The detectives continue to stare at him, mesmerised. A part of them believes that he’s only doing it to protect his own back. Maybe he’s safer inside? Not constantly on the run. But he knew too much. How could he possibly know about his injuries? And that Taylor dropped him off somewhere off the Glenshane Road? They turn to one another and sigh, before reading Sargent his rights. As they ask him if he understands, he just crosses his arms on the table and buries his head in them, howling.
Ten minutes later, they’re in the car crossing the Foyle Bridge, still unable to speak. Heading to the Parker’s house to give them the update. After three years, Parker has been brought home. He’ll be buried tomorrow and now, tonight, despite all the sectarian and political violence that occurred, they have the person who murdered him behind bars. They will be able to sleep soundly tonight.
Chapter Eighty-Six:
Tossing his keys on the coffee table in the living room, Cathal sighs, respects paid at a wake that died pretty quickly. The vast majority of guests vanishing questionably. He steps through into the kitchen to find Orla bent over the sink, her attention on the back garden.
“Alright, Orl?”
He fetches a glass from the cupboard and the milk from the fridge. Pouring himself a slither before bed, he frowns when he looks over to Orla once more as he raises the glass to his lips. What’s going on? She’s acting strange. And is she… Yes, she is. She’s shaking.
“Orl? Orla?”
He reaches over to touch her back reassuringly, but she shrinks away from him, finally turning her body to face him. Her eyes are frenzied, and he can smell vodka from her short bursts of breath.
“Orla… What’s going on? Are you okay?”
His heart’s in his throat. Has something happened? Did someone come after her? Follow her home? He reaches out and she steps back again, banging into the washing machine.
“Don’t touch me!” she spits.
He has her cornered, and he can see she knows that. Her attention dodges from left to right, trying to find an escape route, before landing back on him, pleading. Stepping back and away from her, he holds both hands up, palms facing forward in a form of surrender.
“Orla, are you okay? What’s happened?”
“Is… Is it… Is it true?”
“Is what true? Orla, you’re starting to scare me.”
“Me? Scare you? You must be joking,” she gives a manic laugh, “you tell me the truth right now, Cathal, or I swear to fuck.”
“What? The truth about what, Orla? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, you fucking do,” she flails an arm behind her.
His face drops. Was it just for effect, or did she motion towards the shed?
“Just… Calm down, and tell me, Orla… What’s bothering you?”
He directs a hand towards the chair beside her, which she perks onto. He takes the one farthest away.
“Where were you tonight?”
“Anna’s,” she mutters, “we were having a few drinks with girls from work, then some of her other friends landed. Whenever I got introduced to one of them… I can’t even remember her name now… All I know is she went all quiet. Wouldn’t look me in the eye. I wondered what I’d done, but thought better than to ask. After a few more drinks, I was just after coming out of the toilet, and the girl was waiting outside. I went to walk past her, thinking she was waiting to use it… But she grabbed me. Pulled me into a bedroom. She sat me down and asked to talk. She told me there were rumours… That… That her auntie had been murdered. And that Dad killed her.”
Cathal stares at the kitten coaster, unable to bring himself to say anything. How can he talk to his sister about something like this?
“And it made me think of Mum… And your mum… It’s so similar. Like her auntie, she said she just went missing. One day she was here, the next sh-“
“I don’t want you hanging around with girls like that. Putting stupid thoughts like that inside your he-“
“But they aren’t stupid thoughts, are they? She recognised my name, my surname, and she knew right away who I was. I’ve noticed it before. Subtle looks from other people… It’s because of him. What did he do, Cathal? Please, just tell me the truth.”
Cathal blows out, rubbing his knuckle against his temple aggressively. He has to protect her. He can’t have her finding out what he knows.
“Orla, you know as well as I do… It’s all balls. It’s just rumours. Because he up and left. You know around these parts people do it all the time. Sure, there are rumours about them running around with the wrong people. Or getting into trouble with Ardóimid. Or drugs. Or money… There are endless amount of opti-“
“But, Dad, Cathal? Why did Dad leave?”
They stare at each other solemnly for several seconds before Cathal clears his throat and looks down at his picked nails.
“I don’t know.”
The three words hang in the air before Orla stands and walks out. Ten minutes later, Cathal finally brings himself to follow her, intent on going to bed, before he walks out to see a bag waiting by the front door. He follows the scrambling noises coming from Orla’s room, and looks in to
