Malarkey (34 page)

Barbara blew her nose. "I can't believe it. Not L-liam. Jay
must be mistaken."

She was very properly upset, so I didn't leap to Jay's defense.
Dad kept quiet, too.

"It's horrible."

It was horrible. It was also puzzling.

Alex said hesitantly, "I think the Bosnian experience was
more traumatic for Liam than he was willing to admit. He was taken
by one of those roving bands of Serbian guerrillas, you know. They
kept him prisoner a while."

I sat down. "You mean he was a hostage?" That was an irony,
and not a nice one.

Barbara plopped a second lump of sugar into her mug.
"They didn't hold him for ransom or anything like that, and he got
away from them after a week or ten days, but they confiscated his
camera equipment and forced him to travel with them."

"He said they made him witness their atrocities."

I frowned. "I thought that sort tried to conceal their
activities."

Dad said, "The senior military officers would."

Alex said, "This bunch was on its own, roving the country-
side, chasing down Moslems and beating them to death. Lee said
they were proud of what they were doing. They enjoyed it, and they
believed in 'ethnic cleansing.'" His mouth twisted. "As far as Lee was
concerned, those so-called patriots were a bunch of teenaged thugs."
He pushed his mug away untouched. "And the business of digging up
other victims for the U.N. commander, that haunted him."

"The Serbs who captured Liam made a game of killing."
Barbara began to cry again. "Poor Liam. We liked him so much."

I had liked him, too. He was a charming, witty man and a fine
photographer.

I said, "I didn't stay to see the paramedics bring him out of
the folly, Alex, but last night Mahon seemed to think he'd survive.
What happened?"

Alex sighed. "Pneumonia. He was running a high fever by the
time we left the hospital, and they pumped him full of antibiotics, but
I guess the combination of blood loss and hypothermia were too
much. The doctor who called me said Liam died around dawn." He
shivered. "I still don't believe it."

Barbara turned to her husband. Her frizzy red hair crackled
with earnestness, as if emotion had given it an electrical charge. "We
knew he'd had a hard time, Alex. We should have been more
sensitive to his feelings. We should have stopped Slade's stupid
games."

Dad took a reflective sip of coffee. "But the wargames were
already well under way by the time Liam came to work for you,
weren't they?"

Barbara scrubbed at her eyes. "Yes, and he knew they were.
He made wisecracks about them all along. You know his style—it was
hard to tell when he cared about something."

"Humor can be a defensive weapon," Dad murmured.

Barbara leaned forward. "Do you think we should move the
company, George?"

"Heavens, no. You like it here, don't you?"

She gave a snort. "I wish I was in California cursing the smog
and the Simpson trial." 0.J. Simpson had been charged with murder.
"At least American violence is familiar."

"But violence is everywhere. You can't run away from it."
Dad meditated over his cup. "And you have an obligation to the
community, don't you? Your employees rely on you. I don't think you
should give up and go home. I think you should find Irish partners, if
possible, and hire other Irish artists and technicians."

"Make amends and mend our fences." Alex was smiling at
him. "I told Barb that's what you'd say."

"Ask Maeve," I said. "She'll know what to do."

They left shortly after that, saying they knew we wanted to
get to the hospital as soon as possible.

The news of Liam's death had shaken Jay. I was conscious of
the weight of his silence in the back of the car as I drove home. In
fact, I was so preoccupied I forgot to disable the alarm system when I
unlocked the door. Jay and Dad must have been distracted, too. They
didn't remind me in time to stop the hideous clangor. I shut the
device off while Jay called the Garda station.

I plugged in the electric kettle. "Would you mind if I took Jay
off for a drive, Dad? If he feels up to it. I need to talk to him."

He smiled. "An excellent thought. Maybe I can get some
work done on my notes today."

"You have had an interruption or two."

Jay wandered in. "I talked to Joe. He said Mahon didn't reach
the Wexford hospital in time for a formal interview before Liam's
fever ran out of control. Still, Liam said enough while he was
delirious to satisfy Mahon that my version of things was accurate."
Mahon had talked to Jay again early that morning and broken the
news of Liam's death.

"Then the Gardai are closing the Wheeler cases?"

"There are loose ends, and they'll need to take a deposition,
but I probably won't have to return until they bring Tommy Tierney
to trial."

