Blood Sisters (24 page)

* * *

After she had stepped out of the shower that evening and towelled herself dry, she looked at herself in the steamy full-length mirror on the back of the door. There was no doubt that she had developed a slight tummy, but she didn’t look as pregnant as she felt.

She put on her thick pink bathrobe and went through to the living room. John was sitting on the couch with a large sketchpad on his knee, drawing pictures of Barney in terracotta crayon. Barney seemed to understand what he was doing because he was sitting patiently by the fire with his tongue hanging out, not moving. He didn’t even get to his feet when Katie came into the room.

Katie knelt on the couch next to John and said, ‘John, those are
wonderful
! You’ve really caught him.’

‘I was thinking of painting a proper full-size portrait of him in acrylic,’ said John. ‘That’s after I’ve painted you.’

‘Why don’t you paint him first?’

‘You’re not backing out on me, are you?’ he asked her. ‘I was hoping I could do some preliminary sketches tonight. I’ll be free for most of the day tomorrow so I can make a start.’

‘No, no. I’m not backing out on you. A promise is a promise. It’s just that I don’t think I’m looking my best at the moment. My hair’s a bird’s nest and my eyes are all puffy. I don’t know how you can even find me attractive.’

John leaned sideways and kissed her. ‘You’re beautiful, that’s why I find you attractive. You’re always beautiful. And if you’re worried about your eyes being puffy, I can always paint them un-puffy. Artistic licence, that’s what we call it. Next best thing to cosmetic surgery.’

Katie picked up a cushion and hit him on the head with it. ‘If that wasn’t the most backhanded compliment anybody ever paid me!’

John laughed, then closed his sketchpad and stood up. ‘Do you want to pose now? It’ll only take twenty minutes or so.’

‘I’m pure racked, John. Maybe tomorrow.’

‘You don’t have to do anything. Just lie on the couch looking delectable.’

‘Well... only for a short while, though. And I’m going to shut Barney in the kitchen.’

‘He’s a dog, Katie. He’s not going to get excited if you take off your clothes.’

‘You don’t know that. He’s a boy dog, after all.’

John laughed and shook his head. ‘Okay, then, but you can fetch me another beer while you’re in there.’

When she came back, Katie took off her bathrobe and sat naked on the couch. She wasn’t embarrassed, but it felt strange, the way John was looking at her now, with his eyes narrowed, as if she were a stranger rather than his lover.

‘Okay...’ he said, ‘put up your legs... that’s it. And lift your right arm and lean on the cushions. That’s perfect. And turn your head slightly to the left – a little more, that’s it, but turn your eyes towards me. And try to look seductive, as if you don’t already.’

‘What about my hair?’

‘Don’t worry about your hair, I can sort that out later. It’s your general pose I’m trying to catch now.’

He sat down in the armchair opposite, with his legs crossed, and started to draw, the tip of his tongue held between his teeth, his eyes darting up and down over the top of his pad as he sketched her outline.

‘You’re sure my boobs don’t look droopy in this position?’ Katie asked him.

‘You have amazing boobs. Don’t worry about it.’

‘They’re much too big. Can’t you paint them smaller?’

‘You want me to misrepresent you? Detective Superintendent, I’m surprised at you!’

He carried on drawing for a few minutes. When it was obvious that he was drawing her face, Katie deliberately squinted.

‘Oh,
that’s
attractive,’ said John. ‘The cross-eyed Venus, that’s what I’ll call it.’

‘One of our cleaners is cross-eyed,’ said Katie. ‘I’d hate to have to interrogate him because you never know if he’s looking at you or not. He’s so cross-eyed that when he cries the tears run down his back.’

John drew for a little longer and then he frowned. ‘Can you raise your left knee a little higher?’ he asked her. ‘No, not like that, that’s too far. Look – let me show you.’

He put down his pad and came over to her. He took hold of her left knee and gently bent it.

‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Perfect.’

He ran his hand all the way down her calf to her ankle and took hold of her foot and tickled it. She said, ‘Don’t do that! You don’t know how ticklish I am! You’ll make me wet myself!’

