Blood Whispers Read online

  ‘I’m assuming that your presence here can mean only one thing,’ continued the priest, ‘so let me just ask you this. When did it happen?’

  ‘She died a few days ago.’

  Father Anthony dropped his gaze to the floor. ‘Ah, dear! Well I’m truly sorry to hear that. I’ve spoken to your grandmother at intervals over the years – more so recently, since she was diagnosed – but I hadn’t heard from her in a few weeks. I did start to wonder. She mentioned that you had changed your name when you moved away. What do you call yourself now?’

  ‘Keira . . . Lynch.’

  ‘Nice. I like it. Would it bother you if I stuck with the name I know you by, otherwise I’ll end up getting confused?’

  Keira shook her head. ‘I don’t have a problem with that.’

  ‘Okay, Niamh McGuire it is, then. I presume you’re over to make arrangements for the funeral?’

  Keira nodded. ‘She asked if you would consider doing a Mass in Newry . . . at the cathedral. She wants to be buried with her sons. Although she put it in an odd way.’

  ‘Odd? Why odd?’

  ‘She said that, when the time was right, she wanted her ashes scattered over her sons’ graves. It seemed like an odd thing to say.’

  ‘Well, I presume she was meaning after she was dead. Anyway, I had spoken to her about St Patrick’s and I gave her my word I would make that possible. I’ll have to discuss it with Father Doyle, who runs the cathedral now, but I can’t see that it should be a problem. The boys’ graves are up at St Mary’s, is that right?’

  ‘Yes . . . I know it’s been a long time and things have moved on, but I’m still not sure it’s the right thing to do . . . go back. There are still a lot of . . . unresolved issues. I’d appreciate it if it was kept as quiet as possible.’

  ‘I understand your reluctance and I’ll certainly try. There’s no one will hear it from my lips, and I’ll pass that message on to Father Doyle. I should say, however, that your grandmother was a very popular woman. A lot of the mothers in Newry around the time of the Troubles had been through similar experiences and Kathleen was always there for them. I’m sure there would be a number of them would want to pay their respects. It’ll be hard to keep it a secret, but I’ll try my best.’

  ‘She also wanted a piper: the uillean. She asked if you’d mind choosing the music.’

  ‘Certainly. And I know the very thing. Have you ever heard of “Róisín Dubh”?’

  Keira shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘It means Dark Rose. “A Róisín ná bíodh brón ort fé’r éirigh dhuit.” “Little Rose, be not sad for all that hath behapped thee.”’

  ‘You’re going to set me off, Father.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m not trying to upset you. Let’s just say it’s a beautiful piece of music that will fit the occasion very well and we’ll leave it there.’

  Father Anthony took another drink from his glass.

  ‘She mentioned you had something for me . . . but didn’t say what it was.’

  ‘Indeed. I have it safe, a small package, not much to it. Your grandmother entrusted it to me twenty years ago, bound and taped to within an inch of its life. Her instructions were to keep it safe until she passed away, then give it on to you. All very mysterious! There’s a box of knives as well: don’t ask me where they came from . . .’

  ‘Knives? What sort of knives?’

  ‘I’ll get them as soon as we’ve eaten and you can see for yourself, or if you’d rather I’ll fetch it now?’

  ‘No, that’s fine, let’s eat.’

  Keira still hadn’t touched her bowl of food.

  She was abstractedly rubbing her wrists together in small circular movements.

  ‘What sort of knives?’ she asked again.

  ‘Throwing knives, if I remember. I haven’t looked at them for a very long time, but I believe they belonged to your uncle Danny.’

  She was suddenly eight years old again, standing in the small back garden of her terraced house in Ballinlare Gardens, Newry, her uncle Danny showing her the box containing a set of intricately tooled throwing knives. He’d taught her how to use them, how to hold the blade, tip pointing at the ground. He trained her to raise her arm, then bring it forward in a straight line with as much force as possible, and at the last moment flick her wrist and release. But strength wasn’t the main factor. It was as much to do with the timing of the release as the energy behind it whether the blade would stick point first, but Keira had mastered it quickly.

