White Bones (34 page)

“How long before the ambulance gets here?” John asked her.

“They’re very quick, mostly. But it depends where they’re coming from.”

“He won’t make it unless we can treat him for shock.”

“He’d be dead already if it wasn’t for you.”

“I did two years’ training at San Francisco General Hospital. I was going to be a doctor.”

They waited in the herbaceous border for another ten minutes, and then they heard the ambulance siren coming from Fota Island. Even before the ambulance appeared, they heard squad car sirens as well, five or six of them, and a fire pump.

Katie looked at John through the rain. Declan was still shuddering, and occasionally he let out a quick, surprised gasp. Then the ambulance pulled into the driveway, and the doors were opened up. A young paramedic laid a hand on her shoulder and said, “You’re grand, superintendent. We’ll take it from here.”

A garda gave her a hand and helped her up, and it was only then that she realized that she was shuddering, too, and that the tarmac drive, when she tried to walk across it, had turned to water.

After an hour Jimmy O’Rourke came into the sitting-room, brushing the rain from his shoulders. “We’ve checked everywhere. Garages, shed. All through the house. There’s no more booby-traps that we can find.”

“Does it look like the kind of device that Dave MacSweeny might have planted?”

“Well, let’s put it this way, it doesn’t look as if it was very professional. The bomb boys think they wired about half a pound of Semtex to the self-starter, but the connection may have been faulty. It was only when Declan put the jump-leads on it that there was enough current to bridge the gap.”

“God, I don’t know how I’m going to break the news to Patrick.”

Jimmy laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll do it if you like. Patrick and I go back a very long way.”

“No, you’re all right. It’s my job. And besides, I was the one who asked Declan to take a look at Paul’s car, and it should have occurred to me that there was some good reason why it wouldn’t start. That was what Dave MacSweeny was doing here yesterday. He wasn’t waiting to follow us. He couldn’t even have known that I was going to give Paul a lift. He was hanging around, the bastard, waiting to hear his bomb go off.”

“And when it didn’t, he lost his temper, and rammed you into the river?”

“It’s the most likely scenario, isn’t it? Pity Dave MacSweeny isn’t around to tell us whether it’s true.”

Jimmy turned to John, who was wearing one of Paul’s shirts, and a thick brown Aran sweater. “John… the paramedics asked me to tell you that you probably saved Declan’s life. He’s critical, but they think he’s going to pull through.”

“John was a medical student in San Francisco,” Katie explained.

“Well, that was God looking out for Declan, I’d say.”

John said, “It wasn’t any big deal. In any case, I quit after two years. I guess I wasn’t really cut out for it. It gets to you, after a while, all that blood and guts. I was more interested in alternative healing, you know. Aromatherapy, reflexology, herbal medicines, that kind of thing.”

“Witchcraft?” asked Jimmy, making a potion-stirring gesture. “Eye of toad and bollock of bat?”

John gave him a wry smile, but didn’t reply.

Liam came in. “Superintendent? Can I see you for a moment?”

“Of course.”

“Outside, if that’s all right. There’s something I have to show you.”

Katie followed him into the front garden. The burned-out wreckage of Paul’s Pajero was still smouldering, but the fire was out. Officers from the technical bureau were examining the ignition mechanism, and others were taking photographs of the blast-pattern. Three bomb-disposal experts from Collins Barracks were standing around smoking and shuffling their feet. Liam led Katie to the side of the garden, toward the laurel bushes.

“We didn’t see him at first. I hope this isn’t going to upset you too much.”

“What is it?” asked Katie, and there was something in Liam’s expression that gave her a sudden surge of chilly dread.

Liam pulled one of the bushes aside, and said, “I’m sorry. I really am.”

At first Katie couldn’t understand what she was looking at. Halfway up one of the silver-birch trees that stood behind the laurels was a tangle of red-and-yellow ropes, with thinner strings hanging from it, and large lumps of glistening maroon with bubbles of white all around them. It was only when she saw Sergeant’s head on top of the tangle, and one of his legs dangling down between the thinner strings, that she realized she was looking at the blown-apart body of her dog.