John smiled and said, ‘Yes, but that’s how I like you, when you’re wet.’

He knelt down beside the couch and kissed her forehead, and then the tip of her nose, her cheek, and then her lips. While they were kissing he caressed her arm and then her side, sliding his fingertips down until they reached the sensitive nerve in her hip, which made her jump.

He held her left breast in his hand, gently squeezing it and rotating the ball of his thumb around her nipple until it started to stiffen.

‘
John
...’ she said, when they both came up for air.

He kissed her again and then he stood up, crossing his arms to take off his navy-blue sweater. As he did so, static electricity made the crucifix of dark hair on his chest rise up, like some minor miracle.

‘
John
– ’ Katie repeated, but she knew that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. He unbuckled his braided leather belt and pulled down his jeans, kicking them aside. His pale-blue boxer shirts only emphasized how stiff his erection was and when he pulled those off, too, it gave a little bounce as it caught on his elasticated waistband. Katie reached out and grasped the shaft of his penis in her left hand, holding it very tight and looking up into John’s eyes with defiance, as if she were saying,
Whatever you believe, this is mine,
this belongs to me
,
and always will
. She rubbed it slowly up and down, and John let out a low murmur and half-closed his eyes.

‘You know what you look like?’ said Katie. ‘You look like a god.’

She reached behind her back and caught hold of the corner of one of the cushions so that she could fling it across the room. That allowed her to lie back flat on the couch and open up her thighs. John climbed in between her knees and leaned over to kiss her. He was breathing hard and his breath smelled of beer. Without releasing her grip on his penis, she guided it in between the lips of her smooth waxed vulva. She could feel how wet she was, much wetter than usual, and her lips opened with a soft, sticky click.

John started to weigh down on her and push the head of his penis into her, but she still kept her grip on it even though she was aching to feel it right up inside her as far as it would go.

‘John,’ she said, very quietly.

‘What?’ he asked her.

‘Gently, won’t you? Very, very gently.’

He said nothing at first, but she could see from his eyes that he was looking for an explanation of why she had said that. When they had first started their relationship, their lovemaking had occasionally been slow and gentle and long drawn-out, almost soporific, especially when they were both tired or had drunk too much. But most of the time Katie had wanted him to force himself into her as hard as he could. She liked it deep and a little rough. She would wrestle with him, laughing, so that she could get on top and press herself so far down on his erection that it touched the neck of her womb and made her flinch.

‘Okay,’ said John. ‘If you want gentle, I’ll be gentle. Hey – I’ll be like a cat, creeping through the grass.’

‘You know how much I love you, don’t you?’

‘Yes. And I love you.’

She released her grip on his penis and he slid himself into her until she could feel his pubic hair tickling her bare skin.

‘Now that’s heaven,’ she murmured.

‘That’s weird,’ said John. ‘That’s exactly what I was thinking.’

He was strong and muscular but she could feel how much he was restraining himself. He pushed himself into her very slowly and rhythmically, and at the same time he massaged her breast and rolled her nipple between finger and thumb. She could feel her pelvic floor tightening, much sooner and tighter than it usually did, and her stomach muscles were rock-hard, too. But John continued to be gentle and restrained, even though his penis was now so stiff and curved that it felt like a slippery tusk.

He was beginning to breathe harder and push a little more forcefully when Katie’s iPhone rang. He stopped and opened his eyes.

‘Ignore it,’ she panted.

‘What if it’s work?’

‘It won’t be. It can be. Ignore it.’

But it kept ringing and ringing and she knew it had to be somebody at the station calling her, and that it had to be urgent. They never disturbed her at home without a serious reason.

John lifted himself off her and she sat up and reached across to the coffee table to pick up her phone.

‘Detective Superintendent Maguire.’

‘It’s Patrick O’Donovan, ma’am. I hope I haven’t interrupted you in the middle of anything important. I would have called Inspector O’Rourke but he’s left for Dublin already.’

‘No, Patrick, no bother at all. What is it?’

‘Another dead nun. We think it could be the one that went missing from that care home in Douglas. It looks like her, any road, from the photograph they gave us.’

‘Where was she found?’

