Hard Evidence (26 page)

'It's an unregistered gun. The one used to kill
your good friend Bonner. We struggled, you died.
Everything is cleared up.'

Delaney looked at his daughter, his heart breaking
as he saw the terror in her young eyes. 'And
Siobhan?'

'She'll be cared for. She won't die, I can promise
you that.'

'And my sister-in-law?'

'Already dealt with. You always were a violent
man, Delaney. It's a matter of record.'

Delaney felt the rage build inside him, felt the
impotence. 'Everything is disposable to you, isn't
it? Nothing has a value.'

'That's where you're wrong. You see, I understand
what is valuable and what is not. But look
at you, Delaney. You value nothing. How can you
value others if you don't value yourself? You say
you love your daughter, and yet you leave her to
the sister of your dead wife to bring up. What kind
of love is it that throws children away?'

Siobhan whimpered as Walker adjusted his grip.
'Daddy?'

Delaney forced a reassuring smile. 'It's all right,
sweetheart, everything is going to be okay.'

'Closure, Delaney. It's time for closure.'

'Why me?'

Walker laughed. 'Because nobody cares about
you, Jack. Least of all yourself.'

Delaney looked into Walker's eyes; they were
cold, intelligent and quite insane. He was sure of
that. He ran through his options. If he reached
into his jacket for his gun, Walker would shoot
him before he had time to clear it. He calculated
the distance between him and Walker. Did he have
time to reach the superintendent before he pulled
the trigger?

Walker read his mind and smiled. 'Don't even
think about it.'

'Give it up, Walker. This makes no sense. I've
spoken to people. They know what's going on.
There is no way you can just walk away from all
this.'

Walker laughed again. 'You've spoken to no
one, Jack. No one of any importance. You have no
credibility. You haven't had for years. I've got a
squad car round the corner. A forensic team. My
people. Trust me, this will all be taken care of and
it will all be down to you, Cowboy. Everything
and everyone. Closure.'

Walker's eyes hardened as Delaney heard
footsteps behind him and Kate stepped into the
room, Kevin Norrell's gun held in both hands and
pointing at her uncle's head. 'Drop the gun now or
I swear I'll kill you.'

Walker ignored her, keeping his attention
focused on Delaney. 'Goodness me, Cowboy. Is
this your new mount?'

Kate pushed her hands forward, her aim
unwavering.

Walker brushed the back of his hand across his
cheek. 'She used to be as pretty as your daughter
once upon a time, Jack. Gave me this little
scar late one night, so I could never forget how
pretty.'

'If you don't think I'll do it, you're wrong. Drop
the gun and step away from the little girl.'

Walker shook his head. 'You could pull the
trigger, I'd still have time to kill her.' He looked
back at Delaney. 'Here's the deal. You tell Kate to
put down her gun or I will kill your daughter. Do
you believe me?'

Jack looked into his eyes and did.

'Tell Kate to put the gun down, Jack. Or I will
do it.'

Delaney looked over at Kate. Her long hair
falling over her forehead in a curly tumble, her
eyes bright with pure, glittering hatred as she
stared at her uncle and said, 'I'm not going to put
the gun down.'

The scream seemed to hang in the air like a parachute,
the sound ripping into Delaney's consciousness
like a dousing of ice-cold water as he realised
what he was doing. But it was too late. The
shotgun blasted, fire and destruction hurtling from
both barrels towards their car. The windscreen
shattering, the front nearside tyre ripping apart,
the car spinning out of control. The screaming
blended with the screech of brakes and the
crumpling of metal as the car smashed into a
barrier. Delaney was out of the car, oblivious to
the people rushing towards them. Oblivious to the
shouts and the screams, as though he was
cocooned in an impenetrable fog. He had his wife
in his arms and he could barely see for the tears in
his eyes as he laid her on the forecourt floor. Her
curly hair fanning around her head like a nimbus.
The blood pooled a little behind her head as he
took his jacket off to make a pillow. And he said
a prayer, for the first time in twenty-five years,
pleading with God not to let her die. He knew it
was all his fault. He could have stopped being a
policeman for one minute but he didn't, and now
his wife was dying on a cold petrol station floor.
As the petrol station manager called an ambulance,
Delaney held on to his wife's hand as if he
could transfuse his own life into her, and he
begged God to make it so.

