This Irish House (24 page)

Kevin's next statement jarred Neil out of his reverie.

“I think I'd like to be an artist.”

Where had that come from? “Really?” He knew less than nothing about children. Instinct told him to listen, say little and encourage the boy to talk about himself.

“Aye.” Kevin nodded. “I'm good at animated figures, you know, the kind you see on the telly.”

Neil waited.

“I won a prize once, in primary school. There was a contest. I didn't want to enter but my da made me do it and I won. Someone mounted it and it was displayed in the community center for a month. Mum was so proud. She brought everyone she knew in the whole town of Sligo to see it.” Kevin's eyes sparkled with the memory.

Neil was fascinated. He'd never seen that relaxed, happy look on the boy's face.

“Have you studied art?”

Kevin's face fell. “Not in school. Mine is a preparatory school, strictly academic. Art isn't considered an important subject.”

Neil balled his napkin and aimed for the trash can. The paper ball rolled around the edges and tumbled in. “It occurs to me that you may not be going back to that school.”

“Mum will make me. She's very set on it.”

“She's also had quite a scare. Your mum isn't unreasonable, Kevin. You may be able to convince her to give your art a chance at one of the National Schools or, maybe when you're finished with traditional education. Perhaps an art academy would be a better choice.”

Kevin's face reflected his disbelief. “Do you really think she would agree?”

“You know her better than I do. But there's always a chance, if you're clean and stay away from whatever it was that sent you into this spin.”

“I can do that.”

“Good.”

Suddenly Kevin's face closed. “I should be getting back now.”

“Would you like to get out of this, Kevin?”

“God, yes, but—”

“What?”

“What about my sentence?”

“Trust me.”

The boy was no longer eating.

“Together we can get you out,” Neil continued, “but it must be done carefully.”

“I thought you said I was the only one who could get inside and tell you what was happening.”

“I've changed my mind.”

Kevin looked up. “Because of my mother?”

Neil's heart twisted. The lad was so very young. “No,” he said shortly.

“Why, then?”

“Because it isn't right.” Neil spread his hands. “Because I didn't have all the facts and, now that I do, I see that involving you isn't the right thing at all.”

“What about catching the drug lords?”

“There will always be drug lords. Let someone else catch them.”

“Won't you be in trouble?”

“No.”

“May I think about it?”

“Why?”

Kevin hesitated.

“If this has to do with your uncles, Kevin, they'll make their own way. If they've done nothing wrong, nothing will happen to them.”

“What if they have?”

Neil considered the question carefully. He'd made enormous strides with Kevin this afternoon. The wrong words would set him back to the place where they'd started. “That depends on them,” he said honestly. “They'll face consequences just as you did. If they cooperate things will go easier for them. No one comes away from committing a crime without some trouble, lad. They're grown men. They know the odds. You needn't worry about them.” He was about to add that they wouldn't worry about him if the circumstances were reversed, but he caught himself in time. He would lose the boy if he passed judgment on his father's family.

Kevin stood. “I should be getting back. There's a meeting I'm required to attend.”

Neil knew when to back off. He picked up Kevin's jacket and his own and followed the boy out the door. They were silent on the drive back to Tranquility House. Kevin gave a terse “goodbye,” and hurried up the steps.

Neil watched him walk through the door. He'd done all he could do. Whether or not Kevin agreed, the boy would be out. It would go easier with his knowledge and cooperation, but it could be done without them. After their conversation he was more convinced than ever to pull the boy out of the entire mess. Now, if he could only convince Kate to give up her absurd quest.

Somehow, before he fully realized what was happening, Neil had become emotionally embroiled in a family situation that was not his own. All it needed was for Kate's daughter to suck him into something for which he wasn't prepared. He wasn't discounting the possibility. Stranger things had happened.

He picked up his mobile phone and dialed the number for directory assistance. “Belfast Telegraph, please.” He punched in the number, waited for someone to pick up the phone and ask for his contact. “I need a favor, Danny. A shipment of arms is scheduled for the Ormeau Road tomorrow morning. It could be a rumor, but—” He deliberately let the edge of his sentence hang.

“Someone will be on it.”

