This Irish House (31 page)

“Very well. Martin Crosse confessed to more than one murder. He named his accessories to that one as well. In case you wondered, you were not left out.”

“Martin and I have done a number of eliminations together. We were at war.”

“This one was much more personal in nature. Do I have to spell it out?”

Dominick's hand shot out and knocked aside the chair. “Wait outside, Kevin,” he ordered. “Stay by the door.”

“Wait!” Neil held up his hand. “My men won't know him from you. Let me call them.”

Dominick held out his hand. “Give me the phone.”

Neil handed it over.

Dominick flipped it open and gave it to Kevin. “You call.”

Neil nodded. “It's programmed,” he said to the boy. “Not to worry. Just punch the number five. You'll get through.”

Kevin's hand shook. Almost immediately a voice responded. Lifting the phone to his ear, Kevin identified himself. “I'm coming out,” he said. “Mr. Anderson will be staying.”

Kevin threw Neil a last desperate look before slamming the door behind him.

Neil closed his eyes and waited, one second, two, five, ten. Slowly he unclenched his hands. McElroy and Hartwell had received the message.

“Now,” said Dominick softly, “we're alone.”

“I can't offer you amnesty any longer. Crosse's confession of your brother's assassination is too big. It has political ramifications. The prime minister is involved.”

“Are you telling me I should kill you now and be done with it?”

Neil shrugged. “In all honesty, I don't see that my death would do you any good. If I were in your shoes, I might take a hostage in the hope of leaving the country. It's a chance.”

Dominick's eyebrow quirked diabolically over one blue eye. “You surprise me, Anderson.”

“How so?”

“Your honesty is unusual. I don't remember anyone ever volunteering to become a hostage.”

“If the choice is between death and abduction, it's the lesser of two evils.”

Dominick laughed. “Perhaps not.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Murder your own brother.”

“I didn't intend to. That was never the plan. I thought we'd shake him up a bit. He was going careful on us. Somehow, before we got there, the plan changed. I still don't know why. I wasn't in on it. It wasn't official. No one knew but Crosse and Kelly.”

Neil interrupted. “Joe Kelly.”

“Aye. It turned my stomach but I couldn't say anything, not to the Provos or anyone. They would have killed us.”

“He was your brother. How could you live with it?”

“What was the alternative?”

Oddly enough, Neil understood. He had his own demons, many that had not been exorcised, but rather pushed away into the corners of his memory to be taken out and relived in bad moments. “What will you do now?”

“That depends. Will this be made public?”

“Yes.”

Dominick sighed. Reaching down, he righted the chair he'd upset and sat down. “Do you ever get tired of it all, Anderson?”

“Yes.”

“How do you go on?”

“Retirement comes early, for good reason.”

“I'm tired,” Dominick volunteered. “I simply want the whole bloody mess to go away.”

“Why did you target Peter Clarke?”

“Blackmail. Geoffrey Clarke arranged for Loyalist paramilitaries to take the blame for Patrick's death. Clarke has three other children. I knew he'd be less willing to blow the whistle on us if he thought the others would go the way of Peter.”

“After all this time, he isn't in a position to say anything.”

Dominick shrugged. “One never knows. Kate had the investigation reopened. I didn't want to take any chances. I thought Clarke needed reminding.”

“Tell me you wouldn't have murdered the boy.”

Dominick shook his head. “Despite all this, you're still a Boy Scout, aren't you, Anderson?”

“Not really.”

“We would have killed him.”

Neil was disgusted. “God help you.”

“I doubt if He wastes much time thinking of me.”

Neil waited. They had run out of conversation. Dominick's next words surprised him.

“I can't go back to Belfast with the world knowing I was responsible for Patrick's murder.”

“I agree.”

“Even in prison, I wouldn't last long.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Would you mind turning around, Mr. Anderson?”

Neil hesitated.

Dominick laughed. “I won't shoot you.”

Slowly Neil turned so that his back was to Dominick. Minutes passed. He heard a click and wondered at it. The sound registered at the exact moment he heard the shot. Turning, he saw Dominick with his head thrown back and blood pouring from his throat.

