The wages due to him for odd jobs and gardening were still being paid into his bank account by the son, but he reckoned that wouldn’t last much longer. He wanted to get the rest of the cash hidden in the house before it was too late. Near the end, the mother forgot his money was paid directly into the bank and insisted on paying him all over again. He never refused and, as time went on, she’d become less discreet about where she kept her money – in the sideboard on the landing. There may not have been a whole lot left in there, but whatever there was, Steve figured it was due to him, for all his listening to the old bat in the past.
On reaching the front door, he double checked behind him, conscious that William Cronly wasn’t long gone. Relieved when his key still worked, he closed the front door behind him quickly.
Passing the living room on his way to the stairs, his curiosity was aroused when he saw the hot ashes in the fire, some of which had blown out onto the large hearth rug. If there was one thing he knew about William Cronly, it was that he was awful tight when it came to money, and lighting fires in the middle of the day was not something he’d have done unless he had planned to hang around for a while. He was about to go upstairs when he noticed that the ash on the rug looked wet. Kneeling down, he put his hand to it, and discovered that the whole mat was soaked. He looked around more carefully, and it was then that he realised parts of the walls had been washed down too. He thought about checking the garage, to see what cleaning stuff had been used, but then remembered the bolts, and the new lock fitted on the back kitchen door.
His head told him to grab the money and get the hell out of there, but his gut told him Cronly had been up to no good. In the past, when the old bat was asleep, Steve had roamed around the house plenty of times, but he’d never gone into the son’s bedroom. Mainly because Cronly gave him the creeps, especially the way he’d crawl around the place. You were never fully sure whether or not the guy was there. He remembered once standing in the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea, when Cronly came right up behind him – nearly killed him with the fright.
Abandoning any further investigation downstairs, he went upstairs to get the last of the money out of the sideboard, deciding that with the house empty there would be no harm having a good last look around.
In a house like Cronly, the place was one nook and cranny after another. He’d been in the mother’s bedroom many times, but with this being his last opportunity to check things out, he made up his mind to have a look in at the son’s room. He had no idea what to expect, just thought it would be like the rest of the house. In many ways it was, but the thing that struck him most was how much of the stuff looked like it belonged to a kid. There was a painted wooden train set made up in the corner, and to the left of the bed sat stacks of comics. On top of the window seat, a whole bloody toy farm – all the animals set out, like a child had just been playing with them. There were other items on the top of a high wooden dresser: an ornate silver crucifix on a stand, a framed photograph of a man with a husky dog, a folded piece of cream silk cloth, and what looked like an old library book, A Traveller’s Guide to Italy, to the side, all the items placed like it was some kind of altar, and to the front, on top of the piece of cream silk, a tiny metal key.
It didn’t take him long to find the attaché case under the bed, and when he saw the Italian stickers on it, he remembered what Mrs Flood had told him about the family trip to Tuscany. Maybe he could cash in on a whole lot more than the contents of the sideboard. Maybe there was something in this case that might hold the Cronly family secrets. He felt like a kid himself when the tiny key turned in both locks.
At first, the contents of the case were a disappointment. Apart from a Polaroid camera, some spools of ribbons and assorted bits and pieces, there was nothing of value. What finally attracted his attention was a small leather pouch with a tie string, like the kind gold miners might have used to hold nuggets. Pulling open the pouch, he didn’t find gold nuggets, just three miniature plastic zip bags, each one containing a lock of hair. He wasn’t sure what any of the contents meant, but he reckoned they meant something to William Cronly. Most of the items, including some small earrings, were things you’d expect to see in a girl’s suitcase, which made him wonder about the son’s sexual predilections – or even perversions. It would certainly explain why the snotty little shit never got married.
He was about to put the suitcase back where he’d found it when he noticed the small crucifix on a chain. It was just a cheap yoke, but under it was a faded pink Polaroid photograph.
Mervin Road
Sunday, 9 October 2011, 1.00 p.m.
WHEN KATE GOT BACK TO MERVIN ROAD, DECLAN and Charlie had made a pretend camp out of bedclothes, with sheets spreading from one couch to the other.
‘Come under, Mom, it’s cool,’ Charlie shouted, his little face red with excitement.
‘Is your Dad hiding in there?’ Kate tilted her head down and pulled up one of the sheets. Declan crawled out from underneath, looking a bit sheepish. Kate raised her eyebrows in amusement.
‘You okay?’ she asked
‘Let’s have coffee, Kate. Charlie, you’re now on lookout duty. Let no one pass.’