Past Darkness Page 7

  ‘Yes…’ He forced a grin. ‘No more cheese sandwiches before bed, ever again.’

  ‘What was it about?’

  ‘Nothing…just the usual crap, being chased through a forest by a strange-looking woman with a bloody axe in her hands. I think it was Lynne, looking more money from me.’ He eased out of bed. ‘Need to take a leak.’

  In the bathroom, he looked in the mirror. Barely recognised the man staring back. Threw cold water on face, before checking hands. They were trembling.

  Sneaking a peek out the bathroom door, he tiptoed across the landing to where his coat dangled from a coatstand. Shoved his hand in the inside pocket. Rummaged. Found the pills. Removed two from their enclosure, and tried popping them into his mouth. Missed. Watched in horror as they bounced onto and into the carpet.

  ‘Damn it!’ He fell to his knees, fingers fine-combing the plush carpeting.

  ‘Karl? You okay?’ Naomi called from the bedroom.

  ‘Yes…just a second.’ His fingers frantically searched. Bingo! One recovered. Where’s the other bastard?

  ‘Karl…?’

  ‘Coming…’ He swallowed the sole survivor and headed back to the bedroom.

  ‘You sure you’re okay?’ Naomi said, concern traced across her brow as he eased back into bed.

  ‘Nothing a hug won’t cure.’

  Naomi patted her side of the bed. ‘Come here, big lad.’

  Karl slid over, curving into her, loving her womanly smells, the warmth of her breasts, the beat of her heart against his ear. But more than all these things combined, he loved her protection. He needed that more than anything else at this moment.

  Silently, he prayed to a god he did not believe in, not to let him fall asleep.

  Not to let the bogeyman get him…

  Chapter Sixteen

  A gambler is nothing but a man who makes his living out of hope.

  William Bolitho

  Friday lunchtime, Karl was just leaving the office to place a quick bet on a sure-thing, impossible-to-lose horse, when a car pulled up alongside. The driver beeped the horn before getting out. He was youngish-looking, hair combed back in a fashion long gone. Despite his youthful appearance, there was something world-weary in his demeanour, something sad and secretive in his eyes.

  ‘What the hell are you doing, blasting your horn? Didn’t you see the sign at the corner?’ Karl said, eyeing the young man. ‘This is a no-noise zone. I should call the cops. Oh, sorry, I forgot. You are a cop, Chambers. So, how’s the form, Detective?’

  ‘I need to talk to you, Mister Kane. Urgently.’

  ‘Karl or Kane. Quit the “mister” shit. You sound like a schoolboy talking to a teacher.’

  ‘Okay. Kane it is. Now, can we have that talk?’

  ‘It’ll have to wait. I only have a minute to get this bet down.’ Karl pointed at the William Hill bookie’s shop across the street.

  ‘That’s okay. I can wait here till you return.’

  ‘I bet you a tenner you can’t.’ Karl smiled.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Just then, a female traffic warden appeared.

  ‘Which of you two gentlemen owns this vehicle?’ she said, pointing at Chambers’ car.

  ‘It’s mine,’ Chambers said.

  ‘Can’t you see the double-yellow line?’

  ‘You don’t understand. I’m a–’

  ‘No, you’re the one who doesn’t understand. You can’t park here. That’s not too complicated to understand, is it?’

  Chambers’ hand went to his inside pocket, and produced a small brown wallet, containing his police ID. He flourished it to the woman. ‘I’m a policeman.’

  ‘Then you should know better than to break the law. Move the car immediately; otherwise I’ll have it towed.’

  Karl let out a large, loud laugh. ‘Belfast doesn’t know the meaning of the word “protocol” when it comes to making money.’

  A chastised and chastened Chambers got back inside and started the car.

  ‘That’s a tenner you owe me, Chambers,’ Karl said, making his way quickly to the bookie’s.

  Ten minutes later, Karl reappeared, tearing up a docket.

  ‘No luck?’ Chambers said, standing at the doorway.

  ‘The nag fell at the first hurdle. A hundred quid gone like coal in Hell. And talking of Hell, what sort of little harassment operation has my devious devil of an ex-brother-in-law sent you on?’

