Blood From A Shadow (2012) Read online

  “Somebody must like it if it’s the biggest seller in the world,” I said.

  “Ah, but that’s the problem, Con, that’s the problem,” he said. “Everybody does stuff just because they like it, not because it’s right. Everybody is entitled to do anything they want and they think that’s what freedom means, they don’t realise that’s the way to slavery. You would think the Japanese would understand that, above anybody,” he sounded disappointed.

  I sipped more whiskey and stepped over to the enormous window. It was bullet proof glass.

  “Quite a view from up here, I didn’t realise we were so high up,” I said.

  “Yes, deceptive,” he said, then mulled over his Red Breast in silence, not an embarrassed silence, not because we couldn’t find anything to say. It was our choice not to say anything for a while. Then,

  “So, you spoke to Gallogly and Duffin over there?” he said.

  “Yeah, I spoke to them and here I am. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, but now I’m here I know there is nothing for me to do,” I said.

  “Oh, I think it is very good that you’re here, good for Sarah,” he said. “You’ve really lifted her spirits you know. She was very low, very depressed before you came. Wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning, and when she did get up, all she did all day was sit and look out this window, as if she could see something, was watching something happen. As soon as she heard you were coming, she was back to her old self. It was as if Ferdia himself was coming home to her.”

  She knew. My pathetic breakdown was my confession to her. She knew and had forgiven me. What sort of strength did that take?

  “I can’t stay long. I’ve things to do at home. Will she be ok, she looks as if she is coping really well,” I said.

  He shrugged. “She’ll be fine. She has great faith too, you know. A couple of things to work out here, but I’ve invited her to come back with me to Rome for a spell, we just need to get a few things settled here first,” he said.

  “How do you know Duffin?” I said.

  “Oh him, the bold Duffin! I’ve come across him a few times in my work, that’s all. And Gallogly! Now there’s something! Who would have thought that chancer would end up where he is now, eh?” he said.

  “What sort of work do you do, Monsignor, that brings you into contact with a man like Archer Duffin?” I said.

  “Well, I’m more of a civil servant now, you know, not really a priest at all anymore,” he said. “I do the paperwork nobody else will do and get sent to meetings nobody else will go to, that sort of thing. Probably like Duffin himself, I shouldn’t wonder. Everybody calls me Artie, Con, I got that when I was in the Bronx. Sarah likes to stick to ‘Monsignor Arthur’, but you can call me ‘Artie’. I get Monsignor at work, but I’m on holidays, you know?”

  “A working holiday, Artie? Anything to do with Duffin and Swansea?” I said.

  He had the same eyes as Ferdy, but more intelligent, or a different kind of intelligence. He was a real hotshot too, and didn’t care who knew it.

  “So you met Swansea, did you? We wondered why you didn’t arrive yesterday. Sarah said you must have had some trouble, but said not to pry. Well, I can assure you I have no working relationship with either Duffin or Swansea, except in passing. If they think of me at all, it’s probably as a nuisance, or worse. I’ve been the public face of the campaign for an inquiry into the murder of my cousins. That hasn’t pleased Mr Swansea, but what could I do? I had no choice, my conscience wouldn’t allow me to let them brush it under the carpet,” he said.

  “We always have a choice, Artie,” I said.

  “Very good, Con, very good. Well, yes, it was my choice to pursue justice for my cousins, Sarah’s brothers. I have access to information, through my job, that isn’t available to the general public. There’s a lesson here, an important principle, we can’t have a decent, civil society if the state can use murder as a convenient tool, that’s the bottom line,” he said.

  “I don’t get you guys, how do you think I’m going to help with that?” I said. “I know nothing about it, Ferdy talked about it some, but he knew nothing really about it either, so what am I here for? If you’ve got information, why do you need an inquiry anyway? Why don’t you just tell the New York Times or the Washington Post?” I said.

  He nibbed his whiskey in birdlike sips, mine was almost empty, his was almost full.

  “I can’t abuse my office for personal gain, Con, I can’t do it just because I’d like to, that’s another choice I have made,” he said, “anyway, the campaign has been suspended, maybe abandoned for good, we’ll see. I came home last week and Sarah said it was over, forget about it. We’ve cancelled the ‘American Friends of Justice’ visit, it’s all over now, Baby Blue.”

