Twisted River (22 page)

“Just once, was it just the once?” She ignored him.

“No,” he replied.

“I see,” she said. She bit down on her bottom lip.

“Sit down, Kate.”

Like a ghost, she made for the far side of the bed and perched herself on the edge, knees and arms crossed in a protective body hug.

“Do you love her?”

“God, no! No, of course I don't love her. It was only sex, Kate. I love you.”

She looked at him now, her lip curling, with a look he'd never seen before. It was a mixture of loathing and disgust.

“I know you can't see that now, Kate. But it's true.”

“So you're having an affair, is that what this is about? You're telling me that you're having an affair?”

“I'm afraid it's a bit more than that, Kate. It's a whole lot more serious than that.”

He had her frozen attention now.

“We had a thing, yes. But it's over. At least, I thought it was—up until a week or so ago. I told her it was over a long time back. But she wouldn't let it go. I tried to tell you back then. I was going to tell you but for some reason it didn't happen. I didn't know what she was going to do, Kate. I had no idea what she was capable of. I never knew she was unbalanced. That she was a fantasist, a crazy, crazy fantasist.”

“I don't know if I can listen to any more of this . . .” Kate had clutched her ears, blocking what he was trying to tell her. Her eyes were closed.

Mannix got up and walked around to the other side of the bed.

“Believe me, Kate, I wouldn't tell you any of this”—he prized her hands from her ears—“but you really need to know. I wish I could have spared you all this pain. But it's out of my hands now. I don't have a choice.”

“You selfish, selfish prick.” Kate didn't shout but she looked at him so blackly he wished she'd screamed her head off. “Where do you get off doing this to me? After all the years I've stood by you. I had my bloody chances too, you know.”

“I'm sure you did, Kate, and you can be mad at me all you like later, but for now you've got to listen.”

“Tell me, then, tell me how I'm in danger.” Her voice was measured.

“Well, I saw this woman a few times in her flat and sometimes her daughter would be there. I think she got the wrong end of the stick because somehow I think she thought I was going to leave you. She had some mad idea in her head that I would be a father to her child. That in some crazy, twisted version of happy families, that they would come to live with me and Izzy and Fergus . . .”

“And me? What was to happen to me? Where was I in all of your new lovely modern family?” Kate asked, dripping with sarcasm.

Mannix thought back. For three whole weeks there had been no contact. He'd satisfied himself that Joanne had resigned herself to the fact that their affair was over. Perhaps she already had a new man. Yet Spike had no reported sightings of her in the nightclub. Still, he was happy that the texts had ceased. He'd found himself relaxing into
the delicious routine of mundane family life. Then, out of the blue, they started coming again, this time more bizarre in tone. Apocryphal.

“Well, that's just it, Kate. I told her that I couldn't leave you. The thing was that I was trying to get her off my back, so I said that if I ever left you'd never let me see the kids. That I could never do that. I thought that it would work. Joanne knew how much I love Izzy and Fergus. And it seemed to work, at least for a while, but then she started texting me again. At first, I didn't take too much notice but then they started to creep me out. I thought she was only trying to scare me into meeting her again. But this past week, the texts got weirder and weirder.”

“What texts are these?” asked Kate. “So that's why you've been glued to your phone ever since we arrived?”

“Yes. I could see what Joanne was driving at all the time, but I really thought that she was bluffing. She'd seemed like a normal down-to-earth woman before. There was never any indication of . . . of . . . what she was about to do. As I say, she'd never before spoken like that when I was seeing her.”

Kate flinched.

Mannix was aware that in trying to explain the gravity of the situation, he was hurting Kate even more. But the time for sensitivity had passed. Kate would soon realize that herself. There was too much at stake now. Mannix pulled his mobile phone from his pocket.

There had been the initial rash of apologetic texts seeking another meeting, Joanne saying she was sorry she had gone so far. She'd never attempted the immediacy of an actual mobile call. Mannix had been relieved about that. Of course, she realized now that she was being selfish. Of course Mannix couldn't give his kids up. Joanne would explain to Grace. He'd be their secret. He'd deleted all of these initial texts.

Mannix knew that what he was about to do might seem cruel. But he also knew that it was necessary. Slowly he walked around to Kate's side of the bed and handed her the phone.

