restaurant, he peered over the balcony and searched the atrium below. No sign of anyone he vaguely knew. He checked his watch. Two minutes to go. He was beginning to feel rather foolish, avoiding the inevitable confrontation.

Ronald took a deep breath, turned and moved swiftly through the Egyptian Room to the stairs which led up to the Prints & Drawing gallery. Just then, to his right, he caught sight of someone familiar leaving the Ladies bathroom. Ronald's heart skipped a beat. It was Kara. Their eyes met. Startled, he stood transfixed like a rabbit in the headlights of a car. She was fast approaching and he didn't know what to do.

If that wasn't enough to contend with, something else now held his absolute attention. This is weird, he thought. Who was that standing directly behind Kara? Surely, it couldn't be? Why on earth were they both here? Sudden panic gripped him. What the hell was going on? No matter! It was time to leave. Without a second thought, he turned abruptly and scampered to the north stairs exit and descended as fast as his legs would carry him.

 

***

 

Kara came out of the ladies' room and immediately caught sight of Ronald. Her stomach was tied in knots but she was determined to keep aloof and resolute. This confrontation had to be done, she reminded herself forcibly. In spite of their long friendship, she was not going to be the fall guy in this, and accordingly Ronald's admission of complicity would clear her name in Michael's eyes. Ronald had been wise to show up, now he would have to be gallant with his confession. Their eyes met. She was in control and felt strong. With each advancing step, she kept her gaze firmly fixed on his. Just as quickly, however, she detected a peculiar change in his demeanour. He wavered slightly, and diverted his attention to a space beyond her right shoulder. Even more disturbingly, he suddenly took flight, running down the stairs as if the building was on fire. It made her stop dead in her tracks. What on earth was going on? Before she had a chance to recover her composure, she almost jumped out of her skin as a firm hand grabbed at her shoulder from behind.

An unexpected yet familiar voice whispered close to her ear, ‘I think you have found what you are looking for. '

Kara's heart pounded. How was this feasible? '

Turning slowly, she could hardly gather the strength to utter the one word that stuck obstinately in her throat. She was momentarily speechless. It was only in seeing him in the flesh, just inches away from her face, which brought home the impact of his voice.

Her own response, when it came, was faint and without resolve. ‘Marcus,' she whispered incredulously.

Chapter Fifteen

 

It was too much to take. However, Kara recovered her wits sufficiently to shout, ‘What the hell are you doing here, you scared the fucking life…'

Marcus calmly raised his finger to his lips, reminding her of where she was. Strangers turned in her direction, their ears pricked.

Kara fell silent, looked around apologetically and then kicked Marcus in the left shin with all her might. He grimaced and grabbed her shoulder for support, cursing her name under his breath. He took her by the arm, forcing her to retreat backwards into an unoccupied corridor, away from prying eyes.

This time, she grabbed him. ‘You've got a helluva lot of explaining to do. You've just pissed on my plan. Why are you here, Marcus? '

Perspiration formed on his brow. It was his turn to look confused.

‘What am I doing here? Is this some kind of a joke? Where is Michael? '

‘He's in Dublin. '

Marcus looked rapidly in either direction, as if mindful of being overheard. He used the back of his hand to wipe his forehead. ‘Jesus, Kara, if that's the case…was it
you
who left the note on the door to the gallery? '

‘Yes, numbskull! ' she said angrily. ‘And you've just frightened off my only contact! '

‘Ronald? Is that who…' Then he stopped.

Kara stared in disbelief.
‘What? '

‘Is that who you really thought was sending the anonymous messages? '

Kara eyed him contemptuously. ‘Yes, of course, who else do you…? ' She halted in mid-sentence as she hurriedly tried to unscramble her brain. Something was amiss. Then the circuitry connected. 'My God, what are you
really
doing here, Marcus? '

He shook his head and diverted his eyes to study the polished marble floor beneath his feet, rather like a child caught out in some naughty misdemeanour. He seemed agitated. ‘Kara,' he said calmly, raising his eyes and cradling her face in his outstretched hands, ‘Ronald is not your contact. ' He searched her face for reassurance. ‘I am. '

Her jaw dropped. ‘Marcus, you are scaring me now. What are you saying? '

Marcus sighed, and then, to her astonishment, kissed her hard on the mouth. He removed an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

