Declan Hughes - The Color of Blood

“When you say youngish?”

“Thirteen, fourteen.”

“And then she dropped you. Did that hurt you?”

“Maybe. A little. But we’d still, occasionally-Christmas, or at a family party-she’d give me…a treat.”

“So there was no great problem for you when she suggested you make a second movie with her?”

“On the contrary.”

“And this whole thing about her and David Brady being blackmailed-”

“They didn’t tell me about that until afterward. And I wasn’t too happy. I mean, whoever was doing it was going to try and get money out of Uncle Shane, it was clearly some kind of low-life scumbag. But when Emily explained the situation, that they were implicated in a whole underage thing, I had to go with it.”

“You didn’t think you were being sucked into it?”

“I didn’t. But with the tattoo, I don’t know what to think.”

“When did you get the tattoo?”

“About a month ago. And it was Emily’s idea. She asked me to come along with her, when she was getting hers, part of her whole new look, the hair, the piercings, all that. And while we were there, she persuaded me to have one done. I’m sure she didn’t…I’m sure it was just in fun.”

“I’m sure it was. But do you think…might Emily have lied about the whole situation with the thirteen-year-old girl? Might she have set you up?”

“No.”

“Jonny, was she with you all day today? In the house in Honeypark?”

“She was in the house, but not always in the room. We had our own rooms. It was a weird setup. I mean, that creepy guy, Moon, and the Reillys, total little skangers but decent enough actually, they’d get us food and drink and whatever, it didn’t feel like we were there against our will. I was just waiting for Emily to give me the word on when we were getting out. And to be frank, given the amount of sex we were having, I didn’t care when that would be.”

“She was in the house, but not always in the room. If she wasn’t in the same room as you, could that mean she might have left the house?”

“I suppose so,” he said, then shook his head quickly, took his glasses off and stared at them.

“Why would she have left the house?” he said, his voice shrill. “What are you implying? That she killed David Brady?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m asking questions. That’s my job.”

“Well, I think I’ve had enough of your questions, Mr. Private Detective. It’s a grubby little job, don’t you find?”

His Trinity manner had become grander, his voice a fluted drawl; I could feel the class boundary rising to divide us.

“It certainly has the habit of uncovering a lot of grubby secrets,” I said.

“So there’s no point in asking you not to tell Mum-”

“I’ve already told your mother everything. I’m working for her, as well as for your uncle. She didn’t appear particularly surprised.”

Jonathan stood up abruptly, and his metal chair fell back with a crash against the hardwood floor. He looked down at me, his lips compressed, his hands clenched into fists.

“If you think trying to pin a murder on Emily is going to help anyone in this family, you must be out of your fucking mind,” he said, in a low voice thick with passion. “But I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand a family like ours.”

Since Jonathan himself had raised the possibility that Emily had the opportunity to kill her ex-boyfriend, I was a little taken aback by his sudden rage. As he stalked off, his mother approached from the passageway and tried to stop him; he backed away and waved his unwieldy arms at her, then ran down the corridor, and a door slammed.

Sandra Howard replaced Jonathan’s chair, sat in it, a pale smile on her face, and began to assemble the ingredients for a gin and tonic. She was wearing a dark suit, black shot with some kind of green; the hem of her skirt brushed her knees; her legs in black stockings looked long and slender.

“The teenage symphony: tears and tantrums, and the slamming of the bedroom door. Don’t take it personally, Ed.”

“I think he meant it personally.”

“What were you talking about?”

“His relationship with his cousin. Among other things. Where is Emily?”

“Resting. She has a room here. She was starting to freak out. A doctor is coming up from the center to see to her.”

Sandra flashed an uneasy look at me, the first time I’d seen her furtive or defensive. She took a long hit on her drink, which was heavy on the Tanqueray, and brandished the green bottle at me. I took it and made my own. When Sandra looked up again, her gaze was steady.

“They’ve had a rough time of it over the years, Ed, both Jonny and Em. I know, silver spoon, everything money can buy, everyone should have their troubles, but really, they shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t they? Tell me their troubles.”

“Jonny’s father died when he was eleven. Richard O’Connor was my first husband. He was a doctor-he was the one who helped me believe in myself, in my father’s legacy-because I hadn’t gone into medicine myself, I felt unworthy, I had been teaching in Castlehill College, drifting, really, but he gave me focus-he reminded me I was my father’s daughter. And I took over the running of the Howard Maternity Center, and I founded the Howard Clinic and the Howard Nursing Home, assembled the investors, saw them built and open and running successfully.”

Sandra got up suddenly and turned all the lights out and beckoned me across the room to the great window.

“You can just about make the three towers out through the mist, see? I hope one day to see a fourth.”

Three great blurs of light were discernible, shimmering in the murk. I looked at Sandra, straight-backed, regal. Her eyes were shining with pride, and something that looked like defiance, or triumph, and something else, a shadow, a sudden darkness that appeared from nowhere and was just as briskly dispelled.

“He said I did it all myself, but of course I didn’t, it was Dr. Rock-that’s what everyone called him, Richard O’Connor, R-O-C-he inspired me, Ed, just like my own father had inspired me, and Rock inspired Jonny too, he-you know when Jonny was eleven, he played rugby, played very well, he was a prospect, insofar as you can be at that age, but to look at him now, well, you couldn’t imagine it, could you?”

I shook my head.

“Rock had played, and he coached at Seafield and even in the school. And I’m not like Shane, I’m not saying rugby is some kind of universal panacea, but-sometimes a father can be so important, so inspiring, that when he dies it’s like the air has gone out of the world. I think that’s what happened for Jonny. And Denis didn’t get to know him until later. In fairness, Jonny’s started to get along really well with Denis since he went to college. He really goes for the whole legal Caesar bit. It’s me and Denis who don’t get along so well anymore.”

“Is that right?” I said. “Are you separating?”

“I think so. Mutually. Amicably. We’ve just…run out of…”

She exhaled, smiling, and shrugged, and waved a hand in the air. I didn’t smile back.

“I don’t think it’s having an effect on Jonathan, if that’s what you meant,” she said.

“It wasn’t. You were going to tell me about Emily. Her troubles.”

“Emily-oh Jesus, Emily.”

She walked across to the fire, where she stood, staring into the flames. I stayed by the window. I could see the fire reflected in the glass, flickering red in the black.

“Emily’s mother, Jessica-you met her, didn’t you?”

“This morning, yes.”

“How did she strike you?”

“Initially, very sexy, maybe a bit too flirtatious, a bit blatant. A bit much. And then…I don’t know, like she was at one remove from herself…like she was damaged.”