Kilmoon: A County Clare Mystery (26 page)

• 52 •

Merrit watched as Danny dragged over a wing chair identical to the one Merrit sat on and positioned himself directly in front of Liam. “What second knife?”

Liam’s bad hand tensed beneath Merrit’s. Rather than answer, he gazed past them toward the hallway. In the living room, something knocked against a wall. A floorboard creaked, and then a high-pitched yowl echoed through the house, followed by a murmuring voice.

“Kevin, thank Christ,” Danny said and strode out of the room.

Liam waved Merrit’s helping hand away and stood on his own. He glanced around the room, at the laptop, at the papers strewn around the desk. “No, not Kevin.”

Merrit escorted Liam to the living room, where a slight woman in a baggy dress kneeled under the dining room table. An empty cat carrier stood by the front door, and a thin tabby crouched under the table.

“Liam,” the woman said, her voice ragged and clogged with tears. “This cat is meant to be yours. Kevin said it might be just the thing.”

Liam straightened and some of the misery lines on his face disappeared. He spoke to the woman in the same inviting tone that Merrit imagined he used with his petitioners. “The cat is fine where it is, Emma. Come on out of there.”

So this was Kevin’s ex. She wasn’t what Merrit had expected. Emma looked like she was about to disappear into air molecules any second—and that she wouldn’t mind if she did.

Emma scooted out from under the table and used the table edge to pull herself to her feet. She wrapped her arms around her torso, and in that movement, Merrit recognized her from the night of the party. She’d almost bumped into Emma as she wrestled her way through the crowd outside the pub, and now that Merrit thought about it, Emma had given Merrit a strange look before calling out to someone—Danny’s wife presumably—and brushing past. She’d hugged a baggy cardigan sweater around herself just like she stood now.

“I saw you,” Merrit said. “That night.”

The woman fastened her gaze onto Merrit. Her short hair accentuated her boniness except where her face was red and swollen from incessant crying. Merrit stepped back involuntarily as emotion turned Emma’s face a darker shade of red. Then, out of nowhere, Emma stood before Merrit, and Merrit was so struck by the despair leeching out of her that she didn’t duck when Emma’s clawing hands yanked her head back by the hair. Merrit’s neck bones cracked. Emma wailed as if her soul were about to shatter into a million jagged pieces. A moment later, Danny pried Emma off her and stepped back with Emma pressed against his chest in a reverse bear hug.

“Are you OK?” Danny asked.

Merrit nodded, more startled than scared.

Emma squirmed. Her expression flitted between desperation and anger, sadness and indignation, so fast Merrit felt herself whirling too. “I saw the way Kevin looked at you at the party, and you looked at him,” Emma said. “You hoping to grab him up, to use Lonnie to make him jealous. And now because of you, Kevin is gone. Without me.”

Merrit opened her mouth, but Liam raised his hand. His tone remained calm, as if he were talking to an erratic child. “You know that doesn’t make sense. Besides which, none of that matters. It’s all over. You can relax.”

Just like that, under his spell, the tension drained from her body. Liam nodded to Danny to let Emma go. Emma stumbled forward and clutched Liam’s outstretched arms. “I’m so tired. I’d like to sleep for forever.”

“We’ve talked about this before. Not forever. But a nap might be good. Over here on Kevin’s chair.”

“It smells like him. Like the wood in his studio.”

Emma waited, placid, while Liam walked to a tall wardrobe, opened it, and lifted a blanket off a high shelf. He spread the blanket over her lap. Emma collapsed into sleep. It happened fast and with a vague smile as she snuggled into Kevin’s chair.

Merrit’s lungs were fine for once, but her skull throbbed. She lingered a moment in the living room after the men returned to Liam’s study. Marcus had told Merrit about the rape, but he hadn’t mentioned that Emma was still on the edge of a nervous breakdown a year later. One of her arms had flopped onto the armrest. Shiny scars lined her wrist.

Back in the study, Liam’s show of strength had faded. He appeared fibrous around the edges like he’d gone spongy all of a sudden.

“Since the rape she’s been erratic like you saw,” he said. “Usually she takes her emotions out on herself though. I’ve been helping her as best as I can.”

Danny frowned. “What are you on about?”

“I’m on about the second bloody knife is what. You two thought you’d connected all the dots, but did I ever admit to killing Lonnie? Did I?”

“You didn’t—?” Danny said.

“No, I did not. You remember, I mentioned that when perfecting a technique, Kevin’s likely to work something dozens of times until he gets it right. For a while, Kevin carved knife handles—this was before the wood turning—and I don’t know how many flawed handles he tossed aside until he got one right. And when he did, he made a second one, identical, that he gave to Emma.”

Merrit watched Liam, who lied so well. So well indeed. Only maybe he was finally telling the truth. She’d just remembered something about the sweater that Emma had clutched to herself on the night of the party. A ratty thing, an old man’s cardigan. The next morning with Lonnie lying dead in his office, Ivan had expected to find his sweater hanging in his workroom. Emma must have grabbed it up to hide the blood.

