Darkhouse (31 page)

The doorbell rang in three short bursts. Joe ran. He fumbled with the latch, then opened the door to a FedEx guy who reached out with a thick, rectangular package and a clipboard. Joe scrawled a signature and closed the door. The Gray file. Joe tore at the plastic and pulled it out. He stared at it – just a bunch of pages with words on them in a plain brown folder. The same kind of folder that could contain your medical notes, tax records, your personnel file…your divorce papers. Every day people got shat on by files. And this one meant more than Joe could bear thinking about. He looked down and saw a bright blue tab towards
the back. He flipped it open and scanned a long list of names, one of which was circled. There it was. In black and white, just as Danny liked it. Black and white.

Oran Butler was bent over in a coughing fit, holding his throat and spraying specks of tomato sauce onto the kitchen floor. A ball of mozzarella and mushrooms shot out. He collapsed into a chair and tried to slow his breathing. Then he picked up the bare pizza slice in front of him and flung it into the sink.

Richie came in from the living room. ‘Are you all right?’ he said, glancing down at the mess.

Oran grunted. ‘The whole topping came off in my mouth.’

‘I’ll clean that up, don’t worry,’ said Richie, pointing to the floor.

‘Well, we know that,’ said Oran.

Richie was already reaching for a mop.

‘We’ll be having a word or two from your pal, tomorrow, by the way,’ said Oran.

‘My pal who?’

‘Why, D.I. O’Connor. The D.S. is off for the week, so O’Connor is lowering himself to get street with the Drug Squad.’

‘Really?’ said Richie. ‘You’ll enjoy that.’

‘Not if I’m coming home every evening and you’re here pining for him.’

Joe sped along the Waterford road, hyper-aware of the few cars that passed him. His mind was shocked out of its fog and raced with the adrenaline pounding through him. He went heavy on the accelerator, feeding the part of him that wanted to keep driving and driving until everything was behind him and Anna was home.

He parked the Jeep by the quays and went straight to Fingleton’s bookstore, his hand gripping his mobile. From the busy cobbled street, Fingleton’s looked like a regular sized store, but inside, it opened out and up three storeys. It was dark and quiet with a sunken area on the ground floor bordered by tall black shelves. Joe quickly scanned the natural history section and picked out the only book on Harris’ Hawks. The cover shot was of two of them, poised and alert on the branch of a tree. He fumbled as he flicked through the pages, pausing at the photographs and sketches, stopping to skim random passages. The writer was a falconer in awe of his subject. Joe was intrigued by a bird that could capture the imagination of a falconer, a criminal and, now, a cop. He stood for several minutes, absorbed in the words, torn between reassurance and a desperate gnawing panic.

Duke Rawlins sat back in the white wooden chair, his face lit by the glow from Anna’s mobile phone. He pushed rows of buttons, stumbling in and out
of menus. His thumb hovered when a game he vaguely recognised opened up in front of him. He turned the phone around in his hand, held down a small red key and the screen went blank.

Anna lay curled on her side facing the bedroom wall. She knew the cottage was remote, because for hours she had been allowed to shout her throat raw, buck on the floor against the bindings on her wrists and ankles, wear herself out. But not enough that she was ever going to sleep in this man’s company. She held her eyes closed to block out the absolute darkness; there were no houses nearby, no streetlights, no headlights to give her hope.

Shaun was waiting in the hallway as Joe walked in. His face was a mixture of hope, relief and anxiety. He looked down at the bag in Joe’s hand.

‘You were
shopping
?’ he asked.

Joe folded the plastic tight around the book. ‘Research.’

‘Mom isn’t back.’ His voice was full of blame.

‘I guessed that.’

‘Don’t you think it’s a little strange? Mom has never in her life run out on us. Ever.’

‘No I don’t think it’s strange. Right now? I’m thinking your mom was angry at me and she’s looking for space. We’ll just tell everyone that she’s gone to Paris for a few days to see her folks. Do you think you can do that?’

‘Yes. But I don’t see why we have to.’

‘Because it gives us all time. Your mom will be back and I’ll buy her some flowers and take her out to dinner and everything will be fine.’

Shaun studied his face. ‘You don’t even believe that.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Joe eyed the phone and briefly thought about calling Frank.

‘Stop treating me like some kind of idiot.’

‘I’m not,’ said Joe patiently. ‘I just need to be calm here.’

