Tainted (33 page)

“So you see, I feel responsible for what happened to him. Because I made a tragic mistake. I told him that everything is redeemable, that he could go ahead and live his life and, yes, marry this woman he'd fallen in love with. He had paid his debt to society. He had a right to a life. And I was instrumental in getting him here to America. He'd been hounded, hunted to the ground
three
times after getting out of jail. He couldn't possibly live in England.

“It wasn't easy to get him here, but his life was in jeopardy. Tabloids in the UK offer money to people who spot the so-called ‘villain'; and under the Human Rights Act, Thomas could not legally be denied the right to live freely and safe from torture or inhumane treatment. He was given anonymity in perpetuity and as his was such a serious case, he was granted permanent relocation to another jurisdiction.

“Getting him here to the States, where he wanted to be, well, that was slightly tricky. But speaking hypothetically, of course, the UK government is nothing if not keen to allow the USA to remove its citizens or guests from our sovereign land for the purposes of extraordinary rendition or extradition to the States for criminal proceedings, and with a little help from people with whom I have a fair amount of clout, it may have been possible to come to an agreement with your government to take this endangered, so-called child-killer off our soil in return for, shall we say, the disappearance of some paperwork and perhaps the handing over of a high-priority terror suspect.

“These things can be done on an informal basis. I'm not saying they were, of course, but hypothetically, it's possible.”

“I don't understand what you're saying.”

“I'm sorry.” She smiled. “It's the lawyer in me. We never stop, unfortunately. Anyway, all of that isn't relevant. What is relevant is my own misjudgment, my mistaken belief that he could put down roots here. I told him, as soon as I received that first telephone call, I told him to get out, to leave. I only wish he'd listened to me. But he loved you too much.”

“He loved Katy, my daughter. That's what he told me. At the end. He said he couldn't die without Katy. He wanted her to die with him. He was drowning her when I, when I . . .”

“Is that right?”

“What?”

“I mean, was he actually drowning her when you shot him?”

The question was fired like a bullet straight to her heart.

“Yes. Yes. He had her head underneath the water. He had his hand on her head. I could see. He was drowning her. He told me not to get within ten feet of him or he'd stab her. But he was drowning her. She had water in her lungs when we took her to the hospital afterward.” The words were flying out of her mouth, she needed desperately to speak them. “He was going to kill Katy because he didn't want her to grow up, or because he loved her too much to die without her. I don't know. I didn't understand then and I don't understand now, but I couldn't, I couldn't let him—”

“Did he say anything?”

“What?”

“At the end. Did he say anything?”

“He said, ‘I want you to know something, Holly. I don't mind.' ”

She leaned further forward. “So he knew what you were about to do. He wanted you to shoot him.”

“No, no, he said the gun was stupid. I don't think he believed I'd use it. I don't know. I don't
know
.”

“Holly?”

Neither of them had heard the front door open. Billy was on the threshold of the living room, but the armchair was hiding Eliza McCormack from his sight.

“Holl—what's going on? Whose car is that outside?”

“It's my car.” She stood up, turned to face him. “My name is Eliza McCormack. I came to speak to Holly about Thomas—about Jack Dane. And you're the man who rang me to begin with, aren't you?” She stepped forward toward Billy as he approached them. “I recognize that voice.”

“Hello.” He looked doubtful as she extended her hand to shake, but he shook it. “I'm Billy Madison and yes, I called you. What's going on here? Holly, you look really upset. What's going on?”

“I was just asking Holly a few questions about what happened.” She returned to the armchair, sat down.

“Why?” Billy remained standing.

“Because I need to know.”

“I don't think you have the right to upset her. She's been through enough.”

“I don't mean to upset her, really I don't. I only wanted to learn what actually happened. You can never trust newspaper reports. At least not in England.” The wry way she said it reminded Holly of Jack.

“He didn't think I'd use the gun. I'd never even told him I had one.”

“But wouldn't he be fairly sure you'd use it when your daughter's life was at stake?”

“What is this, a cross-examination?” Billy came and stood beside Holly, put his hand on her shoulder.

“He couldn't have known I knew how to shoot.”

“Perhaps your grandfather might have told him?”

“What's your point, Ms. McCormack? Who cares if he knew she could shoot a gun or not? He was about to kill our daughter.”

“Of course.” She stared up at Billy with her sharp, light blue eyes. “But I know Thomas. I knew him. He was very intelligent. I suspect he knew Holly had a gun and that she knew how to shoot it and that he wanted her to come to that island and shoot him, kill him.”

