“Yes. I think she did.” Paddy wasn’t sure. He’d hardly heard her say anything. “Anyway, you’ll soon find out. That’s her coming towards us. I recognise the red coat. I think it’s young Jimmy that’s with her. Come on. Don’t lag behind.”
Andy had slowed down to compose himself. He could feel his heart racing. The excitement was too much. He could barely speak. “O K,” was all he could manage.
When they got closer, however, and it became clear that it was not the girl he had expected, his excitement changed to disappointment and anger. He was angry with Paddy for misleading him. But, mostly, he was angry with himself. He should have known that it couldn’t be Mary Prendergast.
“This is Andy Horan,” said Paddy. Then, turning to Teresa, “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“I’m Teresa,” she said with a smile, holding out her hand, which Andy dutifully but reluctantly took, the disappointment still showing on his face.
Jimmy was puzzled. “She’s Martin’s niece,” he said, attempting to get Andy interested. “She came to see Martin but of course he’s not here.”
“I was in the area,” said Teresa. “So I thought I’d look him up. It was bad timing.”
Teresa’s refined Birmingham accent was not one that Andy recognised. It was not American. At least Paddy had got that right. But, he should have known that it was not Irish. Convinced that she was not Martin’s niece, Andy felt his resentment growing. Finally he spoke.
“You say you’re Martin’s niece?”
Teresa sensed the hostility in the question. Andy clearly knew that she was not Martin’s niece. She was on the spot. She decided to dodge the question.
“You grew up close to Martin’s brother and his family (Teresa didn’t say my uncle. It would be less to correct later) I thought we could have a chat. I’m sure there’s so much you can tell me.”
Andy shook his head. “I’ve nothing to say to you.”
Paddy was shocked. It was so unlike Andy. “Don’t be like that Andy,” he pleaded. “It’s not like you.”
Jimmy too was taken aback by Andy’s apparent rudeness. “What’s wrong with you Andy?” he demanded to know. “The Lady only wants a chat. What harm can that do?”
Andy, however, remained silent.
Then Teresa spoke. “Never mind Andy. You needn’t talk to me if you don’t want to. I just thought it would be nice. But, it’s up to you. I’m sorry for wasting your time.” Then, turning to the others, “well I must be on my way. It’s been nice meeting you all. Thanks for your help Jimmy.” With that Teresa set off walking
Annoyed, Jimmy turned on Andy. “There was no need for that. You’ve upset the lady. Go after her and say you’re sorry.”
Again, Andy shook his head. “She’s not Martin’s niece.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Well in that case Andy,” said Paddy. “You did the right thing not talking to her. Good on you.” Paddy slapped Andy on the back, which Andy obviously didn’t appreciate. “Sure she could be anyone, pretending to be Martin’s niece; you never know what you’d be telling her. Mary must have suspected her. That’ll be why she asked me to get you. There’s no flies on Mary, I’ll tell you.”
As Teresa hurried away without a backward glance, Jimmy remarked, “I think she realised her game was up, whatever her game was. I was starting to have some doubts myself, but I put them out of my head again. For a stranger she knows an awful lot about what’s going on. She told me Michael O’Malley had died. Now, why would she be interested in that?”
“Oh, God rest him.” It was clearly the first time Paddy had heard of Michael’s death.
Andy silently shook his head, as Jimmy continued, “I think she knows more than she’s letting on.”
“What makes you think that?” asked Paddy.
“Well, for one thing, she said our house would be the centre of a police investigation.”
“Oh, Jesus! That’s just what we need. But why?”
“That’s the strange thing. Mary told her that she was going to report Martin going missing to the police. But, when I said that I didn’t think the police would be interested in a missing Irishman she said it would also be about Michael O’Malley’s death.”
“What’s that got to do with us?
“That’s what I asked her, but she didn’t give me straight answer. Maybe she realized that she said too much. When I asked her if she thought that Martin disappearing had something to do with the death of Michael O’Malley she said she didn’t know what she thought. But, it was her that made the connection.”
“Sounds like she has something to do with the police.” Paddy was worried. “We’d better get back and warn the others in case she’s right about that investigation.”
“Ah, don’t mind that,” said Jimmy. “Sure we’ve nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t know. You never know what they’d find. Andy you must be freezing with no coat on. Come back with us for a warm.”
“No. I’ll be going back to my own place now.”
***
Teresa quickened her pace. She was in very agitated state: a state she hoped she’d concealed from the three men she was hurrying away from. She could almost feel their eyes piercing her back. She knew that her hasty retreat would only confirm their suspicions of her. It couldn’t be helped. She had to get away.
Teresa regarded herself as a reasonably strong woman. She was certainly no weakling when dealing with men. Growing up with three brothers (she was the only girl) she couldn’t be. Andy however, was something else. What she saw in his eyes was pure hatred.
