I HOVERED UNCOMFORTABLY, with nowhere to go and nothing to say now that I had delivered my one useless-sounding line. Mary Devitt looked up at me and acknowledged my discomfort with a pale smile and a strong, lucid gaze. Immediately, I got the impression that she was in charge.
There was a strength of character visible in that single look that flipped all the assumptions I had made about Mary Devitt on their heads. Here before me was a woman who had been through a lot. She had lost her husband while she was still very young, first of all to mental illness and then to suicide. She had brought up three children on her own and now she was having to cope with burying one son while the other was still missing. There had to be a resilience about her, for her to have survived at all. This was a woman who was used to having to recover quickly, to pick herself up and carry on in the face of unbearable tragedy.
It was a resilience that was absent in Claire. I saw now that what I had witnessed earlier was mother supporting daughter, not the other way around. Maybe it was a generational thing, this stoic acceptance. Our generation has given that up; we rail against bad fortune, refuse to accept it if things don’t go our way. And it never makes one damn bit of difference, since so much is out of our control.
Mary Devitt’s eyes were rimmed with red, but bright and alert like a bird’s. They darted around, taking in the scene. At first, all I had seen when I looked at her was an old lady in a black coat and black hat. On closer inspection I could see that the hat was a rather quirky, hand-knitted beret with an odd pattern on the side and an old cameo brooch pinned to it. The little flourish struck me as a tiny act of rebellion, of defiance against age and tragedy. I remembered her green shoes from the wake. Another little flourish.
She seemed content to stand beside me without conversation, for a while at least. The priest was talking quietly to the gravediggers, who were standing patiently by, waiting for the stragglers to leave so they could get on with their job and then go home to something warm to eat. Claire was still deep in conversation with Phyllis and Eithne.
“So, how did you know Danny?” Mary asked after a minute, when it became clear that her daughter’s conversation was going to carry on for some time.
“I didn’t know him very well, I’m afraid. I only met him once.”
“We hadn’t seen very much of him ourselves lately, sadly. He liked his own company.”
“Yes, so I believe.”
“And that of his animals, of course.” She paused for a moment. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?”
“I’m Ben O’Keeffe.”
“Ah.” She looked at me with interest. “The solicitor, O’Keeffe?”
“Yes.”
She lowered her voice. “Danny was going to come and see you.”
She linked my arm and steered me slowly away from the grave, out of earshot of everyone else.
“Did he talk to you?” she asked urgently.
“Well, I can’t—”
“Oh, don’t give me any of that confidentiality nonsense,” she snapped. “I was the one who told him to go and talk to you.”
“He mentioned that.”
“Well?”
“He didn’t tell me anything, I’m afraid. Although he was clearly distressed about something.”
Her narrow shoulders slumped in disappointment.
“Did you know what he wanted to speak to me about?” I asked.
“I thought it might have had something to do with Conor,” she said.
“Why was that?”
She shook her head. “Something he told me that I’m not certain I want to share with you yet. I’m sure a person like you would understand.”
I assumed she was simply referring to my profession, but there was something about this little woman that unnerved me.
“I was so afraid for him, you see. I was afraid he might go and do something stupid.”
I tried not to, but I found myself looking towards the grave. “Do you think that’s what happened to him?”
She followed my gaze and exclaimed. “Suicide? God, no! That’s not what I meant. None of them would try anything like that. Not after their father.”
I bowed my head. “I’m sorry. I did hear what happened to your husband.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “It was a very long time ago. My concern now is for my two boys. I’m afraid Danny might be everyone’s scapegoat now that he’s gone. It’ll be very easy to blame him for things that have occurred, now that he’s not here to defend himself. But I’m not going to let that happen.” There was an edge of determination in her voice.
She gripped my hands with both of hers. “Danny was a kind boy, Miss O’Keeffe, but he was never the same after Conor disappeared.”
“Claire said he disappeared himself for a while?”
She looked away. “Yes. He was gone for a few weeks. I have no idea where he went. He never told me and I didn’t ask.”
“I see.”
“It was as if he had some kind of a breakdown. And when he came back, he moved into that wee cottage by the church and we never saw him. It wasn’t even habitable really; he used to use it as a work-shed before that. But it was as if he didn’t want to be around us. It was then that he started drinking, I’m afraid.”
She sighed. “Danny’s father left the farm to him, and he made a real go of it. But after Conor disappeared, he lost all interest in that, too. I have no idea why. And then one day, he sold it. Stock, land, machinery – the lot. Of course there was nothing wrong with that – it belonged to him, after all. Still, it did surprise me. He just landed down at the house one morning with a lot of money from the sale and insisted I take it all.”
I couldn’t quite figure out why I was being told all of this. But I paid attention. It felt like a client handing me something for safekeeping.
“I put it away for Conor and Claire. I didn’t need it, and Danny swore he didn’t want a cent of it. As I said, he was a kind boy, Miss O’Keeffe. But he had his problems, I do know that. I’m under no illusions.” She looked up at me. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do to help me protect his memory somehow, but I’d be grateful if there was.”
