So Say the Fallen (Dci Serena Flanagan 2) (18 page)

An idea pierced through the chaos behind his eyes: Heart attack. I’m having a heart attack and I’m dying. One hand on the floor to stop him toppling over, the other clutched at his heaving chest, his lungs pulling at the air that wasn’t in the hallway.

He didn’t see Roberta approach, didn’t hear her shoes on the floor, only realised she was by his side when her hands gathered him up to her.

‘Panic attack,’ she said. ‘It’s just a panic attack. Try to breathe. Come on. Breathe.’

And he did. Somehow, slowly, sweet air returned to the world. Thin at first, but thickening so that he could take a gulp, then another, and another until the booming of his heart eased.

He didn’t know how long passed as he kneeled on the floor, his head on her breast. Eventually she said, ‘It’s over. It’s done.’

‘Yes,’ he whispered as he pushed himself up to sit alongside her.

‘I’ll find him in the morning,’ she said. ‘Just like we talked about.’

‘Then you’ll call me,’ he said between breaths.

‘That’s right. You should go now. I’ll take care of everything else.’

She helped him to his feet as he asked, ‘What about the pestle and mortar, the bag?’

‘I’ll take care of them.’ She pushed him towards the front door. ‘Now go.’

A minute later, he steered his Ford Fiesta through the gates at the end of the driveway. Branches and hedgerows blurred as they passed through the glare of his headlights. Without thinking,
he headed west, skirted Moira, and found his way onto the motorway, south, left it again.

Lurgan, the signs said. A service station. Houses, sixties boxes and newbuilds.

After a few turns, he came to a roundabout. He circled it once, twice, three times, unable to choose which exit to take. Finally, he jerked the wheel at the next junction he saw, not caring where it might lead. He found himself on a straight stretch of road, railings on either side. Then he saw the wide stretch of water he crossed, reflecting the weak moonlight: the River Bann. He slowed the car, stopped at the centre of the bridge, the river rolling away either side of him. Darkness everywhere.

He climbed out of the car, put his hands on the metal railing, felt the cold of it seep through the flesh and into the bones. Trees hissed at him. He wondered for a moment what it would feel like, the fall, only a second or two, then the sudden cold of the water. Would his body fight to live? Or could he allow himself to sink, to drown down there in the black?

He saw the beam of the headlights illuminating the pale skin of his hands before he heard the engine. It’ll pass, he thought. The driver will see me and think I’m odd standing here at night, but that’s all.

The car did not pass. Its engine note dropped in pitch, stepping down as the driver moved through the gears. McKay heard the tyres rumble on the road, a faint high whine as the brakes gripped the wheels, then the engine died. He didn’t have to turn his head to know the car had pulled in behind his own. But when he heard one door open, then another, he did turn his head and his heart froze.

Two police officers closed the doors of their patrol car. One, the driver, lit a torch and shone it at McKay. He squinted, brought his hand up to shield his eyes.

Did they know what he’d done? Had they tracked him here? Would they arrest him?

No, no, they can’t know. Be calm.

‘Everything all right, sir?’ the policeman asked.

If he answered, would they hear the terror in his voice? He had no choice. He swallowed and said, ‘Fine.’

The policeman paused as the torchlight found the white collar at McKay’s throat. ‘Any reason why you’re out here this time of night?’

McKay put his hands in his pockets to hide his trembling. ‘Oh . . . I, uh . . . well, I was just out for a drive, and I saw how pretty the moonlight on the river was, so I wanted to just stop and have a look. Take it all in, you know?’

‘Just out for a drive,’ the policeman echoed. ‘Do that often, do you?’

‘Occasionally,’ McKay said. ‘I have trouble sleeping sometimes, so I find a nice drive settles me a little bit.’

The policeman turned his torch towards McKay’s car, shone it through the windows, examined the empty seats. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Will you do me a favour, though?’

‘Yes?’

‘Get on the move again. We’ve had a few hijackings in the area over the last couple of weeks, young lads taking cars and rallying them around the place then burning them out. I wouldn’t want them getting a hold of you. These wee bastards wouldn’t go easy on you just because you’re a minister.’

McKay nodded as the torch beam glared at him once more. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll do that. Thanks for the warning.’

He went to his car, opened the driver’s door.

‘Take care, now,’ the policeman called as he and his colleague returned to their vehicle.