  ‘I remember them.’

  For a moment the two of them sat in silence, both aware that there was another subject still to be discussed. Father Anthony studied her as he ate a few more mouthfuls of stew. Her grandmother’s passing was not the only thing on the troubled young woman’s mind; she hadn’t gone through the whole rigmarole of getting him into the confessional just to tell him that. Such information could easily have been delivered over the phone. There had to be some other reason, something that made her want to talk in private.

  ‘How do you feel about going back to the cathedral? I don’t suppose you’ve set foot in it since the last time we met?’ he said, giving her an opening.

  Keira didn’t reply.

  ‘In this line of work there’s very little that I haven’t seen or heard. From murderers, rapists and robbers to births, deaths and marriages, I’ve done the lot. I’ve become something of an expert on the human condition. I’m telling you this to reassure you that whatever is on your mind will be taken to the grave, along with many other divulgences I’ve heard over the years.’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Keira, aware that she was about to reveal something she had kept bottled up inside her for more than twenty years. ‘You are the only person alive who knows what really happened. I don’t think my grandmother realized what she was asking me to do by making me go back there. She doesn’t know what really went on. She thinks it’s what I saw that caused all my problems, but she was wrong. It’s what I did.’

  Father Anthony sat watching her in silence.

  ‘I know what Uncle Danny told you that night,’ she continued. ‘I overheard you talking at the cathedral. But he was lying. He didn’t kill Owen O’Brien. He told you that to protect the real killer.’ Keira paused just long enough to catch her breath.

  ‘Now, now that’s enough, Niamh,’ interrupted Father Anthony. He knew from experience the courage it took for some people to get to this point, and that his place was to sit quietly and listen, but he couldn’t let her continue. ‘I want you to stop now, okay, and listen to me.’

  But Keira didn’t want to stop. She had to get the words out, like some form of exorcism. ‘I killed him,’ she continued. ‘I pulled the trigger . . .’

  Father Anthony reached forward and grabbed hold of her hands. ‘That’s enough now‚ Niamh! I want you to stop! You may have heard some of the conversation that night, but you didn’t hear all of it. Your uncle Danny told me that you saved his life. If you hadn’t been there O’Brien would have murdered him. Now, for the moment let’s just accept that what you’re telling me is the truth, that you did pull the trigger. You did it to save another person’s life and that, for me, negates the burden of guilt you’ve been carrying on your shoulders for all these years. I preach Christian values of tolerance and forgiveness every week from the pulpit, but I’m not so naive as to think that every mad bastard in the world would respond to a few kind words by laying down their weapons in surrender. Owen O’Brien was a psychopath . . . he was a dangerous man, who would have killed you in a heartbeat. Yours wasn’t an act of aggression: it was a defensive response to one, and therein lies the distinction between a criminal act and a good deed for me. There’s no one deserves to die, but there are those who deserve to live. I want you to leave Keira Lynch here and look back on today as the first step to making Niamh McGuire’s life all that it should be, d’you understand?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Your uncle Danny told me that he killed O’Brien and that – as fa
r as I’m concerned – is still the truth . . . You saved a man’s life and protected your own. Niamh McGuire has nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to repent.’

  Eighteen

  The bright light burning overhead hurt her eyes and must have been left on overnight. Keira raised herself on to her elbows. The clothes she’d been wearing the previous night were scattered over a chair in the corner of the room. On top of the pile sat the well-wrapped package alongside the slim wooden case containing the throwing knives. She vaguely remembered stripping naked and climbing into bed, but for a brief moment she had no idea where she was.

  On the bedside table stood a half-full bottle of water. Keira grabbed it and drained most of it in one gulp. She climbed out of bed and moved over to the window, where she stood gazing at the view: the green slopes of the Glens of Antrim rising away to the summit of Lurigethan Mountain. Trees and bushes‚ scattered randomly along the hillside‚ bent and swayed in the strong offshore wind that whipped across the top of them, adding even more drama to an already impressive scene. Dark grey clouds tumbled across the early morning sky and long vertical smudges of rain could be seen in the distance.

