Only one window had a light shining. He couldn’t see any shadows but he knew she was up there – looking out on the expanse of her once immense fortune. Marian had told him the story but he hadn’t believed her. When had that been? Back when she’d started her cursed study course. He’d thought she’d been making it all up. But now, after all that had happened, he suspected she might have been telling the truth. He should go to the guards and tell them. Shouldn’t he?
They already suspected him of murdering Tessa and possibly mutilating and killing Marian. If that was all, he might have told them. But then Cathal Moroney had arrived at his door looking for a comment on the murder of Emma. His daughter. His beautiful princess, who’d been taken from him by Marian and Tessa. His little treasure – his reason for living. And now she was gone. He drained the can of cider and pulled up the tab on another.
The black waves on the usually calm lake, now dappled with heavy raindrops, churned up an angry white froth and sloshed against his feet on the stony shore. The boat shed, to his left, appeared like a shroud in the darkness, beckoning him with a watery finger.
His tears mingled with corpulent raindrops as he heaved his guitar in its leather case higher onto his shoulder and took his first step into the water. The second step was harder. The third almost impossible. By the time he stopped counting, the water was swirling about his waist, pulling against him. He kept on going.
Seventy-Seven
Annabelle slid her phone from one hand to the other. Why hadn’t Lottie returned her call last night? If she wanted happy pills, she’d be here in an instant.
Cian was out. Again. His usual night-time forays. Hopefully he had another woman and he might disappear for good with her. God help her when she got to know the real Cian. Annabelle’s one regret was that she hadn’t held onto Tom Rickard when she’d had the chance.
Pacing the hallway, her eyes darting up the stairs, she knew she had to see what was hidden behind that locked door. Making up her mind without any thought for the consequences, she ran up the stairs. She’d try every conceivable combination and hopefully something would work.
At the top landing, she stared. The door to Cian’s study was slightly ajar. Could she be this lucky? No. Cian was too careful. But he’d left in an awful hurry. Had he really gone out? She felt her heartbeat reverberating in her ears. Quickly she flew back down the stairs. Checked the kitchen, the living and utility rooms. Opening the back door, she could see that the garage was open and empty. He was definitely out. And the twins were at after-school study.
Back up the stairs. Back to stand outside her husband’s study with its open door.
Forcing her feet to move, she sidled up to the door. Pushed it with her index finger. Waited as it slid inwards.
The sight before her stopped her breath and silenced her heart. Taking another step inside, careful to make sure that the door didn’t close and lock her in, she bit her lip and gripped her arms around her sides. She hadn’t been in here in recent months. She’d expected the computer, monitor and lights. But not to the extent that she now witnessed.
‘What is this?’ she whispered.
‘Mine,’ Cian said from behind her, and the door clicked shut.
Annabelle whirled around on the balls of her feet, eyes widening in terror.
‘I’m s-sorry… the… the d-door was open.’
‘It was a test, you dumb bitch. A test to see if you would respect my privacy. And do you know what? Come on, answer me. No? I’ll tell you. You failed!’
His balled-up fist didn’t connect with her face. Cian O’Shea wasn’t that stupid. Instead it thumped into her solar plexus. Doubling over, she fell to her knees.
‘Cian, no… no. I saw nothing. Honestly.’ Coughing, she curled into a ball as he kicked out with his booted foot, catching her on the kneecap.
She felt his breath at her ear as he crouched down beside her.
‘There’s nothing to see. Just my work. It’s all that’s important to me in this world. My children and this. Not you. Do you get that?’
As he bit down on the lobe of her ear, pulling out the stud earring, she cried out again. ‘Please stop.’
‘You go around town, the important doctor following in daddy’s footsteps. But inside the walls of this house, you are mine. And you know I monitor your phone calls, so tell me why you were ringing that stupid bitch Parker last night? Don’t deny it, because I know.’
‘I didn’t get to talk to her. She didn’t pick up.’
‘That’s not the point, is it? The point is you fucking phoned her!’
‘I… I’m sorry.’
‘You will be.’
She felt his fingers tighten around her burned wrist; she sensed the blister bursting and pain shot up her arm and across her chest. ‘I wish I was dead,’ she cried.
‘Be careful what you wish for.’
A high-pitched beep sounded above her head and a screen burst into light.
‘Out you go,’ he said, pulling her by her damaged wrist and dragging her to her feet.
She looked into his mad eyes before he opened the door and pushed her outside. As the door closed, she heard him say, ‘One minute, please, I’m just getting rid of the dog.’
* * *
Walking around her office, Alexis tapped a manicured fingernail against her hip.
‘Who was that?’ she asked, working hard at keeping her temper even. She was fed up with phone calls. Nuisance individuals interfering in all she was trying to do. But this one was important.
‘Nothing for you to worry about.’
‘I know you don’t have a dog. I asked you a question!’
‘Just my wife. She’s gone now. No worries.’
‘I pay you well so that I shouldn’t have to worry. I insisted that no one else should know.’
‘No one knows. I guarantee it. She heard nothing. Do you want this update?’
Listening to his breath panting down the line, she picked up a cigarette and lit it, careful not to stand too close to the smoke alarm. Exhaling fumes through her nostrils, she eased relaxation into her body.
‘Please tell me the old woman is no longer a threat.’
‘I’m afraid you’ve more to be concerned about than her. I’ve discovered that someone else has a potentially damning file.’
‘Why are you telling me this? Go and get it.’
‘It’s not that easy.’
‘You are the computer geek; find it.’
‘It’s a hard copy. Compiled by hand, years ago. I got you the post-mortem file, didn’t I?’
‘I wasn’t aware there was another file in existence. What’s in it?’
‘I don’t know and I can’t go breaking and entering again. I prefer the technical stuff.’
‘You have to get it.’
‘No. I can’t do it. And that’s final.’
She walked more and more slowly, her finger-tapping becoming increasingly insistent against her Michael Kors black jersey dress. In front of the life-size portrait on the end wall, she stopped and allowed her hand to slowly glide over the ridges of oil left by the brush. An artist’s interpretation of the only person she loved. Letting her hand linger on the painted chin, then the eyes, she smiled. ‘I won’t let anything come back to haunt you.’
‘What?’
‘I wasn’t talking to you.’ She marched to her desk. Sitting down, she said, ‘But now I am.’
She could see the man pulling away from the camera. Shock? She would give him a shock.
‘You’re to get that file. Do whatever it takes. And make sure there are no more nasty surprises waiting to crawl out and slither into my world. You got that?’
‘But—’
‘No buts! Do you want me to divert my million dollars away from your piss-poor company? Because I will. And those lovely twins of yours – you really don’t want anything to happen to them. Do you? So lift your lazy ass out of that chair and get the file.’
She waited as he struggled to find a suitable retort. But she knew there was none. Money talked, and her money was now shouting the loudest of all.
‘Don’t you dare threaten my children.’
‘Oh, it wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.’ She reached out a finger to stab the monitor, and his image filled the screen. ‘Little man, you have no idea who you are dealing with.’
‘What did you just call me?’
‘Go and do as I ordered. I’m paying you well. And I want that file. That’s final.’
She jabbed the keyboard and the screen went black, plunging her desk space into darkness. Sitting back in her chair, she puffed on her cigarette and closed her eyes.
Seventy-Eight