They passed a late-night convenience store on the way back to the Travelodge.
“I need to pop in here,” he said, opening the door for her.
“I’ll wait outside.”
“No you won’t.” He wasn’t going to leave her alone for a second, but she stood at the counter while he went to the back of the shop. He returned within thirty seconds holding aloft a bottle of Jameson’s.
“You’re a bad influence, so you are. The Irish like a wee drink, but I’m strugglin’ to keep up with you.”
“The night is young and I’m not ready for sleep. Anyway, we need to discuss tomorrow’s agenda.” They let themselves into the hotel and stopped by her door. “Yours or mine,” he said brandishing the bottle.
“I’ll get a tumbler from my room and join you in a minute.”
He had to wait ten. He washed his hands and face, paced the room, adjusted the bedside lamps three times, played with the room thermostat and peeked through the curtains twice to check for any movement in the car park. He checked his phone and saw an email from Henry with three attachments and one from Clive with the subject: “Offer Received”, but it was too late to respond and anyway, he had more important things on his mind. When he eventually heard the knock on the door, his pulse quickened, and he rushed to open it.
Caitlín had discarded her coat, brushed her hair and reapplied her make-up and perfume, judging by the scent that greeted him in the doorway. She stepped inside, brandishing a plastic tumbler, and sat on one of the twin beds. He sat opposite, unscrewed the cap from the bottle and poured them both a generous shot.
“Slainte,” he said.
She waited until he’d raised the tumbler almost to his lips. “To Eamonn Flynn,” she said. It wasn’t what he expected but then she never stopped surprising him. He’d been getting carried away again and raising a toast to Flynn suddenly deflated him. The guy was obviously still on her mind and it made him feel uncomfortable, as if her ex-lover were in the room with them. He suppressed the urge to kiss her, or at least, to ask her permission. He knew enough not to take anything for granted, even if like him, she’d freshened up in anticipation.
“Eamonn.” He joined in the toast and they sipped their whiskey. The burning sensation in his throat shocked his senses and instantly emboldened him. He was jealous and he knew it. “Did you love him?” It came out without thinking and he braced himself for a slap, but she showed no reaction, concentrating on the contents of her plastic tumbler and swirling the amber liquid around. She made him wait, as she had done several times before. He didn’t know whether it was meant to turn him on, but it was working none the less.
“No.” She paused, allowing the word to sink in and he had to bite his tongue to distract his brain and stop it forcing his mouth to say something stupid. “I loved what he was tryin’ to do but I had no confidence he could carry it out. He was on a path of self-destruction and if I could have stopped him I would because I knew it would kill him in the end. If I had loved him, I would have been able to do that. I would have been able to persuade him to leave his wife and weans and run away with me. But I would also have had to persuade him the Church had manipulated him and abused him, just like they did his mammy and me. He was too far gone for that. He found God in a way he had never known before. He loved God and he would never love me as much and I couldn’t forgive that. I don’t know if he was crazy before he found God, but I have no doubt he was crazy when he hanged himself.”
She pulled a tissue from the sleeve of her blouse and wiped her nose. It was irrational of him to be relieved, but he was, knowing he wasn’t in competition with a dead man. Whatever she thought about him, it didn’t sound like she wished she were with Eamonn instead.
“Did you love Natalie?” He hadn’t seen the question coming. This was supposed to be about her, not him, and anyway, he didn’t want to discuss his past.
“Of course.”
“Why of course?” She was putting him on the spot again, challenging him to explain his feelings and he wasn’t comfortable with it.
“I married her, we had a baby together, we had a life together. Or would have.”
“If she hadn’t chosen to end it.” It exposed the lie; the assumption that Natalie had taken the easy way out to avoid a lifetime of misery, with or without Jack Fleming. He’d always felt guilty he hadn’t done more to help her. Her suicide had shocked him, but he couldn’t in all honesty say he was surprised. He knew her depression would come to a head at some point, but he never imagined it would kill her. It rekindled his guilt. The woman he met at university; the woman he had lusted over because of her vivacity, her intoxicating blend of carefree abandon and artistic creativity had, over time changed into someone else; someone he didn’t love enough to devote his very being to her happiness and ultimately, her survival. He took another sip of the whiskey.
“I loved her once upon a time, but the love must have died at some point or else she would still be here. I don’t remember it happening, there was no single event or occasion or day when I suddenly thought it was all over. And she must have felt the same; not feeling able to ask for my help and not having the courage to break free and start again.”
