Darkhouse (30 page)

Joe walked through every room in the house and ended up in the den.

‘Aw, shit,’ he said when he saw his application letter on the floor. He shook his head. ‘Shit.’ He felt the heavy weight of guilt in his chest. His first thought was to lie, to pretend the letter was a back-up plan; he could bat the guilt back into Anna’s court by saying he wrote it when she had told him about John Miller. His next thought was that his wife was too smart for that. She wouldn’t have left if she thought there was an explanation for the letter other than the obvious.

Then he felt a surge of annoyance. He fast forwarded to an argument with her and imagined himself shouting, ‘Being a cop is my life, Anna. Why do I have to go along with whatever you want to do all the time?’ Lame. It wasn’t even true. He’d only done that once, when he came to Ireland. And he knew anything he said in an
argument would be useless. He knew that there shouldn’t be an argument if she was ever to forgive him. He wondered what he had been thinking writing the letter without telling her.

He went into the bedroom and pulled open her wardrobe to check if she had taken a suitcase. He let out a breath when he saw the number of bags crammed into the top shelf. He wouldn’t have a clue if she’d taken one. The same went for her clothes, her underwear, her shoes. ‘Shit,’ he said. He sat down on the bed and rested his head on the pillow. He caught the faintest smell of her perfume – citrus and herbs. She never liked strong scents. Everything was subtle with Anna. He frowned. Walking out on him wasn’t subtle. He pushed himself up off the bed and ran down to the phone. He dialled her mobile and heard a bright voice tell him, ‘The person you are calling may have their unit powered off…’
or may be totally pissed with you
, thought Joe. He checked his watch. It was one a.m. Would she really be that angry not to leave a note or call him? He pressed his hand against his chest to soothe the pain that shot across it. He pulled back the curtain by the front door and looked out. It was like searching for keys on an empty table top.

He went into the living room with the portable phone and sat on the sofa. He switched on the lamp, picked up the remote control and sped through every channel. He stopped at the news,
then moved on. He hit mute every time he heard a noise. Eventually, he gave up and sat in silence.

He dialled Anna’s number again and got the same cheery message. He started to get angry. He didn’t deserve this, whatever he’d done. He loved her, she knew that. He wasn’t some asshole husband who treated her badly. But she’d had an affair and now she’d walked out. He must be doing something wrong. He tried her again. ‘Come on, Anna.’

He grabbed the first book he found from the shelf under the coffee table and started skimming through pictures of luxury hotels…which made him think of Anna. He just wanted her to come home. He couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving him. Their marriage used to be perfect. Every time she had gone away on business or to visit with her parents, he felt lost. Even though she wasn’t the kind of wife who did everything for him, he always ended up eating TV dinners when she wasn’t there. He felt sick at the thought of her walking out on him. All because of his job. He leaned his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. Twenty minutes later, he jerked awake, his heart thudding. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was.

He looked around him. ‘Anna?’ He called out. He got up and walked into the kitchen. It was dark. He checked the fridge again for a message. He checked the empty table top.

He found himself back on the sofa and this time he knew he was panicked. It was two-thirty. She couldn’t be doing this to him. He tried her again and when she didn’t answer, he went to the hall and grabbed the keys to the Jeep. He drove up the hill and felt a strange shiver when he passed the spot where Katie was found. He slowed as he passed John Miller’s house, then sped up again. ‘Come on, Anna,’ he said. ‘You’re freaking me out here.’ He tapped nervously on the steering wheel. It was cold and dark and his wife was gone and she hadn’t told him where and his gut was saying something was wrong. But it was late and he didn’t know if he could trust his gut when he hadn’t slept and he was wracked with guilt. He tried to work out what he was afraid of: that something had happened to her or just that his shitty letter had happened to her. He didn’t want to be alone. He imagined himself sitting in McDonald’s with Shaun at weekends trying to be his buddy like all the other divorced fathers staring into those slack teenage faces.

Suddenly, he saw a shape in the centre of the road. He wrenched the steering wheel to the right and swerved into a shallow ditch. He looked back and saw a dead fox. It was clear that most other drivers hadn’t been as quick to avoid it. He reversed back onto the road and kept driving.

