Mannix

RIVERSIDE DRIVE, MANHATTAN

HALLOWEEN

It was past ten o’clock when they got back to upper Manhattan. Mannix knew that Kate was dreading that Du Bois might be on duty and was relieved to see he wasn’t. She couldn’t face him, knowing what they knew. In the cab, Kate had told the kids that there had been an accident at home, that they would be heading back to Ireland ahead of plan, just as soon as they could change their tickets.

“Is it the lady who’s staying in our house?” asked Fergus.

“Yes, Fergus. It is. She’s had an accident. A dreadful accident.”

Without asking any more questions, the children seemed to know that she was dead.

“I’d better go and pack my things,” said Izzy, making for her room.

“Me too,” said Fergus, sadly. He fiddled with the shoulder straps of his backpack. Mannix knew that Fergus would spend the next hour or so packing and repacking his suitcase, until it was just to his liking. Red T-shirts could not be packed on top of navy ones. Dirty underwear would have to be bagged in three layers of plastic bags and at the opposite end of the suitcase from his toilet bag. The task would take even longer tonight, as Fergus was upset at the news. Bravely trying to absorb it all, but upset nonetheless.

Mannix was upset too. Tragedy had come to visit them. A knot of dread twisted in his gut. He knew that this was bad, all right. And it was also possible that at this moment, Mannix was the only one who knew just how bad this was.

Heart in his mouth, he turned his mobile phone back on and waited for the signal to appear. Sure enough, just as Spike had said, there they were. Seventeen missed phone calls. Spike had been trying him for hours. Releasing a held-in breath, Mannix began to check his texts. There were only three since he last used the phone. All from the same sender, just as he expected. Holding his breath again, he opened them in quick succession.

Jesus.

Mannix steadied himself, feeling his knees about to buckle. He read the texts again. Christ, no! This couldn’t be right. He was misinterpreting. But already his head was full of horrible images. He was reading too much into the words, he must have read them wrongly. But after a third and rapid scan, the meaning of the words was sinking in, their significance ever more terrifying.

As only Mannix could know, the texts had a hidden meaning. Though the messages were disguised, they had a certain logic. The awful truth was there in front of him. And yet Mannix was the only one who knew. He felt himself go clammy and he started to perspire. This whole day had taken a terribly wrong turn.

“Mannix!” shouted Kate from the bedroom.

He was going to have to tell Kate. He was going to have to tell her now.

“Coming,” he called, as he splashed cold water on his face from the tap in the kitchen. Mannix walked slowly to the bedroom. He would tell her now. He’d somehow find the words.

“I’ve got something to show you,” said Kate, sitting on the bed. She was holding something in her lap.

“What’s that?”

He allowed himself to be distracted.

“It’s a diary. It’s Hazel Harvey’s diary . . .”

Taken aback, Mannix sat on the bed. His stomach was churning. “I dunno, Kate, isn’t that disrespectful?” He stalled for time.

“Yes, Mannix, of course it is. And in the normal run of events, I wouldn’t dream of it. But whatever is going on here, it’s a far cry from any kind of normal. A bloody far cry indeed.” Kate was shaking her head.

Mannix stared at her, and opened his mouth to speak, but she continued.

“This was the book that Hazel had left behind. The one from the other night—that Du Bois asked us to take up to the apartment here, remember?”

He nodded.

“I didn’t realize,” said Kate. “I had no idea what it was. I had a quick flick through, I didn’t mean to pry. I meant to put it down but something caught my eye. And I didn’t say anything to you at the time because I felt like I was spying, and I know how much you hate gossip . . .”

What was Kate talking about? Was all of this really necessary, with everything else going on? He felt his eyes glaze over.

“Mannix, are you all right? You’re sweating . . .”

“It’s just that it’s a bit hot in here. Don’t you think it hot?”

“I’ll turn down the controls. Just you read this page and the following three or four. All the entries are about the same time, all in September.” Kate laid the open diary on his lap.

Finding it difficult to concentrate, he let his eyes come into focus and rest on the open page. As he followed the handwriting, he could see why Kate had been so disturbed.