‘Detached, you mean.’ Shaun snorted.

‘Son, you’re angry,’ said Joe gently. ‘I think this is about you looking for someone to lash out at…’

‘Look at Katie! Look at her! What about that? Look how that turned out! That worked out all right. Didn’t it? Didn’t it?’ His voice rose steadily the more hysterical he got. ‘What if someone’s taken Mom? We’re here waiting like two losers…’

‘No-one’s taken your mom.’

‘What if they have?’ said Shaun. He looked up like he had just thought of something. ‘Could this be to do with that weird email I got?’

‘No, it’s not,’ said Joe patiently. ‘Turns out it was from that commando wannabe from your school.’

‘Barry Shanley?’ said Shaun, stunned.

Frank called Richie into his office and asked him to close the door behind him.

‘OK, I need to fill you in on something unusual that’s come up.’ He explained about Joe, Dr McClatchie and the fax.

‘Wow,’ said Richie. ‘That’s weird.’ Frank could almost hear the workings of his mind. He was reminded of a game with an upright plastic panel where you had to rotate a series of cogs with slots to manoeuvre a small counter into a tray at the bottom. Downfall. That was the name. He wondered when Richie’s counter would fall down.

‘I called Limerick and spoke briefly to the Super there. I’ll be meeting him tomorrow. He’s on holidays up in some log cabin in the Ballyhoura mountains. They’ve no leads. They’ve checked out a couple of local men, but have ruled them out. So this news from Dr McClatchie is interesting. And look at this.’ He turned a map around so Richie could see it. Richie’s wandering right eye rolled back into place.

‘No-one wants these crimes to be connected,’ said Frank. ‘But look.’ He unfolded the map until he could see the southern half of the country. He drew a ring around Doon where Mary Casey had been found dead in the field, then Tipperary town where Siobhán Fallon had disappeared. Slowly, he did the same around Mountcannon. He looked at Richie. ‘These towns are all along the same route.’ He paused. ‘I think Joe is a step ahead of us. And
in fairness, after the whole snail business, it seems he was right about where Katie went that night, regardless of Mae Miller. We have to follow up on this. Remember, Joe bypassed us to go direct to the State Pathologist…’ Richie nodded.

‘…so there’s something he’s not telling us,’ said Frank. He threw down his pen and sighed. ‘Not that I blame the man.’

Stinger’s Creek, North Central Texas, 1990

Donnie looked down at an imaginary clipboard. ‘I’m lookin’ for a Homemaker,’ he called. ‘A Miss Suzy Homemaker.’

‘Very fuckin’ funny.’ Duke was standing in his front yard in grey track pants and a pair of yellow rubber gloves. He was wringing dirty water out of a dish cloth.

‘Well, holy shit,’ said Donnie. ‘Your house was white all along.’

‘He’s on fire this mornin’.’

Donnie stepped around a pail of water to get closer to the clapboard house. The left hand side was a dull brownish grey and the right side had been washed down, leaving it as white as it was ever going to be. The paint was chipped and peeling and skinny rivers of dirty water had dried onto the surface.

‘You need to blast this with a hose,’ said Donnie.

‘Yeah, after I do my little rain dance here in the yard,’ said Duke.

Donnie made a move to sit on the step.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ shouted Duke, throwing a wet sponge hard against his bare chest.

‘Son of a bitch,’ said Donnie. He picked up the sponge, slapped it into the pail beside him and threw it back, wide. Duke laughed, then ran after him, grabbing him from behind. Donnie wriggled against him. ‘Aw, c’mon,’ he said. Duke ground the filthy sponge into Donnie’s face until he was weak from laughing.

Donnie pulled away, leaning over and spitting out grit. ‘Point fuckin’ blank,’ he said, shaking his head. He went into the house, and stuck his head under the cold tap. ‘Isn’t it weird not havin’ Wanda here?’ he called. He got no reply. ‘I said,’ he shouted, sticking his head out the window, ‘isn’t it weird—’

‘I heard you the first time,’ said Duke.

Donnie came back out, grabbed the sponge from the pail and started washing down the wood.

Every few minutes, he stopped and said, ‘I hate this shit.’

Duke ignored him.

‘I really do,’ said Donnie. ‘I hate this shit.’

‘That’s it,’ said Duke. ‘Go over and pack some of that crap away. Do you think that’s a job you can handle?’

