Darkhouse (20 page)

‘When did he get out?’ asked Joe.

‘Rawlins? Uh, July. Two months ago. Why?’

‘Jesus Christ, Danny. I think the wacko’s after me.’

‘Why in the hell? The guy slashed someone with a knife and was a good little boy in the slammer. Doesn’t sound like a psycho to me. You think maybe he’s got Irish roots or something?’

‘This is fucking serious. He could have killed Katie.’

‘That’s what this is about? You think this Rawlins guy did this?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Joe.

‘Does someone go from drunken brawler to transatlantic psycho, that’s the question.’

‘Do we want to know the answer?’ said Joe.

‘How the fuck would he know you’re in Ireland?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Joe.

‘Who else knows you’re there?’ said Danny.

‘Friends, family, the job…’

‘Yeah and none of them’s gonna tell anyone where to find you. What, you think he followed you to the airport?’

There was an edge to his voice.

‘The cab driver who brought us to the airport could have said something, I dunno. One of the neighbours, someone came sniffing around…’

‘Joe, you sound nuts.’

‘How long have you known me, Danny?’

‘Too long.’

‘Right. And in general how often do I screw up?’

‘Yeah, but you’re on vacation now. I’ve never
solved a fucking crime in my life sitting by the pool at the condo.’

‘Come on,’ said Joe.

‘Look, people just don’t give up that kind of information. People are suspicious these days, they want to know why someone’s asking. Hold on a second, I got a call coming through.’

Joe waited on the line.

‘That TS guy is a total retard,’ said Danny. ‘The call was for MacKenna, I get stuck talking to his ma—’ Danny stopped. ‘Holy shit,’ he said. ‘Hold on.’ After two minutes, Joe hung up. Just as he walked away, the phone rang again.

‘A couple weeks ago,’ said Danny, straight to the point, ‘a Lieutenant Wade called here from the nineteenth, looking for you. The call was diverted and the bad news is that our boy on the TS has never heard of you, calls out to one of the guys who shouts back you’re in Ireland. And we know there’s no Wade in the nineteenth. And we know there’s a gimp on the TS.’

Joe said nothing. His heart was thumping.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he said. ‘He told him Ireland? But that’s it, right? Nothing else?’

‘That’s it, so he’s not even gonna know where you are in Ireland. If we’re assuming that’s the guy who made the call.’

Joe shook his head. ‘We
are
assuming that. And I don’t know. Ireland’s a small country.’

‘It’s not that small.’

‘How many people live in Ireland, Danny?’

‘I dunno, twelve million?’

‘Four. And over a million of them live in Dublin. Which leaves under three million spread across the whole country. Believe me, that’s small. Look, leave it with me. I’ll see what I come up with.’ He was about to hang up, when he stopped. ‘Uh, Danny? You think you could call that nice warden, get to Rawlins’ cell mate, talk to him, see what he knows?’ Danny grunted. As soon as Joe put down the phone, he went to the den. He took a box from the back of a row of books and pulled out his dupe – a copy of his shield. It was illegal, but most offi-cers had one. Losing the original meant losing ten vacation days, so when he was on the job, Joe would leave his shield at home in the safe and carry his dupe. This time, there was no original. He had to hand it over when he vested out. He felt a surge of something like jealousy. He flipped open his wallet and looked at his ID card, stamped in red with the one word that changed everything: retired.

O’Connor sat in front of a pile of folders and prepared himself to pick apart every single word of what he was about to read. As usual, each job in the investigation – chasing phone records, interviewing the person who found the body, calling in medical records – had been written on a triplicate form and assigned by the ‘book men’ to a detective. The blue top copy was glued into the
left-hand page of the jobs book, with a note opposite saying who took the job and what the outcome was. The other copies were filed in the folders in front of him: Statements, Witnesses, Suspects…He looked at the stack and pulled out the one marked Statements. Top of the pile and four pages long was Shaun Lucchesi’s. He could think of three men over the previous five years who had murdered their girlfriends and walked free. If the gut instinct of every guard working their cases could have been admitted as evidence, three men would have been locked away for a very long time. O’Connor’s gut instinct was not telling him that Shaun Lucchesi was a killer, but it
was
telling him he was a liar.

Joe almost ignored the phone when it rang on the desk beside him.

‘Hi, Mr Lucchesi. It’s Paula here from the school…Shaun’s history teacher. I can’t get hold of Petey Grant’s mother, so I thought I’d call you. He’s just told me he’s been arrested by Richie Bates and he’s going down to the station.’

