This Irish House (28 page)

“Whatever did you do?”

“I'm not sure,” Neil confessed. “I was looking for you. When I couldn't find you I decided to check on Deirdre. I told her that everything would be all right. She seemed to understand. More than likely, it was nothing I did. She was ready.”

“Thank you.”

“There is something else.” He hesitated.

“Go on.”

“Dominick has been linked to Tom McGinnis's death. He's a suspect.”

“The newspapers say that Tom died of natural causes.”

“The autopsy revealed differently.”

“What does this mean?”

“Dominick Nolan is a very dangerous man. He hasn't much to lose. We must be very careful. Peter Clarke is under police protection. I think it would be a good idea for Deirdre.”

Her voice was tight and strained. “What about Kevin?”

Neil relaxed. He should have known Kate would be sensible when it came to her children. “I'll be in touch. Come to the hospital and stay with Deirdre. I'll take care of Kevin.”

L
iam Nolan shook his head. “It's too dangerous. Dominick isn't stupid. After what I've done, he won't be trusting me.”

Neil leaned back in his chair and thought. Liam had agreed to meet him at a pub near the edge of the harbor. He sat across from him, his eyes narrowed and suspicious. “From what you've told us, there is no real proof that Dominick kidnapped Peter Clarke. The boy was blindfolded. Deirdre believes she recognized the man in the mask as her uncle but no court will convict a man on that kind of evidence. Your interfering in his plans for Peter didn't put Dominick in any danger. The McGinnis murder is different.”

Neil could see the light dawn in Liam's eyes. “In other words, I might go so far as to prevent my brother from kidnapping the son of a constable as long as no one is implicated, but I wouldn't betray him to the police for something that would put him away.”

“Precisely.”

Liam shook his head. “You're right about that, Mr. Anderson. I can't do it. Dominick is my brother. Betraying him is like betraying myself.”

Neil changed his strategy. “Your brother is on a crash course, Liam. He's not going to stop here. You said that he's not himself. Perhaps he isn't. Do you want more innocent people killed and the Peace Accord compromised because Dominick has gone off the deep end?”

“He'll go to prison.”

“Yes,” said Neil, “he will. But he won't be the target of a Special Forces Team. They don't ask a man if he'll come along nicely. Dead or alive it's all the same to them.”

Liam paled. “Will you speak for him?”

“Only if he surrenders. Tom McGinnis was IRA. There won't be much sympathy in the courts for him.”

Liam hesitated.

“You'll be helping him if you can get him to turn himself in.”

“Dominick won't do that.”

“Then we have no choice.”

Liam sighed. “I'll think on it.”

“We don't have much time.”

Liam's thoughts turned to Kevin. His nephew, blackhaired, blue-eyed, young, his lean adolescent body as thin and long as a deer rifle, a carbon copy of all who carried the Nolan name, caused him a sharp pang of regret. It was too late for Dominick, but not for Kevin and, perhaps, not too late for Liam as well.

There was no death penalty in Northern Ireland. Prison wasn't forever, not like dying. Nothing was as bad as dying and Dominick was anticipating his demise as surely as if he were standing out in the streets with an Uzi crying, “Shoot me.”

“All right,” he said, not bothering to hide his reluctance. “I'll do it, for Kevin's sake.”

“Have you any idea where Dominick might be?”

“Aye.”

“I won't tell you what to say to him. You know him. You'll have to work that one out yourself.”

Liam shook his head. “This isn't going to be easy no matter how much we plan it. Dominick is my brother. He knows me. It won't be easy to fool him.”

Neil's gaze was steady, level, icy. “Under normal circumstances, I might agree with you, but you've done this before. I'm not worried about your ability to keep yourself tight under fire.”

Minutes ticked by, long, intense minutes where the two men, one who lived outside the law and the other sworn to uphold it, measured each other. It was Liam who spoke first. “I've done things I'm not proud of. I admit it. And so have you, Mr. Anderson. The difference is I was never paid nor protected by the government because of my position.” He smiled slightly. “What have you to say to that?”

Neil's gaze never wavered. “I'll admit to my share of things I'm not proud of, however, killing isn't one of them.”

“You've never killed a man?”

Neil shook his head. “Not by arrangement. We Brits frown on that sort of thing.”

Liam snorted. “You haven't been in Northern Ireland very long. You Brits thrive on killing the Irish and you've been doing it for eight hundred years. Have you ever read the Penal Laws, Mr. Anderson?”

