Living Death (47 page)

‘I’m pure pleased with it,’ she said. ‘He really
looks
like a dognapper. I’m going to scan it now and email it to you.’

‘How are you feeling?’ Katie asked her.

‘Sad. Bereft. But this work keeps my mind off it, like. It’s so grisly that I have to concentrate completely, which I couldn’t do if I was flower-arranging, say, or baking cakes.’

‘Good girl yourself,’ said Katie, gently. ‘I can’t wait to see what your dome-headed dognapper looks like.’

When Eithne’s scan came through, Katie sat back in Chief Superintendent MacCostagáin’s large leather chair and stared at it for a long time. Although he was a man, the dead dognapper’s face reminded her of her geography teacher at school – furtive and ferrety and occasionally cruel, reducing some girls to tears. She would contact Mathew McElvey in the press office tomorrow and have this sent out to the media.

At 5:10 pm, Conor rang her.

‘How’s the tragedy coming along?’ he asked her.

‘Still tragic. But I’ve just about finished for the day.’

‘I don’t suppose I can interest you in a drink and dinner with your favourite pet detective.’

‘No, Conor, I’m sorry. I’m flah’d out, to be crude about it. I’m going to go home and have a hot bath and watch some stupid television.’

‘At least have a quick drink with me before you go. I missed you today. I really, really missed you.’

Katie kept on staring at the dead dognapper. Eithne had caught a deeply unsettling expression in his eyes, as if he could actually see her staring at him, and intended to do something extremely unpleasant to her for being so inquisitive.

‘One drink, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll meet you in the Market Tavern across the road.’

*

Conor was already sitting at the back of the pub when she arrived. He stood up and held out his arms for her, and even though she had promised herself that she wouldn’t show him how devastated she had been by Jimmy O’Reilly shooting himself in front of her, she burst into tears when he held her and her mouth was dragged down by a painful, ugly sob.

The barman stood and watched them with polite curiosity as Conor hugged her and shushed her. At last, when they separated, and Katie took out a crumpled handkerchief to wipe her eyes, he called out, ‘Detective Superintendent? You’ll be wanting your usual?’

Katie nodded and smiled and sat down with Conor under a framed photograph of Muhammad Ali. He laid his hands on top of hers and said, ‘So what’s this tragedy? It must have been a fierce tragic tragedy to upset
you
so much, Madam Hardboiled Detective.’

She told him, although she spoke very quietly and made sure that the barman couldn’t overhear her. When she had finished, Conor could only sit back and say, ‘Jesus H. Christ. No wonder you’re shaken.’

‘This is totally confidential, though, Conor. Noirin O’Sullivan will probably be making a statement to the media tomorrow, but until then you mustn’t mention it to a soul.’

‘You can trust me, Katie, you know that.’

Katie finished her first vodka and tonic in three distressed gulps, and then asked the barman for another. She tried to change the subject and talk to Conor about anything else except Jimmy O’Reilly, but all she could see in her mind’s eye was the way he had looked at her after he had blown the back of his head off. Dead, of course, but sad to be dead, and it was only because of Katie that he had killed himself.

After her third drink, she squeezed Conor’s hand and said, ‘I’ll have to be heading off home now. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.’

The pub had gradually become crowded while they were sitting there, and the last thing she wanted was to hear laughter and people telling jokes.

Conor said, ‘You’re not going to drive yourself, are you? You must be over the limit by now.’

‘I’ll be grand altogether, Conor. Don’t you worry about me. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Katie – you can’t drive yourself home. It’s not only the drink. You’re very tired and upset and it’s easy to make a misjudgement when you’re feeling like that. And look outside, it’s pelting down. Six point seven on the Fliuch Scale, at least.’

Katie couldn’t help smiling.
Fliuch
meant simply ‘wet’. ‘Fair play,’ she said. ‘I’ll call for a taxi.’

‘I’ll drive you home myself. I’ve had only the one pint of Murphy’s. Maybe I can even persuade you to let me stay the night.’

What Conor was suggesting sounded desperately attractive. If ever she had needed somebody to hold her tight in the middle of the night and comfort her, it was now. And she had to admit that she
was
slightly steamed.

‘There’s only one thing,’ she said. ‘I have a friend staying with me at the moment. He’s recuperating after both his legs were amputated. A carer looks after him during the day, but I have to keep my ears open for him during the night.’

