TORN (38 page)

‘Crap!’

No sooner was the word out if his mouth than the dogs responded, striking up a howling cacophony like a savage, ever-vigilant siren.

Kennedy glared at him. ‘So much for stealth.’

‘Shit, sorry.’

Kennedy went on ahead, making straight for the main doors to the barn. The light was creeping out from around the edges of the double doors, illuminating the driving rain that pelted down upon them.

Chris followed, panting, his drenched hair plastered to his head. He didn’t need this, not now, of all times.

Reaching the wooden doors, he paused and wiped his face, then put his eye to a crack in the door. Kennedy was pressed close – Chris could feel the heat of his body – his head above his, also peering through the crack.

The barn was dimly lit, but he could see the chair lying on the floor, the video on the tripod, a small table and chair in the corner – an artist’s sketchpad and a set of pencils on the table.

Chris sniffed the air outside the door, realizing he was yet again aware of the strong ammonia smell that had been present in the Darcy household. It was especially strong here, by the door.

Reilly was spot-on. This was definitely the place.

Then out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention, something moving in the darkness across the yard.

‘Did you see that?’ he whispered to Kennedy.

‘What?’

‘A movement. In the bushes over there.’

‘What kind of movement?’

‘I don’t know, but we’d better check it out.’ He was hoping against hope that Kennedy would offer to take a look, because at that very moment, the pain was so bad that Chris didn’t trust his own legs to hold him up.

‘I’ll go. You stay here and keep an eye out,’ his partner offered. ‘Where did you see it?’

Chris indicated the thick bushes surrounding the perimeter, and Kennedy duly crept over, his footsteps slow and cautious. Then after a couple of seconds, he turned back and looked at Chris. ‘You eejit,’ he hissed, his voice a high whisper. ‘It’s just a bloody fox.’

A fox?
he repeated silently, when suddenly it came to him. Of course, fox-spray … that was the source of the ammonia smell, he realized instantly. Chris knew from experience that foxes were notorious for marking their territory; they used to have terrible problems with them at his parents’ place in Enniskerry. The scent would get dragged into the house from walking in the garden, and the smell was so pungent it was nauseating.

The animals were particularly territorial when their feeding grounds were disturbed.  Such as a farm that was usually abandoned but had been recently reoccupied….

Evidently, Luke Darcy had been walking fox spray he’d picked up here into the various murder scenes, and Reilly’s delicate nose had picked up on traces of it in smaller, more enclosed areas like the church tower and factory freezer.

Kennedy moved back to the door and nodded inside. ‘Looks like this is definitely the place,’ he said.

Chris nodded. ‘It’s all there – but does he have Webb?’

The dogs continued to bark, roaring and snapping out their rage.

Kennedy pulled his face away from the crack, and turned back. ‘From the sound of those dogs, he’s probably in there right now. Could already be dead.’

Chris shook his head. ‘If he were dead, the dogs would be too busy eating to make that much noise.’

‘God, that’s disgusting …’

‘It’s true.’

‘You want to go in there?’

Chris nodded.

‘What about the dogs?’

‘Dogs I can deal with.’

Kennedy seemed to know the decision had already been made.  He put his hand on the rusty handle. ‘I’ll follow your lead – the usual, OK?’

Chris winced, trying to ride out yet another burning spasm. ‘No problem …’

Ricky flinched as Luke shoved him into the room. The dogs were huge, three enormous Rottweilers, chained up in a horse stall on the far side of the room, snarling, snapping and jerking at their chains. It looked as though they could pull them free of the wall at any moment.

Racked with fear, Ricky felt his bowels loosen. ‘Jesus Christ …’

Luke gave him a hard shove, and he fell to his knees in the stall, just a couple of feet from the snarling dogs. Seeing him so close and covered in blood simply inflamed their fury.

‘Say hello to my boys.’ Luke snapped the door of the stall closed, then walked calmly into the stall adjacent to the dogs. He peered over the short wall at Ricky – the rapist’s eyes were fastened on the dogs, primal fear gripping his face.

‘In Dante’s
Inferno
,’ Luke informed him, ‘rapists are torn apart by dogs – that’s what I call justice. Savagery to match a savage crime.’

Ricky looked up at him, and began to blubber. ‘Please, man! Please! Anything but this …’

Luke reached over the low wall dividing the stalls.  ‘May the devil have mercy on you, because I have none.’

While Reuben decided to follow the team to the farmhouse location, Reilly chose to remain at the station and wait for news. She’d done her job in finding the place, so really there was little else for her to do.

Except perhaps try to uncover the answer to one single outstanding question.

Adams, wasn’t it? Melanie Adams. Hoping she’d remembered correctly, she turned back to the police computer and typed the name into the system.

And there it was.

A medical report, transcript of victim statement, and follow-up supplemental statement from victim’s partner.

Reilly’s heart sank, and she began to read the details of exactly what had happened to Chris’s ex-girlfriend seven years before.

The pub was busy with the usual Friday night crush, but in one corner of the room there was a special celebration going on. A group of young men and women stood with their glasses in the air.

Peter, a handsome31-year-old with short blond hair, was giving a toast. ‘Here’s to Chris and Melanie,’ he proposed.

A dozen or so glasses clinked together. ‘To Chris and Melanie!’

Chris smiled.  His dark hair was buzzed short, his features lean and hardened, but his face still wore an air of innocence. ‘Here’s to you, Mel.’

Melanie was beaming.

Peter clinked his glass against Chris’s. ‘You lucky dog, I can’t believe she said yes.’