“I’ll do anything I can, Mrs. Devitt.”
I realized that Phyllis and Claire were looking curiously in our direction. Mrs. Devitt saw, too, and took my arm again, walking me a little farther along the path. Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone who looked like a bird. She lowered her voice almost to a whisper.
“I know Danny’s DNA was found with that body in the basement of the church.”
I wasn’t sure how to react. “How do you know that?”
“Andrew McFadden told me. That’s between ourselves, mind. I know he shouldn’t have said anything, but he thought he was doing the right thing. He wanted to warn me. He’s known the family a long time.”
What the hell was McFadden doing? Molloy would kill him.
“Now, Miss O’Keeffe, I don’t know who that poor wee boy in the church is, but I did know my youngest son. And I know there was no way in God’s name he would ever have hurt anyone. I’ve seen him with animals. I’ve seen him take rabbits out of traps and fix their legs. It just wouldn’t have been in him to do it.”
“I don’t think anyone is suggesting that he—”
She interrupted me. “No, but they will. It’s too convenient. I know human nature – I’ve seen the way it works. Danny had a bit of a drink problem certainly and he had his peculiarities but he was never anything like …” She straightened her hat. “I think it’s far more likely he was trying to be kind, to do the right thing.”
I felt a tap on my shoulder, and Phyllis appeared beside me. She gave Mrs. Devitt a huge hug, almost drowning her in colorful fabric in the process.
“I think Claire’s about ready to go, Mrs. D, if you are?” she said.
“Thank you, dear.” She gave me a final meaningful look and hastened back to her daughter’s side.
“What about you?” Phyllis said. “Are you ready to go?” I nodded.
“That looked like a fairly intense chat you were having.”
“Oh, you know …”
My mind was going round in circles. I had a clear but uneasy impression that something had been asked of me, that I had agreed to it, and that now something was expected of me. But what? Phyllis seemed to sense my mood and for once resisted the temptation to ask questions. She was silent the whole journey back to Glendara. I dropped her off outside the book shop and carried on to the office where I found Eddie Kearney grinning up at me through the door of the waiting room when I walked in.
“Sorry,” Leah mouthed to me. “He says he’s away to Dublin for the weekend and has to see you before he goes.”
“All right.” I stuck my head in the door. “Come on in to the front room with me, Eddie.”
* * *
Eddie plonked himself down on the seat and sat facing me with his knees apart, still grinning, through a strange collection of misshapen teeth.
“What’s up, Eddie?” I asked. “I’ve no Cert of Analysis in yet. Still waiting for it. I should have it by Monday.”
“Aye, that’s grand. No harm. That’s not what I’m in about.”
“What is it, then?”
His grin became slightly sheepish. “I have another few for you.”
He leaned forward, rummaged in the back pocket of his jeans, and pulled out a sheaf of papers, which he dumped on the desk. I smoothed them out carefully. They were charge sheets; I counted five of them, all for possession of cannabis. I checked them again. I was right – they were all Section 3 charges, simple possession. None for Section 15: intent to supply, but all listed for the following Tuesday’s court. I looked up at him. His expression was that of a little boy who had been caught breaking a window with a football.
I sighed. “All someone else’s again, Eddie?”
“Aye, of course. That guard McFadden, he won’t leave me alone. He’s picking on me. I’m doing nothing wrong, but everywhere I fucking go, he searches me.”
I checked the dates of the charge sheets. There were five different dates. “And always finds something, by the look of things.”
“Aye, well,” he said sulkily. “I’m a bit unlucky, that’s all.”
“You do know if you get convicted of these, you could get a sentence.”
His mouth opened wide. “You’re joking, aren’t you? I thought it was just a fine. It’s only weed, it’s not fucking heroin.”
“Doesn’t matter. The fine is only for a first offense. On your third you become liable to a prison sentence. And if you get convicted of all of these” – I leafed through the charge sheets again – “that’s five separate offenses, six including the existing one; you’ll definitely be in jeopardy.”
I emerged from the front office with my head banging, showed Eddie to the door, and went back to the reception desk.
“Oh Jesus, that young fella makes my head hurt,” I said.
“I know what you mean.” Leah looked up from the computer, her eyes bleary. “How was the burial?”
“Cold. Not many there. You look wrecked, too. What are you at?” I asked.
“Preparing for the Law Society audit next week,” she said.
“Oh God, I’d forgotten about that. What day is it?”
“Monday. And he’s definitely coming. I had a phone call from him while you were at the burial.”
“Do I need to do anything?”
“No.” She sighed. “I have it all under control, I think. You’ll have to answer all the queries when he gets here though, and do that spot-check thing with the files.”
“Is it really two years since the last time we had that done?” I asked. “Doesn’t feel that long ago.”
“It’s three,” she said firmly.
I groaned. The last guy had been a right stickler. Though we had passed with flying colors, as it happened. Thanks to Leah’s bookkeeping.
“Same guy again?” I asked.
“I don’t think so.” She checked her note. “I don’t recognize the name.”