Collusion (32 page)
103
He crawled, pain driving him on. Light ahead, just feet away. His lungs screamed. Heat everywhere. Just the will to live.
And the hate.
He reached forward, grabbed floor, pulled.
Hate.
Hate can carry a man far.
Far past the pain.
Even when the mind has gone, hate can carry the body forward.
Forward to the light.
The light is cool, clear.
Like a pool of clean water, waiting to soothe.
One more foot.
Six inches.
One more inch.
Air. Dear Christ, the air, so cool, so clean.
Falling now.
Oh God, the pain.
Pain, pain, go away, come again another day.
The Traveller screamed.
The Traveller breathed.
The Traveller laughed.
The Traveller crawled.
EPILOGUE
Ellen stared ahead, her hands wrapped together in her lap. She seemed so small on Lennon’s big leather couch. He’d paid a stupid amount for it. No, he’d
borrowed
a stupid amount for it. Now it looked ridiculous, along with all the rest of the crap he had spent years gathering around himself.
He sat down opposite her.
‘Susan will be here soon,’ he said.
Ellen did not respond.
‘She’ll bring Lucy with her. You like Lucy.’
Ellen looked down at her hands. She made patterns with her fingers, as if communicating in some kind of sign language.
‘I won’t be long,’ he said. ‘Just a couple of hours. Then when I come back, we can watch a film. What’s that one you like? The one with the fish.’
She folded her fingers together again and stared at a point behind Lennon. Her eyes followed something, as if tracking a person’s movement across the room.
Today would be the last closed session of the inquiry. Dan Hewitt would take the stand and endorse Lennon’s record. Lennon had felt not the slightest shred of guilt in blackmailing him. No one need ever know that the wound to Hewitt’s leg had not been the result of an accidental discharge that occurred while cleaning his own personal protection weapon.
Uprichard had taken Lennon aside a few days back and assured him the discipline would be light. He would likely drop a rank, but they might let him keep his pay grade. Anything to avoid a fuss, the Chief Inspector had said, unable to keep eye contact.
The doorbell rang, pulling Lennon’s attention back to the present. He went to the door and opened it for Susan, the divorcee from the floor above, and her daughter Lucy. Lucy carried a bag full of toys. As on other occasions when she’d visited, she would leave without some of them, even though Lennon had bought Ellen plenty of her own. She seemed to favour toys that had been played with, the more worn the better, as if old laughter clung to them, waiting for her to share.
‘How is she?’ Susan asked.
‘Better,’ Lennon said. ‘Quiet, but better. She slept right through last night.’
Susan smiled. ‘Good,’ she said as Lennon led them back to the living room.
He stopped in the doorway, as did Susan. Lucy squeezed between them.
Ellen stood in the middle of the room, her hands reaching up to touch something, her voice low and soft as she spoke to the air. She dropped her hands to her sides and fell silent when she realised she was not alone.
Lennon went to her and crouched down. ‘Who were you talking to, love?’
Ellen smiled for a second, mischief in her eyes, before her face went blank again. ‘No one,’ she said.
‘Lucy’s here,’ Lennon said. ‘Go and say hello, there’s a good girl.’
She walked to her friend, her steps slow and deliberate. Lucy held the bag open for Ellen to inspect the contents, as if they were offerings.
Lennon bent down to kiss the top of Ellen’s head. He had taken two steps away when she caught up with him and hugged his thigh, her head against his hip. She let go and returned to her friend Lucy. The two girls huddled together and whispered.
It saddened him to be away from her, but he had to leave, trust Ellen to his neighbour’s keeping.
She was safe.
That was the most important fact in his world now, the one thing that made tomorrow better than yesterday, and he clung to it like a pillow in his sleep. His hand brushed Susan’s as he left, and her fingers flexed against his, warm and firm.
Ellen was safe.
Lennon entered the lift, hit the button for the ground floor. It would be a hard day, questions upon questions, even if they skirted the hardest truths. But he’d get through it because he knew this one thing.
She was safe.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Once again, many people have helped in bringing this book to publication, and I’d like to thank just a few of them:
Nat Sobel, Judith Weber and all at Sobel Weber Associates for being the best agency a writer could hope for.
Caspian Dennis and all at Abner Stein Ltd for all their work on the home front.
Geoff Mulligan, Briony Everroad, Alison Hennessey, Kate Bland and all at CCV for their hard work and support.
Bronwen Hruska, Justin Hargett and Ailen Lujo at Soho Press for going many, many extra miles for me. And to the memory of Laura Hruska, who will be sadly missed.
Betsy Dornbusch, who continues to be a far better friend than I deserve, as well as Carlin, Alex and Gracie for welcoming me into their home.
Shona Snowden, whose insight always helps.
Juliet Grames for her excellent advice, and showing me a different side of New York, complete with karaoke.
David Torrans and all at No Alibis, Botanic Avenue, Belfast, for being the best bookshop on the face of the planet.
James Ellroy for dispelling the notion that you shouldn’t meet your heroes, as well as all the other great authors I’ve met over the last couple of years. They are far too numerous to mention.
Craig Ferguson for giving me such a boost in the US, and for being very sweary.
Hilary Knight for her wonderful PR services.
Gerard Brennan, Declan Burke, and all the bloggers and online reviewers who have shown tremendous support since the very start. Again, they are far too numerous to mention by name, but you know who you are.
Ruth Dudley Edwards for being generally excellent.
Jo, for making everything better.
Finally, two books have helped enormously in writing this one. They are
Policing the Peace in Northern Ireland: Politics, Crime and Security after the Belfast Agreement
by Jon Moran (Manchester University Press) and
More Questions than Answers: Reflections on a Life in the RUC
by Kevin Sheehy (Gill & Macmillan).
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