  She had stayed on drinking with Father Anthony until getting in the car and driving back to Belfast was no longer an option. They had settled on the following Thursday as the day of her grandmother’s funeral. That would give Keira and her mother enough time to make the necessary arrangements to have the body transported back to Newry.

  After helping the priest to down two more bottles of red and a quantity of brandy, Keira had finally had enough; she was exhausted and gratefully accepted Father Anthony’s offer of a bed for the night.

  Keira stood naked at the window, trying to assess the impact of the previous evening on her initial fears about seeing the priest again. There was still a vague sense of unease, but she believed now – for the first time in over twenty years – that there might be a way forward. That in itself was a new thing. Saying the words out loud to another human being had made a difference. Her grandmother had been right: Father Anthony was a good starting point; already, the crippling burden of guilt she had felt for most of her life had somehow lessened, but it was only the first step. There was still a long way to go.

  There was a loud rap at the bedroom door.

  Keira turned her head too sharply‚ which made the room start to spin.

  ‘Are you awake, Niamh?’ came Father Anthony’s muffled voice.

  ‘I am.’ Keira held on to the window ledge to steady herself. ‘Just give me a second.’

  She made her way over to the bundle of clothes, picked her trousers from the pile and started to dress.

  ‘There’s a phone call for you downstairs.’

  ‘A call?’

  No one knew where she was.

  ‘The fella says it’s urgent.’

  ‘Did he give his name?’

  ‘David, from your office. Will I ask him to phone back?’

  Keira pulled her blouse on and started buttoning it up. ‘No, I’m just coming. Would you mind telling him to hold on? I’ll be right there.’

  ‘I will.’

  Keira slid her bare feet into her shoes and followed on a few moments later. The phone was in the hall downstairs, the receiver off the hook.

  ‘Jesus, what’s going on? How did you track me down here?’

  David sounded tense. ‘I called your mobile.’

  ‘I don’t have my mobile with me. I think I left it at my mum’s.’

  ‘Exactly! When are you heading back?’

  ‘Sometime this morning, why?’

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. Your mum told me about your gran . . . so I know this is not the best time . . .’

  ‘Thanks, David, don’t worry about it. What’s the problem?’

  ‘They’re releasing Kaltrina.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘She’s free to go.’

  ‘Free to go? What the hell are you talking about? When was this decided?’

  ‘Who knows. I got a call on my mobile to contact Patrick Sellar’s office as soon as possible. I was told to let you know.’

  ‘When did you get the call?’

  ‘About an hour ago.’

  ‘He called you on a Sunday morning and told you they were releasing the girl?’

  ‘Not him, his secretary. She’d gone in specially, to sort out the paperwork.’

  ‘Did she say why? Are they dropping the charges? What is that little prick up to?’

  ‘Who knows.’

  ‘What were her exact words?’

  ‘That’s about it. Given the circumstances, they’re not willing to press on with the charges and Kaltrina would be released sometime later this morning once all the paperwork was sorted. She said Sellar will be in the office first thing tomorrow morning if you need to talk to him in person.’

  ‘“Given the circumstances”? What the hell is she on about? He knows Kaltrina’s life is in danger. Did you deliver the recording to his office?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘To him: did you deliver it personally to Patrick Sellar?’

  ‘Not in person, but I . . .’

  ‘I told you to deliver it to him personally, David, no one else. Jesus!’

  ‘What difference does it make? I gave it to his secretary and told her to make sure it was put on his desk . . . marked urgent.’

  ‘He can still say he didn’t receive it! For Chrissake, David! That recording proves Kaltrina Dervishi’s life is in danger. If he hasn’t seen it, then nothing for him has changed. Where the hell is she supposed to go? “Given the circumstances”? Given the circumstances, she should be going into the witness protection programme and be spirited away until Abazi’s arrested and put on trial . . . What does he mean “Given the circumstances”?’