Liam leaned back in his chair with his head drooped against his chest. His voice sounded weary enough for an early burial. “I was supposed to meet Lonnie at midnight to give him my €1,000, but I was late. Emma had accomplished the feat by the time I arrived.”

Danny paced the length of the room. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Indeed not. The moment I saw the knife in Lonnie with me carrying its duplicate in my pocket, I knew. After the rape, Emma used to carry that knife with her everywhere, said she felt protected with a piece of Kevin at her side.”

“So you’re saying the knife in evidence is Emma’s knife, and the one that was in your drawer—?”

“Yes, Kevin’s, the one I used to open gifts. You can see why I needed to hide it from Kevin.”

Danny’s voice rose. “Holy Mary—Liam, dammit, are you listening to me?—this can’t go on. You can’t always protect Kevin from the tough stuff. Did you think Kevin wouldn’t find his knife at some point and realize you’d lied to protect him from Emma’s guilt? What were you thinking?”

“Just that—protect Kevin from yet another penance in which he would blame himself for her mental troubles. I thought, I’m dying anyhow, let this be my knife, lost during the party. I used the afghan to wipe her knife clean of fingerprints, which is why the afghan ended up with blood on it.” He aimed a wan smile into his lap. “Once again I thought I’d handled the mess, which seems to be my folly.”

“Now the mess is on me.” Danny stopped pacing. “I’ll call the pub to announce your absence due to”—his eyes flickered over Liam’s slouched form—“fatigue. Then I’ll be on my way with Emma.” He stooped closer. “You understand I must take her in? She needs psychiatric help at the very least.”

“Kevin would probably agree with that assessment.”

“And after Emma, I have to come back for you, by Christ.”

Merrit had been listening quietly, massaging her sore head. She dropped her hand, her chest tensing. “After all this? He’ll be a prisoner inside his body soon enough.”

“Kate was bloody well premeditated. You think I can ignore that? You think Liam doesn’t deserve the consequences before he kicks off?”

Merrit stood her ground, too aware that Danny would never understand her perspective. There was no way to explain how her own darkness got mixed up with empathy for Liam.

“Kevin’s gone,” she said. “That’s the only consequence that matters to him. He’s punished enough, besides which he won’t survive a trial without Kevin at his side. You’ll be sending him to the grave that much sooner.”

“Maybe that’s as it should be.” Danny leaned over the desk on balled fists. His knuckles turned white against the dark-grained wood. “Don’t you go thinking this is easy because it’s not.”

“There’s nothing your Irish justice system can do to him now—what would be the point?” She hesitated, hating herself, but knowing that if there was ever a time to use what she now realized was her one skill—her instincts about people, what Marcus meant when he’d pointed out her raised eyebrow—it was now. “You could care less about justice for Kate, and we both know it. But you’re not immune to a little selfishness by way of professional recognition and a sex life with your wife. Happily ever after with your promotion in place. That’s what this is all about.”

“You—bitch.” The words ground out between clenched teeth, almost against Danny’s will, it seemed to Merrit. She blinked back tears, knowing she’d get over all this with Danny but never all this with Liam if she didn’t help him the only way she could.

“How long do you have?” Merrit said to Liam, who roused himself to shrug a hope to see next summer. Then she addressed the bright spots on Danny’s cheeks because she couldn’t bear the sparks coming out of his eyes. “He’ll be dead before the system finishes its process if he’s well enough for trial in the first place. And then what will you have but your empty marriage and the wondrous satisfaction of knowing you obeyed the rules of your profession? Not to mention the end of your friendship with Kevin.”

Oddly enough, an icy calm appeared to be slow boiling over Danny’s features.

“If anyone’s counting on you to be true,” she continued, “it’s not your boss or your wife or me, but Kevin. Just Kevin. But, whatever, it’s your choice what you want to lose sleep over, not turning Liam in like a good little cop or betraying Kevin’s trust. You know he’ll never forgive you no matter what Liam’s done and what Kevin can’t face right now.”

“Enough,” Danny said.

Merrit forced herself to go on. Her fingernails bit into her palms with the effort. “But, you can still be a hero by bringing in Emma—Kevin won’t begrudge that I’m sure—and maybe bringing in Emma for Lonnie’s death will be enough to get you in good with your boss and your wife. And Kate? I’ll bet the sprained ankle and high heels will trump the bruise on her chest. Easy enough to see that she tripped—”

“Enough!”

Danny pushed himself away from the desk. He stood with relaxed shoulders but hands fisted at his sides. He perused the book shelves with dazed interest, as if seeing them for the first time. Air hissed in Merrit’s ears, the silence was so complete.

Danny ambled to the closest set of shelves and skipped his fingers over the jackets. He picked one at random. “Have you read this one yet, Liam?” The book landed on the rug with a muffled thud. “What about this one?” Another thud. “Catch up on your sickbed reading with this?” Another thud.