‘In the fountain on Grand Parade of all places. We don’t have any idea at all how she got there because the whole area was crowded with drunken kids at the time. They’re always jumping in and out of it when they’re langered, but this time they noticed there was somebody lying in it who didn’t get out.’

‘Has the body been removed yet?’

‘Not yet. The technical boys have only just arrived and I thought you might want to take a sconce at it, too. The media are all here, of course. I don’t know who tipped them off.’

‘All right, Patrick. Thanks. Give me half an hour tops and I’ll be with you.’

John stood up, his erection already subsiding.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Katie. ‘They’ve found another dead nun. Grand Parade this time, in the Berwick Fountain.’

‘Do you want me to drive you?’

‘No, I’ll be grand, thanks. I may have to stay in the city tonight.’

‘You don’t have to apologize, Katie.’

‘Oh, but John.’

‘It’s not just your job, sweetheart, it’s who you are. I get that now, even though I didn’t understand it before. I know you have to go, so go. At least you’ve had something to eat and a shower.’

‘Not to mention half a flah.’

‘Hey... if I ever used dirty language like that my ma used to shove a bar of coal-tar soap into my mouth. I can still taste it now.’

Katie went up to him and put her arms around him, pressing her breasts against him and feeling his still-sticky penis against her bare stomach. She kissed the hair on his chest and said, ‘Nothing is dirty when you’re in love.’

He stroked her dark-red hair and said, ‘
Katie Maguire
,’ and the way he said it made it sound like a declaration of love in itself, or the words a man speaks in his sleep when the bed next to him lies empty.

The ornamental fountain in the middle of Grand Parade had been cordoned off for fifty metres in all directions and the street was crowded with Garda patrol cars and vans from the Technical Bureau, and an ambulance. Although it was chilly and the pavements were still shiny and wet it had stopped raining about an hour ago and beyond the Garda crime-scene tapes there was a rabble of drunken young people, still chattering and whistling and hooting.

A garda lifted aside the tape so that Katie could drive through. She turned right into Oliver Plunkett Street directly opposite the fountain and parked. Detective O’Donovan came over and opened her car door for her.

‘This is beginning to look like a pattern,’ he said.

‘What makes you think that?’ asked Katie as she climbed out.

‘Well, three elderly nuns murdered in the same week, for starters. And all of them killed like it was some kind of ritual or something, do you know what I mean?’

Katie gave him a pat on the back of his nylon windcheater. ‘Sorry, that was only me codding. It does look like somebody has an agenda, doesn’t it? I mean, they’ve all been killed in very different ways, haven’t they, these nuns? But I’m sure you’re right, and there’s a connection here.’

They walked across to the fountain. It had a lower basin about seven metres across, shaped like a clover leaf, out of which rose a pedestal with a second basin on it, about two and a half metres across, and then a third basin, about one and a half metres across, which was topped by a fourth small basin supported by a dolphin. The water had been turned off, but normally it would spout from the top of the fountain and cascade down from one overflowing basin to the one below it.

Three technical experts were gathered around the side of the lower basin, one kneeling and taking photographs. The body of the nun was lying close by, covered with a dark-green sheet, with two glum-looking gardaí standing next to it.

Bill Phinner, the chief technical officer, was there, in a thick bronze padded jacket with a fisherman’s sweater underneath it, although Katie could see from his collar that under his sweater he was wearing blue-striped pyjamas.

‘Three lads fished her out because they thought she was drowning,’ he said, taking out a handkerchief and wiping his nose. ‘But she was stiff as a board, so they realized she was well past saving.’

‘I’ve talked to the lads,’ said Detective O’Donovan. ‘It was the birthday party of one of them and they were all daring each other to jump into the fountain, like they do. They say that loads of them were doing it and all of them were totally langers. The deceased must have been carried across the street somehow and dropped into the basin there, but none of the lads saw that happen. All they know is one of them jumped in and found her body floating around in there.’

Katie turned around and checked the location of the CCTV camera that overlooked Grand Parade. ‘We should have some footage of her being carried over to the fountain,’ she said. ‘And how about the lads? Were any of them taking pictures or videos?’