‘Then you’re probably one of the last people—’
‘Would you stand by if it was you and do nothing?’
‘I would leave it to the professionals—’
‘Am I not a professional?’
‘You’re an amateur over here. And you’re compromising our investigation. There are people in Mountcannon who think you’re consulting on this and that’s really starting to bother me. I’m asking you – formally now – to keep out of it. Unfortunately, you have a connection to the victim and for that, you and your family have my sympathies. But the brief interview we carried out with you at the beginning of all this is where your input should have ended.’
Richie was making coffee when Frank arrived back from Martha Lawson’s.
‘Did you find anything?’ he asked.
‘Nothing unusual,’ said Frank. ‘The only thing is, Petey Grant again. I found a Valentine’s card in Katie’s room from him. I know he’s a harmless divil, but maybe the rejection upset him or if she didn’t take him seriously…I don’t know.’
‘Why don’t I have a chat with him?’ said Richie. ‘You’ve talked to him already. You’re off this afternoon. I can fit him in then, save you the hassle.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Frank. He paused. ‘That’s it! The documentary. He said he was in that night watching something on the Fastnet disaster. What theme would you call that?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Discovery Channel.’
‘Don’t have it,’ said Richie.
‘Well, their nights are usually themed: superstructures, crime, whatever. Friday night is history night. Nora was watching…anyway, it doesn’t matter. I can’t see a programme on Fastnet fitting in there. It’s always history history, nothing that recent. Wouldn’t the Fastnet race be sport or shipping or something?’
‘I’ll check it out with Petey, honestly.’
‘You’d need to go easy on a lad like Petey Grant, Richie. Can you do that?’
‘No problem.’
Ray leaned against the ladder in the lantern house with two tins of white and green paint on the floor beside him. The walls were smooth for the first time in years, transformed when they were stripped back and the panels were replaced.
‘Right,’ said Anna. ‘Do you know what you’re doing with the colours and everything?’
‘I think so. White on the walls, green on the ceiling and green on all the accent bits, like the ladder.’
‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
Richie stood before the small mirror in the station. He rubbed his finger down each temple, over lumps that ran like tiny beads under the surface. He softened hard wax in his palms and worked it carefully through his hair. His eyes lingered on the muscles that filled his shirt. He went to a gym in Waterford seven days a week – unlike the guys he trained with in Templemore. Some of them never worked out. They had beer guts in their early twenties that they never bothered to lose.
‘OK, Petey, what have you got for me?’ he muttered as he walked out the door. He drove to the school in the squad car, rather than taking the short walk.
Students were let out early on Wednesdays and he found Petey Grant in a quiet classroom, washing a blackboard. The whole school seemed deserted.
‘Howiya,’ said Richie.
Petey looked confused. He took a step back.
‘Hi Richie,’ he said. ‘Are you well?’
‘Yes,’ said Richie. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Fine, I’m just doing a bit of work on the blackboards.’
‘Look, Petey, would you mind coming in to the station to answer a few more questions?’
Petey’s eyes widened.
‘Why?’
‘Because,’ said Richie, knowing that Petey wouldn’t argue with him.
‘OK,’ said Petey, ‘I’ll get my coat.’ He walked down the corridor and into the staff room where he picked up his jacket. He felt sick.
‘I’m being arrested,’ he said to Paula, one of the teachers staying back late.
‘What?’ she said.
‘Richie is taking me to the station,’ he said. ‘I think I’m in big trouble. Bye!’ He rushed out of the building into the squad car, about to sit in the front with Richie.
‘Get in the back,’ Richie said roughly.
Petey was trembling when he got inside and stayed that way for the whole agonising drive through the village.
‘It’s me,’ said Danny. ‘Your gold and maroon pin is here, hasn’t been checked out, nothing. And I got your big long list of known associates. You got a pen ready? Duke Rawlins.’
Joe waited. ‘That’s it?’
‘Yup. Donald Riggs, Mr Popularity. Student most likely to be shot in a park.’
‘Rawlins. Name sounds familiar. Anything on him?’
‘Nothing major. Spent eight years in Ely, Nevada. Stuck some guy with a knife in a parking lot. Your average bar-room brawl plus.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Yup.’
‘No rape, no murder?’
‘Don’t sound so disappointed.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No, just that it was the warden in the prison who kindly provided us with the link. He put a call into Crane after the Riggs murder, Crane scrawled a note at the bottom of the file. The guy’s writing…anyway, no-one paid any attention to it. Why would they? Riggs was dead. So I call the warden, nice guy. Seems Rawlins was mouthing off about Riggs to his cell mate. The cell mate gets into an altercation and bargains with the warden to avoid solitary. Tells him Rawlins’ pal Riggs was planning to kidnap some kid so a pile of cash would be waiting for him when he got out of prison.’
‘When did he get out?’ asked Joe.
‘Rawlins? Uh, July. Two months ago. Why?’
‘Jesus Christ, Danny. I think the wacko’s after me.’
‘Why in the hell? The guy slashed someone with a knife and was a good little boy in the slammer. Doesn’t sound like a psycho to me. You think maybe he’s got Irish roots or something?’
‘This is fucking serious. He could have killed Katie.’
‘That’s what this is about? You think this Rawlins guy did this?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Joe.
‘Does someone go from drunken brawler to transatlantic psycho, that’s the question.’
‘Do we want to know the answer?’ said Joe.
‘How the fuck would he know you’re in Ireland?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Joe.
‘Who else knows you’re there?’ said Danny.
‘Friends, family, the job…’
‘Yeah and none of them’s gonna tell anyone where to find you. What, you think he followed you to the airport?’
There was an edge to his voice.