Hazel Harvey had been a woman in distress. In some considerable emotional and physical distress. A surge of surprise ran through him as he read. It was all here. Verbal abuse. The punch in the stomach. Her head smacked up against a wall. A bruised throat and face. An initial reluctance followed by an inability to return to work. He read on. Hazel mentioned a friend called Elizabeth who was advising her. Advising her to go the authorities.

An able writer, Hazel clearly communicated the fear and the naked violence that was being waged against her. And yet for some reason, Hazel Harvey was reluctant to leave him. Reluctant to call time on her marriage. In Mannix’s eyes, there were fewer creatures further down the food chain than men who beat their women. Hazel Harvey had clearly seen the holiday in Ireland as an effort to patch up her toxic marriage.

“Well, what do you think?” Kate came back with a glass of ice water.

“I can see where you’re coming from, Kate,” he said, head pounding and heart racing.

“So, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.

Mannix didn’t answer. Already his head was in another place, another time. He was thinking back to his forty-third birthday. The day he ran like a scalded cat from Joanne Collins’s flat.

 • • • 

It was nearing the end of August 2011 and Mannix was almost forty-three. Everyone had assumed he was morose because he was unhappy about getting older. Kate had noticed it. Spike had noticed it. Even the kids had noticed it.

“How’s tricks? Midlife crisis, is it, Mannix?” asked cheeky Jim, the newly employed building maintenance guy.

“Listen, you little shite, don’t think because you’ve been taken on as permanent, you can speak to your elders like that!” Mannix told him.

“Ah, sure, you’ll be getting an open-top car that’s too small for you next, and a bit of a young one on the side . . .”

He’d glared at Jim, who realized then that he’d gone too far. Things in Mannix’s life were far from simple at the moment. This latest business with Joanne had really freaked him out. Mannix suddenly realized the damage of false expectation, the folly of living in such a fantasy. And he was genuinely fearful of where Joanne had thought this thing they had was going.

Joanne hadn’t played by the rules. The rules were no commitment, no expectation. This was not a relationship. It was a thing. A sex thing. Mannix had his family. Joanne had Grace. But he had been misled. He thought about that awful evening after work. It had struck him like a thunderbolt then, just how stupid he’d been. Why did he think he’d be the one to get away with it? But there was no way Mannix could have expected that.

He could still see it now. The blue and white iced cake. The squiggly icing piped around the sides. Four white candles. The piped blue writing. And those three words. Happy Birthday Daddy. He remembered staring dumbstruck and then looking at Grace’s smiling face. Poor little Grace. No three words had ever struck such terror in his heart. He’d turned on his heel and run from the flat, unable to deal with the shock. Unable to deal with the monumental leap that Joanne had made.

“You are kidding me, Manny?” Spike had said when he told him. “Joanne Collins?” Spike shook his head in disbelief. “Joanne Collins, of all people—that mad dancer from out in County Limerick?”

Mannix hung his head. He didn’t know if Joanne was from out the county or not. He really knew precious little about her. Here’s what Mannix knew: Joanne had a great body. They had a bit of a laugh together. He enjoyed the sex. Beyond that he didn’t care. But poor Grace. Why did she have to be brought into it? That had altered everything.

“But I could have told you all about her, Manny. That woman has form . . .” Spike speaking sagely and shaking his head.

“What does that mean?”

Mannix had a feeling he wouldn’t like what he was going to hear.

“Well, bro, she’s a stage five clinger, for a start. Joanne Collins has been in and out of my nightclub for years. Desperate to find a man. Prefers the married guys for some reason. All the guys she’s been with before had wives and families. Last I knew, she was with that property developer J. J. Hogan.”

All the guys she’d been with before? Wives? Families? The words were ringing in Mannix’s ears. Mocking him. J. J. Hogan? Christ, she’d been there? That guy was a tube. The more he thought about it, the more he realized what a fool he had been. So Mannix had just been another gullible candidate in a long line of liaisons?

“What am I going to do here, Spike?”

Mannix really had no feel for quite how worried he needed to be. Maybe it wouldn’t be a problem. He could extricate himself gently and Joanne might be content to let things slide, upset at first, but sensitively handled, she might let him go, and after an interval, she’d be ready to move on to the next guy.

