Bad Catholics (20 page)

‘I took them off Jamie. There was nothing else to speak of, nothing I thought you'd recognise. Apart from the body that's all there is.'

She nodded. They were both presents from her to her youngest son, the rosary at his First Communion and the razor on his sixteenth birthday. He had always said they brought him luck. She had known that Jamie was dead, now she would soon know where he was.

‘OK, take me to him.'

Jimmy gave Colin the instructions and they went to an undertakers where Bridie was reunited with her son.

The funeral took place on a Wednesday morning. The priest had been given all the information he needed to speak of a young man who had died far away from home, of a young life cut short by a tragic accident, of the family's sorrow. Everything was well done, the church was full, Jimmy had seen to that, there was even a choir. Bridie and her two remaining sons were alone on the front bench. Jimmy was surprised that they all knew when to stand, sit, and cross themselves. They weren't the strangers to the Mass he had expected. Colin and Bobby stayed outside across the street in the Merc.

Later, before the funeral cars pulled away from the church, Bridie came up to Jimmy and gave him an envelope.

‘It wasn't what I wanted but he got sent off right. Now I'll take him home.' She stood quietly for a moment. ‘Thank you, Jimmy, this was a family matter. My business with Lenny Monk will come later.'

She said it like a woman who didn't say thank you often if she ever said it at all, and she had said it twice to this man.

‘OK, Bridie.'

Jimmy pocketed the envelope without opening it. She turned and left him.

The white Merc pulled out after the hearse and the black limo carrying Bridie and her two sons. No other cars followed. That was it, thought Jimmy. It had been risky, it still was, but it was worth it and the real payment he had received was nothing to do with the heavy packet in his coat pocket.

NINE

Paddington, February 1995

Next morning when Philomena came into the dining room she found Jimmy asleep at the table, his head on his arms. She made some tea and put a cup on the table beside him before gently waking him.

‘Have you been here all night? There was no need for that.'

‘I needed to think something out, I'm all right.'

Jimmy picked up his tea and took a drink. He needed it.

‘God, Jimmy, you look dreadful. You know, when I was a young Sister, girls the same age as me used to be sorry for me, that I wouldn't have a husband, a man in my bed. They thought, what a pity, does she know what she's missing? But lots of the married women, especially the older ones, used to look at me in a way I couldn't understand back then: as if I had a secret, a lucky way that they had missed somehow. Many's the time I've envied women their husbands and children. But seeing the likes of you in the morning, Jimmy, I thank God I don't know what sex is like. Children can be a great blessing, but what a price, Jimmy, what a price. The likes of you in the same bed in the morning.'

And Philomena laughed, hid her face in her hands and laughed.

Jimmy smiled and spoke with mock seriousness. ‘Well, well, if Mother Superior could hear talk like this, what on earth would she say?'

Philomena removed her hands.

‘She'd say we have the best of it. If you're built for sex, then get on with it. If you have the choice, if you can do without it, then leave it alone. It's no different from drink – ten per cent thirst and ninety per cent wishful thinking.'

‘That's right,' said Jimmy, finishing his tea, ‘except after a very short while it's ten per cent wishful thinking and ninety per cent habit.'

‘God help us, you're a cynic. Even I wouldn't say it's as bad as that.'

‘Drink?'

‘Sex.'

‘Sorry, we're at cross purposes now. You seem to know all about sex and I know a bit about drinking. But you're the lucky one, at least you are if you got your information second-hand.'

‘Which is the best way in both cases.' Philomena paused and then asked, ‘Did you decide anything in your thinking, Jimmy?'

‘Yes, I decided something.'

‘Was it to do with us here?'

‘Yes. I don't know if it will be of any help, but I'll try to find out how things stand. After that, I'm off. I can't hang about. I don't know how long I've got.'

‘Don't get yourself in trouble on our account. Leave as soon as you have to.'

‘The trouble's not on your account, Sister. I have a couple of days, no more. I'll do what I can.'

‘What will you do?'