“Be sure to include a photographer. The RUC will be out in full force.”

“Consider it done.”

Neil placed the next phone call directly to Robbie Finnigan. “A source informs me of an arms shipment down the Ormeau Road tomorrow morning.”

“Is it legitimate?”

“I don't know.”

“Who is the source?”

“I'd rather not say at the moment.”

He heard the hesitation. His hand tightened on the phone.

“Is he reliable?”

“Yes.”

“All right. We'll send our men out, but if this is a mistake, Neil, my head will be in a noose.”

“No more than if you allow an IRA shipment to slip through your fingers.”

“I see your point.”

“It's your decision,” Neil reminded him.

“And my responsibility.”

“As you say.”

“Very well. I'll do it. Where and when?”

Neil repeated what Kevin had told him.

D
eirdre doesn't know anything.” Liam insisted, draining his lager. “Patrick made sure of that.”

“Don't be naive,” Dominick chided him. “She knows faces. Our Deirdre isn't stupid, Liam. All Geoffrey Clarke needs to know is that his son is diddling Patrick Nolan's daughter. He'll have the whole of the constabulary down on her. She'll talk if she's brought in. They all do.”

Liam was offended. “It's our niece you're shaming with such talk. You can't think they would coerce her?”

“Why not?”

“She's not one of us, Dom. She's a university student. Her mother is the ombudsman for Northern Ireland. There are no grounds.”

Dominick swore softly. “Keep your voice down. Do you want the whole bloody pub to know who you are?”

Liam laughed. “Do you think they don't know us, Dom? Now who's being naive?”

“The boy needs to go.”

“You're using this as an excuse to take out another Protestant, to even the score for Patrick's death.”

“What if I am?”

Liam threw his napkin down. “I won't have it, Dom. He's a boy. He's done nothing. For Christ sake, he isn't even a Loyalist. I'll go against you on this one. No one has the stomach for this kind of thing anymore. You'll be alone.”

“I've been alone before.”

Liam Nolan leaned across the table and fixed a cold blue stare on his younger brother. “You aren't understanding me, Dom. What I'm saying is, I won't allow it. I'll stop you.”

Dominick took a long time to swallow the last of his ale. Then he wiped each finger with his napkin and finally crumpled it into a ball. “How do you propose to do that?”

“I don't know yet. But I will do it.” Liam's voice had the earnest quality of a vow. “Never doubt it.”

Neil picked up the phone on the first ring. He'd waited half the morning for an answer and his patience ran thin. How long could it take to match up an address and telephone number? The woman on the other end gave him the street address and offered no apologies for the delay. Neil thanked her.

He pulled a map from his desk drawer and located Manhattan Island and then Third and Lexington. He didn't recognize the name, only the location, an upscale neighborhood not far from Central Park. Apartments were more than pricey. They were prohibitive. When it came to women, Patrick Nolan ran in expensive circles.

Kate would have to be told. He understood her well enough to know that she would not be dissuaded from following through with this. Neil cursed under his breath. Now was not the time for a jaunt to New York. It was Wednesday, the day Kate drove into Belfast. Resigning himself to the inevitable, Neil picked up the phone and punched in her mobile number.

“Can we meet?” he asked when he heard her voice.

She answered immediately, without hesitation or a single question. “Yes.”

“In front of the city buildings, near the Victoria statue?”

“When?”

“Noon. I'll bring sandwiches.”

“I'll be there.”

She was late. Her cheeks were flushed and her normally smooth hair fell in a dark, slightly disheveled curtain around her face. She was a woman who stood out. Neil could never remember what she wore after he left her, only that it suited her.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I had a last-minute phone call.”

He reached into the bag. “I brought turkey and roast beef. Which will you have?”

“One half of each.”

He laughed, divided the sandwiches and pulled out two bottles of water, handing her one.

They sat on a stone bench facing the street. Neil watched her bite into her sandwich and wished for the impossible, a warm day, a man and woman with no agenda but to share company and a sandwich.

Kate slipped on dark glasses against the rare Irish sun, looked at him and stopped chewing. “I assume you have the address.”

“Yes.”

“Will you give it to me?”