“Forgive me, Kate, but I think the only way to explain it is for you to read Joanne's texts.”

Kate took the mobile with a shaking hand.

“‘Before you, there were others,'”
read Kate aloud.
“‘But I know now that what we had was real. We will have all that and more again.'”

“‘Trust in me and I will find a way,'”
she continued. “Jesus, her texts have all the charm of those tacky fridge magnets.”

“I know,” said Mannix awkwardly. “Read on.” He sat with her as she opened and closed the texts.

“‘We will win the fight and love will be our trophy.'
This tripe is making me sick . . .” sneered Kate.

“‘I have tried loving you from afar and now I know it isn't possible. There is a way. And I will find it. Your Joanne.'”

Kate's tone was mocking as she struggled through the texts and as the texts turned vicious, she delivered them more slowly.
“‘Your wife is a BITCH. I see now what you mean. Your life must be hell, my love. Be patient. Our day will come.'”

Mannix's felt like a reprobate as Kate was forced to read this drivel.

“‘Very soon now, we will all be together. Stay strong for me and keep the faith.'”

She was whispering now.

“‘I see what you mean. It's lovely here in the park. I love the boardwalk as does Grace. Clancy Strand will suit us very well. Your Joanne.'”

Kate fell silent as she scanned the next text. It was sent on Saturday. Their first full day in New York. The Harveys' first full day in Limerick.

“‘I saw the inside of your house today. Grace will love it too. Don't worry, your BITCH wife doesn't have a clue. Not long now, my love. Your Joanne.'”

And for the first time as Kate read aloud Mannix heard fear in her voice. He wondered if she'd seen ahead.

“She was in our house?”
Kate looked at Mannix. “That woman was in our home?” Kate's eyes flashed with fear and anger. “On Saturday? This was sent last Saturday, so how did she get in?” Kate stopped and thought a moment. Something had occurred to her. “The meter reader? The person who came to read the gas that we don't have?”

“I don't know, Kate. Really, I don't. But I'm guessing that it's possible . . .”

Kate resumed reading aloud.

“‘You may find it hard at first to see the meaning in my method. But in time, you too will see it was the only way. I know you long to be with us. Your Joanne.'
This is freaky stuff, Mannix. I don't know what you've got yourself mixed up in but this woman writes from another planet.”

There were only two more texts to go. Mannix knew that. One sent yesterday. One today. The ones that had made his blood run cold.

“‘I must be brave. I know what I must do. It is the only way and it is within my grasp.'”

Kate looked up at Mannix as she read. Then slowly she read the last one. It was a moment or so before she read it aloud.

“‘It's done. It will be hard for Izzy and Fergus at first. But they will come to love me. I am a good mother. It will be hard for you too, for a few days. I need to give you space now. I know that. But after the funeral, I will come. Grace and I are busy packing. Your Joanne.'”

Kate dropped the mobile as if it were a burning coal.

“Does this mean . . . was she the one who . . . ?”

Kate remained unable to utter the terrifying words.

It had taken Mannix a few confused and foggy seconds to arrive at the same unthinkable conclusion. But Kate had got there in a heartbeat. And the more Mannix thought about it, the more this sick conclusion was the only one that made any sense.

“I don't know, Kate.” Mannix shrugged. “But so help me God, I think so. I think that she's the person who killed Hazel Harvey. It certainly looks like she's the one.”

“Mistaking her for me . . .” Kate whispered.

For a few moments Mannix let the idea sink in.

Then, “That
is
what it's looking like, isn't it?” he said, forcing the point home. “Joanne had no idea that we were away. And Kate, I hate to tell you this, but Joanne had a photograph of you. Think about it—you and Hazel are both small and blond. Alike, I suppose, to someone who doesn't know you . . .”

Kate's face had drained of all color as she stared at Mannix.

“Where the hell did this psycho get a photograph of me?” she whispered.

“I think she took it from my wallet. You know that one we got taken in a studio last Christmas?”

Kate looked at Mannix as if he'd just crawled out from underneath a rock.

“So this floozy that you've been shagging, this nutcase that you invited into all our lives, she mistook Hazel Harvey for me and bashed her head in with a garden spade? Is that what you're trying to tell me?”

