In the Morning I'll Be Gone (23 page)

“In the dark, trying to change a light bulb . . .”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You don’t want to believe it.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Ach, I don’t know,” he said with a bitter sigh.

Jane put her arms around her husband’s shoulders. “Did you tell Inspector Duffy about the break-in?” she asked her husband.

“The break-in?” he said, puzzled.

“At Mulvenna and Wright’s. Just before Christmas,” Jane said.

“Oh yes. The break-in. Inspector Beggs didn’t think too much about that, did he?”

“Tell me,” I said.

“Well, Lizzie had worked for James Mulvenna in Antrim. She’d clerked there. She was very good. He let her draw up trusts and contracts and everything. She really had a head for detail and—”

“Oh my God, Harper, you have to get to the point. I’ll tell it,” Annie interrupted. “There was a break-in at the law offices where Lizzie used to work. They took some money and smashed the place up a bit. Druggies. It wasn’t a big deal.”

Harper shook his head. “No, it
was
a bit of a big deal, actually. I remember Lizzie being upset. It added to all the stress of that week with her dad going in for his operation and everything.”

“When exactly was this?” I asked.

“The twenty-third I think,” Harper said. “Or maybe the twenty-fourth—no, that would have been Christmas Eve. The twenty-third. Definitely.”

“Don’t you think there could be a link between that break-in and Lizzie’s death?” Jane asked me.

“I don’t know. This is the first I’ve heard about it,” I said.

Annie rolled her eyes. “Some druggie broke into the offices and stole the cash box. End of story.”

“Was she actually working there that Christmas?” I asked.

“No. Old Mr. Mulvenna had passed away and his partner Harry Wright said he couldn’t afford to pay her for holiday work,” Harper said. “Another reason she was working in the pub maybe.”

Annie shook her head. “That’s not even the real story,” she said. “James Mulvenna finally passed away that October when Lizzie was back at Warwick.”

“How did he die?”

“He had multiple sclerosis. Anyway, James was a Catholic and his partner Harry Wright was a Protestant. It was a brilliant idea really because James got all the Catholic farmers and Harry all the Protestant ones hereabouts. James was as mellow as you please but Harry was a different sort. DUP councilor. Real Proddy Prod. And he wouldn’t take Lizzie on over Christmas. I reckon he just made up that nonsense about the money and it was really about me and Dermot. He didn’t want a famous IRA man’s sister-in-law under his roof.”

“I liked Mr. Mulvenna. My father used him even though he was the Catholic solicitor. They played rugby together. Do you play rugby, Inspector?” Harper asked.

“No.”

Jane piped up with a recollection of Harry Wright’s meanness when they had gone carol-singing one time and Annie said that she remembered that incident very well. She also remembered that Wright’s wife used to throw a bucket of water on anyone who came to their door on Halloween.

It was all very interesting but it was beginning to sound like a sidetrack. Irish villages were full of gossipy sidetracks like this. But I made a note to ask Chief Inspector Beggs about the burglary to see whether there was anything in it.

“Was Lizzie worried about stalkers? Weird phone calls, anything like that, in the days or weeks leading up to her death?”

Harper shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Nothing she told me,” Jane said.

“Or me,” Annie chipped in.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is the deal with your mother? She’s not around?” I asked Harper.

“The deal? She’s in England with her boyfriend. That’s all it is. She’s not . . . as some people would paint her. She’s made a lot of progress in the last few years.”

Both Jane and Annie rolled their eyes at that. Jane bit her tongue but Annie couldn’t help but blurt out: “Harper gives her a huge check every month. We’ve told him not to but he doesn’t want a legal fight on his hands. God knows what she spends it on—”

“Annie, that’s enough!” Harper said.

Annie saw that she’d goofed and to change the subject she asked the sex of the baby and Harper said that they didn’t know because they wanted it to be a surprise, but he would love a little girl.

“When was the last time you spoke to Lizzie the night she died?” I asked Harper.

“I called her from Belfast about nine. She was in the pub.”

“How was she?”

“Stressed about her da. She’d spoken to Mary and her dad was out of surgery but still in intensive care. I told her not to worry and that I’d speak to her after the rugby club dinner, you know? I never did. I never spoke to her again.”

