The Ballymara Road (33 page)

‘Paddy, Harry,’ she shouted. ‘Is Scamp misbehaving himself?’

Alison could see that something was up. ‘Is something wrong, boys?’

‘I don’t know,’ Harry replied. ‘Scamp found this on the other side of the wall, on one of the graves. It was covered with ferns but it looks a bit weird.’

Harry struggled to hold what looked like a lump of wood while Scamp wriggled in Little Paddy’s arms.

‘Here, let me take Scamp,’ Alison said, extracting the rather sheepish-looking dog from under Little Paddy’s arm. But she gasped with shock as Harry held up the wooden mallet he was carrying.

The end was soaked in what was obviously old, stale blood.

Commander Lloyd sat in the temporary office he had been allocated in Whitechapel where he and his officer had set up the screen and projector. It was eight in the evening. They had been waiting for days for clearance to view the films, as well as for a lab-test result on the mallet. It was being examined for fingerprints, and, more importantly, to check whether the blood on it belonged to the murdered priest.

‘Have you eaten, boyo?’ he asked Howard.

‘Yes, sir, but I’m half wishing I hadn’t now, if these films are too bad.’

The commander looked at the brown paper bag on his desk.

‘Now then, before we begin, nip down to the canteen and bring up a few empty cups.’

Howard looked confused. ‘Empty?’

‘Because, boyo, we need something inside us, to line our stomachs and give us a bit of Dutch courage.’ He slipped a large bottle of whiskey out of the bag on his desk.

‘Now then, let’s see how this thing works,’ said the commander, as he wound one of the films around the wheel and PC Shaw switched on the projector.

He took a large swig from the bottle and then turned out the lights.

Images appeared on the screen in black and white. Although the filming was obviously amateur, they were clear enough.

‘Oh God, fucking hell,’ he said. He took another swig of whiskey, just as Howard walked back into the room with three mugs.

‘Come here, boyo,’ said the commander. ‘Do you recognize him?’

Howard joined PC Shaw, who was staring at the screen, transfixed. Howard wanted what he was watching not to be true. But it was. It was there in front of him in black and white.

‘I do, sir, he’s that politician fella, he’s always on the news. Drives round here in a big black Rolls with a chauffeur, and eats a lot of pies by the look of him.’

Peter, from the main desk, had come into the room unnoticed. ‘Eh, that’s that politician, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘Aye, boyo, it is that,’ said the commander. ‘But keep it under your hat, mate, we have a bigger problem here. Did you want something?’

‘Yes, sir, your lab and fingerprint tests are through. One of our lads has just run back from the labs with them. If you thought you had a problem before, wait until you hear this. They managed to get a fingerprint from the mallet. It belongs to Simon, the copper. Thank God he’s already in the cells, eh? And the blood, well, that isn’t the priest’s blood group, but we know whose it is, all right – it belongs to the old lady who was murdered, Molly Barrett. I reckon it will be only half an hour before the
Echo
are on to it.’

‘Jesus, fucking Christ! So if he murdered the old woman, he murdered the priest too. Unless we have two crazed murderers running around the docks, who both happened to strike within weeks of each other.’

Howard slowly lowered himself onto a chair. Simon – the man he had worked with for years, who had driven him to his wedding and bought him and Alison a silver rose bowl as a wedding gift – was a murderer.

All of them stared at the screen for a second longer. Then the commander leant forward and flicked up the off button. The room became dark. He turned to Howard and PC Shaw.

‘You guys look through the photographs, quickly, before we have the press breathing down our necks. Let’s try to keep this to ourselves and make sure the
Echo
only get to hear about that dirty, stinking creep Simon being charged with the double murder. I need to speak to my boss, as this will go way above my pay grade. Number Ten will be involved in this.’

And with that, he left the room.

‘I don’t know what he’s worried about,’ said PC Shaw. ‘No one is going to let anything like this concerning a politician get out to the public. It will definitely all be covered up. It will all be pinned on the policeman now. He’s a goner with those lab results, and that’s for sure.’

But when PC Shaw opened an envelope of photographs, he blanched in horror.

‘And here we have it,’ he said. ‘Yet another link. Jesus, someone is shaking that tree pretty hard. They are falling like leaves.’