“You need to make it plain that this is over,” said Spike. “I don’t know what stunts she’s pulled in the past but I never heard of one like this. She obviously really likes you, Manny. And it sounds like her kid certainly does.”

“Thanks, Spike. Just what I wanted to hear. That really helps,” he said sarcastically.

“You asked,” said Spike.

“Look, I’m sure I’ll think of something,” said Mannix, “but do you think she’s likely to cause me trouble?”

“Tell Kate, you mean?”

“Exactly.”

The very thought of it made him shiver. He couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t—even contemplate it.

Spike appeared to give his worry some consideration. “No . . . no, I don’t think so,” he said. “Look, Manny, I can’t say for sure but I don’t think the woman is a home wrecker. I never heard of any of the other guys’ wives ever finding out. But like I say . . .” He left the sentence hanging.

There it was again, that phrase, “the other guys.” Mannix had known it was only sex, a bit of fun, a beer or a glass of red wine or two. So why did he feel sullied and cheap? Had he really expected this woman to be his little secret? Why shouldn’t she have a past? It was a free world. Why shouldn’t she sleep with whoever she wanted? And yet Mannix couldn’t now get that picture out of his head. Joanne with J. J. Hogan. Loudmouthed, smarmy J. J. Hogan, who owed money to half the town.

Spike ran a hand over his stubbly chin. “I must say I’m a trifle surprised at you, Manny. I always thought that you and Kate were good.”

“We were. That is to say, we are.” He suddenly felt defensive. “It’s just that in the last year, with the money hassles and everything, I guess I took my eye off the ball.”

“Don’t talk to me about hassle. I’ve got those psycho Bolgers breathing down my neck.”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Mannix. “But I do love her, Spike. I do love Kate.”

“She’d have your guts for garters, Manny . . .”

“Please!” Mannix held up a hand signaling Spike to stop.

“I’m just saying.”

“Well, don’t.”

“It’s not as if you’re a saint yourself, Spike,” Mannix added.

“But I’m not the one who’s married, Manny.”

Mannix was taken by surprise. Spike was giving him that look. The look that Kate sometimes gave him. The disappointed look—the look he absolutely hated. Such opprobrium from his laid-back brother stung.

“I don’t get you, Spike . . .” Mannix shook his head.

“Ah, jeez, Manny. Marriage isn’t for me, even I know that. I’m not cut out for it.” Spike blew a smoke ring in the air. “But you—I looked up to you, Manny. I thought you and Kate would make a go of it. You, Kate, and the kids. Hell, Manny—you guys are the only decent family I’ve got. It means a lot to me, Mannix, you know . . .”

Mannix sat stunned by his brother’s outburst. Spike was not given to such frank exchanges. Serious matters were normally only hinted at or approached sideways. Rarely full-on.

Spike stubbed out his cigarette and looked Mannix solemnly in the eye. “I know I act the maggot. I know I play Kate up from time to time. But you’re my family.” He paused. “Hey, where would I go to watch my Man U matches? I enjoy those winter evenings on the couch—you, me, and Ferg. Where would I go for my Christmas dinner?” Spike laughed, half joking, half serious.

“Stop it, Spike!” Mannix’s heart had started to race. “Stop painting a doomsday scenario! Kate doesn’t know anything. And that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

“Well, I hope so, Mannix. For all our sakes. You’d better sort it out, bro.”

“Don’t worry, I’m on it.”

“Good. Kate’s one of the good guys, you know, Mannix. She’s a great girl.”

“Enough, okay! I get the message.”

Mannix left Spike’s flat, grubby, dejected, and very worried. So, was he safe? He didn’t know. He would have to think very carefully how he was going to phrase his exit speech, his get-out-of-jail-free speech.

And the way it happened, it was Joanne who made the first move. It was the second-ever e-mail she’d sent him, having agreed that she wouldn’t again use his company e-mail. They had agreed to communicate by text. Perhaps by breaking that arrangement and e-mailing him again, it might concentrate his attention even more.

In the slew of e-mails in his in-box, hers was the one that clamored for attention. Mannix blinked and blinked, hoping it would melt away, be swallowed by the screen, flip and twist, invert and fade, in some fancy animation.

