Someone You Know (22 page)

‘How are you?' she asked in reply.

‘OK,' Robbie commented, reluctant to allow the subject to be changed. ‘Considering.'

Lucy nodded.

‘You?'

‘OK,' she returned. ‘Considering.'

It was Robbie's turn to nod. ‘Apart from someone having beaten you up,' he added, a little bitterly.

‘I wasn't beaten up,' Lucy remarked. ‘How's Gavin?'

Robbie hesitated, clearly aware that Lucy didn't want to discuss her injuries further, but reluctant to let the topic drop. Finally he said, ‘Not so good. He's inside already. He's hurting.'

‘For Karen or his dad?' Lucy asked.

‘Both,' Robbie said.

At that moment, a blue, unmarked car pulled up at the foot of the pathway and Eoghan Harkin stepped out, before the car drove away again. So close to his release, he would be allowed to attend the funeral unaccompanied. Still, Lucy could tell by the bulge around his ankle that he was wearing a tracing bracelet, just in case he had thoughts of not returning to finish the final days of his sentence. Having made it this far, it seemed unlikely he would risk his early release for the sake of a matter of days.

As he approached her, Lucy could see he recognized her from the night she had broken the news of Karen's death. He barely glanced in his wife's direction, save for a curt nod to the two brothers, never raising his head enough to make eye contact with either. No love lost there, Lucy guessed.

‘Inspector,' he said, as he drew level with Lucy.

‘Sergeant,' she corrected him. ‘I'm sorry again for your loss, Mr Harkin.'

The man acknowledged the comment with a slight raising of his chin. ‘How are you doing?' he added, addressing Robbie.

‘I'm sorry for your loss, Mr Harkin,' Robbie echoed.

‘This is Robbie McManus,' Lucy explained. ‘Karen's key social worker.'

‘Thanks for all you did for her,' Harkin said. Lucy could see that Robbie was looking for any hidden meaning in the comment. ‘What happened to you?' This time, he was addressing Lucy herself. He lifted one nicotine-yellowed finger and rubbed at the side of his mouth.

‘Nothing,' Lucy said, then, realizing the response did not satisfactorily explain the injuries she bore, ‘I had an incident with a suspect,' she lied.

‘I thought maybe it was that Cunningham boy. I heard on the jungle drums that he hit a copper a few smacks last night for staking out his house.'

Lucy reddened enough for Harkin to know he'd hit a nerve. He smiled wryly. Lucy turned her head slightly, keen to avoid Robbie's gaze.

‘Had Cunningham anything to do with Karen?' Harkin said quietly.

Lucy shook her head. ‘His brother killed a child and her mother a while back, then did a runner. I'd heard he might be back in Derry. You didn't happen to hear anything about that did you? On your jungle drums?'

Harkin shook his head. ‘Alan? He's a horrible wee bastard. That would be his form all right, killing women and kids.'

‘It's a pity no one else shares your assessment. I can't get anything concrete on his whereabouts. No one will talk.'

‘Somebody must be protecting him then. Someone with a bit of clout in the community,' Harkin reasoned. ‘By the way, I heard you were there when the guy that killed Karen got it.'

‘Gene Kay or Peter Carlin?'

‘I was told Carlin,' Harkin said. ‘Who's Kay?'

‘He may have been involved too,' Lucy nodded. ‘Did you know Peter Carlin?'

Harkin shook his head. ‘Not until I heard about it inside. One of the guards told me.'

‘But you knew Gary Duffy?'

‘The guy who killed the Gant girl?'

Lucy nodded. ‘They appear to have been working together.'

‘I remember Duffy all right from years back,' Harkin commented. ‘He was bad news. A real hawk. Jackie Logue is the one who could tell you about him. Jackie took over from Duffy after he went inside. Except Jackie wasn't as hard line.'

‘Did he and Duffy know each other?'

Harkin shrugged. ‘I'm not too sure. I never heard of this guy Carlin before all this though.'

Lucy gazed down towards the roadway, long enough to see Chief Superintendent Burns arrive. He made straight for Karen's mother, his hand outstretched.

‘Did he suffer?' Harkin hissed suddenly. ‘Carlin?'

Lucy glanced at him. ‘He drowned. Make of that what you will.'