Neil reached out and removed her sunglasses. “No.”

He watched her upper lip tighten.

“I'm going with you,” he said quietly.

“You don't know that I'm going.”

Carefully he fitted the glasses over her ears and pushed them up the bridge of her nose. “You're going.”

She lifted the water bottle to her lips and tilted her head back to drink.

When she smiled his heart twisted.

“You're right,” she said. “Actually I'm glad you'll be going with me. You have resources I know nothing about.”

“I'm taking that as a compliment.”

Kate shrugged.

“Have you been to America?” he asked.

“No, have you?”

“Yes. I'll book the flight and hotel.”

She wanted to ask if they would have separate hotel rooms, but she hadn't the nerve. “Thank you,” she said instead. “I'd like to leave as soon as possible.”

“I also have a name, if you're interested.”

“I am.”

“The number is registered to a Maeve Murphy.”

Stunned, Kate stared at him. Her face paled and when she spoke her voice sounded far away. “That's impossible.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I know Maeve Murphy. She lives in Ardara.”

He had to work not to laugh. “Murphy is the most common name in Ireland. Maeve isn't unusual, either.” “

My Maeve Murphy lives in New York part of the year. She's a glass sculptor, a famous one.”

Neil felt the beginning of an edge. A famous sculptor could afford Lexington and Third. “I'm sure it's a coincidence.”

She did not appear convinced.

“Where is Maeve now?” he asked.

“In Ardara. I spoke with her yesterday. She's a very good friend.”

“Did she know Patrick?”

Kate nodded. “They didn't get on. He thought she was overblown, gaudy. He didn't care for the friendship.”

“His disapproval didn't stop you?”

“Of course it didn't. No one dictates my friends. I was Patrick's wife, not his child. He certainly had enough friends I didn't care for.”

Neil needed a minute to gather his thoughts. He finished his sandwich, collected their trash and looked around for a bin. The questions he burned to ask weren't typical of picnic-lunch conversation. They would have to wait. He had work piling on his desk and a certain Maeve Murphy to check on.

He walked Kate back to her office in the commerce building, past the statue and the huge columns to the double oak door. “When shall I make the reservations?” he asked.

“I'll call you.”

He couldn't read her expression. “I wouldn't do anything on your own, Kate.”

“You haven't given me the address.”

“You do have a name.”

“Yes,” she said thoughtfully.

“Don't do it, Kate,” he warned her. “This is more complicated than you think. The woman could be dangerous. We know nothing yet. Give me a few days.”

She smiled at him and held out her hand. “I'm very grateful to you, Neil. Thank you for lunch.”

He nodded, attempted a smile and turned away. She frustrated him. He wanted to shake her. It shocked him, the depth of his feeling. Even Lydia at her worst hadn't engendered in him this kind of emotion. He remembered only a deep weariness, not the heat and fear that washed through him at the thought of Kate taking matters into her own hands.

Summer days were long in the north and Kate arrived in Ardara before dark. She'd had four hours to go over in her mind what she would do. She pulled into her driveway, her resolve firm. Hitching her purse over her shoulder, she grabbed her briefcase and walked up the porch steps. The door was open and her father stood on the other side, his arm raised in welcome.

Kate fixed a smile on her face. “Hello, Da.”

“I've been waiting an age, Katie. Was the traffic bad?”

“Not too bad. Are you hungry?”

“I thought we could go out.”

“Not tonight.” She walked into the hall and dropped her purse and briefcase in the corner. “I'm tired and I've work to do. Why don't I make something for us?”

“You're always doin' that,” John grumbled.

“I like it,” Kate assured him. “Besides, there is something I'd like to discuss with you.”

“Is it about Kevin?”

Kate shook her head. “Let me change clothes and I'll tell you about it. You can make a salad while you're waiting. Vegetables are in the refrigerator.”

When she joined her father in the kitchen, a credible salad sat in a wooden bowl on the counter. She opened the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of white wine and poured herself a glass. “I've orange and cherry soda, Da. Which would you like?”

He waved aside her offer and looked up from beneath bushy brows. “What's on your mind, Katie?”