‘What?’ said Joe. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Well, no. You know Petey.’

‘I’ll go down and check it out. Thanks for the call.’

Richie and Petey sat in the station at opposite sides of the desk.

‘Why have you arrested me?’ asked Petey.

Richie laughed at him. ‘You’re not being arrested, you’re…’ he held up his fingers to make quotes, ‘“helping us with our enquiries.” I mean, we don’t have any evidence…yet. So,’ he went on, deliberately friendly, ‘obviously you’re here because of Katie.’

‘Oh,’ said Petey.

‘Did you fancy her?’ said Richie bluntly. He was tapping his fingers loudly on the wooden surface.

Petey blushed. ‘No!’ he said.

‘You sent her a Valentine’s card, didn’t you?’

Petey’s eyes shot wide.

‘That was before she was going out with Shaun,’ he stammered.

‘And were you upset when she started going out with Shaun?’

‘No!’ said Petey, horrified. ‘Shaun’s my friend. So is Joe!’

‘Did you ever ask her out?’

‘No!’ He stopped. ‘I’ve never asked anyone out.’ He blinked back tears.

‘I’m going to get to the point here, Petey,’ said Richie. ‘Do you know anything about what happened the Friday night Katie went missing?’

‘No,’ said Petey. ‘I told you. I was inside, like I was supposed to be.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Richie, forcefully.

‘Yes,’ said Petey. He started tapping his foot on the floor.

‘Do you understand how important it is to tell us if you know anything?’ said Richie. ‘Another girl could die if we don’t have all the information.’ Petey looked shocked.

‘Someone else could die?’ he said. ‘Oh my God.’

The doorbell startled him.

‘Stay where you are,’ barked Richie. Petey was shaking.

Duke jumped up from the bench and put his ear to the thick round glass. He heard it again – a scratching sound, then churning, then scratching. ‘Shit,’ he said. The owner came over to him.

‘You got a problem with the dryer?’

‘Uh, yeah,’ said Duke. ‘Think I left a pin in my jeans.’

‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘Well, here.’ She pushed a key into a slot at the side and turned it off. ‘You should be able to open it now.’

He reached in and pulled out the warm, tangled jeans and jacket. On the bottom of the drum, a single euro coin was left. He picked it up, confused. It burned his palm.

‘Money,’ she said. ‘Even better.’ But Duke was panicked now, pulling out pockets, examining the denim, patting down the clothes he was wearing, emptying out his bag on the floor. His fingers ran over and through everything, until he was kneeling, panting, his heart pounding. He stood up and leaned heavily against the dryer, his head
bent. Beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead.

‘Damn,’ he roared, slamming his hands against the machine, kicking it with his boot. ‘Damn.’ Everyone was quiet around him. The owner didn’t move. Duke piled everything back into his bag and walked out the door, past a woman holding a pair of white trousers with a grass stain on the knee.

‘Molasses will get that out,’ he snarled as he walked by.

Joe stormed into the hall of the station, shouting, ‘You better not have Petey Grant in here for your sake,’ even though he could see Petey sitting there as pale as death, wringing his big hands.

‘What’s it to do with you?’ asked Richie.

Joe said hi to Petey, then ushered Richie back into the hall.

‘What the hell is going on here?’ said Joe. ‘What are you doing questioning Petey without a responsible adult present? Are you nuts? It’s illegal.’

‘No it’s not. He’s not under arrest. And it’s none of your business anyway,’ said Richie.

‘I’m making it my business,’ said Joe.

‘Make it your business all you like,’ said Richie. ‘I did nothing wrong, the guy wasn’t being arrested. I just wanted to have a little word with him.’

‘Why the hell didn’t you do that at the school?

You’re terrifying him,’ said Joe. ‘It’s written all over his face. A guy like that. I’ve talked with him. He knows nothing about Katie.’

‘Oh, well, the great American detective has spoken. We can all go home now, case closed.’

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m just telling you you’re going about this the wrong way.’

‘And I’m telling you – stay the fuck out of things you don’t understand, right?’

‘Do you have a fucking clue what you’re doing?’ asked Joe, raising his voice. ‘Petey Grant, for Christ’s sake! The guy is harmless. I know Petey Grant, Richie—’

‘We’ve all known Petey Grant a hell of a lot longer than you and—’

‘And WHAT? What deep dark secret do you know about him that I don’t?’