'Come on, Jack.'

Jack looked up as Father O'Connell held the
door to the vestry open and nodded, resigned. The
man's wind-scraped face and rough white beard
made him look more than ever like a visitation
from a tortured place. Jack shivered again despite
himself as he walked into the room.

Father O'Connell shut the door behind him and
pointed to a pair of armchairs that sat alongside a
tall bookcase. 'Sit down there.'

Jack sat in one of the armchairs and Father
O'Connell in the other, picking up a Bible from
the table in front of him.

'Do you know what the Bible is, Jack?'

'I do, Father.'

'Then you're a wiser man than most. And do
you know what a priest is, boy?'

'It's a holy man, Father.'

Father O'Connell laughed. 'Indeed he should
be.' He patted the book in his hand. 'You see, the
Bible is a collection of stories. Hundreds of stories
that teach us all how to live. Each and every one
of them for a different crossroads, a different
hurdle in life. A different decision to make. Do
you understand, boy?'

Jack nodded, not sure that he could keep the lie
from his voice if he answered out loud.

'And part of a priest's job, if you like, is to
prescribe a particular story to a person when he
needs it. Like a doctor prescribing medicine. Do
you see?'

Jack nodded again.

'So the stories in the Bible are like spiritual
prescriptions to cure spiritual ills. A dose of
medicine that cures the black spots on your soul.'

He leaned forward, fixing Jack with his wild
bloodshot eyes. 'So tell me truly, Jack. Do you
believe in the Devil?'

'I do, Father.'

'I see the lie in your eyes, boy. But my job is to
make you realise that he exists. He lives, breathes
and walks amongst us.' He leaned in closer so that
Jack could smell the musty wine on his breath, see
the yellow tobacco stains on his crooked teeth, the
passion dancing in his eyes like a jig, like a reel.

'My job is to make you believe in the Devil,
boy.'

'Time's up, Jack.'

Delaney blinked. He looked at Siobhan, her eyes
pleading, her voice muted by terror, then across at
Kate, her hands steady, her eyes cold as an
executioner's.

'Put the gun down, Kate.'

Kate hesitated for a moment.

Walker stared across at Delaney. 'See that look
in your daughter's eyes, Jack? She's terrified.
Jackie Malone had that look. Just before she died.'

Delaney turned back to Kate. 'Please . . .'

Kate still didn't take her eyes from her uncle,
fury sparking from them as her hand trembled a
little, then she slowly lowered the gun to the floor
and stood up again.

'You see, she can be a good girl when she wants
to be.' Walker smiled at Delaney, then turned
back to his niece, still smiling as his finger
tightened on his gun's trigger, and shot her twice
in the chest.

Kate flew backwards, gasping with shock as she
crashed to the floor.

Walker's smile broadened and then died as he
suddenly cried out in surprised pain, and looked
down to see Andy twisting the cook's knife in his
side. Siobhan screamed and broke free of Walker's
grasp as he staggered back, grabbing hold of the
knife handle and watching the blood flow over his
fingers. He turned to Andy, who watched him
emotionlessly. 'Why?'

Andy bared his crooked teeth. 'You told me you
weren't there when my mum was killed. You lied
to me.'

Walker slowly lifted the gun again, but before
he could point it, Delaney reached for his own gun
and fired, shattering Walker's right elbow. Walker
fell back against the wall, grunting with pain like
a wounded animal as his gun fell harmlessly to
the floor.

Delaney looked back at Kate, who lay motionless
on the floor, her arms outspread and her hair
fanned out in a monstrous echo of his dead wife.
A monstrous echo of his own fault, his own
culpability. People who got close to Jack Delaney
got hurt. Wasn't that what Karen Richardson had
said? He swallowed hard and turned his pistol
back to Walker, who was on his knees now,
gasping with agony. He levelled his gaze into
Walker's pleading eyes.

'Don't do it, Delaney. Please don't do it.'

Delaney brought the gun up and pointed it at
Walker's face.

'Jack?'

Jack looked up at Father O'Connell. 'Was your
mind wandering, boy?'