“Maybe she did it for you. Maybe she did it because she loved you and she loved Charlie and thought you’d be better off without her?”
“Is that what you think about Eamonn?”
“Eamonn never said he loved me. No one ever said they loved me.” From anyone else, it would have been attention seeking, a statement designed to elicit a response to the contrary, whether its basic premise was true or not. But Jack Fleming knew Caitlín well enough to realise it was true and that she was only stating a fact, regardless of how distressing it might be for her, if at all. He reached out to touch her hand, pulled it towards him and kissed the back. He wouldn’t be drawn. He knew how he felt, he just didn’t trust himself to say it yet and he didn’t think she expected it. He decided a change of subject was in order.
“So, where’s the fifteen million?”
“All I know is it’s in a Swiss bank.”
“But you don’t know whose account?”
She fingered the gold chain he’d seen around her neck, reached down the front of her blouse and pulled out an intricate key attached to the end. “I do have this. It’s for a deposit box at a Swiss bank in London called Reinhardt Baer. I don’t know exactly what’s in the box; Eamonn just said it contained everythin’ I needed to know.”
“What did he expect you to do? Carry on where he left off? This was his mission, his obsession. Why did he dump it on you?”
“He said Maguire was getting’ suspicious and knew somethin’ was up. However hard he tried to act normally, his routines and his movements had changed, he had to tell lies to cover up what he was doin’ and he knew he would trip himself up. I don’t think he properly thought through the implications until it was too late. He said if anythin’ happened to him, I could do whatever I wanted with the money. Maguire would be goin’ down anyway and that was a good thing for the world.”
“He didn’t expect you to hand it over to the Church?”
“I told him, so I did. No way was I helpin’ out the Catholic Church and he said that was fine. I told him the money could sit there forever as far as I was concerned but I thought once Maguire was ruined, I’d hand it over to someone I trusted.”
“Who?”
“There is no one I trust.”
“Well, the first thing we do is get down to the bank, find out what’s in the deposit box and then maybe it’ll all become clear.”
“I’m worried that box has Pandora’s name on it.”
“We’ve got to get you out of danger, you can’t keep running forever. How did Maguire find out about you?”
“I don’t know, maybe Eamonn’s phone?”
“I can’t see it. If they had his phone, they’d know pretty much everything. He must have destroyed it.”
“But I started gettin’ calls from strange numbers. I never answered any number I didn’t know, and no one left any voicemails apart from Louise Harrison.”
“And you said she was investigating The Sisters?”
“Aye. She told me she had been workin’ on a story about historical abuse in the Church. She’d been to The Sisters and they’d slammed the door in her face. She said Eamonn had told her about me, and she wanted to hear my story.
“How did she meet Eamonn?”
“She said he contacted her a couple of weeks before he died and told her about The Sisters. She knew he was part of the Maguire family and was convinced there was a connection and that his death might not have been suicide.”
“Did you ever doubt it?”
“I knew it couldn’t have been Maguire. He needed Eamonn to get his hands on the money. I have no doubt once he’d done that, he’d kill him, but not before.”
“What did she think?”
“She thought it was possible. Maguire had a reputation, and she and everyone else knew he was a villain, but they never pinned anythin’ on him, probably because he had powerful friends. But if he was goin’ to execute one of his own family, he would just shoot him in the head and blame the Provos. He wouldn’t make it look like suicide.”
“And did you tell her your story?”
“I told her it was true, but I wasn’t prepared to go into any personal stuff or go on record about it.”
“Why not?” She flashed him an angry look. He hadn’t been looking for all the gory details, just trying to make sense of it all. “I’m sorry. I take that back. I know I say stupid things sometimes but I’m just trying to help.” He took her hand and squeezed it and it seemed to calm her. “So Louise starts digging around at The Sisters again and eventually, someone shoots her. Jesus, it’s too hideous to think about.”
“That’s why I don’t think about it or talk about it. I’ve enough to worry about with Maguire and his money. The Sisters will be exposed one day. It’s just a matter of time. You can’t keep that stuff buried forever.”
“But what if they’re still at it? Still abusing the women they claim to protect.” She had no answer to the question and nor did he. But he knew the priority was to deal with Eamonn’s legacy, whatever that might be.
