Can Anybody Help Me? (34 page)

He attempted to smile and Flynn looked at him quizzically.

‘The Minister for Justice? He's your boss, right? We're featuring him on the programme next week – I'm the producer of
Teevan Tonight
, you know, on Ireland 24? We're planning a special on crime. So his people were in, going through the areas we wanted to cover. I was stuck in the conference room all day with them. I didn't even get out for a sandwich and my phone was turned off most of the day. She rang me, Yvonne did, and reception put her through to me. She sounded in good form. I told her I loved her. And then I went back into the meeting again. The hospital had to ring reception in the end to tell me …'

The smile faded and his eyes watered. Flynn wished once
again that he could leave him alone. But one name had jumped out at him.

‘You say you work with Eamonn Teevan?'

‘That's right, yeah.'

‘So your wife knows Mr Teevan too?'

‘Well, yeah. I mean they've only met once but …'

Eamonn Teevan. Flynn could feel tension in his neck and shoulders. Boyle had found a link between Eamonn Teevan and Miriam Twohy, and now a link with this woman too. But he couldn't for the life of him pull the strands together. If only Boyle …

The Nokia tune rang out in the small hospital room. Flynn fumbled in his pocket, checked the caller ID. Collins Street. Great. Just the excuse he needed to get out of this room.

Darkness.

Darkness, and then some light.

Her throat hurt. She swallowed, and gagged.

‘Water? Please …'

A hand on her forehead. A flash of white. Gerry. Was it Gerry, sitting there? Nurse. There was something she needed to say. Nurse? Wait.

Darkness.

A dull pain, throbbing at the back of her eyes. She squeezed her eyelids tighter, then opened them gingerly. Nurse. Had she said it out loud? No one was listening. Beside her bed, Gerry and a stranger. Gerry? There was something she needed to say.

Maybe after she'd slept for another little while.

*

‘Nurse.'

She opened her eyes. White sheet, white walls.

‘Nurse?'

There was a woman standing over her. White uniform, cool hand. She heard a thermometer beep. Felt a blood pressure cuff tightening on her exposed arm.

‘How do you feel?'

‘I …'

There was something she needed to say.

Gerry, walking in the door. Blankness and then surprise on his face. Wonder.

‘Yvonne? Can you hear me?'

‘Yeah.'

An exhalation. There was something she needed to say. But first …

‘Róisín?'

‘Mum has her. She's fine. She's at home, she's grand.'

‘Okay.'

Thank you, thank you. She was safe. Róisín was safe. So now she could speak.

‘Nurse?'

Gerry knelt by her side, grabbed her hand.

‘She's gone, Yvonne. It's just me right now.'

She swallowed, focused. Looked into his eyes. And felt safe again.

‘Ger … She tried to kill me.'

‘Ssssh. Don't try to talk now.'

‘No!'

Her voice was louder than she thought herself capable of.

‘No! I have to tell you this. Gerry …'

She could feel the blood starting to circulate again, strength returning to her fingers. She reached out and grabbed his hand.

‘Veronica. The nurse. She tried to kill me, Gerry! I can't explain it … she said she'd kill Róisín. Gerry …'

She pulled him closer to her.

‘You aren't lying to me, are you? My baby is okay?'

Gerry smiled.

‘She's fine, Yvonne, just fine. I rang home just there, Bill brought her out for a drive. She's conked out now in the car seat.'

‘Oh. Thank you.'

Some tension eased from her body and she found herself sinking back again into the white pillows.

‘I don't know why … Gerry, you do believe me, don't you?'

A sudden flash of panic. It was such a mad story. What if no one believed her? But her husband simply smiled.

‘Rest now, Yvonne. Lie back there.'

‘Philip Flynn. You wanted to speak to me?'

‘Are you … are you the guard who called in here the other day?'

‘Detective, yes.'

Philip was aware he sounded grumpy, but he didn't care. He was sick of fumbling in the dark, sick of this ridiculous day. First the mad dash to the hospital, then a crazy interview with a husband asking questions neither of them had the answers to.

The woman on the other end of the phone heard the edge to his voice.

