Fallon grabbed the pictures and started to flick through them. His voice came loudly, his words rapidly firing; he’d held the secret inside him for too long and wanted to be rid of it now. ‘Andy Lucas and the murdered boy at Ardinsh Farm . . . Andy Lucas with two murdered boys, in the same place . . . ’ He flung down the photographs as he went. They slapped on to the desk and skidded into a grim montage of flesh and depravity.
Valentine reached out and grabbed Fallon’s hands. ‘Enough. Do you hear me, you bastard? I said enough!’
Fallon stepped away. ‘It wasn’t me. I told you, and that’s your proof.’
‘How did it happen? Why?’ He reached for Fallon’s shoulders now and spun him around.
‘How? Jesus, isn’t it blindingly obvious, man?’
‘I think I can make out the seedy perverts’ sex party, maybe even see how the Columba House boy ends up there, but how does Rory Stevenson fit in and why?’
Fallon bunched a handful of his iron-grey hair. The long strands lay limply on his moist brow as he retreated to his chair. ‘The boys were regulars at a certain sort of soiree Garry Keirns ran back then.’
‘At Ardinsh Farm?’
‘Well yes. But not exclusively. This time, though, yes.’
‘This time? What do you mean by that?’
‘They were numerous, these nights in, and Andy Lucas was a regular. That’s why I was brought . . . Lucas was becoming very powerful in his little fiefdom then. He needed to be secured.’
‘Blackmailed you mean?’
‘Christ, don’t be naive. Do you think people like Lucas can be moved around like useful little chess pieces? This is how the world turns.’
‘And you were just helping out, were you? Just doing your bit. Keeping everything hush-hush to make sure it was business as usual for all your slimy friends.’
‘Do you think I had a choice? You’ve seen the evidence.’ He scattered the photographs over the desk.
Valentine grabbed Fallon’s hand and shoved it away from the photographs. ‘Who killed the boys? Tell me everything.’
Fallon patted his ribcage and slid his fingers into the tight pocket of the waistcoat beneath his dress jacket. ‘I believe it was Lucas. I believe it was unintentional.’ He seemed resigned now, not relieved, but familiar enough with the facts of the case to know that he had no way of withholding what he knew any longer. If he didn’t reveal these secrets, he might incriminate himself, and that was something Fallon, a born survivor, would never do.
‘One was strangled and one bludgeoned to death. How in God’s name can that be unintentional?’ said Valentine.
‘There was some kind of mix-up. The Stevenson boy was brought along by mistake and reacted, well, appropriately.’
‘He was coshed for objecting to what he saw, you mean?’
‘My understanding is there was some kind of squabble, yes. The other one came to his aid and was subdued by Lucas. Unfortunately he didn’t know his own strength and the boy couldn’t be revived.’
Valentine touched his mouth. He felt as if he wanted to push in his words. His sudden understanding projected images he didn’t want to see, even if it meant he had the answers now. His words escaped angrily. ‘And Lucas couldn’t keep Rory around to identify him after that.’
‘Obviously not. I mean it stands to reason that was the thinking behind it.’
‘So the boys get dumped in a barrel and then a shallow grave. How very clinical and convenient for you and your cronies.’
‘It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. It was supposed to be all about applying a bit of pressure to Lucas. Nobody wanted to see those boys killed.’
‘You make it sound so bloody matter of fact. Two boys died here, and Christ alone knows how many more were raped and abused as part of your little sting operation, Fallon.’
‘It wasn’t as simple as that. It wasn’t my doing,’ he pleaded.
‘You let it go on, didn’t you?’
‘What could I do about it?’
‘What could you . . .’ Valentine felt his pulse returning to normal as he looked at the distraught image of Fallon slumping into himself. He was wrecked, half a lifetime of secrets and lies coming back to destroy him. Fallon was spent, a hollow of a man, without any hint of the arrogance he’d used to hide the horrific truth of the life he had lived.
‘Get up.’
‘Please, Detective.’ He indicated the gun with a nod. ‘Just leave me alone. Just for a moment longer.’
‘Another convenient solution in mind?’
‘We both know how this looks.’
‘Is that all that matters to you?’
He lowered his head and sighed. ‘Nothing matters now.’
Valentine steadied himself. ‘Is it loaded?’
Fallon made a weak nod. ‘Yes.’
‘I think that’s actually something I’d like to see,’ said Valentine. ‘Though perhaps not as much as I’d like to see you begging for your eternal soul.’
‘I’ll beg you for your mercy, if that’s what you want me to do.’
The detective stepped forward and raised the gun from its resting place on the desk. He kept Fallon in his gaze as he lowered the gun out of his line of sight and moved away.
‘No one showed those boys any mercy. No one paid their fate a second thought. There’ll be no easy way out for you this time, Fallon. I hope you burn in hell, but before that I hope you have a long time to savour your fate on this earth.’
43
Epilogue