  ‘Inspector Wilson has nothing to do with this. He’s over in Edinburgh at the moment, on assignment.’

  ‘Good. Hopefully the bastard stays there. Where’s that maniacal thug of a side-kick of yours – ‘The Priest’, the one who gets so much pleasure from confession?’

  ‘Detective McCormack?’

  ‘The very one.’

  ‘He’s back in the station. This is an off-the-record meeting.’

  ‘The last time I saw you two together, you were beating the crap out of him with that kung-fu shit of yours, after he assaulted me.’

  ‘Yes, well…that was in the heat of the moment. I shouldn’t have done it.’

  ‘I was grateful you did. You saved my neck, while giving his a good chopping. So, what is it you want?’

  ‘Can we go back to your office and talk?’

  ‘So you can eye Naomi? I don’t think so.’

  Chambers’ face flushed slightly. ‘This is a friendly visit, Kane. We got a complaint from the Europa. A guest by the name of Graham Butler received a vicious beating, a few nights ago. Apparently, Butler didn’t want it disclosed, because of his reputation as a hard man, but when the regular manager returned from some days off, he immediately reported it to us, as required by hotel policy.’

  ‘Long story short?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get to the point. I’ve a hundred quid to get back from Hill Billy.’

  ‘I checked the hotel’s CCTV. You were seen clearly on it; you and Miss Sharon McKeever – or Lipstick, as she refers to herself.’

  ‘Is there a crime in that?’

  ‘I suspect Miss McKeever was there for a sexual encounter, as she has–’

  ‘She’s an adult. She can do whatever she damn well–’

  ‘Something bad happened in Butler’s room, and you were called in to help her. I know the history between you and Miss McKeever.’

  ‘History? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’ Karl bristled.

  ‘She saved you from being killed by Peter Bartlett, the assassin. She shot him. That’s more than enough for you to be indebted to her.’

  Karl looked at his watch. ‘Unless you’re going to arrest me for assault and battery, I’m going to go back inside and–’

  ‘Graham Butler is a very dangerous individual. He’s a well-known criminal from London’s East End. In one of his prettier moments, he killed a rival drug dealer, cutting him up and disposing of the body parts all over London. At the moment, he’s suspected of arranging meetings with drug dealers over here, hoping to extend his franchise.’

  ‘A nice chap, then? Look, I appreciate your telling me, and sticking your neck out. I really do. Though I have to admit, I think you’re more concerned about Naomi being dragged into it, than you are about my health.’

  ‘Just make sure you avoid him. We’re hoping to send Butler back to London, first chance we get.’

  ‘Butler won’t come anywhere near me. He didn’t look like a stupid man.’

  ‘One other thing. A journalist from the Sunday Exposé has been talking to some of the staff at the hotel. Don’t be surprised if the newspaper contacts you.’

  ‘I doubt very much they’ll contact me. They only like people who’ll tell them what readers of their rag want to hear.’

  Chambers turned to leave.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Karl said, holding out his hand.

  Chambers looked puzzled. ‘What?’

  ‘The tenner you owe me.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  There w
ill be killing till the score is paid.

  Homer, The Odyssey

  ‘Do you think God is punishing us for being bad, Tara?’

  ‘I don’t believe in God. There was no God to help me at Blackmore.’

  ‘But…everybody believes in God. If you don’t, you go to Hell.’

  Tara started laughing without laughter in it. ‘Where the hell do you think we are right now? Perhaps you weren’t the good little girl you thought you were, and you’ve been sent here?’

  The words sent a shiver up Dorothy’s back. The howls of wind outside were gathering pace, like the staccato of a million bat wings in a cave. She hugged the bear tighter.

  ‘I hate the wind at night. It scares me,’ Dorothy said, trying to prevent her teeth from chattering.

  ‘The wind doesn’t bother me. It’s my friend. Pastor Kilkee was always terrified of the wind. He thought it was Satan coming to get him, to cart him off to the flames.’

  ‘Who’s this Pastor Kilkee? You’ve said his name a few times.’

  Tara didn’t answer. She seemed to have drifted away on a boat of memory.

  ‘Tara? You okay?’