‘Look, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry I called.'

‘I was told you had information for me?'

Flynn made an effort, softened his tone. The message from O'Doheny had been brief. A researcher, Mary someone from Ireland 24 had called. She only had his desk number, said it had been written on his card. He was to phone her back on her mobile.

‘Yeah.'

As the woman began to speak, Philip thought he could remember her. Short blonde hair, trendy clothes maybe? That kind of girl.

‘You can come into the station, if you like?'

‘No. I'm in work, I can't leave. Actually, I'm hiding in the toilets … Look, this might be nothing, but you said, you know, anyone with information? I mean isn't that what they say, anyone with information should contact the Guards? So I have … I mean I do … well it might be information. But is he going to know it's me that told you? That'll be really awkward. But I still will, I mean …'

‘Why don't you take a deep breath and just tell me why you rang?'

A trolley, pushed by a fat bored porter, clanged down the corridor. Flynn stepped out of its way, found a door in the wall and stepped through. A stairwell. It was about as much privacy as he was going to get around here.

The woman was in mid-sentence by the time he'd replaced the phone to his ear.

‘… were in college together. It was some drama soc gig, he said, they were all back in the student bar. Anyway Eamonn said they were all locked. Sounds like he hasn't changed anyway.'

Philip made a mental note to check if she and Eamonn
Teevan had ever had a relationship. Might colour whatever she had to say. Or might make it more accurate. These things could go either way.

The woman was still talking, words running into each other, an echo created by the toilet walls distorting them slightly as they spilled out of the phone.

‘Anyway, Eamonn just kept saying, do you remember? You must remember, man? He said that he came onto her really strong and she wasn't having any of it. And then he said that he, like, tried to kiss her? And that she pushed him away in front of everyone and told him to leave her alone. I don't know, it sounded really nasty, not like him at all. But apparently he was, like, calling her names?'

Her voice trembled slightly and she swallowed before continuing.

‘Sounds like it got really nasty anyway. He said the whole place went quiet and a couple of people were laughing, you know, saying he deserved it. He didn't seem bothered by it anyway. And Eamonn was kind of making light of it and saying, ah sure we were all half mad in those days and pissed most of the time. And he said sure Miriam WAS a bit of a prick tease anyway, always dumping Paul and then getting back with him …'

‘Hold on.'

Flynn raised his hand, one name leaping out from the jumble of tenses and second-hand information.

‘Hold on. You're talking about Miriam? Miriam Twohy?

‘Yeah.'

The voice on the other end of the phone sounded irritated.

‘Isn't that what I'm telling you? Today, in the office, Eamonn
was saying how he told you he couldn't remember anything about her but that it was coming back to him, this prick tease business, and I couldn't understand why he hadn't told you in the first place, I mean, it sounded like a big deal. She burst into tears and ran out of the bar, Eamonn said, and the rest of them were laughing and making out like she was asking for it … it sounded like a really horrible thing to happen. I can't believe he'd forget it just like that.'

Flynn took a deep breath.

‘Mary. Thanks so much for this. Is Eamonn … is Mr Teevan in the office now?'

There was a pause. He heard a door creak open, footsteps tapping, and then she returned.

‘Yeah. He's in his office. Do you need to talk to him? Look, please don't tell him I told you … they didn't know I was listening to them. I was sitting at my desk but they didn't turn around. Typical, actually. That they wouldn't see me … I mean …'

Definitely an ex, Philip decided, but he had more important things on his mind.

‘Look, Mary, don't tell him you've been talking to me, okay? I'm going to drive out there now. I'm going to text you my number, if he leaves, ring me but don't do anything yourself, okay? Don't move, I'll be as quick as I can …'

‘Okay.'

The woman sounded hesitant.

‘Do you need to get, like, a statement from him? About this?'

‘Something like that. Look …'

Flynn checked his watch. He needed to get moving, and pushed his way out through the double doors as he spoke.

‘Mary, what you've told me is very significant. Eamonn Teevan told me he remembered very little about Miriam Twohy. But you've just told me he practically assaulted her in public, that's totally …'

‘But it wasn't Eamonn!'