Harkin snorted derisively. ‘It's a pity you let him die. If you'd kept him for me, I'd have made sure the world became a much lonelier place for Alan Cunningham as a thank you.'

‘You know where Cunningham is?' Lucy said, quickly turning to face him.

Harkin shrugged. ‘Not necessarily. But, as I said, someone with clout in the community could do all kinds of things. I'd have made sure he wasn't protected no more. You'd have had to find him yourself, of course.'

Lucy felt her breath catch in her chest, felt herself unsteady on her feet.

‘'Course, it's a moot point now, isn't it?' Harkin added, then moved on into the church, where his daughter lay.

‘You went after Cunningham,' Robbie said suddenly, gripping Lucy by the arm. ‘Jesus Christ, Lucy! You're going to get yourself killed, you know that?'

Lucy pulled her arm away. ‘What should I do? Forget about her?'

‘You don't need to forget her, but ...'

‘But what?' Lucy demanded.

‘But you need to let it go, Lucy.'

‘I don't let things go,' she snapped.

Robbie swallowed dryly. ‘You let me go,' he muttered.

Lucy was caught by surprise by the tenderness in his voice. The regret. She struggled to respond.

‘Is that why you wanted the child's address? To reopen your wounds?'

‘I wanted to make sure he's OK.'

‘You know, he'll not even remember what happened, Lucy. Nor should you want him to. You're the only one still carrying that with you.'

Lucy nodded. ‘That suits me fine. Someone has to give a shit.'

‘People do give a shit,' Robbie whispered urgently, as the people around them began moving inside the church for the funeral service. ‘We just don't forget to live, too. I'm sorry I ever gave you that address.'

Lucy felt a vibration in her pocket. ‘Don't worry about it,' she said, pulling out her phone. ‘I'll not tell anyone where I got it from.'

‘That's not what I'm worried about,' Robbie managed, before she stepped away from him, putting the mobile to her ear. It was the estate agent.

‘DS Black? Richard O'Dowd here. I've got that address for you.'

Lucy made her apologies to no one in particular and ran to her car.

T
he Glenshane Pass, cutting through the Sperrin mountain range, was named after the eighteenth-century highwayman, Shane Crosagh O'Maolain, who had operated there before being caught and hanged with his brothers in the Diamond in Derry. His name, Crosagh, referred to the pockmarks on his face which were a feature of his family. Ironically, the name applied equally well to the topography of area where he had lived, the thick bogland of which undulated along the valley.

The house that O'Dowd had valued was situated on the outer edge of the Glenshane Forest, just under ten miles beyond Dungiven. The Pass itself was heavy with traffic heading from Derry towards Belfast. The mountain area around it, though, was sparsely inhabited. The land was primarily peatland, the grass and scrub being grazed upon by a few hardy sheep, yellowed and wiry. The soil beneath, however, was black, meaning the runoff water from it was like stout as it cascaded down the rock face bordering the roadway on one side. To the other, Lucy could look down over the valley of the Pass beneath, where the River Roe began to gather strength as it cut down through the mountains.

Lucy had entered the address of the property in Google Maps, but it had not been recognized. Instead, she had taken a series of directions over the phone from O'Dowd. She had passed the entrance way to the abandoned quarry, which had carved into the sides of the mountain, its rusting equipment seeming to breathe dust with each gust of wind carrying up the valley. Further along the road, she passed the Ponderosa bar, a sign outside proclaiming it the highest public house in the country.

Finally, as the road began to flatten after the climb from Dungiven, she saw the roadway to her right that O'Dowd had said she should take. She pulled off the main Glenshane Road onto this narrower one and drove parallel to the main flow of traffic for a few hundred yards, before the road cut sharply to the right and took her down, into the valley, towards the dark mass of the forest.

O'Dowd had warned her to look out for a further turning, this time onto a laneway. In fact, she had already passed it by the time she registered its presence and had to reverse several hundred yards in order to take the turn.

The laneway was narrow, the hedging on both sides scratching against the doors of her car as she progressed along it. Up the centre of the lane, the tarmac had risen in a central ridge from which thick tussocks of grass had grown.