Chris nodded, and looked over at Melanie. She was chatting with some of her friends, her dark silky hair catching the light. ‘I can hardly believe it myself,’ he admitted.

Melanie gave a shy smile, reached across the table and squeezed Chris’s hand. He slid over beside his new fiancée. ‘You doing all right?’

She nodded, the big smile still fixed firmly on her face. ‘I still can’t believe we’re getting married. It was just so unexpected …’

Chris gave her a quick kiss. ‘Believe it.’

The sudden sound of his mobile phone broke the moment. He pulled it from his pocket, and looked at the screen – his face showed surprise. ‘It’s my dad. I’d better take it outside so I can hear him. Back in a minute.’

He stepped away from the crowd, and brought the phone to his ear.

‘Dad, what’s up?’ It was clearly not good news as his father rarely phoned his mobile; in fact, Chris was amazed his old man even knew the number.

‘It’s your mother,’ his father said, his voice trembling, and Chris’s stomach sank. ‘She’s had a little accident – fell off a stepladder while trying to change a light bulb. God only knows what she was doing up there in the first place – that kind of thing is my department but—’

‘Is she OK? How bad was the fall?’

‘They reckon she’s broken her arm – she’s in Beaumont Hospital –  I’m with her now –  but they want to keep her in overnight for observation. She banged her head too, so they think she might have a concussion.’

‘I’m coming over.’ Saying goodbye, Chris slipped his phone back in his pocket, and walked back over to the table.

Melanie looked up, concerned.  ‘What’s up, hon?’

‘It’s my mum,’ he informed her, explaining about the accident.

‘You need to go see her,’ she said immediately.

Chris nodded. ‘Dad’s with her now, but he’s got to leave in a few minutes – he’s working nights …’

He turned to his mates, who were all listening with concern. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut out early.’

‘No problem, mate – say hi to your mam.’

‘Yeah – hope she’s OK.’

Chris turned to Melanie.  ‘I can drop you home now if you want?’

She shook her head.  ‘No, don’t worry about me – that’ll take you too far away from the hospital.’ Melanie lived on the opposite side of the city to Beaumont Hospital. ‘I might have one more, and then take the DART back with Fiona later,’ she insisted, referring to her best friend, who lived in the same locality. ‘You go on – and give your mum my love.’

Chris looked uncertain.

‘Seriously, go. We’ve done it a hundred times before. I’d go with you, only not being family, they probably wouldn’t let me in.’

‘Not being family – yet,’ Chris reminded her with a soft smile. But she was right. The Dublin hospitals were especially strict on non-family visitors outside normal visiting hours.

‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’

‘Of course. Don’t worry about me. Anyway,’ she joked coquettishly, ‘who’s gonna mess with the fiancée of a cop?’

Melanie stepped out of Shankill DART station, and wrapped her coat around her. It was mid-February, and temperatures had been barely been above freezing in the past few days. She looked left and right, and stepped out briskly towards home. Unfortunately Fiona had neglected to mention that she was staying the night at Steve, her boyfriend’s, place in the city centre, which meant that Melanie had had to take the DART home by herself.

The streets were quiet – it was just after eleven – and she soon left the bright lights of the station behind her.

As she walked along she thought about Chris, wondering how he was getting on at the hospital.  She turned onto the main road, her heels clicking in the still night air.

Halfway down she turned and glanced behind her – she’d thought for a moment that she had heard footsteps, but all she saw was the dark street, the parked cars gleaming beneath the streetlights.

At the end of the street she slowed a little. Take the long way round, three blocks down, or the shortcut down the alleyway?  She paused, pulled the collar of her denim jacket up around her neck. She really should have worn a much heavier coat tonight.

She peered down the alleyway – it had been the subject of much mythologizing and scary stories when she was a kid. Bogymen lurked down there, the ghost of old Mr Jacobs, who had broken his neck when he fell from his apple tree and whose spirit haunted the alleyway …  Melanie had walked down there hundreds of times during the day, but at night it looked different, more menacing.

She thought of what Chris always told her: ‘Walk with confidence, look around you, meet people’s gaze full on and they won’t mess with you.’

She was tired from the excitement of the celebrations, her feet were killing her and she was feeling the cold – she just wanted to be home. Quick as a flash, Melanie turned and headed into the darkness.

She was only about fifty yards along the narrow pathway when she heard footsteps behind her.  There was no doubt about it this time, someone was back there.  Following her, or just walking home from the station? 

She picked up her pace a little, and listened to the footsteps – they definitely increased speed too.

Her breath quickening, she passed under the big oak tree, out into the open section of the path – the tree loomed large on her left-hand side, the open park behind it, an inky pool of blackness under the dark night sky.

Melanie glanced back, feeling very afraid now – a shadowy shape was definitely moving quickly behind her, no more than ten yards away. Was she imagining things? It could just as easily be someone else coming home after a night out. Still, despite her attempts at rationale, some deep primal instinct was warning her that danger was imminent. She thought about running, but knew that in her high heels, and on this broken pathway, she would almost certainly stumble and fall.

A shiver of icy fear raced down her back. Why had she come this way?  Why hadn’t she accepted Chris’s offer of a lift home? The footsteps were close behind her, strong, steady.

Don’t run, Mel, stay calm, she told herself. In all fairness, it was probably nothing, probably just someone else who was feeling the cold and in a hurry to get home…

The assault was so sudden that Melanie didn’t have time to scream.  Her attacker closed on her quickly, fast and silent – one hand grabbed her tight around the waist while the other clamped itself over her mouth.

They tumbled to the ground together, strong hands holding her firm, making sure Melanie landed first, with his weight on top of her, driving the air from her lungs.