The Dark Place (20 page)

“A
t your age, you really need to be catching yourself on, Mister Kane,” said Nurse Williams disapprovingly, all the while watching a young nurse finishing with stitches to the top of Karl’s head. “Trying to prove how macho you are? Is that what this is all about?”

Easing up from the hospital chair, Karl attempted a grin but grimaced instead before walking gingerly towards Nurse Williams. His face was partially bandaged, arms and hands covered in fat, skin-coloured plasters. “I know I look like a dog’s dinner, Nurse, but you want to see the other guy – looks like the place the dinner came out of.”

Karl’s face was a bloody scrambled mess. His collarbone jutted out of his neck at a strange angle, and all the swelling and bruising had distorted his face almost beyond recognition. Congealed blood and gravel formed a seal over the wide gash that could have been an eyebrow. His left eye was swollen shut; split lips jagged and caked with black blood. Underneath all the red and black and blue pain, his skin was white as a ghost.

“I really wish you would allow me to contact your family. You really are in a bad way – even with the painkillers you’ve just taken.”

“It’s nothing that a large Hennessy and a hot bath won’t sort. Thanks for patching me up once again, Nurse. Very much appreciated. You ever need anything, let me know.”

He handed her a business card.

It was over an hour later when Karl sank slowly into a bath of hot water and thick bubbles, balancing a large Hennessy. Naomi looked on from the door, her arms folded defensively.

“
Ahhhhhhhhh
. This is heaven. Almost worth the ticket to that boxing match.”

“When are you going to tell me where you went or who did this?”

“Somewhere I probably should never have been, and by someone I certainly should never have seen.” He sipped the brandy before continuing. “I thought I would find a man who could help me find Katie. All I found was more trouble, and discovered how totally useless a wanker I really am.”

Naomi walked to the bath, dipping into a half-kneel position. “Getting killed isn’t going to help Katie, Karl. The police are doing –”

“The police are doing sweet fuck all! They’ve given up the chase. They think she’s dead.”

Naomi blinked, as if slapped. “Don’t talk like that.”

“No? How should I talk? Polite bullshit or elegant lies? They know who has Katie. They’re too corrupt to do anything about it. Don’t you see? They claimed to have found nothing in any of Hannah’s properties. They’re all in on it. This is their payback time.” Karl quickly emptied the brandy down his throat and held out the empty glass. “Fill it to the brim this time. I need something to take this lovely pain away.”

Naomi stood and took the glass. “Are you sure you really need another –”

“For fuck sake, will you quit nagging, Naomi! If I wanted a nag, I’d buy a horse instead of betting on them.”

“Don’t you dare swear at me, Karl Kane!”

“Just give me back the glass and I’ll fill the damn thing myself!” said Karl, snapping the glass out of Naomi’s hand while stepping quickly out of the bath. Two seconds later, he went slipping on the wet floor, landing
heavily on the tail of his spine, the back of his already wounded head doing a recoil off the floor.

“Fuck!
Arghhhhh
…”

“Karl!” screamed Naomi, dropping immediately beside him, her face going sick. “Are you okay? Karl, answer me.”

“Just get me a drink, damn it! I need a drink! I’m fucking useless without a drink, you annoying woman!”

She pulled him into her, tightly, her strength defeating his weakened shell. He trembled. She tightened her grip, and suddenly the room was filled with the tide of his breathing and the quiet breathing of her heart.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” she soothed, combing back his hair with her fingers, her lips kissing his wounded face, gently. “Everything will be okay.”

“I’ve failed her, Naomi. I’ve failed my beautiful wee Katie. Don’t you understand? The cops are right. She’s dead.”

L
ate afternoon, and everything around Karl in the bedroom looked dull; dull and not too clearly defined. Not enough contrast. The dim light from the window, though, was enough to expose the wreck of his face in the mirror hanging above the dresser. For an instant, the sight of another person in the room, even his own battered reflection, comforted him. He tried separating the intense pain from its reality through existential processes, telling himself that pain only existed in the mind, not the body.

Grimacing again through clenched teeth, he finally had to admit defeat: he was hurting like hell.