Mannix stared at Kate like a fool. There was nothing he could say.

“Oh, what have you done, Mannix? What in God's name have you done?” Kate said slowly.

Mannix had little doubt he'd be asking himself the same thing over and over again. Her question echoed round the silent bedroom. He saw years of angst and penance looming. But for now, the question that concerned him most was just how long before Joanne Collins learned of her mistake?

And what would she do when she learned that the woman she'd meant to kill was still alive?

“I
've just checked on the kids. They're playing a computer game together,” said Helen.

How ironic, thought Oscar—that it should take the death of their mother to bring them together. As far back as he could recall, Oscar couldn't think of a single instance in which they'd ever played a computer game together. Maybe it was the sedatives. They'd wear off soon, and Oscar wondered if he should expect a repeat performance from Jess. Though exhausted, she'd been completely unable to stop the crying. Oscar had been happy to let them both take the tablets, for the first few days at least. They had a long hard road ahead.

“Oh, Oscar, I can't take it in,” said Helen. “I can hardly believe that this has happened. What are we all going to do without her?”

Helen poured two drinks. Bottled water for Oscar and a Coke for herself. Oscar knew she was doing her best to hold herself together—for his sake. Helen was bigger than him in every way and, not for the first time in his life, Oscar was immensely grateful for that. He'd allowed himself to be comforted in the cushiony warmth of Helen's bear hug.

Helen arrived on the first flight in from the States on Wednesday
morning and Spike O'Brien had gone to collect her. Spike was now in the backyard, smoking and keeping company with the team of policemen who were guarding the house. Oscar wasn't sure, he couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something in Spike's body language that suggested he was keeping something from him.

“Elizabeth is in shock,” said Helen. “You know I told her? Sorry, of course you do, I told you that already. I'm repeating myself now. It's all just so . . . unbelievable.” Oscar heard the emotion catch in her throat. “And to think that Hazel came here to get away from everything . . . to get her head together. Elizabeth told me that she'd been having trouble.”

She looked directly at Oscar now, inquiring, probing.

“You should have told me, Oscar. You should have told me. And now it's all so tragic . . . Those poor kids . . .” she said. Realizing she was rambling, Helen took a breath and squared her shoulders. “But we are going to get through this. You, me, and the kids. I'm going to be with you, Oscar, every step of the way.”

“Thank you, Helen. I know that.” He smiled at her gratefully and again it struck him how little he deserved her. He'd always repaid her kindness and her support so poorly. Only thinking of her as an eating machine. Not as a loving and empathetic human being.

“Elizabeth wanted to come,” said Helen. “But I told her to keep her powder dry till we get back to the States. We'll need her then. We'll need all the support we can get. Poor Elizabeth has lost a very dear friend. But please tell me, Oscar, what exactly was going on at that dreadful school? What exactly did they do to our darling Hazel?”

“I should never have let her go there . . .” Oscar shook his head.

It had without doubt been one calamity after another, one great big protracted shit storm. Maybe if Hazel had never gone to that school, maybe they would never have felt the need to run away, to come to Ireland. Maybe his wife would not be lying in a body bag now. It had all started with that stupid fucking school.

“What kind of place was it?” asked Helen gently. She was leaning
against the breakfast counter staring at the Halloween banner. Angrily, Oscar leaned across her to pull it down. There was no cause for celebration.

“The place was a hellhole,” he spat. “There's no other way of putting it. It was one of those Impact Schools, you know?”

Helen nodded. “Armed security, strict codes, body scanners, that sort of stuff?”

“You got it,” said Oscar. “Three strikes and you're out. Three black marks on your record and they kick you out.”

“I knew the school was in a tough part of the city and the kids were challenging, but I didn't realize that the regime was quite that severe . . . Hazel never talked about it.” Helen looked puzzled. She pulled the corners of her cardigan tightly over her bosom.

“But she wouldn't, would she?” Oscar said. “This was yet another one of Hazel's projects, another one of her crusades to make the world a better place.” His voice reeked of bitterness.

“Hazel gave those punks so much of herself. She invested in them personally. It was always much more than a job to Hazel. And okay—I think that some of them may actually have appreciated it. But I worried about her, Helen. Going there every day. I know she thought she was tough but she had a real naïveté. You know what I mean by that, don't you?”