‘Give this to Michael,' he instructed. ‘Make sure he gets it, OK? ' Fumbling into another pocket, he found a crumpled handkerchief to wipe away her tears. ‘Listen, Kara, and listen carefully. It was me who delivered the first two envelopes. This is the third. I called at the gallery early this morning and saw the note on the door. I decided to come clean, suspecting Michael knew of my involvement. I made the mistake of using your personal email, which blew my cover. Or so I thought. Previously, it was easy to deliver the envelopes until I spotted that the CCTV camera had been repositioned to catch me out, so I panicked and used another method to make contact. I should have waited and thought it through before being so rash, but I needed to make fresh contact. '

Kara took his hands and held them tightly. ‘I don't get it, Marcus. Why are you involved in all this? '

‘I'm just the go-between, Kara. This goes back over many years. At school, my best mate had an elder brother who was an aspiring artist. This bit you can guess. His name was Julius. Ring a bell? Because of our shared interest, he and I have always kept in touch. One year, I spent time at his studio, which was in a huge house down in the country…'

She interrupted him, ‘Laburnum Farm? '

‘Yeah, that was the place – an obscene pile, the boy made good, uh? There was a girl staying there as well. Her name was Antonia. I knew something was going on between them. There was a bad feeling in the house. Anyway, Julius asked me to get her away to Scotland. He knew I was broke and paid me decent money to assist him. The deal was for me to look after her until he could come at a later date. '

‘Did you meet Lauren? '

‘No. She was away at the time, in Ireland I think. That was his big chance to plan their escape. It was obvious to me that he and Antonia were serious about each other. He begged me to help. I wasn't sure if I should, but he was a mate. And besides, I needed the money. '

‘What happened to them? '

Marcus flinched. ‘The star-crossed lovers? I did as he asked, but Julius didn't show in the end. After a month, on Antonia's insistence, I left Scotland and returned to the farm to find out what was happening. There was no sign of Julius. I met a woman called Maggie. She insisted that he had gone away, for good. There was no discussion, nor an opportunity to investigate his disappearance. She left me in no doubt that I was not to return, ever. Antonia was distraught. We managed another three weeks in hiding but we never heard from Julius. Eventually, the money ran out. Antonia contacted her family in Italy and she returned home. I never heard from either of them again until several months ago. Antonia got in touch. I've since learnt that they have a child. I never knew that they had got back together. She simply instructed me to pass on the envelopes to Michael. I don't even know what they contain. '

Kara stared blankly. ‘I need to speak to Michael. Why didn't you tell me this before? Is that the real reason why we are together? I feel a complete idiot, Marcus. '

‘We're together because I'm crazy about you! I was asked to be a messenger, that's all. Meeting up with you was totally unexpected. '

‘But you knew of Michael's search for Julius. We discussed it, don't you remember? '

‘Of course. It was difficult. '

‘
Difficult
? ' She dropped his hands abruptly. ‘
Difficult
? Is that how you see it? '

‘I was helping out. I had a loyalty to Antonia, not to Michael. '

‘What of your loyalty to me, Marcus? '

He searched for her hands but she twisted them away, folding her arms instead.

He tried desperately to defend himself. ‘Kara, I don't know where I stand with you! ' He appeared angry and bewildered. He struggled to find words. ‘One day you're cold with me, the next red hot,' he said feebly. ‘I am torn. An old friend asked for help. I thought, naively, that I was helping you
all
. '

‘You actually spied on me, Marcus. '

‘I did
what
? '

‘It was you who forewarned Antonia of Michael's visit to Venice.'

‘Wait a minute! ' His consternation was cut short abruptly by a plump, red-faced attendant, who asked them to curtail their conversation. In short, they were being ordered to leave. They vacated in silence.

Outside, they sat on the broad concrete steps in front of the building. The incessant drone from the passing traffic, coupled with the noise from the school party milling around, made conversation hard. Marcus lifted himself up from the steps and paced back and forth, deep in thought. ‘I was
never
a spy, Kara! ' he shouted. ‘You gave me all the information freely. Can't you remember? '

‘How did I manage that, clever arse? ' she asked indignantly.

