White Bones (29 page)

Paul opened the rear passenger door, but as he did so the car shuddered and let out a harsh metallic groan, and slid backwards off the quay into the river.

Immediately, the interior was flooded, and Katie was slapped in the face with filthy, freezing-cold water. Paul called out, “
Jesus
!” followed by a sharp gargling noise. Katie tried to turn around and see what was happening to him, but her seatbelt was tightly jammed across her chest. Lucy released her own seatbelt and managed to open her door. The river-water was rushing into the car faster and faster, right over Katie’s shoulders, even though – when she looked up – she could still see the gray sky through the windshield, and the edge of the quay, and the faces of people looking over.

Lucy forced her door wider and struggled out. One of her boots kicked against Katie’s arm as she swam away. The Mondeo turned slightly, and then sank. Water filled the whole of the passenger compartment, and Katie hardly had time to take a breath before the car dropped slowly down into a
peatish-tinted
gloom.

She tugged at her seatbelt buckle but it was jammed tight. She cursed herself for not carrying a craft-knife in the car, as she had always promised herself that she would, after seeing a young mother burned alive in an accident out on the North Ring. She jabbed the release button again and again, until she broke her fingernail. She tried twisting and jiggling, but still the seatbelt wouldn’t release her.

Oh, Christ,
she thought.
I’m going to drown.
Her head throbbed and her lungs ached so much that she was almost tempted to take a deep breath of river-water. Strangely, she wasn’t panicky. She felt that she simply wanted to get it over with, without anyone suffering.

Paul must have drowned almost at once.
How ironic,
she thought.
Just when I’ve decided that I can’t live with him, I’m going to die with him.

It was then that she saw a dark shadow flicker across the windshield. The next thing she knew there was a sharp rapping on her side-window. She turned, and through the brown, particle-filled water, she saw Lucy, her eyes wide, her face colorless.

Lucy opened the Mondeo’s door. Katie pointed to the seatbelt buckle and Lucy nodded. Katie saw the glint of a knife, and Lucy cut through her harness in two quick strokes. Then she took hold of Katie’s arms and pulled her out of the driving-seat. She kicked up for the surface, supporting Katie all the way, like an angel carrying her up to heaven. As they appeared beside the quay, there were shouts and whoops and applause, and Katie saw to her amazement that the whole quay was already crowded with people and cars. Lucy swam to the side with her, and helped her onto the rusted iron ladder.

“Paul,” Katie coughed. “Did you see what happened to Paul?”

“I’ll go look,” said Lucy. Two men came halfway down the ladder, took hold of Katie under her arms, and lifted her bodily onto the quay, with water pouring from her sodden coat.

“Are you all right, girl?” one of them called to Lucy; but Lucy, without another word, turned and dived under the water again.

“My husband’s still down there,” said Katie.

“Sacred name of Jesus.”

Further along the quay, three men who looked like
merchant-seamen
had taken a small boat out, and one of them was repeatedly diving where the Range Rover had gone down. Its roof was still visible under the water, like a submerged coffin. A squad car arrived, and then another, closely followed by an ambulance. Detective Garda Patrick O’Sullivan was in the second car, and he came over to Katie immediately.

“My God, are you all right?”

“We were rammed, deliberately rammed. That Range Rover went into us, tried to force us over the quay. Paul’s still down there.”

“They’re sending the divers. Look – hold on – I’ll get you a blanket.”

Katie stood shivering on the edge of the quay. Over three minutes had gone by and there was still no sign of Lucy or Paul. One of the gardaí dived into the river, but almost at the same moment as he hit the water, Lucy reappeared, supporting Paul. Paul’s face was so blue that it looked as if it had been painted for a Hindu festival.

The garda helped to bring Paul over to the ladder, and he was heaved up onto the quay. His eyes were closed and his arms and legs were floppy. The paramedics got to work on him right away, emptying the water out of his lungs and giving him expired-air respiration. Katie stood well back, but in her head she was repeating the mantra,
Please, Holy Mother, don’t let him be dead, please don’t let him be dead.

Lucy came up to her, still panting and spitting out
river-water
. Katie took hold of her hands. “You’re freezing! Patrick, will you fetch a blanket for Professor Quinn, too?”