“We need to talk.”

That’s what it said. “We need to talk.” Mannix sat at his desk, repeating the words again and again to himself.

“Give it to her straight,” Spike had said. “Give it to her straight and then get out. Don’t look back.”

Mannix had replied by text, agreeing to meet her in the flat in Pery Square on one condition. It would be only the two of them. Grace could not be there. Mannix felt shoddy. How could he look that child in the eye again after running out on her surprise? How could he explain that he could never be her father? It struck him then just how preposterous the whole notion was. And again he asked himself, for the millionth time, what had Joanne been thinking of?

Mannix had enough on his plate with two kids of his own. But perhaps that was not entirely fair. Izzy generally never caused a moment’s angst or bother. He smiled and tooted the car horn as he dropped her off outside Girl Guides. She hadn’t seemed particularly talkative in the car tonight but he supposed he was so preoccupied himself, he couldn’t say for sure.

But Fergus. Fergus made up for all the lack of demands that Izzy made on them emotionally. There were times that just being in his company, Mannix could feel his energy slowly draining away. It wasn’t a thought he’d ever felt inclined to share with Kate. Her love was truly unconditional. He sometimes wondered at his own. This evening there had been yet another dimension to their troubles with Fergus. All because of that little scumbag Frankie Flynn. As soon as the business with Joanne was sorted, he’d get on to that.

His thoughts turned to Grace. Grace was a nice kid. She liked art and crosswords and baking. He remembered helping her with a crossword puzzle for homework when Joanne couldn’t answer the clue. He complimented a poster she’d done in a calendar competition. She’d made him flapjacks once. But that hardly constituted being in loco parentis, now, did it? Mannix could not think of a single instance where he’d intentionally led them on. In fact, he’d always felt embarrassed when Grace was around, preferring instead to call when he knew she’d have gone to bed. No, he’d examined his conscience and satisfied himself that in Grace’s regard, he had nothing to blame himself for. Whatever had happened was down to Joanne. It was her doing.

“I had Grace stay at my sister’s,” said Joanne, opening the basement door. “She’s about the only one I could trust with Grace’s meds.”

Oh, great. He was at an instant disadvantage. The guilt treatment from the outset.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just thought it might be best if she wasn’t here. After . . . after . . .”

“Yeah, I know. After last time.” Joanne ushered him into the kitchen. She wore a white cotton shift dress and no shoes. “She was pretty upset, you know.”

“Well, so was I.” Perhaps it was best if he went on the defensive right away.

“You were?”

She looked at him in surprise, handing him a glass of red wine that had already been poured.

“Why? Pray tell . . .”

Mannix sat down at the kitchen table. He noticed then that the only light in the room was from the scattering of night-light candles flickering magically all around the room.

“Because it was never supposed to be about Grace. It was only ever supposed to be about us. And Joanne, if you really want to know, I feel really bad about it. I feel really bad about Grace. She’s a nice kid and I like her.”

“I know you do. And she likes you, Mannix.”

The skin on her arms was taut and golden in the yellow half-light as she reached across the table to stroke his hand. He had to tell her now, before things went too far.

“Look, Joanne. I think we have to call time on this thing we have. I really think it’s for the best.”

She looked at him in surprise as if what he said were entirely unexpected.

“Call time? This thing we have? I don’t understand, Mannix. Really, I don’t. What we have going here is way more than just a thing. You, me, and Grace. We’re a team.”

“What?” Mannix heard himself croak. It was his turn to look shocked now. It was surely time for the velvet excuse, the soft-soap parting salvo. He was going to have to move quickly.

“No. Joanne. Let me stop you right there.” He put a hand on her arm. With her other hand she held it there.

“Maybe in another life. Maybe if we’d met before. This thing . . . us . . . it’s just unfortunate . . . It’s all just an accident of timing.” He looked into her eyes. Trying to look sincere. “But I’ve got my own kids, Joanne. You know that. I’ve got Fergus and Izzy.”

“I know, Mannix. Don’t you think I know that? And Grace knows that too.”

Joanne was looking at the mantelpiece above the French stove. She was smiling. Mannix followed her gaze, trying to see what it was that made her smile. But what he saw made him shiver. He felt suddenly afraid.