'No, Father.'

Father Connell walked back from the cabinet he
had just crossed to and held up what was in his
hands. 'Do you know what this is, boy?'

'Yes, Father.'

'This is the communion wine, is it not?'

'So it is, Father.'

Father O'Connell nodded. 'So it is. And would
it be a sin, do you think, to be drinking it?'

Jack nodded, his face flushed as he realised that
Father O'Connell was getting down to the serious
business now, and squirmed a little in his chair.

'Yes, Father, I suppose it would be.'

Father O'Connell looked at Jack for a while,
making Jack squirm even more under the relentless
gaze. Then he raised the bottle to his lips and
took a long swallow.

'Does that make me a sinner then, Jack?'

Jack was confused; he didn't know what to say.
Father O'Connell put the bottle of wine on the
table and sat opposite him again.

'Are you familiar with the story in the Bible of
the wedding at Cana?'

Jack considered for a moment; he was sure he
ought to be, it did sound kind of familiar, but he
didn't want to be caught in a lie.

'I'm not sure, Father.'

'The one about Jesus at a wedding feast, when
they run out of wine and Jesus turns the water into
wine. Do you remember that one?'

Jack smiled. 'Yes, Father. Dad's always saying it
would be a handy trick to have, especially round
Christmas.'

'So you mind the facts? Jesus took a pitcher of
water and turned it into wine for the guests and
himself to drink.'

'Yes, Father.'

Father O'Connell leaned in again, all good
humour leaking from his face. 'So was Jesus a
sinner too?'

Jack was thoroughly confused now; he shook
his head, not trusting himself to say anything, but
he had to try.

'But that wasn't the communion wine.'

Father O'Connell pointed to the bottle on the
table. 'That's just a bottle of wine; it hasn't been
consecrated. It was a sin for you to drink it,
because you stole that drink. But in the main
scheme of things it's not such a big sin, is it?'

Jack shook his head, confused. 'No, Father.'

'So what's the importance of the wine, do you
think, Jack.'

'I don't know.'

'The point of it is that we all have choices to
make, Jack.'

'Choices?'

'Between good and evil.'

'Do you mean like between the Devil and Jesus,
Father?'

'It comes back to the wine, you see. When this
wine has been consecrated, it becomes the blood
of Christ, and you know what that means?'

'Yes, Father.' It had not been so long since his
First Holy Communion, after all.

'I don't suppose you do. But I'll tell you. What
it means is eternal life, boy. Jesus is the best wine
saved till last. By embracing him in the holy
communion, he becomes part of you and you
become part of him.'

'Yes, Father.'

'It is your choice to make. Throughout life, you
are going to have all kinds of choices. Because just
like you can choose to be part of Jesus, you can
choose the other too. Because when I said that the
Devil walks and breathes and lives amongst us, I
meant that the Devil is human. He's not a
mythical beast with horns and a red tail who lives
in the pit of hell.'

'He isn't?'

'No, son. He lives in Ballydehob or Luton. In
New York or Bombay or Islamabad. He's us. He's
you or me, if you let him be. Do you understand?'

'I think so, Father.'

'So you have a choice to make now. You can
go on stealing wine and getting into fights and
trouble and bit by bit letting the Devil into you. Or
you can choose not to.' The old man leaned in and
looked him in the eye. 'Because in the end, choices
are the only thing we've got. They make us.'

Delaney swallowed hard and looked at the man
who knelt before him. He looked into his pleading
eyes, heard the sore gasp of his laboured breathing
and remembered his wife as her support machine
was switched off, her mechanical breathing as
laboured as that of the man in front of him. He
remembered his own unbearable pain as the heart
monitor line went flat; he thought of the fear in his
daughter's eyes; he remembered the cut and
mutilated body of his friend Jackie Malone; and
finally he thought about the shots fired into Kate
Walker's body. He pictured the closing of her
eyes, and her body stilling as it lay on the floor,
discarded by the man in front of him as carelessly
as someone dropping litter in the street, and he
stepped forward, centering the gun on the man's
forehead, pressing the cold metal into his sweating
skin. And he made his choice.

'Please.' Tears formed in Walker's eyes.