I parked the car. Took the box of steaks out of the boot. I’d stuffed the freezer compartment of my fridge full but there were still thirty or forty of the bastards left.
I carried the box to the front door while chickens pecked about my feet and Cora barked at me all the way. I leaned them on top of the oil drum for the central heating.
Emma opened the door. “Hi,” she said, and then, “Oh my word.”
“I’m not a pretty sight, am I?”
“Not in the least.”
“Where do you want these?”
She looked in the box. “That’s a lot of meat. I’ll cook two for us tonight and we’ll leave the rest up in Harry’s freezer.”
She was making an assumption that I was staying for dinner and she suddenly felt embarrassed about that. Her cheeks coloured and she looked all the more beautiful for it. “That is unless you have plans, or work, or—”
“I’d love to say for dinner. And there’s no work this week. I’m still officially on leave.”
“Have a seat, leave those things on the kitchen table.”
I carried the steaks inside to the kitchen and then joined her in the living room.
“Get you a drink?” she asked.
“A stiff glass of anything except that moonshine of yours.”
“Johnnie Walker Black?”
“That’ll do nicely.”
She poured me a glass.
“Thanks,” I said and sipped it.
“Sit yourself down there, Sean. I’ll go marinate those steaks in garlic and red wine.”
“Sounds good.”
I drank the Johnnie Walker and watched the sun head towards Magheramorne and the west side of Larne Lough. She came back with a glass of Johnnie Walker for herself. She snuggled next to me on the sofa.
She was wearing a soft wool sweater and faded blue jeans and her hair was tied back.
I liked her being close to me.
It was a nice moment.
“So, what happened to you? Was it driving on the wrong side of the road?” she asked.
I span her a few lies and she went for them. And then, feeling guilty about that, I told her about some stuff from my previous New York trip. She laughed at the story of the Reggie Jackson bar, but she hadn’t heard of The Ramones or the New York Dolls or even Blondie and I vowed that I would rectify that.
“How do you like your steak?” she asked, getting up.
“Call me squeamish, but I’m no fan of rare,” I said.
“Medium okay?” she asked.
“Sure … How long will it take?”
“Twenty-five minutes.”
I got up.
“You’ve no freezer at all?” I asked.
“None.”
“Well, I don’t want them to spoil. I’ll leave the rest of the box up at Harry’s. The only thing that worries me is Mrs Patton giving me the evil eye.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, she’s harmless. Well, she’s outlived two husbands, but that’s neither here nor there, and you won’t even have to go to the house. He’s got a curing shed for hanging his pheasants and there’s a big freezer in that. Just bung them in.”
“Where is it?”
“You just go through the gate, turn left and follow the wall about a hundred yards and you’ll see it.”
“Is it out the back with the greenhouse and everything?”
She tapped my forehead. “What’s the matter with your brain? No, you don’t need to go through the house. Immediately you enter Harry’s estate turn left, go long the wall and … you know what, sit there, I’ll do it. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“I’ll go,” I said. “I’ve been taking some pills. I need the air.”
“I’ll phone him and tell him you’re coming.”
“No need, no need, I’ll be fine. Have you got a torch?”
Of course I wasn’t fine. You try carrying a box of steaks uphill in the rain at night over muddy ground with a dog barking at you.
I reached the gates to Red Hall.
My brain was fugged. Did she mean go down the driveway to the house and then go left, or go immediately left here?
“I think she meant here,” I said.
I walked towards a clump of trees and I saw an old timber curing shed, where they would hang the pheasants for five or six days.
“That must be the place,” I thought.
It was easily a hundred years old and in the shade of a couple of willow trees that would keep the shot pheasants at a nice 55 degrees year round.
The door wasn’t locked.
I opened it and went inside. I fumbled for a light switch and found one.
There were a dozen hooks hanging from the ceiling. There were no birds but there was a massive meat freezer against the far wall.
I hefted the box of steaks over to it and rested it on top.
The meat freezer had a chain and padlock on it, but the padlock was unlocked.
I lifted the lid. The freezer was completely empty.
I tipped the box of steaks inside and closed the lid.
I threw the empty cardboard box in a corner and walked back across the curing shed. I put my hand on the light switch.
I hesitated with my finger on the switch.
Hesitated.
While synaptical connections formed a pattern.
I walked back to the freezer and opened it.
I shone the torch inside. There was something on the freezer bottom.
It was a patch of human skin.
I reached into my raincoat pocket and found a pair of latex gloves. I put the gloves on, leaned into the freezer and tugged at the skin. It came loose. I flipped it over and there on the back was a faded blue ink ‘t’. It had come from a tattoo which said “No Sacrifice Too Great.”
This was where Harry had kept O’Rourke’s body before he’d decided to get rid of it once and for all. He had probably done it himself – the getting rid of – I mean.
He had driven down to Emma’s and asked if she had any old suitcases knocking around and she’d said of course. And he checked it to make sure that it didn’t contain anything that could be traced back to him or Emma and wiped it of prints and he’d chopped up the body and disposed of the head and arms in a bog and the big torso he’d dumped miles and miles away with no hope of it ever coming back to him.
Except that he hadn’t quite checked the suitcase as well as he should have.
And Emma when questioned by us had lied, and after we’d left had called him in a panic. And he knew we were on to him but he told her to play it cool.
The question was why?
The question was what was going on?
I’d have to think about it.
I had to get away from here and process this evidence and think about that.