Was it what he thought it was?

Standing up and walking closer, Mannix plucked the frame from the shelf. How had she come by this? Mannix stared at the familiar faces looking back at him. It was a photo of him with Fergus and Izzy, but there was something both odd and familiar about it at the same time. With a start, it came to him. It was the photo that he carried in his wallet of the four of them. Except that this photo on Joanne’s mantelpiece didn’t feature Kate. Kate had been cut out.

“Where did you get this?” Mannix asked, his voice shaking.

“From your wallet. I borrowed it and had it photoshopped,” she answered blithely. She was calmly sipping wine.

Stunned now, Mannix stared at the photograph, trying to gather his thoughts.

“So you see, Grace knows all about Fergus and Izzy. I’ve told her all about them.”

Mannix stared at her in horror.

“Grace has always wanted a brother or sister. But a brother and a sister both?” Standing up, Joanne moved in bare feet across the wooden floor and looked up at him.

“Don’t you see? Don’t you see how perfect this could be?”

His heart was racing. He found it hard to think. She smelled of lilies and red wine. He was in uncharted territory now. Without a compass. He was going to need to draw on all his reserves to get through this.

“Sit down,” he said gently to her. “Sit down, Joanne, and let me finish what I have to say.”

“Okay, Mannix, I’m listening . . .” She slurred a little. He glanced around the kitchen. There in the recycling pile next to the rubbish bin he saw an empty wine bottle. He realized then that she’d been drinking before he’d called. And quite a bit.

He was going to have to be creative. This excuse would have to fly. He was coming to the alarming realization that this woman wasn’t stable. Joanne Collins was a fantasist. Flexing his mental muscles, he made a few minor adjustments to his story, a few meaningful tweaks, before attempting to speak.

She was looking at him now, her eyes dreamy and pupils large. She was drunk.

“My kids mean everything to me,” Mannix began. “Just as Grace means everything to you.”

She nodded and started caressing his cheek. He thought it best to let her.

“Even if I left Kate, she’d never let me have the kids. You don’t know Kate, but she’s one determined woman. You know the way it is here in Ireland. No matter what, the women always get the kids. I couldn’t live without my kids.”

“But we could be so good together, Mannix. Our own little family. You, me, Grace, Fergus, and Izzy. A perfect family.”

He tried not to show his alarm, his fear. “I know that, Joanne,” he said. “And maybe if things had been different, who knows? Maybe if we’d met earlier, but it’s all ifs, buts, and maybes.”

“Really, Mannix? Do we really have to settle for this? Skulking around my basement flat in Pery Square. Is that all that we are meant to have? There can be no more for us?”

“Joanne, what I came here to say, and I know that this is hard, but for your sake and my sake and most of all for Grace’s sake, is that there can be no more ‘us.’”

“You are kidding. You are kidding me, Mannix. But we can go back to the way we were before, right?”

“No, Joanne. I don’t think so. I really don’t. I know it’s hard. It breaks my heart too. But it’s the right thing to do.”

“How can it be the right thing to do, for God’s sake? How can breaking up be the right thing to do? I love you, Mannix. Don’t you get that? I bloody love you and, God help her, so does Grace.”

Jesus. This was hell. He felt like a rabbit in the headlights. How had he become embroiled in something so perverse?

“I have to go, Joanne.”

Mannix removed her hand from his arm. Her red nails had been digging into him.

“Okay, okay, okay. Please, please, let’s just go back to the way we were. I’m sorry I ruined it all. I’m sorry about the cake . . .”

She was sobbing now. Her eyes looked wild, mascara running down her cheeks.

“I’ve got to go, Joanne.”

He stood up from the table.

“Okay, go, then, you fucking bastard. You fucking heartless bastard. Fuck off home to your cold and frigid wife and your cold and frigid life! She doesn’t deserve you. I deserve you. Grace deserves you. Go on, then . . .” And wielding her wineglass, she flung the contents at him, dousing him in the scarlet liquid.

Mannix wiped the splatters from his face.

“I’m sorry, Joanne. I really am.”