“Oh my God,” she said. She turned away and walked
stiff-legged
across the driveway, while Liam let the bushes rustle back. He came after her and stood beside her, ignoring the rain that speckled his glasses.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, and held out his hand.

“It’s not your fault.” She thought that she sounded like somebody else altogether – somebody on the edge of cracking up. “I should have followed the proper security procedure.”

“This is nothing to do with procedure. You’ve had Sergeant for how many years?”

“Eight,” she said, and then cleared her throat. “He was eight.”

She felt like walking out of the front gate and walking and walking and never coming back, but she knew that she couldn’t. She had to follow this through to the end, if only to redeem herself for what had happened here today. Liam said, “Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off? I can cover for you.”

“I’ll be fine. And besides, I’ve got too much to do. I have to interview Tómas Ó Conaill again.”

“You’d tell
me
to take the rest of the afternoon off, if something like this happened to me.”

“I’m too busy, Liam. I’ll take some time off when Tómas Ó Conaill is convicted.”

“Will you look at yourself? You’re white. Even your lips are white.”

“In that case I’d better put some lipstick on.”

She went back into the house. Liam followed her. She sat on the sofa with her hands pressed against her ears and her eyes tight shut. She felt as if she wanted to block out the whole world. If only she could be deaf and blind for long enough, she could open her eyes and find that Paul was out of his coma and Sergeant was still alive and that nobody had been murdered or mutilated or drowned.

John frowned at Liam and mouthed, “What’s happened?”

Liam said, “Her dog got caught in the blast. We’ve just found it.” To Katie he said, “Would you like a drink? Brandy maybe?”

Katie shook her head.

“Listen,” said Liam, “I’ll have them take Sergeant away as soon as I can, and I’ll make sure that they treat him with respect.”

She opened her eyes. It was no good trying to deny what had happened. “Thank you,” she sniffed. John passed her a box of Kleenex.

“He wouldn’t have known what hit him, believe me. He wouldn’t have suffered.”

“I know that, yes. But he was such a mad, friendly dog, you know? He didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“You’re sure you don’t want that drink?”

“If I take a drink I won’t be able to go back on duty.”

“You’ve had a bad shock,” said John. “Maybe you should give yourself the rest of the day to get over it. I had a neighbor in San Francisco whose dog got hit by a truck and she was depressed for
months
.”

Katie took a deep breath. “I’m fine. I’ll survive. Did we get the rest of those technical reports yet, from the cottage?”

“They came in about half-an-hour before. I haven’t had time to look at them in detail, but it seems that there are very few fingerprints, and none of them match Ó Conaill’s. Some of the footprints in the blood are his, so he was obviously lying when he said that he had never been into the bedroom. But the lab says that he only trod on the blood after it was congealed. The other prints were made when it was still fresh.”

Katie said, “I still believe Tómas Ó Conaill did it, or had a hand in it, at least. But it’s certainly beginning to look as if he wasn’t alone. That makes me even more worried about Siobhan Buckley.”

“No news on her, I’m afraid.”

John’s cellphone rang and he went out to the hall to answer it. When he came back he said, “Is it all right if I go now? I’ve just heard from Gabe that one of my cows has gone into labor. I’ll come down to the Garda station if you want to talk to me again.”

“That’s all right. I’ll want you for a witness statement about what happened here today, but it’s not desperate.”

“Listen,” said John, “I’m so sorry about your dog. I really am.”

Katie accompanied him out to his Land Rover. The force of the bomb had cracked the driver’s side window and two triangular pieces of shrapnel had penetrated the bodywork, narrowly missing the fuel tank. “So much for my no-claims bonus,” he remarked.

Katie said, “About that other thing… the figure you saw up by Iollan’s Wood.”

“Maybe I was hallucinating.”

“Tell me something… do you
believe
in things like that? Ghosts, or fairies, or spirits from the other side?”

“I don’t know. I can only tell you what I saw. I mean, plenty of other people in Ireland claim that they’ve seen apparitions, don’t they? Did you see that TV program about leprechauns? Somebody’s keeping a twenty-four video watch on a magic tree in County Laois, hoping to see real live little people.”

