“SO, IS IT possible to do this?”
Alan Crane’s tone was prescriptive. Lisa had removed her coat before arranging herself neatly on the chair. She was wearing her navy Bank uniform with a name badge pinned to the collar of her jacket. Her blond hair was loose around her face. Alan sat beside her, knees spread, hands clasped between them, his fingers stained with nicotine.
“It seems the application should include an affidavit from a relative,” I said.
Lisa’s shoulders slumped. She looked immediately at Alan: his expression betrayed nothing.
“Why is that exactly?” he asked.
“When a person goes missing for a long time, there is no simple way of legally presuming them to be dead, Mr. Crane. Under the law, a missing person is presumed alive for seven years, after which time they are presumed to be dead. I’ve explained this to Lisa already.”
“Yes.” He nodded impatiently. “I know, go on.”
“Well, when I spoke to Lisa before, I was aware that a relative could apply to the High Court to have a person declared presumed dead after seven years. But I thought at the time that there might be a difficulty in Lisa applying herself, being only a fiancée.”
“Ex-fiancée. And it seems I was right. It should be corroborated by a family member.”
Alan leaned back in his seat.
“Well, that’s the end of that then.”
Lisa looked anxiously at me as if there must be more to come, but there wasn’t.
Alan smiled, showing his teeth. A smile totally lacking in mirth. “Looks like we’re just going to have to put up with the whole Conor Devitt bullshit coming up every few years then, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t think a presumption of death would necessarily change that anyway, Mr. Crane,” I said. “It’s still not known what happened to Mr. Devitt. A presumption of death won’t change that. This application deals only with the person’s estate. There would be no issuing of a death certificate, for example.”
There was no response from either Alan or Lisa. As usual in the face of taciturn clients, I found myself babbling.
“It’s possible that Claire or Mrs. Devitt could do it, of course,” I said. “They might be willing to, if you spoke to them about it. I know there is the issue of the house: they might see that as a valid reason to do it.”
“Claire Devitt?” Alan laughed. “Sure, that one is away with the fairies.”
Lisa played with her rings, twisting them to and fro on her fingers.
Alan grinned unpleasantly. “What kind of a woman, Miss O’Keeffe, would leap on a man at her own brother’s wake? And that man only just married. Lucky I’m not a fella to take advantage, eh, Lisa?”
Lisa stared at the floor, eyes now brimming with tears.
“And Danny was supposed to be the crazy one?” he sneered. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a hit of the crazy stick running right the way through that family. Starting with the father.”
Lisa began to say something, but changed her mind.
“What do you mean by that, Mr. Crane?” I said coldly.
“Ach, old Jack Devitt taking a gun to himself, and then Danny doing his Peeping Tom bit around the town. Breaking into people’s houses.”
“You don’t know that,” Lisa said quietly.
Alan glared at her.
“What about Mrs. Devitt?” I asked, directing my question at Lisa. “She might be willing to sign an affidavit, if it would help get things in order for you. It might be worth talking to her about it at least.”
Lisa shook her head. “I couldn’t ask Mrs. Devitt.”
“Lisa’s afraid of old Ma Devitt, Miss O’Keeffe,” Alan said, a spiteful grin on his face. “Just as well she didn’t end up as her mother-in-law.”
“It’s fine. Really. Thank you for looking into this for us.” Lisa looked up at me brightly, mask back in place. She stood up and started to put on her coat.
Alan didn’t move.
“I’ll ask her,” he said firmly.
I followed them down the stairs to find Liam McLaughlin, the estate agent, chatting to Leah at the reception desk. He nodded to Alan as he passed.
“Fuck, I can’t take that man,” he said under his breath when the door slammed.
“Why is that?” I leaned on the counter beside him.
“Used to play golf with him. Had to stop – I couldn’t take his temper. He nearly brained me with a nine iron one day. Had to be pulled off me.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. He was losing badly in a charity tournament last summer in Buncrana – organized by Kelly, as a matter of fact – in aid of the hospice. I made the mistake of saying something smart while he was trying to take a shot.”
“That’s not like you.”
“Scared the bejasus out of me, I can tell you. He wasn’t kidding.”
I noticed that Leah was looking at me as if she wanted to say something. She had an anxious expression on her face.
