Turbulent Priests Part 27

*Take her to trial. There's nothing else for it. I've no way of getting her off the island.'

*The ferry might be one way.'

*Charlie McMa.n.u.s has taken the ferry out of service. There is no way off the island.'

*Can he do that?'

*It's his ferry.'

*Like it's my ball and no one else is playing with it.'

*Something like that. He says it needs a refit or something. But I detect another hand at work.'

*Father White,' I said.

Murtagh looked at me, a hint of a smile appeared, just for a moment, then was chased away. *Well, that's not for me to say. Whatever his reasons, he has the right. It's his boat. And it's not like I can summon help. Someone smashed my radio. While I was out, they were in. Stupid, really. I didn't lock the door. And me a copper.'

*You could commandeer the ferry.'

*Yes. And drown.'

I grinned. *Yeah, I know how you feel. Will the police on sh.o.r.e not be worried about not hearing from you?'

He shook his head. *Not a bit of it. Sometimes they don't hear from me for months. It doesn't worry them. I run the whole show here, and they're quite happy to let me do it. I mean, who else would, but someone born and bred here?'

We looked at each other in silence for a few moments. He seemed a decent kind of a spud, but a decent spud under pressure. He was having to deal with things way outside the remit of a lowly island copper. He was being asked to be at once a moralist, philosopher and lawmaker, a fearsome trinity.

*So there's no way of getting in touch with the outside world?' I asked.

He shook his head slowly.

*Isn't there a radio up by the bird observatory?'

It was out before I thought about it. There was a moment ary look of surprise in his eyes which quickly settled into a steady gaze. *And how would you be knowing that?'

I shrugged. *I heard.'

He reached into the open drawer. Instead of the gun he took out a small black dictaphone tape recorder and placed it before me. It looked remarkably like my tape recorder.

In fact, it was my tape recorder.

*I recovered this at the murder scene.'

*Murder scene?'

He was nodding slowly. *Is there anything you want to tell me?' he said.

Sometimes you can hear your heart beat louder than The Clash at full volume. This was one of those times. I scrambled for words. *I forgot the satellite dish . . .'

*f.u.c.k the satellite dish.'

*Okay.' We looked at each other. I had a decision to make. He was a McCooey, albeit a wandering one. If he was any sort of a policeman he'd have listened to my interview with Moira, then checked with her when it was recorded. He would know that it had happened on the day Bill had died. So I'd been up there and not volunteered the information. Suspicious or what? Yet he had not sought me out for questioning. I had come to him. So possibly he knew something about Bill's death which absolved me. Or he could be lazy, or slow. Where was I going to run to anyway? Wrathlin was an open prison. So now he had me he could arrest me, then send me for trial up at the church, with Christine as judge and jury. Should I act dumb? Should I tell all?

He was there in front of me and he seemed more normal than most anyone else I'd met on the island. He cursed. He seemed mildly cynical. He was law and order, yet he was as trapped on this island as the rest of us.

I'm not good at making decisions. I mean sometimes I am. Murtagh drummed his fingers on the table and said, *If it helps, I know you were being chased.'

*What?'

*Tell me what happened up at the bird observatory.'

*I . . .'

*The truth. I know most of it already.'

*But who . . .?'

*Dan, tell me what happened or I'll throw you in a cell.' He thumbed upstairs. *With her.'

I told him.

He nodded. We sat in silence for several moments. *Do you want to tell me what's going on?' I asked eventually.

He shook his head. *Too much,' he said.

*But . . .'

*But nothing. Take your tape recorder. It would be good if you could say a few words on Mary Reilly's behalf.'

*But aren't you going to . . .?'

*No.'

*You believe what I . . .'

*I do. Now leave it. Don't ask me anything else. When the opportunity arises, get off the island. That's my advice, Mr Starkey. Take your wife and child and get off the island.'

*Do you know who . . .?'

*Leave it.' He stood abruptly and unhooked a set of keys from a hook on the wall. *Now, you run up and see her now if you want. She's handcuffed to the bed, so she won't harm you if you don't get too close.'

*Permanently handcuffed?'

Murtagh nodded. *I know it's hardly straight from the International Convention on Human Rights, but I only have the one cell and the lock on it wouldn't fox a reasonably bright four-year-old. And before you ask, she doesn't get a chance to stretch her legs because there are people out there who want to stretch her neck.'

*How does she . . .?'

*p.i.s.s? In the pot. It's not very pleasant for either of us. But that's the way it is.'

*What about her mental state?'

*She's like Greenland. Big and empty. She's been quite upset. She didn't want to make a statement. She was quite bra.s.sy when I first saw her at Dr Finlay's, but then someone threw a brick at her as we were leaving and I think that surprised her. G.o.d knows why. It didn't hit her. Nearly broke my f.u.c.king foot. Ooops. There I go again.'

He led me up the stairs and unlocked the cell door. As he pushed the door open he whispered, *Word seems to have filtered out, so try not to mention crucifixion. It sets her off.'

28.

I had already observed two sides of Mary Reilly. The first, perched rosy-cheeked on her bike, placid, happily reading the Bible; the second, minutes later, cheeks aflame, bearing down upon an innocent child, seemingly intent on murder. Now there was a third: doe-eyed, colour-drained, straggle-haired, scared.

She looked fearfully up from the bed as the door opened, then shrank back against the headboard as I entered. Murtagh locked the door behind me. I leant back against it. The heavily barred window gave a view of the harbour. The grey box room contained just the bed, a chamber pot, and a copy of the Bible, which lay open on the quilt. Mary's right hand was handcuffed to the metal bedframe. The skin was red-raw at the wrist.

*That must be sore,' I said.

She looked down at the handcuffs, then gave a little nod. She began to ma.s.sage the skin.

*Do you remember me?'

She looked up, nodded quickly again. There were no obvious physical signs of damage from the collision.

*Your mother asked me to come and see you.'

When she spoke her voice was as timid and high as a little girl's. *Mum?'

*She asked me to see how you were.' I pushed myself off the door and stepped slowly towards the bed. As I sat on the end of it she cowered back even further. *It's okay, Mary. I'm here to help you. Is there anything your mum can get you?'

*Why isn't she here herself?'

*She's not allowed, Mary. The Council won't allow her.'

*But why?'

I shrugged. *I don't really know. I think they think you're bad.'

*I am bad.'

*You know that?'

She nodded sadly. *Of course. I tried to hurt a wee girl. Of course I'm bad. What else could I be?'

*Why did you do it, Mary?'

*I was told to.'

*Who told you?'

*The man.'

*What man?'

*The man.'

*What man, Mary? What's his name?'

*He has no name.'

*What does he look like?'

*I don't know. Just a man.'

*Where did you meet him?'

*Somewhere.'

*Somewhere on the island?'

She shrugged. *I don't remember.'

There was a dreamy quality to her answers, but the vagueness didn't strike me as deliberate. There was genuine confusion in her eyes.

*Mary,' I said as gently as I could, *in a couple of hours you're going to be asked a lot of questions up at the church, about what happened. It's important that you tell me anything you can, so that I can speak up for you. Do you understand?'

She nodded slowly. *They don't like me, do they?'

*Mary, it's not that . . .'

*They're going to hurt me, aren't they?'

*If you tell me what . . .'

*He said they were going to hurt me.'

*Who did?'

*The Father.'

*Father Flynn?'

She shook her head. *The other one. He said they were going to punish me for what I'd done.' Suddenly she began to take great whooping breaths and tears began to course down her face. I patted her shoulder. *They're going to hurt me!' she cried.

*They won't . . .'