Helen nodded.

“Like she always saw the best in people, a bit like you,” Oscar added.

“I try.” Helen smiled sadly.

“There was this one guy—Jay Mahoney, one mean kid. Like I said—there were some real gems in that place. He gave her hell. According to Hazel, she'd been unfortunate enough to laugh at something he did in class. He waited until he got her alone one day. Accused her of disrespecting him, humiliating him. But then it got physical. That twisted punk—he hit her. And not just once.”

Helen gasped but didn't interrupt. She was a good listener.

“I tried, Helen, God knows I tried. I wanted her to give the gig up. Pack up and start over somewhere else. Back to publishing. But she wouldn't hear of it. Took the whole thing as a personal challenge. She thought it would be giving in. There were too many good kids, she said. Kids who she had nurtured, who she felt were making progress. You know, Helen, you know how there was always an agenda. Somehow everything ends up getting political with Hazel.”

Helen nodded soundlessly. Oscar saw her eyes begin to brim with tears. In that moment, he wished that he too could cry. But his hurt and shock were way too deep for tears. Like before, he knew the tears would come, in time. When he was able to believe that all of this had happened, for real. It seemed important to him then that Helen should know how much he had tried.

“Hazel was there for the long haul. She wasn't giving up. That first time, that first time Jay Mahoney hit her—I wanted her out of there, period. I wanted to deck the guy personally. I told Hazel then to go to the principal. I told her to file a complaint. But she made excuses. Said it was well known that Jay Mahoney was on two strikes. And apparently the only person who Jay was afraid of was his own father.

“This guy's father wanted him to graduate. Somehow, in some misguided way, my poor wife felt that telling on this guy would blight his chances in life. It doesn't matter, you know—no matter what, these guys always end up in the slammer. Oh, Helen, I cannot tell you how many countless arguments we had over that. You can imagine how fucking useless it made me feel. I got pretty mad—I can tell you. But I had to let her have her way—you know what she's like . . .” It struck him then how he spoke about Hazel as if she were there. A weight of sorrow hit him.

Helen had perched on a stool but didn't look comfortable. She slid his glass of water toward him.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Oscar tried to carry on. “I obviously go for stubborn women, because I couldn't budge her. Not on this.” He shook his head. “But you know what, Helen? The second
time, I really think she may have been having misgivings. I really do. I was trying to work on that while we were here. I felt like killing the little punk myself, I really did.”

“Oh, poor Hazel. I wish I'd known. If only I'd known, maybe I could have done something.”

Oscar thought a moment. Could things have really turned out any different had he told her? Helen had always been a great support, but in this, he doubted she could have made any material difference.

“Do you think so, Helen? Do you really think so?” he asked.

“I don't know how much Elizabeth told you of what was going on,” Oscar said, “but I know that she tried too. So that was two of us. And the reason I never told you was because Hazel didn't want me to. At first, I thought we were onto something, when Hazel took leave from the place. I thought I'd work on her. She was pretty traumatized, you know. What kind of a sick fuck roughs up a woman? And I know she never told me just how bad it was. You should have seen the bruises, Helen. I know she thought she was tough—she'd worked in the soup kitchens, she'd volunteered in the projects. But you know what? I think she found that being face-to-face with such aggression at such close quarters—I really don't think she was prepared for that. No, ma'am. Not at all. Underneath it all Hazel was a romantic, an idealist. She wasn't equipped for that place. So then she became withdrawn and moody. At first, I tried to talk to her about it. And then I tried not talking about it. Neither worked. I really wasn't sure where we were headed. And then Hazel came up with this idea of coming back to her hometown. As if that somehow was going to be the panacea to all her ills . . .”

Oscar laughed a mirthless laugh. “It's like a black comedy isn't it, though? Isn't it, Helen? Isn't it?” he said, his voice rising.

The total blackness of it all struck him again. The escape to Ireland. Into the jaws of disaster. Bubbles of anger broke at the surface. Where was the justice in any of it? It was all so bloody senseless.

