The Records and Archives Office was hidden in the basement of the county office. One floor down from the library, two from the town hall proper. It was grim and dark and the woman who ran the department was named Tilly Cullen. She did not like William Corrigan, thought him rude and demanding and most of all, condescending. The way city folk are. She slid the pull-slip back across the counter to him.
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to come back another day.”
Corrigan softened his tone. “I know it’s a painful chore to pull all that material, Tilly, but its very important and I would be eternally grateful.”
“The office closes early on Wednesdays, Mister Corrigan.” Tilly leaned back from the desk the man was pouring over, retreating from the smell of liquor and sweat. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
“Tilly, love,” he said, as if wooing her. “It’s the same material I pulled yesterday. I doubt you’ve even put it away.” He pushed the slip back to her. “Please fetch it for me. It’ll probably be gone by tomorrow anyway.”
“Why would it be gone? You’re the only one who’s been down here in a week.”
“For the inquest. All of these records will be pulled for the mayor’s inquest and God knows how long before I see them again. I’m surprised they haven’t been pulled already.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to. Come back Thursday and I’ll be happy to locate the records you need. Have a nice evening.” Tilly turned back to her computer, ready to shut it down.
Corrigan took her wrist. “Wait a minute. You haven’t been asked to pull these records? By the mayor or the council or anyone?”
She yanked her arm back. “No, I haven’t.”
“No one’s given you a heads-up about an inquest?”
“No. Now if you’ll excuse me, we are closing.”
Two floors up, Corrigan marched to the town hall reception and asked the man behind the desk about the inquest into the Corrigan massacre. The man shook his head, said he had no idea what he was referring to.
“Listen closely,” Corrigan gritted. “Your mayor, the right honourable Kate Farrell, has ordered an inquest into the death of my family in eighteen ninety-eight. Check your agenda again. It has to be in there.”
The man sighed, as if asked to donate a kidney. He clicked and clicked the mouse, eyes darting back and forth in the monitor glare. “There’s nothing here, sir. I even checked the minutes of yesterday’s council meeting.”
“There’s got to be some mistake. Check again, for Chrissakes.”
The man behind the desk made no attempt. “There’s nothing.” And with acid, added, “sir.”
“There won’t be any inquest.”
Corrigan and the clerk turned at the voice. Reeve Thompson stood by the elevators, tapping the down button, listening in on the conversation.
“Are you speaking to me?”
“Are you Corrigan?”
Corrigan said he was. Thompson pressed the button again. “There won’t be any inquest,” he said.
“And who are you?”
“The mayor’s request was turned down. Waste of time and resources.”
“Burying the truth, huh?” Three paces and Corrigan was staring down at the rotund council member. “Can’t bear to face your own dirty past?”
“No.” The elevator door swung open and Thompson waddled in. “We don’t waste time chasing campfire tales.”
“Aye, clearly. No one works past three in the fucking afternoon around here.”
The councilman jabbed the ‘door close’ button until the doors whooshed shut, erasing the man’s grim face from sight. Thompson felt his knees tingle and, safely descending, said; “Asshole.”
13
THE RIDING MOWER was an old John Deere with a chipped and battered front end. Travis sat the rumbling thing, straining to kick down the stubborn brake pedal. Even Jim had trouble with it sometime but he had promised the boy he would teach him how to run the little tractor.
Travis geared up and let off the pedal. The little tractor lurched forward, the mower spewing grass over Jim’s shins.
“Too fast!” Jim hollered. “Slow it down!”
Whether the boy couldn’t hear or simply ignored his old man was anyone’s guess but he took the turn too fast, crunching the guard against the chestnut tree. Bark splintered at Jim and a horrible clang deafened them both before the Deere shuddered and stalled.
“Goddamnit Travis. I said slow it down.”
Travis launched himself off the bastard thing, boiling with humiliation. “It’s not my fault! This old cocksucker is a piece of shit!”
Jim’s eyes went saucer wide. “What did you say?”
Travis shut up, knowing some line had been crossed. The frustration reddening his face sweated into a rage.
“Where the hell did you learn language like that? Answer me!”
Any response now would only make it worse. Repeat the swear words or remain silent. Travis said nothing. The screen door banged open and Emma came into the yard. “Jim?”
He looked at his wife. “Did you hear what your son just said?”
“What? No.” Emma registered the look on Travis’s face, recognizing trouble when she saw it but she dismissed it for the moment. “I thought you and Kate sorted things out with Corrigan.”
“We did.”
Emma nodded east. “Then why is he back at it?”
Jim strode up the yard to where a clearing in the trees allowed a view across the field. Travis followed, but kept a safe distance behind.
Three cars were parked down the rutted path of Corrigan’s driveway. More hunkered down along the roadside and people closing their doors and making their way up to the house. Another tour of the Corrigan Horrors was in progress.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Look,” said Travis. “There’s a news truck.”
A shiny Nissan Pathfinder rolled up the path and tucked in beside the house. Blue and white, a logo that read CKTV. The local TV news outfit. The driver unloaded a big video camera and hefted it onto his shoulder. A woman disembarked from the passenger side, her heels sinking into the crabgrass.
Travis watched the circus unfold, pointing out a few vehicles he recognized. Jim cocked his head to one side and spit into the weeds. “Damn it.”
News spread quickly. Corrigan was back open for business. By three that afternoon, the mayor’s office was flooded by thirty-seven complaints about the bastard and his little sideshow and by four-thirty, the phone lines were jammed and no one could get through. Kate learned about the news crew and felt a pit of ice roll up in her guts. She left her secretary to handle the calls and quickly emailed everyone in her contact list about an emergency town hall meeting tonight.
The news crew had tongues buzzing. No one remembered news ever being reported from Pennyluck. It just didn’t happen. Kate made a few calls and learned that the report would play tonight on CKTV, the local news from the London affiliate of a national broadcaster. National news at six ‘o clock, then the feed went local at six- thirty.
The auditorium in the town hall building was small and filled up quickly. Voices grumbled and people barked at Kate about what she was going to do. She asked everyone to be patient and see what the news report was about. She scanned through the faces in the room and saw few allies. McGrath and Ripley were absent, as were
