Blood Whispers (10 page)

‘I remember them.’

For a moment the two of them sat in silence, both aware that there was another subject still to be discussed. Father Anthony studied her as he ate a few more mouthfuls of stew. Her grandmother’s passing was not the only thing on the troubled young woman’s mind; she hadn’t gone through the whole rigmarole of getting him into the confessional just to tell him that. Such information could easily have been delivered over the phone. There had to be some other reason, something that made her want to talk in private.

‘How do you feel about going back to the cathedral? I don’t suppose you’ve set foot in it since the last time we met?’ he said, giving her an opening.

Keira didn’t reply.

‘In this line of work there’s very little that I haven’t seen or heard. From murderers, rapists and robbers to births, deaths and marriages, I’ve done the lot. I’ve become something of an expert on the human condition. I’m telling you this to reassure you that whatever is on your mind will be taken to the grave, along with many other divulgences I’ve heard over the years.’

‘Thank you,’ replied Keira, aware that she was about to reveal something she had kept bottled up inside her for more than twenty years. ‘You are the only person alive who knows what really happened. I don’t think my grandmother realized what she was asking me to do by making me go back there. She doesn’t know what really went on. She thinks it’s what I saw that caused all my problems, but she was wrong. It’s what I
did
.’

Father Anthony sat watching her in silence.

‘I know what Uncle Danny told you that night,’ she continued. ‘I overheard you talking at the cathedral. But he was lying. He didn’t kill Owen O’Brien. He told you that to protect the real killer.’ Keira paused just long enough to catch her breath.

‘Now, now that’s enough, Niamh,’ interrupted Father Anthony. He knew from experience the courage it took for some people to get to this point, and that his place was to sit quietly and listen, but he couldn’t let her continue. ‘I want you to stop now, okay, and listen to me.’

But Keira didn’t want to stop. She had to get the words out, like some form of exorcism. ‘I killed him,’ she continued. ‘I pulled the trigger . . .’

Father Anthony reached forward and grabbed hold of her hands. ‘That’s enough now‚ Niamh! I want you to stop! You may have heard some of the conversation that night, but you didn’t hear all of it. Your uncle Danny told me that you saved his life. If you hadn’t been there O’Brien would have murdered him. Now, for the moment let’s just accept that what you’re telling me is the truth, that you did pull the trigger. You did it to save another person’s life and that, for me, negates the burden of guilt you’ve been carrying on your shoulders for all these years. I preach Christian values of tolerance and forgiveness every week from the pulpit, but I’m not so naive as to think that every mad bastard in the world would respond to a few kind words by laying down their weapons in surrender. Owen O’Brien was a psychopath . . . he was a dangerous man, who would have killed you in a heartbeat. Yours wasn’t an act of aggression: it was a defensive response to one, and therein lies the distinction between a criminal act and a good deed for me. There’s no one deserves to die, but there are those who deserve to live. I want you to leave Keira Lynch here and look back on today as the first step to making Niamh McGuire’s life all that it should be, d’you understand?’

She nodded.

‘Your uncle Danny told me that he killed O’Brien and that – as far as I’m concerned – is still the truth . . . You saved a man’s life and protected your own. Niamh McGuire has nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to repent.’

The bright light burning overhead hurt her eyes and must have been left on overnight. Keira raised herself on to her elbows. The clothes she’d been wearing the previous night were scattered over a chair in the corner of the room. On top of the pile sat the well-wrapped package alongside the slim wooden case containing the throwing knives. She vaguely remembered stripping naked and climbing into bed, but for a brief moment she had no idea where she was.

On the bedside table stood a half-full bottle of water. Keira grabbed it and drained most of it in one gulp. She climbed out of bed and moved over to the window, where she stood gazing at the view: the green slopes of the Glens of Antrim rising away to the summit of Lurigethan Mountain. Trees and bushes‚ scattered randomly along the hillside‚ bent and swayed in the strong offshore wind that whipped across the top of them, adding even more drama to an already impressive scene. Dark grey clouds tumbled across the early morning sky and long vertical smudges of rain could be seen in the distance.

She had stayed on drinking with Father Anthony until getting in the car and driving back to Belfast was no longer an option. They had settled on the following Thursday as the day of her grandmother’s funeral. That would give Keira and her mother enough time to make the necessary arrangements to have the body transported back to Newry.

After helping the priest to down two more bottles of red and a quantity of brandy, Keira had finally had enough; she was exhausted and gratefully accepted Father Anthony’s offer of a bed for the night.

