I do? Conor thinks he can just fob me off. Tell me nothing. Until now, I thought he was trying to protect me by not sharing what was going on with Detective Fintan Ryan or the details of his father’s death and today, the argument with Pat. Now, I’m not so sure.
‘I saw you through the window, Conor. That wasn’t just talking, your face is still red, I want to know what’s going on.’
Conor needs to know he can tell me anything, that I’m not going to judge him, I just want to know what’s going on. If Pat did something, I need to know. He lives in my back garden. He lives in Shay’s back garden.
Throwing his jacket on the back of the high stool before grabbing a bottle of water, Conor moves to the island counter that stands between us. The bottle cap rolls to the floor when he puts it on the counter. Conor pours water down his throat. I’m watching him, waiting for him to speak.
‘He’s a fucking idiot, that man.’
Wow, that’s new, Conor cursing! What has Pat done? Whatever it is, he’s clearly upset Conor. I’ve never heard him give out about Pat before, ever. In fact he had a notebook of nice things to say about him when he broke the news to me that Pat lived out the back.
‘Why, what happened?’ Taming the excitement exploding inside me, I casually walk to the cooker to continue destroying the dinner.
Conor picks up the three letters on the counter that arrived earlier. Bills mostly – no more threatening cards, I hope. He drops them back down without opening them. Resting both hands on the counter he leans forward, anger shaping his face.
‘You’re not going to believe what that fool told the detective from Dublin.’
‘What?’ My heart leaps when I hear the word detective.
‘He told them he saw me leaving the house in the middle of the night, the night Vicky Murphy was killed.’
Rendered silent, I drop the scourer that I was using to remove the burnt sauce from the hob and slowly turn around.
‘Why would he say that, Conor?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And did you leave the house?’ Searching my thoughts for an explanation, I feel my breathing picking up speed. ‘Did the brewery alarm go off that night?’
Conor is rubbing his hand through his hair, staring at the countertop before looking up at me.
‘Yes… but he shouldn’t have said anything to that detective. Now they’re going to drag me into this shit.’
‘But you didn’t do anything, Conor, don’t worry…’ but my words dissolve in my mouth. Conor left the house the night Vicky Murphy was killed. I never heard him. My heart is thumping like a bass drum at a New Orleans funeral but I must appear calm on the outside. With my hand across the back of his neck, I lean against his body, closer to his face.
‘It will be alright, Conor. What did they say?’
Conor shrugs from under my embrace and straightens himself. He looks bothered, lifting the letters in his hand before throwing them back down on the counter.
‘What did who say?’
‘The investigators, when they spoke to you.’
‘They didn’t speak to me yet.’
‘Well, how do you know that Pat told them then?’
He looks at me, mouth closed, eyes fixed on mine. He’s deciding whether to tell me or not.
‘Who told you, Conor?’
‘I got a call, someone giving me the heads-up.’
‘Who?’ I can guess who, but I want him to tell me.
‘Ah look, it doesn’t matter, it’ll probably come to nothing.’
‘Who was it, Conor?’
Shoulders slumped, he takes his jacket from the back of the chair and walks towards the door.
‘Fintan called me.’
‘Fintan?’
‘Ye, he just wanted to warn me. He’s a good man, Fintan.’
‘Can he do that?’
‘Probably not supposed to… but we go back a long way and I’m glad he did. At least now I’m prepared.’
* * *
When Conor leaves the room, I lift two cuts of steak from the plate by the hob and slap them on the hot griddle. Their sizzle is now the only sound in the room. My hands are shaking. Conor left the house to fix the alarm that night. The night before Shay was born. Why didn’t I hear the phone beep? And Pat, if he told the cops he saw Conor leave during the night, does he believe Conor had something to do with Vicky’s death? Could Pat have sent the card? My mind is scrambled. My stomach sick. My husband has no alibi.