‘Tell me what you were writing,’ she insisted.
‘Things started coming back to me. After we talked at the station, like. Thought I was going to be next. I didn’t want to die, so I picked myself up, brushed myself down and told myself I wasn’t going without a fight. Just like young Fitzy.’
Lottie took the old file from her bag and showed him the photograph of the missing boy.
‘Might this be Fitzy?’
O’Malley tore at his chin, scratching. ‘I’m not sure, Inspector. It was a long time ago.’
‘But you think it could be?’
He studied the boy’s face for a few more seconds. ‘Like I said, I’m not sure.’
‘The murder you described, can you think when it took place? What year?’
‘I can’t remember much. Too many bottles of wine since then. But like I told you before, we called it the night of the Black Moon. ’75 or maybe ’76. It was after Christmas so it might’ve been January.’
‘Black Moon,’ Lottie said.
‘When there’s two new moons in the month,’ Kirby piped up from the front seat.
‘When evil stalks the earth,’ O’Malley said.
Lottie felt an icicle slither along her spine.
‘Mr O’Malley, you baffle me. Did you kill Susan and James? Father Con even?’
‘I’m shocked . . . totally shocked that you . . . you could even think such a thing of me. But then again, who am I? I’m only a nobody to you.’
‘That’s not an answer,’ Kirby said.
Lottie shrugged. ‘It’s obvious to me that everything connects to St Angela’s. You too. You knew Susan and James, and Father Con back then. Now they’re dead and you’re the last man standing.’
‘Don’t forget Brian . . .’
‘What about him? We’ve tried to find out about him but it’s possible he changed his name. He might even be dead. Can you tell me anything about him?’
‘I haven’t seen him from that day to this.’
Lottie recalled Mrs Murtagh’s recent revelations. ‘Mr O’Malley . . . Patrick, have you ever met Bishop Connor?’
His laugh broke up in a fit of coughing.
‘What’s funny?’ Lottie asked.
‘Me? Me! You think I’d know a bishop. I’m a down and out, a homeless nobody. What would I be doing with a bishop?’
‘I take it that’s a no.’
‘For sure,’ he said, ‘and . . .’
‘And what, Mr O’Malley?’ Lottie snapped. She was caught up in his riddles and he was wearing out her patience.
‘You do your job, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Just do your job and leave me out of it.’
‘Mike O’Brien is next on my list.’
Lottie watched O’Malley walk sluggishly up the hill, away from the train station. She didn’t think he had it in him to be a murderer. But he was a deeply wounded man with a scarred past. Anything was possible.
‘You’re going to let O’Malley go, just like that?’ Kirby said.
‘I’ve nothing to hold him on,’ Lottie said. ‘Plus I don’t think he has the strength to strangle a kitten let alone three people.’
She checked in with Lynch while Kirby turned the car.
‘Shit,’ she said, finishing the call.
‘What?’ he asked, switching the wipers on full.
‘No sign of Sean. But they’re contacting his friends again and also their parents. I need to find him.’
‘Wait till they finish checking out his friends.’
‘And Lynch can’t locate O’Brien,’ Lottie said. ‘He’s not at home or at the gym.’
She followed O’Malley’s progress. He crossed the canal bridge and disappeared under the yellow hue of the evening streetlights. He seemed smaller somehow, as if the weight that anchored him to an unstable ground all his life had suddenly become embedded in a mud bank. She doubted he would ever be cut free to sail with the wind at his back.
She silently wished him luck. He would need it. So would she.
One Hundred
It was dark. ‘Pitch black’, his mother called it. Sean felt Jason’s soft breaths against his shoulder. He was cramped, needed to piss badly and had no idea how long it was since the man had left. Jason stirred.
‘You awake?’ Sean asked.
‘Yeah. What’s going on?’
Sean shifted and stood up, trying to loosen the rope from his wrists. ‘Who is that weirdo?’
‘I’m not sure, but I’ve seen him before. Oh, this is all so mad.’ Jason remained slumped on the floor.
‘Come on, bud. You have to get moving or we won’t be able to do anything.’
‘What can we do? Nothing, that’s what.’
‘I’m not giving up that easily. We have to get out of here.’
‘Not a hope,’ Jason said.
Sean twisted and turned. Eventually he loosened the rope and it fell away. He edged his way around the room in the darkness until his hand reached the knob on the door. Twisted, pulled and pushed. It was steadfast. He moved further along, feeling the walls. Found the second door. Same result. And no windows. There had to be a way to escape. He felt deep into his combat trousers and pulled out his knife. At least he had a weapon.
‘I have a knife,’ he said.
‘What you going to do with that? Kill yourself?’
‘Don’t be a shithead. Come on. Two heads are better than one. We have to think.’
‘I’ve no energy to think.’
Sean made his way over and kicked at Jason.
‘I can’t do this without you.’
‘Do what?’
Sean thought for a moment. There had to be something they could do.
‘At least help me. You’re the one with the brains.’
‘I’m not so brainy to end up in this mess,’ Jason said.
Sean sat down on the cold floorboards and took out his phone. It was dead. He fingered the knife. Would he have the balls to stab the man? He wasn’t so sure.
‘Please . . . think,’ he whispered. ‘We need a plan.’
Jason pulled himself into a sitting position and Sean cut the ropes binding him.
‘Okay. At least we can go down fighting.’
Sean passed the knife to Jason.
‘Swiss army?’ Jason asked, feeling one sleek blade.
‘I’ve never had a chance to use it. Before now.’ Sean took back the knife and flicked out the various blades. ‘We could do some damage with this thing.’ He opened the longest blade and slid home the others.
‘I’m with you so,’ Jason said. ‘We still need a plan.’
Sitting in the silence, Sean slipped the weapon back into his pocket. ‘A war plan.’
One Hundred One
Bishop Connor glanced at Mike O’Brien sitting on the edge of a gold-filigree-legged chair. O’Brien looked weary, eyes small and black. He, on the other hand, felt good.
‘Where is Rickard? He should be here.’
‘He’s not answering his phone,’ O’Brien said.
‘Planning permission is approved,’ the bishop said. ‘Dunne kept his part of the bargain, now we need to ensure Rickard keeps his.’
‘I put my neck on the line for this.’
‘Tom Rickard is a man of his word. You will get your money.’
‘His bank balance is a mess.’ Mike O’Brien raised his head.
‘What do you mean?’ Bishop Connor jolted up straight.