Gallows Lane (Inspector Devlin Mystery 2) (30 page)

‘Good morning, Miriam,’ I said.

‘Just thought you should be the first to know,’ she said, kissing the air beside me. ‘Harry Patterson has been offered the Superintendent’s position here. I put in a good word on his behalf that he should remain in the area. He’ll be starting at the end of the month. I’ve just confirmed it with your boss.’

She waited for a reaction from me, but got none.

‘I’m very happy for him,’ I said. And I meant it. If Jamie Kerr could forgive those who shot him and left him to rot in jail, and could do so in the face of ridicule and threat, it seemed churlish for me to bear a grudge against Harry Patterson.

‘I am sorry,’ Miriam said, trying to seem genuine. ‘He really impressed the board with the way he handled the Colhoun fiasco.’

‘Fiasco,’ I repeated. ‘That’s a nice way to put it.’

‘He will obviously put the needs of the station above his own private agenda. Like with that guns find. You really shouldn’t have told the panel it was sound, Ben. We already knew there was something fishy about it by that stage.’

‘We all make mistakes, Miriam,’ I said, tiring of the conversation and whatever emotional response Miriam Powell was attempting to elicit. ‘Thank you for letting me know. Pass on my good wishes to Harry.’

That afternoon, Caroline called at our house. It was the first time I had seen her in a number of days. Her parents had come up to take her to stay with them for a while. Peter was strapped into the seat beside her father, the back of the car packed with their belongings.

‘Going on holiday?’ I asked, nodding towards the luggage.

‘A little longer than that, I think,’ she said. Her wounds had begun to heal now, though she still wore a neck brace and the cast on her arm.

‘What about the work?’

‘I’ve handed in my notice,’ she said. ‘Costello said he’d keep the job open, but then, I guess it’s not his call any more.’

I nodded vaguely.

‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Any thought of leaving?’

I shook my head.

‘Staying to fight the good fight,’ she said, aiming for levity. We both laughed, unconvincingly.

‘When will you be back?’ I asked, swallowing back a lump rising in my throat.

She smiled sadly. ‘I don’t know.’

‘But you will be back, right?’

This time she said nothing. The space between us lay pregnant with unspoken words.

‘What about the house?’ I asked, turning to practical matters in an attempt to keep the conversation going. ‘Do you need me to keep an eye out?’

‘I’ve arranged with a local estate agent to let it out for a year; see how we get on.’

‘A year?’ I said.

‘For now.’

We stood looking at one another, both desperate to find something safe to say.

‘Why? Will you miss me?’ she asked.

I looked at her, considering my response. ‘I guess I’ve gotten used to you,’ I said. Caroline smiled sadly, and I could tell she was struggling not to cry. She extended her hand and we shook. ‘I have to go, sir.’

‘Ben,’ I said.

‘Ben,’ she echoed.

She half turned to leave, then turned back and we hugged awkwardly at first. Then I pulled her tighter against me, so she would not see my tears.

‘Take care, Caroline,’ I said.

She responded, her words muffled somewhat against my skin. Then she turned and climbed into the car. Her parents and Peter waved as they drove off, smiling as if embarking on a grand adventure. But Caroline did not look out.

I watched their car till it disappeared at the end of the road, my hand raised foolishly in farewell.

In an attempt to ignore the sadness I felt, I spent that evening clearing out the attic, busying myself with rearranging old books and bags of baby clothes now too small for either of our children.

It was while I was sorting through old toys that I heard a noise through the baby monitor. Assuming Shane was stirring for a bottle, I went into his room. He was already standing in his cot, his arms gripping the vertical bars, a juvenile prisoner. When he saw me, he raised his arms to be lifted and fell backwards, landing softly on his rump. He giggled once with pleasure, then said, ‘Daddy.’ He seemed to take even himself by surprise and repeated it, clearly, beaming with pride at his achievement.

I picked him up and brought him downstairs for his bottle. I knew Debbie would be waiting. ‘Daddy,’ he repeated, patting the side of my face with his soft fist.

I kissed him lightly on the forehead as he clung to my shirt and found myself smiling.

On such small victories must the future be built.

Thanks to the many people who helped bring
Gallows Lane
to fruition. My friends and colleagues in St Columb’s College, especially Fr. Eamon Martin, Nuala McGonigle, Tom Costigan, John and Diane Johnston, Marion Lübbeke, Eoghan Barr and the members of the English Department. Particular thanks to Bob McKimm.

I received very useful advice on various aspects of this book from Billy Patton, Colin Deehan and An Garda Press Office. Any inaccuracies are entirely my own.

Thanks to Dave and Daniel of Goldsboro Books, Dave Torrans of No Alibis, and Billy and Phillipa of Ad Lib Bookshop for their support. Thanks are also due to John Connolly, Declan Hughes and Declan Burke for their kind encouragement.

Special thanks to Eva-Marie von Hippel and Alice Jakubeit of Dumont, Peter Straus and Jenny Hewson of RCW and all involved with MNW – Maria Rejt, David Adamson, Cormac Kinsella, Caitriona Row, Sophie Portas and, most particularly, Will Atkins.

Thanks as always to my parents, Laurence and Katrina, and my family: Carmel, Michael, Joe, Susan, Dermot, Lynda and the girls; Catherine, Ciara, Ellen, Anna and Elena.

Finally, this book is for my wife, Tanya, and our sons, Ben and Tom, with love.