Within minutes he had grabbed his mobile again and redialled. ‘Dammit,’ he yelled, throwing
it back on the seat. He drove for hours, just to give her enough time to be home when he got back. His gut spasmed again. He headed home and pulled into the lane, studying the house for any sign that it had changed since he left. He walked in the door and knew it was the same. But he went up the stairs anyway and checked all the rooms. His head started to pound. His jaw felt nailed shut. When he opened his mouth, it was like he was pulling each tooth. He went to the kitchen where he had left his pills and he took too many. He sat on the bed in the spare room, with the portable phone and his mobile beside him. He could feel his head get heavy. If he slept, she could be there in the morning, angry probably, but OK.

He woke to the phone ringing. His heart leapt.

Nora never liked Frank’s old armchair. It was brown velour and filled with limp kapok. The arms were bald and the covers were loose. It sat in the downstairs hallway waiting to be taken away for scrap. It was where she found Frank asleep at eight in the morning, his head back, his mouth open. A stack of files was fanned out on the floor in front of him. She knelt down and lay her hands gently on his.

‘Sweetheart,’ she said.

His eyes opened slowly and he struggled to focus on her.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I must have fallen asleep. What time is it?’

‘Eight,’ she said. ‘Is this some kind of protest? If I’d known you were going to have a sit-in, I never would have suggested giving the thing away.’

He smiled. ‘I just sat down for a minute to rest my eyes…’

‘What time were you up until?’

‘About five,’ he said.

‘You poor divil. Anything new?’

He shook his head. ‘Not really, no.’

‘Come on,’ she said, patting his hands and standing up. ‘Brekkie.’

Joe’s heart sank when the voice he heard was not his wife’s.

‘Have I caught you at a bad time?’ said Dr McClatchie.

‘No. I’m – no.’

‘Did you get in contact with that specialist?’

‘No.’

‘I hate to ask, but the fax you brought me the other day…well, I was wondering if I could get another look at it.’

‘No.’

‘It’s really quite important.’

Joe took a deep breath and spoke quickly to lessen the pain that had built overnight in his jaw. ‘I was way out of line with that, doctor. I was in an emotional situation that shouldn’t have
compromised my judgment. And my theory was wrong—’

‘I can barely hear you. Could you speak up?’

He repeated what he said, his gums throbbing, pain pressing against his temples.

‘Well, there’s a project it may help me with. I’m giving a talk to—’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Joe. ‘I put it in the garbage once I knew it had nothing to do with Katie.’

‘Oh. Did someone tell you that?’

‘Not in so many words.’

He put down the phone and walked around the house again. He felt as if his veins were running hot and cold. He tried Anna’s phone, he took more pills. He lay on the sofa until a pleasant numbness washed over him. But it was happening too quickly; he was sinking too deep. He blinked to keep his eyes focused.

Myles O’Connor was leaning two elbows on the roof of his car. He had his mobile in one hand and the cord of a handsfree set hanging from his ear. He pulled the small microphone towards his mouth.

‘Look! Bottom line? I’m new. He’s old. I’m on the way in, Frank Deegan’s on the way out. Fresh blood versus retiree. Who do you
think
gives more of a damn about this case than me?’

Frank stood frozen behind the wall with his sandwich bag in his hand.

Shaun woke up sweating and unable to move. He stayed that way for five minutes until he finally managed to turn his head. There was a pint of water on his bedside table. He reached out and knocked it onto the floor. He tried to say, ‘Shit’, but he couldn’t pull his tongue free. As soon as he sat up, he felt a rush to his head and he slumped back onto his pillow. His stomach flipped and he knew he wasn’t going to make it to the bathroom. He leaned over the side of the bed and vomited yellow bile into the basin Joe had left there. He vomited again and it shot through his nose, his eyes bulging with the force. He hacked from the acid coating the back of his throat, then heaved until there was nothing left to throw up. He grabbed a T-shirt from the floor and wiped his mouth. He sank back onto the bed, his head swimming. Fragments from the previous night flooded in. He knew Robert and Ali would laugh, but he was not looking forward to facing his parents. Suddenly images of Katie were everywhere. He couldn’t cope with the alcohol coursing through his system and addling his mind.

