Chapter Eighteen
Did Cillian just confess to murder? “What did you do?” Lassi stared at him with wide eyes, her scalp prickling with gooseflesh. “You murdered people?”
He glared at her. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I need answers, Cillian. You owe me an explanation.”
He kept a stony silence, like when she found him statue-stiff in the nave of the church.
“Cillian! Tell me something, anything. How are you responsible?”
He turned away from her in answer.
The rest of the afternoon, Lassi tossed and fretted on her uncomfortable slab of a bed. Her attempts at conversation were met with dead quiet from his cell. I’m pissed at him. Oh, I picked a real winner this time. How could I fall for a priest, let alone a murderer? I’d be better off with Sean Fitz, the fat, snarky intern at the hospital where I work. Or, Michael Murphy, the boy who delivers pizza to the neighborhood with a side of cocaine. Yeah, I’ve seen the kinds of deals you work, Michael. You and that pimply faced friend of yours.
Realizing her thoughts were meandering in too many directions, with little sense to be made, and no answers forthcoming from the murderer in the next cell over, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep—never mind the mattress in her cell had the comfort level of a layer of steel wool spread across a granite stone. Finally, too exhausted to even think, she drifted off.
Male voices meandered through her dreams. She recognized Cillian. Conway. Galbraith. Even the bitch, Brown, who was more butch than any of the others, penis, or no penis.
“Where’s the evidence against her?” Cillian yelled.
“We’ll get back to you when it comes to that,” Conway said.
“She didn’t do it,” Cillian shouted. “I swear on the cross she has no part in this.”
“Well, you know, and I know, how much truth you and the cross share, right, Father?” Conway probably bore a smirk when he said that.
“What does he mean? He’s not a real priest? Who fronts as clergy?” Lassi mumbled, hanging between sleep and wakefulness. Then, she rolled on her side and put her pillow—barely more than lumps trapped in a pillowcase—over her ear.
When the shouts drifted back into whispers, she fell deeper into sleep.
Some sort of confrontation shook her back to awake.
“I’m going to see her!” a female voice said.
Siobhan? Lassi sucked her cheeks, hoping to moisten her dry mouth, and tried to open her eyes.
“That’s not a good idea. I forbid it,” Galbraith.
“Back the fuck off, Garda Galbraith. And leave us in peace for a moment.”
Whoa. When did Siobhan grow a pair? Lassi rubbed the sludge from her eyes, opened them, and rolled to sitting.
Galbraith and Siobhan stared at her from the other side of the bars.
“Hey Ya,” she croaked.
“No funny business, Miss Finn,” Galbraith said.
“Which one of us is locked up?” She tried to smile but her facial muscles refused to budge, like they had turned into dried clay.
He huffed and turned to waddle away, leaving her, Siobhan, and Cillian.
Lassi directed her attention to Siobhan.
She still appeared beautiful, but she looked haggard...drained. Her presence bore brittle, sharp edges, like broken glass.
Paul rested in her arms.
Lassi’s heart ached for her and for the baby boy who would grow up without the father who clearly loved him so much.
“Did you do it?” Siobhan glared at her. “Did you kill Dylan, Ailis, and Liam?”
“No!” Lassi launched to her feet, her fists balled at her sides. “How could you think that? I treasure life and bring it into this world. I don’t take it away.”
Siobhan turned to the cell next to her. “What about you, Father? Did you kill the love of my life?”
“I...” What appeared to be immense sorrow drew lines across his rugged face.
“You what, Father?” Siobhan snapped. “You wanted what I had and knew you couldn’t have it so you killed him? Oh, wait,” she continued, not taking a breath. “Penny told me she saw you and Miss Finn here kissing at the beach. What kind of priest are you?”
Lassi’s mouth fell open. She snapped it shut. I knew it! I knew someone was spying on us! But why go tattling to Siobhan?
“Not a very good one, I’m afraid.” He kept his eyes trained on the floor.
“Vows are not to be taken lightly, Father. Not marriage vows and certainly not the vows of the priesthood.” Her body shook.
“It’s...it was my fault,” Lassi said. “Father Ward didn’t kiss me. I kissed him. I pounced. Like a predator.” Why are you protecting him? He’s a murderer.
He shook his head at her.
Siobhan’s shivers turned to earthquake-like shudders, as if it took every ounce of resolve to keep from breaking down. “You’re both horrible, awful people! I... fuck the both of you!”
She whirled and stormed away.
Baby Paul had his chin resting on Siobhan’s shoulder. He watched Lassi with big, puzzled, blue eyes that seemed both hurt and betrayed.
His expression carved holes in her heart. “Oh, God. Can it get any worse here in Ballyna-nightmare? Even the child hates me.” Lassi paced the small square space of her cell. “I comforted him a few days ago! I was the one who soothed him. Me! Not Penny, not even his mama. It was me! And now he thinks I’m the devil.”