‘Let me see,’ said Howard. ‘Well, what do you know? Here they are, both together, very cosy, the priest and Simon. So now we have it, the link that binds them together, that and a bloody mallet.’ Howard sounded sorrowful when he added, ‘Simon can only be hanged once, but hanged he will be, for both.’

There was something painfully sad and disappointing about the fact that Simon was one of their own. PC Shaw drained the last of the whiskey bottle into two mugs and handed one to Howard.

‘Here, drink this,’ he said. ‘Makes it all much easier to stomach.’

MRS MCGUIRE SAT
in the window seat of the hotel foyer, looking out onto the main road, drinking her tea and pondering. What a strange situation it was indeed that, because of Mary’s new affluence, she could now afford to do this.

Some of the local children were walking past, on their way home. They stared in at the three-tiered plate, piled high with fancies and millionaire’s shortbread, just as she and Maisie had done when they were girls.

A scruffy-looking young boy, who looked as though he hadn’t seen soap and water for a month and wearing a jumper with more holes than stitches, his face full of envy and resentment, put out his tongue at Mrs McGuire.

She was far from shocked. Sure, didn’t me and Maisie do the same, she thought, as she leant forward and put out her own tongue back at him. The other boys laughed and pushed the cheeky boy to move him along.

‘Sorry, Mrs McGuire,’ shouted a boy she recognized, but for the life of her, could not name.

She smiled back, to let him know, she took no offence.

I’ve been away for too long and missed too much, she thought, as she sipped her tea and waited for Mary and Alice to return.

Mary had been delighted that Sister Assumpta was happy to hand over the contract signed by Kitty.

‘All we have to do now is get ourselves to Dublin. We will talk to this Rosie O’Grady and then we can find the girl who gave birth to my baby. I know that, no matter what, she will want to help. Who wouldn’t, Alice? No one would deny a child the gift of life, now, would they? I will make it worth her while. I bet she is just a poor girl from the country.’

‘Of course she will help. Anyone would,’ Alice replied. ‘When do you think we should leave for Dublin?’

‘Tonight, if Mammy agrees. We don’t have hours to waste, never mind days.’

Alice was distracted. She wished she could speak to Sean. She knew who the mother of the baby was and, what’s more, she knew where she lived. There was no need for any visit to Rosie O’Grady.

The baby was dying and only his parents could save him. Alice knew for sure that one was already dead. Alice was part of the conspiracy, an accomplice in that parent’s murder, a murder that would never be spoken about.

And the other parent was Kitty. She could get them to Kitty Doherty within a couple of days.

‘Oh God, this is awful,’ Alice groaned.

‘What is?’ asked Mary, unwrapping the shawl from around the baby and laying him on his back on her knee. Holding his little feet in her hands, she smiled at him and blew him kisses. Her heart felt lighter than it had since the day she had first received his diagnosis.

‘Oh, it’s nothing, I’m just tired,’ said Alice, pressing her forehead on the cold glass and looking out of the window.

How could Alice explain that Kitty lived on the four streets, doors away from Alice’s own son, Joseph?

‘No woman who leaves her son has the right to call herself a mother,’ Mrs McGuire had said to Alice when she had first arrived in America. She was right. Alice had no business thinking of herself as a mother, but that didn’t stop her heart from breaking every day for the baby boy she had never wanted, had finally learnt to love and then had left behind in running away with Sean. And now Sean wanted her to have another child, as though Joseph had never existed. Alice had never wanted children but she knew in her heart that Joseph had taught her to love. She might have left him, but she would not desert him. He would remain her only child.

If she told Mary where Kitty lived, she would have to return to Liverpool and face her demons. If she didn’t tell Mary, this Rosie O’Grady would lead them straight there anyway.

A baby was dying. Alice would be obliged to tell Mary that she knew who Kitty Doherty was. It was going to happen. Alice would have to return to the four streets. The thought made her stomach clench and her heart scream, for a sight of Joseph. Sean no longer occupied all her thoughts. She was smart enough to realize that things were not as she had expected them to be. She loved America, the freedom and the way of life, but she was also beginning to acknowledge, if only to herself, that she no longer loved Sean.

Mrs McGuire watched the taxi pull up outside the window and asked the waiter to bring another tray of tea for Mary and Alice.

‘Well, hello there, and how is the little man?’

Mrs McGuire stood up, to take the baby from Mary.

‘He is grand, so he is, and so are we,’ said Mary, grinning.