The kettle shrieked. I unplugged it. "Another
intercontinental flight? Oh, Jay, I'm sorry."

He took the steaming kettle from me and gave me a peck on
the cheek. "You can come with me, help me hold the plane up."

The kiss was very promising. I asked him if he felt well
enough to take a drive through the countryside.

"Absolutely." He wiggled the still protesting kettle. "Does
anybody want tea?"

None of us did. I had boiled water reflexively, as a response
to men in the kitchen, a habit I'd have to break.

Jay and I piled into the Toyota and took off. I wasn't aiming
anywhere in particular. Jay didn't talk. I thought he deserved time to
brood. When I'd driven some distance through the Vale of Avoca, I
saw a sign for Avondale House and followed a coachload of German
tourists to the car park.

"The guidebook says the grounds are extensive—lots of
exotic trees. The Forestry Department runs a school here." I was
chattering. "The house is supposed to be a museum. It was Charles
Stewart Parnell's ancestral manor."

"Let's go for a walk." Jay got out, locking the door on his
side.

I slid out and locked my side with the key. "Where to?"

"That looks like the path."

The mostly elderly tourists milled on the asphalt. We cut off
through the trees, avoiding the house, and were soon alone in a quiet
glade of tall evergreens. The sun, though not warm, shone fitfully,
and the ground was dry. Jay removed the anorak the hospital
laundry had cleaned for him and spread it on the needles. We sat
down, holding each other, not talking.

Finally, he said, "I thought a lot about you while I was stuck
in the dark."

"I thought about you."

"I know. I wanted to tell Liam not to worry, that my wife was
organizing our rescue."

"You're making fun of me."

"No," he said. "It kept me sane, believing that."

I touched the white dressing on the side of his head. "I didn't
do anything. Maeve was the one who figured out where you were
and forced the Gardai to let her dig." My hand dropped, and my eyes
filled. "She was the one who thought of calling Teresa Tierney."

He stroked my hair. "You mean that wasn't just Toss's
imagination?"

Sniffing, I explained about the jungle drums.

Jay chuckled. "I'm damned."

"You never met Artie."

"Or the inimitable Grace. I'll have to thank them in
person."

I sat up and dabbed my eyes with a tissue. "Artie you may
meet. Not Grace. She's far too dangerous."

He touched my face. "Not to you, love. Will you listen to me
while I confess my sins?"

I blinked at him. "Confess?"

He nodded. "You were right. I made a very dumb mistake
coming here. I knew it the minute I saw your face at the airport, and
I've been driving myself nuts ever since trying to figure out how to
retrieve my error."

"But Jay—"

He touched my lips, hushing me. "When you didn't call me
after you found the body, I panicked. That's the truth with no bark on
it."

"Panic? You don't panic."

He kissed me. "My sweet innocent, I freaked out. I couldn't
teach, I couldn't grade papers, I couldn't sleep. All I could think about
was that our marriage was in danger, and I wasn't doing anything
about it. I need you, Lark. Believe me, only the thought of losing you
would compel me to sit in a jumbo jet for eleven hours with little bits
of Greenland breaking off into the Atlantic thirty thousand feet
below me."

"It wasn't anything you did. It was the baby."

"Yes, I know."

"What if I can't give you a child?"

"A child is not a box of chocolates. If we can't have a baby
ourselves, we'll adopt one. Or not. Your choice."

"But..."

"When the miscarriage happened, I thought I could help you.
I knew you'd grieve. I did, too." His voice roughened. "I wanted to see
your daughter, Lark. She would have been something
wonderful."

I burst into tears.

Jay held me close and said other good things. Gradually I
grew calmer, but I was still sniffling.

"
Entschuldige
!" A bespectacled tourist backed hastily
away from our haven. We watched him until he disappeared behind
a clump of white-blossomed rhododendrons.

Jay squeezed my shoulder. "Come on, let's walk. The damp's
seeping through this jacket." He stood up in stages and pulled me to
my feet.

"You said you thought you could help me." I took his arm.
"You did, but I couldn't get past the awful feeling of failure. I guess I
had to deal with that on my own."

He gave my hand a warm pat. "Maybe so."