He began like a leaf caught in a slow spin. One book flew through the air, then the next; then the next and next; then the next next next until he accelerated into an inevitable sucking maw that only he understood. A fury of books streaked across the room in every direction, millions of words, some of which must convey emotions Danny couldn’t express himself. Merrit hunkered down with Liam to wait out Danny’s meltdown, silent except for cracking spines, ripping covers, and thuds against the walls. Several minutes later, the noise wound down to one final thud.

Merrit sat up with Liam, who appeared unfazed by the book carcasses that surrounded them. Danny stood as before with arms at his sides but now with sweaty brow and heaving chest. He searched Merrit’s face. “Congratulations, you accomplished your purpose, which makes you little better than Lonnie or Kate—or Liam for that matter. You are quite good, quite good indeed.”

Emma appeared in the doorway, blinking sleepily. “What’s this ruckus?”

***

Danny welcomed the distraction from his disgust with himself, with Merrit, with this whole sorry shit storm. The sooner he left with Emma, the better for all of them.

Emma leaned against the doorjamb with her bitten nails and rounded shoulders, eyeing the tossed books with a wary expression. Hard to imagine her with enough pent-up rage to plunge a knife into Lonnie.

“I’m sorry. About before.” She glanced at Merrit then back at the books. “You startled me is all.”

“That’s OK,” Merrit said. “I understand.”

Danny couldn’t help noticing that, like Liam, Merrit used her voice to good effect. Almost seductive the way it had lulled Danny while at the same time jabbing him to the core with its blunt words. Now she spoke to Emma with the same intimate quality.

“I can see how it must have looked at the party, and how confused you must have been. But believe me, you misinterpreted what you saw.”

Before Merrit could interfere further, Danny approached and laid a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Emma Foley, you’re not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but anything that you do say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence.”

Emma slipped out from under his hand. “You think
I
killed Lonnie?”

• 53 •

Danny’s head felt like it was about to spin off his neck and rocket through the roof, never to be seen again. Perhaps he’d be better off without it at this point.

“Right then,” he said as Emma brushed past him. “Would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on now?”

For once Merrit kept her mouth shut. She observed Emma as she sat next to Liam and shook her head vehemently against Liam’s shoulder.

“I didn’t do it.” Emma’s voice was muffled against Liam’s velvet coat. “On my honor I didn’t tell the Garda anything, not even about talking to Kevin outside the party. I haven’t said a word to anyone. It was Kevin. I’m so sorry.”

“You are mistaken,” Liam said in what amounted to an order, an order issued with a note of distress, but still an order.

Yes, she had to be mistaken. Emma wasn’t reliable. She couldn’t be if she believed she saw Kevin showing interest in Merrit. “Tell us what happened,” Danny said.

Emma sat up and haltingly related how beside herself she was the night of the party. “I’d already spoken to Kevin just as the party was starting, but our conversation left me sad. I wanted to—oh, I don’t know—but I didn’t leave. It was like I wanted to torture myself on the year anniversary, or prove something to myself. Either way, it was easy enough to watch the party through the windows for a while. Earlier I’d seen Lonnie with his date—Merrit—and Kevin looking too interested. I decided to wade into the party again to distract Kevin from Merrit. I was jealous, and I was mad and sad all over again about that piece of shit, Lonnie. It was just a bad night, OK? I should have stayed home in the first place. Should have known better.”

“What time was this?” Danny said.

“Between ten and ten thirty.”

“That early? You’re sure?”

“Yes. I went around so I could enter through the back door—less crowded that way—when who should I see but the shit himself, Lonnie, leaving Internet Café with some leggy creature, pleased with himself as usual. Gave me the sick, it did, but I wasn’t about to do anything. He said goodbye to the leggy creature and then he saw me, and I don’t think he liked me noticing them together. He dragged me into the café and closed the door behind us, probably just to tell me off, but, oh, you should have seen me then, stark raving. He’d touched me, and that was the end of my sanity for a few minutes, waving the knife Kevin gave me around like a lunatic. But Lonnie only laughed and slapped the knife away. He thought the whole thing was hysterical, me, undone like that. I felt like a bloody freak, a humiliated bloody freak.”

“What about the sweater you were wearing?” Merrit said.

“That? Lonnie had ripped my dress. He tossed the jumper at me like it was so much trash and so was I.”

“You left your knife in Internet Café?” Danny said.

Emma nodded. “I felt worse about that than the rest, and I wanted to talk to Kevin so badly that I ached. But by then I was in no fit state to brave the party. Your wife was kind enough to get someone to fetch Kevin for me. I told him what happened but that I’d get his knife back, that he shouldn’t worry about it. He was livid at first. We actually passed a nice few moments after I calmed him down. At least, I assumed I’d calmed him down. Then the next day news about Lonnie came out—my poor Kevin.”

She started to cry again.

“Listen to me,” Danny said.

Emma glanced at him.

“Kevin didn’t kill Lonnie. I never thought he did, and I don’t think so now.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Danny pulled his timeline out of his pocket, pondering the new fact: the knife was accessible earlier in the evening than he’d previously thought. “But now I’m back to ground zero.”