‘Well, that’s the first time I have seen a smile on your face for some weeks. So the visit must have been worthwhile then?’

‘It was, Mammy. We have the name of the girl and the name of a midwife in Dublin who sent her with her family to the Abbey. All we need to do is travel to Dublin, find the midwife and then we will have the address of where the girl lives. It has all been much easier than I thought. I’m famished. Are those cakes for us?’

Mrs McGuire smiled. Tea and cake. Always her daughter’s favourite. There wasn’t a problem in the world that she and her Mary couldn’t solve, over a cuppa and an almond tart.

‘They are delicious fancies, so they are. Tuck in, Mary. And you, Alice. Sit down now while ye tell me, what was the Abbey like? Was it nice to see the Reverend Mother again? I bet she and Sister Celia made a great fuss of this little fella, didn’t they just?’

Mary and Alice exchanged a glance that Mrs McGuire missed as she lifted the baby into the air and bounced him up and down in her arms, making cooing and gurgling baby noises at him.

‘I will speak to Porick. He and his da will take us to Dublin to see the midwife. What hospital’s she at, then? What is her name?’

Two waiters began to offload the contents of a trolley onto the low table, placing teacups and saucers in front of them. Alice felt as though they were taking forever, deliberately hovering, to eavesdrop on their conversation. The clinking of the china and the babbling of Mrs McGuire’s chatter grated. She willed the waiters to hurry and felt her heart beating faster in panic. Her mouth became dry. The sooner she did it, the better.

‘Mrs McGuire,’ said Alice.

She hadn’t realized that it would come out as a dry croak. Mrs McGuire didn’t hear.

Alice tried again. ‘Mrs McGuire, Mary.’ She reached out and touched Mary’s arm, to attract her attention. ‘I know who the girl is. I know the name on the contract and, Mrs McGuire, so do you.’

Mary and Mrs McGuire stared at Alice, waiting for her to continue.

‘Is this why you have been acting strange since we left the convent?’ asked Mary. ‘Who is she then?’

Alice stared Mrs McGuire straight in the face.

‘It’s Kitty Doherty, Mrs McGuire, Maura and Tommy’s daughter.’

‘My God, no,’ Mrs McGuire replied.

‘Well, Mammy, is that not good? It saves us the visit to the midwife. We can go straight to wherever the girl lives,’ said Mary, sounding encouraged. But now, for reasons beyond her understanding, the atmosphere tightened as hope took flight.

Mrs McGuire looked pale. ‘Kitty’s mammy, Maura, was one of Brigid’s best friends. They live on the four streets. But I am afraid I have bad news for you both. Kitty Doherty is dead.’

‘What do you mean, dead? She can’t be.’

Alice felt as though she had been hit. Tears sprang to her eyes and, for no apparent reason, an image of Bernadette, Maura’s closest friend, leapt into her mind. Bernadette, whom Alice had usurped before her body was even cold in her grave, was here, in her mind’s eye.

Alice spoke again. ‘How do you know she is dead, anyway? I’m sure you must be wrong. Kitty is only, what, fifteen at the most? She can’t be dead.’

‘She is. She drowned in the river near Kathleen’s farm on the Ballymara Road, about six months ago. By my reckoning, if she is his mother, it must have happened only days after she gave birth to this little fella, although no one knows about him and that’s for sure.’

Mrs McGuire blessed herself as she laid the baby over her shoulder, hugging him tight.

Quietly, her voice loaded with sorrow, Alice asked, ‘How do you know all this, Mrs McGuire?’

‘Because today I visited the woman who is truly married to my son, the woman who carries my family name and who is the mother of my Sean’s children. I didn’t visit my friends. I travelled to see my daughter-in-law, Brigid, and she told me. She was at the wake in Liverpool. She rushed to the side of her friend as soon as she heard the news.’

Mary picked up the teapot and stared at her mother. The consequences of what she had just said sank in. The baby’s mother was dead and no one knew who the father was.

Mrs McGuire took control.

‘We will set off for Liverpool in the morning, Mary. The doctor said we needed a family member for a match, did he not? Well, Maura is this little fella’s grandmother and Tommy is his grandad, and their children, Kitty’s brothers and sisters, are his family too, and nicer people you could not meet. Maura is from Killhooney Bay and Tommy, well now, he is from Cork. And you, Alice, can come with us. Maybe ye would like to see your own little lad, while we are there.’