Clearly Andy knew immediately he set eyes on her that she was not Martin’s niece. For that she was at least partially prepared, but the degree of hostility he had shown her was beyond her comprehension. She was bewildered. Andy loathed her and, no doubt, so would the others once he told her that she was not who she said she was.
It was not a good end to her visit to Broadfield. Nevertheless the end it must be. Her business there was finished. There was no point in hanging on any longer. Martin was not there and Andy, the only one who could tell her about Martin’s past’ was clearly not willing to do so. Even if he was she couldn’t face him again.
As Teresa approached the car she felt faint. She needed to sit down. To steady herself she leaned her back against her car while she fumbled in her handbag for her keys. She was unaware of the priest’s approach until she heard: “You have a nice car Teresa.” On his way from the church to the presbytery, Father Downey had stopped to make the friendly comment.
Teresa however was in no mood for a conversation about the car or anything else. “Thanks Father,” was all she could manage.
She found the keys. Then, from a shaking hand she dropped them on the tarmac.
“Are you Ok?” Father Downey sounded concerned. Seeing Teresa stumble retrieving her keys it must have been obvious to him that she was not OK.
“Yes Father. I’m OK.” Unsteadily Teresa put the key in the door lock. “I just need to sit down.”
>
“Come in the house. I’ll make you a drink.”
“No Father. I meant in the car.” Teresa opened the door and collapsed into the driver’s seat. She didn’t wind the window down or look at the priest again. After a few seconds she composed herself, started the engine and drove off, ignoring the priest's pleas.
Chapter 11. Joe Casey
Joe Casey was feeling pleased with himself that Saturday afternoon as he drove his van on the Warwick road. He had just collected the van, of
which he was then the proud new owner. It was a small five cwt ford; second hand of course. The back doors seemed to rattle more than on it’s test-drive the previous evening. Nevertheless it handled well.
It was his first step in launching his new career. He was a painter and decorator and was about to start on his own. He had already done some of the preparatory work. He’d approached some contractors and got some positive responses. So confident was he that he’d planned to give up his job. He would hand in his notice on Monday. All he had been short of was transport and then he’d got it.
It would only be a one-man business: although, he envisaged, not for long. He had given much thought to how it would go. He didn’t need premises at first, other than his flat, which would also be his office. He would have a telephone installed. He would keep his materials in his van. His name would be on the sides of the van. He pictured it,
JOE CASEY
PAINTER & DECORATOR
His girl friend would be impressed, as would his parents. He was on his way to see his parents then. Such visits were rare, especially since he moved to Smithwick, as his brother, Paddy, who he occasionally met, was always reminding him. “They could be dead and buried and you wouldn’t know,” Paddy stated. When they last met.
“You’d tell me”
“If I knew where you lived. Give me your address then.”
Reluctantly, on Paddy’s insistence, Joe gave him the address of his flat.
“Don’t be giving this to anyone else, especially Teresa,” Joe stressed.
“I don’t need her coming round complaining about the state of the flat.”
“Don’t worry,” Paddy laughed. “It’s just in case of an emergency.
***
Suddenly Joe had to brake hard to avoid hitting the car in front. He wasn’t concentrating on his driving and hadn’t noticed until almost too late that the traffic ahead had come to a halt. There was a queue of traffic approaching Acocks Green. He was still an inexperienced driver. It was only a month since he’d passed his test and, apart from a test drive on the previous evening, this was the only driving he’d done since then.
He was telling himself that he must concentrate harder when he spotted the big man on the footpath ahead, walking briskly towards the town. It was Dave Campbell. Even from the back there was no mistaking him.
He must have come out of the side road, Dudley Park Road, on Joe’s left, thought Joe. Could he have seen him? Thankfully, Joe thought, probably not. In any case, he seemed to have more pressing things on his mind, like getting to wherever it was he was hurrying to get to get to. He was the last man that Joe wished to see, or to be seen by. Amongst other things, Joe was planning to take some of what Dave might think of as his work.
The traffic started to move. There was a danger that Joe would have to stop again where Dave would see him. To avoid that he took a left turn into Dudley Park Road. That was a close one, he thought as he drove along Dudley Park Road. It didn’t matter if he did a detour: the drive was mostly to test the van. He held his hand in front of the air vent. He felt warm air. The heater was working. On the whole he was pleased with the van. Then he noticed that the fuel gauge was showing almost empty. Better get back on the Warwick Road where he’d seen a petrol station. He took a left turn. Another left turn should take him back on the main road.
The strange behaviour of a man on the footpath caught Joe’s, attention. The man in a heavy overcoat was running and occasionally glancing over his shoulder as if he was being chased. As Joe got closer he thought the man seemed vaguely familiar. He slowed down to have a closer look. When level with the man he recognised his ex workmate, who was clearly in some sort of trouble.
