Turbulent Priests (Dan Starkey 3) (17 page)

‘Felt better,’ I said. I nodded at Father Flynn. ‘I guess I was pretty stupid.’

‘It’s one of the reasons we outlawed the alcohol, Dan.’

I nodded. ‘I’m never drinking again,’ I said.

‘I came to thank you personally for saving Christine. It was a brave and selfless act.’

I shrugged.

‘So we’ll say nothing more about the alcohol.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Now I better run along.’ He smiled across at Patricia, then handed me the cup and saucer. ‘We’ve had a great wee chat. She thought you were never coming home.’

‘I always come home,’ I said.

Patricia glared at me, then led Father Flynn to the door and bade him good night. She stood in the doorway until he’d started the engine, waved back at her, then driven off. The instant the door was closed . . .

‘You stupid fucking . . .!’

‘Shhhh!’ I said, putting my finger to my lip, and hurrying to the curtains. I peered out after Flynn’s disappearing vehicle.

‘Don’t you fucking shush me, you . . .’

‘Trish!’ I stuck a finger out at her, something she hates. ‘Stop it! Stop it now . . . I’m serious.’

‘I’m fucking serious! What the hell do you think you were . . .?’

I checked the road outside again, then pulled the curtain tight. ‘Pack up what you can. We’re leaving.’

That stopped her. ‘What . . .?’

‘We’re leaving. First thing in the morning. Just the essentials. We’ll never get all this shite in the car by morning, so just what’s easy. We’re catching the first ferry.’

‘Dan . . .?’

‘There was no sherry, Trish. No
dilapidated
farmhouse. I got attacked on the way home from Moira’s . . .’

‘
What
. . .?’

‘
Attacked
. Me. Attacked. Trish, I can handle out-of-date sherry. Look at the state of me, for fuck’s sake.’

‘Mugged on Wrathlin?’

‘Not
mugged
. Attacked. Shot at. In the dark. Guys with torches. They’ve been chasing me all over the fucking island for the last two hours. They were trying to kill me.’

‘
Dan
. . .?’

‘I’m serious!
Jesus
! I knew this would happen!’

‘It’s not that I don’t . . .’

‘It’s
just
that you don’t. Trish, I’m
serious
.’

‘Well, did you see who they were?’

‘It was pitch dark.’

‘You mean you were in Moira’s all that time?’

‘Yes.’

‘Interviewing her from first thing this morning?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ve never taken that long to interview anyone in your life.’

‘She’s the mother of the Messiah. I needed to go in-depth.’

‘So where did you get the alcohol?’

‘What alcoh . . .’

‘Dan, I’m not a fool. You smell like a brewery.’

‘Moira had a couple of cans in the fridge.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘It was just a couple.’

‘Enough to keep you there all day.’

‘Trish, for fuck’s sake, we’re getting away from the point here.’

‘Are we? You got drunk at Moira’s, made an arse of yourself, and some guys had to come and chase you away. Would that not be closer to the mark?’

‘No!’

‘Dan, tell me the truth.’

‘I am telling you the truth!’

‘Father Flynn said you were drunk at Moira’s. So was Moira for that matter.’

‘What?’

‘Father White told him. It’s true, isn’t it?’

‘No! Yes! For fuck’s sake, Trish.’

‘She’s an attractive woman.’

‘Trish!’

‘And I know we’re not back to normal in bed yet, but that’ll come, I just need time to . . .’

‘Trish, will you stop being stupid? For Jesus’ sake. Look. I had a few cans of beer while I was interviewing her. She was fascinating. It’s a
fascinating
story. But it’s got nothing to do with bed . . . Trish, listen to me. I was walking home. I was fine. I heard something behind me. Then there was a gunshot. Then there were torches, half a dozen of them, then they were chasing me. It was like a rabbit hunt, except I was the rabbit.’

‘Are you sure it
wasn’t
a rabbit hunt? You just got in the way.’

‘Do I look like a rabbit?’

‘Sometimes. Besides, it was dark. Maybe . . .’

‘Trish. They tried to kill me. There is no doubt about it. Now. You are here with me. Your baby is here . . .’

‘
My
baby . . .?’

‘
Our
baby . . . I am not exposing you or him to that kind of danger. More importantly, I’m not exposing myself to that kind of danger. We have to get out of here.’

She sighed. ‘Dan, it’s not that I don’t believe you . . .’

