Set in Stone Page 23

  Katie blew her nose. ‘Even the weekend you were going to spend with me in Toulouse got cancelled because of that little shit, didn’t it?’ She turned her gaze on Lynda. Her face was full of hurts, old and new.

  ‘No,’ said Lynda at once. ‘That’s not true – not in the way you mean. We had to cancel because of Danny. I didn’t want to tell you about all the horrible things he was doing, not while you were away from home. We couldn’t leave. It wasn’t safe.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ she said. ‘I guess now isn’t a good time. Ciarán’s in trouble again. And he is my brother.’ But her anger seemed to have abated.

  ‘We’ll talk about it again, Katie, and that’s a promise.’ Lynda started the engine.

  ‘Well, that’s one good thing,’ said Katie. She glanced over at Lynda, and half-smiled at her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You and your promises.’

  Lynda waited. She almost held her breath. She could feel shadows of Emma all around her.

  ‘You always keep them. That’s one really good thing. You always keep your promises.’

  10

  IT WAS AN HOUR or so before dawn when Lynda pulled into the driveway. She could see that the downstairs lights were still on. Robert was waiting for them. She leaned across to Katie, who was fast asleep. It seemed such a shame to wake her.

  Robert appeared at the front door and stepped out onto the driveway. He peered into the car and smiled at the sight of his sleeping daughter, then he opened the passenger door carefully. Lynda released the seat belt and, without a word, Robert leaned in and lifted his daughter bodily out of the seat. She stirred and opened her eyes. With her face filled with sleep, she looked like a child again.

  ‘Dad,’ she murmured, winding her arms around her father’s neck.

  ‘Ssshh,’ he said, and kissed her forehead. ‘Let me carry you up to your bed, princess. We’ll talk later.’

  Lynda watched as he climbed the stairs. What a perfect thing to do, she thought, particularly tonight. She’d tell him. He needed to know just how right he’d got it.

  Dawn crept up on the dirty skyline, just as Lynda came to the end of her story. ‘And that really is everything,’ she said. ‘This woman Tina filled in all the blanks.’

  Robert nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘For not listening, for not taking Danny seriously enough. For all of it.’ He shook his head. ‘My own nephew, my own family. Jesus Christ.’

  Lynda held out her hand to him. ‘It’s not your fault that Danny is your brother,’ she said, standing up from the kitchen table. ‘Come on. Bed. I’m exhausted. But I’m really beginning to feel that we’re coming to the end of the nightmare. And you’re sure Ciarán hasn’t moved?’

  ‘Positive,’ said Robert. ‘I even changed the locks on the doors, back and front. He can’t get out. Besides, I checked his room, just before you got home.’ He grinned at her. ‘Good investment, that locksmith. Stroke of genius, I’d say.’

  ‘To be continued,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow’s another instalment.’

  He reached for her as soon as they got into bed. She went to him, gladly.

  ‘We’ll come through,’ he whispered.

  She could make out his face above hers, shadowed in the lightening room. ‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘We will.’

  Lynda woke again at seven. She’d slept hardly at all and was happy to make her way downstairs at once. She pulled back the curtains and stepped outside through the patio doors. She’d not had the heart to do anything with the garden after her tortoise had been destroyed and, as the days went by, it got harder even to touch it. She still stepped outside each morning, though, reluctant to let go of the possibility. Maybe one day, when all of this was fixed, she’d settle her stones once again.

  She went back inside now and made a note to herself to call the college. Her horticulture students would have to do without her this morning. Friday. God. What a week.

  When Katie came down to the kitchen at nine, Robert and Lynda were still sitting at the breakfast table. Robert stood up at once and Katie walked into her father’s arms.

  ‘Dad,’ she said, and hugged him. ‘It’s good to be home.’

  Robert kissed her. ‘Great to see you, kid. Welcome back. You look terrific.’

  ‘And thanks for carrying me up to bed last night. Hope I didn’t wreck your back.’ She looked at him archly.

  Robert wagged a finger at her. ‘No more ice cream, y’hear? Otherwise you’ll have to walk.’

  She grinned at him. ‘Cheek of you.’ She sniffed the air. ‘You makin’ chilli for tonight?’

  Robert nodded. ‘Your favourite, isn’t it?’

