Darkhouse

‘I’ve never seen that before in my life,’ he said. His parents nodded.

‘Come on now, Barry,’ said Frank. ‘On my way home from work yesterday, I paid a visit to Mr Russell, the computer teacher at the school and he was able to trace it back to you.’

‘There must be some kind of mistake,’ said Mrs Shanley. ‘This is terrible. An awful thing to send, no matter what Shaun Lucchesi has done.’

‘What do you think Shaun Lucchesi has done?’ said Frank.

Mrs Shanley blushed.

‘Yes, it is an awful thing to send,’ said Frank. ‘And I’m afraid that Barry is the person who sent it.’ He turned to him. ‘Mr Russell is an expert and he would swear to it in court if he had to.’

Barry’s eyes widened. ‘I have to go to court?’ He started to tremble.

‘This is your fault,’ said Mrs Shanley to her husband. Everyone turned to her.

‘Well, it is,’ she said. ‘You’re never here to discipline the child.’

Frank focused on Barry. ‘No,’ he said, ‘you won’t have to go to court. But I think you owe the Lucchesis an apology.’

Barry started to cry.

Danny Markey hung over the back of his sofa at six a.m. and grabbed the phone.

‘You just do not know who’s spitting into your hamburger these days,’ he said.

‘Danny. What’s up? Why are you up?’

‘It’s another sofa night in the Markey household. I spoke with Kane. Flipping burgers right here in New York, so thanks for bringing the mountain to Mohammed. And I mean mountain. Huge guy, yet strangely cuddly. Bit of a comedian. Can’t put him with his rap sheet though. Torture, mutilation…he gouged a guy’s eye out – with a crutch – for whistling. Psycho motherfucker.’

‘So, what about Rawlins?’

‘Nothing major, I’m afraid. Here we go: nuts, Kane spelt that out for me too, like he can talk, obsessed with Harris’ Hawks, which would back up the first claim, he lost it when Riggs got killed, but also thought he was right to blow up the mother and daughter, that you make good on your promises. That was pretty much it. You didn’t get a mention, buddy.’

‘I didn’t think I would. I just, I don’t know…’ The words felt scrambled together in his head, climbing over each other to get out.

‘You really need to chill about all this, Joe. You don’t sound yourself. Is everything all right? What time is it over there? Have you been on the beer?’

‘No,’ said Joe. ‘Just the pain.’ Nothing was coming out right. He started to panic.

‘Look,’ said Danny, ‘it’ll all be over and some local whack job will be locked up for it.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ said Joe.

‘Man, you sound like you need to get some sleep.’

Joe snorted. ‘Sleep. Great.’ He rubbed his eyes.

‘Well, take a shower then. I’m the one calling in the middle of the night, remember.’ He laughed. He got no response.

‘Jesus, I’m forgetting to tell you the weirdest thing,’ said Danny, ‘what he said about the ransom money…I did a bit of checking and it looks like he’s right. I’m gonna FedEx you over the Hayley Gray file.’

Anna had never been to the Deegans’ house before. It was down a small side street in Mountcannon, but on the opposite side to the station, so it didn’t have a sea view. It was beautifully painted, with a newly thatched roof and traditional green window frames and door. There was no bell, so Anna tapped gently with the brass knocker.

‘Well, the sergeant’s wife isn’t going to invite the mother of a murderer into her home, now, is she?’ said Nora as she let her in.

Nora’s directness could be shocking, but Anna managed a laugh.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘This is very kind.’

‘My pleasure. Well, actually, it’s also a bit selfish of me, really,’ said Nora. ‘I was hoping to pick your brain while you’re here.’

‘Sure. About what?’

‘The gallery. The interior, more specifically. I want it to be perfect, but I haven’t got the budget, you know.’

‘I’d love to help,’ said Anna. ‘But are you sure? I don’t want to make things difficult for you. I know what people are like.’

Nora rolled her eyes. ‘I need an expert and that’s that. Don’t mind them and their nonsense.’

‘I’m not really an expert,’ said Anna. ‘I’m new to this.’

‘But you’re working for one of the top interior mags in the world.’

‘It was luck and contacts,’ said Anna. ‘They didn’t come to me. I was only starting really, just four years a designer. I went to them…with a proposal I was hoping they couldn’t say no to. My teacher at interior design school gave me good grades. When I told her my idea, she sent me to her friend in the magazine who likes to take risks.’

‘Well, then you deserve it. This is an expensive risk. I mean to say, they wouldn’t have given it to you if they didn’t think you could handle it.’

‘Joe would say I’m not very good with budgets.’

Shaun pulled his suitcase from the closet and laid it open on the bed. He was taking a pile of fresh clothes from the dresser when Joe walked down the stairs to his room.

‘What’s going on?’ he said.

Shaun spun around. ‘Couldn’t you knock?’

‘I did knock. You didn’t answer. What are you doing?’

‘Packing.’

‘Come on, Shaun, less of the attitude. Where do you think you’re going?’

‘Home. Back to New York.’

‘What?’

Shaun looked down. ‘Granddad sent me a ticket.’ He pointed to the desk. Joe snatched up a slim travel wallet.

‘Yeah, well, we’ll see about that,’ he said, walking to the door. ‘And you can put that suitcase away,’ he called back. ‘After I speak with your grandfather, I’m going for a walk, then I’m going to Danaher’s. You better be here when I get back.’

‘They probably won’t serve you,’ Shaun called after him. ‘Everyone hates us.’

Nora slid a pile of books, magazines and papers off a desk in the corner and brought them over to the kitchen table. She flipped the books open to pages she had marked with index cards, showing Anna the artists whose paintings she was hoping to exhibit. She went through newspaper cuttings from cultural sections, magazine articles on art and faxes from contacts in other small galleries around the country.

‘I think I might have something at home you might like to see,’ said Anna. ‘An idea I started working on before, but didn’t get a chance to finish.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Nora, sorting through more documents.

‘Who’s this guy?’ said Anna, pointing to the top half of a solemn face, hidden by the pages on top. ‘An artist?’

Nora reached for the fax, flustered, but Anna had already pulled it free and knew that what she was staring at was a mug shot. She raised her hand to her mouth.

‘That’s Frank’s,’ said Nora. ‘I must have taken it with my own stuff.’

Anna’s face was pale. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Who is he?’ She turned to Nora.

‘Who is he? Why does Frank have his photo?’

Her hand was shaking. Nora said nothing. Anna looked back at the page and noticed a scribble, five letters