  “Forget about it, after all this time? You have Swansea plenty worried, from what I saw, why quit now?” I said.

  “Because Sarah says so. She said you were coming over here and she didn’t want you getting dragged into it. She said you have had a difficult enough time, it wouldn’t be fair on you. She wouldn’t have it any other way, they were her brothers, she has the final say. She’s a formidable woman, Con, she calls the shots.”

  “So why am I here? Your friend Duffin went to a lot of trouble to get me here, and trouble was waiting on me. What’s the big idea?” I said.

  “I wouldn’t start to guess the motives of a man like Duffin for anything, but there is this Turkish thing. That is hanging over Sarah’s head, although you have taken her mind off it for now, of course,” he said.

  “So that’s genuine? I was starting to think that was a phony story to get me here,” I said.

  “No, not phony at all, there is a ring of truth to it, alright,” he smiled. “People invested money over there on John McErlane’s recommendation. About $250k has been lost, now Sarah’s left to face it on her own, which isn’t easy in a close community like this. People here expect their neighbors to look after them. The family’s good name was built over generations, unless something is sorted out, it will be lost overnight. That’s a heavy load on Sarah’s shoulders,” he said.

  “I still don’t see what I’m supposed to do about it. Duffin said he wanted me to find out what happened. He could find out everything just by speaking to you, so what’s going on?” I said.

  “Con, I think you are really here because Sarah wants you here. You are another son to her. You’ve had a bad time, emotionally. She knows she is the only one who can put your mind at rest. As far as I know, that’s it, unless you have something more to tell me?” he said.

  Fuck. She did know. Did he know as well, playing a game with me?

  “She’s the only person I know who has always given me everything, never asked for anything back, that’s true,” I said. “And I’m grateful, you saw the state I was in when I saw her. But I’m a big boy now, I have to make it on my own. I think I’ve done pretty well these last few months, and I think I’ll do better in future. I would do anything to protect her, but Turkish property scams aren’t my line, so I’m sorry to disappoint everyone, again, but that’s how it is.”

  “Well, maybe we can combine both of those things. You can let her mother you, the way she would for Ferdia, and you can give something back by helping with the Turkish thing,” he said.

  Turkey. The word tripped a switch in my head, fired up memories I didn’t need right now.

  “I asked Duffin what exactly his job was, he didn’t give me a straight answer. You haven’t either,” I said.

  “Me? There’s nothing to tell,” he said. “I’m a desk jockey in the Vatican. Sometimes things happen that nobody wants to touch. I’m the junior man, so that stuff usually ends up in my lap, just paperwork really. The bottom line is I make sure the Vatican doesn’t get embarrassed by any of the crazy stuff that flies around.”

  “Stuff like Duffin is involved in?” I said.

  “Could be, you wouldn’t believe the Mickey Mouse garbage ends up in my bin,” he said.

  “And
you guys think that because a Turkish intell guy saved my life once, mine and Ferdy’s, that somehow I’m going to have some juice with him now? And what’s it to Duffin anyway, the CIA have a policy to help out washed up grunts and their families?” I said.

  “I don’t know who he works for,” Artie said. “I wouldn’t think it’s the CIA exactly, maybe some other government desk job equivalent to my own.”

  “That’s just what worries me Artie, you’re like Duffin but holy, some sort of Vatican spook?” I said.

  Artie exploded in laughter, a speckle of Jameson’s wasted on the bullet proof glass, a sliver of salome Milano snagged in his teeth.

  “It’s not the fucking da Vinci Code, Con!” he laughed.

  There was a contrived cough outside before Mrs McErlane edged backwards through the door with a tray carrying freshly brewed tea and ice cream.

  “It’s real Italian ice cream, Con, you can get it in Newry now,” she said. “It reminds me of Kimball Avenue, remember we used to go down there after Mass on Sundays?”

  I did remember, but suppressed my need to cry about it anyway.