But she ran at him, pummeling his back. Mannix made it to the basement door, his shirt soaked in red wine. Walking up the steps she was still screaming after him.

“It was only a fucking cake. It was only a stupid fucking birthday cake!”

 • • • 

“Kate, put the diary way. I’ve got something to tell you.”

She looked at Mannix. “What is it? You don’t think it’s Oscar Harvey? You don’t think that he’s the one who killed his wife?”

“Forget about Oscar Harvey and listen. You’re in danger, Kate. I’m sorry but there isn’t any other way to say it.”

“What are you talking about?” Kate looked alarmed.

“Look, Kate, this is going to be hard,” he said, “and you’re not going to like it, but it’s important that you listen. And after I’ve told you, you’re going to be really mad with me. In fact, you may very well hate me . . .” Mannix paused for breath. “You’re okay now,” he continued, “but we need to act before anyone else gets hurt. And just so you know . . .” He felt a sudden lump swell in his throat and a wave of remorse rolled over him as he saw her stricken face. He never imagined telling her like this but he was cornered. “I want to say how sorry I am. I never meant for any of this to happen. God help me, Kate, I’m so very, very sorry . . .” He swallowed hard.

“Stop it, Mannix. You’re scaring me now. Tell me what it is. Just tell me.”

He started slowly. “Well, remember last March, how I went on that training course to Boston?”

She nodded silently.

“And you and I—well, not to put too fine a point on it, but we weren’t getting on . . .”

There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes, followed by a flicker of something else. He watched her tense.

“Yes?”

“Well, there was this woman on the plane. This woman and her daughter . . .”

Kate’s eyes narrowed but she didn’t move.

“It was a nightmare flight, plane all over the shop, cabin crew in their seats, drinks flying everywhere . . .” he exaggerated. “And this woman, well—she was pretty scared, so I did my best to chat and distract her. I suppose I felt sorry for her. I suppose I imagined if it was you and Izzy. This woman’s daughter was sick and she was treating her to a trip to Disney World.”

Still, Kate didn’t move. Not a muscle.

Mannix’s heart was pounding and he could no longer look at Kate. Instead, he stared at a photograph on the Harveys’ bedroom wall—a framed photograph of the giant rollers at Big Sur. He wished he could be there now. Anywhere but here.

“I suppose it was coincidence really,” he said, trying to keep his train of thought. “You see, Joanne and Grace, well, they ended up in the same hotel as mine on their stopover.”

“Joanne and Grace . . .” Kate repeated. She had gone quite pale.

“Yes. Grace is Joanne’s eight-year-old daughter. They live in Limerick.”

“I see,” said Kate, her face set in grim lines.

“It wasn’t meant to happen,” he blurted out. “I really want for you to believe that, Kate. I’m just not that type of guy . . .”

Confused, Kate blinked a few times, and then the significance of what he was saying began to dawn on her, her eyes registering disbelief. She opened her mouth to say something but shut it again. Her eyes narrowed and pierced through him.

“What type of guy are you talking about, Mannix? Just what exactly did you do?”

Kate was going to force him to walk the plank, to actually say it.

Here goes.

“I slept with her, Kate. I’m really sorry but I slept with that woman.”

He was unprepared for the force of her surprise. Clutching her hand to her mouth, Kate heaved as if she were going to vomit, and with her other hand she pushed herself off the bed. She ran for the en suite bathroom. He listened as she dry-retched and heaved. Tempted to go and check if she was all right, he opted for the safety of the bedroom.

Moments later, she appeared. She stood in the doorway to the en suite, squeezing a tissue.

“Just once?”

“Are you okay? You look awful,” he asked her gently.

“Just once, was it just the once?” She ignored him.

“No,” he replied.

“I see,” she said. She bit down on her bottom lip.

“Sit down, Kate.”

Like a ghost, she made for the far side of the bed and perched herself on the edge, knees and arms crossed in a protective body hug.

“Do you love her?”

“God, no! No, of course I don’t love her. It was only sex, Kate. I love you.”

She looked at him now, her lip curling, with a look he’d never seen before. It was a mixture of loathing and disgust.

“I know you can’t see that now, Kate. But it’s true.”

