The silence is creepy when I get to the forest, the only sounds are the birds and the crunch of leaves below my feet. I imagine Shay having a lot of fun here when he’s older. Hiding from his mammy. Making a treehouse with his daddy. Playing hide and seek with his pals who will always want to come and play with him because he’ll have all the best toys and will know how to share them. I’ll make sure of that. Just because his daddy owns the brewery does not mean he will be treated any differently from other kids.
The forest smells thick and damp. I make my way to the little cottage, where a dim light flickers from one of the windows. Smoke is coming from the chimney. Stepping into the clearing is like stepping back in time. Or onto a movie set where someone from the eighteenth century is baking bread and shooting at visitors.
There’s no bell or door knocker so I wrap my knuckle against the ageing wood and wait. Pat has never had any visitors that I’ve seen, apart from the detectives. It’s probably how he wants it. Otherwise, why would he live here? He had the option of moving into the town when Conor rebuilt the old house.
The sound of footsteps slowly approaches from behind the door, followed by a creak as the door pulls open. My heart is beating faster because I don’t know how Pat will welcome me. Lifting his hand to his cap he pulls on it gently and nods. The smell of burning logs wafts out from the open doorway. Pat says nothing, waiting for me to talk.
‘I brought you some cake,’ I say, holding out the parcel.
Pat looks at it.
‘It’s from the christening party yesterday. Little Shay was christened. I thought you might have called in but you didn’t, so here.’
I push the cake closer to him. Pat leans back, before slowly raising his hand to take it. He looks at the parcel like it is a bomb in his hand. Has no one ever given him anything before?
‘It’s just some cake,’ I say.
Pat nods, then moves to go back inside. If he closes the door, I won’t get a chance to say what I came here to say.
‘Pat.’
He turns his attention back to me.
‘I was wondering if we could have a chat. I think you might have made a mistake.’
Baggy skin droops over his piercing eyes, which are now fixed on me. I can feel my heart racing. Why am I nervous? He’s just an old man. What harm can he do? Pat remains silent, waiting for me to elaborate.
‘With Conor… you told the detective he left the house the night Vicky Murphy was killed.’
Pat keeps his stare on me.
‘Conor did leave the house that night. The alarm in the brewery went off and he had to go to switch it off. It’s faulty, it has happened a few times.’
I jerk backwards when Pat lifts his hand suddenly to scratch his forehead. He smiles. It’s not a ‘happy to see you’ smile. It’s more a sarcastic ‘you’ve gotta be kidding me’ grin. Why won’t he say anything?
Wrapping my arms across my chest, I shuffle from one foot to the other. Is he never going to speak?
I’ve almost given up hope when I hear Pat clear his throat with a raspy cough. His head bends forward but he remains standing in the same position.
‘Thanks for the cake,’ he says before turning to go back into the house.
What do I do? I can’t give up that easily.
‘Pat, please. You misread the situation. Conor had nothing to do with Vicky’s death, he’s not capable of that.’
He turns to me, his eyes a little less intense. Pat thinks I don’t know about the accident in the brewery. How he thought it wasn’t an accident.
‘If it’s because of the accident, Conor didn’t do it on purpose, Pat.’
He shrugs, disdain evident in his expression.
‘That was just an accident.’
I’m pleading with Pat when he says, ‘Is that what they told you?’
‘Yes. That’s what everyone says, including the coroner.’
‘Did they tell you about the argument?’
‘No… what argument?’
‘The day of the so-called “accident”. Conor and Seamus?’
I feel like I’m shrinking in front of him. ‘There was an argument? The day of the accident? But…’
Deirdre never mentioned this to me. I’m shocked to hear it but what has it to do with the night Vicky Murphy died? Pat clearly believes that Seamus’s accident