  “I’m sure you’re tired after all your travels, son, I’ve made Ferdia’s room up for you, he would be happy you’re staying a while,” she said.

  Artie’s eyes gave nothing away.

  “Monsignor Arthur has got his work to do, so he’ll not detain you any longer. You just make yourself at home, like our old apartment in Yonkers, and don’t feel obliged to listen to all Arthur’s old stories, sometimes he doesn’t know when to stop, he gets carried away with himself, isn’t that right, Monsignor?” she said.

  Artie’s eyes said we would finish this later.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I lay on Ferdy’s bed and practiced my breathing exercises. I was surrounded by him, his clothes, his music, the sediment deposited by his living. All stuff I recognised, it felt as if I was breathing his air, like he had slipped out to see someone and would bring back his loud horseplay any minute.

  She hadn’t said anything, but I was sure she knew I had betrayed her trust. I would get out of there before she was compelled to put it into words, before I forced her to destroy the respite of our cradled idyll.

  My exercises were stalled by the commotion.

  “Get away from here, you bastards, get away from this house! Tell Swansea to go to hell!” she screamed at the intercom.

  I jumped up and followed Artie to the hallway. Mrs McErlane was shouting abuse at a young cop, his face red even on the tiny video monitor.

  “Wait Sarah, wait now, I’ll go down and see what they want, you stay here with Con,” Artie said, now in his priest uniform.

  I brought Mrs McErlane into the kitchen, her body trembling though her voice was steady and strong.

  “I’m grand, son, don’t worry about me. Monsignor Arthur will see them off, the dirty bastards!” she said.

  The McErlanes’ apartment had been a safe haven for me when I was a child, in the bad times, but I remembered the only angry voice I ever heard had been hers, not Ferdy’s, never Mr McErlane’s. Standing in the middle of their apartment, in her nurse uniform, a red anger screaming at us. It didn’t matter, all the apartments I knew then echoed to screaming adults, and her anger always cooled quickly. It was just a memory.

  Artie came back quickly, breathing hard but victorious.

  “It’s alright, Sarah, alright. Swansea sent them to ask me to a meeting. I told them to get stuffed,” he told her, but winked at me.

  I followed him out to the garden, a hill of sheep-cropped rough grass, bounded by a dry stone wall. My cellphone beeped a message. Rose sending Gallogly’s number, but nothing else, no words for me to interpret, to infuse potential significance. She knew me too well. Artie took out his cigarettes, L&M Red Label, it said on the Italian packet. I declined.

  “That was a message from Swansea for you, not me,” Artie said. “He wants you to phone him, the young fella didn’t know what it’s about, just said it was urgent,” he palmed me a scrap of paper. “What do you think that’s about?” he said.

  “Something to do with your friend Duffin, I’d say. A guy called Lutterall wanted me on a flight to the States this morning,” I said.

  “Well, it’s supposed to be a free country, you don’t have to speak to Swansea, if I was you I would forget about it. Let him go to hell,” he said.

  Artie was agitated, sucked hard on his cigarette.

  “I’m not worried about Swansea, in fact I think I will speak to him, maybe I’ll find out something about what the fuck I’m doing here,” I said. “Nobody else is going to tell me anything, isn’t that right?”

  Artie swabbed a dapple of ash from the sleeve of his jacket, and kept rubbing long after any particles had been smudged away.

  “It’s up to yourself,” he said. “But don’t forget his hands are dirty, he’ll say whatever suits him, just don’t take his word on anything, that’s my advice.”

  “Don’t worry Artie, I’m a big boy, only Mrs McErlane gets to treat me like a child these days,” I said.

  I walked down to the wall, hopped over and crossed the field until I reached the road. I called Gallogly first. Ringing, ringing, voicemail, “Hi, this is Jack Gallogly, I’m not available right now, please leave your name and number and I’ll get right back to you. Thanks for calling”. The contrived sincerity in his voice just irritated me. Phoned again, ringing, ringing, voicemail.

  “Fuck you Gallogly! You’ve got me into shit here, you and that motherfucker Duffin! I’m coming home, tell Eddie broken nose to watch out for me, because I’m going to kick your ass, you dumb fucker!” I screamed loud enough for Artie to hear me, up at the house.