Harper’s eyes began to water. Jane took his hand and squeezed it. It was awkward for her. Harper getting emotional about his dead ex-girlfriend, one of her best friends. And I couldn’t think of anything else to ask right now anyway.

“Maybe we should call it a night there, folks,” I said, closing up my book.

“Finish your tea, Inspector, please,” Harper said.

While Jane rubbed Harper’s back I stole a glance at Annie. She was trying to conceal whatever emotion she was feeling by munching loudly on a cream cracker.

“It was an awful time for Harper. Lizzie died in December. His dad passed away in the New Year, his mother was demanding a share of the estate, and then there was the recession. He had nobody. He had to manage all by himself,” Jane said reflectively, squeezing his hand and looking at him with pride.

“That’s not quite right, Jane. His friends and neighbors all rallied around. We were all there for him. And he was there for us,” Annie said with a brittle edge to her voice.

“Aye, it wasn’t as dramatic as all that. We all helped each other if I remember rightly. My poor old man passed away and your da came out of the hospital and we had that memorial for Lizzie down by the water. It was . . . cathartic. Do you remember?” Harper asked Annie.

“I do indeed. That filthy beggar of a priest refused to do it on the lough shore because he said it was the site of pagan worship. Bloody fool. I think Ma actually had to bribe him. Ireland’s never going to get anywhere until we kick out all the priests and all the ministers,” Annie said.

Jane yawned behind her hand and I took that as my cue.

I got up. “Well, yes, I really should go. My car’s parked back at Annie’s house and I’ve a bit of a drive to get to Carrick.”

Harper got to his feet and shook my hand again. “I hope you can sort this out. It’s been hanging over all of us for nearly four years. First we hear one thing, then another, then it’s an open verdict, which basically means nobody has a clue, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t promise you closure but I’ll do my best,” I said.

Harper walked us to the back gate and we waved goodbye and walked down to the water.

“He’s nice, isn’t he?” Annie said.

I was slightly annoyed with her. “You never told me his wife was pregnant,” I said. “In fact I don’t think you ever told me he had a wife.”

“Why would I?”

“Aren’t you supposed to bring a present for the baby?”

“That just sounds like some middle-class bullshit thing,” she said irritably.

“I think it’s basic civility, Annie.”

“You know what your problem is? You’ve got a servile mentality. That’s why it’s so easy for you to work for the British. You fit right in. You’d have done great in the fucking Raj or something.”

“You think so?”

“Aye, I fucking do.”

I didn’t reply and we walked in silence along the water’s edge.

It was full dark now and the sky was full of summer constellations. We were far from city lights here and I could see Pegasus and the nebulae in Orion’s belt reflected in the lough. Clegs and dragonflies buzzed above the water and the occasional plop was one of those famous trout coming up for a bite to eat.

“And listen, don’t be thinking I’m one of those mean bitches that hates kids,” Annie said, as if we’d been talking the whole time. “I asked Dermot about kids and he said that we couldn’t even think about having weans until Ireland was on the path to freedom. Those were his exact words. Jesus! Can you believe that crap?”

“Annie, I—”

“And now what am I going to do? Divorced. Ex-husband is a scary fucking terrorist on the fucking run. No job. No qualifications. No prospects. I’m thirty! I mean, Christ. I might as well have leprosy.”

“Come on. Look at you. Your whole life is ahead of you. There’s plenty of time for you to meet somebody and have kids and a—”

“That’s not even the point! Christ, Duffy, you are so dense. How
did
they make you a detective?”

“What
is
the point?”

“Can you not see?”

“No.”

She didn’t reply for a beat or two and then muttered, “Forget it, just bloody forget it.”

We had reached her house now.

“There’s no use in you coming in, Duffy. Me ma and da are seeing Joe Kennedy speak in Belfast and they won’t be back till late. I’ll tell me ma you’ve still got your thumb up your arse or, as you call it, are working on the case.”

“My car?”

“You can get to your car round the side of the house there.”

I wasn’t offended by her. I knew her hostility was being displaced from Jane or Harper or both of them. “All right, goodnight, then,” I said.

I walked round the side of the house.

It was a Republican area so of course I kneeled down and checked under the BMW for bombs but I didn’t find any.

