“You stupid fucker,” I told him. “If you hadn’t died, you could have seen this.”
And that, I decided, would be the last time I spoke to Aidan.
88
The day I’d got Janie’s letter a massive e-mail had arrived from Helen. She had lied when she’d promised me that she wouldn’t go to the warehouse for the denooming. Why was I even surprised? Her e-mail brought me up to date with her crime story, but once I knew she was alive, I wasn’t interested in the details and I didn’t read it until almost two weeks after it had arrived.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Lucky to be alive
Sorry I lied to you. But curiosity too great.
Will now tell everything that happened but cannot remember every word with exact recall, so, as usual, will be parrot-phrasing. But not exaggerating, as I am always being accused of!
Here we go. At 10 P.M., went along to address on docks—as expected, was deserted warehouse. Stinky smell. Uneven floors. Mice. Went up stairs. No one on first, second, or third floor. But on fourth floor woman’s voice said: Come on in.
Thought it must be Tessie O’Grady. Especially as she’d have access to Racey’s bedroom to take those nudie photos.
But wasn’t. It was Detta! In tailored trousers, silky blouse, and gun! Ah, here!
She said: Sit down.
Pointed at a chair. Well, the chair, really. Lone wooden one under bare lightbulb with bloodstained flex wire coiled around legs.
Me: No. Look, I’m sorry I showed those photos to Harry.
Her (shaking head, like she couldn’t believe how thick I was): I sent you those photos.
Me: Why?
Her: Because nothing short of pictures of me in bed with Racey would make Harry believe I was being unfaithful and giving away his secrets. Meeting Racey for lunch wasn’t enough—talk about denial! Mind you, your mammy made a right hames of that. There we were, sitting in the best seat in the house, and it turns out she can’t use her phone camera.
Me: You wanted to be photographed?
Her: Yessss (like snake). How many chances did me and Racey give you?
Me: Not that shagging many, actually. I spent about three centuries sitting in that hedge in your back garden. And why did you want me to show the photos to Harry?
Her: In the hope that he might kill himself. Or kill Racey and end up behind bars.
Me: But Racey’s your boyfriend!
Her (more you-thick-fool head-shaking): Racey’s not my boyfriend.
Me: Well, your colleague, then.
Her (shaking head again): It was all a setup. You thought you were being such a great little investigator but we picked you because we knew you’d never figure out what was really going on. The laugh we had at you sitting in the hedge with your binoculars and your bags of sweets. Was it boring enough for you? Did you enjoy mass every morning? And did you really think Tessie O’Grady would just open her gate to a stranger looking to use her loo? Do you know how many attempts have been made on that woman’s life?
Said nothing. Was mortifed. And confused. But think she was saying that I’d been given the job because I’m crap investigator. And who was “we”? As in “we picked you”? Obviously not Harry Big, but someone in Secret Cahoots with Detta, who’d recommended me to Harry?
On floor below a rat, or something equally stinky, scuttled.
Me (after while): So if Racey isn’t your boyfriend or your colleague, what is he?
All haughty, Detta said: Racey O’Grady is nothing to me. Now will you sit down.
Me: No.
Her: Why not?
Me: Because I’ve stitches in my arse. Also you might shoot me.
Her: That’s right, now—
Her mouth fell open. She was looking at top of stairs. I looked, too. Tessie O’Grady had just appeared, all smiles, in her cardigan and slippers. And gun.
Tessie (exclaiming happily): Girls! I haven’t been here in ages. Not since we wiped out the Foley family, one by one.
She looked around fondly: Ahhh, happy times.
She focused on the chair: Don’t tell me it’s the same chair! Ah, it is! Isn’t that lovely?
Detta (frozen-faced): How did you know where to find me?
Tessie: Where else would you come? You’ve no imagination. Never had. Carry on, Detta. I believe you were telling Miss Weeny Bladder here that Racey O’Grady is nothing to you.
Detta: No, I just meant—
Tessie: I’ll tell you what you meant. You set him up. I’m quite cross with you, Detta. You wanted to send poor Harry bananas with jealousy and you used Racey. Harry could have killed Racey today.
Detta: Racey is fine. No harm came to him. I made sure it wouldn’t.
Tessie: And he’s quite upset. He thought when you two had relations, that it meant something.
Detta: Yeah, well, you killed my dad.
Tessie (tutting): Talk about holding a grudge.
Detta: Look, just go away and let me kill girlie here.
Me: Why do you want to kill me?
Detta: Because of Colin.
Me: Colin? What the—? Oh my God, is Colin your son?
Detta: Colin’s not my son. Colin is my boyfriend.
Me: Your BOYFRIEND? But he had sex with me!
Detta: That’s why I’m going to kill you.
I was thinking she must be badly deluded—Colin being her boyfriend? I don’t feckin’ think so!—when Tessie starts talking.
Detta, she said, I’m quite cross with you about something else, too. I’ve a friend in the bank, a lovely man, a lovely, lovely man, a member of Opus Dei and very good at making scale models of opera houses out of ice-pop sticks—extraordinary talent!—and he tells me that this afternoon, you emptied several of your accounts and moved the funds to a bank in Marbella. You’re off, aren’t you?
Detta (hanging head): Yes; sorry, Tessie, I am. I’ve lost interest, Tessie. I never thought I’d hear myself say it but this whole business…I don’t know…I’ve lost heart.
Tessie (helpfully): Well, you don’t have to work protection. You could try guns for a while. Or girls! You’d run a lovely establishment, you’ve good taste, you always had. You like the dear stuff.
Detta: Ah, it’s not just the work, Tessie. I can’t take the winters here anymore. I like the sun. And Colin wants to go straight. We’re thinking of opening a bar. Maybe one with a U2 theme, like with U2 memorabilia, guitars, playlists—