He had drifted through slivers of dreams about Katie last night; dreams of a half dozen events between father and daughter, in a room somewhere far away. He could still see her image branded beneath his eyelids each time he closed them. She had a face like an angel, without makeup, and without the angry lines young people had nowadays or the wrinkles from frowning. Everything about her was soft and smooth. She smiled at him, saying something to him as he was preparing to leave. But it never registered, like a vision you lose grasp of when you
wake. What had she said?
I’m okay, Dad
. Was that it?
Rest yourself. You’ll find me
.

For hours after, her face was all he could see. Then her face disappeared, replaced with missing little girls with darkness and suffering in their eyes.

“Karl? Are you sleeping?” asked Naomi, softly.

“Huh?”

“There’s a very tall, well-dressed man downstairs in the office wanting to see you. He wouldn’t give his name, only that it’s very important. He says he’s FBI. Obviously, just a smart-arse, plainclothes cop who’s come about the assault. I told him I doubt very much that you could see him today. Perhaps tomorrow. But he was very insistent. Says it’s extremely important. I can tell him to come back some other time, if you want?”

“How long have I been sleeping?”

“Roughly ten hours.”

“Ten bloody hours! Why didn’t you waken me before this?” he moaned, easing his body off the edge of the bed. “I should be out there, looking for Katie. Tell the cop I’ll be down shortly. He might have some information for me.”

Naomi turned to leave.

“Naomi?”

“Yes?”

“Sorry … all that nastiness …”

“I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“What would I do without you?”

“I’m sure you’d think of something, eventually. You always do.”

Less than a minute later, Karl stepped into the shower, the first hot sprays hitting him with the propulsive ferocity of porcupine quills. It felt good. It made him feel alive. What he would give for a shave, but the thought of negotiating the maze of cuts and bruises on his face held little appeal.

Five minutes later, he exited, dried and dressed, popping a duo of painkillers into his mouth before making his way slowly downstairs to the office.

“Show the man in, Naomi, please,” said Karl, sitting down, grimacing
slightly.

A few seconds later, an extremely tall, well-built man entered. His hair was jet-black, greying slightly at the temples. He had a rugged handsomeness and tunnelling eyes as dark as figs. A deep river of a scar ran down his face, curving upstream on his chin, all the way to the edge of his mouth, as if his face had been carved in two. To Karl, the man had an unnerving mien, something tangible yet elusively impenetrable. He looked like a man not to be fucked with, filled with the self-assurance of an untouchable. Yet despite all this, all life looked deflated from him, like a flag without air.

“That looks pretty grim,” said the man.

“That’s an oxymoron if ever I heard one,” replied Karl. “Cut myself shaving, just a wee bit too close.”

“I can see that. Had a few close shaves in my time also.”

“Won’t you sit down?” offered Karl.

For such a large man, there was a tight economy of movement as he pulled out a chair opposite and sat.

“You said you’re from the FBI?” continued Karl.

“Fucking Big Irishman,” said the man, smiling a tight smile. “Sorry about that, but I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Scare me? How?”

“I believe this is yours?” he replied, removing a tiny card from his pocket before placing it on the table.

Karl picked it up. His business card.

“Guilty,” acknowledged Karl. “But I’m sure you didn’t come all the way here just to return a business card, Mister …?

“Burns. Brendan Burns.”

Suddenly, Karl’s heart began hammering like washers on a tin roof.

F
irst, allow me to apologise for Cormac’s over-protectiveness, three days ago,” said Brendan Burns. “He means well.”

“Cormac? You mean Mister Wrestler with the dum-dum bullets and sledgehammer hands? If that was his interpretation of meaning well, I’d hate to see him meaning ill to any unfortunate soul entering the Ponderosa.”

“I suppose you’re going to press charges against him?”

“Is that why you’re here, to return my business card and plead for your over-zealous friend not being arrested for attempted murder?”

“That, and to ask why exactly you were enquiring about me?”

Karl hesitated for a couple of seconds. “I need your help.”

“What kind of help?”

“To find my daughter.”

A puzzled look appeared on Burns’s face. “Your daughter? I don’t understand.”