‘Did you ever meet Mr Amhurst?'

‘Once, when he first brought Lucy here.'

‘Can we visit him?'

‘I was going to anyway. It's the least I could do for the poor man.'

‘If these killings are connected, he's the connection. As far as I can make out he's the only money in the frame and if it's not about his money, it's not about anything I can help with. These things fall into place or they don't. If they don't one ex-copper isn't any good.'

Philomena nodded. There was a ring on the doorbell. She went to answer it and came back with a detective and a policewoman.

‘I gave Janine something to help her sleep. I'll bring her as quickly as I can. Would you like a cup of tea?'

‘Thank you, Sister,' said the WPC.

‘Make the tea, Jimmy,' Philomena said. ‘We can use my office when Janine comes down.'

Jimmy knew the detective by sight. He went into the kitchen, made the tea and brought it out.

‘You're Costello?' the WPC asked, lighting a cigarette.

Jimmy got the feeling he wasn't wanted but sat down anyway.

‘That's me. Eddy Clarke not on this?'

The detective shook his head. ‘He's in hospital.'

Jimmy was surprised.

‘What happened?'

‘Nothing that concerns you,' the WPC answered sharply.

‘He took a beating.' The detective didn't mind talking. ‘There was a phone call, some information for sale. Eddy went out and was found smashed up.'

‘Was anybody with him?'

‘A DC. They separated and the DC didn't see anything.'

‘Last night?'

‘What's a beaten up copper to you?' the WPC cut in.

‘It's for my scrap-album, pieces of interesting information freely given. I press them when I find them, they're quite rare you know.'

‘Fuck you.'

Silence settled around the table.

Despite her aggressive manner, Jimmy couldn't help noticing that the WPC was very attractive, even in uniform, and that took some doing. But he imagined how she'd be first thing in the morning with the kind of mouth she had on her. But at least coppers showed you their worst side first, he thought. If you fell in love with one it wasn't going to be because it was easy.

‘Which hospital is Eddy in?' Jimmy asked, directing his enquiry to the detective.

‘Central.'

At that moment Philomena came into the dining room to say that Janine was ready to speak to them, and that she would be present during the interview. It wasn't a request.

Immediately after Philomena and the officers had disappeared into her office, Jimmy left the building and headed for the Tube.

At the hospital he was directed to a small general ward and asked the nurse at the ward desk if he could visit Sergeant Eddy Clarke.

‘Are you a relation?' she asked.

‘A colleague.'

‘Is it official?'

‘No, I'm visiting as a friend. I'll just say hello and give him the station's best wishes.'

‘Very well, but just that.'

Jimmy went to the side room she indicated and stood in the doorway. Sharon was sitting at the bedside. Clarke lay still, his eyes closed.

‘Hello. I just came to see how Eddy is.'

Sharon turned and gave him a wan smile.

‘Have you been here long?'

‘Since not long after they brought him in.'

‘Sharon, why don't you go and get yourself a hot drink? You look knackered. I'll sit with Eddy for a bit.'

She thought for a moment. She wasn't sure, but it was the toilet rather than the tea that persuaded her. She thanked Jimmy and left.

He took her place by the bed and put his mouth close to Clarke's ear.

‘Eddy, come on, Eddy, wake up.'

He continued until Clarke's eyelids flickered opened.

He turned his head painfully. ‘Where's Sharon?' He spoke with difficulty.

‘Gone for a coffee, she'll be back soon.'

Clarke turned his head away and looked straight at the ceiling.

‘What happened, Eddy?'

‘What does it fucking look like?' Clarke answered weakly.

Jimmy knew what he meant, he could only see what was above the sheets but undoubtedly Clarke was a mess.

‘You know what I mean, who did it?'

‘Who do you think?'

‘Why?'

‘Because I gave Tommy Flavin's name to Deal.'

‘Because Deal wanted to know about me?'

Clarke started to nod but stopped immediately, giving a small cry of pain.

‘Why didn't you tell him yourself, why put him on to Flavin?'