“Why?” Billy asked.

“To put him out of his misery.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake.” Billy's voice had risen. “What misery? That's absurd. The miserable person was Holly. She'd just seen her grandfather with his chest ripped apart. She'd just found out her husband had murdered two innocent children. And that he'd taken her daughter,
our
daughter, to an island. And had a knife. How dare you talk to her about Jack's, or whatever the fuck his name was, misery?”

“I'm sorry for the loss of your grandfather.” Her gaze went back to Holly. “Honestly, I am. But Thomas must have felt cornered, trapped. To do what he did to him. From the age of eleven that boy was trapped. He made a terrible mistake and he paid for it, and he wanted to redeem himself. He told me that he had finally found himself here. That the love of you and Katy was redeeming him. Threatened with the loss of that, well, he did something horribly wrong. But I do not believe he was going to kill Katy. He wanted you to think he was so you would kill him. Why else would he say that, Holly? ‘I want you to know something. I don't mind?' He wanted you to know it was all right to kill him. He wanted you to put him out of his misery.”

“Like a deer,” Holly whispered.

“She's nuts.” Billy squeezed Holly's shoulder. “Don't listen to her. She's nuts. She wasn't there. She doesn't know. I saw him too, you know, Ms. McCormack. I saw him start to drown Katy. He was definitely going to kill her. That's the most far-out, implausible theory I've ever heard. What? You think Jack knew we'd find him? Knew we'd get to the island and confront him? Bullshit. He left his car at the bus stop. If he'd wanted us to find him he would have left it at the marina. If he wanted to die so much and be put out of his misery he could have bought a fucking gun in Walmart and blown his head off. He didn't have to take Katy with him.”

Holly couldn't take her eyes off Eliza McCormack. She knew so much about Jack; she knew what Holly had always wanted to know—what he'd been like as a child, what his family was like, everything Jack had at first refused to tell her and later lied about.

“Were his parents awful to him?”

“Holly . . .”

“No, Billy. I want to know.”

“Yes, they were awful.” Eliza McCormack nodded. “They never loved him. They sent him to a boarding school, a choir school, when he was seven. They idolized his older brother and they didn't give two hoots about him; all they cared about was their social life, their social standing. They'd leave him alone constantly. Alone most nights in a huge house while they went off to parties. They pressured him constantly. He had to be first in his class at school, he had to be the best chorister, he had to perform for their friends at drinks parties and keep his mouth shut the rest of the time. There was no love, none. They proved that when they disowned him. They never came to the trial, never visited him in jail. Nothing. They cut him out of their lives entirely. He was only eleven years old.”

“He had an older brother?”

“Yes, and he also cut him out of his life entirely. Thomas was left alone, abandoned. It was scandalous.”

“No.” Billy marched over to her chair. “
This
is scandalous. Leave. I mean it. You're supposed to be a hotshot lawyer? What a joke. You're in love with your client. It's obvious. Obvious and unprofessional and scandalous.”

She rose, stepped aside from Billy, fixed her startlingly clear light blue eyes on Holly.

“He's right. I did love Thomas. Not in that way, though. He was a boy when I met him. My heart went out to him, I admit. Yours would have too. He didn't understand what he'd done, not really. He hadn't meant to do it. When he told me how much he loved those girls, I believed him. And let me tell you, I don't believe many of my clients. But Thomas was different. He was a child. A neglected, unloved child.

“Once again, I'm sorry about your grandfather. But I'm also very sorry I told Thomas he could lead a normal life. I should have known better, I really should have. And I truly believe he wasn't going to actually kill your daughter. Nevertheless, Mr. Madison is correct. This was a very unprofessional visit. I shouldn't have bothered you. It's my responsibility, not yours. I'll leave now.”

She turned and walked out the door. But not before Holly saw the tears in her eyes.

“Jesus Christ!” Billy came and knelt before her on the sofa. “I can't believe you had to go through that. I should report her to the bar or whatever they have in England. That was unbelievable.”

“I need to get out of here, Billy. I can't be in this house any more. Katy and I need to get away.”

“Absolutely. You're right. You shouldn't be here. People can find you here. Listen, I've rented an apartment in Boston. It has two bedrooms—you can stay there, at least for a while. I'll stay down here, I won't bother you. You can get away from this place. These memories.”

“You're sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“We can't leave Bones.”