  Next I phoned Rose. Ringing, ringing, voicemail. Fuck, I hated that.

  “Rose, Rose I’m sorry. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, I know I’ve been a jerk, but I really think I can get my shit together. Maybe not too fast, I’ll let you decide, I know you and Con have to think it over, but I’ll be there for you. I’ll be home as soon as I can, the next couple of days anyway. I’ll call you then, just think it over. I know I can do it this time. I’m sorry, tell Con I’m sorry.”

  That came out all wrong. It sounded wrong. But she would know what I meant, at least she would know.

  Then I called Swansea.

  Yes, he knew the McCooey campaign was over. The Friends of Justice could fuck off somewhere else now.

  Yes, Lutterall was mad, I was to be picked up and put on a plane. That would be fine by me now. When? Some things to talk about first, things I should know. Swansea couldn’t speak over the phone, never know which bastard is listening in these days, get Artie McCooey to take me to their meeting place, 9pm tonight.

  I went back to Artie. I could see his confident posture was ruffled.

  “You and Swansea have a secret meeting place?” I said.

  He was trying really hard to be casual.

  “Sure, we meet, you have to know what the enemy is doing, Con, you know that,” he said. “But don’t tell Sarah, she would be upset, she doesn’t see the big picture. I’ve had to protect her from her own rage, sometimes hatred can burn you up inside, she wouldn’t understand.”

  Artie’s problem was that she would understand, and he would have nowhere to hide then.

  “Ok, we need an excuse to be there at 9pm tonight. He wants to see me on my own, you wait in the car,” I said.

  “If that’s the way you want it, we’ll say I’m taking you to see another relative of mine, he owns a pub in Armagh. Sarah doesn’t like him or his pub, so she won’t come with us,” he said.

  Artie told lies easily, he was obviously well practiced, but I wasn’t sure he fooled Sarah.

  “You should stay here and rest, Cornelius, never mind running around the country with Monsignor Arthur,” Sarah said. “Just don’t let him get carried away with himself and keep you out late. Sometimes he likes to hear his own voice too much, don’t listen to half what he says.”

  A call to the Davan
Country Stores and the Merc was at our disposal. Artie drove through the security gate, Sarah waved me off.

  “So, Artie, you’re some sort of troubleshooter for the Vatican and you have secret meetings with the cop who nailed your cousins, anything else I should know?” I said.

  “It sounds more grandiose than it is, Con, but just remember that things are seldom as simple as they seem, and not only in this country. I mean, when you and Ferdia were captured in Iraq, there must have been things happened, terrible things we never heard about. I know Ferdia never spoke about it to anyone, not even his mother,” he said.

  “The Turkish guy with us got his head whacked off with a ceremonial sword, only it took three strikes before it came off completely,” I said. “It doesn’t get much more terrible than that, watching and knowing you are next, no wonder Ferdy didn’t speak about it, neither did I.”

  “And of course, that had a terrible effect on you both, you and Ferdia?” he said.

  Fuck, I should have grilled him on Swansea and his mysterious meetings, now I had allowed him to outflank me. I didn’t like where this was going.

  “We got over it, like you said before, sometimes there is no real choice,” I said.

  “Did I say that? Oh well, you knew Ferdia better than anyone,” he said. “You must have seen a side of him that even his family, even Sarah, wouldn’t recognize. Do you think that had more of an effect on him than we realised? Did his behavior seem strange afterwards?”

  The slimy bastard knew, but I wasn’t going to mouth the words for him.

  “Ferdy was the toughest guy I ever met. He could dish it out good, but he could take more punishment than any mortal should be able to endure. Anything you threw at him, he sucked it up and came back for more,” I said.

  “Yes, he was tough, alright, he was tough,” Artie said. “He was about 15 or 16 when the family moved back here from New York, wasn’t he? It wasn’t easy for him, the local boys gave him a hard time, at first, but he had that toughness, they soon found that out. The boys around here are grand, you know, just young lads messing about, but they were a bit territorial, a bit intimidated by this new boy, the good looking Yank. The girls all loved him, of course, that didn’t help.”