‘You too,’ McKay said as he lowered himself in. He watched the rear-view mirror as he closed the door and put on his seatbelt. Waved as the patrol car pulled out and passed him. When the other car was out of sight, he leaned his head against the steering wheel, kept it there until the shaking stopped.

29

Flanagan took the seat opposite DSI Purdy.

‘Well?’ he said.

‘I want to question Roberta Garrick,’ Flanagan said.

‘I thought you already did.’

‘Here,’ Flanagan said. ‘I want to bring her in, do it in an interview room, put the fear of God into her.’

Purdy chewed the end of his spectacle arm for a few seconds before saying, ‘No, absolutely not. You can’t hit her that hard with so little to go on.’

She considered arguing, but knew this was not a fight worth having. ‘Do you have any objection to me questioning her at home?’

‘What sort of tone?’ he asked.

‘Firm,’ Flanagan said. ‘I’ll not let her know what I’m after specifically, but I want her to know I’m suspicious. If she’s innocent, it’ll probably go over her head. If she’s guilty, it’ll rattle her. Put her on the back foot. I’ll learn a lot just from her reaction.’

‘Prearranged or drop-in?’

‘Drop-in. Not tonight, of course, but tomorrow.’

Purdy nodded and put his glasses back on. He leaned back and said, ‘You know, I’ve got mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, I’ve no desire for this to turn into a murder investigation,
so I hope you’re wrong. On the other, if you are wrong, if you’ve been pursuing a recently bereaved woman for no good reason, then you’ll have gone down in my estimation.’

‘I understand that, sir,’ she said, feeling the weight of his gaze on her.

‘This will be the last investigation of yours that I oversee before my retirement. What I said to Allison on the phone the other day, that was true, you’re probably the best I’ve ever worked with. I don’t want my last memory of you to be a monumental fuck-up.’

She looked at her lap. ‘No, sir.’

He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. ‘Look at me,’ he said.

She did so. ‘Sir?’

‘I’ll give you one chance, right now, to drop this. You let it go, and I’ll forget everything you told me about the brother and the baby, all of that. You can put this case behind you and move on, no harm done.’

‘I can’t do that,’ she said, keeping her eyes hard on his.

‘All right. But know this: if you go chasing after a murder and the whole thing blows up in your face, there’ll be sweet fuck all I can do for you.’

‘I know, sir.’

‘Okay. Have at it, then.’

Flanagan made it home before dinner, in time to eat with her family. It seemed like the first time in forever. She called Alistair on the way, asked if he’d started cooking anything yet. He hadn’t, and she offered to grab a Chinese takeaway. She picked
up a bottle of wine and some beer while she was at it, and now all four of them sat around the table, sharing sweet and spicy food. Flanagan took a mouthful of cold Czech lager, savoured the sharp taste, the burn of the carbonation on her tongue, and felt a gladness in her heart.

Ruth and Eli talked about school, their friends, the film they were looking forward to at the cinema. Some new superhero nonsense with a character Flanagan had never heard of.

‘We’ll go tomorrow,’ Alistair said. ‘Let me see.’

He thumbed his smartphone, clicked his tongue behind his teeth as he searched. ‘There,’ he said. ‘There’s a morning showing in Lisburn – 2D, I’m not squinting at the screen for two hours in those stupid 3D glasses – and we can go and get burgers after. How does that sound?’

Ruth and Eli threw their hands up and cheered.

‘Actually,’ Flanagan said.

Alistair’s smile fell away. He stared across the table at her. ‘Actually, what?’

‘I need to do something for work in the morning,’ she said.

‘On a Saturday morning?’

‘Yes.’ She felt the temperature drop around the table, the smiles gone. ‘But I’ll probably be done by lunchtime. I can meet you guys in Lisburn, we can get something to eat, then go to an afternoon showing. Have a look, see what times there are.’

He sighed and swiped his thumb up and down the phone’s screen. ‘Well, yes, but the times aren’t so good. We’d be hanging around for an hour and a half.’

‘Then we can go bowling for an hour,’ she said. ‘We haven’t done that in ages. Or Sunday. What about Sunday?’

Alistair put his phone down. ‘Sure, we’ll figure something out.’

‘Don’t be like that,’ Flanagan said. ‘Let’s just pick a time and go.’

‘Never mind,’ Alistair said. ‘I’ll just take the kids to the film in the morning, and if you’re done in time, you can meet us for lunch. Or you can leave it. Or whatever.’

