Blood And Water (36 page)

She stopped talking and opened her eyes wide. Taking a deep breath, her tone becoming less emotional and more direct, she continued on the journey.

“I didn’t know what to expect, but there she was, unconscious but alive. Thankfully.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I wasn’t sure if she was actually alive until I took her pulse and realised her state was self-inflicted – she was just pissed. I tried to wake her but she wouldn’t open her eyes, so I rang Seb.” Enya stopped and shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“What time was that?” Evans asked.

“Oh about eight, I don’t know. Seb said he was on his way, not to touch anything and then, well, I think I tried to wake her again.”

“Did your brother tell you to call us, the police?” Evans asked.

“Not exactly – he said to call the ambulance but I just wanted her to wake up, she was really drowsy, and when she did kind of come round a little, only then did I call them and they called you.”

“What time was that?”

“Oh God, I don’t remember for sure.” She agonised, closing her eyes in a tight squeeze, pressing herself to recall. “I think about ten past, maybe quarter past eight.”

“Okay, that’s great. And then?”

“Well, then you arrived first and Seb after that.”

“Did Barbara say anything to you when she woke up?”

“No. Nothing and she’s still not saying anything. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. The doctors are saying its post-traumatic stress syndrome or something ridiculous like that.”

“You don’t seem very sympathetic.”

“I’m not!”

“So, bringing you back a little, tell us,” he asked, changing direction, “what you did after you left your parents that evening.”

“You know! Cormac has already told you, and he also told me what you think, but for what it’s worth we left my parents and drove back to Ciara’s. Ciara wasn’t there and Robert needed his car because he was on call so we took a taxi into town for a bite to eat and a bit of a post mortem about what happened with Dad.” She flushed at her unfortunate choice of words.

Ignoring it, Milford enquired formally, “And do you know where Ciara was?”

“Not there anyway!” She laughed at her own flippant remark but, seeing his face turn sour, replied with a little more decorum. ”I don’t know. Robert said he’d only just got back and she’d gone for a walk.”

“So you went into town?”

“Yes. The plan was to get stinking drunk, but it wasn’t working.”

“How so?”

“Cormac was getting all maudlin and I can’t stand that and, anyway, he had work the next day so …”

“So what time did you stay until?”

“I don’t know, about six or so?”

“And where did you go from there?”

“We left the bar and then he went his way and I went mine. I think he got the bus, but I took a taxi.”

“Did you keep the receipt?”

“No. Sorry. Anyway I got to Ciara’s but no one was home. I managed to work myself up into a right state and made my way back to Mum and Dad’s house, and, well, the rest you already know.”

The clock ticked loudly on the mantelpiece as Milford took his notes. He purposely let the silence linger longer than was necessary. Let her stew a bit, he thought.

Nervously Enya waited for him to finish, unconsciously wiping her clammy palms on the legs of her trousers, the edge taken off her attitude.

“So tell me about your relationship with your father,” Milford eventually asked her.

“I thought I’d made that pretty clear already.”

“Well, you clearly don’t like him very much, but why?” Milford prodded.

“Seriously?” she demanded. “Look at what’s just happened. Look at what he did to me, what he’s done to Mum for years, to the lads. The man was a pig.”

“And what do you make of Ciara and her situation?” he asked, changing tack.

“It’s completely nuts. I mean that poor woman – her birth mother, Lillian – he completely manipulated and ruined a perfectly innocent life, pushed her to suicide.” Her face was twisting in a display of disgust.

He wasn’t surprised by her outburst and imagined they all felt that way about William.

But Enya wasn’t done yet.

“And as for Mother, well, she just doesn’t care anymore, does she – hasn’t for years – and now we know why. This will mess her up even more. Even dead he’s going to continue causing trouble.”

“So what do you think happened in the house?” he asked.

“I think his meddling and fooling around just caught up with him. You don’t think that Cormac’s conduct came from nowhere, do you?” she asked cockily. “My father managed to upset so many people, one too many it would appear.” She stopped to look at Milford. “I just think that the only thing you’ll find taken from the house was whatever it was Dad was using against someone. I think they came, fought back and defending themselves took whatever it was he had against them and,” she shrugged, ”it’s gone now.”