"It's like Dad and the car." I explained my fresh insight into
my father's state of mind. "I think I'm okay now. I think I worked
through it before you were kidnapped. I never seriously thought of
leaving you, Jay. I love you too much. But it made me sick to think I'd
failed you."

He squeezed my shoulders and said my failure to conceive
for so long was as likely to have been his problem as mine.

"Yes, but losing the baby after all that..." I shook my head. "I
knew my reaction wasn't reasonable."

"But you're reasonable now?" He was half-teasing.

"I have," I said with dignity, "regained my sanity. And my
sense of balance. And maybe even my sense of humor. Let's go back
before Dad writes a monograph."

I'm afraid we didn't do justice to the Parnell estate. I drove
away from it with cheerful abandon, scraping past a coach on the
highway and zipping by a petrol tanker without flinching.

Jay flinched. "Thank God I don't have to drive."

"It's easy." I slowed for a curve. "You just have to trust the
other guy."

Jay grunted, skeptical.

"Can you tell me about Liam or is that too raw to talk
about?"

"No, but I feel clumsy."

"Clumsy!" Startled, I glanced at him and veered onto the
shoulder. Gravel flew.

Jay winced. "Liam was an eloquent guy, and I don't
remember his exact words. I tried to tell Mahon the gist of what he
said and made a hash of it. My own judgment kept interfering,
skewing his ideas."

"Give it a try. Did he tell you why?" I geared down to follow a
tour bus. "Or maybe you could start with how. I still find it hard to
believe a slight man who wasn't five nine could kill Slade
Wheeler."

Jay shrugged. "Duck soup."

"If Liam had sneaked up on Slade from behind and
administered a choke hold, yes, but you said he confronted Slade
directly, that they actually fought."

"It's not all that surprising. Slade was a lardy loudmouth, not
a fighter. Before Liam went out to the Balkans he took a couple of
unarmed combat classes. He said he wasn't good, not a black belt or
anything, but Slade was no good at all."

I thought of Slade's combat fatigues and polished boots. "I'll
never understand men."

Jay said patiently, "Slade talked tough. Liam was tough.
Mentally, I mean."

I was getting tired of dawdling. The road, though curving,
seemed clear. I flashed my lights, the coach moved left, and I passed.
I missed an oncoming sedan by a good yard. "So what
happened?"

Jay had flung up his arm to protect his face from the
inevitable collision. He lowered it. "On the evening of Easter Sunday,
Liam met Slade in the woods by appointment. He—Liam, I mean—
brought Tommy Tierney with him because he wanted a witness. He
knew Tommy had clashed with Slade."

"I suppose Liam was trying to get Slade to discontinue the
games?"

"There was an element of self-righteousness, too. He wanted
Tommy to see him challenge and defeat Slade. I'm reading between
the lines, of course. Liam didn't say that."

I was stuck behind another coach, this one French. I geared
down. "Did he expect hand-to-hand combat when he went to meet
Slade in the woods?"

"I don't think so. Slade made the mistake of attacking Liam
verbally."

I brooded over that. Liam was clever with words.

Jay eased the shoulder harness. "He could have talked
Wheeler into a disengagement. They didn't have to fight, but they
did, and Slade died. It was that simple."

"Not murder."

"The courts would have had a hard time proving intent. I
think Mahon would have settled for manslaughter. Liam could have
pleaded self-defense. If Tommy—and the jury—had cooperated."

The coach pulled onto a lay-by. I shifted up and pressed the
pedal. "He might have got away with it."

"Probably not entirely. The disposition of the body was
too...peculiar."

"Symbolic."

"Yes. Jesus, a one-lane bridge with a pub attached.
Outstanding urban design."

I had reached Avoca. It was Saturday and the pub on the
bridge was doing land-office business. Pedestrians out for a look at
the river had turned the bridge into an outdoor meeting hall. They
stood there, beer glasses in hand, chatting. Some of them waved. I
crept across the bridge in first gear. On the east side of the river, I
had to make a right turn on a blind corner.

Jay was as still as a mouse while I negotiated the passage. As
we wound our way out of the village, he said, "I didn't see Slade's
body, but it sounded like an artistic composition, a last satirical
comment on Wheeler's war games. I thought that when you
described it to me, and what Liam said confirmed my opinion."