After a few minutes on the laneway, Lucy finally saw the house that O'Dowd had visited, standing enshadowed by a circle of trees surrounding it. While the building was not as ramshackle as Lucy had expected, it was, without doubt, in need of repair.

Still, as she pulled into the driveway, she noticed the two-tone effect of the roof slates where the newer red ones stood out against the moss-thick russet ones with which the roof had originally been tiled. There was no doubt that someone had been at the house more recently than O'Dowd's valuation visit. That didn't necessarily mean that Doherty hadn't managed to sell it to someone else, without O'Dowd's help, since then.

She drew up outside the house and, reaching across, unlocked the glove compartment and removed her service gun. Fitting it inside her coat pocket, she got out, leaving the car unlocked lest she needed to make a quick getaway. She realized that she should have brought support but, with Fleming suspended, there were few alternatives. Besides, there was no guarantee that the house was even occupied.

She moved across to the door, passing the main window that carried a single thick crack running across the width of its pane. The glass itself was coated with dust so she was unable to see anything in the gloom beyond.

She tapped on the door twice and, stepping back, regarded the front of the house. Despite her first impressions, she could see curtains hanging down the sides of the window of the small room to the left. She thought she saw something shift quickly from her sight and, moving across, she leaned against the window, using her glove to smear away the dust and allow her a view inside. She tensed as she now saw a small fire burning in the hearth. She stepped back and, glancing up, realized she had missed the thin skeins of smoke drifting against the cloud grey sky above the chimney of the house.

She heard a click and the front door opened. She shifted quickly back to come face to face with Seamus Doherty. He stared at her, clearly waiting for her to speak.

‘Mr Doherty?'

‘Yes?'

‘My name is Detective Sergeant Lucy Black. I'm with the Public Protection Unit. Can I come in?'

She motioned as if to step into the house, but Doherty held his ground, moving more fully into the doorway to block the entrance.

‘Why? Is something wrong?'

‘I'm looking for Sarah Finn, the daughter of your partner. I'd like to search your property. Please let me in.'

Doherty licked dryly at his lip, glancing past Lucy, clearly trying to gauge whether she was on her own. His eyes flitted across her face, his thoughts racing.

Lucy moved her hand towards her pocket, feeling for the weight of the gun she had placed there. Doherty saw the motion and, in an instant, had slammed the door on her.

‘Shit,' Lucy snapped, pulling her gun free of her coat pocket and, raising her boot, kicking at the door. Its state belied its sturdiness, for though it rattled in its frame, it did not move.

Lucy stepped back, allowing herself more room, and kicked a second time, harder. She heard the crack as the wood around the catch splintered. A third kick and the door swung open. She moved into the room quickly, her back against the wall, her gun held in front of her.

‘Mr Doherty. My colleagues are on their way. Please surrender yourself.' She moved into the room proper, scanning for hiding places. A bookcase against one wall, a heavy unit in the centre of the floor, on which sat two cereal bowls. A threadbare sofa pulled forward to meet it.

‘Sarah?' Lucy shouted. ‘Sarah Finn?'

To the rear of the house, she heard a crash, as if a piece of furniture had been knocked over. Lucy moved quickly, still scanning the room, trying to keep her back to the areas she knew to be clear of potential hiding spots.

The room she was in opened out into the kitchen, where a chair lay on the floor. To her right was a hallway opening onto three further rooms. She moved up the darkened corridor, swinging quickly into the first room to the left. A bedroom, the bed unmade, a tangle of clothes on the floor. Jeans, a jumper, men's boots. A paperback book steepled on the bedside unit. The bed was old, cast iron, high legged enough to offer Lucy an unrestricted view through to the far wall.

Satisfied, she turned to the second room, just a little further up the hallway, on the opposite side. A bathroom. Untidy. The toilet seat down.

The last room was to her right again. Lucy pushed open the door with her foot, then moved quickly in. A second bedroom, bigger than the first, the lower half of the walls panelled in dark wood. The bed was made here. A bag sat on a chair in the corner. On the bed, its head resting against the pillow, sat a tattered child's toy, a white rabbit with one ear hanging loose over the eye, the stuffing showing at the stitching.

‘Sarah?' Lucy shouted. ‘I'm with the police. Don't be afraid.'