‘Damn.’
Russell did not ask for any further explanation. To clear her head, Vivien took refuge in her bitterness about life. Afterwards, when it was all over, she knew this anger would turn to poison, if she couldn’t get rid of it. But right now she needed it, because it had become her strength.
When they got to Burr Avenue, Vivien slowed down and removed the flashing lamp. She didn’t want to arrive in a blaze of lights and sirens. She threw a glance at Russell. He was sitting in silence, unafraid, but not wanting to trespass on what for now was a space reserved for her. She appreciated that. He was a man who could speak well but knew when it was right to keep quiet.
They turned onto the unpaved road that led to Joy. She did not drive the Volvo right into the parking lot as she usually did. Instead, she pulled up on the right, in a lay-by hidden from sight by a group of cypresses.
Vivien got out of the car, and Russell did the same.
‘Wait here.’
‘No way.’
When she saw that he was determined and that nothing in the world would persuade him to stay by the car, Vivian resigned herself. She took out her gun and made sure there was a round in the chamber. It was a habitual gesture for her, one that meant security, but it made a shadow fall over Russell’s face. She put it back in the holster.
‘Stay behind me.’
Vivien approached the house by a different route. Making their way through the bushes and hugging the edge of the garden, they reached the front of the building, and seeing that familiar facade Vivien felt a pang of anguish. She had brought her niece here full of confidence. And now this house where so many kids were finding a new hope in life could be transformed at any moment into a place of death. She walked faster, while remaining as cautious as ever. Near the house were two kids sitting on a bench. Vivien saw that they were Jubilee Manson and her niece.
Keeping in the shadow of the bushes, she leaned out and waved an arm to attract their attention. As soon as she had it, she put her index finger in front of her mouth to silence them.
The two kids got up and came to her. Her imperious gesture and her attitude made Sundance instinctively lower her voice. ‘What is it? What’s happening?’
‘Shut up and listen. Behave normally and do as I tell you.’
Sundance realized immediately that this was no joke.
‘Do what I tell you, both of you. Get everyone together and get as far away from the building as possible. Do you understand? As far away as possible.’
‘OK.’
‘Where’s Father McKean?’
Sundance pointed to the attic. ‘In his room, with John.’
‘Oh, no!’
As if to reinforce that instinctive cry, there suddenly came from the house the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. Vivien leaped to her feet.
‘Go. Run as fast as you can.’
Vivien ran quickly to the house. Russell followed her. She could hear their steps crunching on the gravel, and at that moment it was an unbearable noise. She went in through the glass-fronted door and found a group of kids looking up at the top of the stairs, where the shot had come from.
Stunned faces. Curious faces. Faces scared at seeing her come in with a gun. Even though they knew her, Vivien thought it best to identify herself in a way that would inspire confidence in them.
‘Police. I’m dealing with this. All of you, out and away from the house. Now!’
The kids didn’t need to be asked twice. They ran out, with terrified faces. Vivien hoped that Sundance, who was still outside, would have the strength and charisma to calm them down and lead them to safety.
She headed up the stairs, keeping the gun pointed in front of her.
Russell was behind her. Russell was with her.
Step by step they got to the second floor, where the kids’ rooms were. There was no one on the landing. They must all have been outside, otherwise she would have found some of them drawn by the sound of the gunshot. She looked out the window and saw a group of kids running along the road and disappearing from view.
The relief did not make her drop her guard.
She listened. No voice, no moaning. Only the echo of that shot seemed to linger like a living presence in the stairwell. Vivien carried on up the final flight of stairs to the attic. At the top, they could see an open door.
As silent as cats, they reached the top landing. Vivien stood for a moment with her back against the wall. She took a deep breath and slipped inside the room with her gun aimed.
What she saw filled her with horror and made her react in an instant. Father McKean was lying on the floor with a gunshot wound in the middle of his forehead. His open eyes stared up at the ceiling as if dazed. Under his head a pool of blood was spreading over the floor. John was sitting on a stool, looking at him with empty eyes, clutching a pistol in his hand.
‘Throw the gun away. Now.’
Vivien had shouted instinctively, but John was clearly in shock. He did not look as if he was going to react, or even as if he was able to do so. In spite of this, Vivien tightened her grip on the stock of her gun.
‘Throw the gun away, John. Now.’
The man looked down at the hand clutching the revolver, as if he had only just realized that he was holding it. Then his fingers opened and the weapon fell to the floor. Vivien kicked it away.
John looked up at her with tear-filled eyes. His voice was a moan. ‘We’ll say it was me. That’s what we’ll do. We’ll say it was me.’
Vivien took the handcuffs from her belt and put them around his wrists, immobilizing him with his arms behind his back. Only then did she allow herself to breathe.
Russell was standing in the doorway, looking at the body lying on the floor in its pool of blood. Vivien wondered if he was here at this moment, or reliving some scene from his past. She gave him the time to recover.
John was sitting on the stool, looking down at the floor, still murmuring his incomprehensible litany. Vivien did not think there would be any unexpected moves from him. She became aware of the place where she was. An austere room with no concessions to vanity except for a Van Gogh poster on the wall.
And on the floor, next to the closet, an open suitcase.
From the wide-open lid, three things stuck out: a thick, dog-eared brown envelope, a photograph album and a green military jacket.
It was only now that she realized that the TV set was on. A freeze-frame was up on the screen. She saw Russell come in, take the remote control from the desk and restart the old video recorder. The figures on the screen began moving again. The image was so grainy, it might well be a conversion to VHS of an old Super8. And along with the image came the voice.