‘Hallelujah.’ Donnie threw down his sponge and walked over to a big cardboard box marked with an X.

‘Let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘Anythin’ with an X we’re gettin’ rid of.’

‘Yes,’ said Duke. ‘Like I said.’

Donnie looked around the yard and saw Xs everywhere.

‘Didn’t you leave anythin’ inside?’

He bent down to one of the boxes.

‘The mystery box from the closet. I recognise the Keep Out sticker. You know that was supposed to be for your bedroom door.’

He wrapped his arms around it and lifted it to waist height. But he squeezed too hard and the bottom fell through. He stared, open-mouthed.

‘Where did you get all this shit?’ he asked. He turned around to Duke for an answer, but Duke was staring into space. Donnie knelt down and started picking through the piles of toys, all unopened. Pristine action heroes behind clear plastic windows, tipper trucks, fighter planes, boxing gloves, a candy dispenser, a mechanic’s tool kit. Bright primary colours shining in the sun.

‘You had Space Invaders all along?’ blurted Donnie, pointing to another box. ‘Hey, look at this little guy,’ he said, picking up a pale yellow teddybear with a tag that said Benton. ‘How could you hide poor Benton here in a dark closet…’ he picked up a tall black figure, ‘…with Darth Vader.
Unless he’s…’ he lowered his voice dramatically, ‘…his father.’ He laughed nervously. He looked over at Duke. He waited in the silence, then stood up and started packing the toys into an empty box beside him, holding each one in his hand a fraction longer than he had to.

‘Maybe…I mean, shouldn’t these be goin’ to some children’s home or somethin’?’

‘Are you fuckin’ blind? There’s an X on the side of that box. A big fuckin’ black X.’

Duke carried a pot of red paint into his bedroom. The walls were grey and streaked with beige. Wanda had never finished the wallpaper job she started when they moved in.

‘OK. What’s next?’ said Donnie, walking in behind him. He looked around the room, rubbing his bare belly with his hand. ‘The dresser?’

‘I’m thinkin’ of doin’ one wall red, one wall black,’ said Duke, pointing. ‘What do you reckon?’

‘That’s cool. Are we takin’ the dresser?’ he said, slapping the top of it.

‘Yup,’ said Duke.

They bent down and gripped each end, rocking it back to keep the drawers from sliding. Donnie slammed his shoulder into the door jamb on the way through.

‘Goddammit,’ he said. He dropped his end and reached around to feel the damage. ‘There’s a big flap of skin back here,’ he said.

‘I’ll get you some ointment in a minute,’ said Duke. ‘Now, take a hold of this and get movin’.’

‘In the pickup?’ said Donnie, backing down the front steps.

‘Yup,’ said Duke.

They heaved it up and walked back towards the house.

‘That’s it, except for the bed,’ said Donnie.

‘I’ll take care of that,’ said Duke.

‘Not on your own, you won’t.’

‘Go have a cigarette,’ said Duke, taking the steps two at a time.

Donnie shrugged, pulled a pack of Marlboro from his jeans and walked into a shaded corner of the yard. He could see Duke silhouetted in the window, struggling to keep the mattress upright.

‘I can come in, help you, when I finish this,’ he shouted.

‘I got it,’ said Duke, letting the mattress spring back onto the bed. He disappeared, then showed up minutes later with a saw.

‘Probably right,’ said Donnie when he walked back into the room. He looked around at the chunks of wood and mattress. ‘I don’t think the whole thing would have fitted through the door.’

Duke threw down the saw.

‘Ointment,’ said Donnie.

‘Oh yeah. In the bathroom.’

Duke opened the cabinet and pulled out a flattened tube curled up almost to the top. He
squeezed some ointment onto his finger tip and turned Donnie by the shoulders towards the light. Donnie caught sight of himself in a mirror on the door and sucked in his gut.

‘Have you done it yet?’ he asked, trying to crane his neck around.

‘I’m doin’ it right now,’ said Duke, smoothing the ointment in gentle strokes across the broken skin. He picked the tube up again and squeezed out more. Donnie shifted slightly on his feet.

Duke stepped back. His hand hovered, trembling, over the base of Donnie’s spine.