The door crashed open and Kevin burst into the room. “Mr. Anderson,” he screamed, “Neil.”

Neil shook his head.

Kevin stared, first at his uncle and then at Neil. “Thank God,” he whispered before flinging himself against the police officer and wrapping his arms around him.

“It's all over, lad,” Neil managed to say before the boy broke down into shuddering sobs.

K
ate woke to the blare of her alarm. Groggily she groped for the familiar feel of the clock on her nightstand, managed the snooze button and signed with relief. Her throat felt like sandpaper. Wearily she opened one eye, glanced at the time and groaned. It was nearly seven and she'd had two hours of sleep, at the most. The ache, never far from the center of her stomach, hit with full force. She curled into a fetal position and pulled the covers over her head.

Would she ever feel normal again? When would she awaken without the weight of betrayal or fear of nausea? Would life ever work with the smooth symmetry of her younger years? She rolled over and tentatively stretched her legs. Not that her life had ever
really
worked smoothly. She just thought it had. Reality was that she had lived a fantasy.

Slowly she worked her legs over the side of the bed, slid off the mattress and stood, swaying slightly. When she felt balanced enough to walk, she padded down the hall to Deirdre's room and peeked inside. Deirdre was sleeping the same way she had as a little girl, on her stomach, one arm thrown over her head with her face tucked into the crook of her elbow. Deirdre was safely home. Kate breathed a silent thank you, closed the door and walked back to her own room. If only she could say the same about Kevin.

Until yesterday, Neil had reported regularly on Kevin's whereabouts. Yesterday evening all communication had stopped. Kate was terrified. Her appetite had completely deserted her. Work was no longer a possibility. She spent her hours silently pacing from one room to the next. Occasionally when claustrophobia set in, she would pull on sweats, lace her running shoes and cover the miles between Ardara and the Coast Road in record time.

Oddly enough it was in her worst moments that she appreciated the beauty all around her, hills wet with mist, peat bogs dark and rich and mysterious, ripe with memories of creatures whose thundering steps had pressed them into existence eons ago, a west-facing cliff, the ocean rolling in below it, valleys smooth and gently rounded, bowls of green, a green purer, richer and more vibrant than any that existed outside of Ireland. This was why those who left moved to cities, London, New York, Boston, Chicago. They couldn't bear to live in a country nowhere near as lovely as Ireland.

What if Kevin were to miss all of this? What if he never experienced the joys of adulthood, the choices, the freedom, the challenge of responsibility? The horror of it stopped her in midthought, her mind refusing to follow its natural inclination. If only Neil would call. She felt her eyes swell. Pressing her fingers against her lids, she willed the tears back.

“Katie?” John O'Donnell's voice called from downstairs.

She leaned over the banister. “Shh. Deirdre's Sleeping.”

“It's going on eight o'clock,” said her father. “She'll sleep away the day.”

“She needs the rest, Da. Please, lower your voice.”

It was too late. A yawning Deirdre emerged from her room. “Good morning,” she said. “Did I hear Grandda's voice?”

“You did, lass,” he called from the bottom of the stairs. “I came over for a bite of breakfast.”

Deirdre looked at her mother. “Are you in the mood to cook, or shall I?”

“I'll do it. Let me dress first.” Kate called down to her father. “Start the tea. I'll be down in a minute.”

Deirdre smiled at her mother. “Don't worry. I was nearly awake. Have you heard anything from Kevin?”

Kate shook her head. “Neil hasn't called since yesterday.”

Deirdre's smile faded. “Oh my God, Mum. Isn't there anything we can do?”

“I don't think so, Deirdre. I have no idea where Dominick might go. Liam knows but he won't tell me. He thinks it's dangerous and that I should leave everything to the authorities.”

“He's right. After all, what could you do?”

Kate thought a minute. “I could talk to Kevin, perhaps calm him a bit. He's bound to be terrified.”

“Is there anyone else who knows?”

“I don't think so. There—” She stopped, her tongue stumbling over the name, Maeve. “I can't think of anyone who would tell me what Liam won't.”