  ‘He was a bastard.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes, a dirty one. Did things to me, to all the girls at Blackmore.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘Things…dirty things. Kept me locked up, just like Scarman. Until I escaped. Until I…’

  ‘What? Until what?’

  ‘What’s the worst thing you ever did?’

  Dorothy thought for a moment. ‘I…I took money I shouldn’t have, from Grandda McMahon before he died. He had a disease called Old Timers, and kept forgetting everything. Every time he handed me money, he would say: “Didn’t I just gave you money yesterday, Dorothy?” And I would put on my best wee innocent voice and say, “No, Grandda McMahon, you didn’t.” Even though he had. I’m so ashamed of doing it now.’

  ‘When did he kick the bucket?’

  ‘Last year. My granny put him in a home, even though he had his own home. I hated Granny McMahon for that. She’s not as nice as Granny Reilly, my other granny.’

  ‘Granny McMahon sounds a right old bitch.’

  ‘She can be nasty, when she wants to be. What about you? What’s the worst thing you ever did?’

  ‘The very worst thing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Tara smiled. In the splintered dark, her teeth looked almost canine. As she spoke, her voice sounded different, diseased, like an old woman rotting on her deathbed.

  ‘I killed someone. Killed him good and proper. Rammed knitting needles into his eyes, and all the way up into his brain. And I enjoyed every second of pain I gave him…’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Were there darker provinces of night he would have found them.

  Cormac McCarthy, Child of God

  Karl made a left turn into the unused back road, slowing the car to a crawl. The old house could barely be seen from the road, camouflaged by overgrown weeds and trees, but he could still picture it clearly in his mind.

  For a second, he was tempted to get out of the car, have a sneak peek, but something foreboding kept him inside the vehicle. Quickly shifting gears, he hit the pedal, proceeding onwards.

  Less than a minute later, he came to another isolated house, not as large as the first one, but not a league out.

  This time, he did exit the car. Walked up the house’s gravel pathway. Before he could knock on the door, an elderly man opened it, the shotgun in his hands aiming directly at Karl’s chest.

  The man was as broad as a barn door, his thick, knotted muscles earned through the honesty of a lifetime of hard farm work. Thick grey hair showed not a hint of thinning, crowning weatherbeaten skin and sincere but shrewd eyes. A fierce looking Rhodesian Ridgeback sided up to the man.

  Karl held his arms up to the sky. ‘Is that how you welcome an old neighbour, Francis Duffy?’

  The man’s ageing eyes scrutinised Karl, from toe to head.

  ‘Who’re you, and what do you want here?’

  ‘Karl, Francis. Karl Kane. Don’t you remember me, that nuisance kid always pinching your apples? Remember all the boots up the arse you gave me? I still have the boot prints as proof if you want me to show them to you.’

  ‘Karl…?’ Francis’ face lit up like a million blessed candles. ‘Lad, you’re a sight for sore and old eyes.’

  ‘Can I take my hands down?’

  ‘What – oh! Of course!’ Francis laughed, quickly cradling the shotgun. ‘Sorry about that. Don’t get many visitors, so I’m always wary of strangers at the door.’

  ‘God help any Mormons coming up the path to convert.’

  ‘Come in! Come in, lad!’

  ‘What about the dog? Doesn’t look too happy to see me.’

  ‘King? He’ll not touch you. Come on.’

  As Karl approached, the dog’s tail wagged frantically.

  ‘He’s not going to bite, is he?’

  ‘Only if I say so. You must be okay. He didn’t even growl. He knows good people when he smells them. Even wagging his tail for you. Proves you have a good soul, Karl. He can tell.’

  ‘I can handle dogs.’ Karl patted the dog’s head. ‘Cats? Now, that’s a different matter.’

  Inside, Francis seated Karl at a table covered with everything from old newspapers to rusted tools prepared for oiling. The room – like most of the house, Karl suspected – was in dire need of a good cleaning and fixing. Ghostly cobwebs and heavy dust covered parts of farming machinery and other odds and ends, stacked against the walls like medieval torture contraptions.

  ‘Would you like a beer, or something stronger, Karl?’

