He uses his hat to waft his smoke politely away from Lena, and cocks an eye at her. “Are you with me so far?”
“I’m following you,” Lena says.
“A-one,” Mart says. “Well, Johnny had a bitta success. There’s plenty of people that’ll testify, if they haveta, that he came asking them for a loan. Some of them even gave him a few bob, for old times’ sake.” He smiles at Lena. “I’m not ashamed to say I loaned him a coupla hundred quid myself. I knew I’d never see hide nor hair of it again, but I suppose I’m an aul’ softie at heart. Maybe your Cal did the same, did he, for Theresa’s sake? And maybe his bank statement’d show him withdrawing that few hundred quid, a few days after Johnny came home?”
Lena watches him.
“How and ever,” Mart says, “Johnny couldn’t scrape together the full whack, and Rushborough wouldn’t be satisfied with any less than he was owed. There’s a few people that’ll say Johnny came back to them in the last coupla days before Rushborough died, begging for money again, saying ’twas life or death. Maybe you’re one of them, sure. Maybe that’s what Johnny was doing round here, the evening before it happened, banging on your door and bellowing outa him.”
He arches an inquiring eyebrow at Lena. She says nothing.
“Johnny was a frightened man,” Mart says. “And no wonder. I was never a fan of Mr. Rushborough; underneath the fancy shirts and the fancy talk, he always seemed like a right hard chaw to me. The Guards must be looking into him, and I don’t know what they’ll find, but I’d say ’twould frighten the life outa anyone, let alone a wee scutter like Johnny. He couldn’t run: if Rushborough had followed him once, he’d do it again. And sure, Johnny wouldn’ta wanted to head for the hills, anyway, leaving his wife and childer unprotected with that fella out for blood. No dacent man’d do that.”
Lena doesn’t bother to hide her dry look. “I’m feeling charitable,” Mart explains. “No harm in thinking the best of people. One way or t’other, Johnny couldn’t see a way out. He arranged to meet Rushborough somewhere on the mountain. Maybe he said he had the money ready for him after all. Rushborough’d be an awful eejit to meet him somewhere lonely, but sure, anyone can get overconfident, specially when he’s dealing with the likes of Johnny Reddy. Only instead of paying him, Johnny kilt him. I’ve heard he hit him over the head with a lump hammer, but then again, I’ve heard he stabbed him with a screwdriver, either right through the heart or right through the eye. Would you have any information on that?”
“No more than you have,” Lena says. “Noreen heard he was hit with a rock. But then she heard he was knifed, or maybe his throat was cut. That’s as much as I know.”
It sets her teeth on edge to give him even this much. It’s a surrender.
“Detective Nealon said nothing to your fella?”
“Not that he’s told me.”
“No matter,” Mart says peacefully, dropping his smoke to crush it out under his boot. “ ’Twoulda been useful to know, but we’ll do grand without. Whichever or whatever hit him, that was the end of the bold Mr. Rushborough. ’Tis an awful tragic story, and ’twon’t be popular with the tourist board, but you can’t please everyone. And most of the tourists that come here do be passing through to somewhere else anyway, or else they’re lost, so ’twon’t do much harm.”
Birds dive in the blue sky behind his head. The mountains are a slip of shadow in the corner of Lena’s eye.
“It all hangs together beautiful,” Mart says. “There’s just one wee bitta mud in the waters: that story about a buncha local lads doing something nefarious on the mountain that night. As long as Nealon’s got that to contend with, ’tis hard for him to settle comfortably on Johnny, or anyhow Johnny all on his ownio. And I’d like Detective Nealon to be comfortable.”
He arranges his hat back on his head. “There was no one on the mountain that night,” he says. “Only Rushborough and Johnny. Whoever’s been saying different needs to go back to Detective Nealon and correct the record. I’m not saying they musta seen Johnny leaving the house late that night, not for definite, but ’twould be helpful.”
At his feet, Kojak flops over onto the other side and sighs gustily. Mart bends, painfully, to rub his neck.
“If that loada flimflam did happen to come from young Theresa,” he says, “nobody’d blame her for making up a story to shield her daddy. Sure, it’d be only natural. Not even the detective himself could hold that against her. As long as she’s got the sense to know when ’tis time to come clean.”
He straightens up and pats his pockets, making sure everything is in its proper place. “If you think of it,” he says, “ ’tis no more than justice. Regardless of who kilt Rushborough, all this was Johnny Reddy’s doing.”
Lena agrees with him on this. Mart sees it in her face, and that she refuses to admit it. He grins, enjoying that.
“Johnny won’t go down easy,” she says. “If he gets arrested, he’ll tell the detective about the gold. Try and drop all of ye in the shite.”
“I’ll handle Johnny,” Mart says. “Don’t you worry your head about him.” He snaps his fingers for Kojak and smiles at her. “You just get your house in order, Missus Hooper. I’ve faith in you. No better woman.”
—
One of the deep pleasures woven through Lena’s life is walking around Ardnakelty. She has a car, but she walks everywhere she can, and counts it among the main compensations of her decision to stay. Lena doesn’t consider herself an expert on much, but she takes an expert’s fine-tuned satisfaction in the fact that here she could distinguish March from April blindfolded, by the quality of the damp earth in its scent, or tell how the last few seasons have unfolded by watching the movement of sheep in their fields. No other place, however familiar, could provide her with a map that’s built into her bones as well as her senses.
Today she drives up the mountain. She doesn’t like doing it—not only because of losing the walk, but because right now she would rather be out on the mountainside, where she could catch its every nuance. The car insulates her; she could miss something. But she’s hoping that, after she’s talked to Trey, they’ll need the car. She’s left the dogs behind.
Johnny answers the door. For the first time since he came back to Ardnakelty, he has the face he’s earned: old, pinched and stubbled, with a faint whiskey blur in his eyes. Even his vanity has gone. He barely seems to register Lena’s second of shock.
“God almighty,” he says, with a smile like a tic, “ ’tis Lena Dunne. What brings you up here, at all? Have you news for me?”
Lena watches his mind zip between hope and wariness. “No news,” she says. “I’m looking for a word with Theresa, if she’s about.”
“With Theresa? What would you want with Theresa, now?”
Lena says, “This and that.”
“She’s inside,” Sheila says, in the dark hallway behind Johnny. “I’ll get her for you now.” She disappears again.