Evergreen (a suspenseful murder mystery) (10 page)

“Holy shit,” he said softly, taking a step back.

The figure in black, the cold blooded murderer, smiled meekly at him. “Hello Patrick.”

18

“I thought you were dead,” Patrick said, suddenly wondering if he was the dead one; if this was a trick thrown his way by something demonic or angelic; if this was his afterlife.

Mary Ryan didn’t say anything, she just stared with those beautiful, caring eyes. He had dreamed of catching the killer, he had dreamed of doing unspeakable horrors to them in a brutal act of vengeance, but this was his mother, the only person capable of softening his heart.

“But--but...
you
?”

She nodded meekly, like a child revealed as a secret admirer.

“I don’t understand,” Patrick said.

“It’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

She sighed, wiped a restrained tear from her eye. She looked to the ceiling as the commotion increased, as the worried feet seemed to be running in fearful circles in the room above them.

“Okay,” she resigned.

***

Mickey Ahern didn’t entirely believe that his son was dead inside the pub, not until the men he told to surround the building reported that they could see his body dangling at the back of the room. Eddie could be a pest, he was reckless, mischievous; if he wasn’t getting his family into trouble with the law then he was getting them into trouble with other families, but no matter what he did Eddie was still his son and he loved him.

When they told him they’d seen the body he struggled to hold back his feelings. His little boy, with the sly smile and the passion for devilry, was gone.

“Burn them to the ground,” he ordered with a tear in his eye. “Kill them all.”

They were all armed with baseball bats, but a few of them had rifles and sawn-off shotguns stored away in their cars. Under Mickey’s orders they retrieved the guns and lined up outside the pub, ready to shoot anyone who tried to escape. Behind them Evergreen was burning to a cinder, pulsating flames ripped at the night air; a thick noxious plume rushed into the blackness.

They splashed a trail of petrol around the pub and against the walls. Mickey shouted one last curse towards the people inside, assuring them they would rot in hell after burning on earth, and then they set the pub alight.

***

Mary tried to reassure her son, to put her arm around him or at least to stay close, but he couldn’t get further away from her. She was his mother and as strongly as he felt for her, as he
thought
he felt for her, he couldn’t bear to be so close to such a brutal and sadistic killer.

“I didn’t leave all those years ago,” she said sombrely, taking a step back to give her son the space he needed. “They forced me out.”

“You left me,” he denied, shaking his head. “I’d just lost my father and then you walked out.”

She had a pained expression of sorrow on her face. “It wasn’t like that,” she explained. “They killed your father and then they tried to get rid of me.”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded to know. “My father died fighting. He was a fighter, that’s what he did.”

“They rigged the fight,” Mary said passionately. “They killed him.”

“Who the fuck are
they
?”

“Evergreen,” Mary suddenly spat, as if he word burnt her tongue.

Patrick tilted his head back, riled by her outburst. “What are you saying?”

“They rigged it, they drugged your father, poisoned him. He had no chance of winning the fight or living to tell the tale if he did.”

“You’re crazy.”

“It’s true. I caught them. Your father was the favourite.” She raised her hands into the air, describing his glory, “The great Evergreen fighter. ‘Rocking Ryan’. Everyone knew he was going to win, he
never
lost. They ran books on the fights and he was always favourite, even more so on that one.”

Patrick had taken a few steps back, towards the door. He could hear all hell breaking loose upstairs and he was eager to go up there, to get away from his mother, or what used to be his mother.

“They made a fortune from him,” she continued.

“You’re saying that everyone in Evergreen rigged the fight -- killed one of their friends and family -- for the sake of a few quid?”

“Not everyone, and it was more than a few quid.”

He shook his head, looked exasperated. “I don’t get it. What does this have to do with what you did? What does this have to do with all the people you killed?”

***

“We have to get out!” someone screamed.

“If we go out there, they’ll shoot us,’ Aidan told him.

“We have no other choice.”

The others agreed, Aidan could only watch and murmur his distaste as they began to talk and conspire amongst themselves. The pub was slowly burning, engulfed in fire like the Evergreen homes before it. The Aherns were surrounding the pub on all sides, covering all windows and doors with guns.

“We need to wait,” Aidan tried to tell them. “Someone will see the fire, someone will call the police.”

“And what good is that going to do!” they screamed at him.

He didn’t get the chance to tell them that when the police sirens sounded the Aherns would scatter, allowing those inside to get a clean break. He didn’t get a chance to stop them. They filed out of pub, some taking the back door, others the front -- rushing out in a simultaneous lemming-like mass. Aidan lowered his head and covered his ears, preparing for the inevitable.

***

“Haynes. Flanagan. Byrnes. Brady. They were the ones who set it up, they were the ones who killed your father.”

