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He gave a surreptitious glance at Finn and shrugged apologetically, and made me want to make good use of the bottle I’d smashed earlier. “So, if there’s anything else you need, you can always get in touch with us online, yeah? Believe it or not, it’s actually a better way of contacting us than calling, these days.”
“Well thank you so much for that excellent advice,” I said, and stood up. I knew we weren’t going to get any further with pressing charges now, and I also thought I’d pretty much figured out why. “We’ll be sure to give it our closest consideration.”
“Oh. Right. So, er, do you want us to call the paramedics out for you both or anything before we go?” Garda Stevenson asked as he mirrored me and got to his feet, surprised at the sudden dismissal. “Maybe get that cut on your face patched up?”
“No thanks gentlemen, you’ve already been more than helpful,” I replied. Besides, Niamh had already sprinted round to the local chemist’s and bought up their entire stock of steri-strips, adhesive dressings and antiseptic wipes. I was beginning to see how it might be useful to have someone with medical training in the family.
Stevenson gave a paternalistic nod of approval. “Well thank you. Good of you to say so,” he said, either completely immune to, or more likely too stupid for, sarcasm.
Chapter Twenty-One
Finn
As soon as the last stale crumbs of the buffet had been eaten – or in some cases hurriedly stuffed into pockets, purses and supermarket carrier bags for later consumption – and it became clear that there would be no further entertainment, the last group of straggling mourners disappeared into the murky twilight and we were finally reduced to a party of six.
Lilith and I sat at our sticky, uneven table as Niamh continued to check that neither of us was about to bleed to death whilst Feargal cradled a sleeping, adorable and blessedly oblivious Sol.
Despite Niamh’s initial hesitation at Lilith’s suggested bribe, Sinéad had worked her way through her third double Jack Daniels and Coke and was now sitting half-pissed and mercifully silent in the corner seat. She still hadn’t spoken to me or Lilith but she was clearly happy to stay and accept offerings of alcohol, which I supposed was a start of sorts, and in a haphazard way we were all together as a family. I wondered if this might be classed as a Start.
*****
“Well, none of that was good,” Lilith said to us all once the last of the hangers-on had staggered off into the gloom, and absentmindedly scratched at a patch of dried blood on her eyebrow with her little finger.
I held the wad of gauze a little more firmly to the back of my head where the bleeding still hadn’t quite stopped and gave a snort of laughter. “Really? This is how every Irish funeral ends. With a bloody good fight. It’s a tradition.”
“No, you sarcastic knob, although to be honest that wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest,” Lilith retorted, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Sinéad give a tiny snigger despite herself at the use of ‘knob’, probably because it was aimed at me.
At that moment my head was too busy pounding from where an arsehole had decided to smash a bottle across it to actually do any proper thinking about anything, but I forced myself to focus. I had long since learned to trust Lili’s intuition. “Go on?”
She leaned in. “So, initially I assumed that the Dublin branch of the Keystone Cops back there were just bad at their job. I mean, obviously they were completely shit, but that wasn’t the main issue with them; they were actually as jittery as all hell because they were that heady blend of nerves and guilt. They were sticking to a script, but they knew that what they were doing was wrong. They’ve been bought, Finn. I’ve seen that expression before, and so have you.”
I thought about it for a moment and realised she was right, because I had. Far too many times. “Shit. It’s just like Albermarle.”
Lilith nodded. “Yup. Think about Doctor Parnell, or Laura Fenworth, or my ridiculous excuse for a father, or anyone else Blaine thought might be a useful addition to add to her collection. All of them acting in a way they knew full well was reprehensible out of pure fear -”
“Because they were owned by her,” I finished her sentence. “It was just one long procession of spineless, purchased bastards. Well, right up to the point she came up against you, anyway.” I reached across the table and took her delicate hand in mine. “And she’ll not be trying that again in a hurry.”
“I should bloody well hope not,” she said. But I can guarantee that’s what I saw in those two officers, Finn. They weren’t just incompetent; they were being deliberately obtuse because they weren’t working for the Gardaí today, and Ciaran bloody well knew that they weren’t going to be disturbed whilst he faced off with you. Oh, and finally there was the thing that Kathleen yelled before the pair of them made their exit, remember? “We’re not even meant to be here.”?”
“Oh yeah,’ I agreed. “The rule-breaking is definitely a typical O’Halloran trait. None of the rabid little fuckers have ever been able to resist the lure of a decent scrap, even if they’ve been told to keep three counties away.”
“Well quite,” Lilith continued. “And whilst I don’t assume for a moment that any of the members of the noble Clan O’Halloran are capable of planning the proverbial piss-up at a brewery, we also all know that they’re useful for cheap hired thuggery as long as they have someone to point them in the right direction to swing their fists.”
“Go on,” I said, but I already had a very bad feeling that I knew where this was going.
“Basically, that’s where I fucked up. I listened to the police, but I didn’t sodding well listen to myself.” Lilith said crossly. “So my best guess is that despite the assurances given by the officers in Spain it’s either Blaine pulling strings from behind bars at HMP Low Newton, her son Michael, or the pair of them working together. And whilst the police in Santa Marita said there was no evidence, that’s entirely different to ‘not guilty’.”
“Bloody hell, it’s bad enough that there’s one of those sick buggers out there,” Feargal said. “A whole family of ‘em is proper horror movie stuff.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” I agreed. “Henry always said the Albermarles were a corrupted line from before the Domesday Book was written. Apparently there was a rumour some distant ancestor flogged his soul to the Devil so he could win a duel.”
According to Henry, Blaine’s daughter Emily was the only white sheep in the entire family, and she escaped to the US as soon as she could. But Michael, though…”
“As Henry once told me, “‘Now there’s a young man destined to go into the family business’,’” Lilith quoted.
“Exactly.” I shivered again at a single fragment of drug-clouded memory: a louche and beautiful blonde-haired guy standing in the doorway to Albermarle’s Great Hall, staring at me with a deviant hunger I had long since learned to fear...
Lilith must have spotted my reaction because she gently brushed my cheek with the back of her hand, just enough to break the moment, and I gave her a grateful smile.