  Katie nodded.

  ‘It’s hard to keep occupied when the women in your life are swanning all over the countryside,’ Robert went on. He buttered more toast and looked up at Katie. ‘Want some?’

  Katie shook her head. ‘Aw, poor Dad,’ she said. ‘Left at home doin’ the cookin’ while the girls have adventures.’ She pulled a cereal bowl from the dishwasher and rinsed it. ‘Smells good, though. Chilli always was your party piece.’ She pointed upstairs. ‘Ciarán’s awake. I heard him in the bathroom.’

  Lynda nodded. ‘Yeah. We’re waiting to talk to him.’

  ‘Do I stay or go?’ asked Katie, pulling the Corn Flakes out of the cupboard. She looked at her parents in turn.

  ‘Stay,’ said Robert and Lynda together.

  Seconds later, Ciarán came into the kitchen. Lynda saw at once what Robert had meant. A Harlem thug, he’d said. She looked at Ciarán, took in the sloppy jeans, the unlaced trainers, the back-to-front baseball cap. And all the old defiance was back. It was there, in the way he slouched, in his lowered gaze, in the fists he had thrust into his pockets.

  ‘Hiya, Ciarán,’ said Katie.

  ‘Hiya.’ He didn’t look at her.

  Something about the baseball cap caught Lynda’s attention. Ciarán never wore one. It had never been part of his style. Suddenly, something disturbed her; something she caught, out on the edge of her vision. ‘Ciarán,’ she said. ‘Take off the cap, will you?’

  He glared in her direction. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because your mother asks you to,’ barked Robert. ‘And if you don’t, I will.’ He made to stand up from the table.

  ‘Fuck’s sake!’ muttered Ciarán and snatched the cap off his head, tossing it onto the table.

  Lynda gasped. Robert stopped in his tracks. Katie stared at her brother.

  ‘Ciarán,’ said Lynda. All the implications had started to sink in. ‘What on earth have you done?’

  He ran his hand through his cropped, white-blond hair. He shrugged. ‘We did it yesterday. For a laugh. It’s no big deal.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Robert. ‘We did it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ciarán. He finally let his gaze drift back towards his father. ‘Me and Jon. He dyed his black, I dyed mine blond. I don’t know why it’s such a big fuckin’ deal.’ He shifted from one foot to the other. ‘It’s only hair dye.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus Christ,’ said Lynda. ‘Ciarán, you have no idea what you’ve just done!’

  ‘What?’ said Ciarán, spreading out his hands in front of him.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Robert, angrily. ‘Your friend Larissa was raped in this house three days ago. You were out of your mind at the time. And guess what? Guess how she identified her rapist?’

  Ciarán had begun to look frightened. He fidgeted, looking from Robert to Lynda to Katie. He didn’t answer.

  ‘I’ll tell you, then, will I?’ said Robert. His fists were clenched. ‘ “Golden Boy”, she called him. The blond one in the house. Not the noisy one who sat downstairs, pissed out of his head. The blond one attacked her. And you, you idiot, you’ve just made yourself fit that description.’

  Ciarán took his hands out of his pockets. He looked bewildered.

  ‘Let me fill in the blanks for you,’ said Robert, leaning into Ciarán’s face. ‘Jon is the one who raped her. But bottom line, you�
�re the one who’s going to get the blame.’

  Ciarán looked disbelieving. ‘Has she . . . I mean . . . did she say that . . .’ And his voice trailed away.

  ‘Where is this guy Jon?’ demanded Katie. ‘Why isn’t he here with you?’

  Ciarán shrugged, looked at the ground. ‘He said he needed to move on for a while,’ said Ciarán. ‘He’s a free spirit. But he’ll keep in touch. He has my mobile.’

  Robert snorted. ‘Yeah, sure,’ he said. ‘He’ll keep in touch all right. He’s gone for good. Vanished without a trace.’

  Ciarán sagged and Lynda saw his face fill with emotion.

  ‘Sit down, Ciarán,’ she said. ‘There are a few things that you need to hear.’

  He dragged a chair out from the table and slumped into it. Just then, the doorbell rang.

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Robert. He looked over at Lynda. Jon, she thought for one wild instant. Had he come back? Robert left the kitchen and closed the door behind him. She heard his footsteps make their solid way towards the front door.