He had formed a picture of a young, ginger haired Irishman; tormented with guilt for his unwitting involvement in organised crime, and the extreme measures he took to neutralise it at huge personal risk; his life then turned upside down by the revelation of his Catholic origins, his birth in a convent to a fallen woman called Mary who named him Jesus; his subsequent conversion to Catholicism and his urge not only to support the work of The Sisters but also to help rebuild the Catholic Church using the devil’s ill-gotten gains. It must have been a Damascene conversion, believing he had been put on earth to do God’s work. And then realising he would fail, handing this young woman a poisoned chalice in full knowledge that she had serious misgivings about the Church and especially, The Sisters, before taking his own life. It was inconceivable The Sisters were involved in assassination, but he could not see what would make Eamonn Flynn kill himself and put Caitlín in mortal danger.
“We’re missing something here Caitlín.”
“Pour me another drink will you?”
He splashed another inch into the plastic cups. “When did Eamonn give you the key?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Did he tell you the game was up and he was going to kill himself?”
“No! He just said he wanted me to have it for safekeepin’, and if anythin’ happened to him I should do whatever I wanted with the money, includin’ givin’ it back if necessary.”
“He must have anticipated it then.”
“Anticipated what?”
“That his father-in-law would find out. Did he tell you about Louise?”
“No, he never mentioned her. I only found out about her when she left me a voicemail and that was after he was dead.”
“How long after he gave you the key, did he kill himself.”
She tried to think. “I dunno. Maybe just a week or two? Then after he died, my boss told me two men had come to the office lookin’ for me wantin’ to ask about Eamonn Flynn. Next day, I jumped ship and went back to Dublin but I knew they were on to me and it was only a matter of time, so I decided I needed to disappear.”
“And you never thought of going to the bank to find out what was in the box.”
“Oh aye. I thought about it alright, but to be honest I just wanted it all to go away. I wasn’t goin’ to take on Maguire but I wasn’t goin’ to help the bastard either. Eamonn said if I did nothin’ the loans would be called in and Maguire’s empire would collapse.”
“But it hasn’t.”
“Not yet. But Maguire must know somethin’ or why else would he be chasin’ me?”
“He knows you have something belonging to him. That could be the key, the money, or the information needed to get the money or maybe even something else. How could he know that unless he got it from Eamonn?”
“Are you sayin’ they tortured Eamonn until he told them I had the key, then killed him and made it look like suicide?”
“It’s possible.”
“No way! They would have just come round my house and that would be the end of it. They don’t know what I’ve got. They just know I can help them.”
“And how do they know that? If Eamonn didn’t tell them then someone else did.”
“Louise?”
“Maybe she was working for Maguire?”
“I don’t believe that.”
“But she knew you’d changed your name. The two emails you got on the Isle of Wight were to Sineád O’Callaghan. Did you tell her?”
“Aye. But just her and I only gave her an email address. If she’d been workin’ for Maguire, they would have found me a lot quicker than that.”
“Well, whoever it was, it was someone Eamonn trusted as much as he trusted you.”
“He said there was no one he trusted. Apart from me.”
The few facts he had rattled around his brain, but there was still something missing. It didn’t all fit together neatly. He was minded of the time they tested their first pump design and it kept failing even though they’d checked every component, every dimension, every mathematical calculation a hundred times or more until he’d been close to despair. Except that he knew the answer was there somewhere and probably staring him in the face. All the known variables had been checked which meant that the cause was a variable that was presently unknown or previously discarded as impossible.
“Thank you,” she said, breaking his thought process. “Thank you for bein’ here. I’m sorry you got dragged into my nightmare.” He squeezed her hand again.
“Caitlín, if you remember, I kept nagging you until you told me what was up. You did your best to get rid of me, but I’m glad you told me, and I now understand why you kept it to yourself.”
“Do you? Do you really understand?”
“I want to, if you’ll let me.” He saw the tears welling up and then overflow.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I think I need to go to bed.”
She started to get up, but he held on to her hand. “I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I can’t sleep with you. Not yet.” It wasn’t what he’d meant, but he felt some regret. He also felt sanguine about it; she’d demonstrated a resolve that he recognised and had come to respect.
“You did last night,” he said, winking at her. “On the sofa.”
“That was different.” He was relieved he’d hit the right tone; she was actually amused. “And I’d have to slap you first.”
He grinned and pulled her to her feet. “Go back to your room. I’ll give you ten minutes to get ready, then I’ll come and sleep in the other bed. Provided you’re okay with that?”
“Do you think I’ll slip away in the night?”
He knew she was teasing him but he couldn’t deny the thought had crossed his mind. He kissed her forehead.
“Ten minutes.”