Chapter Seventeen #2
“I know it,” Cal says. The townland is scattered with these places, homes emptied by famine in the 1840s, orphaned by emigration in the seventies, left behind in the millennium rush to easier city jobs.
Mostly no one bothers to knock them down, whether for complicated zoning reasons or complicated sentimental reasons or just because there’s no particular need, who knows.
They get left for nature to repurpose in its own time: a map of small, bitter lost battles, forgotten now.
“So last night at Aidan’s,” Kate says, “we asked around, found out who was where that night. Then we talked to anyone that was near enough to the river or to Moynihans’ place, asked did they see anything. Most of ’em didn’t, but—”
“We were careful,” Trey reassures Cal. “We waited till everyone had a few drinks in them, and we made it sound like just gossip and shite. You know, ‘I heard Chelsea Moylan and Callum Bailey were in that house down Casey’s boreen and they heard someone screaming,’ and then people were like, ‘Nah, Chelsea had a free gaff so her and Callum went there, it was Zoe Greaney and her lot that were in the house.’ ”
“You, gossiping?” Cal says. “People fell for that?” He didn’t know Trey was capable of this kind of subtlety. He’s caught between being proud of how she’s grown and being suddenly sad, missing the half-feral little kid who had no strategies beyond charging at things head-on.
That gets him a grin from both of them. “People are thick,” Trey says.
“So then,” Kate says, “we went to Zoe and we were like, ‘Ohmygod, someone said you heard screams,’ and Zoe—”
“Zoe’s seriously fuckin’ thick,” Trey puts in.
“—Zoe was like, ‘That’s stupid, why would anyone scream when they killed themselves, and anyhow no one screamed, we woulda heard.’ So we went, ‘Didja see her go past?’ and Zoe went, ‘No, she musta come the other way, we saw no one only—’ ”
“Listen to this,” Trey says. She’s grinning again.
“ ‘—only Tommy Moynihan,’ ” Kate says. “Zoe and her mates, they saw Tommy Moynihan go down the road towards the old bridge that night.”
They both look at him, triumphant, stepping back to let him admire their kill.
“Well,” Cal says, being gentle about it, “a lot of people were out looking for Rachel that night. And Eugene was supposed to meet her at that bridge. Nothing weird about Tommy thinking to look for her there.”
“Nah,” Trey says. Her grin has widened. “We asked Zoe what time they saw him. Guess what she said.”
“Half-nine, about, or a little before,” Kate says.
“Zoe’s positive. Hannah Lynch was late getting there—she was minding her brothers, so she couldn’t come out till her parents got home.
So when the four of them heard someone coming, they thought it was Hannah.
They hid behind the wall by the road to scare her, and Tommy nearly caught them. ”
“You got that call at like half-three in the morning,” Trey reminds Cal. “No one was out looking for Rachel at half-nine.”
And Eugene said he and his parents were home together all night, till the search began.
In his head, Cal runs over his timeline.
Somewhere between seven o’clock and eleven, Rachel drank antifreeze.
Somewhere between eight and midnight, she went into the water.
Sometime that night, she might or might not have had plans to meet Eugene at the bridge.
Cal can’t think of a single harmless reason why Tommy should have gone to that meeting instead of Eugene.
For once, Tommy didn’t send a minion to do his dirty work. Tommy did it himself this time.
He says, “They didn’t tell anyone about this? The police, their parents, no one?”
“They’d said they were at each other’s,” Trey explains. “So they’da been in shite if anyone found out where they went. Zoe’s dad already said if he catches her drinking again, he’s gonna send her to boarding school.”
“And that house’s meant to be dangerous,” Kate says. “The ceiling’s falling in, like. We’re not supposed to go in there. So they’da got in hassle for that as well.”
Cal says, “Any chance they’re making it up?”
“Nah,” Trey says. “Zoe’s mates are even thicker than her. None a them even copped it could have anything to do with Rachel. They just thought Tommy had a one somewhere that he was going to see.”
Cal is heartily thankful they got this story when they did.
By the end of today, when the news of last night’s pub goings-on has spread, even dumb Zoe and her dumb buddies will see things very differently.
Either the story will expand into a lurid epic full of bloodcurdling screams and daring chases and people fainting from terror, or it’ll disappear altogether.
“It was pretty dark out there,” he says. “They sure it was Tommy?”
“I thought of that,” Trey says proudly. “I was like, ‘No way was it Tommy Moynihan, he’s fuckin’ ancient, he’s not going out looking for the ride. Coulda been anyone, in the dark.’ Zoe got all snotty—”
“She gets snotty with everyone,” Kate tells Cal. It takes him a second to realize she’s reassuring him that this Zoe kid isn’t picking on Trey.
