The Color of Blood (34 page)

“Was it through Denis Finnegan that you met then?”

“Why would it have been through Denis Finnegan? Brian had been working in a garage in the area, he just came along for the sport. I doubt he ever knew Denis Finnegan. In fact, I’m sure of it.”

“Eileen. Brock Taylor and Denis Finnegan grew up together in the north inner city. Brock in Blessington Street, Finnegan in Wellington Street, a stone’s throw away.”

Eileen Taylor whipped around and began to advance slowly on me.

“What are you saying?”

“That they knew each other, and they kept it hidden from you. Now why would they do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Stephen was a good boy, wasn’t he, Eileen?”

“He was growing up to be a lovely young fella. He was strong and brave and good to me and very clever. He could have been a doctor, was hoping to be one.”

“Do you believe for an instant, in your heart, that he killed Audrey O’Connor? Could he have done such a thing?”

“No.”

“Not even if he was under Sandra Howard’s spell?”

“Not if he was under the spell of the devil himself. And he’d never have killed himself either. I couldn’t look at Sandra after she took up with Stephen — took advantage of him. But I can see how it happened. She was mourning her father, he was seventeen, how could he resist if she wanted him, she was absolutely gorgeous. I was angry about it, but I kept my head down, said nothing. I didn’t want to drive him away. I saw more of Brian then. And realized I was pregnant. So I didn’t know what to do.”

Eileen poured two fresh whiskeys and sat beside me, again tipping the glass to my lips. She was possessed by her past, all concentration, burrowing down, channeling it from deep within.

“Brian asked me to marry him. And I burst into tears, and explained what had happened. Except of course, I told him I had been raped. And he said that was fine, he didn’t mind, he’d put his name to the child. And I said I’d have to think about it. Before I got a chance, Audrey O’Connor was murdered, and Stephen vanished. Everyone pointed the finger at him of course, even though there was no evidence, or motive. And then they found Stephen’s body, on All Souls’ Day. It’s his anniversary tonight, twenty-one years.

“I thought Mary Howard wouldn’t believe me when I told her her husband had raped me. But I barely had the words out of my mouth and she was promising this that and the other thing. We settled on the house in Woodpark. And she asked if I had a young man, and if he could be made to understand. I said he’d stick by me, and she arranged everything: the house, the wedding, the whole lot. But all I kept thinking about was Stephen. Who killed him? I had no doubt he had been killed. But everyone believed it was murder and suicide.”

“Sandra Howard didn’t. She still doesn’t.”

“How do we know it wasn’t her? She could have worn a mask, killed the wife, maybe Dr. Rock was in on it with her, and then the next day, or that night, set Stephen up, drugged him or slugged him, stuck him in the driver’s seat with all the robbery junk in the boot and sent it scudding off the pier. She had the only motive I can see: to move in on Dr. Rock.”

I didn’t reply. Of course we couldn’t know it wasn’t Sandra, and there was a strong possibility that it was. But I couldn’t stop thinking of Denis Finnegan, how he said there was nothing he wouldn’t have done for the Howards.

“Did you know Denis Finnegan well?”

“Not really. He followed Shane around like a little dog, worshipped him. And I always used to think he had a crush on Sandra. I don’t think she noticed him, to be honest.”

“And you don’t think it’s strange that Brock Taylor never mentioned how he and Denis Finnegan knew each other?”

Eileen took a long drink.

“Of course I think it’s strange. What do you want me to do about it?”

“What is Brock up to, buying up half of Woodpark? Joining the rugby club? What’s he doing?”

“I don’t know. I thought he was trying to help me.”

“You know he’s been drinking with Denis Finnegan up there?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“Why don’t you put your hand in my pocket.”

“That’s a pretty sleazy line.”

“My coat pocket. Go on, there isn’t a gun in there, I’m pretty sure they took that.”

Eileen put her hand in my pocket and shook her head.

“Nothing here at all.”

Maybe I’d been cleaned out completely.

“Try the other one.”

She did so, and came up with a cigarette lighter and a rugby medal.

“Lucky dip. Now what?”

“What name is engraved on the back of the medal?”

“Richard O’Connor.”

“Dan McArdle told me Dr. Rock’s rugby medals were stolen in the robbery. And they weren’t recovered in the boot of the car your son died in, with the rest of the stuff.”

Eileen Taylor’s eyes opened wide.

“Where did you get it?”

“Locked in a drawer in Denis Finnegan’s house in Mountjoy Square.”