“We'll have to trust Mr. Anderson.” She crossed the hall and hugged her mother. “Hurry and dress. Grandda will be restless.”

In a way, her father was a blessing, thought Kate. His blustering manner and absurd suggestions had the effect of reorienting her.

“Why do you think he isn't calling us?” John fumed, tapping his fingers on the wooden table.

Kate passed him the buttered toast. “I don't know.”

“It's possible there's no phone reception,” said Deirdre.

John's face brightened. “You've hit it on the head, Dee.” He slapped his knee. “Did you hear her, Katie. There's no reception.”

“I did,” said Katie, throwing her daughter a grateful look.

“I always said Dominick Nolan was a bad sort,” said her father, between mouthfuls of egg. “He's sneaky, not a bit like Patrick and Liam.”

Kate looked down at her untouched plate and felt the bile rise in her throat. “I wouldn't say that Patrick and Liam were patterns of virtue.”

She felt two pairs of eyes staring at her. “Well, it's true,” she said defensively.

“Patrick was Deirdre's father, Katie,” her father remonstrated.

“Thank God she's nothing like him.”

“Mum!” Deirdre's eyes were wide with shock. “I've never heard you say anything negative about Da in my life.”

“She won't again,” her grandfather reassured her.

Kate pressed her fork into her napkin first horizontally and then vertically. She liked the way the lines crisscrossed in an orderly fashion. She liked her life orderly. She'd planned it that way. Damn Patrick.

Had anything between them been real? When she scrutinized their marriage, really looked at it, brought it out under the magnifying glass, held it up to the light and polished it, they'd had little in common beyond the children. She loved travel, exploring museums and restored castles. He preferred beach vacations when he could be persuaded to leave home. He liked reading deep, political commentaries. She was a fan of escapist fiction. He'd hated the heat. Their bed had been a battle zone with Patrick throwing off the covers while she burrowed under down and flannel. Kate hoped he was in a particularly hot place in hell.

“Patrick was a murderer,” she said deliberately, “a murderer, a liar and a cheater.” She looked up at Deirdre. “If you know that, if you hear it from me, you'll manage when you hear it from others. And you will hear it, Deirdre. This isn't over yet. When Neil arrests Dominick, everything will come out. I want you to be prepared for it. It won't be easy, but if you can come up with a strategy for bearing the rumors, it will at least be tolerable. Do you understand me?”

Deirdre's eyes Were bright with tears. One spilled over and rolled down her cheek. She nodded. “This is really awful, isn't it?”

For once John was silent.

Kate shook her head. “The past is awful. The present isn't. Neither is the future. We'll get beyond this.”

“What about Kevin?”

Fear, desperate and all consuming closed around Kate's heart. “I don't—”

John held up his hand. “Listen.”

Through the frozen silence, Kate heard it, the sound of an car coming up the long driveway. She leaped up from the table, raced through the door and out into the day. Kevin, framed by the sea and the new light of a milky sun, climbed out of Neil's car and ran toward her.

Later, when the heightened emotions of seeing her son alive and eager and safely walking up the footpath of his own home, had faded, Kate would relive this moment in her mind, the impact of his ropey young body when he threw himself into her arms, the smell of his hair, the soft down on his cheeks, the rapid beating of his heart, the hard, hurting pressure of his hands on her back, the swelling of her own heart, so that it seemed too large for her chest.

She was aware of Deirdre and her father behind her, of Neil standing before her, grinning, but her focus was Kevin, all arms and legs and lean young body, black hair, blue eyes, blurred now with tears. She clung to him, lifting her head to kiss his cheeks, his chin, his forehead, pulling his head down to her shoulder. She tasted dirt and salt and skin. She inhaled the smoky turf smell of him. Pulling him closer, into the safety of her arms, she pressed his head down on her shoulder. For the first time in years he made no attempt to resist her, allowing the mother part of her, the instinctive protective pull of parent to child, to envelop him. She felt warm wet streaks against her cheeks, his tears or hers? She didn't know, didn't care. “There, there, love,” she crooned. “It's all right now. Everything is all right now.”