Joe stopped the van, wound the window down, and called “Alan.” Alan continued running, giving no indication that he’d heard. Joe piped his horn. That seemed to startle Alan, but with barely a glance in the direction of the van, he continued running.
Joe drove the van forward to again draw level with Alan. He called again, “Alan, what’s wrong?” That time he got his attention. Alan stopped and turned. Joe got out of the van and repeated “Alan what’s wrong.
Alan didn’t answer. He just stared at Joe with a wild and frightened look on his face. Then, apparently on recognising Joe, suddenly and unexpectedly, he dashed to the van, opened the door and dived into the passenger seat
“Drive.” Alan sounded Panic stricken. “Hurry, Hurry,” he screamed, before Joe had even got back into the driver’s seat.
“Where to?”
“Anywhere. Just go.”
Joe did as told. Approaching the end of the street, he indicated that he was turning left, which would take him back on the Warwick Road.
“No. No.” Alan panicked. “The other way.”
Again Joe did as told. There seemed no point in arguing or even trying to talk to Alan. He just kept on driving. Being unfamiliar with the area he didn’t know where he was heading. They reached another t-junction. Glancing at Alan, Joe indicated a left turn. That time Alan made no comment. Joe reasoned that it didn’t matter to Alan where they went as long as they kept away from the Warwick Road. With that in mind he continued driving in silence, not knowing for how long it would continue or where they would end up. Alan’s constant turning of his head, apparently checking if they were being followed, was also unnerving Joe.
Joe noticed the fuel gauge was showing empty. He’d forgotten about that. “Alan,” he said. “We need petrol. We’re going to run out any time. We need to get back on the Warwick Road.”
Alan checked the gauge. “No,” he said. “Not the Warwick Road. “Keep going on this road. It will take you to the Coventry Road. You’ll get petrol there.”
“If we make it.”
“We have to.”
Alan was clearly desperate. Unquestioning Joe continued doing as told. He was helping a friend although he had no idea what his problem was. It was months since they had last met. But, there was a time when Joe and Alan were good friends as well as work-mates. He wondered what it was that Alan was so scared of. Was it the law? If so, it was so unlike the Alan he used to know. Joe used to belong to a small gang that occasionally had brushes with the law. Alan, however, was never really part of that gang. Alan was the well-behaved lay abiding one. While Joe and others were sometimes reckless Alan urged caution, or, more often walked away. Joe couldn’t see him changing that much.
Yet something was scaring him; terrifying him even. Sooner or later Joe would find out. Probably it was nothing too serious, he thought. It was just Alan being Alan. What Alan often regarded as deadly serious, Joe saw as trivial.
“We’re in luck,” said Joe “There’s a petrol station.” They had just turned on to the
Coventry Road. Alan’s only reaction was a brief nod.
It was a self-service petrol station. “I won’t be long.” Joe got out of the van, leaving Alan staring at a car that had driven up by another pump.
As Joe approached the van, after paying for the petrol, he couldn’t see Alan. He looked around. There was no sight of him. Maybe he’s gone to the toilet, thought Joe. I’ll wait for him in the van.
On opening the van door he saw him, crouched down in front of the seat, out of sight from the outside. “Alan,” he said. “What are you doing? Get up. No one’s looking.”
Alan did get up, but, not to sit on the seat. Instead, with difficulty, he scrambled over the seat into the back of the van, where he sat on the floor, while Joe watched with indifference. Nothing Alan did surprised him any more. “Just drive,” said Alan. “Get out of here.”
Obediently Joe started the engine and drove off. Out of the petrol station Joe turned left, heading for the city centre. Alan made no objection. He was too intent on watching, through the back window, what was happening behind. Was he worried about being followed? It must be the man who filled up from another pump. There was no one else.
Joe didn’t recognise the man. He was on his way in to pay as Joe was coming out. But, as far as Joe could tell he’d shown no interest in Alan. Probably he was unaware that Alan was even there. Almost certainly it was just Alan being paranoid.
What was Joe to do with him? He couldn’t throw him out. Maybe he was in real danger, although Joe doubted it. But, what did Alan want from him? Where did he wish to go? Joe had a full tank then and could take him wherever he wished. Joe just needed to know.
“Alan,” he shouted. He had to shout to be heard over the rattling of the rear doors. “Where do you want to go?” It was no good. He wasn’t heard, or if he was Alan gave no indication of it. In his interior rear view mirror Joe could just see the back of Alan’s head, which obscured his view from that mirror. It didn’t matter. He could use his wing mirror, in which he saw that a car was about to overtake. He pulled in to allow it to pass. It was not the car that was at the petrol station. There was no sign of that car. It must have gone the other way.
Right, thought Joe, it’s time to sort this out. He took the next left turn, then a right, before stopping in front of what appeared to be a lock up workshop. There was nobody about. He shut the engine down. It was quite. They could talk.
“Alan,” he demanded. “It’s time you told me what all this is about.”