“Does that mean he did it? What does that mean?”

“It means he was involved with the robbery and the murders of Audrey O’Connor and Stephen Casey, and he knew Brock Taylor at that time, which means there’s a fair chance Brock Taylor was involved too, and if you want me to find out any more — and if you want to see your other son — you’ll have to untie me and get me out of here. Because as soon as Moon gets back, I’m not going to be in a position to be asking or answering any more questions. They want me dead, Eileen, and they’ve already killed tonight; one more body’s gonna mean nothing to them.”

Eileen looked at me appraisingly, then looked around as if she was afraid we were being watched. Then she crossed the room to the white drinks cabinet and found a small fruit knife and came back and cut the ropes I was bound with.

As she got me free, there was a commotion from below, the sound of raised voices and steps thudding on the stairs. I took the big marble clock from the mantelpiece, killed the lights and positioned myself behind the door. I beckoned Eileen, but a gun had materialized in her hand, looked like a Beretta 950 Jetfire; she shook her head and stood directly before the door. It flew open and a man in a black coat swept in; seeing Eileen before him, he swung round, a Steyr machine pistol in his hands. It was Brock Taylor, badly bruised above one eye, blood seeping from a wound in his side. Before he could turn properly, Eileen began to scream at him.

“You said there’d be no more girls, no more hookers. And what have you been running? Ukrainians? With that pervert scumbag Moon?”

“Eileen love, I’m shot. The cops… we have to get out of here. Where’s that cunt Loy?”

“Tell me about Denis Finnegan.”

“What? What has Denis Finnegan to do with it? Oh fuck, I need a doctor—”

“Stephen, my son. They found the body twenty-one years ago today. And I know Denis Finnegan was involved. Now how would a soft cunt like Finnegan organize a robbery like that? He’d shit his pants. Except you knew him, didn’t you, you grew up with the cunt.”

“Eileen—”

She fired past him, through the door.

“Tell me, Brian, or I’ll do it, I don’t give a fuck anymore, tell me the fucking truth!”

“Jesus Christ, all right. I knew him. He wanted… he had a big thing for the Howard girl, Sandra. But it was all fucked up, how he wanted some other man for her, someone he felt would be better for her. I couldn’t follow it. All I knew was, he wanted the wife dead.”

“And then?”

“And then. Ah Jesus—”

Eileen shot again, closer this time. I didn’t move a muscle; it was as if she’d completely forgotten I was there; she could have caught me with a stray bullet without thinking.

“So that was done—”

“Who did it?”

“A lad who done that kind of work.”

“Did you do it?”

“No.”

A third shot.

“No? You were a fucking mechanic who robbed the odd car. You’d never done anything, you didn’t know any lads who done that kind of work. You had no fucking money, that’s what you did it for, isn’t it? How much did he pay you? You did it, didn’t you, you did it yourself. Tell me, Brian.”

“All right,” he said. “I done it.”

Eileen hadn’t really believed it until he said it; her face seemed to age in an instant; it was suddenly weary, lined with fear. When she spoke again, it was in genuine disbelief.

“How much? How much?”

“Five grand.”

“And Stephen? You killed Stephen?”

“Eileen, I’m bleeding here, it’s serious, the cops are coming, we have to clear out—”

She shot at the floor near his feet.

“Ah for fuck’s sake, all right! We’d’ve been saddled with him. We could never have done what we wanted to do, start afresh, Bonnie and Clyde.”

“You killed him? You killed my son?”

“I ran it past Finnegan, he said it would simplify things, the Howard one was carrying on with him, she didn’t need that, he said.”

Eileen held one hand on her chest. She seemed to be having trouble breathing.

“And then you made me leave Jerry in the church. Both children gone… for this?”

She looked around at the carefully designed room in disgust. Her eyes glistened. I could hear her breathe.

“It’s not just this,” Taylor said. “It’s Woodpark too, and more. When you see what we have coming to us, through the same Denis Finnegan… we’ll be controlling the Howards before long… it’s what we’re due, what you deserve, for all the Howards done to you.”

“What did they do to me? You killed my first son. And made me abandon my second.”

“Your second son? You were raped, Eileen, raped.”

Eileen Taylor set her shoulders back and pointed the Beretta at Brock Taylor’s chest.

“I was raped, yes. But not by John Howard. By you, Brock, by you.”

