Broken Harbour

“Just about.”

“‘Just about’ doesn’t count in this game. According to Dr. Dolittle over there, mink and otter are both still in.”

Richie said, “Do you think one of those did the job? Honest to God, like. Do you?”

The air held the first whiff of winter; in the half-houses across the road, the kids trying to get themselves killed were wearing padded jackets and woolly hats. “I don’t know,” I said. “And honest to God, I don’t really care, because even if Pat made the holes, I don’t see how that makes him a homicidal maniac. Like I asked you inside: let’s say you had twenty pounds’ worth of mystery animal running around your attic. Or let’s say you had one of the most crazy aggressive predators in Ireland hanging out right above your son’s bed. Would you be willing to bash a couple of holes in your walls, if you thought that was your best shot at getting rid of this thing? Would that mean there was something wrong with your mind?”

“That wouldn’t be your best shot, but. Poison-”

“Say you’d tried poison, and the animal was too smart to take it. Or, even more likely: say the poison worked just fine, but the animal died somewhere down inside your walls, you couldn’t work out exactly where. Then would you get out the hammer? Would that mean you were fucked-up enough to slaughter your own family?”

Tom started up his van, which belched out a cloud of non-wildlife-friendly fumes, and waved out the window to us as he headed off. Richie waved back automatically, and I saw those skinny shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath. He checked his watch and said, “Have we got time for that word with the Gogans, yeah?”

* * *

The Gogans’ front window had sprouted a bunch of plastic bats and, with the level of taste I would have expected, a life-sized plastic skeleton. The door opened fast: someone had been watching us.

Gogan was a big guy, with a wobbly belly hanging over his navy tracksuit bottoms and a preemptive head shave, and he was where Jayden had got that flat-eyed stare. He said, “What?”

I said, “I’m Detective Kennedy, and this is Detective Curran. Mr…?”

“Mr. Gogan. What d’you want?”

Mr. Gogan was Niall Gogan, he was thirty-two, he had an eight-year-old conviction for chucking a bottle through the window of his local, he had driven a forklift in a warehouse off and on for most of his adult life and he was currently out of work, officially anyway. I said, “We’re investigating the deaths next door. Could we come in for a few minutes?”

“You can talk to me here.”

Richie said, “I promised Mrs. Gogan we’d keep her up to speed. She was worried, yeah? We’ve got a bit of news.”

After a moment Gogan stepped back from the doorway. He said, “Make it quick. We’re busy.”

This time we got the whole family. They had been watching some soap opera and eating something involving hard-boiled eggs and ketchup, going by the plates on the coffee table and by the smell. Jayden was sprawled on one sofa; Sinead was on the other, with the baby propped up in a corner, sucking on a bottle. The kid was living proof of Sinead’s virtue: the spit of its dad, bald head and pale stare and all.

I moved to one side and let Richie have center stage. “Mrs. Gogan,” he said, leaning over to shake hands. “Ah, no, don’t get up. Sorry to interrupt your evening, but I promised to keep you updated, didn’t I?”

Sinead was practically falling off the sofa with eagerness. “Have you got the fella, have you?”

I moved to a corner armchair and got out my notebook-taking notes turns you invisible, if you do it right. Richie went for the other armchair, leaving Gogan to shove Jayden’s legs out of the way on the sofa. He said, “We’ve got a suspect in custody.”

“Jaysus,” Sinead breathed. That avid look was brightening her eyes. “Is he a psychopath?”

Richie shook his head. “I can’t tell you a lot about him. The investigation’s still going on.”

Sinead stared at him with her mouth open, disgusted. The look on her face said, You made me mute the telly for this?

Richie said, “I figured yous have a right to know this fella’s off the street. As soon as I can give you more, I will. Right now, though, we’re still trying to make sure we can keep him where he is, so we have to play it close to the chest.”

Gogan said, “Thanks. Was that it, yeah?”

Richie made a face and rubbed at the back of his head, looking like a bashful teenager. “Look… OK, here’s the story. I haven’t been doing this long, yeah? But I know one thing for definite: the best witness you can get is a smart young kid. They get everywhere, see everything. Kids don’t overlook stuff, the way adults do: anything that goes on, they spot it. So when I met your Jayden, I was only delighted.”

Sinead pointed a finger at him and started, “Jayden didn’t see-” but Richie raised his hands to cut her off.

“Give us a sec, yeah? Just so I don’t lose my train of thought. See, I know Jayden thought he saw nothing, or he’d’ve told us last time we were here. But I figured, maybe he was thinking back, over the last couple of days. That’s the other thing about a smart kid: it all stays up here.” He tapped his temple. “I thought maybe, if I was lucky, something might’ve come back to him.”

Everyone looked at Jayden. He said, “What?”

“Did you remember anything that could help us out?”

Jayden took just a second too long to shrug. Richie had been right: he knew something.

“There’s your answer,” Gogan said.

“Jayden,” Richie said. “I’ve got a load of little brothers. I know when a young fella’s keeping something to himself.”

Jayden’s eyes slid sideways and up, to his father, asking.

“There a reward?” Gogan wanted to know.

This wasn’t the moment for the speech about the rewards of helping the community. Richie said, “Nothing so far, but I’ll let yous know if one gets offered. I know you don’t want your young fella mixed up in this-I wouldn’t either. All I can tell you is, the man who did this was going solo: he doesn’t have any pals who might go after witnesses, nothing like that. As long as he’s off the street, your family’s safe.”

Gogan scratched the stubble under his chins and took that in, the unspoken part as well. “He mental, yeah?”

That knack of Richie’s again: little by little, this was easing over the boundary between an interview and a conversation. Richie spread his hands. “Can’t talk about him, man. I’m only saying: you’ve gotta go out of the house sometimes, yeah? Work, interviews, meetings… It was me, I’d be happier leaving my family if I knew this guy was well out of the way.”

Gogan eyed him and kept up the steady scratching. Sinead snapped, “I’m telling you now, if there’s a mad serial killer running around, you can forget about going to the pub, I’m not staying here on my own waiting for some lunatic to-”

Gogan glanced over at Jayden, who was slouching low on the sofa and watching with his mouth open, and jerked his head towards Richie. “Go on. Tell the man.”

“Tell him what?” Jayden wanted to know.

“Don’t act thick. Whatever he’s asking about.”

Jayden sank deeper into the sofa and watched his toes dig into the carpet. He said, “There was just this guy. Like, ages ago.”

Richie said, “Yeah? When?”

“Before summer. At the end of school.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about. Remembering the little things. I knew you were a smart one. June, yeah?”

Shrug. “Probably.”

“Where was he?”

Jayden’s eyes went to his father again. Richie said, “Man, you’re doing something good here. You’re not gonna get in trouble.”

Gogan said, “Tell him.”

“I was in Number Eleven. Like, the one that’s attached to the murder house? I was-”