  ‘This is the reason you need to keep your mobile phone with you, Keira. It’s making everyone’s life, including your own, too bloody difficult. It’s an aid to communication, that’s all . . .’

  Keira was standing staring at the wall in a daze; no longer listening. She hadn’t seen this one coming. Suddenly she was aware of a silence on the other end of the line, then David asked, ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What d’you want me to do?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m heading over to my mum’s for Sunday lunch . . . or at least I was.’

  ‘Call his secretary back. Tell her I need to talk to Sellar today and get a contact number: don’t let her fob you off. It’s essential that I talk to the slimy little prick as soon as possible.’

  ‘Will I couch it in those terms?’

  ‘Then go to the office and pick up my spare keys for the flat. They’re in one of the drawers on the right-hand side of my desk. If you’re there in the next twenty minutes or so, call me back on this number; otherwise I’ll call you on your mobile when I get to the airport.’

  ‘My phone’s got hardly any battery left.’

  ‘There’ll be a charger in the office. Janica Ahmeti’s mobile number is scribbled on one of the bits of paper lying on top of my desk.’

  ‘Will I take a cab?’

  ‘Yes, and ask the driver to wait outside the office, then take you to the train station.’

  Keira heard David sigh. ‘You want me to go to Stirling and get her?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll call Cornton Vale and tell them Kaltrina’s not to be released until you arrive. Try to get a hold of Janica and ask her to meet you there too.’

  ‘Should I wait for her?’

  ‘The main thing is to keep Kaltrina safe. If Janica is not there by the time you’re ready to leave with her, don’t wait.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Take Kaltrina back through to Glasgow; go to my flat. I’ll head straight there from the airport. But don’t go on public transport, David. Order a car.’

  ‘From Stirling? Jesus! That’ll be expensive!’

  ‘I’ll sort it out later, don’t worry. Make s
ure you get dropped right outside the apartment block. When you get into the flat, lock the door and don’t open it to anyone. If I need to call you I’ll let the phone ring three times then hang up and call you back, otherwise don’t pick up. Okay?’

  ‘Aye, whatever you say.’

  Keira hung up, rang directory enquiries for Cornton Vale’s number and jotted it down on a pad that lay beside the phone. Then she quickly dialled another number, shuffling around impatiently until eventually she heard a click followed by a message.

  ‘Gary? If you’re listening can you pick up?’ She waited a few moments to give him a chance to get to the phone, but nothing happened so she left a message. ‘Can you meet me at my flat around teatime tonight? There’s a client of mine, a girl – I want you to arrest her.’

  Nineteen

  The whole world seemed to be moving in slow motion – the drivers on the road from Waterfoot to Belfast International airport, the car-rental clerk, the check-in staff, the passengers boarding the plane – even the painkillers she’d swallowed a couple of hours earlier were taking their time kicking in.

  Keira was on her third double-shot espresso and starting to get the jitters. She had put in a call to Cornton Vale and told them that under no circumstances were they to release Kaltrina Dervishi until her assistant arrived to escort her. Even there, the operator seemed to take for ever to write the message down. The prison operated a ‘reduced service’ at the weekend and she got the impression that the girl at the other end of the line was either a part-timer or an inmate.

  After a call to her mother – to let her know about the funeral arrangements and tell her she’d drive down to Scaur as soon as she’d figured out what to do with Kaltrina Dervishi – she tried to get hold of the Advocate Depute, but so far had only managed to get Sellar’s answering service.

  At the back of her mind she knew the son-of-a-bitch was avoiding her calls. She’d also tried to check in with David, but his phone kept diverting to voicemail.

  There was nothing much she could do now until she got to Glasgow, but there was something else nagging at the back of her mind that she couldn’t coax into anything resembling a clear thought: when it did hit her, it was too late; the aeroplane had already left the runway. Keira immediately reached up and pressed the overhead call button. She unbuckled her seatbelt and was halfway down the aisle when the announcement came over the speaker system that the captain had not yet extinguished the seatbelt sign and would the passenger please return to her seat.