So Say the Fallen (Dci Serena Flanagan 2) (33 page)

She pointed to the side of her head, said, ‘Three stitches, in case you’re wondering.’

‘I wasn’t,’ Roberta said.

‘We’ll be leaving soon,’ Flanagan said. ‘The Serious Crime Suite in Antrim. We’ll make sure it’s a ligature-free cell. We won’t give you the chance.’

Roberta smiled at Flanagan’s perceptiveness. ‘I’ll find a way. I tend to get what I want.’

‘I know you’ll try,’ Flanagan said. ‘You’ll be in DCI Conn’s custody for the journey. This is still his case. But I wanted to ask you something before you go.’

Roberta waited, still smiling.

‘Did you kill your daughter?’

She felt the smile leave her mouth like dust blown from glass. Closed her eyes, opened them again, stared at the fluorescent light above her.

‘Yes, I did,’ she said.

A crackle went through the room, a lightning arc between the men, but not between Flanagan and Roberta. There were no
secrets between them; perhaps there had never been, right from the start.

‘Tell me,’ Flanagan said.

‘Do you really want to know?’

‘No, I don’t. Tell me anyway.’

Roberta took a breath, turned her eyes to Flanagan, and began.

‘The pregnancy was unplanned. I never wanted a child. I had everything I wanted. What did I need a baby for? Harry knew I was pregnant before I did. He said I’d changed, something was different. My period was late, but I didn’t think it was that, not a baby. I ignored him, and another week went by with no period, then another. Then he brought home one of those testing sticks. And there it was, a little blue cross.

‘If I could have, I would have got rid of it. Flown to England, if I had to. But there was no way to get past Harry. He was so happy. He’d told everyone almost as soon as the test was done, so there was no getting out of it, unless I had some sort of accident. And I did try. All I did was make myself sick.

‘Then the baby came – I had a Caesarean – and everyone around us was so delighted and all I wanted to do was throw it out of a window. But I played my part. I fed it, I looked after it, and it grew. I suppose I liked it well enough, but what about me? It was constant, not a second to breathe. My life had gone. Harry was no use, he thought it was a woman’s job to look after it. He just played with it now and again. And his brother and that horrible little wife of his, always hanging around. I hadn’t worked so hard for this life to lose it to a baby. I stood it for almost two years, two years of my life soaked up by this little creature that wasn’t even really mine.’

Flanagan cocked her head to the side. ‘Not yours?’

‘Who gave birth to it? Was it really me? It never felt like it came from my body, even after they cut it out of me. Anyway, I persuaded Harry to take a week off work and take us to Barcelona. We rented an apartment in Poblenou. Do you know Barcelona?’

Flanagan shook her head.

‘It’s beautiful in Poblenou, not so many tourists. Our apartment was on the Rambla there, just a stone’s throw from the beach. Every evening when Harry went to sleep, and the baby, I went and sat out on the balcony and just watched people pass by. It was lovely.

‘Then one day the three of us went to the beach. Harry didn’t want to go in the water, so I left the baby with him and went swimming by myself. I’m a good swimmer, did you know? I always have been. When I came out, Harry asked me, why don’t you take the baby in for a while? It had one of those special nappies on, the ones for swimming. So I carried it out, up to my waist, then a bit further.

‘I remember it was shivering, saying cold, cold. So I walked out a bit further, till the water was up to my chest. That lovely feeling when the waves lift you off your feet. Then a bit further again, and I felt the drop beneath my feet. Not much, but enough that I couldn’t stand with my head above water.

‘You know, I didn’t plan anything. It’s not like I set out to do it. I remember suddenly seeing it, all those years stretched out in front of me, raising it, sending it to school, all the times it would get sick, and I’d have to clean it up, years and years before I could get my life back. So I knew what to do.’

A pause, then in a very small voice, Flanagan asked, ‘What did you do?’

‘I held it under. One hand on the back of its neck, paddling with the other, kicking with my feet. It was hard to do. Physically, I mean. I struggled to keep my mouth and nose out of the water. I started to get a little afraid, especially when it started thrashing around. Then it stopped, and I let go.’

Roberta remembered the sensation of floating in the water, lifted and dropped by the waves, her right hand beneath the surface, so terribly empty. A few seconds of elation.

‘And then I realised what I’d done,’ she said. ‘I realised I shouldn’t have. I wanted to take it back. I thought maybe I could save it. I suppose I panicked a little. So I dived under with my eyes open – you can keep your eyes open in seawater, it doesn’t hurt – and I could just make it out, drifting near the bottom. I swam down and tried to get hold of it, but I needed air, so I had to go back up. That was when I called for help. I went under again, but it had drifted further away, and I had to stay under longer. I breathed water. It hurt. Everything went black. Next thing I remember is lying in the sand, vomiting salt water. And that’s all.’

Quiet for a long time, not even the sound of breathing. Roberta wondered if she should have felt some sort of relief from telling it all, but there was none. Same as before. A hollow place where she supposed her guilt should have been.

Eventually, Flanagan slid off the bed, stood upright, and said, ‘Okay, let’s go. Get up.’

Roberta reached out her left hand. ‘Please.’

Flanagan took her hand, helped her sit upright. Then Roberta lowered her feet to the floor, straightened, and faced
the policewoman. It hadn’t occurred to her before now, but she stood a good couple of inches taller than Flanagan. The policewoman seemed so small now, so tired.

When Roberta opened her mouth to say she hoped Flanagan would get some rest, the fist shot up, caught the underside of her jaw, and the floor tilted beneath her feet. She fell back on the bed, her mouth filling with blood from the bite in her tongue. Then Flanagan’s hand was on her throat, the policewoman’s weight on her chest, and the pain, oh the pain.