“I seem to recall they were rescinded a while ago,” Neil said dryly.

“Rescinded my bollocks!” Liam's face was red. “We had a bloody revolution and gained our independence. That's when they were rescinded in the Republic, never here, in the North. History wasn't your subject, was it, Mr. Anderson?”

“I'm ashamed to say that I don't know very much Irish history,” Neil said quietly.

“I wouldn't have expected you to,” Liam fired back. “No Brit knows Irish history because they all believe that nothing of historical significance happened outside of England. Answer this for me. Isn't it strange how we Irish all know English history?”

“It makes sense,” said Neil. “I believe the two are interwoven.”

“My point exactly,” replied Liam triumphantly. “We know yours but you don't bother learning ours.”

“I think that gives you a definite advantage. What do you think?”

“I think you're all arrogant sons of bitches.”

Neil grinned and held out his hand. “I can live with that.”

Surprised, Liam blinked, and then stretched out his hand to grip Neil's.

“I suppose you really are out of the common way, but then you're not a real Brit, are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“I heard that you hailed from Wales.”

“I was born and raised in Swansea.”

“That's all right then,” Liam said, smiling reluctantly. “The Welsh have been treated nearly as poorly as the Irish.”

Neil hated to disturb the camaraderie that had so suddenly and unexpectedly cropped up between the two of them, an officer of the law and a member of the Irish Republican Army. This was new for Neil, cooperating with a self-proclaimed terrorist.

He stood. “One more thing. The movement of weapons that you leaked through Kevin. Is it authentic?”

This time it was Liam who grinned. “Not entirely.”

“I'm counting on it being a sham.” He added, “For Kevin's sake.”

“I don't understand.”

“If Kevin is seen as an unreliable witness, he'll be pulled out and sentenced differently. It's what he and his mother want.”

“The weapons will be shipped. But the route will be changed,” offered Liam.

Neil waited.

“I won't be giving you that information, Mr. Anderson. Murder I won't go along with, but I'm not for giving up all our leverage. No one would be listening to Sinn Fein if it weren't for the IRA. When we Nationalists get what we need the same as everyone else, we'll demilitarize. Not before.”

“Someone must go first.”

“It won't be us.”

“Fair enough. As long as Kevin looks like he isn't trusted, it suits my purposes.” He walked to the door. “I'll wait for you to reach me. I want to know what's happening before it happens. At all times I want to know where Kevin is. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Nolan?”

“Perfectly clear, Mr. Anderson.”

Kate pulled into the only empty space in the hospital parking lot, decided she was too close to the neighboring car's passenger door, backed out and reentered. A painful crunching noise and the sudden impact froze her into immobility. “Dear God, not again,” she moaned. This time her insurance surely would cancel her.

Backing out again, she maneuvered her Volvo into the spot at a dead center position and climbed out of the car. The side panel of the sporty Rover she had been trying to avoid was seriously crushed. She closed her eyes, leaned against the side of her Volvo and gave herself up to self-pity mixed in with an unusual dose of temper. Why this? Hadn't she enough on her plate? If she were to compose a résumé of her problems, a daughter so traumatized she'd fallen into a coma, a son caught selling drugs, a husband who'd planned assassinations, who'd cheated with her best friend and was murdered for his pains, no one would believe her. She must have done something dreadful when she was young; something so terrible she could no longer remember what it was because she'd blotted it out. That was it. Retribution. She was Catholic. All Catholics believed in retribution. It was a fact of life, like mortal and venial sin, novenas, no meat on Friday, no divorce, no birth control and Purgatory. A thought occurred to her. Thank God Patrick was dead. Otherwise she would have to divorce him or join half of Ireland and live in sin.

The thought cheered her. Suddenly she felt stirrings of positive energy. Deirdre was recovering and surely Neil was sorting out Kevin's mess. Maeve had fled to New York and Patrick— No, she wouldn't go there. Not yet.

Once again, she looked at the dented Rover. Her Volvo was barely scratched. Summoning new reserves, Kate reached into her purse, pulled out a notepad, scribbled a brief message and her phone number and placed it under the windshield wiper. Immediately she felt better. It was an unfortunate incident, but it was only a car. If the owner was unreasonable, she would offer to trade places with him, his life for hers. The absurdity of her reasoning struck her. She laughed out loud. She was still smiling when she opened the door to Deirdre's room and stepped inside.