When I got back to my feet she was standing there. Crying?

Crying.

I put my arms round her. She cried for a minute and then sniffed. I tilted her face up and kissed her on the forehead.

“It’s OK,” I said.

“It was him, OK? You wanted to know? It’s none of your business. It was him! All right?”

“I know.”

“Aye, of course you know! With your fucking peeler brain! Or was I just that bloody obvious?”

“No—”

“I suppose I made a real arse of myself in front of her again,” she sobbed.

“You were fine, Annie.”

“Oh God!” she moaned. “I’m such a fool.”

“It’s OK,” I said, and held her against me. I could feel her heart beating and her breasts against my chest.

“It wasn’t anything to do with Lizzie. Please don’t think that, Duffy. It was after Lizzie. A year and a half later. I was the rebound girl. The rebound girl between Lizzie and Jane.”

“You should have let her be the rebound girl.”

“I know.”

“Did you love him?”

“Ach . . . aye . . . I did. I loved him before Lizzie did. Before Jane did. Even before Dermot came along. His da. Jesus. His father was such a tyrant. Don’t believe that lovable eccentric stuff even when I tell it. Harper was such a lonely little boy. He used to have dinner at our house more often than not. He was like a member of the family. His bloody da. All he cared about was his birds and the bloody rugby club.”

“Birds?”

She sniffed again and disengaged from my arms. “Oh aye. He was president of the Antrim chapter of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds. I went out with him a few times. He used to sit there and drink gin from a flask and watch the birds. He never took Harper with him. He liked me. And not in a creepy way, the old bastard. I used to draw the birds. I used to have all these interests. All this stuff I was into and it’s all gone now. What have I got to look forward to now?
Countdown
on the TV? Dinner with Ma and Da?”

“Were Lizzie and Harper childhood sweethearts?”

“Christ! Do you always have to be on the job? Have you been listening to me at all? Have you heard anything I’ve been saying? You weren’t like this before, Duffy. You’ve changed. They’ve turned you into a cog in the machine.”

I’m the same, Annie, and you’re the same. Although perhaps we both exist in a slightly different key. Your song’s got shriller and less restrained and mine’s got a little more melancholy . . .

“I haven’t changed.”

“You have! You used to be OK. You used to be cool.”

“Never as cool as Dermot.”

“Who could be?”

I laughed at that and she smiled at me. I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She’d always been a looker, Annie. In that dark, Basque, black-Irish way.

She took my hand and held it against her cheek for a moment. Then she caught herself, disengaged my hand, and took a step back.

“Well, Sean, I think you should . . .” she said.

“Yes, I should be going, actually . . .” I said.

I put the key in the lock. Her hand was on my arm. I could see her tear-stained cheeks in the moonlight.

She wanted to say something.

She hesitated.

The seconds went past, falling backward into the abyss with the hours and the years.

“If I asked you to kiss me, Sean Duffy, would you do it?”

“I would.”

“Kiss me, then.”

I kissed her.

My God, I’d waited a long time for this.

I kissed away her tears and my tongue found hers and I pulled her close. She loosened her shirt and grabbed my hand and put it on her breast.

“Quickly! Now! Before I change my mind!” she said, breathlessly.

She unzipped my fly.

“Do you want to go inside or—”

“Make love to me. Fuck me. Fuck me here! Now. Fast!”

I took her up against the car. There was nothing beautiful about it. When she climaxed she screamed loud enough to wake half the colonies of wildfowl on the lough shore. She laughed and I laughed and she kissed me and took a breath and pushed me away. “Go,” she said. “Go on now, you big eejit.”

“Can I see you or—”

“Never! Not with a peeler! Not with you!”

“Then what can we—”

“We can’t! Just go. Just. Fucking. Go.”

I watched her march up to the house and slam the door behind her.

I drove back to Carrickfergus with no music. Just the window down and me fags and the night blowing in. I parked the Beemer on Coronation Road, waded through the bills and junk mail, and went upstairs.

I had a good gander at myself in the bathroom mirror.

Ten years I’d been waiting for that. Was it about Annie? Or was it to get one over on Dermot? Whatever it was it left me feeling foolish, numb. Happy.