Darkhouse (15 page)

‘Hi,’ he said to the woman. ‘Din’s gone in ahead with my bow. Can you give me a quick run-through of what’s happenin’?’

‘Fourteen by two 3D big game,’ she said. ‘There’s a good twenty of you so far. You’re a friend of Din’s?’

‘From the United States,’ said Duke, smiling.

‘He’s a great man for the GAA,’ said the woman.

‘Sure is,’ said Duke. He had no idea what she meant. He filled out a form and walked into the woods. Groups of archers stood by the trees, adjusting their bows. A man in a waxed jacket was putting up danger signs in the distance.

‘They should have had them up hours ago,’ said one man. ‘We haven’t even got the place to ourselves. They’re lettin’ in any Tom, Dick and Harry and we’ll have to wait at some of those targets for them to pass. It’ll take ages.’

‘I’m in no rush,’ said a second man, adjusting his compound bow. ‘I’m going for a slash.’ He lay down the bow beside his friend, who was too distracted by the signs to notice Duke grab, quickly and quietly, first the quiver, then the cool, smooth wood of the compound bow. In seconds he appeared through a clearing in the trees, within metres of the van. He put the equipment in the back, then sped away, briefly on the wrong side of the road.

The post-mortem room in Waterford Regional Hospital was the same size as a school classroom, with steel units running the length of one wall. Frank and O’Connor stood awkwardly by the sink, with masks dangling from their hands. Lara glanced over. It was like a Western, each one waiting for the other to draw. She was dressed in blue theatre scrubs, a long-sleeved green paper
gown to her ankles and a green plastic apron. She didn’t wear a mask. She pulled on latex gloves, rubbed in a scented hand cream, then pulled on another pair of gloves. The men were watching her intensely.

‘I don’t mind the smell,’ she explained, ‘I just don’t want it on my hands when I’m eating my lunch. So I double bag.’ She turned and walked towards Katie’s body, laid out on one of the two stainless steel tables in the room, beside a tray of instruments. The men followed her, but stood at a distance. O’Connor was the first by a fraction of a second to put on his mask. Out of nowhere, the deep voice of Johnny Cash filled the room. Lara had slipped four CDs into the stereo on shuffle through two bluegrass compilations, a Hank Williams and a Johnny Cash.

‘I go through phases,’ she said to the surprised men. ‘Never thought I’d hit country, though.’

Then she barely spoke a word, as they watched her and a technician, a photographer, a ballistics and a fingerprint expert go to work.

‘Hmm, what have we here?’ she said, holding up a small dark fragment she had plucked from a head wound. The ballistics guy held open a plastic bag, she dropped it in and turned back to the body. ‘Here’s more,’ she said, removing a second and a third piece.

O’Connor stepped forward. ‘What do you think it is?’

‘No idea,’ she said. ‘And I probably never will until I’m sitting in court giving my evidence.’ She looked up at the men. ‘You’re the ones who get all the news back from the lab. No-one tells me anything.’ She walked around O’Connor and he stood back beside Frank, where they shifted on their feet until finally, four hours later, Lara pulled off her gloves and led the men over to the sink. Superintendent Brady had just arrived and been let in by the guard standing outside the door. He flinched at the smell, covered his mouth with his hand and crossed the room towards them. He seemed to look around for the source of the music.

‘The man in black himself,’ he said.

Lara nodded and smiled.

‘OK,’ she said. The three men huddled in front of her. She looked down at them and they edged back. ‘There is evidence of blunt force trauma to the head. She’s been struck several times, obviously with something heavy. There is also evidence of strangulation, damage to the larynx, fracture of the Adam’s apple. There’s been maggot
activity on the scalp wound. When flies come to a corpse – which they would probably have done within hours – they look for the juiciest places to lay their eggs: this includes all the orifices, eyes, nostrils, ears, mouth, penis, vagina, anus. But, if there are wounds, that’s where they’ll head first. Excuse the pun. This explains what I was saying about the scalp. There was also evidence of maggot activity around the arms and hands, which could indicate the presence of defensive injuries.’

‘So, the cause of death?’ asked Brady.

‘I would say she was strangled and was then beaten about the head. When you’re strangled you don’t die instantly. She may have lain there gurgling which could have alarmed her attacker, who may have grabbed whatever was close by to finish the job. In this case, there were jagged marks, so I would say a rock.’

‘And time of death?’ said Brady.

‘It’s hard to say. The closest I could say based on the condition of the body is that it is consistent with the time of her disappearance.’