“How’s your husband?” coughed Lucy.

“I don’t know yet. I don’t even know if he’s breathing.”

One of the gardaí brought a heavy gray blanket and draped it around Lucy’s shoulders. Lucy put her arm around Katie’s waist and held her close, and they both shivered in unison.

Katie said, “You saved my life, Lucy. You were amazing.”

“College swimming champion, two years running.”

“Well, thanks be to God.”

“How about the people in the other car?”

“They’re still trying to bring them up.”

“Who were they? Why were they trying to push us into the river?”

Katie ran her fingers through her wet, stringy hair. “I think Paul knows the answer to that.”

One of the paramedics came over, a small freckly girl with dark red ringlets. “He’s breathing unassisted, superintendent, and his heart-rate’s as good as you could expect. He’s still unconscious, though. How long was he under the water?”

“Five minutes, not much more.”

“We’re taking him to the Regional. You ought to you come along with us, both of you. You’re going to need a check-up and inoculation against infectious hepatitis.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Lucy. “I just want to get back to my hotel.”

“We’d really like to make sure that you haven’t suffered any injuries,” the paramedic insisted. “And hepatitis can be fatal if you’re not inoculated.”

“I don’t need a doctor and I don’t need a jab in the ass, thank you,” Lucy retorted. “I need a brandy and a hot shower, that’s all.”

The paramedic was about to argue, but Katie said, “Professor Quinn doesn’t have to have a check-up if she doesn’t want to. Lucy – I’ll ask Patrick to take you back to Jury’s. I’ll go with Paul to the hospital and I’ll talk to you later.”

Lucy gave her an unexpected kiss on the forehead. “You’re safe, that’s all that matters.”

Paul’s stretcher was lifted into the back of the ambulance. As Katie climbed in after him, she heard shouting down by the quay. One of the passengers in the Range Rover had been brought up, and lifted into the boat. From where Katie was standing, it looked almost certain that he was dead.

Katie stayed at the Regional until 11:00 pm that night but Paul still didn’t recover consciousness. The doctor said, “I have to warn you that there may be some brain damage, due to oxygen deprivation. But it won’t be possible to assess him properly until he regains consciousness.”

“He
will
regain consciousness?”

“Well, again… that’s difficult to tell.”

“All right,” said Katie. She was suddenly beginning to feel light-headed, and unsteady on her feet. “I’ll call in tomorrow, if I can. Meanwhile you’ve got my cellphone number, haven’t you, and you can always get me through Anglesea Street.”

“Of course. We’ll take v ery good care of him, Katie. Don’t you worry.”

A young woman garda was waiting outside in a squad car to drive Katie home. She was rosy-cheeked, with fluffy blonde hair drawn back in a pleat.

“Have I seen you before?” Katie asked her.

“No, ma’am. I’ve just been transferred up from Bandon.”

“Ah, so you’re getting some experience of the big bad city.”

“Oh, it’s great here,” the garda smiled. “At least you get a bit of excitement.”

They drove in silence for a while, but then Katie said, “What made you join the Garda Síochána?”

“I didn’t want to work in a shop. All my friends work in shops. I didn’t want to do that.”

“Is that all?”

“I wanted to do something to help people.”

“Ah, yes. Helping people. I remember that.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, you mustn’t pay any attention. I’ve had a difficult night, to say the least. What’s your name?”

“Kathleen, ma’am. Kathleen Kiely. Most people call me Katie.”

“Do you want some advice, Katie? Some really good advice?”

The garda glanced at Katie apprehensively.

“Never forget that you have limits, Katie. The more you give to people, the more they’re going to take.”

“Ma’am?”

“I don’t expect you to understand what I’m telling you, Katie. But just remember that you’re not a saint, or a sister of mercy, or a holy martyr. You don’t owe the world everything, because if you think you do, you’ll end up with nothing at all.”

The garda looked embarrassed, and obviously didn’t know what to say.

“One more thing,” said Katie, as they crossed the bridge onto Great Island. “Never go swimming in the River Lee with your overcoat on.”

Her cellphone rang as she was putting the key into her front door. It was Liam Fennessy. “How’s Paul?” he wanted to know.