Keira stood naked at the window, trying to assess the impact of the previous evening on her initial fears about seeing the priest again. There was still a vague sense of unease, but she believed now – for the first time in over twenty years – that there might be a way forward. That in itself was a new thing. Saying the words out loud to another human being had made a difference. Her grandmother had been right: Father Anthony was a good starting point; already, the crippling burden of guilt she had felt for most of her life had somehow lessened, but it was only the first step. There was still a long way to go.

There was a loud rap at the bedroom door.

Keira turned her head too sharply‚ which made the room start to spin.

‘Are you awake, Niamh?’ came Father Anthony’s muffled voice.

‘I am.’ Keira held on to the window ledge to steady herself. ‘Just give me a second.’

She made her way over to the bundle of clothes, picked her trousers from the pile and started to dress.

‘There’s a phone call for you downstairs.’

‘A call?’

No one knew where she was.

‘The fella says it’s urgent.’

‘Did he give his name?’

‘David, from your office. Will I ask him to phone back?’

Keira pulled her blouse on and started buttoning it up. ‘No, I’m just coming. Would you mind telling him to hold on? I’ll be right there.’

‘I will.’

Keira slid her bare feet into her shoes and followed on a few moments later. The phone was in the hall downstairs, the receiver off the hook.

‘Jesus, what’s going on? How did you track me down here?’

David sounded tense. ‘I called your mobile.’

‘I don’t have my mobile with me. I think I left it at my mum’s.’

‘Exactly! When are you heading back?’

‘Sometime this morning, why?’

‘I’m sorry to disturb you. Your mum told me about your gran . . . so I know this is not the best time . . .’

‘Thanks, David, don’t worry about it. What’s the problem?’

‘They’re releasing Kaltrina.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘She’s free to go.’

‘Free to go? What the hell are you talking about? When was this decided?’

‘Who knows. I got a call on my mobile to contact Patrick Sellar’s office as soon as possible. I was told to let you know.’

‘When did you get the call?’

‘About an hour ago.’

‘He called you on a Sunday morning and told you they were releasing the girl?’

‘Not him, his secretary. She’d gone in specially, to sort out the paperwork.’

‘Did she say why? Are they dropping the charges? What is that little prick up to?’

‘Who knows.’

‘What were her exact words?’

‘That’s about it. Given the circumstances, they’re not willing to press on with the charges and Kaltrina would be released sometime later this morning once all the paperwork was sorted. She said Sellar will be in the office first thing tomorrow morning if you need to talk to him in person.’

‘“Given the circumstances”? What the hell is she on about? He knows Kaltrina’s life is in danger. Did you deliver the recording to his office?’

‘Yes.’

‘To him: did you deliver it personally to Patrick Sellar?’

‘Not in person, but I . . .’

‘I told you to deliver it to him personally, David, no one else. Jesus!’

‘What difference does it make? I gave it to his secretary and told her to make sure it was put on his desk . . . marked urgent.’

‘He can still say he didn’t receive it! For Chrissake, David! That recording proves Kaltrina Dervishi’s life is in danger. If he hasn’t seen it, then nothing for him has changed. Where the hell is she supposed to go? “Given the circumstances”? Given the circumstances, she should be going into the witness protection programme and be spirited away until Abazi’s arrested and put on trial . . . What does he mean “Given the circumstances”?’

‘This is the reason you need to keep your mobile phone with you, Keira. It’s making everyone’s life, including your own, too bloody difficult. It’s an aid to communication, that’s all . . .’

Keira was standing staring at the wall in a daze; no longer listening. She hadn’t seen this one coming. Suddenly she was aware of a silence on the other end of the line, then David asked, ‘Are you still there?’

‘Yes.’

‘What d’you want me to do?’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m heading over to my mum’s for Sunday lunch . . . or at least I was.’

‘Call his secretary back. Tell her I need to talk to Sellar today and get a contact number: don’t let her fob you off. It’s essential that I talk to the slimy little prick as soon as possible.’

‘Will I couch it in those terms?’

‘Then go to the office and pick up my spare keys for the flat. They’re in one of the drawers on the right-hand side of my desk. If you’re there in the next twenty minutes or so, call me back on this number; otherwise I’ll call you on your mobile when I get to the airport.’

‘My phone’s got hardly any battery left.’

‘There’ll be a charger in the office. Janica Ahmeti’s mobile number is scribbled on one of the bits of paper lying on top of my desk.’

‘Will I take a cab?’

‘Yes, and ask the driver to wait outside the office, then take you to the train station.’

Keira heard David sigh. ‘You want me to go to Stirling and get her?’

‘Yes. I’ll call Cornton Vale and tell them Kaltrina’s not to be released until you arrive. Try to get a hold of Janica and ask her to meet you there too.’

‘Should I wait for her?’

‘The main thing is to keep Kaltrina safe. If Janica is not there by the time you’re ready to leave with her, don’t wait.’