“She was like, ‘Hello, I’m not blind, I was like this far from him, and he had his phone light on so he could see where he was going. It was Tommy. Is that OK with you?’ She’s positive.”
“Well,” Cal says. He looks at the two of them, vivid and alert as a pair of young hunting dogs, pulled forward on the edge of the sofa by their own eagerness.
He was a fool to forget about teenagers and their world, a separate layer underlying the adult world and invisible to it, the way wild creatures’ networks of roadways and meeting-places underlie human ones.
“Look at that. I think you got something.”
They’re both grinning, lit up by their triumph. “Yeah we did,” Trey says. “Someone hadta.”
Cal asks, “Could Zoe and her buddies see the bridge?”
“Nah,” Trey says. “There’s trees in the way.”
“They see where Tommy went to? See him coming back?”
“Nah,” Kate says. “I asked. I was like, ‘Oh my God, who’s Tommy riding, didn’t you watch and see where he went?
’ ” Her voice has turned high-pitched and breathless.
Trey is laughing. Cal likes the way she is around Kate, too.
Trey is wary of humans; her default is to withdraw into watchful silence.
Here, next to Kate on the sofa, she’s at ease.
“But Zoe went, ‘Ew, no, who gives a shit, we were freezing, we just went back inside and texted Hannah to see where the fuck she was.’ But there’s nothing down that road, only the old bridge. He hadta be heading there.”
“Now can we get him arrested?” Trey demands.
“Nope,” Cal says. And when Trey stiffens, ready to explode into outrage: “Kid. If some Guard shows up to interview Zoe Whatever and her buddies, they’re just gonna say they don’t know what he’s talking about, they were never there, you made the whole thing up.
And even if he pushes them hard enough that they come clean, then he goes to Tommy, and Tommy says he doesn’t know what they’re talking about, he was never there, they made the whole thing up.
And Clodagh and Eugene back him.” As he says it, he realizes he has a question mark over Eugene.
“Who do you figure the Guard’s gonna believe?
A bunch of teenagers who keep changing their story and who were probably drunk or stoned or both, or the Moynihans? ”
“Fuck’s sake—” Trey throws herself back on the sofa hard and furiously enough that Rip lifts his head. “You said we’d no fuckin’ evidence, we got fuckin’ evidence, now you’re like, ‘Nah, doesn’t count’— What do we haveta do?”
“You already did it,” Cal says. Kate is watching both of them, withholding any reaction till things become clearer. “You did great. We can use this. Just not to put anyone in jail.”
“Then how?”
Douche or not, Eugene genuinely cared about Rachel. And back in that hotel bathroom, at the funeral, he was showing signs of having had enough of bowing to Daddy’s say-so.
“I’m gonna have a talk with Eugene,” Cal says. “One-on-one.”
“What for?”
“Eugene knows something. I don’t know how much, but something’s been eating him. I can use what you got to pull it out of him.”
Trey accepts that with a sharp nod. “Then what?”
“First let’s see what he’s got,” Cal says. “Then we decide.”
“How’re you gonna get him on his own?” Kate asks. “Eugene won’t be going anywhere by himself, these days. Too scared he’ll get hopped on.”
“I don’t blame him,” Cal says.
“Send him a note,” Trey says. “Tell him you know something, meet you at—”
“No,” Cal says. “You think he’s gonna show without backup?” Trey tilts her chin, acknowledging this. “Eugene’s gotta get a little bit stir-crazy every now and then, cooped up in that house with his mama and daddy. He’ll come out.”
“We’ll keep an eye on the house,” Kate says. “If he goes out on his own, we’ll text you.” Trey nods.
“You’ve got school,” Cal reminds them. “Remember that?”
“Fuck school,” Trey says promptly.
“Maybe,” Cal says, “but you playing hooky gives Tommy ammo.” He can’t find a delicate way to point out that it would probably be good if Kate’s parents don’t get the impression that Trey is a bad influence. “I’ll keep my own eye on Eugene.”
“You’ll get caught,” Trey tells him. “Someone’ll see you, and Tommy’ll call the Guards, and you’ll get done for trespassing or stalking or whatever. If someone sees us, no one gives a shite about kids mitching.”
They have a point. “Where you planning on watching from?” Cal asks.
The two of them look at each other, consulting some shared inner map. “Not Geraghty’s hill,” Kate says. “The dog’ll lose its shit, and then Red Geraghty’ll lose his shit.”
“Yeah,” Trey says. “Fuck it, we’ll go right next door to Moynihans’: them trees on the ridge behind Nance Maguire’s. We’ll be able to watch the back of Moynihans’ as well as the front, and no one’ll see us in among the trees. Nance’s half blind anyhow.”