She shot him three times in the chest; I don’t know if he meant to shoot her or if his finger hit the trigger by accident but he sprayed automatic fire around the upper end of the room and she danced briefly like a puppet in the wind and went down beneath a hail of it.

I WAS STILL STANDING BY THE DOOR WITH THE MARBLE
clock in my hand when Tommy Owens clumped through it with a Steyr machine pistol in
his
hand. He reared back like a bucking horse when he saw the bodies, swinging around so that the SMG was aimed at me.

“You can put that down, for a start,” I said.

I’d never been more relieved to see anyone in my life.

“Come on Ed, the cops are on the way,” Tommy said.

“Where’s Moon?”

“Where do we go when we die man? We can talk about that later. Right now, your chariot awaits.”

“There was a security man knocking around here—”

“He legged it when he saw this. Come
on.
”

I followed Tommy down two flights of stairs to street level. He ducked into the violet and blue front room we had been in earlier and looked out at the street.

“Okay Ed, there’s a maroon Beemer parked across the road. You go, I’ll get your back.”

The submachine gun was taking Tommy over; he had started to talk like someone in an action movie. I shook my head.

“Tommy, is that the gun that killed the Reillys?”

He nodded.

“Then wipe it down and leave it here, all nice and neat and case closed for the Guards. Come on, we don’t need that class of weapon anymore.”

Tommy conceded with a grimace, gave the Steyr a quick clean with a hand towel from a downstairs loo and tossed it at the bottom of the stairs. We left the door open behind us and ran across to the BMW. I could hear the sirens approaching as we drove away.

I didn’t see Maria and Anita until we were on Strand Road, the sea stretching dark and mysterious to our left, the candy-stripe chimneys of Poolbeg towering above the bay. Then the Kravchenko girls raised themselves from the backseat where they’d been huddled. Neither of them said anything; they were whispering words of what sounded like comfort to each other; each cried occasionally. When I heard what they’d been through, I was surprised they had managed to stop crying at all.

I thanked Tommy for tracking me down, and silently asked forgiveness from whoever runs that department for thinking he had set me up. Looking ever more incongruous with his new face, new hair and his new seat behind the wheel of a luxury German car, and a stark, level expression on his face, Tommy Owens brought me up to speed.

“’Course we might have been able to stop them in their tracks if you hadn’t barged in like a stiff prick, not a thought to where the danger might lie — behind the fuckin’ hedge, you gobshite. I was across the road in the Beemer — I got it from Brock’s lockup in Woodpark — watching and waiting. I’d gone there after I gave you the GHB. Just had a notion Moon wasn’t finished with the ladies yet. I took the Steyr, and I was ready to step out and use it when Moon jumped you. But it didn’t look to me like they were going to take you out there and then; otherwise, why didn’t they, know what I mean?”

“So Brock and Moon had been in the house, they just done the locks with a crowbar, not exactly high security there in Quarry Fields, I warned you about that one, and out come the ladies, in a bad way, too frightened to scream. Moon has another submachine gun, Brock has one too, but he looks very nervous, like he doesn’t want to be there.”

“They argue,” Anita said. “Brock, he doesn’t want to do it, he is saying leave the girls, it’s too much trouble, we have no papers. Moon says girls are loose ends, we know too much, we must be dealt with. I think we are going to die.”

Anita’s voice rose to a cry as she said “die,” and Maria hushed her, and then said, “We don’t die. Fat fucks die.”

“So Brock is in the SUV with Anita and Maria, and there’s a driver, some big shaven-headed heap. After Moon’s kicked the shite out of you, he bundles you into the SUV and they take off, heading north. I follow, fairly close eye, ’cause there’s no way Brock will recognize the motor, and it’s not exactly an exotic route they’re taking, Rock Road, Merrion Road, up Pembroke Road and around onto Fitzwilliam Square. They help you out and get you into Brock’s gaff, then they’re all back into the vehicle and down through Ballsbridge, down toward the railway and a quick turn into this little private cul-de-sac, about a dozen town houses. They head to a house at the far end, and I drive past and park the Beemer outside a big Audi dealership. There’s a laneway by the showroom that leads down to the river, couple of fences and some brambles no bother, then I’m doubling back between the wall that drops to the river and the town house gardens, little river-view patios with paving and newly planted hawthorn and laurel. No lights anywhere except where Brock’s crew have gone. I keep my distance, don’t want to set off any lights, there’s mud and rotting leaves and river rats underfoot but I get there, close enough to see through the big patio doors.”