When Shadows Fall (50 page)

“Morning, miss.” The sentry’s eyes lit up with surprised pleasure as he recognised her. “Unusual to see you on a Saturday morning, miss.”

“Yes, I know.” Tara cleared her throat, keeping her handbag against her coat to conceal the shape of the pistol within. “My superior has given me an urgent task.”

“Ah. Detective Bryant? He came in here last night with a suspect. He’s still in the grounds, I should think.”

“Where, exactly?”

“Don’t know that, miss. But I can find out.”

“No need. I don’t require him right now.”

He grinned and touched his cap. “Off you go then, miss. And you mind yourself.”

She heard him informing the other sentry in the guard hut, “See that one? She fancies me.”

She knew she couldn’t be seen by James. Not now. James, ironically, would probably try to stop her, but she couldn’t be stopped in what she had to do.

The archives room was closed. The canteen was open. Laughter. Coffee cups. Big feet.

She took a descending stairwell. It went below Dublin Castle, into a colder, darker world. Oil lamps burned. In their faint light a guard was reading a newspaper. Behind his chair was a locked steel grille. He glanced up at Tara’s approach. “Excuse me, where are you—” He frowned. “Hold on, don’t I know you?”

She forced a smile. “Yes. Yes you do. I work for District Inspector Bryant.”

“Ah, that’s it. What are you doing down here, ma’am? These are the holding cells.”

“I need to go inside.”

“You what?”

“I need to go inside.”

“Begod, ma’am, begging me pardon, these are the cells. You can’t go in there. In fact, there’s a suspect in one of them as we speak.”

“I know.” She paused, knowing she was about to run out of excuses. “I was told to pass a message to him. To the suspect.”

The guard stared at her. “Detective Bryant told you to pass a message to the suspect?” He frowned, bit a fingernail, and frowned again. “That’s a little unorthodox, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“The detective knows best,” she said. “And he’s very strict.”

“Oh, is he now?” Sourly, the guard rose up. “Fine, fine. But I’ll have to come with you.”

No!” She almost shoved him back on his chair, and then she smiled. “No, there’s no need. What I have to do won’t take a moment. I promise.”

He raised his hands in resignation. “Suits me grand, ma’am.” He unlocked the gateway and handed her a set of keys. “Pass on your message and be out again. Don’t talk to him. At least the villain is behind bars, so he’ll not hurt you.” With a scowl he bent to retrieve his newspaper. “There’s another door ahead. Open it and you’ll see him. Be quick, or I’ll have to follow you down there myself.”

Tara moved past and walked down the corridor. She found another grille, which she unlocked, and it led towards an oak door. It opened without a key. There was a cell beyond. She took the gun from her handbag and walked towards the bars.

And almost screamed at the sight of him.

Adam awoke.

He was sitting again, he realised. In an empty room, before an empty table. His wrists were bound fast behind the chair. He spat a gob of blood from his throat and his front teeth moved with the effort. Three were loose. His tongue felt the serrated edge where one had chipped. His head and cheekbones throbbed, his eyes stung. Every breath stabbed a lance of agony into his ribs.

And he heard the footsteps.

He had given them nothing, yet he wanted little more now than to weep. To bawl. Enough. Enough.

The footsteps slowed. Somebody screamed. Through his blackened eyes, he made out a shape.

“Adam,” she cried in horror. “Adam, what have they done to you?”

He stirred. Through hazed vision, he saw her face. “Tara,” he stammered. “Tara, how did you get here?”

She hesitated. His vision swam again. “Tara . . . ”

“You lied,” she said.

It took several moments for him to register her voice. Several more to register her words. He coughed. “Tara, darling, I can explain everything.”

“Don’t,” she snapped. “No more darling.” Her hand moved.

Now he saw the pistol, aimed between the iron bars into his cell. He strained against his chains and winced at the pain. “Tara, I love you. Know that. You must let me explain.”

“I loved you too,” she whispered. “I loved you, and you let me love you.” She steadied her voice and steadied the pistol. “Did James hurt you?”

“We had a spirited discussion. Yes, he did.”

“Good. Maybe you told him the truth, and God might just forgive you. Before you meet Him.”

“I won’t speak to James. I want to speak the truth to you, Tara.”

“Truth? Do you even know what the word means? Do you know anything, compassion, feelings . . . ”

“Tara, I served the British too, like your friend James. I saw the empire’s compassion and feelings in France. I’ve seen it here in Ireland. And I could gladly do without it.”

“Such a noble fellow. Aren’t you, Adam?”

“No, I know fine well that I’m not. But I’m trying to be. I’m an Irishman and I love my country.”

“You love nothing. You’re a destroyer of lives and innocence, nothing better.” Tears filled her eyes. “And it’s such a waste. Such a damned waste. I loved you, Adam.”