D.I. O’Connor was frowning.

‘I’m afraid I can’t be more specific than that,’ she said. ‘Time of death would be much more accurate if the body was found within days, but when weeks are involved, it becomes much more difficult.’

‘So, this guy could have held her somewhere, then killed her at a later stage?’

‘If you’re asking me whether or not the body was moved, I would say nothing points to it, but after that, it’s down to whatever trace evidence is found.’

‘What about sexual assault?’ said Brady.

‘I would say there’s circumstantial evidence,’ said Lara, ‘based on the fact that her underclothing and jeans were removed. Obviously, that would
be highly suggestive of an attempted sexual assault but, I can’t commit to anything more definite.’

‘Why not?’ asked Frank gently.

‘What happens in decomposition is the genital area becomes very swollen…’ The men all dropped eye contact with her. She continued, ‘…and you can get rupture of the tissue in that area, which has happened in this case. It muddies the waters. Our only hope is the results from the vaginal and anal swabs. If the attacker used a condom, we have nothing.’

‘What about the scene? The top half of her body covered up like that?’ said O’Connor.

‘I work with what I see from a body. Anything else, you can call in a profiler.’ She smiled.

‘That is something I never want to hear again as long as I live,’ said Joe, stroking Anna’s face as she lay on the couch. She knew what he meant – the strangled scream from Shaun’s throat. They had stayed with him all night until he eventually fell asleep. He hadn’t come upstairs since then. Joe kept stroking until Anna’s eyes grew heavy and her breathing slowed. He kissed her warm forehead, then let her head rest gently onto a cushion. He grabbed a torch from a drawer by the front door, slipped out quietly and headed for the forest.

Oran Butler sat on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table. He was scooping baked beans into
his mouth from the plate he held under his chin. Richie came out from the kitchen.

‘You’re fucking gross, Butler,’ he said. ‘The place is a mess. Would you not just…’

Oran held up a hand to silence him. ‘I’m wrecked. Don’t start.’

They had both trained as guards together and now shared a flat on the Waterford Road a ten-minute drive from the village. Oran was one of six guards who worked in the Drug Unit out of Waterford city.

‘What’s the story with work?’ said Richie.

‘Ah, same old, same old. Trying to track down the usual. Friday week will be a big one. A raid on the Healy Carpet Warehouse in the Carroll Industrial Estate, surprise the fuckers. O’Connor’s wetting himself. This could be his big moment.’

He leaned down and pulled open a can of beer, raising it in a toast. He looked at Richie’s glass. ‘Mineral water. Sad enough.’

‘Shut up, coppernob,’ said Richie.

‘Original
and
observant,’ said Oran. ‘Call me freckle face while you’re at it.’

He drank from his can, shaking it at Richie and smiling.

Joe could have driven further up the hill and crossed through to where the body was found, but he didn’t want to miss anything. The light from the torch was weak; a pale, hazy glow that
barely lit his way. He had to raise his knees high over the thick briars and imagined that whoever had brought Katie here would have had a struggle, whether she had been alive or dead. Fifteen minutes later he found the tattered remains of blue and white garda tape flapping from a tree and, twenty metres away, another length trailing from the base of a trunk. He looked around carefully, shining the faded light across the ground, picking up the place where the body had clearly lain. He walked slowly towards it, then stepped backwards and crouched down, setting the torch beside him. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pen, using it to lift some of the leaves that were scattered on the forest floor. He stopped to examine something closer, taking it gently between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it in front of the light. It was a dull reddish brown, a papery 5mm-long cylinder that tapered at one end and was broken away at the other. He knew what it was, but he wasn’t quite sure what it meant.

Stinger’s Creek, North Central Texas, 1984

‘Out of sight, out of mind!’ laughed Uncle Bill when he saw Duke standing on the back porch looking for him. Duke tried to follow the voice.

‘I’m up here!’ Bill gave him a broad wave.

‘You got me,’ said Duke, smiling. ‘New camo clothes?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Bill. ‘Last gear was faded near white. Can’t have those deer pickin’ me out like a fool. And I’ve got myself a new Baker tree stand,’ he said, patting the side. ‘High and mighty,’ he laughed. ‘They won’t know what hit ’em.’

‘You got plans?’ asked Duke.

‘Yup. Couple weeks’ time I’m drivin’ down to Uvalde for the opening day of deer season.’

He climbed down and slapped Duke’s back.

‘Need to make sure everythin’ is in fine workin’ order before I set out. How’s your mama?’

Duke knew Bill didn’t get along with his mama.