“What’s up?”
“The man from the Law Society is here. He’s in the waiting room. Shall I send him up to you?”
“I’ll go in and talk to him myself in a minute. Was there something you wanted, Liam?”
“Oh aye. Ray Kelly’s in hospital. I told Alison I’d let you know.”
“God. Is he all right?”
“Don’t know, to be honest. I know he collapsed a few months back on the golf course. I remember Alison was away at their pub in London and had to come back. But it was never said what was wrong with him, and I don’t like to ask when it’s not offered.” He lowered his tone. “Although between you and me, I think he was in hospital in the States while he was over there.”
“Oh.”
“Alison said they were to come in and see you tomorrow?”
“She wanted to know if there was anything she could take Ray to sign and could you get it ready for her if there was.”
“Will do.”
The rest of the afternoon was spent immersed in Law Society financial regulation compliance. Hideous stuff. I was utterly trapped, with no hope of escape to see Mary Devitt. I ran to and fro from the filing cabinet on the orders of the auditor, finding receipts, tracing cheques and lodgements, my mind drifting constantly to what I would say to her when I finally got to speak to her. I left the office at half seven, head pounding, and decided I would drive up to her first thing in the morning.
I slept badly, got up early, and headed to Lagg Beach for a swim before breakfast. It was a beautiful morning, bright and crisp. As I clambered over the rocks down onto the beach, I thought about my last swim and my encounter with Claire Devitt. Alan Crane was a thoroughly dislikable man, but it didn’t stop me wondering what he had meant by his comment about Claire’s behavior at the wake. I remembered her sudden reappearance in the kitchen in that red dress.
The swim cleared my head and nearly gave me a heart attack at the same time: the intended effect. It also gave me an appetite for breakfast. A mound of toast and scrambled eggs later, I drove up the narrow lane towards the Devitts’ old farmhouse. I had tried to ring before I left the cottage, but there was no answer.
In the daylight, with the cold blue sky behind it, the house looked quaint, like something from an old John Hinde postcard. I almost expected to see a scruffy-looking red-haired child with a donkey and a basket of turf in front. I pulled into the yard and parked the Mini next to the porch.
The door was open. I knocked loudly. There was no response so I stepped inside and called down the hall. Finally, I heard a voice coming from the kitchen. I wasn’t sure whether to follow it or not, but before I could decide, Mary Devitt herself strode up the hall looking surprised to see me. Her hair was swept back behind her ears and tied up with a red scarf. She was wearing blue overalls splattered in paint and had an equally splattered rag in her hand.
“So you’re the artist?” I said.
“Sorry?”
“I noticed your paintings the night of the, er …” I looked again at the canvases of bright color on the wall. “They’re very good.”
“Oh yes, they’re mine.” She smiled. “Although you’d better not describe me as the artist in front of Claire. She’s the one who went to art college, you know, as she’ll be sure to remind you.”
“I’m sorry for turning up unannounced like this. I did try to ring.”
She wiped her hands with the rag. “Oh, I never answer the phone. In my experience it’s rarely good news.”
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m fine.” She corrected herself. “I will be fine.”
“I thought we could continue the conversation we were having the other day, if that’s okay with you?”
“Oh yes.”
I waited for her to ask me in, but she didn’t. She seemed to be working something out in her head.
“I presume you came by car?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s outside. I parked in the yard.”
“Maybe we could go for a walk on the shore. I need some shale for something I’m working on.”
“Sure, of course.”
“Just give me a minute. I’ll see you outside.”
I got back into the car and started the engine. A couple of minutes later, Mary joined me, dressed in a man’s sheepskin coat, which looked like a relic from the 1970s. She had a large wicker basket on her arm, which dwarfed her even further.
“Lagg?” she said.
“Great.”
As I drove out of the yard, a black-and-white sheepdog loped across in front of the car, head bowed. I braked suddenly.
“Jesus!”
“Sorry about that,” Mary said. “It’s Fred. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s miserable without Danny. I just don’t have enough time for him.”
I drove on, heart still pounding, out the lane and down the hill towards the turn-off to the beach. Mary sat silently beside me with her basket on her knee gazing out of the window. Suddenly, despite all my planning, I wasn’t sure how to broach things. But I didn’t need to.
