Cross - Ken Bruen [20]
She put out her hand and said, 'Pleased to meet you.'
Jesus.
I muttered some cliché about their loss and she nodded. I caught a glimpse of her eyes and wished to Christ I hadn't. If there is a step beyond anguish, beyond torment, she was there. We stood, an awkward trio, no one sure what to do.
So I tried, 'I hate to intrude, but I'm looking into the circumstances of John's . . .' And for the life of me I couldn't find an apt word – death, demise, murder, all too harsh.
Instead of asking me on what authority I was thus engaged, she said, 'We're very grateful.'
Out of desperation, I asked if I could see his room and the father led me to a small back room. He said, 'We haven't touched anything.'
A young man's room: the bed unmade, a bookcase with car magazines, a CD player and a rack of music. I stood there and wondered what the hell I was doing.
After five minutes, I went back to the couple and asked, 'What was John like?'
Got an outpouring of love and affection. He was an ordinary lad – played football, worked in a garage, had lots of friends.
The front door opened and a girl came in. I knew instantly she was their daughter, from the photo on the cabinet. Hard to fool a professional investigator.
The mother said, 'We'll leave you with Maria. She and John were very close.'
After they'd shuffled out, she stared at me and asked, 'How is this any of your business? Did you know John?'
I said I didn't, but that as the Guards weren't making any progress, I wanted to see if maybe I could help.
She digested that, asked, 'Are you being paid?'
'No, but . . .'
She wasn't angry, just confused.
'So you're just a good guy who goes round helping out, righting wrongs, that it?'
Before I could answer, she said, 'You're full of shit.'
I felt on firmer ground. Aggression suits me best, none of that polite tiptoeing, so I said, 'I'd have thought you'd welcome any help available.'
She studied me for a minute, not much liking what she saw, then said, 'Who gives a fuck what you thought? John isn't coming back. Would you do me a favour?'
'Sure, if I can.'
'Leave us the hell alone. Would you do that? Go play Superman with someone who gives a fuck.'
Then she walked me to the door, her body language saying, You're gone.
As she watched me begin to walk away she said, 'Another thing, Mr Taylor, the mints don't work.'
I knew that, right?
Back at my apartment, I put on Tom Russell's Road to Bayamon. There's a bitter-sweet song there, 'William Faulkner In Hollywood'. Made me yearn for a better life and I had to stop it mid track. Rang Ridge. She sounded her usual hostile self.
'What?' she grunted.
'Did you know a Guard, Eoin Heaton?'
A pause as she weighed up the reason I might be inquiring.
'Yes, I knew him. Why?' Her voice was dripping with aggression.
'They kicked him out, right?'
A sigh and then, 'Yes, he suffered from your complaint.'
I didn't need to ask what that was, so I tried 'Was he any good, as a Guard?'
She waited a beat, then said, 'They threw him out. How good could he have been?'
I wanted to shout at her, tell her to climb down off the bloody high horse, but instead asked – and I had to strain, no doubt about it, I was literally finding it hard to hear – 'What did he do, apart from drink? What were the grounds for dismissal, or are you sworn to secrecy?'
'He took a bribe to let a man off a drink-driving charge.'
I hadn't anything to say so she added, 'You probably approve of that, and think he was harshly dealt with.'
Enough, I thought, so I lashed out with, 'How would you know what I think?' Then I took a deep breath and asked, 'Did you know John had a brother? I've been to see the family, met the parents and the sister. I really think – and it's a strong feeling, a gut instinct – that you should find out about this brother. Can you do that? Anything, everything on him you can get.'
She was silent for a moment, then asked, 'You really think it's that important?'
'Absolutely.'
I at least had her attention and just before she hung up she said, 'OK, what's to lose?'
After I'd put the