‘Fuck you,’ Hewitt said, his eyes brimming.
Fegan crouched and pressed the Glock’s muzzle against the back of Hewitt’s knee.
Hewitt began to weep. ‘Fuck—’
As Fegan’s finger tightened on the trigger, a small voice said, ‘Drogheda.’
Lennon and Fegan turned to see Juliet cowering against the door frame. ‘Don’t hurt him any more,’ she said.
‘Oh Christ,’ Hewitt said. ‘Christ, Juliet, you’ve killed me. O’Kane will come after me now.’
‘I’ve had enough,’ Juliet said. She spoke to Lennon, her eyes glistening, her voice calm and even. ‘I’ve had enough of it. He’s hardly slept in weeks. When he does, he wakes up with nightmares. When he came home from the hospital, I knew he’d done something terrible. I could see it on his face. Now this. I can’t take it any more, no matter what they pay him.’
Lennon stood upright. ‘Did you kill that boy?’ he asked Hewitt.
‘Fuck you,’ Hewitt said, his eyes pressed into his forearm. Juliet crumpled against the wall, drew her knees up to her chin. Her shoulders jerked as she sobbed.
‘Where in Drogheda?’ Lennon asked. He extended his open hand towards Fegan. Fegan stood and placed the Glock in Lennon’s grip.
‘He’ll kill me,’ Hewitt said.
‘That’s between you and him,’ Lennon said. ‘Where are they?’
‘A convalescent home outside town,’ Hewitt said. ‘His daughter owns it. It’s an old mansion by the river. Torrans House, it’s called. I don’t know how to get there.’
‘I’ll find it,’ Lennon said. He heard a siren in the distance. ‘Careful what you say to them. You’ve more secrets than I do.’
Hewitt rolled to his side and stared up at Lennon, hate and fear in his eyes. ‘Just get out.’
Lennon holstered the pistol and walked to the door, Fegan close behind. Juliet buried her face in her hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I never thought …’
They left the room before she could find the words. Lennon stopped in the hall when he saw the two children watching them from between the banisters. The sound of the siren drawing closer got him moving again. He felt their eyes on him even as he drove away, Fegan in the passenger seat, the house disappearing in his rear-view mirror as flashing lights danced across the brickwork.
Dawn came like a forgotten promise as they headed for the motorway.
81
The old servants’ quarters smelled of damp and mice. Cold white fingers of light reached through the dirty window, touching the peeling wallpaper and aged furniture. Marie McKenna lay on the bed, her eyelids fluttering, her breath coming in bubbling wheezes. Ellen clung to her mother’s hand.
Orla O’Kane lowered herself to sit on the bed beside them. She reached out to touch Ellen’s cheek, but the little girl pulled away. Orla folded her hands in her lap.
‘Why don’t you let your mummy sleep a wee while?’ she asked. ‘I’m sure there’s something nice to eat downstairs. Maybe even ice cream. Come on with me and we’ll see what we can find.’
Ellen shook her head and pulled her mother’s arm around her in a puppet embrace.
‘Why not?’ Orla asked.
‘Don’t want to.’
‘All right.’ She studied the girl’s pale skin and blue eyes. ‘You’re a pretty wee thing, aren’t you?’
Ellen buried her face in the crook of her mother’s elbow.
Orla leaned over and whispered, ‘What’s the matter? You going shy on me?’
Ellen peeked out from behind the arm. ‘No.’
‘Then what’s wrong?’
The little girl’s gaze shifted to something over Orla’s shoulder, her eyes darkening like a summer sky swallowed by rain clouds. Orla turned her head and saw nothing but shadows. When she looked back down to Ellen, the blue had drained from her eyes leaving a hollow grey.
‘Gerry’s coming,’ the child said.
Orla sat back. ‘Is that right?’
Ellen nodded.
‘And what’s he coming here for?’
‘To get me and Mummy.’
Orla stood, smoothed her jacket over her stomach and hips. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘You’d better get some sleep, then.’
As Orla walked to the door, Ellen sat up and said, ‘You should run away.’
Orla stopped with her fingers on the door handle. ‘I’m an O’Kane, sweetheart. We run away from nobody.’
Ellen lay down and rested her head on her mother’s breast, turning away from the room and its milky light.
‘Nobody,’ Orla said to the child’s back.
She let herself out of the room, locked the door behind her, and descended the flight of stairs to the first floor. She found the Traveller there, leaning against the railing that overlooked the grand entrance hall. He watched her approach, a sly smirk on his lips. His swollen red eyelid seemed to wink at her as it twitched.
‘What are you looking at?’ she asked.
‘You,’ he said. ‘Were you up visiting with the wee girl?’
‘Just making sure they’re all right.’
‘What do you make of her?’
Orla shrugged. ‘She’s a child. A brave one.’
‘There’s something funny about her, though,’ the Traveller said. ‘Like she’s looking through you. Like she knows things.’
‘You’re talking shite,’ Orla said. She brushed past him, heading for her father’s room.
‘Am I?’ he called after her. You look like you saw a ghost. What did she say to you?’
Orla stopped and turned on her heel. ‘She said Gerry Fegan’s coming.’
‘Well, then,’ the Traveller said. ‘We’d best be ready for him.’
82
Lennon’s phone rang again and again, the number always withheld. He ignored it as he drove. Embankments and bridges blurred. Would Hewitt squeal? Would he tell his bosses to catch Lennon and that lunatic Gerry Fegan? Or that the hole in his leg was put there by Lennon’s personal protection weapon? Or would the fear of what Lennon knew about Hewitt keep him quiet? Lennon couldn’t gamble either way. If Hewitt talked there could be roadblocks going up even as he drove. Here, across the border, the Gardai might be on the alert, searching for them. Then all would be lost. He had to move, get there before anyone had the chance to find them.
Fegan sat silent beside Lennon, his hands on his knees, his body stiff. The killer’s breathing remained steady and even, no sign of worry or fear on his face.
‘How do you live with it?’ Lennon asked. ‘People like you. People like that animal I caught at the hospital. How do you look at yourself in the mirror? How can you face yourself when you’re alone?’
Fegan turned his eyes to the window and the landscape beyond. If Lennon’s words meant anything to him, it didn’t show on his face.
Lennon said, ‘I think of the things I’ve done, the things I’m ashamed of. It makes me sick to my stomach. How can you stand to—’
‘Stop talking,’ Fegan said.
‘How can you—’
‘Stop,’ Fegan said, his voice tight like a fist. He turned his eyes away from the window and back to