“The sergeant told me that Danny’s accident is being investigated,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I’m glad. Andy tells me that you had something to do with that.”
I wondered when he had passed on that particular piece of information. “Not exactly.”
“Well, I thank you, Miss O’Keeffe – for whatever it was that you did. As you know, I was very disturbed by the circumstances of what happened to Danny. I’m relieved that it’s being looked into.”
I said awkwardly, “Garda McFadden mentioned something to me about Danny’s behavior being a bit odd before he died.”
She sighed and rubbed the condensation from the passenger window with her palm. “Danny was a very different boy from his brother. Conor internalized everything – you could never tell what he was thinking. He was a typical eldest child, I suppose, always had to handle everything himself. But Danny wore his heart on his sleeve. He was kind. You could see that he loved Lisa McCauley with all his heart, from the time they were kids. He never hid it.”
I hesitated. “That still doesn’t excuse him from hanging around her house at night though.”
She continued to gaze out of the window. “Have you looked closely at that relationship, Miss O’Keeffe? The relationship between Lisa and her new husband?”
“Well yes, a little.”
“It’s not good, is it?”
I made a noncommittal noise.
“Alan Crane is a violent man,” she said quietly.
“How do you know that?”
“Have I seen him hit her, you mean? No, nothing like that. But I know the signs. Believe me, I know them very well. I spent fifteen years trying to cover them up.”
I looked across at Mary Devitt. She was staring straight ahead of her. Suddenly I understood why this woman had coped so well with her husband’s death. It had been a relief.
* * *
The beach was deserted, and the tide was out. It was no less cold than it had been an hour earlier, but it was clear as a summer’s day. Glashedy Island was visible in the distance, looking like a lump of coal that had been flung there by some giant, thousands of years before. I walked along the shore beside Mary Devitt as she peered at the rocks on the ground in front of her, stooping down every so often to pick up something that caught her eye – a shell, the remains of a crab, a bit of seaweed.
“Do you think Danny was trying to protect Lisa then? From her husband?”
“I couldn’t say for sure because I don’t know and I didn’t ask. You have to allow your children to make their own mistakes, Miss O’Keeffe. I do know that even if Danny got things wrong sometimes, he would have been trying to do what was right.” She paused. “I also know that he loved Lisa with all his heart, and that husband of hers is a most unpleasant man.”
I bent down to pick up a particularly striking piece of pink quartz with silver veins running through it. I handed it to her.
She arched her thin eyebrows. “You have a good eye.”
“You mentioned something to me about Danny the day of the funeral, something that you said you didn’t want to share with me at that stage. Do you mind me asking what that was?”
She replied, this time without hesitation. “Danny told me he had killed his brother.”
I stopped in my tracks. “What? When did he tell you that?”
“Not long before he died. I didn’t believe him, of course. I thought he meant it in a metaphorical sense – that he had wished him dead. Danny thought like that, like a child. If he wished someone dead, that meant he was responsible for them dying.”
“Why would he have wished him dead?”
“Lisa, of course. Conor took Lisa away from Danny, or at least that’s the way he saw it.”
“Did Conor see it that way, do you think?”
“No. I think Conor was just trying to take care of Lisa. Her father died young, you see.”
“Yes, I heard. He was killed, wasn’t he? The night the Sadie was blown up.”
Mary nodded. “He was the pilot on duty the night of the hijacking. He was manning the pilot station when he was shot. It can have repercussions when that happens to a child: losing a parent in a violent way like that. It can leave them insecure and needy if it’s not handled properly. I think Conor could see Lisa needed caring for.”
“And he wouldn’t have thought Danny could do that?”
“Conor is one of those people who feels he has to take responsibility for everyone else.” Mary sighed. “It can be a bit smothering at times, and I know his siblings found him a little controlling, but he means well.”
I noticed her use of the present tense when she referred to Conor. This was a woman who wasn’t going to be signing any affidavits, I thought. Especially if the request came from Alan Crane.
She gazed into the distance. “Poor Conor. I think when he was young he tried to protect us from his father’s presence, and then to make up for his absence after he was gone. An impossible task, especially for a child.”
“Do you think he actually loved Lisa?”
She smiled. “You’d have to ask him that, Miss O’Keeffe.”