‘He knows something. He’s not all there, he—’

‘Is that the term? A shitty twist of fate is why Petey’s where he’s at. You know what happened? Yeah, I’m not surprised you don’t. The kid didn’t get enough oxygen at birth.’ He threw his hands up. ‘That’s it.
There’s
your big secret.’

‘So what? That doesn’t mean he couldn’t—’

‘Oh, come on, Richie. You know damn well that Petey Grant wouldn’t hurt a fly. I had to tell him what a hooker was for Christ’s sake. You think a guy like that…you saw Katie. You honestly think Petey Grant—’

‘Look, he fancied her—’

‘You could lock up half the guys in Mountcannon for that,’ said Joe. ‘This is bullshit, this is total bullshit. There’s probably some fucking psycho out there and who are you looking at? Petey! Have you ever worked a serious crime in your life?’

‘You arrogant prick,’ said Richie. He stopped himself inches from Joe.

‘Don’t even try it,’ said Joe. Richie stood in front of him, fuming. His face was crimson. Veins pulsed at his temples. He had a few inches on Joe, but none of his composure. He was all rough edges and rage. Joe went back in to Petey.

‘Right,’ he said to Richie who had followed him in. ‘Ask him your questions. If he’s only helping you out, there’s nothing to stop me being here. Isn’t that right, Petey?’

‘Actually, Mr Lucchesi, would you mind if I did this on my own?’

Joe opened his mouth, then stopped. ‘Uh, sure, Petey. If you’re sure you’re OK. You’re not under any pressure here, are you?’

‘No. I’m fine.’

‘OK. Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it then.’

‘Thanks,’ said Richie. ‘I appreciate it.’

Joe walked past him and out the door.

‘OK. I’m going to ask you again,’ said Richie. ‘Do you know anything about all this?’

Petey took a deep breath. ‘Sort of.’

Richie shifted in his seat.

Petey looked up. ‘I met Katie on the Friday night.’

‘What do you mean you met her?’

‘I bumped into her,’ said Petey. ‘She was crying.’ He looked down, then straight back at Richie. ‘She said she had a fight with Shaun.’

Richie smiled.

Stinger’s Creek, North Central Texas, 1986

Ashley Ames stood at her bedroom mirror deciding whether or not she had finished her makeup. It was subtle on her pale skin; blush, mascara and a slick of frosted lipstick. She emptied her cosmetic bag and ran her fingers over the products. She found what she was looking for, a black eyeliner she barely knew how to use. She uncapped it and leaned in to the glass. Her nine-year-old sister Luanne lay behind her on the bed.

When she was finished, Ashley turned to her, holding a hairbrush up to her mouth: ‘Today, Ashley Ames is modelling a hot-pink off-the-shoulder top with a butt-length grey sweatshirt-skirt, complemented by a pair of classic white Keds. Or today, Ashley Ames meets her man in a hot-pink off-the-shoulder shirt with a mid-thigh ruffle skirt worn with black high-heel ankle boots.’

Luanne continued. ‘Could her hair be any higher, could her eyeliner be any heavier—’

‘Shut up, Lu,’ said Ashley. ‘So, what am I wearing?’

‘The ruffles,’ said Luanne. ‘But Daddy’s gonna freak.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s kinda slutty,’ said Luanne.

‘Like you’d know.’ Ashley wriggled into the skirt, zipping it at her side. A small roll of flesh slipped over the band. She turned and patted herself on the butt.

‘Bask in my glory, Lu, bask in my glory.’

She sat on the bed and zipped up her boots over her chubby calves, tilting her legs to the side. She grabbed her bag, threw in some makeup and walked tall to the door. As she walked into the living room, Westley Ames lowered his newspaper.

‘I don’t know, Ash, honey,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘You don’t know what, Daddy?’

‘If they’re the right clothes for a young lady, if they’re saying the right thing.’

‘What do
you
think they’re saying, Daddy?’

‘Don’t you challenge me like that, Ashley.’

‘I’m sorry, Daddy. It’s just everyone…I mean, it’s not like I’m the only one, I like my clothes, they’re not saying anything to anyone.’

‘And what’s all that black around your eyes?’ he said.

‘It’s eyeliner, Daddy, no big deal.’

‘And who is this young man, anyway?’ said Westley.

‘Donnie Riggs, Daddy. You know Donnie.’

‘I know
of
Donnie, Ashley, I do not
know
Donnie and neither do you. We can only pray he’s nothing like his father, because if I so much as catch a whiff of alcohol on your breath when you come home, you’ll never see the outside world again. Do you hear me, Ashley?’