“So you’re having an affair, is that what this is about? You’re telling me that you’re having an affair?”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit more than that, Kate. It’s a whole lot more serious than that.”

He had her frozen attention now.

“We had a thing, yes. But it’s over. At least, I thought it was—up until a week or so ago. I told her it was over a long time back. But she wouldn’t let it go. I tried to tell you back then. I was going to tell you but for some reason it didn’t happen. I didn’t know what she was going to do, Kate. I had no idea what she was capable of. I never knew she was unbalanced. That she was a fantasist, a crazy, crazy fantasist.”

“I don’t know if I can listen to any more of this . . .” Kate had clutched her ears, blocking what he was trying to tell her. Her eyes were closed.

Mannix got up and walked around to the other side of the bed.

“Believe me, Kate, I wouldn’t tell you any of this”—he prized her hands from her ears—“but you really need to know. I wish I could have spared you all this pain. But it’s out of my hands now. I don’t have a choice.”

“You selfish, selfish prick.” Kate didn’t shout but she looked at him so blackly he wished she’d screamed her head off. “Where do you get off doing this to me? After all the years I’ve stood by you. I had my bloody chances too, you know.”

“I’m sure you did, Kate, and you can be mad at me all you like later, but for now you’ve got to listen.”

“Tell me, then, tell me how I’m in danger.” Her voice was measured.

“Well, I saw this woman a few times in her flat and sometimes her daughter would be there. I think she got the wrong end of the stick because somehow I think she thought I was going to leave you. She had some mad idea in her head that I would be a father to her child. That in some crazy, twisted version of happy families, that they would come to live with me and Izzy and Fergus . . .”

“And me? What was to happen to me? Where was I in all of your new lovely modern family?” Kate asked, dripping with sarcasm.

Mannix thought back. For three whole weeks there had been no contact. He’d satisfied himself that Joanne had resigned herself to the fact that their affair was over. Perhaps she already had a new man. Yet Spike had no reported sightings of her in the nightclub. Still, he was happy that the texts had ceased. He’d found himself relaxing into the delicious routine of mundane family life. Then, out of the blue, they started coming again, this time more bizarre in tone. Apocryphal.

“Well, that’s just it, Kate. I told her that I couldn’t leave you. The thing was that I was trying to get her off my back, so I said that if I ever left you’d never let me see the kids. That I could never do that. I thought that it would work. Joanne knew how much I love Izzy and Fergus. And it seemed to work, at least for a while, but then she started texting me again. At first, I didn’t take too much notice but then they started to creep me out. I thought she was only trying to scare me into meeting her again. But this past week, the texts got weirder and weirder.”

“What texts are these?” asked Kate. “So that’s why you’ve been glued to your phone ever since we arrived?”

“Yes. I could see what Joanne was driving at all the time, but I really thought that she was bluffing. She’d seemed like a normal down-to-earth woman before. There was never any indication of . . . of . . . what she was about to do. As I say, she’d never before spoken like that when I was seeing her.”

Kate flinched.

Mannix was aware that in trying to explain the gravity of the situation, he was hurting Kate even more. But the time for sensitivity had passed. Kate would soon realize that herself. There was too much at stake now. Mannix pulled his mobile phone from his pocket.

There had been the initial rash of apologetic texts seeking another meeting, Joanne saying she was sorry she had gone so far. She’d never attempted the immediacy of an actual mobile call. Mannix had been relieved about that. Of course, she realized now that she was being selfish. Of course Mannix couldn’t give his kids up. Joanne would explain to Grace. He’d be their secret. He’d deleted all of these initial texts.

Mannix knew that what he was about to do might seem cruel. But he also knew that it was necessary. Slowly he walked around to Kate’s side of the bed and handed her the phone.

“Forgive me, Kate, but I think the only way to explain it is for you to read Joanne’s texts.”

Kate took the mobile with a shaking hand.

“‘Before you, there were others,’” read Kate aloud. “‘But I know now that what we had was real. We will have all that and more again.’”

“‘Trust in me and I will find a way,’” she continued. “Jesus, her texts have all the charm of those tacky fridge magnets.”

“I know,” said Mannix awkwardly. “Read on.” He sat with her as she opened and closed the texts.

