Carmel had wanted Patrick because of his money and what he could offer her. His reputation had given her security, and that had been his big attraction for her. She had believed that her tantrums and his allowing her to have her say, demand what she wanted, had been because she had some kind of control over the life they led. But that had been a sham. Providing she ultimately did what he wanted, he tolerated her antics and that was all. The last few months had opened her eyes, shown her exactly what she had tied herself to, and how precarious her life with him actually was. Patrick was dangerous.
Michael had given her not just her freedom, and her daughters’ freedom, but he had also given her the one thing she had never really known existed until now. He had given her peace of mind.
She had watched the way that everyone had gone to Michael, offering their condolences – and their fealty. She hadn’t cared that she was relegated to second place. None of that mattered – that was poor Josephine’s problem now. She would soon see how difficult it was to be with a man who had to fight every day of his life to keep what he had and who saw skulduggery at every turn. It was hard work.
Chapter Forty-Two
Father Riordan was watching the congregation with a heavy heart. He had tried to leave this parish, but he had been made to stay, against his will. He looked at Michael Flynn, and he wondered at a God who could let a man like that loose on the world, a man who paid his dues to the Church, and who actually believed that he was a good Catholic. It was against everything he had always believed. Oh, he knew of priests back home who had happily heard confessions from the men in the IRA, who saw them as no more than products of their environments, but that could never be him. He believed that the fact that poor Josephine had not been given a child was his God’s way of making sure people like Michael Flynn didn’t bring any more of his ilk into the world. But that didn’t explain why so many other violent men in the parish seemed to have child after child, year after year.
He waited patiently as the coffin was carried from the church on the shoulders of men who were all as violent as they were fêted. He would give Patrick Costello the full funeral Mass, as was his right – he was a Catholic and he was entitled to it. But Father Riordan was also aware that the man was another violent criminal, and he had died by the sword, or by the knife, which was the same thing really. It stuck in his craw. He had no option but to do as he was asked – he had to do as his religion commanded him. Jesus had been a prisoner, unfairly captured, tortured and humiliated. Finally he had died on the cross for the sins of the world – for men like these. His job was to never have an opinion or judge anyone, but it was hard, knowing what he knew about them.
He saw that Michael Flynn and Declan Costello were the lead pallbearers, and they did what was expected of them both with the maximum of respect for the man they were burying. It was the least they could do for the man they both loved in their own ways and, if the gossip was true, who they robbed of his life. It was an open secret, and it would never be questioned. Michael Flynn was too powerful for that now. He was untouchable.
In their world, Patrick Costello had been given a good send off. He had been given his due, for what that was worth.
But Father Riordan hated that he was again a part of it, and he could not do anything about that. He hated that this was what his life had become.
Chapter Forty-Three
‘That went well, Michael. Patrick would have been happy with the day.’
Michael smiled sadly. ‘I hope so, Declan. None of us wanted this.’
Declan was aware Michael was only speaking the truth even if it hurt. ‘Well, Carmel’s happy, anyway!’
Michael laughed – Declan had got that much right. Carmel was over the moon at her husband’s death, and who could blame her?
‘In fairness to her, Declan, she did what she could for him. Somewhere nestled between those expensive tits of hers is a heart. I feel sorry for her, but even she knew it was all over for him.’
Declan sipped his beer. The wake was being held at Michael’s house. No one seemed to think that was strange – it was common knowledge that Declan wasn’t in a position to host such an event, and the word on the street was that Carmel and her daughters didn’t want the responsibility of such a huge undertaking.
It was a big funeral. People had come from all corners of the globe, as was expected. They were not just paying their respects to the man they knew and loved – they were also making sure their earns were safe.