Chapter 64
Kirby shuffled a chair over to Martina’s bedside and sat down. She seemed relaxed in sleep. Her skin had lost that awful pallor it’d had last night. She looked better now than he himself had looked when he’d stared at his face in the mirror that morning while shaving.
He hadn’t slept a wink, twisting and turning, keeping Amy awake. In the end he had decamped to the spare room.
Martina’s eyes fluttered open.
‘Hi there,’ he said.
‘What… Where am I?’
‘You gave us all a shock. You’re in hospital.’
She struggled to sit up, lines of saline and other stuff Kirby didn’t know tangling on her arm and the sheets.
‘Easy. There’s enough cables here to wire a house. If you pull one out, I’ll faint.’
She smiled and relaxed back into the pillows. ‘What happened?’
‘Do you remember anything at all?’
‘Bits and pieces.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Clarice called me. Liam Scanlan was there. We went up to his place to talk.’ She scrunched her eyes. ‘That’s all I can recall. Did he hurt me?’
‘You could say that. Single stab wound to the abdomen.’ He read the panic on her face. ‘You’re grand. The docs were great. You had an operation and a blood transfusion. You’re going to be fine.’
‘I don’t feel fine.’ She closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘Why did he stab me? What’s he saying?’
‘We don’t know where he is. He’d done a runner by the time I realised you were in danger. I had to break down his bastard door to get in. Think I broke my big toe.’
‘You didn’t.’ She smiled.
‘No, but it’s bloody sore.’
‘You saved my life?’
‘Looks that way.’
‘Oh God. Now I’ll have to listen to you gloat about it until the day you retire.’
‘You just might.’ He smiled, so relieved that her humour was intact.
‘Thanks, Kirby.’
‘No bother. Can I ask a few questions?’
‘Fire ahead, but I can’t remember much yet.’
‘What did Scanlan say?’
She tried to shake her head, but it seemed to pain her. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What was his demeanour?’
She paused before she spoke. ‘He was on edge.’
‘Can you try to recall any of the conversation?’
‘He said something about client accounts and a message for Cam Healy. Something about a dead man walking. That’s the last thing I recall.’
‘Scanlan’s a dead man when I get my hands on him.’ Kirby took a few breaths to calm down. He’d once held a dying colleague in his arms and he did not ever want to do that again. ‘Anything else?’
‘I’m so sorry, Kirby. I’m bone tired.’
‘Don’t worry your head about it. Get some rest. I’d say the boss will call in later to see you.’ He stood to leave.
‘Where do you think he is?’ she asked, her voice so weak he barely heard her.
‘Everyone is on alert and searching for him.’
‘Find him. You need to find him before he tries to kill someone else.’
Matt Mooney parked opposite the Garda station and kept his eyes focused on the front door before he noticed the side entrance complete with remote-controlled gates.
What if McKeown came out that way? He knew from Chloe’s description that her abuser was tall and bald, a brute of a man.
He reckoned he’d know him if he exited via the front door, but maybe not if he came out in a car.
‘Shit,’ he groaned. He had no idea if McKeown was even in there.
But then a man came out the door pulling on a coat as he walked down the steps.
It had to be McKeown. He fitted the description Chloe had provided and the photo Mooney had hurriedly pulled from the Garda intranet.
He walked like a man with a destination in sight.
He turned right at the cathedral and went down the street.
Mooney got out of the car, dragged a jacket from the back seat, pinged the locks and followed his prey.
The night of alcohol at the comedy club had done Clarice no favours. She woke with a thumping headache that even three paracetamol couldn’t clear.
After a long shower, alternating between hot and cold, she felt no better and decided to phone in sick for work. She’d just flung herself on her bed to try and sleep off the hangover when her doorbell chimed.
It reminded her of yesterday afternoon and the detective trying to find that young garda. What was her name? Martina. Hopefully they’d caught up with her. She checked her phone, but there were no new messages or missed calls. The bell chimed again in an aggravating way.
‘I’m coming. Keep your knickers on.’ She checked herself in the bedroom mirror, her white T-shirt clinging to her damp skin, then pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and padded barefoot to the door.
Releasing the bolt, she found herself flying backwards into the living room. She landed sprawled on the floor.
‘What the—’
She hadn’t time to figure out who it was or to utter another word as a fist came down, smashing into her forehead. The last thing she saw was stars dimming in an inky black void.