Patrick shook his head slowly. It didn’t matter if she was telling the truth or not, what she did was inexcusable. “So, what? You killed them because they killed
him
? This was all a part of some sick revenge plot?”

“I didn’t kill them, I killed their children.”

“And that makes it all okay?”

“You don’t understand,” Mary tried to move forward, Patrick flinched further away. The bottom rung of the staircase pressed against his calves. “After I found out what they did, they threatened to kick both of us out of Evergreen. They said that if I exposed them, if I told anyone, they would make you suffer. If I took you with me, they would hunt us down.” She was pleading -- a desperate look in her eyes, her hands clenched into fists. “This was your home, these were your friends, your family. I didn’t have any money, I didn’t have
anything
. I wanted to take you with me, but your life was here; not with me, struggling to survive on the streets.”

“So they killed my father and you left me
with
them?”

She sighed heavily, slunk into herself. “I knew they wouldn’t hurt you. They had no reason to. But...I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.”

He shook his head. “What you did was…”

“I know. But they took my child away from me, so I took away theirs.”

At that moment he saw something else in her eyes. The pleading, sorrowful look was replaced by something more sinister: the accumulation of years of vengeful thoughts, of building and expelled hatred.

A staccato blast of gunfire split the malice on her face. The shots came from outside, echoing through the open door at the top of the stairs and down into basement. The force of the noise shocked Patrick forward as shot after shot rang out. He heard screaming and yelling, then he heard the satisfied calls of thrilled murderers cackling above the sound of the fiery night.

He turned back to his mother, now right in front of him. He looked into her eyes for the first time in a decade and, as much as he hated himself for it, he pitied her.

“We have to get out of here,” she told him.

He shook his head. He didn’t care what was happening upstairs, he wanted answers. “You didn’t tell anyone else?” he wondered. “No one backed you up?”

“Murphy,” she said softly, stepping back to allow Patrick the space she felt he needed. “He knew, he tried to stop them.”

“Murphy was a pervert. A rotten, disgusting--”

“He wasn’t.
They
made him like that. They turned the community against him, ostracised him because of what he knew. He turned into a drunk because of what they took away from him, because of the burden of guilt he carried.”

Patrick held a hand to his temple and shook his head. “This makes no sense. Sheila Haynes is a quiet woman, she keeps herself to herself. Sandra Brady is in prison. Edna Byrnes is old. They don’t have the influence anymore.”

She shook her head slowly, “They don’t, no,” she said softly, her eyes on the top of the stairs where a darkness blocked the light, casting a black shadow over the basement. She nodded, gestured to the top of the stairs. “But
he
does.”

19

“Well, well, well,” Aidan said, bounding down the stairs. “Mrs Ryan. Long time no see.”

Patrick could sense the hostility between the pair. Aidan stopped by Patrick’s side, a few feet from his retreating mother whose face was a picture of blackened disgust.

“You’re in on this as well?” Patrick asked.

Aidan looked insulted. “Whatever she’s been telling you, ignore it,” he said confidently, moving closer to his friend, teaming up to glare at Mary Ryan. “She’s crazy.”

“There’s your man,” Mary said, “He’s the one who set it up. He’s the one who killed your father, the one who forced me to leave.”

“But he looked after me when you left,” Patrick said, defending his friend.

She snarled at Aidan, thrust an accusing finger at him. In the distance they heard the sound of police sirens slicing through the night; the sound of crackling fire tearing through the pub. “He’s a murderer. A vicious, devious devil.”

Aidan laughed. “Come on,” he said to Patrick, we have to go. Leave her here to stew.” He grabbed Patrick by the elbow and tried to tug him away. Patrick remained standing, defiant.

“I’m not going anywhere until I find out what the fuck is going on.”

“I told you,” Mary said.

“You told him a pack of fucking lies,” Aidan snapped, shooting spittle out of his snarled lips.

“She’s telling the truth.” They all looked up to see Seamus standing at the top of the stairs, sweat dripping from his brow, his sleeves rolled up; a rifle in his hands. He moved down the stairs, holding Aidan in his sights, stepping alongside Patrick.

Aidan growled impatiently. “What the fuck has this got to do with you?”

“He’s been helping me,” Mary said. “He’s been looking after me, watching--” her words froze into a gaggle; Aidan had thrown out a hand, grasped her tightly by the throat.

He lifted her off the ground, thrust her up against the wall. Seamus, reacting on shock, squeezed back on the trigger. The noise shattered through the basement, sending everyone to their knees.

The bullet tore through Aidan’s shoulder, spinning him around before he fell against the wall face first. He turned, a hand holding the blood onto his shoulder, a grimace on his face.

Patrick snatched the gun from Seamus’s hands, whipped the bartender in the face with the butt of the weapon and then jumped back, aiming the rifle at him and his mother.