Chapter Fifty-three

Jack could feel the sweat trickling down his back as he hurried towards St Finbarr’s Catholic Church. Following the ‘exclusive allegations’ published in that morning’s newspaper, Jack knew he’d become the money shot. All the camera crews and reporters would be looking for him, to capture the alleged ‘person of interest’ attending his victim’s funeral. Jack burrowed his way into the centre of a large group of mourners walking to the church, and kept his head down.

Inside, an electronic organ filled the space with sombre chords. The pews were overflowing. Jack recognised some of The Beacon’s freelancers scattered through the congregation, including Cassandra, today in a black head scarf rather than red. He wondered if her horoscopes this week would be all doom and gloom. Caitlin sat in the front row, Zoe’s arm around her shoulders.

The coffin was draped in navy velvet and adorned with an abundance of white lilies. Patrick smiled at the mourners from a large photograph beside the coffin.

Jack avoided funerals whenever he could. When he did go, involuntary tears would flow even if it was for someone he never knew. But today he chose to sit in the back row not so much to avoid the embarrassment, but rather to avoid scrutiny.

A young woman next to him stared at her phone, long false fingernails clacking away on the screen. She was reading a news site, and Jack’s photograph scrolled past, then reappeared, then scrolled away again. He turned aside and buried his head in the order of service.

As the organist finished, Jack felt a nudge on his shoulder. It was Begley, his old navy suit too small for his expanding girth. Jack made space for him.

The priest began: ‘Friends, family and loved ones, we are gathered here today, not to mourn a life sadly taken from us, but to celebrate a life, to celebrate Patrick O’Shaughnessy. He—’

Begley leaned in uncomfortably close to Jack’s ear and whispered, ‘Detectives Humpty and Dumpty have been buzzing around like blue-arsed flies this morning. Maybe today’s newspaper woke them from their slumber.’

Jack tried to ignore him.

The priest continued, ‘Those who knew Patrick will remember his great fondness for—’

The annoying whisper was back in Jack’s ear. ‘The assistant commissioner tried to stop me from coming.’

Jack could hear the priest again. ‘Patrick loved this community, and the people loved him. Warm-hearted and generous seem to be common descriptions, and—’

This time the whisper was accompanied by a light spray of saliva. ‘I told him to fuck off, that this was a private matter.’

The woman next to Jack shot them a frosty glare.

Begley continued. ‘This is your last chance to tell me straight. Are you involved in this?’

Jack shook his head. ‘It was a revenge piece from a disgruntled employer.’

The woman beside Jack reprimanded them with an angry, ‘Shhhhh.’

Begley looked at her and nodded.

The woman stared at Jack longer than she should have. A few seconds later she was checking her phone and scrolling to Jack’s photo. She glanced back at Jack, then quickly away, and a few moments later started angling her phone camera towards him.

‘Christ on a bloody bike,’ said Begley, too loudly. The woman looked at Begley and he flashed his warrant card, then, with two fingers, pointed at his eyes and then hers. She quickly put down her phone.

The eulogies were moving, none more than Caitlin’s. She stood straight, without notes and, after a long silence, began. ‘My mother, whom I loved more than anybody else except my father, and now my father, have been cruelly taken from me and I stand here, surrounded by friends and family, but feeling totally alone …’ By the time she’d finished, Caitlin’s were the only dry eyes in the congregation – even the priest wiped a tear. Paparazzi girl next to Jack was trying to reattach one of her false eyelashes. Jack blinked in a futile attempt to try to clear his eyes. Begley sniffed.

Caitlin leaned forward, head bowed, and rested her hands on the coffin. She stayed there, motionless, until eventually Zoe guided her back to her seat.

After closing words from the priest, the mourners stood. The pallbearers lifted the coffin and set off slowly down the aisle, as the organist played ‘Amazing Grace’. Jack wished he could offer some support to Caitlin, however small. Perhaps to squeeze her hand as she walked by, or even catch her eye, but he was lost in the crowd.

The church was slow to empty. Through the doors, Jack saw Caitlin swamped by well-wishers. He also saw reporters and camera crews searching the crowd, searching for him. He sat, to wait it out. After twenty minutes, all was quiet outside and Jack was about to chance it when he heard footsteps entering. Two sets. Two men. Jack knew they were detectives, even before he saw the bulge of their guns. Begley’s Humpty and Dumpty, thought Jack. He stood and moved into the aisle before they reached him.

The older of the two asked, ‘Jack Harris?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Maguire and this is Detective Duffy.’ The detective looked around the empty room. ‘You seem to be hiding in here. All alone. Like a criminal. Are you a criminal?’

‘No more than you,’ said Jack.

Neither detective reacted.

Maguire said, ‘We need to question you about the murder of Patrick O’Shaughnessy.’

