Twisted River (20 page)

“Ow!” A couple jostled into Fergus. There was the sound of scuffling as if there were some aggravation behind. All of a sudden, there was tension. People were being pushed about.

“Come on, kids,” said Mannix. “It's a bit too busy just here . . .”

“
Aww, Dad.
Can't we see the rest of the skeletons?”

“Maybe farther on. Come on, Soldier,” he said firmly and took the lead. “We'll catch some more a few blocks up.”

With a start Kate realized her mobile was ringing. She rummaged about her nylon bag and located the lit-up phone.
Spike. What on earth did Spike want? And why was he phoning her?
Pinpricks of alarm went off inside her head. It must be after two in the morning back in Ireland.

“Spike? Is everything okay?”

They had stopped dead on the pavement. Mannix was looking at her curiously now, with a very strange expression.

“Hi, Spike, can you hear me?” said Kate. The line was crackling.

“I can, I can hear you perfectly. Kate, I've got some dreadful news.”

Her heart sank like a stone. This was going to be bad.

“What is it, Kate?” mouthed Mannix.

Kate looked away, concentrating on the call.

“What's happened, Spike?” she asked with dread.

“Hazel Harvey is dead.”

Kate went weak.

“Dead?” she said.

“Dead?” echoed Mannix, sharply.

“I'm afraid so, Kate. Look, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but
Mannix—I couldn't get him. His phone is off. The thing is, Kate, well, you see, the thing is, it very much looks like she was assaulted. In fact, she
was
assaulted.”

“What happened, Spike?”

But in her heart she knew already.
She'd had that feeling. That really bad feeling
.

There was a delay of a second or two and she heard her own voice echo back at her.

“You're not there on your own there, are you, Kate? Manny's there with you?”

“Yeah. He's here. Standing next to me.”

Mannix put out his hand to ask for the phone. She shook her head.

“The guards are here, Kate. It looks like Hazel was assaulted in the driveway outside.”

Assaulted?
Jesus. She turned her back on the kids and managed to walk a few steps away. Her legs felt strange.

“What do you mean, assaulted?”

“Her skull was bashed in with a garden spade.”

“Oh, my God . . .”

Kate made no protest as Mannix prized the mobile from her grip.

“Spike? Spike? What's going on there, man?”

Kate could see that the kids were becoming alarmed and she led them away to some steps outside a shop.

“What's happened, Mum?” asked Izzy. Already Izzy knew that it was serious.

But Kate was unable to answer. She sat on the step shaking her head. Oh, God. How could this have happened? In the driveway of her home, a woman had been murdered. Her skull smashed in. Kate was finding it hard to take it all in. This was unthinkable. They were an ordinary family. Why was this horror being visited on them? And yet in her heart she felt she knew exactly what had happened.

Mannix spent the next few minutes speaking in hushed tones as he scuffed imaginary stones in the street.

“Let's get back to the apartment.
Now
,” he said to Kate.

Fergus and Izzy didn't say a word.

“I know who did it,” Kate said quietly, as soon as the kids were out of earshot.

“You do?” said Mannix, looking at her strangely. “I really don't see how . . .”

“Oh, I know who did it, all right,” she said. “And so do you.”

RIVERSIDE DRIVE, MANHATTAN

HALLOWEEN

I
t was past ten o'clock when they got back to upper Manhattan. Mannix knew that Kate was dreading that Du Bois might be on duty and was relieved to see he wasn't. She couldn't face him, knowing what they knew. In the cab, Kate had told the kids that there had been an accident at home, that they would be heading back to Ireland ahead of plan, just as soon as they could change their tickets.

“Is it the lady who's staying in our house?” asked Fergus.

“Yes, Fergus. It is. She's had an accident. A dreadful accident.”

Without asking any more questions, the children seemed to know that she was dead.

“I'd better go and pack my things,” said Izzy, making for her room.

“Me too,” said Fergus, sadly. He fiddled with the shoulder straps of his backpack. Mannix knew that Fergus would spend the next hour or so packing and repacking his suitcase, until it was just to his liking. Red T-shirts could not be packed on top of navy ones. Dirty underwear would have to be bagged in three layers of plastic bags and at the opposite end of the suitcase from his toilet bag. The task would take even longer tonight, as Fergus was upset at the news. Bravely trying to absorb it all, but upset nonetheless.

Mannix was upset too. Tragedy had come to visit them. A knot of dread twisted in his gut. He knew that this was bad, all right. And it was also possible that at this moment
, Mannix was the only one who knew just how bad this was.

Heart in his mouth, he turned his mobile phone back on and waited for the signal to appear. Sure enough, just as Spike had said, there they were. Seventeen missed phone calls. Spike had been trying him for hours. Releasing a held-in breath, Mannix began to check his texts. There were only three since he last used the phone.
All from the same sender, just as he expected.
Holding his breath again, he opened them in quick succession.

Jesus.

Mannix steadied himself, feeling his knees about to buckle. He read the texts again.
Christ, no!
This couldn't be right. He was misinterpreting. But already his head was full of horrible images. He was reading too much into the words, he must have read them wrongly. But after a third and rapid scan, the meaning of the words was sinking in, their significance ever more terrifying.

