Deadly Intent (36 page)

Redmond pictured the woman he had seen at Oscar's funeral, eyes veiled with alcohol and pain. ‘Fergus may have wondered about her too,' he said quietly, ‘and how often his father had raped his mother.'

They went on to talk about other aspects of the case, but when Trevor made a show of looking at his watch, Redmond did not press a second cup of tea on him. He was impatient to savour his own good news, in the happy knowledge that he would have plenty of opportunities to dissect the case again. On other occasions too, he and Trevor might talk over the great unanswerable questions raised by every murder inquiry, such as the nature of good and evil, and how free will could swing one way or another between them.

As he waved Trevor off, he thought of something he wanted to do the next day. He had been putting it off, but it was time to risk his feelings just a little. He turned the grill back on and picked up the phone.

Nessa had arrived early. It was a breezy autumn day, the billowing clouds brightened by sharp blasts of sunlight. From her vantage of the wooden bench on the hill, great sweeping arcs of mountains, headlands, inlets, islands and ocean waters could be seen, as Beara's greens and blues merged with those of Iveragh, its neighbouring peninsula famed for the Ring of Kerry. She gazed all round to her heart's content, until she spotted Redmond making his way towards her. His gait was athletic but awkward, she thought, and he never appeared quite comfortable in his own skin.

She felt rather awkward herself, unsure of why he had asked to meet her. He had said on the phone that he would like to see the standing stone drawn by Darina, and she had brought the card itself with her to show it too.

Redmond spoke quickly, once they had got over their first greetings. ‘What I want to say to you, Nessa – well, it's probably quite simple, but I hope it comes out right.' He blushed and hurried on. ‘Just that I'm sorry about how … I know I was rude to you a few times, and I really regret that. And I'm really grateful, more grateful than I can say, that you trusted me that day, when we met up here.'

‘It's coming out fine, Redmond. I appreciate it, and for my own part …' She felt flustered as she added her own gratitude. She had a sudden urge to give him a hug but knew he would find it too much. She smiled instead and tried for eye contact. ‘I'm afraid Patrick tells me that I sometimes intimidate people. Not intentionally most of the time, though I have to admit it came in quite handy when I worked as a journalist.'

Redmond seemed glad of a cue to get onto a different subject. ‘Do you miss being a journalist?' he asked.

‘Sometimes, as I found out recently when I got stuck back into my old ways. But if I'd stayed in that life, I'd have missed all of this.' Nessa gestured at the view and then pointed down the hill. She wondered if she was babbling too much. ‘You said you'd like to see the standing stone,' she said then. ‘I think the one Darina drew is just down here, in a field opposite the turn for the Briary. We'll have to clamber over the wall, but my son Ronan and I tried it recently, so I know it's not too hard.'

As they made their way to it, she told him about hiding behind the standing stone with Ronan, the day after Oscar's body was found. They exchanged the latest news on the case and Redmond appeared to relax a little.

‘Have you heard anything about how Darina got hold of the stun gun?' she asked him. ‘I've been wondering about that a few times.'

‘The inspector told me – Trevor, that is – he told me that Fergus found four of the guns in his home about a year ago. Oscar had travelled on a private plane and managed to avoid being scanned at the airport. Then a few months ago, Fergus removed one of the guns and met up with Darina near Cork city to give it to her. It seems Oscar never found out.'

‘I can't make up my mind about Fergus, whether to despise him or to feel sorry for him.'

‘I know what you mean. Whatever spirit he had seems to have been crushed.'

Nessa showed Redmond the drawing when they were in the field, and they compared it to the single slab of stone, wedged into the ground and as tall as themselves.

‘Yes, I can see how it makes sense as a headstone,' he said. ‘I couldn't picture it before, because I didn't really know what a standing stone was.'

Nessa turned over the card, to show the impression of Oscar's face on the other side. It was done in a fluid and sensitive style and Nessa looked at her companion, realising that he held her gaze this time without shying away. ‘What I find very hard to take in,' she said slowly, ‘is that we know so little about most people. Oscar, obviously, but Darina too. She always seemed to me to be a gentle, diligent kind of person, and not at all capable of what she did.'

Redmond nodded silently and they stood looking at the view, as clouds and sunlight jostled above the foam-rimmed curves of the coastline. Nessa wondered briefly about inviting him to Cnoc Meala, but decided against it. He was also someone she had known and understood too little, and that would not change in one afternoon. After a few moments, they picked their way across the field, caught up with their own thoughts as they took turns climbing back over the wall.

Writing is mostly a solitary activity, but I could not have written this novel without the generous time and support of all the people I want to thank here.

For valuable help with research: Professor Marie Cassidy, Ireland's State Pathologist; Detective-Sergeant Brendan Walsh (now retired); and friends in Beara including Sue Booth-Forbes of Anam Cara retreat for writers and artists.

For great critical feedback and encouragement to get me to the final draft: Simon Brooke, Kintilla Heussaff, Ciana Campbell, Alison Warlow, Wendy Barrett, Kate Ruddock, Maeve Lewis, Mary Hyland, Eithne Bentley and everyone in my wonderful book club.

Finally, I want to thank Micheál Ó Conghaile, my Irish language publisher at Cló Iar-Chonnacht, whose advice, patience and hard work made this translation possible; and all at Severn House for doing such a great job, in particular my editor Anna Telfer and publisher Edwin Buckhalter.