30
Rachel pressed the entry phone at the safe house and was buzzed in. Connor was in the living room, the TV was on, loud, an action film going by the soundtrack but Rachel couldn’t put a name to it.
‘Where’s your mum?’ Rachel said.
‘Shopping.’
‘Shopping where?’
‘That Aldi you told her about.’ He seemed twitchy, scratching at his arms and his neck, his eyes glittering. Was he high?
‘Can you turn that down a bit,’ she said, ‘or off?’
‘Why?’
‘I want to talk to you.’
He nudged the volume down a notch.
She rolled her eyes. He gave a heavy sigh and snapped it off.
‘Thank you.’
‘What’s happening with me dad?’
‘I can’t discuss that with you,’ she said.
‘Why not?’ He stood and paced over to the window. ‘He’s my dad.’
‘I know. Connor, I wanted to ask you about a man called Stanley Keane. You know him?’
‘No,’ he scowled.
‘You sure?’
‘Yes, I said, didn’t I?’
‘Has anyone been to the house to see your dad since he came home?’
He groaned, hit at his head with the heels of his hands. ‘Why won’t you just get it? My dad, he’s done nothing. You’ve got to let him go.’
‘Once we’re satisfied-’ she began but he jumped in. ‘No! No!’ he shouted, stabbing his finger at her. He was off his face, wired up on something, she was sure. She could see the sweat darken his hairline.
‘You think he did those niggers, he never. He never.’ He swung away from her. The sweatshirt they’d supplied was too big for him, covering half of his hands and down to his knees.
‘We’ll see. Please, Connor, sit down.’
‘No! We won’t see,’ he mimicked her. ‘You’ve got to let him go. You haven’t got the gun, have you?’
‘What do you know about the gun?’ she said.
He sniffed, scratched the back of his head. He was stepping side to side, unable to keep still.
‘Connor? Did you see someone last night shooting at your house? You can tell me.’
He ignored her and said, ‘He wasn’t around on Friday night, he’d gone. Did he tell you that? It wasn’t him.’ He hadn’t gone far though – to Keane’s – but he was ensconced in the boozer when the murders happened, which left Stanley Keane as their key candidate.
‘We have to go by the evidence,’ Rachel said. None of which quite matched anyone. Yet.
‘You haven’t got the gun, have you?’ he said again.
‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘Connor, I can’t talk about it, but your dad is still in custody and he’ll be there as long as we require him to be. And I’ll tell you this for nothing, he’s going back inside. He’s broken the terms of his licence.’
‘No!’ he yelled. ‘Fucking bitch.’ He moved his hand quickly, behind his back, and then he had the gun. The barrel pointing straight at her. Maybe three feet between them. He couldn’t miss.
‘Put that down,’ she said, her mouth dry, sweat slicking her skin, buzzing in her ears. The gun wavered; firearms were heavy, Rachel knew. She also knew she had to keep him talking, had to engage him if she stood a hope in hell of getting out of there. ‘This isn’t going to help anyone,’ she said, ‘not your dad or you.’
‘You tell them to let him go.’ His eyes shone.
‘It doesn’t work like that, Connor.’
She was so hot, burning up, and her stomach clenched hard as rock. ‘No one will do anything while you’re holding a gun.’
He walked up to her and touched the weapon to the base of her throat. She felt the hard cold steel. Smelled oil and a hint of gun smoke, and his sweat pungent and acrid. ‘Sit down,’ he said, moving the gun away a little.
She did, trying not to betray the fear thick in her blood.
He took a step back, then another, the gun levelled at her but his hold on it unsteady. The drugs, whatever he was on, affecting his motor skills, or maybe it was the excitement.
‘We can sort something out,’ she said, her voice catching. She coughed to clear it. ‘Maybe you want to see your dad, but not like this. Think about it. I’m a police officer.’
‘A pig, yeah,’ he said, ‘two niggers and a pig. That’ll show him.’
‘Who?’
Her phone rang, a shocking blare of sound. He jabbed the gun at her. ‘Leave it.’
‘It’ll be work,’ she said. ‘If I don’t answer, they’ll be round here in minutes.’
He looked doubtful. The ringtone repeated.
‘It’s a safety thing, me on my own. They call, we answer. No answer – rapid response.’ She moved to get her phone but he said, ‘No,’ moved closer.
‘I’ll tell them I’m fine,’ she said, ‘clocking off, yeah. Done here. Then they’ll leave it. Your call, Connor, they won’t hang on for ever.’
‘You say anything…’ he threatened.
‘With a gun to my head? I’m not fuckin’ stupid.’
He gave a sharp nod and she pulled the handset from her pocket, her heart hurting in her chest, her pulse galloping. Glanced at the display, hit the green key and said, ‘Hi, Janet, everything’s OK here.’
Connor was poised, eyes locked on her, gun too.
Janet began to speak but Rachel kept on, ‘I’m going to clock off after this, nearly done, shocking migraine so I’ll go straight home.’
‘Migraine?’ said Janet. ‘Since when have-’
‘Like your Taisie, eh? Head’s banging fit to burst.’ Please please, fuckin’ get it. ‘Mrs Tandy’s out shopping so we’ll have a word with her in the morning.’
Connor began to make winding motions with his free hand.
‘What’s wrong?’ Janet said, very quietly.
Connor moved forward, the gun swinging in his hand, his face darkening.
‘Got to go,’ Rachel said.
She made a show of ending the call but immediately after pressing the button she activated the voice recorder and set the handset on the seat beside her.
So what’s the plan? she wanted to ask him. You stupid little shitbag. What? You kill me too? Or hold me hostage and escape in a helicopter to a boat waiting to whisk you and your dad away to a far-flung country with no extradition agreement, like some shit-stupid video game.
‘Can I ask you something?’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Why did you kill them? Victor and Lydia?’
‘To show him.’ His mouth worked for a moment then he went on. ‘He wouldn’t take me with him – said I was just a kid, a nancy mummy’s boy. To get in touch when I’d grown a pair.’ His eyes were hot with rage. ‘He’d been well impressed with the wino. But I done two, black bastards. Coons.’ Hatred livened his face.
‘I heard you knew them, used to hang out. Friendly,’ she said.
‘So what?’ he said. ‘He’s blood, my dad, he’s family.’
And he doesn’t give a fuck.
‘What about your mum? She looked after you all the time he was away.’
‘She chucked him out,’ he yelled, spittle flying from his lips. ‘She started it,’ he complained, an outraged child.
‘Where did you get the gun? Did you nick it from your dad?’
Connor laughed, making the gun swing wildly, and Rachel flinched.
‘No, off of Victor. The Perrys, they sold it to Victor for some gear. They wanted rid, after doing the alkie, I reckon. Victor was showing it off. I asked to hold it. Bare luck, wasn’t it?’ He shook his head, grinning. ‘I had a knife – that could have got messy. Victor had the gun. How good is that?’ Delight danced across his face.
‘And the accelerant?’
A sudden blast of sound sent electric shocks through Rachel’s arms. The buzzer from the entry phone. They both glanced up at the screen. Janet.