She felt anger build, but held it back. The children ate, quiet now, their disappointment tainting the air between them. Flanagan would not have another argument in front of them. She forced a smile and said, ‘All right, we’ll play it by ear, then.’

They didn’t speak for the rest of the meal.

That night in bed, Alistair reached for her hand. ‘Sorry about earlier,’ he said.

‘Me too.’

He squeezed her hand and let go. Sleep soon took her, but she was woken in the dark hours by Alistair’s gasping. She lay quiet and still as he woke from his nightmare, got up and went downstairs. Flanagan returned to her rest by the soft murmur of the television downstairs. Her last thought before her mind darkened was that she’d forgotten to reply to Miriam McCreesh’s text message. Never mind, she would do it in the morning.

But she didn’t.

Flanagan drove the short distance to Morganstown in less than ten minutes, passing along its main street as the clock on the Volkswagen’s dashboard showed eleven. Another few minutes took her out the other side and to the driveway of the Garrick
house. She applied the handbrake and shut off the engine. The house seemed quieter now, more grey, less grand on this overcast morning.

As Flanagan got out of the car, she looked at the sitting room window. Roberta Garrick stood there, looking back, wearing a dressing gown, a mug held in both hands. By the time Flanagan got to the front door, Mrs Garrick had already opened it.

‘Good morning,’ she said, a polite smile on her mouth. ‘What can I do for you?’

Flanagan put one foot on the doorstep. ‘Just a few follow-up questions,’ she said. ‘Can I come inside?’

Mrs Garrick’s smile remained in place, but her eyes narrowed. ‘I thought everything was settled.’

‘Almost,’ Flanagan said. ‘I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.’

‘I was hoping to have today to myself. It’s been a difficult week, and I’d like some peace.’

Flanagan moved her other foot onto the doorstep, closer to Mrs Garrick. ‘Like I said, it won’t take too long.’

Mrs Garrick gave her a hard stare, then said, ‘All right.’

She stepped back, allowed room for Flanagan to enter.

‘Coffee smells good,’ Flanagan said, looking at the mug in Mrs Garrick’s hand.

With a rigid smile, Mrs Garrick asked, ‘Would you like some?’

‘Yes, please,’ Flanagan said. ‘Black.’ Without invitation, she walked towards the kitchen.

‘Why don’t you take a seat in the living room?’ Mrs Garrick asked.

‘No, kitchen’s fine,’ Flanagan said, not looking back. She proceeded to the tiled and shining room, placed her bag on the granite-topped island at the centre.

Mrs Garrick followed her into the room and went to the coffee machine. She placed a mug beneath the spout, put a pod in the top, pressed a button. The machine gurgled.

‘I’ve been meaning to get one of those machines,’ Flanagan said.

Mrs Garrick turned to her. ‘Shall we get started?’

Flanagan ran her fingertips over the shining black granite. ‘You have a beautiful home.’

‘Thank you,’ Mrs Garrick said. ‘Can we start?’

‘Your husband had it built, is that right?’

‘Yes, when we married. Please, can we start?’

Flanagan sat on a stool by the island and took her notebook and pen from her bag. She opened the book to a fresh page and asked, ‘How long ago? We have started, by the way.’

Another hard stare. ‘It’d be seven years now.’

‘How did you two meet?’

‘Online.’

‘So, he saw your profile and messaged you, or was it the other way around?’

‘Actually, I messaged him.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’

Flanagan gave her an apologetic smile. ‘I’m just trying to get the broader picture.’

‘I don’t remember what I said in the message. Something short, I think, that I liked his profile, the usual sort of thing.’

‘What about your relationship history before then?’ Flanagan asked.

Mrs Garrick raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t see the relevance of that.’

‘Like I said, the broader picture.’

‘I had a few boyfriends over the years.’

‘Serious? Casual? Long term? Flings?’

Mrs Garrick bristled, folded her arms across her chest. ‘Both.’

‘Which was the longest?’

‘Three years, on and off.’

‘Tell me about him.’

‘Why?’

‘The broader picture.’

‘His name was Malachi. He was a drug user. So was I at the time. Cannabis, speed, MDMA, that sort of thing. Cocaine, sometimes. When he moved on to heroin, that’s when I knew I had to leave him.’ Her features softened, as did her voice, her gaze distant. Then she came back to herself and said, ‘That’s when I cleaned myself up. That’s when I found Jesus and turned my life around. Is that enough for you?’