‘Mama’s OK. She’s…she’s OK.’

‘Good to hear,’ said Bill, his head bent to study his bow.

‘Think you could teach me how to shoot?’

Bill looked up.

‘Are you serious, son?’

‘Sure am, sir,’ said Duke. ‘Am I old enough?’

‘Long as you can listen, hold a bow and be safe.’

Duke saluted him.

‘OK, then. Let’s start with how you’re gonna hold the bow. This here’s a compound bow. A beauty. More power, less effort. Now, we need to find out which hand you’ll use to hold the bow and which—’

‘I write with this hand,’ said Duke, holding up his right hand.

‘Doesn’t much matter,’ said Bill. ‘It’s all in the eyes.’ He pointed with two fingers.

‘Which one of your eyes is the dominant one.’

Duke shook his head.

‘OK. Do this,’ said Bill. ‘Pick out some object in the distance.’

‘That old garbage can?’ said Duke.

‘Perfect. Now point at it, then close your left eye. OK? Then close your right eye. Now when you close one of those eyes, your finger seems to shift to one side. Which is it for you, Duke?”

‘My right eye,’ said Duke.

‘Then you’re right-eye dominant, just like your Uncle Bill.’

‘What does that mean?’ asked Duke.

‘Means you hold the bow in your left hand and pull the bowstring with your right. Now,’ he said, putting a hand on Duke’s shoulder and turning him towards the trees. ‘Stand up straight, feet apart. You comfortable?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘OK. Now hold this.’ He handed Duke the bow, laughing as the boy rocked forward with the weight.

‘Heavy, isn’t it?’ said Bill. Duke smiled.

‘You’d probably use somethin’ a little lighter,’ said Bill. ‘Anyhow, next thing you do is nock the arrow, meanin’ you put this part here on the bowstring where you see this.’ He took the bow from Duke and pushed the nock back onto the bowstring. ‘The shaft rests here.’ He pointed to a notch on the bow. ‘You’re probably better off watchin’ for the rest of this.’

‘OK,’ said Duke, disappointed.

‘What?’ said Bill. ‘You think I’m crazy, lettin’ a boy loose with a dangerous weapon?’ He smiled. ‘Now, put your pointin’ finger on the bowstring above the arrow and your next two fingers below, but don’t touch the nock. Relax the back of your hand and pull back just a tiny bit.’

He brought the bow up slightly, gripping it between his thumb and index finger, nodding towards Duke to watch how he held it.

‘Now stretch out that bow arm and raise up your drawin’ arm, keepin’ that elbow high. Then pull your arm back until your drawin’ hand is against your jaw, keepin’ your body still all the while. Now move the sight pin over the centre of your target. I’m aimin’ for the steel bear over by that tree. Line everything up, the string, the bow and the sight pin, keepin’ it all on the vertical. You got this?’

‘Yes,’ said Duke, frustrated by the interruption. ‘Do it! Shoot!’ He hopped from foot to foot.

‘Hold your horses,’ said Bill through clenched teeth, keeping his jaw rigid.

‘And release,’ he said. The arrow flew straight, reaching its target, springing gently from side to side on impact.

‘Cool,’ said Duke. Bill hooked an arm around his shoulders and hugged the boy to his side.

‘You wanna try?’

‘Yes, sir!’ said Duke, beaming.

‘What you need to remember at all times is the target,’ said Bill. ‘Be steady and focus. Think about that target, watch that target, every step of the way. Never lose sight of it.’

The bow rocked Duke again, but he moved until he steadied his weight, keeping his legs wide. Bill stood behind him and smiled as Duke struggled to bring the bow to shoulder height.

‘This is all gonna happen a bit faster for me, Uncle Bill, ’cos I ain’t gonna be able to hold the bow too long.’

Bill laughed loud, a friendly booming laugh. Then he watched, amazed, as Duke followed every step. The arrow stopped short of its target, but only because the weight of the bow tilted Duke forward at the last second. Duke kicked the earth. ‘Damn,’ he said, twisting on his feet. ‘Damn.’

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, son. Only thing wrong with that was the weight of that bow. Once I get you one of your own, I think you’ll be doin’ just fine.’

‘Get me one of my own?’ asked Duke.

‘Sure. I’ll get you a bow, long as you can promise me you’ll work hard at school, show up every day, don’t be swimmin’ around that creek when you should be sittin’ in class.’

Duke smiled. ‘Busted,’ said Bill. ‘Now, get along. I’ve got some shootin’ to do.’