“You can take Bones with you. Being a prospective lawyer, I checked the lease over with a fine-tooth comb. I remember, there wasn't any ‘no pets' clause. And Anna's place isn't far away. You'll have a friend close by. It's a really good idea.”

“OK.” She nodded. “Thank you. Yes.”

“Tell me you didn't believe any of that bullshit she was saying about Jack wanting you to shoot him, did you?”

“I don't know.”

“You know it doesn't add up. None of it.”

“I know.”

“So . . .”

“Billy, all I want is to get away. I don't want to think about it. I need to concentrate on Katy. I need to get out of here.”

“It's a done deal. I'll go get the keys to the apartment. You can leave tonight if you want.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Holly got up, walked over to the window, looked out into the trees.

“Lights will guide you home, And ignite your bones . . .”

“What do you think that means? ‘Ignite your bones?' Come on, tell me.”

“Stop tickling me, Jack, and I will.”

“No deal. You have to think while I'm tickling you. It's like walking and chewing gum at the same time. I want to see if you're capable of it.”

“OK . . . ‘Ignite your bones.' Let me think . . . Stop it! You're making me laugh. I can't concentrate . . . OK—‘ignite your bones' means set your whole world on fire. Light you up from within.”

“Not bad, Holly Barrett. Passing mark. And the next line?”

‘I will try to fix you.' I guess it means make you happy again, like you said on the bus.”

“Mmm-hmm. Or . . . or it could mean I will try to tickle you until you're too weak to resist and then I'll have my wicked way with you. A slightly different kind of fixing, but still . . .”

“But still good.”

“Still great. Still, like, totally awesome.”

Autumn always had a sense of loss in the air, that back-to-school feeling, a Sunday-night kind of melancholy. However beautiful the leaves were, however renowned the New England foliage in the fall, the truth was that those leaves were dying. A spectacular burst of color and then the drop to death.

Holly sat out on the deck, taking a break from packing, and looked at the view, expanding almost every minute as leaves drifted down to the ground. She could see a big chunk of the canal; if she stayed until tomorrow, she'd probably be able to see the railroad bridge.

I never put it together before. How stupid am I? I never put the word “ fall” as in autumn together with the verb “ fall” as in the leaves falling. I'm not so hot at putting things together when it comes to anything.

Going to Boston had been a good move, though. That had been a smart decision. Billy's apartment was clean and comfortable and roomy enough, even with Bones in it. She'd found a therapist for Katy, and one for herself too.

How did you ever know if therapy was working? Well, Katy was talking a little more to her and a little less to Bones. And she'd started first grade at a new school in Boston without any huge problems. Holly had had a long talk with the headmistress before she'd enrolled Katy and had liked her take on the whole situation.

“We'll treat her normally,” Mrs. Woodfin had said. “If at any stage she appears to be reacting abnormally, we'll tell you immediately. Children are resilient, but in my experience they are also secretive and keep a lot to themselves if they're frightened. As you know, this is a small school. We can keep an eye on her without keeping too much of an eye on her and making her feel different, if you see what I mean.”

On the first day, Katy had cried huge, heaving sobs at the prospect of being separated from Bones. But Holly made her go; she had to. Since then it had been easier. And she hadn't had a phone call from Mrs. Woodfin. But Holly yearned, ached, for the day when Katy would show some sense of joy again. And when she'd share with her whatever it was she was sharing with her therapist. Did she talk about Jack with her? Katy hadn't mentioned his name to Holly since the first week after it happened. Katy's therapist had said she'd allow Holly to attend the fifth session. They'd had four now. Holly was desperate to get to the fifth and dreading it at the same time. She wasn't used to finding out what was going through Katy's mind from someone else, from a stranger.

She's talking more. About general things, but still—that has to be a good sign. And she's spending the day with Billy today. Her therapist thought it was a good idea. So did mine.

How totally bizarre is it to have two women we don't know deciding what's psychologically good for me and Katy? But if I'd had any clue about what was good for us, we wouldn't be in this position in the first place.

This deck was where she had been sitting when she heard Bones barking. Which was why she was going to sell the house. Every single room, every corner of it reminded her of something to do with Jack. She'd thought before that he was haunting her, but it was worse than that because haunting was done by the dead and Jack wasn't dead here, he was alive. She could feel him in her skin, in every pore. She could hear his voice, she could see him sitting at the kitchen table eating his breakfast.

You needed your meals exactly on time like that because that's what you got used to in jail. I'm right, aren't I, Jack? You got used to that routine.