As only Mannix could know, the texts had a hidden meaning. Though the messages were disguised, they had a certain logic. The awful truth was there in front of him. And yet Mannix was the only one who knew. He felt himself go clammy and he started to perspire.
This whole day had taken a terribly wrong turn.

“Mannix!” shouted Kate from the bedroom.

He was going to have to tell Kate. He was going to have to tell her now.

“Coming,” he called, as he splashed cold water on his face from the tap in the kitchen. Mannix walked slowly to the bedroom. He would tell her now. He'd somehow find the words.

“I've got something to show you,” said Kate, sitting on the bed. She was holding something in her lap.

“What's that?”

He allowed himself to be distracted.

“It's a diary. It's Hazel Harvey's diary . . .”

Taken aback, Mannix sat on the bed. His stomach was churning. “I dunno, Kate, isn't that disrespectful?” He stalled for time.

“Yes, Mannix, of course it is. And in the normal run of events, I wouldn't dream of it. But whatever is going on here, it's a far cry from any kind of
normal
. A bloody far cry indeed.” Kate was shaking her head.

Mannix stared at her, and opened his mouth to speak, but she continued.

“This was the book that Hazel had left behind. The one from the other night—that Du Bois asked us to take up to the apartment here, remember?”

He nodded.

“I didn't realize,” said Kate. “I had no idea what it was. I had a quick flick through, I didn't mean to pry. I meant to put it down but something caught my eye. And I didn't say anything to you at the time because I felt like I was spying, and I know how much you hate gossip . . .”

What was Kate talking about? Was all of this really necessary, with everything else going on? He felt his eyes glaze over.

“Mannix, are you all right? You're sweating . . .”

“It's just that it's a bit hot in here. Don't you think it hot?”

“I'll turn down the controls. Just you read this page and the following three or four. All the entries are about the same time, all in September.” Kate laid the open diary on his lap.

Finding it difficult to concentrate, he let his eyes come into focus and rest on the open page. As he followed the handwriting, he could see why Kate had been so disturbed.

Hazel Harvey had been a woman in distress. In some considerable emotional and physical distress. A surge of surprise ran through him as he read. It was all here. Verbal abuse. The punch in the stomach. Her head smacked up against a wall. A bruised throat and face. An initial reluctance followed by an inability to return to work. He read on. Hazel mentioned a friend called Elizabeth who was advising her. Advising her to go the authorities.

An able writer, Hazel clearly communicated the fear and the naked violence that was being waged against her. And yet for some
reason, Hazel Harvey was reluctant to leave him. Reluctant to call time on her marriage. In Mannix's eyes, there were fewer creatures further down the food chain than men who beat their women. Hazel Harvey had clearly seen the holiday in Ireland as an effort to patch up her toxic marriage.

“Well, what do you think?” Kate came back with a glass of ice water.

“I can see where you're coming from, Kate,” he said, head pounding and heart racing.

“So, are you thinking what I'm thinking?” she asked.

Mannix didn't answer. Already his head was in another place, another time. He was thinking back to his forty-third birthday. The day he ran like a scalded cat from Joanne Collins's flat.

 • • • 

It was nearing the end of August 2011 and Mannix was almost forty-three. Everyone had assumed he was morose because he was unhappy about getting older. Kate had noticed it. Spike had noticed it. Even the kids had noticed it.

“How's tricks? Midlife crisis, is it, Mannix?” asked cheeky Jim, the newly employed building maintenance guy.

“Listen, you little shite, don't think because you've been taken on as permanent, you can speak to your elders like that!” Mannix told him.

“Ah, sure, you'll be getting an open-top car that's too small for you next, and a bit of a young one on the side . . .”

He'd glared at Jim, who realized then that he'd gone too far. Things in Mannix's life were far from simple at the moment. This latest business with Joanne had really freaked him out. Mannix suddenly realized the damage of false expectation, the folly of living in such a fantasy. And he was genuinely fearful of where Joanne had thought this thing they had was going.

Joanne hadn't played by the rules. The rules were no commitment, no expectation. This was not a relationship. It was a thing. A sex thing. Mannix had his family. Joanne had Grace. But he had been misled. He thought about that awful evening after work. It had struck him like a thunderbolt then, just how stupid he'd been. Why did he think he'd
be the one to get away with it? But there was no way Mannix could have expected
that
.

He could still see it now. The blue and white iced cake. The squiggly icing piped around the sides. Four white candles. The piped blue writing. And those three words.
Happy Birthday Daddy
. He remembered staring dumbstruck and then looking at Grace's smiling face. Poor little Grace. No three words had ever struck such terror in his heart. He'd turned on his heel and run from the flat, unable to deal with the shock. Unable to deal with the monumental leap that Joanne had made.

“You are kidding me, Manny?” Spike had said when he told him.
“Joanne Collins?”
Spike shook his head in disbelief. “Joanne Collins, of all people—that mad dancer from out in County Limerick?”