Helen looked at him. “When I arrived you said the police had told you that they were following a definite line of inquiry,” she said. “I
don't want to press you, and I can't even begin to guess the hell you're going through right now, Oscar. But just that if you do want to talk about it, I'm here now—what happened outside, I mean.” Helen sipped her Coke and waited, her eyes kind and searching.

Strangely, Oscar did want to talk about it. He wanted to tell Helen exactly what had happened, as if in the telling, it might somehow make more sense.

“It all happened so quickly,” he began. This must have been about the sixth or seventh time he was going through this. Every so often, the police would return to his story and ask him to go through parts of it again. He got up from the stool, stretched his legs, and walked to the window. There was no evidence of the casual party in the park from two nights ago. The bottles and cans had been cleared away. It was bizarre to think that his wife's murder had been witnessed by a bunch of street drinkers who had been just feet away. A couple of large vans had pulled up with the letters RT
É
T
ELEVISION
emblazoned on the sides.

“Hazel went to get the kids some candy and goodies for an evening in with a scary movie,” he said. “You know how she liked to treat them.”

Helen nodded.

A voice in his head said to him—
Yes, that's it
.
The past tense. She's no longer here. From now on, it's all the past tense
.

“Hazel was gone awhile and I was listening out for her. Hazel did the driving here. So I hear her pull into the drive and I was just over there, beyond where you are now—at the kitchen window. If you stand there, you'll see how you have a clear view to the drive below. So I'm just standing there, like, watching her, you know. Hazel was trying to put all the groceries back in bags, they'd spilled over in the trunk. Instead of bloody watching, I should have gone out to help her—

Oscar felt a spreading tightness across his chest, wondering now at what might have been.

“—It happened in slow motion,” he said. “At first, I thought it was a Halloween prank. This person appears down there, just there by the
gate—dressed in black with a ski mask and a hood. Someone small, slight, wearing a black cloak. I thought at first it was a kid—trick or treat, you know? Hazel hadn't heard a thing. She didn't even turn around. I didn't think much at first. I waited to see what would happen. The figure, well, it walked slowly up behind her. But there was something else I hadn't noticed in the dark. I saw a sudden flash of steel. I saw him raise the spade, high above his head. I ran, Helen, I tore down those stairs. It can only have been a few seconds, but by the time I got there it was too late. The person in the cloak was gone and I knew by looking at Hazel that it was too late . . .” He looked at his hand, suddenly realizing his fist was full of gray hairs. He'd been tugging at his hair. “It makes no sense at all, Helen. It doesn't add up, whoever he was, this person, he killed Hazel. And I don't know why. I don't know why. It makes no sense.”

“No sense at all,” said Helen softly. “But the police, Oscar, what was it they said—the phrase they used? ‘A definite line of inquiry.' What do you think that means?”

“I'm not exactly sure,” said Oscar. “But they told me they'd been speaking to the O'Briens before they left New York. There's something they know, Helen, and they're not telling us. That guy Spike, he knows something too. I can see it by the way I catch him looking at me.”

“So you don't think that they think it was a random attack?” asked Helen gently.

“I dunno, Helen,” said Oscar. “I was never very keen on these home exchanges. On paper or on a Web site you may very well think that other folks are like you. They may look like you but often you're surprised when they don't act like you do, when you find out that actually their value system is very different to yours. It was Hazel who set all this up, you know. She said they were professional folks, like us. Two kids, like us. A boy and a girl, like us. But what did we really know about the O'Briens? And that guy Spike, very nice and all that, but would you trust him? Really trust him? I don't know, Helen, there's something pretty odd about these people . . .”

“I think I know what you mean, Oscar. Something definitely left
of center.” Helen smiled. “But, then, Hazel isn't . . . wasn't exactly a conformist herself.”

“And now look where that's landed us all . . .”

Outside, the sky was now an ominous gray and the water ran gray over the falls. Guys with large TV cameras hoisted on their shoulders scouted about the park, moving between the railings and the benches. Oscar quickly stepped back from the window. Oscar could still see Spike below, who was now talking to a garda policeman. The garda looked at his watch. Oscar remembered they'd said there may be something on the lunchtime news. The TV was on, but on a muted setting. Grabbing the remote from the cane swing chair, he signaled to Helen to join him on the sofa. It was now 12:55, five minutes to the news bulletin.