Packing up his clothes this morning had been agony. She could smell him then. And whatever anyone said, smell was the most powerful of senses when it came to memory. He was there in the room with her, telling her to fold his shirts more neatly.

Did you want me to kill you, Jack? I haven't dared talk to my therapist about that yet. In case she looks at me the way Eliza McCormack did. Did you know I'd figure out you went to the Bad Boy's Island? Were you waiting for me? Knowing I'd bring a gun? Willing me to shoot you to put you out of your misery? Is that why you smiled?

It doesn't make sense, Billy's right. But it does. That's what's so crazy. It does.

Her cellphone rang and Holly took it out of her pocket, answered it.

“Hey, Holl.” Anna's voice was chirpy. “How's it going?”

“OK. I'm taking a break right now.”

“Good. I wanted to tell you, Billy and Katy came over here for lunch. I think he wanted to make her feel more comfortable, you know?”

“How was she?”

“She was pretty good, talking more. She told me about her school, she sounded pretty chilled about it. And she was OK with Billy. I mean, she was keeping her distance, but it wasn't like she was avoiding him. And when he asked her questions about school, she'd answer. Once he even made her smile. I can't remember what the joke was, but she smiled.”

“That's good. That's great.”

“Yeah. And I have to tell you, he's not the dufus he used to be. He's grown up a lot. And he has the hots for you. He kept talking about you.”

“Because Katy was there.”

“No, Holl. You know how when you have a crush on someone you always want to bring their name up, talk about them? That's what it was—believe me, I know this behavior.”

“People have crushes on you, Anna, not the other way around.”

“That's true. But listen, none of this is what I really called about. Have you done it yet?”

“No.”

“You have to, Holl. You know you do.”

“I know.”

“Maybe I should be with you when you do.”

“Maybe. I'll think about it.”

“Promise you'll do it soon, with me or without me.”

“Yes.”

“OK, I'll get off your back. It must be hell packing all that stuff up. His stuff too.”

“It's not good.”

“You should have let me come with you and help.”

“I wanted to do this alone. Hold on . . .” Holly stood up, went to the corner of the porch. “A car just drove up. I have to go.”

“Who is it?”

“I don't know. I have to go. I'll call you later.”

She heard the knock on her front door, went inside and debated with herself whether to answer it. Her car was in the driveway; whoever had come would know someone was here. It couldn't be Eliza McCormack again. It just couldn't.

Another knock.

Holly walked to the door. If it was a reporter, she'd get rid of him or her. Say she had no comment, would never have any comment and they were trespassing on private property; if they weren't gone in a minute, she'd call the police. She opened it.

“Hello?”

A woman, but not Eliza McCormack. A younger woman, probably in her early forties, with big blonde hair, wearing jeans and a pink sweatshirt, a huge denim handbag slung over her shoulder.

“Hello. Sorry, I know this is rude and I wasn't really expecting . . . I mean, I came on the off chance because I was hoping . . . but it is you, isn't it? Holly Barrett?”

Her heart nosedived at the sound of the English accent, even though it was a different accent than she was used to: any time a word ended with a “g,” the woman pronounced it as if it were a “k.”

“Yes. What do you want?”

To stare at me? To ask me what it was like to shoot him? What?

“My name is Enid.”

Holly looked at her blankly. She was wearing a huge amount of blue eyeshadow and bright pink lipstick.

“Enid Dunne. My husband died and I remarried a little while back and now I'm Enid Parker but I was Enid Dunne. I'm their mother. Amanda and Miranda's mother.”

“You're . . . ?”

“Yes. Can I come in?”

“Of course. Yes.”

Holly stepped aside and Enid went past her, trailing a strange smell, the scent of one of those room deodorizers or air fresheners.

“Sit down, please.” Holly had no idea what to say as Enid Dunne took the bag from her shoulder, put it on the sofa and sat down beside it.

“It looks like you're packing up here.”

“Yes. I'm selling the house. I'm so, so sorry about your daughters. I don't know what to say.”

“That's all right. Nobody does.”

An awkward silence followed.

“Can I get you coffee or tea or something?”

“No. Thank you. I told Gary—my husband—I told him I wanted to go shopping. I think he guessed. I mean, when I said I wanted to come to New England, see the leaves and everything, he said, ‘Are you sure that's all you want to see?' and I said, ‘Yes, Gary. That's all.' But I think he knew. We flew in two days ago. And today, when I said I was going shopping, he looked at me like . . . well, I think he knows, but what's he going to do, right? As long as I don't bang on about it to him. He doesn't like me talking about it. He's not a talker, Gary. But he's a good man.”

