Declan Hughes - The Color of Blood

“Sandra told me she was her father’s nurse.”

“Took more than one. Anyway, she had her hands full keeping the peace between him and the mother. It was fireworks every night.”

“And what happened? Did he rape you?”

“You know, all these years I’ve been saying yes, he did, telling myself, telling Brian. Telling the Howards. But the truth is, it wasn’t rape. He was…a very attractive man, even at seventy. Very charismatic, very powerful. And yes, he was ill, but between bouts of the illness, he’d be fit. Fit enough. And I had had nobody for the longest time. I was susceptible. I mean, it was wrong on just about every count you could think of. But we had a-kind of an-affair. Under everyone’s noses. And I thought nothing would happen, he’s got cancer, he couldn’t be fertile-it’s funny the way you get taken in by old wives’ tales you’d scorn anyone else for believing. And something happened.”

“Was Brock Taylor on the scene at this stage? Or Brian Dalton-what is his name?”

“He was christened Dalton. Still went by that when I met him, around this time. But his da had taken off when he was a kid, Brian never forgave him. After we got married, he started to call himself Taylor, his ma’s maiden name.”

“Handy to have more than one name.”

“Sure, who are you tellin’? Brian was on the horizon at that stage, yeah. He was…hovering around. He seemed to know who I was. I went to see Stephen play rugby and he was there, I became aware of him that way.”

“Was it through Denis Finnegan that you met then?”

“Why would it have been through Denis Finnegan? Brian had been working in a garage in the area, he just came along for the sport. I doubt he ever knew Denis Finnegan. In fact, I’m sure of it.”

“Eileen. Brock Taylor and Denis Finnegan grew up together in the north inner city. Brock in Blessington Street, Finnegan in Wellington Street, a stone’s throw away.”

Eileen Taylor whipped around and began to advance slowly on me.

“What are you saying?”

“That they knew each other, and they kept it hidden from you. Now why would they do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Stephen was a good boy, wasn’t he, Eileen?”

“He was growing up to be a lovely young fella. He was strong and brave and good to me and very clever. He could have been a doctor, was hoping to be one.”

“Do you believe for an instant, in your heart, that he killed Audrey O’Connor? Could he have done such a thing?”

“No.”

“Not even if he was under Sandra Howard’s spell?”

“Not if he was under the spell of the devil himself. And he’d never have killed himself either. I couldn’t look at Sandra after she took up with Stephen-took advantage of him. But I can see how it happened. She was mourning her father, he was seventeen, how could he resist if she wanted him, she was absolutely gorgeous. I was angry about it, but I kept my head down, said nothing. I didn’t want to drive him away. I saw more of Brian then. And realized I was pregnant. So I didn’t know what to do.”

Eileen poured two fresh whiskeys and sat beside me, again tipping the glass to my lips. She was possessed by her past, all concentration, burrowing down, channeling it from deep within.

“Brian asked me to marry him. And I burst into tears, and explained what had happened. Except of course, I told him I had been raped. And he said that was fine, he didn’t mind, he’d put his name to the child. And I said I’d have to think about it. Before I got a chance, Audrey O’Connor was murdered, and Stephen vanished. Everyone pointed the finger at him of course, even though there was no evidence, or motive. And then they found Stephen’s body, on All Souls’ Day. It’s his anniversary tonight, twenty-one years.

“I thought Mary Howard wouldn’t believe me when I told her her husband had raped me. But I barely had the words out of my mouth and she was promising this that and the other thing. We settled on the house in Woodpark. And she asked if I had a young man, and if he could be made to understand. I said he’d stick by me, and she arranged everything: the house, the wedding, the whole lot. But all I kept thinking about was Stephen. Who killed him? I had no doubt he had been killed. But everyone believed it was murder and suicide.”

“Sandra Howard didn’t. She still doesn’t.”

“How do we know it wasn’t her? She could have worn a mask, killed the wife, maybe Dr. Rock was in on it with her, and then the next day, or that night, set Stephen up, drugged him or slugged him, stuck him in the driver’s seat with all the robbery junk in the boot and sent it scudding off the pier. She had the only motive I can see: to move in on Dr. Rock.”

I didn’t reply. Of course we couldn’t know it wasn’t Sandra, and there was a strong possibility that it was. But I couldn’t stop thinking of Denis Finnegan, how he said there was nothing he wouldn’t have done for the Howards.

“Did you know Denis Finnegan well?”

“Not really. He followed Shane around like a little dog, worshipped him. And I always used to think he had a crush on Sandra. I don’t think she noticed him, to be honest.”

“And you don’t think it’s strange that Brock Taylor never mentioned how he and Denis Finnegan knew each other?”

Eileen took a long drink.

“Of course I think it’s strange. What do you want me to do about it?”

“What is Brock up to, buying up half of Woodpark? Joining the rugby club? What’s he doing?”

“I don’t know. I thought he was trying to help me.”

“You know he’s been drinking with Denis Finnegan up there?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“Why don’t you put your hand in my pocket.”

“That’s a pretty sleazy line.”

“My coat pocket. Go on, there isn’t a gun in there, I’m pretty sure they took that.”

Eileen put her hand in my pocket and shook her head.

“Nothing here at all.”

Maybe I’d been cleaned out completely.

“Try the other one.”

She did so, and came up with a cigarette lighter and a rugby medal.

“Lucky dip. Now what?”

“What name is engraved on the back of the medal?”

“Richard O’Connor.”

“Dan McArdle told me Dr. Rock’s rugby medals were stolen in the robbery. And they weren’t recovered in the boot of the car your son died in, with the rest of the stuff.”

Eileen Taylor’s eyes opened wide.

“Where did you get it?”

“Locked in a drawer in Denis Finnegan’s house in Mountjoy Square.”

“Does that mean he did it? What does that mean?”

“It means he was involved with the robbery and the murders of Audrey O’Connor and Stephen Casey, and he knew Brock Taylor at that time, which means there’s a fair chance Brock Taylor was involved too, and if you want me to find out any more-and if you want to see your other son-you’ll have to untie me and get me out of here. Because as soon as Moon gets back, I’m not going to be in a position to be asking or answering any more questions. They want me dead, Eileen, and they’ve already killed tonight; one more body’s gonna mean nothing to them.”

Eileen looked at me appraisingly, then looked around as if she was afraid we were being watched. Then she crossed the room to the white drinks cabinet and found a small fruit knife and came back and cut the ropes I was bound with.

As she got me free, there was a commotion from below, the sound of raised voices and steps thudding on the stairs. I took the big marble clock from the mantelpiece, killed the lights and positioned myself behind the door. I beckoned Eileen, but a gun had materialized in her hand, looked like a Beretta 950 Jetfire; she shook her head and stood directly before the door. It flew open and a man in a black coat swept in; seeing Eileen before him, he swung round, a Steyr machine pistol in his hands. It was Brock Taylor, badly bruised above one eye, blood seeping from a wound in his side. Before he could turn properly, Eileen began to scream at him.