Inside, Jack’s anger was boiling away furiously, threatening to break loose, but he was determined to appear outwardly calm. ‘What, in here, a church, at the man’s funeral?’

Duffy replied, ‘At the station.’

‘You want me to walk out that door, with you?’

Maguire shrugged. ‘Unless you’d prefer to do it wearing handcuffs?’

‘And the camera crews are still there?’

A malicious grin spread across Duffy’s face. ‘Unfortunately, someone seems to have given them a tip off.’

Jack laughed, shrugged in resignation, then feinted leaving with them. Instead, he leaped onto the closest pew, jumped over a few more and then ran across to the central aisle. He sprinted to the sacristy door, pursued by loud shouts and fast footsteps.

A corridor took him to some stairs. He bounded down and burst through a door to find himself outside. He ran across the rectory lawn, scattering garden furniture as he went, until his way was blocked by a high cyclone fence topped with barbed wire. Jack didn’t hesitate. He climbed the fence where it joined a garage. At the top, he leaned as much weight as he could on the garage roof, then gingerly stepped over the barbed wire. As he jumped, his trouser leg snagged, and he felt barbs slice into his thigh before he fell heavily to the ground.

Jack grimaced in pain and looked at his trousers. Blood was seeping into the torn cloth.

The detectives appeared on the other side of the fence, running towards him and screaming at him to stop. As if. Without looking to see if their guns were drawn, Jack picked himself up and limped as quickly as he could towards Jonson Street, where he disappeared into the holiday crowds.

He hobbled on, trying to ignore the pain. Progress was easier with his left hand applying pressure to the wound. Behind The Rails Hotel, he limped north along the old tracks as fast as he could, heart pounding, covered in sweat, and trying to ignore the stinging pain in his thigh. He felt moisture under his hand and saw that a red patch was spreading on his trousers.

A few minutes later he burst through the doors of the police station, startling Anderson at reception.

Jack yelled at him, ‘Begley. Now!’

Anderson, too shocked to protest, picked up the phone and dialled.

For the first time in his life, Jack was pleased to see Begley, who was already back in uniform. On seeing the state of Jack, the policeman quickly showed him inside. After checking the staff tearoom was empty, they entered, closing the door behind them.

‘You look like shit,’ said Begley, as he tore off long lengths of paper towel and handed them over.

Jack patted them on his face and neck to soak up the sweat. ‘I met Humpty and Dumpty.’

A lopsided grin spread across Begley’s face. ‘Oh, this is going to be good.’

‘They tried to drag me through the press cordon after the funeral.’

Begley looked shocked. ‘Christ on a bloody bike.’

‘I might have slipped out the back door.’

Begley frowned, then said, ‘I have no doubt you did that to get to the police station in the most expeditious manner, to assist with our enquiries.’

‘Exactly.’

Begley looked at Jack’s leg. ‘Do you need anything for that?’

Jack separated the slash in his trousers. The gash in his skin was a few centimetres long, and not too deep. He was expecting worse given the pain, and a blood stain increasingly looking like the aftermath of a massacre.

‘Amputation, I’d say,’ said Begley as he handed Jack more paper towel.

As Jack dabbed at his wound, they heard a commotion outside. Begley opened the door just far enough for them to hear the two detectives arguing as they walked past.

‘You know he’s going to lose his shit.’

‘Well, if you weren’t such a slow fuck, he wouldn’t have got away.’

The footsteps receded and Begley turned to Jack. ‘Ready?’

Jack nodded and followed Begley to the increasingly familiar interview room. He then watched from the door as Begley walked along the corridor towards the source of the shouting.

The assistant commissioner didn’t sound happy. ‘What do you mean you lost him?’

‘He escaped, sir.’

‘You two clowns couldn’t find your own dicks with your hands down your trousers.’

Jack heard Begley knock and say, ‘Sir.’

‘Not now, Inspector,’ and then, ‘I don’t know why I brought you useless specimens up from Sydney.’

Another knock.

‘Inspector, I said not now. Are you deaf as well as stupid?’

Begley’s voice, ‘Sorry, sir, but he’s in the interview room.’

The shouting stopped.

‘Harris. In the interview room, sir. Mr Harris said detectives Duffy and Maguire asked him to meet them here at the station fifteen minutes ago. He’s been waiting for a while. Shall I tell him they’re on the way, sir? Or make him a cup of coffee?’

Jack just had time sit in the chair before Duffy and Maguire burst through the door, their faces like thunder. Duffy shook his finger at him, ‘You little …’

The assistant commissioner entered the room, followed by Begley.

Jack, still seething inside, smiled calmly back at them. ‘I understand you have some questions for me, gentlemen?’

The assistant commissioner turned an angry face to his men. ‘You two, my office.’

They left, Duffy giving Jack the evil eye as he backed out of the room.

When they’d gone, Begley said, ‘I’ve just remembered why I love this job so much. I’ll bring you a coffee.’