“‘We will win the fight and love will be our trophy.’ This tripe is making me sick . . .” sneered Kate.

“‘I have tried loving you from afar and now I know it isn’t possible. There is a way. And I will find it. Your Joanne.’”

Kate’s tone was mocking as she struggled through the texts and as the texts turned vicious, she delivered them more slowly. “‘Your wife is a BITCH. I see now what you mean. Your life must be hell, my love. Be patient. Our day will come.’”

Mannix’s felt like a reprobate as Kate was forced to read this drivel.

“‘Very soon now, we will all be together. Stay strong for me and keep the faith.’”

She was whispering now.

“‘I see what you mean. It’s lovely here in the park. I love the boardwalk as does Grace. Clancy Strand will suit us very well. Your Joanne.’”

Kate fell silent as she scanned the next text. It was sent on Saturday. Their first full day in New York. The Harveys’ first full day in Limerick.

“‘I saw the inside of your house today. Grace will love it too. Don’t worry, your BITCH wife doesn’t have a clue. Not long now, my love. Your Joanne.’”

And for the first time as Kate read aloud Mannix heard fear in her voice. He wondered if she’d seen ahead.

“She was in our house?” Kate looked at Mannix. “That woman was in our home?” Kate’s eyes flashed with fear and anger. “On Saturday? This was sent last Saturday, so how did she get in?” Kate stopped and thought a moment. Something had occurred to her. “The meter reader? The person who came to read the gas that we don’t have?”

“I don’t know, Kate. Really, I don’t. But I’m guessing that it’s possible . . .”

Kate resumed reading aloud.

“‘You may find it hard at first to see the meaning in my method. But in time, you too will see it was the only way. I know you long to be with us. Your Joanne.’ This is freaky stuff, Mannix. I don’t know what you’ve got yourself mixed up in but this woman writes from another planet.”

There were only two more texts to go. Mannix knew that. One sent yesterday. One today. The ones that had made his blood run cold.

“‘I must be brave. I know what I must do. It is the only way and it is within my grasp.’”

Kate looked up at Mannix as she read. Then slowly she read the last one. It was a moment or so before she read it aloud.

“‘It’s done. It will be hard for Izzy and Fergus at first. But they will come to love me. I am a good mother. It will be hard for you too, for a few days. I need to give you space now. I know that. But after the funeral, I will come. Grace and I are busy packing. Your Joanne.’”

Kate dropped the mobile as if it were a burning coal.

“Does this mean . . . was she the one who . . . ?”

Kate remained unable to utter the terrifying words.

It had taken Mannix a few confused and foggy seconds to arrive at the same unthinkable conclusion. But Kate had got there in a heartbeat. And the more Mannix thought about it, the more this sick conclusion was the only one that made any sense.

“I don’t know, Kate.” Mannix shrugged. “But so help me God, I think so. I think that she’s the person who killed Hazel Harvey. It certainly looks like she’s the one.”

“Mistaking her for me . . .” Kate whispered.

For a few moments Mannix let the idea sink in.

Then, “That is what it’s looking like, isn’t it?” he said, forcing the point home. “Joanne had no idea that we were away. And Kate, I hate to tell you this, but Joanne had a photograph of you. Think about it—you and Hazel are both small and blond. Alike, I suppose, to someone who doesn’t know you . . .”

Kate’s face had drained of all color as she stared at Mannix.

“Where the hell did this psycho get a photograph of me?” she whispered.

“I think she took it from my wallet. You know that one we got taken in a studio last Christmas?”

Kate looked at Mannix as if he’d just crawled out from underneath a rock.

“So this floozy that you’ve been shagging, this nutcase that you invited into all our lives, she mistook Hazel Harvey for me and bashed her head in with a garden spade? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

Mannix stared at Kate like a fool. There was nothing he could say.

“Oh, what have you done, Mannix? What in God’s name have you done?” Kate said slowly.

Mannix had little doubt he’d be asking himself the same thing over and over again. Her question echoed round the silent bedroom. He saw years of angst and penance looming. But for now, the question that concerned him most was just how long before Joanne Collins learned of her mistake?

And what would she do when she learned that the woman she’d meant to kill was still alive?