‘I didn't tell him the first night I saw you. After that, I had to make out I didn't know you.'

‘And Flavin had this done to you?'

‘Him or someone else. Why did you fucking well come back, Jimmy? Look at me, look at what they did to me just because I put Deal on to somebody who knew you.'

Tears started running from his blackened eyes, soaking into the bandages on his face.

‘You'll be OK, Eddy, they've made their point. You'll get out of here and still get your pension.'

Clarke was too weak to make the appropriate reply. ‘Anyway,' said Jimmy, ‘it wasn't Tommy who put you in here. It was Deal, by giving Tommy your name.'

Clarke's eyes were no longer full of self-pity, something else showed there now.

‘I'll say goodbye now, Eddy. Sharon will be back in a minute.'

Jimmy left the hospital. Flavin couldn't arrange it so that detective sergeants got beaten to a pulp, but he knew the people who could. Jimmy stood outside the hospital entrance, lost in thought.

When Nat had heard he was back he decided he wanted some of Jimmy's money, but now he probably knew he could do better by co-operating with the important people who were pulling strings. A hundred grand was just pocket-money to Nat and now important people wanted to be sure Jimmy wouldn't talk to anyone.

He didn't waste any time kidding himself, he was as dead as those two old ladies. He just hadn't lain down yet.

He went back into Reception, found a public phone, and dialled Bart's.

Philomena answered. ‘Hello. Yes, they've gone. She's all right, she's resting. Of course I think it's a good idea to visit Mr Amhurst today. We can be back in time to open for the night shift if Janine's up to it. I'll phone him and see what time this afternoon is best.'

Jimmy decided his next port of call was worth a cab fare. The Green Man was just off Kilburn High Road. He went to the bar and ordered a pint. Although the pub was half empty, he went and put his beer on a table that was already occupied.

The man at the table ignored him and took a drink from his glass. He was wearing a dirty coat and a greasy cap. The whiskers around his mouth were stained with nicotine and his fingernails were blackened and broken. His face, what could be seen of it, was an unhealthy red.

‘Hello, Father Liam.'

The old man slowly lifted his head and looked at him, gave a hacking cough and finished his drink.

‘Another?'

Wordlessly, the glass was pushed towards him. Jimmy went and got another pint and brought it back to the table.

‘I need two things from you, Father.'

‘Don't call me Father,' came the growled response in a thick West of Ireland accent.

‘You were a priest when you married Bernadette and me.'

‘Fuck off.' The old man took another drink and sat with his head down.

‘Always a priest for some things, like when a man is in extremis.'

‘You're not fucking well in extremis.'

‘I think I am, Father, I really think I am.'

‘If I was a priest and you were as you say you are, what would you want?'

‘Just for you to listen for a minute and say a few words if you can.'

‘You said two things?'

‘Let's get the important one over first. I'm going to kill somebody.'

‘If you mean that, you're an idiot to tell anybody before you do it.'

‘Not you, Father, you'll tell no one.'

‘Don't be sure what I won't do for a drink. One more broken vow won't make much difference.'

‘That's my chance to take.'

‘Deliberate killing is always a sin, confessing in advance makes no difference.'

‘Is it wrong to kill to save your own life, self-defence?'

In the dark recesses of the old man's mind something from the past stirred. ‘Maybe not, not if it's the only way.'

‘Is it wrong to kill to save an innocent life, somebody else's life?'

The old man took the glass from his lips and his blood-shot eyes took on a faraway look.

‘In such a situation one might well apply the Just War Principle.'

Somewhere in his head the mists of alcohol began to clear. He was not a drunken, dirty derelict, he was priest-scholar, newly ordained out of Maynooth. He was a young priest asked a difficult theological question in a complex pastoral situation. He became again tall and strong, handsome in his black suit with the startlingly white Roman collar, and the words came. In his own mind he spoke clearly with confidence. Jimmy strained to make out his slurred speech.

‘… damage by aggressor … only means open … reasonable chance of success … evil produced not greater than good obtained …'