The night i killed him, p.30
The Night I Killed Him, page 30
‘I mean, there’s no doubt she thought she killed him,’ I say. ‘All this time, he’d twisted the truth and manipulated her until she didn’t know which way was up.’
Cig shakes his head wearily. ‘They were kids – she was drunk.’ He sighs. ‘If it hadn’t been for him, if it hadn’t been for – for the sheer evil of that man, it would have been nothing. A family story – Do you remember when I knocked you out? – a thing ye all laugh about at Christmas.’
He stands. Neither of us wants to think about Christmas yet. ‘So, get on to Parminter and get what you need. You know, the angle of the blade, the depth of the nick in the bone – whatever it takes – to show that only he could have done it. There’s no way a sixteen-year-old of her size could’ve inflicted that injury. And ye have the witness who saw him at the scene late that night, whatshername – the coach? Get your charges, Shaw, and make them stick.’
‘I will, Cig.’ I nod.
‘Evil will out.’ Cig sighs. ‘No matter how deep you try to sink it.’
In the silence, I know both of us are thinking of bodies rising to the surface. We’re not going there.
‘Get him. Tell O’Riordan, anything he needs from us, he’s got. Just make sure you get him on all charges – everything. Get it done, Shaw.’
He sweeps his palm across his face, the branch-like fingers crumpling more creases into skin. Closes his eyes in a slow blink or a prayer.
‘Do you know what, Shaw?’ he says, looking up, skewering me with his gaze.
‘When you start believing in evil, you know it’s time to retire.’
‘Cig, maybe she—’
‘Don’t,’ he says.
88
Gemma
‘You’re so kind.’ I smile at the care assistant holding the door open for us. ‘We won’t be long, but thanks.’
She’s new, and I know she’s already heard the story because of the way she looks at us. She shakes her head as if in wonder, ruffling Ferdia’s hair.
‘Great boy,’ she says, accented with her soft Italian lilt.
‘Say thank you.’ I nudge him with my elbow, doing my best not to drop the large plant container I’m carrying.
‘Thank you,’ he says. She grins at him. My funny little fella. My – no. Not going there.
Ferdia squeezes my hand as we make our way down to the wooden seat where I plan on depositing the lavender plant.
‘How ’bout here, Mummy?’ he says, pointing to a small patch of ground. ‘Beside where you put your tea?’
‘Good idea,’ I say, plonking it down and dusting my hands. ‘Now you and Digger go and – and dig the leaves, okay? Just for a few minutes while I talk – while I think.’
He has about ten diggers now. People kept sending them, along with the bouquets. He dives into the bushes behind the bench. And I sit, imagining Dad – his big, worn hands, the cords and the old jumper, his eyes a faded grey-green sky.
‘This is my last visit, Dad,’ I say, imagining myself taking his hand in my lap, bending the fingers to curl around my own. I breathe a deep breath, a vestige of pain and infection lurking, but the scent of the lavender fills my head, and I say what I have to say.
‘I need to say something. Max is dead. He’s never coming back. And – and it’s – some of it is my fault. I’m sorry. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, I’m sorry.’ I shake my head, finding it difficult to go on. But I need to say the words aloud.
‘But I didn’t kill him – it was Conleth who – Conleth wanted him dead.’
I hesitate, heartbreak washing through me in a flood. Poor Max. Always looking out for me.
‘Oh God, if I could only go back and change things!’
And now I see Mum beside Dad, her outline faint as a mirage. Dressed in her favourite cardi – the lilac one. She takes hold of his hand.
My face is wet with tears, though I thought I had no more left. I wipe them away, closing my eyes, wanting to finish this.
‘I – that night, I took Max’s keycard and I went down to the boat and I waited for Conleth in the cabin, but he never came. It was Max. Max was worried about me. Of course. He was so good, wasn’t he? I’d left the gate open. And when he came in and saw me – I – I was drunk and – and wasted and he was shouting at me. Really shouting. He was just so angry. And so disappointed in me. And I pushed him. I meant to just push him away, you know – like, it was only meant to be a get-away-from-me push. Like a shove. It was nothing. But he fell and he – he banged his head on the table. And I thought he’d get up, but he didn’t.’