‘It’s just that you don’t believe me. Fuck it, Trish, you wouldn’t believe me if I came in with one arm blown off and an eye missing.’

‘Yes, I would. If you’d witnesses.’ She smiled. I scowled, but it slipped into a smile too. ‘Dan, have a bath, let me look at those cuts, have a sleep. We can’t go anywhere tonight. If you still feel the same way in the morning then we’ll go.’

‘I’m not drunk,’ I said.

‘Okay. I’ll run the bath.’

‘I’m not drunk,’ I said again.

‘I know.’

She ran the bath. I looked at Little Stevie, still asleep on the sofa. ‘I’m not drunk,’ I said.

Maybe I was a little. I fell asleep in the bath and drowned.

Or would have if Patricia hadn’t prodded me back awake and then carefully cleansed my wounds. I didn’t tell her about the birds, though she enquired about the birdshit. I should have told her everything, but I had never told her everything. Once you start down that road it’s difficult to get off it. Besides, she would find out eventually. She always did.

I went to bed. She stayed up to settle Little Stevie. I was
out like a light, and didn’t wake until eleven the next morning. The first ferry of the day was long gone. The bedroom door opened and I was halfway through snapping a ‘Why didn’t you . . .’ when I saw that Patricia was carrying a tray. There was an Ulster fry, a can of Diet Pepsi and a Twix on board, and you can’t shout at someone who does that for you. ‘What’s the occasion?’ I asked.

‘I love you,’ she said.

‘I know. What’s the occasion?’

‘I love you.’

She put the tray on my lap, kissed the top of my head, and left me to think.

I loved her deeply and had betrayed her far too many times. It would have to stop. That and the drinking. I had been drunk. But I had been chased and Bill Oddie or somebody who looked like him was dead. We still had to get off the island.

And yet it was a pleasant autumnal morning. The sun was out. The grass was dry. The hedgehog was sleeping peacefully in his box. Last night’s nightmare seemed just that.

I stood in the grass, contemplating. Patricia came up behind me and slipped her hands round my waist. ‘Do you still want to leave the island?’ she asked.

I nodded slowly.

‘Not so sure,’ she said.

I nodded some more.

‘It could have been a mistake,’ she said. ‘Or deliberate. But there are bad guys everywhere, Dan. In Belfast. In New
York. Everywhere you’ve gone there’ve been bad guys. You don’t run away from bad guys, it’s not you.’

‘I didn’t have a baby before.’

‘That’s nice. But it’s no reason to run away.’

I loved her. I looked at her. I wanted to tell her about Bill.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘let’s just drive into town. There’s a policeman, why don’t we tell him you were attacked? Make it official. It’s only a small place, he might have an idea who . . . he’ll know who has guns, won’t he? If they shot at you, there’ll be, y’know,
cartridges
or something, won’t there?’

I sighed. Then tutted. ‘It all seems pretty lame now, in the cold light of day. Some-big-boys-hit-me kinda stuff.’

‘It’s up to you.’

It was. Bill was dead. I had to tell someone. But not the police. Not on Wrathlin, at any rate. I would tell the Cardinal. I needed reassurance. I needed to make my report, make sure he could cover me if I got into deeper trouble, that he could send in an emergency rescue squad if I needed it. Or at least say a prayer for me. He could thank me for doing a good job and tell me to leave, or tell me to stay and offer me more money. Or I could demand more money. Danger money.

We got ready and drove into town. We had the windows down. It was really nice. The sun was squinting in off the ocean. Patricia was all excited. We would get the one o’clock ferry, she’d do some shopping for baby clothes and nonmicrowaveable meals in Ballycastle while I called the Cardinal. If he agreed to my terms I’d get a big carry-out
and hide it under some rugs in the back of the car for our return to the island. I was never drinking again; it would just be a comfort to know it was there if I really needed it.

We’d half an hour to wait for the ferry. We sat on a wall at the harbour, enjoying the sun. I felt refreshed. My bird pecks were not serious. I’d slept through the hangover, or the adrenaline of the night before had destroyed it. The ferry was just pulling in when we heard a commotion coming from the Main Street.

A tractor with trailer was rolling along the street, the farmer behind the wheel blasting his horn the whole way. People were peering out of shop doorways wondering what his problem was. Patricia smiled at me. ‘Must have discovered the mother of all carrots or something.’