She sipped her wine, pushed it away, climbed up on a bar stool, both hands cupping her chin. “It's about Patrick.”

“Aye?”

He wasn't meeting her eyes.

“Is there anything you haven't told me?”

This time he did look at her, a level blue-eyed stare that was direct and uncomfortable. “What is this all about?”

She sighed and dove in. “According to police files, Patrick wasn't just a barrister who defended members of the IRA. He was heavily involved.” She dug her nails into the palms of her hands. “He was an assassin, Da. He arranged for people to be murdered.”

“How did you find out?”

“I demanded answers about the investigation.” She laughed bitterly. “Now I wish I hadn't asked.”

“It doesn't help to bury your head in the sand.”

“There's more,” she said. “There was a woman.” “I don't believe that,” John said flatly.

Kate's mouth twisted. “Your reaction is the same as mine. It's easier to believe he was a murderer than a philanderer?”

“I know that Patrick loved you, Katie. It may have been the only truth he ever told you, but it was the truth. No one looking at the two of you together would believe that man didn't love you.”

“Did you know about the other?”

“Aye. It wasn't difficult to figure out.”

“My head
was
in the sand.” She looked accusingly at her father. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Ah, Katie, what good would it have done? He was your husband. Nothing you could have said would have changed him. It would only have caused terrible trouble in your marriage.” He laid his hand on top of hers. “Would you have left him, lass, because of what I told you?”

She thought a minute, turning the question over in her mind. “I don't know,” she said at last. “I'm not the same person I was six years ago.”

“What are you going to do?”

She turned her hand over and gripped her father's. “I'm going to live, Da. I'm going to raise my children and begin again, without him. I'm going to tell Kevin and Deirdre the truth because they need to know that their father's murder wasn't a random act, that he brought it on himself, that people orchestrate their own destinies and that Patrick reaped what he sowed. They need to know that people in Ireland, normal people, aren't assassinated.” She drew a deep breath. “I'm going to find out about the woman. It's killing me, Da. I'm ashamed to admit this, and may God forgive me, but at this moment I hate him more for the woman than for the blood on his hands.”

Kate hesitated on the footpath in front of Maeve's house. She'd tried to phone but the answer machine was on and Maeve wasn't returning phone calls. Stiffening her resolve, Kate walked up the front steps and rang the bell. One minute passed, then two. She rang again. Still no answer. Where was she? Her message said nothing about returning to New York. Kate stuffed her hands into the pockets of her windbreaker and walked home.

The Aer Lingus flight out of Shannon Airport was only half full. Neil had booked them a window and a middle seat. The one nearest the aisle was empty. Kate hoped her anxiety didn't show. Until Patrick's death, flying never made her nervous. Now she worried about her children and how they would withstand the loss of both parents in the event of a plane crash.

She was very aware of Neil seated beside her, his legs filling up the space between his row and the one in front. She watched him flip through a magazine. His hands were competent and strong, the fingers wide, his nails neatly clipped. He was very attractive in his own quiet, unassuming way. Appreciation welled up inside of her. He was here with her for no reason other than he cared.

He looked at her and smiled encouragingly. She smiled back. He'd been against this trip from the beginning but not a word had been said since they'd boarded the plane. “Thank you,” she said.

He didn't pretend to misunderstand. “You're welcome.”

The engines roared. The ground speed increased. Kate closed her eyes and clutched the armrests. This part was the worst, not knowing if this massive flying machine would actually lift itself from the ground. She felt Neil's hand on hers, warm, reassuring, his thumb circling her palm.

His question wiped the fear from her brain, replacing it with tension of a completely different kind.

“Do you think there's a chance for us?”

“What do you mean?”

“It isn't a trick question, Kate.”

She wet her lips. “You need to be more specific. What exactly is it that you want?”

“A companion, a friend, someone to share my life, a lover.”

Her face flamed. “That's a tall order.”

“Is it?” He looked beyond her, out the window. “We're in the air now.”

Her eyes followed his gaze and widened. “You did that on purpose.”

“Not entirely.” Again he picked up his magazine.

His absorption angered her. Reaching over the armrest, she covered his page with her open hand. “Which part was
not
entirely
?”