‘Mummy, when can we go?’ Ferdia scrambles out of the hedge. ‘There’s only leaves in there.’
‘Now, pet,’ I whisper, and I take a deep, deep breath which shivers. I don’t know yet if I’ll be prosecuted for concealing the – the murder. Laura thinks it’s unlikely – I was sixteen. And even then, he controlled my every waking thought.
‘And I panicked,’ I whisper. ‘Max didn’t get up, so I ran back to the club, and I got Conleth, and he yelled at me to go home. He said he’d sort it. And I crept home along the shoreline, hiding in the shadows. While Conleth – I thought he was taking care of it. I thought I’d killed Max and I didn’t know what – I thought Conleth would know what to do. All this time, I thought it was me, but Dad, Mum, I’m so sorry.’ My voice catches in a sob.
‘Max wasn’t dead when I left him. I didn’t – I didn’t kill him. Conleth did. With the knife that was on the boat. Conleth stabbed Max with his own penknife – the one I’d given him.’
I can’t go on. My husband stole my brother’s life and the lives of my parents – and mine – for nothing. Nothing. And he kept the knife, Max’s knife, in the top drawer of the chest in our bedroom. The knife he used to stab my brother.
I scrunch my eyes closed and I feel myself fold over, collapsing from my core. Too empty even to cry. And then I feel my brother’s presence. Maxattacks, he grins, sunlight slicing through his messy hair. I feel him take my hand in his – like the night when we camped in the tent.
I’m here, Gem.
‘I’m sorry, Max,’ I say. ‘I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.’
FOUR DAYS LATER
89
Laura
Martina, Niamh’s mum, waits until the last chord of the hymn echoes through the vaulted building before leaning into me and grabbing my elbow. Two funerals in one week. I’m turning into an expert in not falling apart.
‘A lovely service,’ she whispers.
‘Lovely,’ I agree, passing her a fresh tissue for the tears that shine on her cheeks, taking another for the ones that linger on mine.
‘It’s good when they make it more of a celebration, isn’t it?’
‘It is, for sure,’ I say. ‘She’d definitely have approved. She loved a celebration.’
We stand like soldiers at attention as the minister begins walking down the aisle, followed by the plain wicker coffin. It passes us, and I turn to follow its progress, smiling at Gemma and Ferdia, who are sitting in the front row of the gallery, surrounded by about sixty of her followers, who have been pretty much escorting her everywhere since she and Ferdia were given the all-clear. The press have been kept away.
The church is absolutely packed. I’d no idea she’d touched so many lives. We begin filing out, and I’m aware of Martina still sniffing behind me. I turn back to her, my hand on her sleeve.
‘Are you okay?’ I whisper.
She wipes her eyes fiercely, dragging the balled tissue across them.
‘Of course – I am of course.’ She smiles. ‘It’s just so much to take in, and—’ I nod sympathetically, not wanting her to have to finish that sentence. If you’ve buried one of your children – I mean – why am I even asking her if she’s okay? She’ll always carry that pain with her.
A second door is opened at the side of the church, and suddenly we’re outside in the bright sunshine, everyone standing around beginning to smile, casting off the shadows. Ranelagh traffic streams steadily by as usual, leaves rustling, cheerful voices, birdsong.
Niamh spots us, and she finishes up whatever she was saying to the minister and strides over. She’s grinning.
‘You’ll be getting a fierce big head, now,’ says Martina. ‘I could have told Dorothy – God rest her – a few things about you. Imagine her asking for you to do the eulogy!’
She smiles, and I watch her literally drinking in the sight of her daughter. As I am – because we all know how lucky we are to have her. Still.
Niamh was underwater for almost three minutes. A full minute longer than little Ferdia because as she thrust him towards the surface, her shoelace got caught on the edge of a rock and she struggled to get free.
‘And I could too.’ I laugh.
‘What are we all laughing at?’ smiles Sarita, joining our little group.
‘They’re ripping the piss out of me, as usual,’ grins Niamh. ‘Which is not fair – in—’
‘In your condition,’ we chorus, and Martina’s cheeks pinken.