Joe knocked on the door and came down. Shaun opened his eyes slowly and thought his father looked drunk. His hair was unkempt and his eyes bloodshot.

Shaun groaned. ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’

Joe tried to smile at him. ‘It’s OK, son.’ He walked over to the bed and took the basin out of the way. He sat down.

‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ he said. ‘I needed you to sleep this off…’

Shaun saw fear in his father’s eyes for the first time in his life.

‘When we got back last night, your mother was gone.’ His words were slow, gently slurred.

‘What?’

‘She’s…gone,’ said Joe. He was blinking again, concentrating to hold his head up. He wanted to lie down on the bed and wake up when it was all over.

‘What? What do you mean gone? Where?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Joe. ‘She’s not here. She wasn’t here when we came home.’ His lids were heavy.

‘Dad, Dad! Are you OK? You don’t seem…are you…have you been drinking?’ He shook Joe’s arm and brought him back.

‘No,’ said Joe firmly. ‘No, I haven’t.’

‘What are you saying about Mom?’ said Shaun.

‘Your mom is gone somewhere.’

‘Where? Did she have plans or something?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘No offence, but your memory sucks.’

‘Look, she may have been…mad at me for something.’

‘What?’

‘That’s between me and your mother.’

Shaun frowned. ‘Well, she wasn’t mad at me. She would have told me if she was going somewhere.’

‘Maybe not.’

Shaun looked hurt. ‘What will we do?’

‘Nothing for now. I’ll take care of it. You go to school. She’ll be back by the time you’re home.’

‘I’d rather stay here…I could wait for her…I don’t feel well.’ He flopped his head onto the pillow.

Joe stood up and threw back the covers. Shaun moaned and curled into a foetal position.

Joe shook his head. ‘You’re a loser, you do know that.’

Frank sat at his desk, wondering what O’Connor really wanted that morning. He asked some questions about the progress in the case, but then he just stood with his hands in his pocket, staring out at the sea. The only thing Frank got from his visit was offended. He felt himself redden at the thought. He hoped O’Connor said what he said in anger or to impress someone, not because he thought it was true. Frank found out afterwards that the call had been to Superintendent Brady. And Brady didn’t appreciate bad-mouthing. Maybe that’s what O’Connor had been considering when he was staring out the window.

Frank unwrapped his sandwich and peeled back the bread. Ham and mustard. There was some comfort in that. But before he ate, he made a quick call to someone he knew would appreciate it.

‘Dr McClatchie. Sergeant Frank Deegan here, Mountcannon.’

‘Oh, hello.’

‘Just a quick call; thought you might be interested to know what those fragments came back as…from Katie Lawson’s skull. You know, after what you said about never finding anything out.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘It was shell. From a Sandhill Snail, would you believe. Probably under the rock you said was used.’

‘Well, it’s very decent of you to let me know, sergeant. So I guess the body was moved after all.’

‘Yes, but we think it was immediately after the murder. And none of the other trace evidence brought up anything, so…’

‘Well, that would make sense.’

‘Right. So…well, I’ll let you get back to it.’

‘While I have you on, there’s something quite curious I’d like you to hear. I had a visit the other day from Joe Lucchesi…’

‘What?’ said Frank.

Lara had to jerk the phone away from her ear. ‘Well,
he’s
clearly not in your good books,’ she said. ‘Anyway, he showed me some crime scene photos from the US, asking me if there were any similarities between them and Katie Lawson, which there weren’t. And no, I didn’t tell
him
that. However, the curious part is, the wounds were almost identical to a PM I carried out just over three weeks ago on that poor girl from Doon – Mary Casey, the
one found dead in the field beside her house. I pulled out my file and I would swear that the crimes were committed by the same person. Hers seems more careless, but they’re almost identical.’

‘Jesus Christ Almighty,’ said Frank.

‘Yes. The odd thing is that when Joe came to my office, which was a bold move, you have to admit, he was very…I wouldn’t like to say pushy, but he was certainly a man on a mission. But when I telephoned him this morning, he had no interest. I mean, I was half-lying to the man about why I was asking, maybe he picked up on that, but anyway, he said he’d thrown the fax away…which I found odd, considering the lengths he’d gone to in the first place. What do you think?’