Joe stepped out of the shower, focused, reeling from the fright he had given himself with the pills, shocked by the control he had felt slowly slip away from him. He wrapped a towel around his waist and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked tired, but his eyes were clear. He was shaken by his recklessness – leaving the house, leaving Shaun alone, driving with his head spinning. He barely remembered getting to Waterford. He went into the bedroom and grabbed a lime green LV8 from the dresser. He used it to knock back four hits of Fuel It. Then his mobile rang. Anna’s number flashed across the screen. His knees buckled.

‘Thank—’

‘Rise and shine.’

Joe went rigid at the sound of the Texan drawl.

‘Hello?’ said Duke. ‘Hello?’

‘Do you have Anna…my wife?’

‘I know who she is. And what do you think?’

Joe’s heart thumped. Shards of pain exploded inside him.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘Please don’t hurt my wife.’

Duke laughed. ‘Only if you promise not to shoot my partner dead.’

Joe hesitated.

‘Let’s talk about that some other time,’ said Duke.

Joe jumped in. ‘You need to know…’ He thought of those two words from the Gray file and the battle began – should he tell Duke Rawlins what he knew or was it better to hold back? ‘…uh, that my wife…’

‘What?’ snapped Duke. ‘Is a diabetic? Needs sugar, doesn’t need sugar? Needs medication or she’ll die? You know, like the movies?’

‘No,’ said Joe slowly. ‘This is a very real situation. I know that. This is important for both of us. We both need something here and what I need is Anna, my wife, home safe.’ A slight tremor shook his voice. ‘What do
you
need…Mr Rawlins?’ He stared up at the ceiling and waited.

He heard a rattle as Duke put the phone down and started to clap. After several seconds, he picked it back up.

‘You know your shit. Mr Rawlins – I like that. But I wouldn’t have taken your wife if I was just gonna bring her right back. Where’s the sense in that?’

‘Is Anna OK?’ said Joe. ‘Have you hurt her in any way? Let me talk to my wife. Please.’

‘She said to say hi,’ said Duke. ‘Except no, she didn’t.’

‘Please tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you,’ said Joe. ‘I can promise you that.’

‘What I need? That’s my business. What
you
need? Now that’s a lot more interesting. That’s my priority here, with all this.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Joe.

‘When it’s all over, it won’t matter a good goddamn what you understand or don’t understand, detective. It’ll be over. A dead end. It doesn’t matter how the hell you find yourself there when it’s the end of the road.’

‘Let me talk to my wife.’

‘No.’

‘Can I see her?’

Duke snorted. ‘Come to the parkin’ lot at that big high cliff by the harbour in five minutes. What are those things again? Oh yeah, lemmin’s.’

The phone, slick with sweat, slid through Joe’s palm and clattered onto the floor.

Frank Deegan was halfway down the path when Nora shouted after him.

‘What I was trying to tell you the other night…I may have done something stupid.’ She walked out to him. ‘I let Anna Lucchesi see that picture that Joe gave you. The mugshot.’

‘How did you manage that?’

‘I’m sorry. It was an accident. It had slipped in
among my papers. She seemed a bit shaken by the whole thing. I thought maybe she was angry that Joe hadn’t let her in on it, whatever it was.’ She paused. ‘But now that I think about it, she actually seemed quite nervous.’

‘How do you mean nervous?’

‘Well, I thought I saw the page shake when she took it. Then she put her hand to her mouth. She was sort of looking around, a bit panicky.’

Frank was familiar with that reaction. It usually ended with, ‘That’s him. That’s the man.’

Joe ran for the Jeep and pulled out of Shore’s Rock. He drove towards the village, his mind racing, the caffeine high kicking in. He had taken in the equivalent of eighteen spoons of coffee.

He thought about Hayley Gray. He remembered her parents waiting, powerless, because they’d called the police. Gordon Gray had sat on the sofa, reading the newspaper. Joe thought he was cold and detached. But then the man had bolted upright, shouting, ‘What do I do here? What am I supposed to do? Do I watch TV, do I work, what the hell do I do when this is going on? Someone has taken my child!’

This powerful businessman had collapsed against a police officer, sobbing, ‘This is torture, this is torture – why is this happening?’ Then he stopped suddenly. In the silence that followed, his quiet words sounded roared.

‘I did this.’ His eyes were wide and blinking, his mouth open. ‘Oh God, this is my fault. All of it.’