‘You confided in me most nights, whenever you sat beside me on the sofa,' he said. ‘Eventually, you would always lie down with your head in my lap. I stroked your hair. We drank a bottle of wine. You talked. I listened. All those times, you simply unburdened yourself, seemingly without realising the information you were passing over. '

‘Christ. And they say men never listen. '

Marcus returned to where she sat, propped against one of the huge stone columns, and huddled next to her. 'Kara, you didn't betray Michael. You were simply confronting your fears and I was the proverbial sounding board. I used that same information in order to protect Antonia from Lauren. I owed her. '

‘And me? Do you owe me? '

‘Big time,' he admitted. ‘When I went on that bender, I thought I had lost you for good. I couldn't see a way back. But you saved me. You were there for me. I just wanted to do this last one thing for Antonia. '

‘What about Julius? Is he alive? '

‘Yes. But for now, he remains in hiding. Antonia had no choice but to withhold the truth from Michael. Is that OK with you? '

‘Michael needs to know. '

Marcus shook his head vigorously. ‘Not yet, Kara. Julius is warning Michael through the contents of these envelopes. He is warning Michael as to the danger Lauren poses to his very existence, especially if his whereabouts is revealed. None of this would have been necessary if she had not decided to sell the Patrick Porters. They are worth a great deal of money, half of which is rightfully his, as is the farm. They had a deal. All he wanted was the paintings. She could keep the house. But Lauren is greedy, and intends to keep everything for herself. Michael shouldn't have got involved, but he, too, is driven by greed. Julius will not let this go. She can have the house, but not the paintings. They are too precious to him, especially as they all feature Antonia. He feels that she has controlled him for long enough, and isn't playing fair. Now is the time to get even. Julius can't come forward with a long line of incriminating evidence against her because, under British law, she is a protected person. He will not be afforded the same privilege. Therefore, he must remain hidden, in order to protect himself and his family. This is the woman that swore to harm them all. To expose Lauren for what she is, Julius is using Michael to discover the truth, and reveal her true colours. And only then can Julius come out of obscurity, claim what is rightfully his, and live a proper life with his family without fear. ' He hugged her tightly.

‘How much danger is Michael in? ' Kara asked.

He frowned. ‘A helluva lot, I would say. '

‘I reckon I've had a run-in with that sick chick. She's been stalking me, but I can't prove it. How dangerous is Lauren to me? '

‘Fucking scarily. '

‘What do we do next? '

‘Open the envelope. '

Kara retrieved it from her back pocket. She ripped open the flap and extracted what appeared to be a grainy black and white photograph. It was of an old decaying building. ‘What is
this
? ' she asked. In truth, she felt utterly exhausted.

Marcus raised his eyebrows. ‘It's a tithe barn. I know it well. It's part of Laburnum Farm. '

 

‘Then I'll also get to know it well. '

‘What do you mean? '

Kara studied the photograph. It was a dark and haunting building. ‘I am going to the farm tomorrow. I have an appointment with Lauren. Michael has asked me to do an inventory of the paintings at the house.'

‘Jesus, are you kidding, especially after what I've just told you? '

‘It's my job, Marcus. It has to be done and, despite everything, I want to meet this woman face to face. Besides, I'm going to make some serious money on this. '

‘This is not a good idea, Kara. You need to talk with Michael before making that kind of decision. '

‘I already have. Decision made. But I have a correction to make to my earlier statement. You say you owe me big time? '

‘You bet. '

She saw the implication of her comment begin to dawn on him.

‘Now wait just a minute. . . ' he said.

Kara stood and held out her hand to stop him in his tracks. ‘It isn't “I” that is going to Laburnum Farm, Marcus. I'm afraid it's a “We”. '

 

***

 

‘Did you know that there are three Nobel Prize winners for Literature from this great city of Dublin, Mr Strange? Can you name them? '

Michael deliberated, not wishing to show unnecessary arrogance. Then he answered, ‘W. B. Yeats, Samuel Beckett and, I believe, George Bernard Shaw. '

‘Impressive,' Dr Joseph O'Connor remarked. The two men stood on the immaculate lawns of Trinity College. They walked side by side, the older man with the aid of a walking stick. He had a shock of white hair, and stooped slightly. He was dressed impeccably in a cream linen suit, polished shoes, blue shirt and striped tie. A figure of sheer elegance, thought Michael admiringly.

‘And do you know what priceless treasure is housed right here where we stand? ' the doctor asked, with a youthful sparkle in his eye.

‘The Book of Kells,' Michael replied immediately.

‘Excellent, excellent! ' The doctor laughed heartily. ‘Finally, whose resting place is at St. Patrick's Cathedral, where he was Dean from 1713 to 1745? '

Michael pondered the question, delaying his answer just long enough for his inquisitor to start to feel superior. ‘Jonathan Swift. '

‘My word, Mr Strange, you do know your history! I am humbled.'

‘Beginner's luck! '

‘Hardly,' the doctor retorted warmly, ‘you underestimate yourself. I like a man who commands respect. I'm sorry for the little test, but I cannot resist. I'm pleased you humoured an old man. '