“She was abducted, over a week ago. I suspect she is being held prisoner in Crumlin Road Jail.”

“Crumlin Road … I remember you now. You were on the news after
that big search in the Crum a few days ago. That was your daughter? I’m really sorry to hear that, but how would I be able to help?”

“The cops claimed to have searched every inch of the prison in a three-day extensive search. They even reopened all of the old covered-in escape tunnels, just to make sure.”

“From what you’ve said, there’s very little they didn’t do. What help would I be?”

“You more than anyone are an expert when it comes to the structure of the jail. You have an extensive experience of working underground, so to speak. You know every nook and cranny in there – and I mean
every
. It’s well known that you were the master tunnelling engineer in there. Someone told me you were behind every escape tunnel ever dug, in Crumlin Road Jail.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Mister Kane – especially from your cop friends.”

“It’s a fact, and a plea. If anyone knows the secrets of that nightmarish place, I believe it’s you, Mister Burns.”

“You’ve done your homework, it would seem. But let me shock you with a little bit of information. I’ve done my homework, as well. You’re the brother-in-law of Mark Wilson. Correct?”

Karl hesitated before replying. “
Was
. Past tense.”

“Well, Wilson and I have a lot of
past
between us – a hell of a lot. I don’t think he would look too kindly on you asking for my help.”

“You mean the fact that you shot him in the face, scarring him for life, almost killing him?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Burns’s face. “Looks like you were pretty thorough in your homework after all.”

“Let me be up front with you, Mister Burns. I don’t care what little war you and my ex-brother-in-law fought years ago, your ideals, or your political beliefs. In all honesty, I would go to the devil himself if I knew his address, to help find my daughter. Perhaps that doesn’t mean a lot to you, but it means everything to me. Now, will you help me or not?”

Brendan Burns seemed to be staring at Karl as if weighing him up. It was a few seconds before he spoke. “How well did you know Wilson’s right-hand man, a psychopath by the name of Duncan Bulldog McKenzie?”

Immediately blood rushed from Karl’s head. He felt dizzy.

“Why … why do you ask?” said Karl, finally getting his tongue to move.

“You’re aware he was shot dead a few months ago?”

Karl nodded. His neck felt weak.

Burns’s face darkened. His lips drew back in a snarl, almost canine. “I celebrated for almost a week when I heard it. Does that shock you?”

Karl remained silent.

“I had a little girl, like your Katie, Mister Kane,” continued Burns. “Patricia was her name. Eight years of age. Lovely little thing. One day she was there, then the next she was gone, for ever.”

“I’m sorry to –”

“I was on the run. Wilson and his crew came to arrest me. They’d been tipped off by one of their many lowlife informers in the area. They came to my house, guns blazing, caring not an iota for anyone in my home. I was shot four times. My wife, Claire, three. They shot Patricia once. Just the once, Mister Kane. My wife and I both survived, but one bullet was enough to kill Patricia. Figure that out if you can.”

“I …” Karl could find no words, his face suddenly turning grim.

“It was McKenzie. He fired the fatal shot. I will never forget the smirk on his face.”

“There’s … there’s nothing I can say, Brendan; nothing at all that will help take away your pain. I should have dug a little deeper before blundering into your place looking for you. I can understand Cormac’s reaction now. He’s a true friend.”

Nodding, Brendan Burns said, “At least now you know why I tried to kill Wilson. My only regret was not being the one who shot McKenzie. I would give anything to shake the hand of the man who killed Bulldog, thank him from the bottom of my heart.”

Karl’s face reddened. “Now, at least, I understand why you don’t want to help me, Brendan. I’m too close to Wilson for you. I probably wouldn’t want to help either if I were you.”

“Goodbye, Mister Kane,” said Brendan Burns, standing, before leaving as quickly as he had arrived.

It was almost a minute later when Naomi looked in at Karl.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

“I’m not going to ask you.”

“You don’t have to. The way your body is shaped like a question mark says it all. He was a man from a long time ago, a man who – justifiably – can’t help looking back in anger instead of forward with hope.”

“Is … is there anything I can do?”

Forcing a smile, Karl patted his knee. “Just sit beside me for a few minutes. Help me not to become that man.”