Too soon he left her embrace to be smothered first by his sister and then his grandfather, their welcomes no less enthusiastic than Kate's. So absorbed was she in her family's reunion, that she nearly missed Neil's exit. He had turned on the ignition and was backing down the road, when she ran after him, signaling him to stop. He rolled down the window and waited for her.

“You're not leaving?” she asked when she'd caught up with him.

“I'll call you tomorrow. The four of you need this time to yourselves. I don't want to intrude.”

She straightened, her hands on her hips. “Come back with me this instant. I want to know what happened.”

Neil's face was grim. “It's not pretty, Kate. Dominick shot himself.”

“Dear God.” Her hand was at her throat. “Please tell me Kevin wasn't there.”

“He was outside. But he ran in when he heard the shot. He was afraid I had been killed. I managed to get him out as soon as possible, but he saw Dominick.”

“No.”

“He's a brave lad, Kate. There's plenty of steel in him. He handled himself well. You can be proud of him. I'm sure he'll be all right. He wasn't in the room when I told Dominick we knew about his role in Patrick's death.”

“Deirdre knows. It isn't right for her to know and for Kevin to be kept in the dark. Both of them are his children.”

“Do whatever you think is best.”

She hesitated. “Neil.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“I'll call you tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you won't stay?”

He shook his head. “Not this time. Kevin needs to be with family. I imagine he's seen enough of me for a while.”

“How can I ever thank you?”

“I'll think of a way.”

She heard the laugh in his voice and laughed back. How easy it was. “I'm sure you will. Don't stay away too long.”

“Do you mean that?”

She tilted her head to one side and considered his question. “Actually I do,” she said.

“I won't disappoint you.”

She watched him drive away. A small, ridiculous kernel of fear cropped up in her mind. What if all this was too much for him? What if he thought seriously about everything and came to the conclusion that two needy children and the widow of a terrorist was more than he was willing to take on? What would she do without him?

The familiar self-preservation mode she had cultivated rose like shackles around her. Self-doubt, her most serious flaw, had a way of crushing her confidence, of dousing her with a healthy portion of reality. Oddly enough it was Maeve's words she thought of.
I've
never
been
sorry
to
see
a
man
go,
Kate.
If
he
doesn't
realize
what
he
has
in
me,
he
isn't
worth
having.
Incredibly she would miss Maeve. She already missed her, more than she missed Patrick.

They waited for her on the porch, her family, holding back questions, wondering where they would go now. They weren't complete without her. It pleased her, this codependency among the four of them. For this moment it seemed a tremendous responsibility, one she would gladly hold on to forever. She hooked arms with her children and kissed her son. “I'm sure you're famished. What would you like to eat?”

Kevin laughed. “The world falls apart and Mum still wants to know what to cook.”

“Lucky for you,” his mother retorted. “The refrigerator's full.”

“When has it ever not been full?” Deirdre asked.

“After Kevin and his friends come home after school,” said Kate.

“You didn't really mind, did you, Mum?” Kevin's expression was worried. Kate thought of the rough-and-tumble innocence of those lost days and nearly broke down. What she wouldn't give for them again. “No, love,” she said.

“What happens now?” John asked when they were seated around the sunlit kitchen table.

“What do you mean?” Kate buttered a second piece of toast. Her appetite had miraculously returned.

“Will Kevin continue here at school? Does he have anything left to do in Belfast?”

“I don't know.” She looked at Kevin. “Do you?”

He shook his head. “I haven't been back to Belfast, not since Neil found me. He didn't say anything.”

“Well then,” said his mother bracingly. “We'll wait and see. No one's going anywhere. As far as school, perhaps we can talk about that after Kevin rests a bit.”

“I'm not really tired, but I will take a shower.” He stood, his throat working. “I'm glad to be back.”

Deirdre stood and ran around the table to hug her brother. “Oh, Kevin. We're so glad to have you here.”

Kevin's arms enfolded her. “I've made a mess of things, Dee. I wish I could take everything back.”