She reached for the bars and hung her head, pressing her forehead against them. The metal of the iron rods grew blisteringly hot. She jumped back and stared at her hands. Then, she cautiously patted her forehead to check for burns.
“Cillian, I don’t know what to do. Why is this happening to me?”
She looked over at him.
He sat on his bunk, his hands palm-down, gripping the edge of the bed-frame. The expression of absolute anguish on his face matched her mood. “I wish I could tell you, Lassi, love.”
It was the first sentence he’d spoken to her in hours. She met his tortured gaze. “Well, try. Please tell me something, anything that will make sense to me.”
“I can’t.” His voice came out cracked, sounding hopeless.
“Cillian,” she wailed. “Please.”
“I can’t, Lassi. I want to more than anything, but I can’t.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
He shook his head.
She sank back onto her hard bunk and fell into a pit of despair. Tears silently tracked down her face, moistening her lumpy pillow.
“Lassi.” Cillian spoke softly. “Lassi. Beautiful girl.”
She ignored him, rolling on her side.
“Lasairfhíona. Look at me. Please.”
His voice whispered inside her like a sweet caress, nearly causing her to turn and face him. “No. How do you know my given name?”
He didn’t answer.
She curled into a ball and stayed put, willing herself to go numb.
A short time later, footsteps tromped down the hall in her direction. “Shift change,” Conway said, cheerfully. “For one of us, at least. Garda Galbraith is eager to go home to his dinner, his telly, a good pint, and bed. I’ll be the one to keep you company.”
Lassi rolled over and blinked at him. “What’s got you in such good cheer, Inspector?”
“The company I keep,” he said, smiling. He motioned to someone behind him.
An older woman, with salt and pepper hair pulled back in a neat bun, marched toward the cell block. She had the same weasel shaped face and ferret-like eyes as Conway. Her attire consisted of a blue pant suit and low pumps. The pumps made a muffled thump, thump, thump against the concrete floor.
She’s got to be a relation to the Inspector. Lassi sat up on her bunk.
“Good evening, Miss Finn,” she said when she stood outside the cell. She clutched a red and gold purse by her side. “Father Ward,” she added with a nod.
He kept his broody silence.
“Hello,” Lassi said.
“I’m this chap’s mother, Mary Conway.” She stabbed a thumb at the Inspector. She turned to him. “Are you going to introduce me?”
His face grew flushed. “Yes, mother, of course, I...”
“Kids these days.” She shook her head before scrutinizing Lassi from top to toe. “Aye, so it’s true, then. You’re the very picture of a Finn woman.”
“Uh, thanks, I guess. How would you know? Why are you here?” Lassi rose to standing and stepped in front of Mary Conway.
She had a far friendlier appeal than her son, the Garda Inspector.
Mrs. Conway gripped the iron bars trapping Lassi. “Roberta would be sick at heart knowing her great-granddaughter was about to fail where three hundred years of Finn magic has succeeded.”
“What?” Lassi’s brow stitched in consternation. She started to grasp the bars, then stopped herself, not wanting to alarm the woman before her if sparks flew. Her forehead creased even further. Come to think of it, all Cillian did was stare at me when I burned myself earlier. She filed that thought away for later.
“Roberta was my great-aunt.”
Mrs. Conway tut-tutted, shaking her head, and said, “Oh dear, you have no idea, do you?”
“What are you going on about, Mrs. Conway? I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Please call me, Mary.” She gave a quick smile. “Ryan, dear, do let these two young people go, would you?”
“Excuse me? You’re releasing us?” Once again, Lassi reached for the bars, then pulled her hands away.
Inspector Conway held jangling keys up to her cell door. He unlocked the door, and stepped toward Cillian’s cell where he did the same thing. “You’re free to go, Father. You, too, Miss Finn.”
Mary turned to Cillian. “Father Ward, Ryan will accompany you. We need everyone to pull together to put this matter to rights.”
Lassi stepped free of her prison enclosure. “Would someone tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?”
She scanned the faces of all who surrounded her.
Cillian refused to meet her gaze.
“It’s complicated,” he said to the floor.
“I’m a complicated woman. I can deal,” Lassi said, her hands flying to her hips.
“Let’s go,” Inspector Conway said to Cillian.
Cillian nodded.
The two men departed, wandering away from them.
Lassi started to follow but Mary stopped her.
“You’re going with me, child.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s time for you to learn everything, and I mean everything. Let’s head back to the cottage and I’ll explain.”
“It’s about bloody time,” Lassi shot back. “Since I stepped foot in this village, no one has been willing to provide answers.”
Mary cast a sympathetic look. “Be careful what you wish for, dearie.”
Chills stiffened Lassi’s spine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mary held out her hand. “Come along. You’ll find out soon enough. Then, I’m afraid there will be no looking back.”