He heard the snicker of the pistol being cocked. Tara’s hand was no longer shaking, and he felt a wave of dismay at seeing her driven to this point—this final, horrible resolution. “I see. I suppose I deserve it. I’ve escaped a few scrapes before, but luck runs out for every man. But the difference is,” he met her eyes, “I’ve never cared an ounce before. This time I do. Because I love you.”

“Don’t,” she pleaded, then louder, “I said don’t! Because I don’t love you. You’re evil. A killer. You’re a liar.”

“Not a liar. I wanted to spare you more hurt. I wanted us to be a normal couple, to live our lives like any couple would. Goodness, Tara, I wanted to marry you.”

“All those times you went away on
business
. I can imagine what kind of business.” Her pistol hand was shaking again before her eyes flashed in fury. “Marry me, did you just say? A married couple? Like my mother and father? Murdered in their own home? By you.”

“I did not murder your mother and father. Whatever my other sins, I am not a murderer. A killer, yes, I know, but not a murderer. I’ve only done what I thought is right.” He blinked bloodshot eyes. “And I’m not a liar, Tara. Please believe me. Believe me when I say that I love you. Believe me when I say that I want to marry you. Believe me when—”

She squeezed the trigger.

The gun fired.

Her shot took Adam high and flung his body and chair backwards onto the ground. Blood spurted from his shirt. He gave a great heave for air, but his chest suddenly seized and his eyes rolled back into his head until only the whites showed.

She screamed again.

James was dreaming of a green lawn, tree-shaded in the afternoon, of tea served in china cups and glasses of lemonade. Laughter. Friends. English accents.

The dream faded.

His eyes opened groggily. Somebody was shouting at him.

“ . . . below, sir. Honestly, sir! Wake up!”

James lifted his head. There was a half-empty coffee cup on the desk. “Wha—what?”

“There’s a shot fired below, sir. In the cells. I heard it!”

One of the RIC constables was standing in the doorway of James’s office. James rubbed his nose. “A shot? But there’s a guard down there.” He yawned twice, then his eyes focused. “There’s a guard, isn’t there? Answer me.”

The constable looked hopeless. “I only heard it a moment ago. I’ll go down and check.”

“Never mind, I’ll do it.” James rose from his chair and checked his pistol. “A shot? A single shot? Who’s the guard?”

The guard was Constable Bob Higgins. As the pistol shot echoed through the corridors, he gave a yelp, flung his newspaper aside, and yanked open the iron grille. He thundered red-faced down through the corridors and roared out, “Ma’am! Miss! Are you all right?”

He reached the next door and grabbed the handle. It was locked.

And then a second shot rang out.

“What the hell is going on?” He pounded the door. “Ma’am!”

Tara’s hand was shaking so violently that the revolver slipped from her grip. The impact upon the concrete floor triggered the firing mechanism, and the second bullet ricocheted off the walls. Adam lay on his back inside the cell, hands still bound, his feet kicking out before he stopped moving.

It might have been the shock of that violent noise or the sight of Adam thrown on the ground, blood on his shirt, but she was struck by a sudden clearance of mind, a rinsing out of her jumbled emotions, so that stark reality took hold again. For a dreadful moment she thought him dead, and she scrabbled through the keys, trying each one on the cell door until the lock released. She went to him and managed to haul his chair upright . “Adam, can you hear me? I’m sorry. Oh, God, I’m sorry. I thought . . . I made myself believe you were him. That you were Larry Mulligan. But you’re not, you’re not . . . ”

His eyes opened. He smiled weakly. “If you were going for my black heart, then you’re a poor aim.”

She looked down and saw a patch of bright blood seeping from the outer flesh of his shoulder. A clump of skin and muscle had been ripped clear. It was bleeding steadily.

“Not fatal yet,” he acknowledged, “though it’s going to hurt like hell. Why don’t you have another try?”

There was a roar and a hammering on the door up the passage.

Suddenly, fiercely, with her energies refocused, she blinked her eyes and grabbed his cuffs. “I have to get you out of here. Hold still. There’ll be a key for these.”

“What for? You’ve already made up your mind.”

“Oh, Adam, I don’t know. You’ve betrayed me, but I don’t want you to die. God knows, I don’t want that. I was wrong to mistake you for him.” She worked until finally the manacles released. “Can you stand?”

“This is madness, Tara. You’re going to get yourself in trouble.”

“Just stand. I can get you out of here.” She lifted his arm round her shoulder and led him out. He staggered but then braced himself.

“I’m all right. I can walk. What about that guard on the other side of the door?”

“Just be ready to move quickly.” She picked up the pistol and went ahead of Adam. Unlocking the door, she was greeted by the appalled countenance of Constable Higgins.