‘Then what?’

‘Take Kaltrina back through to Glasgow; go to my flat. I’ll head straight there from the airport. But don’t go on public transport, David. Order a car.’

‘From Stirling? Jesus! That’ll be expensive!’

‘I’ll sort it out later, don’t worry. Make sure you get dropped right outside the apartment block. When you get into the flat, lock the door and don’t open it to anyone. If I need to call you I’ll let the phone ring three times then hang up and call you back, otherwise don’t pick up. Okay?’

‘Aye, whatever you say.’

Keira hung up, rang directory enquiries for Cornton Vale’s number and jotted it down on a pad that lay beside the phone. Then she quickly dialled another number, shuffling around impatiently until eventually she heard a click followed by a message.

‘Gary? If you’re listening can you pick up?’ She waited a few moments to give him a chance to get to the phone, but nothing happened so she left a message. ‘Can you meet me at my flat around teatime tonight? There’s a client of mine, a girl – I want you to arrest her.’

The whole world seemed to be moving in slow motion – the drivers on the road from Waterfoot to Belfast International airport, the car-rental clerk, the check-in staff, the passengers boarding the plane – even the painkillers she’d swallowed a couple of hours earlier were taking their time kicking in.

Keira was on her third double-shot espresso and starting to get the jitters. She had put in a call to Cornton Vale and told them that under no circumstances were they to release Kaltrina Dervishi until her assistant arrived to escort her. Even there, the operator seemed to take for ever to write the message down. The prison operated a ‘reduced service’ at the weekend and she got the impression that the girl at the other end of the line was either a part-timer or an inmate.

After a call to her mother – to let her know about the funeral arrangements and tell her she’d drive down to Scaur as soon as she’d figured out what to do with Kaltrina Dervishi – she tried to get hold of the Advocate Depute, but so far had only managed to get Sellar’s answering service.

At the back of her mind she knew the son-of-a-bitch was avoiding her calls. She’d also tried to check in with David, but his phone kept diverting to voicemail.

There was nothing much she could do now until she got to Glasgow, but there was something else nagging at the back of her mind that she couldn’t coax into anything resembling a clear thought: when it did hit her, it was too late; the aeroplane had already left the runway. Keira immediately reached up and pressed the overhead call button. She unbuckled her seatbelt and was halfway down the aisle when the announcement came over the speaker system that the captain had not yet extinguished the seatbelt sign and would the passenger please return to her seat.

A female member of the cabin crew was already heading towards her.

‘I’m afraid you have to go back to your seat, Madam.’

‘I need to get a message to someone. It’s very important.’

‘There’s nothing you can do about that right now; you have to return to your seat.’

‘Please. I need the captain to get a message to the police in Glasgow.’

The stewardess was blocking the aisle, preventing Keira from going any further. She’d also taken hold of her arm. ‘I really need you sit down, Madam, then once the seatbelt sign . . .’

But Keira was talking over her.

‘Are you listening to what I’m saying? I need to get a message to the police. It’s an emergency.’

‘I understand, but—’

‘You don’t fucking understand!’ snapped Keira, losing her cool. ‘I’m a lawyer and someone I represent could – at this very minute – be in danger. Please can you let me speak to the captain, or get a message to him to contact the police.’

‘I will just as soon as I can, but I have to insist you sit down. The cockpit is locked during take-off and landing, so there’s nothing I can do until the seatbelt signs go off. Then I’ll talk to him, but you have to sit down . . . please.’

Keira knew she had no choice. If she started screaming and shouting at the stewardess, they’d put her down as a ‘crazy’ and there would be no way they’d let her talk to anyone. All she could do for the moment was return to her seat and wait.

The passenger in the seat next to her, a guy wearing a business suit, kept his head buried in his newspaper as Keira squeezed in beside him, unaware that it was because of him she’d sounded the alarm in the first place.

He’d boarded before her and had taken his seat near the back of the aircraft. As soon as Keira had stepped on the plane she could smell it: someone wearing too much aftershave. As she approached her seat her heart sank when she realized that she would be sitting next to him. That’s what triggered the memory of the stale, musky odour left behind after the break-in at her apartment. It suddenly struck her that it was the last place David should be taking Kaltrina.

There were a few possible explanations as to why nothing had been taken. Either the intruder was leaving something behind – bugging devices or surveillance cameras – or he was sending a message to Keira that he knew where she lived: letting her know that she was being watched. Either way, Kaltrina would not be safe there. Keira was annoyed with herself for getting drunk the night before. The subsequent hangover had affected her thinking.

She had to get a message to David.

The illuminated seatbelt sign finally went out.