Mannix hung his head. He didn't know if Joanne was from out the county or not. He really knew precious little about her. Here's what Mannix knew: Joanne had a great body. They had a bit of a laugh together. He enjoyed the sex. Beyond that he didn't care. But poor Grace. Why did she have to be brought into it? That had altered everything.

“But I could have told you all about her, Manny. That woman has form . . .” Spike speaking sagely and shaking his head.

“What does that mean?”

Mannix had a feeling he wouldn't like what he was going to hear.

“Well, bro, she's a stage five clinger, for a start. Joanne Collins has been in and out of my nightclub for years. Desperate to find a man. Prefers the married guys for some reason. All the guys she's been with before had wives and families. Last I knew, she was with that property developer J. J. Hogan.”

All the guys she'd been with before? Wives? Families?
The words were ringing in Mannix's ears. Mocking him.
J. J. Hogan?
Christ, she'd been there? That guy was a tube. The more he thought about it, the more he realized what a fool he had been. So Mannix had just been another gullible candidate in a long line of liaisons?

“What am I going to do here, Spike?”

Mannix really had no feel for quite how worried he needed to be. Maybe it wouldn't be a problem. He could extricate himself gently
and Joanne might be content to let things slide, upset at first, but sensitively handled, she might let him go, and after an interval, she'd be ready to move on to the next guy.

“You need to make it plain that this is over,” said Spike. “I don't know what stunts she's pulled in the past but I never heard of one like this. She obviously really likes you, Manny. And it sounds like her kid certainly does.”

“Thanks, Spike. Just what I wanted to hear. That really helps,” he said sarcastically.

“You asked,” said Spike.

“Look, I'm sure I'll think of something,” said Mannix, “but do you think she's likely to cause me trouble?”

“Tell Kate, you mean?”

“Exactly.”

The very thought of it made him shiver
. He couldn't—no, he wouldn't—even contemplate it.

Spike appeared to give his worry some consideration. “No . . . no, I don't think so,” he said. “Look, Manny, I can't say for sure but I don't think the woman is a home wrecker. I never heard of any of the other guys' wives ever finding out. But like I say . . .” He left the sentence hanging.

There it was again, that phrase, “the other guys.” Mannix had known it was only sex, a bit of fun, a beer or a glass of red wine or two. So why did he feel sullied and cheap? Had he really expected this woman to be his little secret? Why shouldn't she have a past? It was a free world. Why shouldn't she sleep with whoever she wanted? And yet Mannix couldn't now get that picture out of his head. Joanne with J. J. Hogan. Loudmouthed, smarmy J. J. Hogan, who owed money to half the town.

Spike ran a hand over his stubbly chin. “I must say I'm a trifle surprised at you, Manny. I always thought that you and Kate were good.”

“We were. That is to say, we are.” He suddenly felt defensive. “It's just that in the last year, with the money hassles and everything, I guess I took my eye off the ball.”

“Don't talk to me about hassle. I've got those psycho Bolgers breathing down my neck.”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Mannix. “But I do love her, Spike. I do love Kate.”

“She'd have your guts for garters, Manny . . .”

“Please!” Mannix held up a hand signaling Spike to stop.

“I'm just saying.”

“Well, don't.”

“It's not as if you're a saint yourself, Spike,” Mannix added.

“But I'm not the one who's married, Manny.”

Mannix was taken by surprise. Spike was giving him that look. The look that Kate sometimes gave him. The disappointed look—the look he absolutely hated. Such opprobrium from his laid-back brother stung.

“I don't get you, Spike . . .” Mannix shook his head.

“Ah, jeez, Manny. Marriage isn't for me, even I know that. I'm not cut out for it.” Spike blew a smoke ring in the air. “But you—I looked up to you, Manny. I thought you and Kate would make a go of it. You, Kate, and the kids. Hell, Manny—you guys are the only decent family I've got. It means a lot to me, Mannix, you know . . .”

Mannix sat stunned by his brother's outburst. Spike was not given to such frank exchanges. Serious matters were normally only hinted at or approached sideways. Rarely full-on.

Spike stubbed out his cigarette and looked Mannix solemnly in the eye. “I know I act the maggot. I know I play Kate up from time to time. But you're my family.” He paused. “Hey, where would I go to watch my Man U matches? I enjoy those winter evenings on the couch—you, me, and Ferg. Where would I go for my Christmas dinner?” Spike laughed, half joking, half serious.

“Stop it, Spike!” Mannix's heart had started to race. “Stop painting a doomsday scenario! Kate doesn't know anything. And that's the way it's going to stay.”

“Well, I hope so, Mannix. For all our sakes. You'd better sort it out, bro.”

“Don't worry, I'm on it.”

“Good. Kate's one of the good guys, you know, Mannix. She's a great girl.”

“Enough, okay! I get the message.”

Mannix left Spike's flat, grubby, dejected, and very worried.
So, was he safe?
He didn't know. He would have to think very carefully how he was going to phrase his exit speech, his get-out-of-jail-free speech.

And the way it happened, it was Joanne who made the first move. It was the second-ever e-mail she'd sent him, having agreed that she wouldn't again use his company e-mail. They had agreed to communicate by text. Perhaps by breaking that arrangement and e-mailing him again, it might concentrate his attention even more.