  ‘Unfortunately, I’m driving, so I’m forced to say no.’

  ‘Tea, then? I’m just after having a cup, and the kettle’s still hot.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a coffee if you have it.’

  ‘Coffee…? Well, let me see. I think I have some somewhere.’ Francis opened a cupboard and began searching. ‘I’ve no use for the stuff myself.’

  Karl looked about the room, saddened by its declining state. Francis’ late wife, home-proud Nora, would be turning in her grave if she could see the state of the place.

  ‘Many a great breakfast I had at this table, Francis. No-one made breakfast like Nora. Could choke a bull, the breakfast she made.’

  Francis’ eyes brightened at the mention of Nora’s name.

  ‘Isn’t that the truth, lad? She always had a fondness for you. Looked upon you as the son we never had, especially after Julia was…’ He turned and looked at Karl. ‘Sorry, lad…didn’t mean to bring the past up about your mother.’

  ‘That’s okay. Time has softened Mum’s passing. I’ve learned how to cope with the darkness of that time,’ lied Karl, his gut tightening.

  ‘Ah! Found it,’ Francis said triumphantly, pulling out a dated and grime-encrusted jar of Nescafé, before hitting a switch on a battered kettle housing a small quantity of dullish water. ‘I knew I had coffee somewhere. A bit out-of-date, I’m afraid. I rarely venture into the village these days – or anywhere else.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I’m sure it’ll taste fine.’

  ‘What way do you take it?’

  ‘Black, no sugar.’

  ‘John Wayne style, eh? How’s Cornelius keeping? I haven’t heard a thing about him over the years.’

  ‘He’s…fine. No, actually, he’s not. He’s in a nursing home.’

  ‘A nursing home…?’ Francis turned and looked sharply at Karl. He seemed on the verge of saying something judgemental, but instead just banged down on the hardened coffee before scraping some lumps out into a cup.

  ‘He’s got Alzheimer’s, Francis, and it’s steadily worsening.’

  ‘Dear Lord…I’m truly sorry to hear that, Karl.’ Francis shook his head. The kettle bubbled. He poured the hot water onto the hardened clots of coffee.

  ‘You can only play the hand life gives you,’ Karl rumina
ted.

  ‘Alzheimer’s was always my biggest nightmare. I would hate to end up in one of those so-called nursing homes, someone having to wipe my arse. You read the papers, and some of the things they do to people in those places. Horrible…’

  ‘Those are the bad apples you find in every profession. I have to say, he’s been well taken care of where he is.’

  ‘Still, there’s no place like home, is there?’

  Karl felt his face tighten. ‘I tried getting him to move in with me, but he almost started World War Three. Wouldn’t hear of it.’ Why the hell does that sound like an apology?

  ‘That day ever comes for me, Karl, it’s the shotgun to the auld head. Sugar? Oh, you already said no sugar. God, I hope that’s not the first signs of it for me, losing my marbles.’ Francis laughed nervously. Handed Karl the coffee, and then sat down opposite.

  Karl took a sip of the liquid.

  ‘How’s the coffee, Karl?’

  Horrible. It tasted of engine oil and damp sawdust. ‘Lovely.’ He tried not to make a face.

  ‘Didn’t I hear something about you a while back on the radio? You were shot at by some religious nutcase?’

  Karl nodded, pretending to sip contentedly on the coffee. He put the cup down, hoping Francis wouldn’t spot that it had hardly been touched.

  ‘The scumbag’s name was Peter Bartlett. He’d killed a few people before getting to me. Thankfully, I had a little guardian angel watching my back, and she killed Bartlett before he killed me.’

  ‘Dear Lord above! The madness out there is unbelievable. But I thought the radio said your brother-in-law, that policeman – what’s his name? – saved you?’

  ‘Wilson. Some hope of him saving me. Anyway, he’s now my ex-brother-in-law. I was divorced a few years back.’

  ‘Divorced…I’m sorry to hear that, Karl.’

  A silence sat between them, like an uninvited guest. Karl glanced about the room, feigning interest in pieces of furniture. Francis looked at Karl feigning interest, and decided to break the excruciating silence.

  ‘You still haven’t told me the reason for your visit.’