Alex Barclay - Darkhouse

Frank looked down at O’Connor. Their eyes locked. O’Connor grabbed his radio.

Joe leaned up into Richie’s face. ‘I saw your cell phone.’

‘Give me that fucking phone,’ said Richie, slamming his elbow onto Joe’s wrist, releasing his grip.

‘You didn’t even call Anna her ambulance, you evil son of a bitch. They’ve found prints on Katie’s sneaker from the harbour. Frank told me they’d ruled Shaun out. And you were hoping you could pin this on Duke Rawlins, get me to take care of that—’

‘Oh, I think I could pin it on you after this,’ he said, nodding towards the people who were starting to move up around them.

Joe snorted. ‘They’ve got no respect for you.’

‘Says the loose cannon murdering cop? I’m the one in uniform here, remember,’ Richie hissed. ‘You haven’t a fucking hope. There are no prints, Joe. And you’re covered in blood, for fuck’s sake. You’re in a strange country. And we look after our own here. No-one’s going to believe you. Watch this.’ He looked back over his shoulder. ‘Someone help me out here,’ he shouted, his voice full of authority. ‘This guy’s a maniac.’ Joe looked up at him, amazed. Anger flared inside him. He heaved Richie off him and struggled to his feet. Two stocky men stepped forward to face him, but were blocked by Petey Grant. Petey leaned forward awkwardly, his big hand holding the lapels of his coat tight under his chin. Rain streamed down his pale face.

‘You didn’t help your friend,’ he said, pointing at Richie.

‘Joe’s not my friend,’ said Richie, standing up slowly.

‘You didn’t help him.’

Richie ignored him and turned back to Joe, his fists clenched.

‘You didn’t help him!’ shouted Petey. ‘Your friend! Justin Dwyer. In the sea. I saw you. You stood there. He died.’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Richie.

‘He was crying and you didn’t help him—’ A gust of wind caught his coat and it swung open, rain soaking quickly through his white shirt.

‘It was an accident—’, said Richie.

‘I know, but you didn’t help him. You can swim. Why didn’t you help? Why? You were watching him drown. I saw you. I was there. Hide and seek...’ Petey started crying.

‘Shut up, you idiot,’ said Richie. ‘Just shut the fuck up.’

‘No,’ sobbed Petey. ‘I can’t. No.’

For seconds, the only other sound was the falling rain. The crowd stood suspended in confusion, thrown by the violence in Richie’s tone, unsure of who the victim was in all the chaos. Mrs Grant stepped forward and reached for Petey’s shaking hand. Before she had time to pull him back, he locked eyes with Joe, his face pleading and uncertain. Joe reached out and gripped Petey’s shoulder, nodding to him proudly. Then he turned to Richie. ‘You son of a bitch,’ he said, charging him to the ground. He looked back at the crowd. ‘Don’t even think of trying to stop me. Your guard here...’ He wanted to roar what Richie had done, but he could see Martha Lawson clinging, terrified, to her sister’s arm and he knew he didn’t want her to find out this way. Richie got back up quickly. Joe’s hand shot out and clamped around his neck.

‘You better let me after that bastard or...’

‘Or what?’ smiled Richie, looking over Joe’s shoulder. The two men rushed past Petey and grabbed Joe, yanking his arms behind his back.

Anna was rushed from the ambulance into the resuscitation area of Waterford Regional Hospital. Shaun tried to follow, but a nurse laid a gentle hand on his arm and guided him down the corridor to wait in the relatives’ room.

Richie was quick with the handcuffs. Joe struggled wildly, pleading with the other men. ‘Don’t fucking do this to me. Please don’t do this to me. My wife is dying. Anna is dying, you fuckers.’ He was roaring.

‘That’s what happens when you attack your own wife,’ said Richie. He nodded at the others. ‘This is a sick man we’re dealing with here.’

‘You son of a bitch! At least call an ambulance,’ said Joe to the men. ‘Someone call an ambulance to Shore’s Rock.’

‘Don’t worry, guys,’ said Richie. ‘I can take care of that on the radio.’

‘He’s broken his radio,’ shouted Joe hysterically. ‘He broke his own radio with his torch. It’s in the glove box. There are pieces everywhere.’ But Richie was shouting louder, telling the men Joe was unstable, gesturing them away from the car, slamming the door shut, putting his foot to the floor.

The nurse slipped quietly into the relatives’ room. She faltered when she saw the blood soaked into Shaun’s T-shirt. He made a move to stand up.

‘Stay where you are,’ she said, sitting down beside him. ‘Your mother is very sick. She’s critical.’

Shaun thought he was going to cry again. What he didn’t realise was that since he got into the ambulance he hadn’t stopped.

Joe was paralysed by anger and frustration. He had to get to Anna. His mind sped through options he didn’t have.

‘Finally,’ said Richie.

Joe looked up, but Richie was speaking into his mobile: ‘I’ve been trying you all fucking day.’

Joe remembered the mobile and the fifteen dialled calls to someone called MC.

‘Where the hell are you now?’ Richie was saying. ‘Yeah? Well you stay right fucking there. I’m on my way.’

Shaun rushed into the corridor as soon as he heard the knock on the door.

‘What’s going on?’ he said.

‘Is your father here yet?’ said the nurse.

‘No.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be here any minute, don’t you worry.’

‘I hope so.’

‘OK, with the type of injuries your mother has suffered, we need to take her to theatre now.’

‘What do you mean, the type of injuries?’ said Shaun.

‘A wound that could seem quite small on the surface, may have caused some internal damage. Maybe not, but it’s something we have to look out for.’

‘But all that blood...’ He pointed at his T-shirt.

‘Yes, she has lost a lot of blood, but she’s also been given six units.’ She paused. ‘Come on, if you’re quick, you can see her before she’s brought up.’

Richie drove the car carefully around the deserted square at the centre of the rundown council estate. Weeds pushed up through cracks in the concrete, litter was strewn everywhere and in the corner, Marcus Canney leaned against the last garage in a row of five. Richie made the turn and slowed, pulling to a stop and jumping out of the car. He walked over to Marcus.

‘What’s the story?’

‘No story,’ said Richie.

‘What have you been up to?’

Richie looked at him. ‘Just give me the fuckin’ gear.’

‘Hold on a minute.’

Marcus stepped sideways, the garage door shot open and four guards burst out, honoured to make this one of Richie Bates’ most memorable arrests.

Shaun could barely get past the shock of tubes and wires that connected Anna to monitors he didn’t understand. He didn’t know where he could touch her. He eventually reached out and put a hand on her forehead. He could sense the urgency of the staff. He didn’t want her to go anywhere. She was alive now. He wanted her to stay that way. Surgery might make it worse. People died in surgery.

The tears still fell, but he wiped the last of them away and let out a shaky breath. He knew his words to his mother wouldn’t be eloquent and if they were the last words she’d ever have to hear, he knew she wouldn’t expect them to be.

He reached down and gently squeezed her finger tips. ‘You’ll be OK. I promise.’ He hesitated. ‘You will, Mom. I know you will. You’re Lucky too.’

Joe burst through the hospital doors. He was covered in blood — his, Anna’s, Richie’s.