“And what about you? What did he have belonging to you?”

Milford saw her defiant spark flicker and almost vanish.

“For years I blamed him for taking the single most precious thing I had in the world that I can never get back. But now …” she paused, biting back the tears, refusing to give his memory the pleasure of making her cry, “now I don’t think he deserves even that much of my attention.”

“I’m sorry, sorry you feel that way,” Milford offered, a little embarrassed by his petulance with her.

“What are you sorry for?” She looked at him as if he were stupid. “You did nothing.”

“Bloody hell,” Evans heaved once they had the house to their backs, “that was a bit intense, wasn’t it?” She sighed almost in awe of the audacious young woman as they drove down the dark tree-lined approach to Ciara’s house out onto the main road.

A little stirred, Milford didn’t quite know what to think. Was Enya challenging him to catch her, he thought, or was she using the truth of her innocence as an outward and petulant display of contempt for the dead man?

Martha and Rian sat hand in hand, but despite the apparent display of affection there was an irrefutable tightness between them.

“It’s important you know this,” Martha told them, her voice laced with trepidation.

“We
both
feel it’s important,” Rian stressed, looking at Martha with strained tenderness.

Intrigued, Milford sat back, happy to listen and curious to know more. They had come to the station of their own volition and asked to speak with him. They were next on his interview list, so he was completely prepared.

“As soon as I found out what happened to Lillian,” Martha stated, “I promised I’d find him and make him pay.”

“Who’s
he
?” asked Milford, immediately alert.

“William Bertram,” Martha replied, her face flushed as she looked straight into his eyes.

“Should I be recording this?” he asked, acutely aware of what this informal meeting was beginning to sound like.

“Let me explain first. If needs be I’ll happily say it twice.”

Intuitively he let her go on.

“I set about finding him, and it wasn’t hard. He wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet.” She laughed. “In my mind I had decided that I needed to track him down, observe him for a while and then decide how best to get to him.”

Milford felt her pain. He could tell how difficult her confession was to vocalise and appreciated how difficult it must be for Rian to hear her say it.

“Aside from finding him I was of course also eager to see Ciara for myself. I cried the first day I saw her.” Her eyes brimmed again, but taking a breath she kept them at bay and recovered her professional tone. “I’ll never forget it. It was the day he was re-elected for a second term. There was a press conference and she was there, looking so awkward and glum. They all looked pretty uncomfortable actually, to tell you the truth.” She glanced at Rian who smiled, knowing exactly what she meant. “I think I was most surprised by how alike she was to the others . . . that kind of got to me. I wanted her to be different, more like me. Or Lillian if I’m honest, but I couldn’t see Lillian in her at all. That was tough.” She took a moment to check her composure. “In the beginning I actually thought Enya would be my way in. She looked like the kind of person I could connect easily with, and she is, but then her world kind of fell apart and then, well, it just didn’t seem right. She’d been through enough. So I looked at Rian and it sort of changed everything, more by accident than by design really. It wasn’t a plan, more of a contingency that morphed into something else completely.” In her admission she threw an uneasy glance at her fiancé and clutched his hand tightly. “Getting to know Rian, it was easy to see how Lillian might have fallen for William. He was so utterly charming, so incredibly charismatic. Rian, that is. I found him so empathetic, so attractive. It wasn’t anything I’d anticipated and I certainly didn’t bank on falling in love with him.” She sobbed suddenly. It came from deep inside her, guttural and untamed.

Rian lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gingerly then dropped his head, unable to look at her.

Her pain was palpable.