‘He had both of his legs amputated?’

‘It’s a long story. But in a roundabout way, like, I feel responsible for what happened, and that’s why I’ve been taking care of him.’

Conor shook his head. ‘Jesus, Katie. It seems to me like you’ve got the whole damn world on your shoulders. Let me drive you home.’

Katie took a last sip of her drink, although there was nothing in the glass now but ice and a slice of lime. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like that. And I’d appreciate that, too. And I’d be pure grateful.’

They hurried across the junction to the Garda station car park, keeping close together under Katie’s umbrella. As well as the pelting rain, the wind was beginning to gust. It was what her late husband Paul used to call ‘dead umbrella weather’ because the streets were littered with €4 umbrellas from Centra, all inside-out.

They climbed into Katie’s Focus. Conor could barely squeeze himself behind the wheel and so he had to shift the driving-seat back as far as it would go. He leaned across and kissed her and said, ‘I didn’t realise how little you are.’

‘Big enough to arrest you for seducing a Garda officer under the influence of Smirnoff.’

Conor drove them across the river and back to Cobh. Katie felt exhausted but she didn’t want to close her eyes. Visibility was down to less than a hundred metres, even with the windscreen wipers flapping madly, and she was almost blinded by glaring headlights.

‘I think it’s God,’ said Conor, as they passed the Passage West ferry terminal. ‘He adjusts the weather to match our feelings. Have you ever once been to a funeral when it wasn’t raining stair rods?’

They turned into Katie’s front drive. As soon as Bridie opened the front door, Barney came out with his tail wagging wildly.

‘This is Barney,’ said Katie. ‘Barney, this is Conor. Give him your best snuffle.’

Conor bent down and patted Barney and tugged at his ears, which Barney always loved. ‘Oh, you’re a grand feller you are!’ said Conor. ‘Look at the lovely glossy coat on you. Almost the same colour as your mistress’s hair.’

‘I’m Bridie,’ said Bridie, and raised her eyebrows at Katie as if to say ‘Well,
he’s
a sexy biscuit.’ Katie could also sense that – with Conor here – she was hesitant to talk to her about John.

They took off their coats and went into the living-room.

‘This is pure minimalist,’ said Conor. ‘Exactly how I would have imagined your house. Everything well under control – even the pictures on their walls.’

‘To tell you the truth I think it’s far too bare,’ Katie told him. ‘I’d love it a bit more cluttered but I never have the time to go out buying knick-knacks.’

Bridie said, ‘He’s asleep now, himself, and I can’t see him waking up until morning. He had the phantom pain again this afternoon. It was something terrible so I dosed him with the maximum codeine that I could give him.’

‘Otherwise?’ Katie asked her. Bridie knew that she was inquiring about his mood.

‘One minute up, like, the next minute down. Then back up again. He’s still very optimistic about the future if you know what I mean.’ Saying that, she glanced at Conor again, who was sitting on the couch and giving Barney a neck-rub. Barney was staring at him with adoring eyes. Katie had always believed that dogs can sense when somebody genuinely loves them, and when they’re pretending. Barney had always been highly suspicious of strangers, especially if he thought that they might be threatening Katie in any way, but she had never seen him take to anybody so quickly.

‘I’ll be off, then,’ said Bridie. ‘Enjoy your evening, won’t you?’

Katie prised off her shoes. ‘Oh, that’s a relief,’ she said. ‘How about some music and a nightcap?’

‘Haven’t you had enough?’ said Conor.

‘Probably, yes,’ she said, climbing on to the couch and kissing him. ‘But I feel like one more now I’m home, and I’ve some Murphy’s in the fridge if you’d like one.’

‘Go on, then. After the day you’ve had, I think you’re forgiven.’

Katie put on the CD of soothing Celtic harp and flute music which she played to herself whenever her day had been stressful. She went into the kitchen and poured out a stout for Conor and then came back in and poured out a large glass of vodka for herself.

‘You’re going to have a fierce hangover tomorrow morning,’ said Conor.

‘It won’t make a doonchie bit of difference, my darling,’ said Katie. ‘My whole job is a hangover at the moment. Some days I think that there’s nothing else in the world that I’d rather be doing, but today I wish I was doing anything else but. At least if I was working behind the perfume counter in Brown Thomas or serving meals in Isaac’s I wouldn’t have people blowing their heads off right in front of me.’