I smiled back, but there was already a sick feeling in my stomach. The tractor pulled to a halt outside the police station. It was just a terraced house with a small office at the front, not even a sign that said POLICE or anything. The farmer jumped down and hurried inside. A crowd started to form around the trailer. Patricia raised her eyebrows. I nodded. She took my hand and we stepped across in time to see the police officer, Constable Murtagh, come hurrying out of his house, halfway through buttoning his jacket.

We joined the small crowd at the back of the trailer. They parted for Murtagh and the farmer. There was an old tarpaulin lying on the floor of the trailer, covering something. Murtagh shook his head at it. Patricia squeezed my hand and the crowd held its breath as the farmer caught the edge
of the tarp, looked once at Murtagh, who nodded, and then threw it back.

There was a gasp of horror from the crowd, and from Patricia, and from me, even though it wasn’t a surprise.

Bill was lying there, blue, bloated and broken.

Patricia was looking at me. She could see that the colour had drained from my face. She felt me shiver.

‘Dan . . .’ she whispered, ‘are you okay?’ I nodded unconvincingly. ‘Do you know him?’ she asked. ‘Do you think he was one of the bad guys?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘he was one of the goodies.’

21

Constable Murtagh cancelled the next sailing of the ferry, just until he could look further into the death of the bird warden. Patricia was all for complaining, but I didn’t want to make too much of a fuss in case it seemed suspicious. So we just stood around with the rest of the locals, shaking our heads and tutting. They said Bill had been on the island for four or five years. They said he drank. They said most likely he’d gotten drunk and knocked the brake off his caravan, then trundled over the edge. They said his name was Bill Oddesky and that he’d claimed to be of Russian descent. They said a lot of things, some of which I knew to be false, some of which I was prepared to believe. I watched the crowd in case they were watching me, in case they suspected me, or gave some sign of having tried to kill me. I detected neither or both, it was difficult to tell. Patricia whispered,
‘What are we going to do?’ and I said, ‘Go home.’ ‘Swim?’ she said. ‘No, Snow Cottage, I mean.’ She gave a little smile. She didn’t seem too disappointed. Somebody else, thank God, asked Murtagh how long he was going to suspend the ferry for and he shrugged and went back into his office. Dr Finlay arrived and asked the farmer to bring the trailer up to his surgery and for a couple of fit men to accompany it to lift the body in. I didn’t want to seem like I was ingratiating myself with the locals, so I held back. Big Duncan Cairns stepped forward, and another two I didn’t recognise. Patricia looked at him, appreciatively.

On the way back in the car I said, ‘For all we know, Duncan might have been one of the ones who tried to kill me.’

‘Don’t, Dan.’

‘
Don’t Dan
, what?’

‘Don’t talk crap.’

‘Might have been.’

She was shaking her head. Little Stevie was in the baby seat, sleeping. ‘How did you know him, the guy in the trailer?’

‘The day I went walking with Father Flynn. Met him then. Stopped by his caravan. Nice guy. Thought all this Christine stuff was ridiculous. Right enough, his caravan was a bit close to the edge. Did he remind you of anyone?’

‘Remind me?’

‘Yeah. Like someone who used to be on TV?’

Patricia drummed her fingers on the dash for several moments. Then she shook her head. ‘The only thing that
comes to mind is
Blue Peter
, but I think that’s just because he drowned. Why, do you think . . .?’

‘Nah, just reminded me of someone, can’t think who, though.’

She was looking at me. She said, ‘Dan, are you telling me everything?’

‘Always.’

‘Dan, please don’t keep secrets from me, I’m a big girl.’

‘You’re not that big.’

‘Dan . . .’

‘Honest. I’m past that stage, love. There’s nothing between you and me.’

‘You mean there’s nothing secret between you and me.’

‘Something like that, yeah.’

She smiled, we pulled into Snow Cottage. Or the lane outside.

Somewhere around midnight, Little Stevie started to cry. At first we both ignored it, hoping his soft mew would settle into sleep. Then we whispered soothingly through the gloom and at first he responded but, as his discomfort began to increase, the cries grew louder, more insistent, demanding.

I said, ‘I’ll see to him.’

‘What’s come over you?’

‘Nothing. Just doing my share.’

‘It’s not like you.’

‘If you’re going to make an issue of it I’ll get back in bed.’

She made a zipping motion across her mouth. I pulled on
my boxer shorts. We’d left the lamp on in his room. We had a contraption for warming bottles, which I flicked on as well. He wailed again as I picked him up. I joggled him a bit and did my baby talk. He wasn’t impressed. I walked him into our room.