Joe stared ahead. He knew now exactly how Gordon Gray felt. This was
his
fault. This was payback for Donald Riggs. He might have been wrong about Katie, about the women in Texas, but he was right about one thing: a man called Duke Rawlins had him in his crosshairs.

He wondered what to do with the information from the file. The thought of making a call on it made the panic surge again. He clenched the steering wheel and floored the accelerator. He thought about calling Frank Deegan. He even reached out for his mobile. Then he was jolted back to the last seconds of Hayley Gray’s life…and realised that Duke Rawlins could be safe in the knowledge that he was never going to call the police.

‘Who do you love most, your husband or your son? If you had to choose,’ Duke said suddenly.

‘My son,’ said Anna calmly.

Duke laughed. ‘Just like that?’ he said.

‘Yes. I’m leaving my husband.’

‘You bullshittin’ me?’ said Duke.

‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s over.’ Her heart thumped. Duke studied her face.

‘You better not be bullshittin’ me.’

‘I’m not. Please don’t touch my son.’

Duke stared, then reached back and slapped her hard with the back of his hand. Her bottom lip split wide.

‘Nice fuckin’ try,’ he said, brushing her hair from her face to look into her eyes. She was crying.

‘Don’t you dare fuckin’ lie to me,’ he said. ‘You’d never be able to choose between them. It’s written all over your skinny little French face.’

‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’

Duke shrugged. ‘Too late,’ he said. ‘Plan B, just for the holy hell of it.’

Barry Shanley was on his way to school punching a text message into his phone when he felt someone grab the back of his knapsack and wrench him to the ground. The phone spun out onto the road. Barry lay on his back on the path, struggling to find his feet. He managed to turn on his side, but Shaun pulled on his bag again, dragging him backwards. Barry’s hands scraped across the stone.

‘Fucking get off me,’ said Barry, trying to stand up.

‘Fuck you,’ said Shaun. ‘You sick fuck. Sending me emails like a fucking psycho.’

‘Got you there, Lucky, didn’t I?’

‘Are you nuts? My mom was—’ Shaun had to stop. He squeezed his eyes shut.

‘Oh, your mom!’ said Barry. ‘You pussy.’

Barry let his bag slide off his shoulders and
dumped it on the ground. He started moving on the balls of his feet in front of Shaun, his arms raised. Shaun snorted.

‘You’re scaring me, Karate Kid.’

Barry reached out and tried to chop Shaun across the neck. Shaun grabbed Barry’s wrist and twisted it behind his back, pulling it up until he cried out. He pushed him forward onto the ground.

‘I’m not going to bother fighting you,’ said Shaun. He bent down and picked up Barry’s phone. He scrolled through the message on the screen. He read it out loud. ‘“Tape
Home and Away
for me. I’ll be back at 7. Kiss Kiss.” Now, who are you sending that to? Oh yeah, here we are: Mom. Fuck you, Shanley.’

Joe frowned. Up ahead, a woman was standing by the side of the road.

‘What the?’

She was swaying back and forth like a drunk, trying to flag him down with heavy arms. He frowned and checked the clock. He had three minutes to get to the car park. He looked around, hoping someone else would drive by and help this woman. Then he saw the blood, dripping from her arm. He looked for signs of a crash or another person, but she was alone and the closer he got the more hysterical she became. She suddenly started flailing wildly.

‘Shit,’ he muttered, pulling in beside her. She grabbed at the handle, missing it several times before the door finally opened and she could heave herself up onto the passenger seat. Something about her made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He watched her as she sat back in the seat. ‘Thanks so much for stopping, sir, thank you,’ she said. Her face was flushed and slick with sweat. Her breathing was heavy. She pushed back her hair and tried to smooth it down, catching a wiry strand in one of three tiny gold hoop earrings.

‘What happened?’ said Joe.

‘Some maniac attacked me! I was going for a walk and he just came out of nowhere.’ She stared at him with wide eyes. ‘I think he was going to rape me,’ she added. Joe took in her bulk. The seats of the Jeep were wide, but she was filling hers and almost spilling over. Only a very large man would try to tackle her down. Maybe that’s why she’d got away.

‘I need to get to a hospital. He stabbed me. With a knife.’ She looked amazed. Then a strange flash of anger passed across her face as if she was about to finish with, ‘The asshole.’

‘Show me,’ said Joe, nodding at her arm. She hesitated. ‘I’m a police officer,’ he said.