Conor put his drink down, took her face in his hands as gently and reverently as if it were a communion chalice, and kissed her. She closed her eyes and opened her lips so that his tongue could tangle with hers, and then explore the inside of her mouth. She didn’t want him to stop, because as long as he was kissing her she didn’t have to think about anything else.

They sat and talked and kissed while the harp and flute music played soft and plaintive in the background, and Barney lay on the floor close to the couch, not sleeping, but obviously feeling contented, as if he were part of a family again.

‘You must be hungry,’ said Katie, sitting up straight. ‘Here I am, being so selfish. Just because my stomach’s all tied up in knots.’

‘I wouldn’t say no to a sandwich of something,’ said Conor.

‘There’s some bacon-and-egg pie that Bridie made for lunch today if you don’t mind that.’

‘That sounds perfect.’

Katie went back to the kitchen and cut Conor a large slice of bacon-and-egg pie, which she garnished with cherry tomatoes and coleslaw. She brought it into the living-room on a place-mat and gave Conor a knife and fork. Then she sat close to him again and watched him eat. She loved the look of him so much that she couldn’t resist touching his ear and kissing him.

‘I know a joke about this,’ said Conor, pointing to the pie with his knife.

‘You know a joke about bacon-and-egg pie? Then tell me. Anything to get my mind off Jimmy O’Reilly.’

‘There was two young Cork lads visiting Dublin and they went into this café. It was much posher than they were used to but they were starving. After they’d perused the menu, this very pretty young waitress comes up to them and says, “What’ll you have?” and Seamus says, “I’d love a quickie.” Well, the waitress can’t believe her ears, so she says, “
What
did you say?” and Seamus tells her, “I’d really love a quickie.” The waitress says, “You’re disgusting,” and storms off to fetch the manager. It’s then that Brendan leans over to Seamus and says, “I think it’s pronounced
quiche
.”’

Katie looked at Conor a few seconds without saying anything and then she laughed.

‘Mother of God,’ she said. ‘I never thought I’d end up today by laughing. You’re a tonic, Conor, you truly are.’

‘Oh, but they weren’t stupid, those Cork lads. They paid for the quiche but they sneaked out without eating it.’

Katie slapped Conor’s shoulder and said, ‘You’re mad. I think I love you.’

*

It was almost eleven o’clock by the time the music finished. Katie sat up and said, ‘Come on, let’s go to bed. I have to be up before fonya-haun tomorrow. There’s going to be so much to do.’

She showed Conor into her bedroom so that he could undress. She made sure that Barney had water for the night and then she switched on the alarm. Before she returned to the bedroom she quietly opened the nursery door to make sure that John was still sleeping and that he hadn’t dropped his bedcover on to the floor. He was lying on his back, his face very pale, and breathing almost silently.

My God,
she thought,
haven’t I ruined your life. You should never have come near me.

Perhaps Jimmy O’Reilly had been right, and she
was
Nemesis. Not only his, but of every man who came close.

Conor was down to his white Calvin Klein briefs by the time she came back. She couldn’t help noticing how much he was bulging.

‘How’s your friend?’ he asked her.

‘Oh, he’s okay. Dead to the world.’

She quickly undressed herself. When she was naked, Conor put his arms around her, and stroked her bare back, and lightly kissed her forehead and her eyelids and her nose and then her lips. She tugged down his briefs and held him for a moment, but then she said, ‘Let’s take a shower and get some sleep.’

‘That’s the second-best suggestion I thought you’d come up with,’ said Conor.

They showered together, and Katie lent Conor her toothbrush to clean his teeth, and then they climbed into bed. Katie was feeling dizzy from all of the vodka she had drunk and she was relieved when Conor came up close behind her and held her tight, because it stopped the bed from tilting up and down.

‘Goodnight,’ she said. ‘And thank you. And God bless.’

His hand was cupping her breast and she could feel his erection against the small of her back as smooth and as hard as a polished bone. She knew how much he wanted to make love to her, but he was also considerate enough to let her close her eyes and try to get some sleep.

‘
Oíche mhaith, codladh maith, agus aisling an-milis
,’ he breathed into the hair behind her ear.