Keira was on her feet again, heading for the stewardesses before they’d finished unclipping their belts in the jump seats at the front of the aircraft. She took a card from her purse as she approached and handed it to the girl she had spoken to a few minutes earlier.

‘I really am a lawyer, and I need to get in touch with the police in Glasgow. I’m sorry I swore, but it’s very important. Could you please ask the pilot, or whoever it is you ask, how I go about that?’

The stewardess stared back at Keira for a few seconds, considering what to do.

‘Please. It could literally be a matter of life or death.’

‘Wait here,’ said the young woman as she turned and knocked on the bulkhead door. A few seconds later it opened and she disappeared inside.

When she re-emerged she handed Keira back her card. ‘The captain says he’s sorry, but there is nothing he can do. It’s against the rules.’

Keira made to protest, but the girl gestured with her hand. ‘Let me finish. He also said if you took your mobile to the toilet at the rear of the aircraft and made a call, there would be very little anyone could do, but that didn’t come from him. If there are any repercussions he’ll deny ever having said it.’

‘I don’t have a phone on me.’

The stewardess stared back at her as if to say,
Are you kidding me?
then gave a slight shrug. ‘I’m sorry, then, there’s nothing else I can do. The plane doesn’t have a Pico cell anyway: you’d be lucky to get a signal.’ Keira nodded like she knew what a Pico cell was and said, ‘Thank you,’ before turning and heading back to her seat.

The guy in the business suit said something as Keira sat down, which she didn’t quite catch. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I said are you okay?’

‘Not really, no.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying—’

‘Actually, I do mind,’ she interrupted. ‘Usually when sentences start like that, I do mind. It’s like, “No offence, but . . .” Same thing! Straight away you know someone is going to say something offensive . . .’

‘I was going to say, you look like you could use a helping hand.’

Keira turned and looked at the guy properly. He had a large round face and laugh-lines at the side of his eyes from smiling too much. Everything about him said ‘friendly’, even his soft Dublin accent had warmth in it. She suddenly felt guilty. ‘I apologize. I’ve got a bitch of a hangover that’s making me a bit cranky. My day started off shit and has been going downhill ever since.’

‘Would you like to borrow my phone?’

‘Do you know what a Pico cell is?’

‘It’s like a signal booster for mobile phones on aeroplanes to help them communicate with the ground.’

‘The air hostess said the plane doesn’t have one, so it probably won’t work.’

‘It’s worth a try. You might get lucky and pick up a ground signal. They just tell you that because they haven’t figured out a way of monetizing its usage. It’s perfectly safe to use mobile phones on a plane, they just don’t know how to charge for it, so they let you think it’s dangerous.’

‘What, are you an engineer or something?’

‘A priest.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘Unfortunately not!’

‘You’re not in uniform.’

‘Wearing the kit outside of the church is considered a bit too dangerous these days. It marks us out as a target. The Vatican has relaxed the rules a little to take that into account.’

‘I don’t suppose you know Father Anthony in Waterfoot?’

‘Sure, I know him very well. One of the few priests with that added quality lacking in many of the others . . . spirituality. If you cut him down the middle his blood would run clear . . . or the colours of the Tricolour, probably both. I’d bet my life savings he’s the reason for your hangover.’

‘He was the one pouring, but I was the one drinking.’

The priest handed her his phone. ‘Go make your call and we’ll have a proper chat when you’re through.’

Keira made her way along the aisle and locked herself in one of the small toilets at the rear of the aircraft.

The first number she tried was her friend, DSI Gary Hammond’s, but the phone just beeped a few times then made a continuous tone before the words ‘no signal’ appeared on the screen. Keira waited a few seconds then pressed redial. The same thing happened. As she stood staring at the phone wondering what to do next the word ‘searching’ appeared in the top left-hand corner followed by three small bars. She quickly dialled David’s number and pressed the green call symbol: a few seconds later she heard his ringtone, followed by the voicemail message.

She was tense and hurried: aware the signal could drop out at any moment. ‘David, don’t go to the flat. Call Detective Superintendent Hammond straight away and arrange to meet him somewhere else, but don’t go to the flat, okay? They know where I live. They’ve been in there. Don’t take Kaltrina to the flat.’

Keira hung up and dialled 999. The phone at the other end started to ring before it beeped a few times and the words ‘no signal’ appeared again.

‘Come on!’ shouted Keira.

The stewardess was knocking at the door.

‘Are you okay in there?’

‘Fine, thank you.’

Keira pressed the redial button, but it was no good.

The signal was gone.

There was nothing else for her to do but sit it out and try again as soon as the plane landed. That wouldn’t be for another hour.

By then Kaltrina Dervishi could be dead.