“It’s difficult to say. Very poorly at the moment. He still hasn’t regained consciousness.”

“I’m sorry about that, Katie. Listen, I’m up at St Patrick’s Morgue. We’ve just had formal identification of the driver and the passenger in the Range Rover.”

Sergeant came bounding up to her as she opened the door and entered the hallway. “Steady, boy! Steady! No – it’s all right, Liam. I’m talking to the dog. Was it anybody I know?”

“Oh, yes, it certainly was. Two very good friends of yours, in fact.”

“I’m too tired to play guessing-games, Liam.”

“What if I told you it was Dave MacSweeny and his muscleman Fergal Fitzgerald.”

“You’re not serious. Dave MacSweeny?”

“No mistake whatsoever. Earring, tattoos, stigmata and all. That should take a load off your mind now, shouldn’t it?”

Katie hung up the raincoat she had borrowed from the Regional. “What are you getting at, Liam?”

“I’m not going to say too much over a cellphone, Katie, but I know that it was Eamonn Collins who had MacSweeny nailed up in that cell in the City Gaol and I know why he did it. There was only one man in Cork who was rash enough to mess with Geraldine Daley, and there was only one man who thought he could get away with lifting nearly a million euros’ worth of building supplies from MacSweeny’s yard and selling it on to Charlie Flynn.

“Likewise, there was only one woman in Cork who was in a position to ask Eamonn Collins for a very special favor. Come on, Katie, I’ve known Dave MacSweeny ever since we were in high babies together. Eamonn Collins had no other business with Dave MacSweeny except
your
business.”

Katie was silent for a moment, and then she said, “What will you do?”

“Nothing. Why should I? If one scumbag decides to nail another scumbag to a prison wall; and the second scumbag ends up drowned in the river with a third scumbag, who cares?”

“You could report it to Dermot.”

“I could, of course, but I’m not going to. I have my loyalties, Katie; and my first loyalty is to An Garda Síochána. Whatever I think about, it would be a public-relations disaster if our first-ever woman detective superintendent was compromised in any way.”

“I could report it myself.”

“Yes, you could. But what good would that do us? You’d lose your career, and we’d lose one our best detectives. You should think of your father, too. He’d be heartbroken.”

“You can be very creepy at times, Liam.”

“Creepy? Hah! I’m perceptive, that’s all. Keeping the peace doesn’t just mean throwing people in the slammer. Keeping the peace means compromising, doing what’s practical, and having infinite patience. Eamonn Collins may have something on you now, but you’ve got plenty on him, haven’t you, and your time will come. Anyway – look on the bright side – Charlie Flynn doesn’t have to stay in Florida any longer. None of the rest of Dave MacSweeny’s riff-raff is going to have the nerve to threaten old Charlie for money, especially when the goods were nicked in the first place. Dermot can tell the Lord Mayor that his
brother-in
-law has been discovered safe and well, and you can take all the credit.”

“What’s this leading to, Liam?”

“I told you, Katie. Nothing at all.”

“You know I went round to see Caitlin.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I was going to talk to you about this yesterday.”

“That’s right.”

A long, tense pause stretched out between them. “Caitlin thinks you’ve changed. She feels that you’re frustrated at work. That’s why you can’t keep your temper.”

“I have my own feelings about things, Katie. But this is my private life you’re talking about here, and what happens between me and Caitlin is frankly none of your business.”

“You assaulted her, Liam.”

“At least I didn’t nail her to a prison wall.”

Katie didn’t answer. It was quite clear, the position she was in. She carried the phone over to the sideboard and opened the vodka-bottle one-handed, and poured herself a large measure in one of her heavy cut-crystal glasses.

“Any news of Siobhan Buckley?” she asked.

“Not much. Three eye-witnesses saw a white Lexus being driven erratically along the Lower Glanmire Road about five past nine in the morning. That was only shortly after Siobhan Buckley is supposed to have accepted a lift in a white
Japanese-type
saloon. There was a man and a girl in the Lexus, and the woman in the car behind them got the impression that they were struggling. The car was swerving from side to side. It struck the nearside curb and almost drove head-on into the oncoming traffic.”

“Any sight of it after that?”

“None.”

“I see. I think I need to talk to Tómas Ó Conaill again.”