Flynn strode along the corridor, slipped through the sliding doors and headed towards the car park.

‘Eamonn wouldn't do something like that! I mean, he's a total flirt but he's not like that. It was Gerry! Gerry Mulhern … he was in college with Eamonn, that's where they all met. Eamonn was just reminding Gerry about it today, he kept saying to Gerry, “Surely you remember Miriam Twohy? That night?” Gerry was totally bombed apparently and made a move on this Miriam one, it sounded really horrible, I can't believe Gerry would do something like that. Eamonn couldn't understand why Gerry kept saying he couldn't remember her, he was like, “Come on, man, you totally had a crush on her, remember that night …”'

And then the phone signal failed as Flynn turned around and started to run.

‘I do believe you.'

He twisted, lifted and gently extricated his hand from hers. Placed it back on top of the bedclothes. Pulled his chair in closer to the bed.

‘Oh, thank God! Gerry, we have to do something!'

‘I know.'

Yvonne could feel her strength returning, the adrenalin coursing through her body.

‘She's a psychopath! She's done it before, she told me. There's
this woman called MyBabba … It's a long story, it's a crazy story and I'll tell you, but look, we have to stop her! We have to tell the police, we have to tell them, Gerry, we have to tell the guards we …'

‘It's okay. Just lie back there.'

His voice was soft, caressing. But he wasn't looking into her eyes.

‘Gerry, you have to believe me! She tried to kill me. I don't know why, I don't know why she targeted me but …'

‘Because I told her to.'

The words were so soft that she was able to convince herself she had misheard them. But then he looked into her eyes and she realised he was telling the truth.

‘I told her to. But she fucked it up. Would have been a lot easier for you if you'd gone that way. Still …'

He looked around, noted that the door was closed. Bent forward as if to hug her but instead reached around for the pillow under her head. It happened within seconds. A white pillow. Blackness descending.

‘Sorry, Yvonne. But it's best this way. Róisín will be fine.'

Her mouth filling. Her chest filling. Her mind, emptying. Things becoming clear, and then not clear at all. Her head, bursting. The hardness of the buzzer under the fingers. Memories of the fat woman, bending down to her, speaking quietly in her ear.

‘Keep that in your hand now. Just in case you need it.'

Her head pounding. Her fingers, pressing. Her thoughts, collapsing in on themselves.

And a shout at the door.

*

In a busy hospital it's not always possible to answer every bell as soon as it rings. But Jennifer Griffiths was a conscientious nurse. Besides, there was something strange about the woman in room 24. That guard, the good-looking one with the old-fashioned haircut, had been asking a lot of questions. More than was usual for an attempted suicide. So when 24's buzzer rang, Jennifer dropped the chart she was transcribing and walked quickly to the door. She thought at first that she had been too late. There was a man already in there, bending over the patient. A pillow in his hand. He must have fetched it for her. But the pillow was on her face. And the buzzer was still ringing, ringing, and ringing again. And then the man turned around, and the pillow fell away, and the woman moved. And the Guard, the good-looking guard, burst past her and shouted. And then there was yelling, and a scuffle, and what had to have been handcuffs even though she had never seen them in real life before. And then Jennifer Griffiths realised her patient did need her help after all.

Funny, how Bill's hair didn't look brown any longer. It was as if the grey strands had multiplied overnight. His eyes were duller too, small red broken veins scattered across the irises. He wasn't crying any more though, and neither was she. Hannah had shed enough tears for the three of them.

Her mother-in-law looked twenty years older than the last time they'd met. Hannah looked elderly today, deep lines gouged into her mottled complexion. Yvonne glanced at her dispassionately. She didn't hate her, nor did she feel sorry for her. She didn't really feel anything for them anymore, this exhausted man and his ageing mother sitting opposite her on the cheap plastic sofa. When she had finally agreed to see them, Yvonne had insisted on coming to their home. She hadn't been back to her own house since being discharged from hospital. Rebecca had collected the clothes and toys she and Róisín needed. She wouldn't visit there again.