“If you could conjure up Mor-Rioghain, what would you wish for?”

“Me? A couple of million dollars I guess, like most people would. And a long vacation someplace warm and sunny. And a beautiful, intelligent woman to take with me. How about you?”

“I don’t know. It’s no good trying to put the clock back, is it?”

Tómas Ó Conaill was supremely calm, so self-possessed that Katie found him as threatening as dark afternoon, before a thunderstorm. He was wearing a faded black denim shirt which was open to reveal the Celtic chain that was tattooed around his throat and the herringbone pattern of black hair on his death-white chest. In his left hand he held a packet of Player’s untipped cigarettes, which he constantly rotated, over and over, until Katie felt like snatching it away from him. But she knew that was what he was challenging her to do; and so she kept her temper, and didn’t.

He smelled strongly of male sweat, and Ritchie’s clove sweeties. He had a new lawyer this afternoon, a smooth
gray-haired
fellow in a shiny gray suit from Coughlan Fitzgerald & O’Regan, one of the grander firms of solicitors in South Mall. Before Katie could even open her mouth he announced himself as Michael Kidney and didn’t stop interrupting Katie’s interrogation all the way through.

Katie said, “Tómas, there were several footprints in the blood on the bedroom floor and they were identified by our technical people as yours.”

“Then I must have wandered into the bedroom, mustn’t I?”

“
Wandered
? You didn’t just wander. You had Fiona Kelly imprisoned in that bedroom and you murdered her there, didn’t you?”

Michael Kidney lifted his expensive ballpen. “I’ll have to interrupt here, detective superintendent. My client has admitted that he may have strayed into the bedroom; but that was only
after
the event, long after the murderer had left; and he was quite unaware what had happened there.”

“The bedroom was plastered with blood. Only a gowl couldn’t have been aware what had happened there.”

“Being a gowl, as far as I know, is not a criminal offence. If it was, then half of the male population of Ireland would be languishing behind bars.”

“Tómas,” said Katie, leaning forward across the table. “Tómas, listen to me. I think you know what happened to Fiona, but I’m also prepared to believe that you didn’t do it entirely on your own. There was somebody else involved with you, wasn’t there? You may have known all about the ritual for raising Mor-Rioghain, but there was somebody else with you who did the killing, wasn’t there? I know you have a reputation, Tómas. But this wasn’t your doing, was it? Not the actual murdering.”

“I swear on the Holy Bible that I never murdered nobody and I swear on the Holy Bible that I never helped nobody to murder nobody, neither.”

“You swore that you never went into the bedroom, but you did.”

“I might have done, yes. But there was nobody there and as I say I never murdered nobody. I swear.”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“What?”

Michael Kidney immediately raised his hand. “Superintendent, my client is innocent, and he doesn’t have to implicate anybody else to prove it. It’s your job to discover who committed this murder, not his.”

“I simply asked him the name of his friend. The one who actually murdered Fiona.”

Tómas shook his dreadlocks like a filthy floormop. “I’ve done nothing but tell you the truth, Katie. I never murdered nobody and I don’t have no murdering friend.”

Michael Kidney sat back, took off his glasses, and started to polish them with the end of his necktie. “Seems like an impasse, detective superintendent. And I have to say that your evidence is very insubstantial.”

“Insubstantial? We can prove that Tómas drove the car in which the dead girl’s body was taken to Knocknadeenly, and we can prove that he was present in the room where she was killed.”

“
Where
she was killed, yes, but not
when
. You can’t
inconclusively
establish that he committed murder, and you don’t even have a credible motive. All this talk of fairies and witches. You’re not seriously going to accuse my client of black magic?”

“We have sufficient evidence to prepare a file for the Director of Public Prosecutions, no matter what his motive was. I’m just giving him the opportunity to make things easier for himself, by giving us a little co-operation.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Michael Kidney said, “I heard that you lost your dog today. I want you to know how sorry we all are. Everybody at Coughlan Fitzgerald.”

Katie took in a sharp, involuntary breath. “Thank you,” she said. Then she turned to Tómas Ó Conaill again and she knew instantly from the look in his eyes that Tómas had sensed her distress.