‘It’s the middle of the day, Daddy. And you know I’d never drink,’ she said and turned to walk out of the room, smiling.

Donnie Riggs sat on the kerb between two cars, a block away from Ashley’s house. He flicked his cigarette butt on the road and stood up, smoothing down his dirty jeans. His legs were shaky and his face was hot. He didn’t want to look Westley Ames in the eye today.

He rang the doorbell and Mrs Ames answered, her right arm hooked around her narrow waist, a string of pearls lying flat against her chest.

‘Hello, Donnie,’ she said, giving him a weak smile.

‘Hello, ma’am,’ said Donnie. ‘Ashley here?’

‘Come on in.’

She turned her head and smiled when she saw her daughter walk from the living room. She was close to tears when she looked at Donnie.

‘You look after her,’ she said.

‘Mom!’ said Ashley.

‘You don’t mind me saying that, Donnie, do you?’ said Mrs Ames.

‘Of course not, ma’am,’ he said. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.’ Ashley smiled, taking Donnie’s arm.

The sun was high, sending ripples of silver light across the water. Duke sat in the darkness of the densely packed trees, his legs drawn to his chest. A flashlight lay on the grass beside him. After waiting quietly for half an hour, he heard footsteps along the path and a girl laughing. Then he heard Donnie’s voice and the dull clink of beer bottles. The sounds drifted away as they moved towards the water’s edge.

‘Nah. I didn’t do too well in that one,’ said Donnie. ‘Geography’s not my thing. And I hate Baxter. He’s a loser.’

‘Yeah,’ said Ashley.

Donnie fidgeted with a bottle cap, flicking it in the air with his thumb over and over.

‘Earth to Donnie, earth to Donnie,’ said Ashley. He turned to look at her as if he had forgotten she was there.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘Want another beer?’

‘Sure,’ she said.

He reached behind them to grab a bottle and when he sat up his face was inches from hers.
She closed her eyes. He leaned in and kissed her on the lips, guiding her gently back onto the grass beside him.

‘Above the waist,’ she said, smiling, slapping Donnie’s hand away.

A twig cracked. Duke had been standing over them, watching silently. Ashley bolted upright, fixing her top, staring at Duke. Donnie sat up, panic flashing across his face.

‘Hi, Pu—, uh, hi Duke,’ she said, confused.

‘Keep goin’, guys, don’t worry ’bout me,’ said Duke.

She looked at him, alarmed. Then she smiled.

‘Sure,’ she said, looking at Donnie, laughing. Donnie looked nervous. She looked back to Duke.

‘Seriously,’ he said, his voice ice cold. ‘Keep. Going.’

Donnie put his arm around her waist, pulling her towards him. She pushed him away.

‘What y’all talkin’ about?’ she said, getting up. ‘Are you crazy?’

‘Just do it,’ said Duke, shoving her on top of Donnie. Ashley’s eyes were wide. She knew these guys, she could identify them. Then her heart sank. She knew she never would.

‘Get down to it,’ said Duke. ‘I’ll sit back here and take it all in and maybe I’ll get myself a bit of the action later.’

‘Come on now, Ashley,’ said Duke when it was all over. He shook out her handbag, then picked up her compact. ‘Fix that face of yours. You’ve ruined your mascara. Go on, now.’

He pushed the mirror in front of her face. She saw the tears roll down her cheeks. He picked up her brush from the grass and began brushing the back of her hair. He pulled out the leaves and shook the dirt that clung to the matted brown mess. ‘What would your daddy think? He would think his little girl was a whore, his little princess was out on her first date, givin’ it up to a no-good like Donnie Riggs.’ He laughed. Donnie stayed quiet beside him. Ashley took the brush from Duke and dragged it through her hair. ‘Leave me alone,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m not going to tell anyone, I can’t tell anyone. Just leave me alone. Please go.’ Duke picked up the bloodied flashlight and walked away.

‘Molasses takes out grass stains,’ muttered Donnie as he turned to go.

Ashley looked into the tiny mirror and saw the mascara streaked down her face. When she wiped it all away and smeared on more makeup, she looked almost the same as when she had walked out her door. Except for her eyes. She picked herself up off the ground and walked slowly to the edge of the woods and out on to the road.

As she walked the final few metres to her house, Duke passed her by and nodded.

‘It coulda been a lot worse, Ashley.’ He waited a beat. ‘You should see what we do for our next trick.’