I look from Niamh to her mum, the fire that burns between them, and I think of Katie and Noah, and of my own mum. All that love. All that energy and power. I think of Dorothy, brilliant, brave, wise and inspirational – a mother figure to Niamh and to half of Ranelagh, it seems, who are filing out of the church gate in pairs and groups, who will always remember her kindness and professionalism.
Niamh should have drowned, but she didn’t.
Instead, she’s here, all guns blazing, ready for us to assemble a watertight case which will ensure that Conleth O’Hara is put away for a very long time. He was spotted by the coastguard helicopter before he’d gone any distance and picked up by the Water Unit. He’ll stand trial for the murder of Max and for that of Detective Inspector Gerard Nolan as well. Nolan had been investigating Conleth in relation to the death of his parents. He believed that Conleth set the fire that killed them and locked them in their bedroom, sealing their fate, though he claimed he had been trying to open the door. Nolan suspected foul play in Max’s disappearance as well but, crucially, he had kept his findings secret. After Nolan died, O’Hara, a man with no moral compass, a thief and a murderer, was able to pass undetected, hiding behind his guilt-stricken wife and her supposedly perfect world. Maybe, as Cig says, he is plain evil.
It’s early days, but we’re hoping that Gemma will have the courage to give evidence in court – against the man who tried to kill her, against the husband and father who betrayed his own family. When Conleth realized that he couldn’t frame Gemma for the murder, he was prepared to use his own son as a decoy to buy him a bit of time. I will never forget the sight of him flinging Ferdia into the water, though later he claimed to be throwing him to the rescue boat. Because he’s always got a self-serving answer.
And Niamh. Niamh leaping in after him without a thought for her own safety. I’ll never forget that sight either.
I inhale, trying to shake the thought away.
She should have drowned, but she did not. That’s what I will remember. To think that even at that early stage of pregnancy – the day that Niamh dived in to save Ferdia was only the fourteenth day after implantation – to think that already her body had begun changing at a cellular level. Not just in the womb.
Already her blood carried more oxygen, her lungs had greater capacity. Her heart was working harder, with every beat. All that love. All that energy and power. I’m going to think about that. About love beating evil every time.
Women. Mothers. Sisters. Daughters. Sons and dads and brothers. Friends. The family you choose for yourself. Love.
My work phone buzzes with a message. I frown. Today is actually my fortieth, and I’ve taken the day off. Everyone’s forgotten.
It’s a WhatsApp from Cig – posted in the wrong group.
Did Matt say to arrive at the tennis club at 7.00 or 7.30? Don’t want to ruin the surprise. Not going to mess up on my watch. Not in front of Justy! Lol. See ye later.
Niamh checks her phone pretty much at the same time as I do, and her eyes lock on mine. A grin creeps over her face as she steps towards me. And I feel myself filled with a burst of such happiness that I have to hide my face. I pretend to zip up my bag as I tuck the phone away, and I’m beaming. I’m beaming because Niamh did not die. She’s okay, she’s here. She’s here.
‘A surprise fortieth party?’ I say, as she pulls me into a hug and pats the back of my head, messing my hair.
‘Yup. With me, and all the other people you love,’ she says. ‘It’s gonna be a tough one.’
I suppose that’s okay.
That’s okay.
Epilogue
LEINSTER TELEGRAPH
EMOTIONAL SCENES AS NEW LIFEBOAT ARRIVES IN DÚN LAOGHAIRE
Dún Laoghaire RNLI’s new all-weather Shannon-class lifeboat was given an emotional welcome on Saturday afternoon, having completed its week-long voyage from the charity’s lifeboat centre in Poole.
The lifesaving vessel arrived into Dún Laoghaire in a flotilla made up of both the inshore and all-weather lifeboats from the harbour, along with a group of local vessels. Friends, families and supporters lined the quayside to get a glimpse of the new boat.
The lifeboat was funded through a bequest made in memory of the late Max Fitzgerald, brother of former influencer Gemma Fitzgerald. Gemma and her young son, Ferdia, were rescued by the Dún Laoghaire RNLI crew in May of last year.
