Adam brought his van to a screeching halt on Izzy’s street. His phone beeped for the second time as he killed the engine. Another text message. His blood boiled with pent-up rage. Reading the text, Adam knew there was only one way for this to end. He hoped he wasn’t too late.
He grabbed his holdall and got out of the van.
His mind flashed back to Ruth, in Glasgow. The state her body was in when the police came to his house.
She shouldn’t have pushed him. She made him do it.
Adam hadn’t killed her. She’d killed herself. All the same, he regretted her death more than anyone. Ruth shouldn’t have defied him, dumping him, and making him look like a fool in front of his friends.
No woman could tell him Adam that things were over. He decided when a relationship had run its course.
Although he’d stabbed her thirty-seven times, Ruth herself was the only one to blame. She shouldn’t have wound him up.
Adam moved through the darkness like a shadow. Excitement blended with rage. His boots made heavy sounds as he ran down the road to Izzy’s house.
He got there and stopped, decided to take a different tack. He ran down the lane that led to the back of Izzy’s house.
The element of surprise. That would be better.
Everything would end now.
*
Robert was restless, more and more so as the night went on. After half an hour in bed, he gave up on sleep. He padded downstairs, intending to fix himself a nightcap.
He had had some crappy days recently, but this was worse than most. Getting a fire extinguisher discharged in his face had been no fun. Melanie had thrown the damn thing at him once it was empty. Gave him a nasty bruise on the shoulder, but at least it hadn’t hit him in the gob.
As he descended the stairs, Robert rubbed his shoulder. It was still sore, though it hurt less than his pride. If he had any pride left.
Years of watching Louise run around behind his back were starting to take their toll.
He wondered again if he should leave her.
The problem was that he didn’t think anyone else would put up with him and being alone was worse than anything else.
He made his way to the front room. The curtains were still open, so the room was not completely dark. Robert glanced outside, saw nothing. He took a drink as he stood gazing out. He was about to return to bed when a man came running down the road, headed to Elaine’s house.
Robert was about to turn away when he recognised the jacket the man was wearing. Green with yellow bands.
It was Robert’s jacket.
“Son of a bitch,” he said.
He hurried up the stairs to Louise’s bedroom.
“You’re never going to believe this shit—” Robert said, opening the door. He broke off when he saw that she wasn’t there.
*
Gareth staggered the whole way to the Ale House, half a mile from Dun Laoghaire. It was the dingy bar where he had first met Chisel Cooney. The Ale House was a rough place and the first time he went there, he’d been afraid for his safety. This time he was only worried about Tess.
Poor Tess. Gareth had no interest in another woman. Even when Kate had thrown herself at him the previous night, Gareth experienced no temptation. His teenage crush was history.
When he fixed her a Martini, it was obvious that she was trying to seduce him. Gareth wasn’t sure why at the time, but now that her husband had come out as a woman, he figured that must have something to do with it.
She’d been so obvious, rubbing his thigh with her foot, then leaning over and getting right in his face, trying to get him hot before she leaned in to kiss him.
But he’d been unresponsive, and she’d quickly grown irritated.
“What’s wrong with all you guys?” she said.
She stormed out of the house without finishing her cocktail, leaving Gareth to ponder the question.
Now he knew why Kate hadn’t turned him on. Robert was partly right. The stress of the money situation had got to him lately. But the larger reason was that he loved Tess. And he was damned if he was going to let anything happen to her.
Conversation died when Gareth entered the Ale House. The place was half-empty. Gareth noticed again that most of the customers were of a certain type. Men in their twenties, thirties or forties.
They were all looking at him. Gareth was sure he resembled a beaten dog. A grim determination drove him on, though. He walked straight across the room to the door which led to Chisel Cooney’s ‘office’.
“Hey,” the barman called. “Hey.”
Gareth ignored him.
He opened the door and stepped inside.
Chisel Cooney sat behind a desk, his teeth chomping down on a big cigar. His golf club leaned against the desk. Its head was still spattered with Gareth’s blood.
The twins stood on either side of Cooney. Gareth stifled a shudder at the sight of them. At the side of the room, Cooney’s solicitor lounged in an armchair. His nostrils were circled with white powder, as he leaned over a glass table covered in lines of cocaine.
“Well, well, well,” Cooney said. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”
“Where ith Tethh?” Gareth said.
Cooney laughed, looking from one twin to another. “What the fuck did teacher boy say? Did anyone catch a word of that?”
Everyone broke out laughing.
Gareth tried again, enunciating more clearly. “Tess. Where is she?”
He crossed the room quicker than they probably expected, grabbed Cooney by his T-shirt, and pulled him so close their noses almost touched.
“What have you done with her?”
Cooney’s face twisted into a scowl.
“You better—”
Gareth punched him hard. “Tell me where she is.”
The twins grabbed him, pulled him away.
“Teacher boy grew a pair of balls,” said Cooney’s solicitor.
One of the twins hit Gareth across the face. A sledgehammer blow that nearly knocked his head off his shoulders.
Cooney fixed his clothes.
“I didn’t touch your lady friend. Not yet,” he added. “That’s one mistake. Second mistake is you touched me. You shouldn’t touch me. I told you before. It’s about respect.” He turned to the twins. “Take care of teacher boy. Bury him in the usual place.”