She pulled back the sweater wrapped around her arm and he saw a deep slash stretching diagonally across her fleshy forearm. It was a clean
slice, delivered – Joe imagined – with quick downward force as she was raising her arm to deflect it. He started the engine and turned to her.

‘You’re gonna be just fine,’ he said. ‘But I can’t take you to the hospital. I have a meeting—’

‘A meeting? You’re a policeman!’ she said. ‘You can’t just—’

‘I’m off duty,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. What I will do is leave you at the garda station and the sergeant in there, Frank Deegan or the guard, Richie Bates, will take you to the hospital. Tell them Joe Lucchesi left you off.’ He glanced down at the clock. He was already three minutes late as he turned onto the main street and pulled up outside Danaher’s.

‘It’s over there,’ he pointed. She didn’t get out of the car. He couldn’t ask her to, so he climbed out and ran around to her side, opening the door and guiding her gently by her left arm.

‘Everything’s gonna be OK,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘I’m sorry about what happened to you. I’m sorry I have to leave you here.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re very…kind.’ She looked like she was going to cry. He hopped back into the Jeep, did a swift U-turn and headed for the cliff. Four minutes late. Adrenaline surged through him. His hands started to shake. He stepped out of the Jeep and looked at the empty space around him.

D.I. O’Connor sat at his desk with a row of files open in front of him. Everything he read was irritating him. There were six members in the Drug Squad and it was clear that nothing they had done over the previous year had amounted to anything. He knew this already, but reading it now – in one sitting – for the first time in months made him wonder. Since he had left them, where did it all go wrong?

‘Uh-ohhh,’ said Duke. ‘Who’s showed up late for the party?’ Joe’s heart sank.

The call didn’t sound like it was being made outdoors. Joe looked around, but the car park was empty – no cars, no people.

‘You can’t just—’

‘I can do what I like, buddy,’ said Duke. ‘I’m the one with the little froggie here. She’s cute too. Ribbit. Ribbit.’

Joe was at a loss. ‘I…c’mon, man. I’ll give you whatever you want.’ He paced up and down in front of the car.

‘I wanted you to be here at three-thirty.’

‘It’s just three-thirty-five.’

‘Uh-huh, which is why I’m telling you YOU ARE LATE FOR THE PARTY. You shouldn’t have stopped for the girl, you fuckin’ sucker.’ He hung up.

Joe tried hard to slow his breathing. He focused on the view. From high on the cliff above the harbour he could see just a small part of the
village. And the road to Shore’s Rock was invisible after the first curve it took out of town. Joe frowned. From where he stood, it was impossible to see the place where he had stopped for the girl. All Rawlins could have seen was Joe’s car driving toward Danaher’s, but he wouldn’t have been able to make out a passenger. Unless Duke had never intended to bring Anna here and was watching him from an entirely different location. Joe jumped into the Jeep and drove out of the village, stopping at intervals along the route he had taken. He ran along the trees that bordered the road, looking for any sign that Duke Rawlins had been there. He didn’t want to think that Anna could have been metres away from him all this time. But he couldn’t see how. He took the turn into Shore’s Rock and drove cautiously up the lane. When he got into the house, he dialled the station.

‘Hi, Frank? It’s Joe. I was just checking in with you, wondering if that young girl got to the hospital all right.’

Silence.

‘Frank?’

‘What girl?’

‘The one I left outside Danaher’s. With the stab wound. I told her to go into you. She, she needed an ambulance. I had to – Jesus, I hope she didn’t collapse…’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Joe. I’ve been here all morning, no-one has been in
and no-one has collapsed outside Danaher’s. I think I’d have heard about it. Are you OK? Joe?’

Joe pictured the girl lying on the pavement bleeding out. Then he imagined Frank standing at the counter in the station thinking he was out of his mind. And then it hit him.

‘Gotta go,’ said Joe.

He ran to the den, grabbed the Harris’ Hawk book, scanned the index, then flipped to the page he was looking for. His finger moved under the words as he read; ‘
hunt collaboratively’, ‘working in pairs’, ‘observing from a height’, ‘one flushing out, the other attacking
’. He picked up the phone and put another call into Frank.

‘Sorry about earlier,’ said Joe. ‘Total confusion. Just wondering…you know your missing girl from Tipperary? She’s on your bulletin board? Big girl?’