Commenting on the arrival, Gemma said: ‘Without the RNLI, Ferdia and I would not be here. They are a charity founded on values of selflessness and courage, the vast majority of whom are volunteers. We – and so many others – owe them our lives. Today is the realization of my long-held dream that Max should rest in peace, knowing the world is a better place because he lived among us. I am so grateful to the Gardaí, the RNLI and all the volunteers who help keep us safe, and I wish safe, speedy rescues to this wonderful vessel, MaxAttacks.’
Acknowledgements
To friend and agent, the wonderful Faith O’Grady, heartfelt thanks for the pep talks, the guidance and emails that arrive at exactly the right moment – I do wonder if you’re psychic. You set this voyage in motion, and I’m eternally grateful. Huge thanks also to the team at Lisa Richards for their support and professional brilliance.
To Captain of Editors, Patricia Deevy of Penguin Sandycove, a thousand thanks for your sharp eyes and relentless pursuit of the best version of the story – and for (let’s continue with the nautical metaphors) ensuring that I plug any leaks in the plot and batten down the hatches! The editorial team of Sarah Day, Leah Boulton and Natalie Wall have time and again saved me and basically thrown me a lifeline when I most needed it. Joyce Dignam at Penguin Sandycove, thank you for an insightful and important read; to Michael McLoughlin for encouragement and a most welcome phone call; and to the brilliant Sandycove flock – Cliona Lewis, Carrie Anderson, Louise Farrell, Leonor Pestana Araújo, Finn Roche and Lorna Browne – a thousand thanks. None of this would have happened without you. Thank you to the brilliant actors Martha Breen and Aisling Kearns who narrate the audiobooks and bring Laura and Niamh so vividly to life. Where would we writers be without the booksellers, librarians, bloggers and Instagrammers? Thank you so much for your support and for keeping the joy of reading alive.
Thank you, writer pals Clare Harlow and Gianna Pollero, for the earliest of early reads and for the ongoing friendship and support. Massive thanks to writer bestie Fiona Gartland for an emergency read at a crucial point (we were almost on the rocks …), and I want to thank the amazing crew of fellow crime writers who have welcomed me on board, buoyed me up and shown me the ropes. The support and friendship from the very start have been unbelievable. Cups of coffee and lunches and chats and even overnight stays away have been most gratefully enjoyed, along with encouragement and advice and the feeling that we are all in this together. I will never forget the sight of you all rocking up to my launch and I am so thankful for the fun, friendship and support – which has even extended to the sharing of precious anecdotes for Niamh to use. Thank you!
This story would not exist without the help of two brilliant young sailors. Firstly, thanks to Tom Flannery who gave me hours of his time explaining all matters related to sailing, followed by an all-access tour of the yacht club and a subsequent early-morning phone interview during his school holidays. The photos and notes I took that first day and in our subsequent conversations helped shape the story and kept me motivated. Huge thanks also to Lara MacWilliam for a fascinating discussion about the experience of preparing for sailing exams and capsizing practice, and the peaks and troughs of sailing. And to Ian MacWilliam, Commodore of Courtown Sailing Club 2021–2023 (also Lara’s dad), for yet more seafaring and sailing information, which I hope has added to the realism of this book.
Likewise, there would be no story without the help of Paul Cummins – who is (wait for it) a garda AND RNLI lifeboat coxswain! Thank you, Paul, for our lengthy talk and for your patient help with subsequent questions. Thanks to you and your RNLI colleagues Laura Jackson and James Traynor for the tour of the Dún Laoghaire RNLI lifeboat hut, for explaining the launch and rescue procedure, and for basically inspiring the whole rescue scene. I even got to study the book on search patterns! The work you do is truly amazing and I was honoured to get a glimpse into this world and to write about it.
Aoife Cooney, I was blown away by your honest and inspirational account of what’s involved in choosing to become a solo mum. Thank you for the long interview and for emails and messages that helped to build a realistic picture of what Niamh is embarking on in this book. Congratulations and continued joy to you and your wonderful family, living proof of how perseverance, vision and belief can bring about this happy ending.
As ever, there would be no Laura and Niamh, no Seskin West and no finished stories without the ongoing help of friend and garda Danni Cummins. Danni, your enthusiasm, patience and sense of adventure help bring these stories into being. Thank you, also, for allowing me to include a certain brilliant pair of boys who elbowed their way into the story, to my great delight.