“I'm sure he is.”

Enid Dunne was so nervous, all Holly wanted to do was help her relax.

“I didn't think you'd be here, to tell the truth. It was a mission finding this place. I asked at a store in town and they said they thought you'd left but I wanted to see the place anyway. I don't know why.” She shifted on the sofa, crossed her legs, uncrossed them. “People bang on about closure, you know. Like that's possible. It wasn't like I thought I'd get closure coming here. But I did want to. I mean, if you were here which I didn't think you'd be, but if you were, I wanted to thank you.”

Holly couldn't speak; nor could she take her eyes off Enid Dunne. All the make-up couldn't hide the defeat in her face. Holly saw the wrinkles a woman her age shouldn't have had, saw years of pain and loss and unbearable grief.

“My heart went out to him,”
Eliza McCormack had said.

What happened to your heart when you saw her? Didn't it break like mine is now?

“It's not like his dying . . . I mean, it doesn't bring them back, you know? But his being alive. That wasn't right. Him being alive and having a life and all, it was wrong. All the time, I used to wonder,
Is he laughing? Is he having a good time somewhere right now, laughing?
Like it was fine for him to be alive? Like he deserved to be alive and to laugh? Because he didn't.” She shook her head. “He didn't. I don't care what they say about having done his time. They're taking the piss when they say that. Like he has a right to have time to do. Like he has a right to anything. He didn't give them any rights. He took it all away. Everything. Their whole world, my whole world and everything. Look . . .” She reached over, picked up her denim bag, unzipped it. “Look.”

“Mrs. Dunne. I mean, Mrs.—”

“Enid. It's an old-fashioned name, I know, but it's mine. I'm stuck with it. Look, I have them right here. I brought them in case you were here.” She pulled out a packet from the bag, a packet of photographs, opened it and began to lay them out carefully in rows on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “Look at them. Come here.” She patted the sofa seat beside her. “Come look at my girls.”

She couldn't not do whatever Enid asked. Sitting down beside her, she looked at the pictures.

“They're beautiful.”

“Aren't they?”

“Absolutely beautiful.”

“Most people couldn't tell them apart. They were that alike.”

“Yes. And they look so happy. They're always smiling.”

“They were good girls. Never trouble. Miranda, she could be stroppy sometimes, but never for long. And Amanda was a quiet little thing, but don't get me wrong, she had plenty of character.”

“I bet she did.”

Some of the pictures looked posed, as if they were taken by a professional photographer in a studio. But most of them were informal. Holly could see, in the informal ones, a slight difference between the girls. One looked a little more shy, serious, and she had a small birthmark on her forehead. She must have been Amanda. The other, Miranda, seemed to be clowning for the camera more.

“I was thinking . . .” Enid kept gazing at the photos, her eyes moving from one to the next in the rows she'd made, then starting at the beginning again, as if she were afraid she had missed something. “On the drive here. I couldn't think much being on the wrong side of the road and trying to get the directions right and all, but when I could think, I thought,
I wonder if she saw it. He was that charming. He must have charmed her too. She might not have seen it.
”

“Seen what?”

Enid looked up, away from the pictures, straight at Holly.

“The evil in him. He was a charmer, all right. My girls loved him, worshipped him. But I saw it. Not very often, mind you, but I'd catch him with that look in his eyes when he didn't think I was watching. I saw the evil in him. I should have left that job. I shouldn't have brought the girls with me. We needed the money. I couldn't afford to have someone else look after them while I worked. I keep saying that to myself but it doesn't help. I knew. I didn't know he'd do it to them, though. I
never
thought that.”

“What look in his eyes?”

“Like he hated the world and everything in it. Like he would enjoy punishing the world. I never saw him do anything bad, not until . . . But I saw the look. Like he couldn't wait to do something evil.”

“But he was only a boy.”

“And children can't be evil?” she snorted. “That poncey lawyer of his was all over that. ‘He had a bad childhood, he didn't know what he was doing, poor, poor Thomas.' That was her excuse for him. He didn't know what he was doing? Fucking hell, he didn't. Pardon my French. He knew exactly what he was doing. ‘It was a mistake, the cricket bat slipped and he panicked, it was all an accident.' That's what she tried to say. But no one was buying it. An accident? Slipped out of his hand? Look at the coroner's report. Amanda was hit three times by that bat, not once like he tried to say.”