Alex Barclay - Darkhouse

‘Yes. But I don’t see why we have to.’

‘Because it gives us all time. Your mom will be back and I’ll buy her some flowers and take her out to dinner and everything will be fine.’

Shaun studied his face. ‘You don’t even believe that.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Joe eyed the phone and briefly thought about calling Frank.

‘Stop treating me like some kind of idiot.’

‘I’m not,’ said Joe patiently. ‘I just need to be calm here.’

‘Detached, you mean.’ Shaun snorted.

‘Son, you’re angry,’ said Joe gently. ‘I think this is about you looking for someone to lash out at...’

‘Look at Katie! Look at her! What about that? Look how that turned out! That worked out all right. Didn’t it? Didn’t it?’ His voice rose steadily the more hysterical he got. ‘What if someone’s taken Mom? We’re here waiting like two losers...’

‘No-one’s taken your mom.’

‘What if they have?’ said Shaun. He looked up like he had just thought of something. ‘Could this be to do with that weird email I got?’

‘No, it’s not,’ said Joe patiently. ‘Turns out it was from that commando wannabe from your school.’

‘Barry Shanley?’ said Shaun, stunned.

Frank called Richie into his office and asked him to close the door behind him.

‘OK, I need to fill you in on something unusual that’s come up.’ He explained about Joe, Dr McClatchie and the fax.

‘Wow,’ said Richie. ‘That’s weird.’ Frank could almost hear the workings of his mind. He was reminded of a game with an upright plastic panel where you had to rotate a series of cogs with slots to manoeuvre a small counter into a tray at the bottom. Downfall. That was the name. He wondered when Richie’s counter would fall down.

‘I called Limerick and spoke briefly to the Super there. I’ll be meeting him tomorrow. He’s on holidays up in some log cabin in the Ballyhoura mountains. They’ve no leads. They’ve checked out a couple of local men, but have ruled them out. So this news from Dr McClatchie is interesting. And look at this.’ He turned a map around so Richie could see it. Richie’s wandering right eye rolled back into place.

‘No-one wants these crimes to be connected,’ said Frank. ‘But look.’ He unfolded the map until he could see the southern half of the country. He drew a ring around Doon where Mary Casey had been found dead in the field, then Tipperary town where Siobhán Fallon had disappeared. Slowly, he did the same around Mountcannon. He looked at Richie. ‘These towns are all along the same route.’ He paused. ‘I think Joe is a step ahead of us. And in fairness, after the whole snail business, it seems he was right about where Katie went that night, regardless of Mae Miller. We have to follow up on this. Remember, Joe bypassed us to go direct to the State Pathologist...’ Richie nodded.

‘...so there’s something he’s not telling us,’ said Frank. He threw down his pen and sighed. ‘Not that I blame the man.’

Stinger’s Creek, North Central Texas, 1990

Donnie looked down at an imaginary clipboard. ‘I’m lookin’ for a Homemaker,’ he called. ‘A Miss Suzy Homemaker.’

‘Very fuckin’ funny.’ Duke was standing in his front yard in grey track pants and a pair of yellow rubber gloves. He was wringing dirty water out of a dish cloth.

‘Well, holy shit,’ said Donnie. ‘Your house was white all along.’

‘He’s on fire this mornin’.’

Donnie stepped around a pail of water to get closer to the clapboard house. The left hand side was a dull brownish grey and the right side had been washed down, leaving it as white as it was ever going to be. The paint was chipped and peeling and skinny rivers of dirty water had dried onto the surface.

‘You need to blast this with a hose,’ said Donnie.

‘Yeah, after I do my little rain dance here in the yard,’ said Duke.

Donnie made a move to sit on the step.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ shouted Duke, throwing a wet sponge hard against his bare chest.

‘Son of a bitch,’ said Donnie. He picked up the sponge, slapped it into the pail beside him and threw it back, wide. Duke laughed, then ran after him, grabbing him from behind. Donnie wriggled against him. ‘Aw, c’mon,’ he said. Duke ground the filthy sponge into Donnie’s face until he was weak from laughing.

Donnie pulled away, leaning over and spitting out grit. ‘Point fuckin’ blank,’ he said, shaking his head. He went into the house, and stuck his head under the cold tap. ‘Isn’t it weird not havin’ Wanda here?’ he called. He got no reply. ‘I said,’ he shouted, sticking his head out the window, ‘isn’t it weird—’

‘I heard you the first time,’ said Duke.

Donnie came back out, grabbed the sponge from the pail and started washing down the wood.

Every few minutes, he stopped and said, ‘I hate this shit.’

Duke ignored him.

‘I really do,’ said Donnie. ‘I hate this shit.’

‘That’s it,’ said Duke. ‘Go over and pack some of that crap away. Do you think that’s a job you can handle?’

‘Hallelujah.’ Donnie threw down his sponge and walked over to a big cardboard box marked with an X.

‘Let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘Anythin’ with an X we’re gettin’ rid of.’

‘Yes,’ said Duke. ‘Like I said.’

Donnie looked around the yard and saw Xs everywhere.

‘Didn’t you leave anythin’ inside?’

He bent down to one of the boxes.

‘The mystery box from the closet. I recognise the Keep Out sticker. You know that was supposed to be for your bedroom door.’

He wrapped his arms around it and lifted it to waist height. But he squeezed too hard and the bottom fell through. He stared, open-mouthed.

‘Where did you get all this shit?’ he asked. He turned around to Duke for an answer, but Duke was staring into space. Donnie knelt down and started picking through the piles of toys, all unopened. Pristine action heroes behind clear plastic windows, tipper trucks, fighter planes, boxing gloves, a candy dispenser, a mechanic’s tool kit. Bright primary colours shining in the sun.

‘You had Space Invaders all along?’ blurted Donnie, pointing to another box. ‘Hey, look at this little guy,’ he said, picking up a pale yellow teddybear with a tag that said Benton. ‘How could you hide poor Benton here in a dark closet...’ he picked up a tall black figure, ‘...with Darth Vader. Unless he’s...’ he lowered his voice dramatically, ‘...his father.’ He laughed nervously. He looked over at Duke. He waited in the silence, then stood up and started packing the toys into an empty box beside him, holding each one in his hand a fraction longer than he had to.

‘Maybe... I mean, shouldn’t these be goin’ to some children’s home or somethin’?’

‘Are you fuckin’ blind? There’s an X on the side of that box. A big fuckin’ black X.’

Duke carried a pot of red paint into his bedroom. The walls were grey and streaked with beige. Wanda had never finished the wallpaper job she started when they moved in.

‘OK. What’s next?’ said Donnie, walking in behind him. He looked around the room, rubbing his bare belly with his hand. ‘The dresser?’

‘I’m thinkin’ of doin’ one wall red, one wall black,’ said Duke, pointing. ‘What do you reckon?’

‘That’s cool. Are we takin’ the dresser?’ he said, slapping the top of it.

‘Yup,’ said Duke.

They bent down and gripped each end, rocking it back to keep the drawers from sliding. Donnie slammed his shoulder into the door jamb on the way through.

‘Goddammit,’ he said. He dropped his end and reached around to feel the damage. ‘There’s a big flap of skin back here,’ he said.