“What was your plan?” Milford asked her, sitting forward to rest his elbows on the table. “What were you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I hadn’t thought it through that far. All I knew for sure was that I wanted William to suffer like we did. I wanted him to experience our pain. I even thought about how to … to …” she stumbled over the words, humiliated by their implications, past and future, “how to end his life. Just as William, indirectly I know, did to Lillian. But even though it consumed my every waking moment I just couldn’t see beyond the decision: I wanted to, but didn’t know how, or where even to begin.” Her head shook unsteadily on her shoulders as if inebriated by her shame and humiliation. “And then all those poisonous thoughts just kind of stopped, like it didn’t matter anymore, and it became more important to focus my energy on trying to find a solution to how we could overcome who I am, who his father is. It all just changed.” She shrugged. “I knew I’d have to tell Rian this one day. I didn’t plan on keeping it a secret. Not in the end, not once I knew I loved him.” She looked beseechingly at Rian. “And I do. I love you, Rian. You mean the world to me, and I know I can’t fix this but I can’t let this whole thing ruin our lives. I won’t.” Pathetic tears of humiliation rushed down her cheeks as if in a race to reach her chin as she implored him to listen and understand.

Milford blushed, embarrassed to be caught in the middle of such a heartfelt and genuine plea for absolution and acceptance.

The spectacle of the demise of a prominent and respected family was nothing short of an intimate cataclysm in motion. Morally, it wasn’t right that this much pain was being witnessed so publically. For six out of the seven family members it wasn’t fair. But for one, these were the consequence of his lifetime of actions.

“Let’s take a break,” he suggested, getting up from his chair, affording them a moment on their own. “Can I get you some coffee? Water?”

“No, thanks,” they replied in unison before slipping into an uncomfortable silence.

Milford indicated to Evans to follow him.

“Oh my God,” Evans whispered as the door closed behind them.

They walked back to his office.

“What do you think?” Evans asked.

“I have no idea, but I do think it’s a bloody mess.”

A knock on the frame of the open door took their attention and turning they were immediately on alert.

Superintendent Lisa Burke stood framed by the open door. Although her face was smiling, Milford had the experience to know that she wasn’t smiling inside.

“What’s the update on the Bertram case?” she demanded, her tone brisk and direct.

“We’re just about done with the interviews now, ma’am.”

“Good. Any success?”

Evans looked at Milford, curious to know for herself how he’d respond.

“I think so,” he told her to raised eyebrows from both his boss and the young officer.

“Don’t waste time, Milford. The media are all over this one. They’re after blood here.”

“I know, ma’am, I’m hoping for a result shortly.”

“Excellent. You can brief me fully in my office in ten,” she said, turning as she spoke.

Chapter 31

The letter, when it arrived, was handed to him by the desk sergeant with a sly and seemingly knowing smirk. Only when Milford inspected it further did he understand why. His name, beautifully scripted on the front of the envelope, combined with the distinctly female scent coming from it had all the suggestion and ingredients of a good old-fashioned love letter. Throwing a tired but superior glance at his juvenile colleague, intrigued, he pulled away from his computer and stuck his thumb under the seal at the back to tear it open unceremoniously.

Dear Detective Milford,
it began.

Skipping to the end he searched for a signature to see who it was from then, turning back the sheets of vintage and decadently elegant writing paper, he continued to read.

Permit me to begin this letter with an apology: I am sorry to have lied to you. Believe me, it wasn’t intentional. It is not in my nature to be deceitful. It came about more by accident than on purpose. Call it an opportunity, so to speak, that I couldn’t see wasted.

Allow me to fill you in on recent events and, hopefully, when I’m done you’ll understand and forgive me.

I shall start by telling you something that will surprise you: I am almost three weeks sober now, to the day. The evening of William’s death the reason Enya couldn’t wake
me was not because I was drunk, but rather because I was asleep. Not just halfway or partly dozing, I mean really asleep. I don’t think I’ve slept that soundly in years. You hear people compare the two – a sober and a drunken sleep – and it is true, as I have now discovered, there is a significant difference. Combine that with the reprieve of having finally fixed a wrong that has been an irritant for so long, I don’t know, like a humming sound in a room that you can’t trace. My resulting slumber, having found and silenced that proverbial hum, is out of this world, literally.