‘It was a she,’ Flanagan said, her teeth flashing. ‘Her name was Erin.’

Roberta wanted to scream, but she couldn’t draw breath, and pressure swelled in her head as the fingers tightened beneath her jaw. Flanagan’s nose inches from hers, Roberta saw her mouth work, the lips part, then felt the hot saliva as Flanagan spat in her face.

Murray grabbed Flanagan by the shoulders, pulled her away, the hand slipping from Roberta’s throat.

60

Alistair slipped a hand around Flanagan’s waist, and they leaned into each other as the waiter led them to the restaurant’s back room. Deep and rich aromas drifted through the place, turmeric, cardamom, garlic, fresh baked bread. Diners ate tandoori chicken, bhunas, saags. The sights and smells made Flanagan’s stomach growl, the first real appetite she had felt in almost two weeks.

She had called Miriam McCreesh that morning, and they’d had a long talk. Flanagan had apologised at least three times for not being in touch, but McCreesh had brushed it off each time. She knew the demands of this life. After the call, Flanagan had locked her office door and kneeled beneath the window. She prayed thanks for her blessings, for her family, for her own health, and for Reverend Peter McKay’s soul. A female minister from the north-east coast had given a statement, said she’d met McKay on the beach at Cushendun. They’d talked about faith and prayer, and Flanagan hoped it had done McKay some good.

Flanagan took a half day, went home at two o’clock, and luxuriated in the rituals of getting ready to go out. It seemed an age since she and Alistair had gone anywhere as a couple, so long a time that she didn’t dare count the months.

They arrived early, and DSI Purdy and his wife were the only ones waiting in the private room. Purdy already had an empty
bottle of Cobra beer in front of him, and was working on the second, his arm draped around his wife’s shoulder.

He stood as Flanagan and Alistair entered. He shook Alistair’s hand, then wrapped his arms around Flanagan, tight, squeezing the air out of her.

‘Thanks for coming, love,’ he said before planting a kiss on her cheek.

‘Love?’ Flanagan said, leaning back.

He grinned. ‘As of five o’clock this evening, I am no longer your boss, and I can call you love if I want. And I can give you a kiss if I want, so here’s another one.’

She giggled and accepted the gesture, smelled the booze on him. ‘Jesus, when did you start?’

‘One minute past five,’ he said, his smile beaming. Flanagan couldn’t help but reflect it back to him.

They took their seats, Purdy insisting that Flanagan sit beside him. His wife didn’t seem to mind; she was every bit as merry as her husband.

‘She’s confessed everything,’ he said.

Flanagan didn’t need to ask whom he meant. ‘Her husband? And Reverend McKay?’

‘That’s right,’ Purdy said. ‘She started an affair with McKay not long after the husband had the car accident. He was weak, and she knew she could manipulate him. She convinced him to slip Mr Garrick the overdose, thinking she could break it off with him after and he’d be too scared to say anything. But you messed it up for her, talking to McKay the way you did. He was ready to tell you everything, so she did him in.’

Flanagan pictured the last time she’d seen McKay, watching her drive away from the church, the look of a lost and desperate man. A man who would still be alive if she’d only gone to him when he asked.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Purdy said. ‘Stop it. You’d no way of knowing what was going to happen. Roberta Gar—sorry, Hannah Mackenzie killed that man. It was nobody’s fault but hers. If you keep thinking different, you’ll tear yourself to pieces.’

Flanagan shook her head. ‘I know, but I—’

‘Stop it,’ Purdy said. ‘That’s an order.’

She allowed him a hint of a smile. ‘I thought you weren’t my boss any more.’

‘I came out of retirement, there, just for a minute.’

The room began to fill, and Purdy’s attention turned to the other guests. Alistair wrapped his fingers around Flanagan’s. With his free hand, he adjusted her hair, hid the cluster of stitches and the coin-sized shaved patch. She kissed him for the kindness of the gesture.

Food came and went, beer and wine, stories told and retold.

Amid the chatter, Flanagan put her arm around her husband, brought her lips to his ear and said, ‘We’re going to be all right, aren’t we?’

Alistair kissed her neck, sending sparks down her spine. His breath warm on her ear as he said, ‘Yes, we are.’

Acknowledgements

I am indebted to all who have helped me get this story out of my head and onto the page:

My agents Nat Sobel and Judith Weber who help me navigate these often-turbulent waters, and all at Sobel Weber Associates. And also Caspian Dennis, who listens to me moan more than anyone should have to, and all at Abner Stein.

My editors Geoff Mulligan, Alison Hennessey and Juliet Grames, who help turn my sow’s ears into something resembling silk purses. And all at Vintage Books and Soho Press, especially Bronwen Hruska and Paul Oliver.

A special thank you to Canon John McKegney. This novel began life as a short story written for radio, and John’s kind words about that piece helped encourage me to expand it into a book. Later on, John kindly provided me with tremendous insights into the workings of a church and the life of a clergyman. Any inaccuracies in the depiction are entirely mine.

I am deeply grateful to my local libraries for providing a quiet haven in which to write, and to all the bookstores who continue
to fight the good fight. And to my friends in all corners of the crime fiction community.

Thanks to my friends and wider family for the constant support; it’s always appreciated.

Finally, and most of all, I owe this book and my remaining sanity to my family: Issy and Ezra, and especially Jo, who has given me so much time and space and support, even when I least deserved it, and also proved an invaluable sounding board.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

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