Sanctuary Read Free Page B

impossible.’
    His voice quiet, he ventured, ‘Wasn’t that time exceptionally hot? A heatwave, if I recall. And you were coming off a bad case. Isn’t it possible you nodded off for five minutes?’
    â€˜Christ almighty.’ All these years of such agony, guilt – for nothing? ‘Why? Why would she do such a thing? She adored that child.’
    He took his time, then said, ‘The little girl had Down syndrome. Her mother felt she’d be better off out of a world that would only hurt and ridicule such a child. It’s not uncommon.’
    I was reeling, spat, ‘She threatened to kill me. She let her husband go down the toilet, and all the time she was the one. The fucking bitch, how could she do that?’
    He said, ‘Denial is a very powerful tool, Jack, and Cathy used to be a junkie, right?’
    I said, ‘I’ll fucking kill her.’ I meant it. I was nearly blind from tears and rage.
    He waited, then said, ‘Don’t you think she does that to herself, every single day?’
    My whole body began to shake, from anger, hurt, confusion and the terrible waste and loss.
    Stewart reached in his suit jacket, took out a small envelope and slid it across the table. ‘Take one of these babies, you won’t be hurting. No more than two a day.’
    I wanted to say,
Shove your fecking pills
. But I’m an alky and thus, as an addict, open to anything mind-altering. The last years of my drinking had been about numbness. I was no longer seeking joy or fun. I was drinking, as Exley said, to ‘Simply dim the lights’. Fred Exley’s book
A Fan’s Notes
was nigh essential reading for a drinker, and though the words are somewhat different in the book, that’s what he meant. The lights had been glaring for years and, alas, not blinding me but allowing me to see all too clearly. There was no greater curse.
    I took a pill out. It was large and black and I raised my eyebrows.
    â€˜Black beauties,’ he said simply.
    I had to ask, ‘And are they beauties?’
    He gave a tight smile, no warmth. It was a longtime since Stewart did warmth; the closest he ever came was his odd friendship with me. Music was playing over the speakers and Snow Patrol came on with ‘Set The Fire To The Third Bar’. Hell of a title and hell of a song.
    Stewart asked, ‘You’ll be returning to your day job, I suppose?’
    Investigating.
    I said, ‘Soon as Ridge gets in shape, I’m outa here.’
    Like any ex-con, his eyes were continually darting round, checking the exits, the people, gauging the threat. I realized how sad but true it was that you could leave prison but it would never leave you.
    He said, ‘If you need any help, I’m available. And as you know, I know everyone, in some capacity.’
    So I showed him the list and, unlike Clancy, he didn’t dismiss it, said, ‘A judge killed himself yesterday.’ He filled me in on the details and then added, ‘Around his neck was a placard with the block letters I HAVE TRESPASSED .’
    Christ on a bike.
    I said, ‘That’s the same language as in the letter.’
    He studied the list, then said, ‘Any idea who it might be?’
    I shook my head.
    â€˜Lemme root around.’
    â€˜You’ll want paying?’ I asked.
    That icy smile again. ‘Course.’
    Then before I could say anything, he said, ‘Let me share my Zen learning with you.’
    Ah fuck.
    I said, ‘I’d rather pay you in, like, cash.’
    He was standing now, said, ‘Cash doesn’t last. I think you and me both know that.’

 
    Â 
8

Anglo-Irish
    Â 
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    I’d just approached the entrance to my flat when a BMW pulled up, like in the movies or a bad novel, with a screech of brakes. The door opened and what Mickey Spillane would call a
bruiser
got out. He was one of the largest men I’ve ever seen, and remember, I’d trained as a