The sight of her daughter sitting up in bed reading a magazine as if nothing more had happened to her than a scraped knee stopped Kate short. She stood quietly in the shadow of the door unable to do more than stare in grateful appreciation that her child's resilience had overcome her demons.

“Hello, love,” she called out softly.

Deirdre looked up and smiled. “Hello, Mum. Where have you been?”

Kate closed the door and pulled a chair from the corner to a place beside Deirdre's bed. “I've taken Grandda to his hotel.”

Deirdre's smile faded. “How is Kevin?”

“Kevin's going to be fine, Deirdre. I have a good feeling that we're all going to be together again soon.”

“How can that be?”

“I'll explain later. Right now I want you to tell me what happened to you.”

Deirdre twisted the fringe of the blanket between her fingers.

“Peter gave me his version. But I think there's more to it, isn't there?”

Deirdre looked up guiltily. “I wasn't going to see him anymore, Mum, but I really needed the help in history and he volunteered.”

“Good Lord, Dee. Whatever gave you the idea that you shouldn't see him? He's a perfectly nice boy.”

“He's a Protestant,” Deirdre sat flatly.

“Is something wrong with that?”

Deirdre looked confused. “You told me to be careful.”

“Yes, I did. I would give you that advice about any boy. The fact that the two of you are living in a city where Catholics and Protestants don't usually mingle makes it more difficult. But I never meant for you to believe you couldn't be friendly with someone of a different religious affiliation. I'm sorry if I gave you that impression.”

“You were right,” Deirdre said, her voice low. “Because of me, Peter was nearly hurt.”

“That isn't quite right, Deirdre. None of this is because of you or Peter. Your fathers are responsible. Because of who they were and what they did, you and your friend were held accountable.”

Deirdre looked directly at her mother. “What happens now?”

“We go on.”

“What about Uncle Dominick?”

Kate's face hardened. “Dominick behaved foolishly. I'm afraid he'll have to pay for that.”

“I'm the only one who knew it was him.”

Kate lifted her daughter's hand from the bed cover and held it between both of her own. “Dominick is IRA, Deirdre. This aborted kidnapping of Peter is a very small thing compared to what he's done. I'm afraid he's a suspect in the murder of Tom McGinnis. That's what the charge will be when they arrest him. You won't be involved at all.”

Deirdre was silent for a long time. Finally she spoke. “Tell me about Da.”

Kate chose her words carefully. How much to tell? How much to leave out? “What would you like to know?”

“I figured most of it out a while ago. People aren't murdered the way he was without cause. The reasons you and Grandda gave made no sense to me. Liam told me the rest.”

Kate sighed.

“He didn't want to,” Deirdre hurried on, “but when he came to warn Peter, I asked him and he told me.”

Kate nodded.

“I'm glad he told me, Mum. It cleared up some things for me.”

“I don't understand.”

Deirdre's cheeks were flushed. Her forehead wrinkled in concentration. “The man in the mask with Uncle Dominick was the same man who came for Da. He was in our house that night.”

Kate paled. “That's impossible, Dee. The men who murdered your father weren't IRA. They were Loyalist paramilitaries.”

“It was the same man,” Deirdre insisted. “I recognized his voice and his eyes. He's the same one, Mum. I know it.”

Kate could barely swallow. “Do you know what you're saying?”

Deirdre nodded. “Da was killed by his own.”

“But why?”

“Perhaps we should tell Mr. Anderson.”

“Yes,” Kate replied absently. Questions crowded her mind. Who, among his own people, would have wanted Patrick dead? Patrick was a rarity, a barrister from the Falls. A man loyal to his roots, Patrick gave them his knowledge, his money, his loyalty. How would anyone have benefited from such a loss? Perhaps Neil would know.

Deirdre's words resurfaced. “How do you know Mr. Anderson?” Kate asked.

“He was here when I woke up. I heard his voice. He talked for a long time. In the beginning I was too tired to pay attention, but then he talked about you and how much you needed me to be well and healthy. I believed him,” she said simply. “He seems like a very good man.”

Kate wet her lips. “He is a good man.”

“Is he a Protestant?”

“No, but he's an Englishman, which is even worse.”

Deirdre laughed. “You sound like Grandda.”

Kate smiled. “Don't be cruel. I was teasing.”