  ‘What do I need to hear?’ Ciarán asked her. But his voice was dull.

  The kitchen door opened again, before Lynda had the time to reply. Robert stood there, flanked by a man in a suit and a woman in uniform. The man was tall and bulky and he looked as though his suit wasn’t comfortable. The woman was smaller, slighter. Then Lynda saw Robert’s face. The pallor, the fear in his eyes. He didn’t speak.

  ‘Mrs Graham?’ It was the woman who spoke. ‘I’m Garda Fiona Dolan and this is Detective Paul Galvin. We’ve just been explaining to your husband that there has been an incident reported regarding your son.’

  Lynda’s mind sped out in all directions. Had Larissa gone to the police, despite her terror?

  ‘What sort of an incident?’ asked Robert now, guarded.

  ‘We have had a complaint regarding a serious assault on a young woman at this address on Tuesday night. We—’

  Lynda interrupted. She wanted to say: We can explain . . . but Robert glanced at her, warningly.

  ‘May we know who is making the complaint?’ Robert asked.

  The policewoman shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not, not at this stage.’

  ‘But my son has been accused?’ Robert’s voice was cold.

  ‘Yes, sir, that is correct. We have had a complaint against a Ciarán Graham of this address.’ She looked down at her notebook. ‘We would like him to help us with our enquiries. Ciarán Graham is your son – am I correct in assuming that?’

  ‘I think we’ll follow up this conversation in the presence of our solicitor,’ said Robert.

  Lynda looked at him. What was he doing? They could clear this up right now, tell them that Ciarán wasn’t the one responsible, that Jon was. That Jon had taken over this family, that it was all part of a spiral of revenge. She wanted to shout at them that their boy was innocent – and then, suddenly, she realized how it would look. Parents protecting their son. Shifting the blame to another boy. And Jon, suddenly nowhere to be found.

  ‘I’ll contact my solicitor immediately,’ Robert said. ‘You’ll hear from us just as soon as I’ve spoken to her, and to my son. I believe that’s all for now.’

  ‘This is an extremely serious allegation, Mr Graham. We will need to speak to your son as soon as possible.’ Detective Galvin looked directly across the table at Ciarán. ‘It would be much better if he came to the station of his own accord.’

  ‘I am aware of the gravity of the situation,’ said Robert, stiffly. ‘We all are. I will be in touch.’

  ‘We will need to hear from you no later than six o’clock this evening,’ said Galvin. He handed Robert a card. ‘That’s my number, or you can get me at the station. I must repeat that this is a serious matter. We have in our possession a detailed statement of the events of the other night.’

  ‘You will hear from me this afternoon.’ Robert’s tone was firm. He was already ushering the two Guards out of the kitchen.

  ‘Not so fast, Sir,’ said Galvin. He stood his ground. ‘We also have a warrant.’

  ‘A warrant?’ Lynda could barely trust her voice.

  The detective turned to face her. ‘Yes, ma’am. In cases such as this, we need to gather the evidence for forensics as quickly as possible.’ The detective replaced his notebook in his inside pocket. ‘Our warrant is to collect the bedclothes from the scene of the alleged crime.’ He laid the warrant on the breakfast table, in front of Lynda, and Katie’s breath caught.

  Lynda glanced across at Ciarán, who had now begun to tremble violently. He had placed his arms on the table. Lynda could see him trying to steady himself.

  ‘Well, if you must, you must,’ said Lynda. Robert looked as though he had turned to stone. Where will they go? Lynda wondered. To Ciarán’s room, or to Jon’s? How far ahead of them all was Danny?

  Robert spoke. ‘I’ll go upstairs with you,’ he said. The three of them left.

  ‘Is your door unlocked?’ asked Lynda.

  Katie looked at her in surprise. ‘Of course.’

  Lynda’s mind was racing. Katie had slept in that bed last night. Jon’s bed. His sheets were already in the wash. And nothing would be found on Ciarán’s bedclothes, because there was nothing to be found. He was innocent of this. She thanked God he had been incapable on the night in question, otherwise . . .

  ‘I can’t remember,’ Ciarán was saying, his eyes filled with terror. ‘I can’t remember anything. I don’t know if I hurt her. I just don’t know.’

  Lynda lifted a warning finger to her lips. ‘Sssshhh.’

  He rested his head on his arms and started to weep. Harsh, gulping sobs that racked his whole body. Katie stood up and went over to him. She began to stroke his head, his face, his hands. She was stricken, unable to speak.

  Lynda looked at both of them, Ciarán’s white-blond hair stark against the dark blue of Katie’s dressing gown. Jesus, she thought. What a mess. What an unholy mess. It can’t get any worse than this.

  Robert came back into the kitchen. ‘They’ve gone,’ he said. ‘I’ll ring Jennifer’s office first. Get an appointment immediately. In the meantime, Ciarán, you’d better start to remember any detail that you can from Tuesday night. We can’t protect you from this. A DNA sample would clear you, but it may well be too late for that. And Jon’s gone. Your cousin is long gone.’

  Ciarán looked up. Shock had registered across his eyes. ‘Cousin?’ he said. He looked from Robert to Lynda.

  She turned to Katie. ‘Put on the kettle, love, will you please? This is going to be a very long morning . . .’

  When Robert came back, he had his coat on. ‘Let’s go, Ciarán,’ he said. ‘We have an appointment with Jennifer in half an hour. She’s fitting us in.’

  Ciarán stood up. He looked from Robert to Lynda. ‘What do I tell her?’ He looked small, defeated. No matter what Lynda had said to him while Robert was out of the room, he’d persisted in his loyalty to Jon. ‘You don’t understand him,’ he kept saying. ‘What he’s been through. He was a brilliant friend to me.’

  Katie was aghast. ‘You can’t believe that, Ciarán. Look at the evidence.’

  He’d turned on her then. ‘You weren’t here. You don’t know shit, Little Miss Perfect. He’s my friend and he’s done nothing wrong. There’s some explanation for this, I know there is.’

  Katie looked as though she’d been slapped. ‘He’s no friend of yours,’ she said, shortly. ‘He’s disappeared and left you up to your eyes in it. How about that for friendship, or cousinly concern?’

  Lynda had intervened. ‘That’s enough, both of you! Ciarán, you’re going to have to face a few uncomfortable truths this afternoon. Use the time to get your head straight. Not to fight with your sister.’

  He’d glared at Katie and seemed about to reply when Robert entered.

  ‘Okay. Ready?’ Robert took his car keys off the table. ‘You coming with us, Katie?’

  She hesitated. Ciarán turned to her. ‘You can if you like,’ he said. ‘It�
�s okay . . . if you want to.’ There was a hesitant note of apology in his voice. Lynda felt a pull of grief as she looked at him. He felt fragile. He seemed to have disappeared. His clothes were standing there, making their outlandish statement, whatever that was, but Ciarán had retreated from them, and was curled into himself.

  ‘Come on, Katie,’ said Lynda. ‘We’ll all go. Let’s all stay together.’

  Katie nodded. She picked up her coat off the hall stand and followed her brother out to the Jeep.

  At least the morning is dry. Sky the colour of cold steel, but no rain. That makes things easier for the watcher. Not so many tracks to be covered. This morning’s five o’clock observations have shown the house on the left to be empty. Ken and Iris – that’s her name – daft flowery-sounding name if ever he heard one, are away. That’s good. A lucky break. He keeps thinking Ken and Barbie, has to stop himself. Anyway, they’re gone since early yesterday afternoon. So that bit of the coast is clear.

  Things seemed a bit unusual in the house early this morning, though. There seemed to be more activity than normal, more people moving about in the kitchen. At first it was just an impression. But when the watcher held the Cantek to his eye, that impression was confirmed. A girl. Wide Boy had said nothing about there being a girl. Two boys, yes, but no girl. The watcher felt agitated. This was not in the plan. Any more deviations from the routine and he’d have to consider aborting the plan.

  And so he watched for longer than normal. Mr Robert was still there, at nine o’clock, when he should have been long gone. Mrs Lynda just gave the garden a cursory glance when she came out onto the decking. That was not like her. Not like her at all. And she was still there, sitting at the table, long after she should have left for work. This was not the normal Friday routine. The watcher could make out other forms in the kitchen, too, at one stage, shadowy figures. But they were standing too far back for him to get a proper fix on who they might be.