Читать книгу The Triumph of Katie Byrne - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 14

Michael Byrne drove at breakneck speed up Route 7, his foot pressed hard on the accelerator. He was filled with tension and anxiety, and these feelings showed in his taut face and worried eyes, which were intent on the road ahead.

How he regretted now that he had been caught up with a client, going over extensive plans for a house he was currently remodelling. His appointment with Bill Turnbull had become not only involved but interminable. It had dragged on and on, had made him arrive home much later than usual, to be greeted on the back doorstep by Maureen, who had obviously been waiting anxiously for him.

He had known at once that she was distraught, and as she blurted out the story through her tears he had turned ice-cold inside. He could not stand the thought that his daughter might have been at risk, in harm’s way.

The moment Maureen had finished speaking, he had told her to go inside and lock the door. And then he had rushed over to his jeep, shouting over his shoulder that he was going to the barn to get Katie and Niall.

The only thing he could think of, as he had pulled out, was that Katie was safe. Not injured. Not dead. But safe. It was a miracle of sorts. She was always at the barn rehearsing and if she hadn’t left early today, to go home to help her mother, she would more than likely have been a victim too. That did not bear thinking about. An involuntary shudder ran through him.

Now all he wanted was to get to his daughter, to satisfy himself that she was really all right, and to bring her home with him. His Katie. He loved his sons Niall and Finian very much, but Katie was extra special to him, the light of his life, and had been since the day she was born.

In all truth, she reminded him of his sister Cecily who had died of meningitis when he was fifteen and she was only twelve; his young heart had broken with her dying. He had loved and protected that child all through her sweet short life; after her death it would often strike him that perhaps unconsciously he had somehow known she was not long for this world.

Cecily had been a redheaded leggy colt, just as Katie was, although there the physical resemblance between them stopped, since Katie was the spitting image of her mother. But in other ways he saw Cecily in his daughter…the feyness, the gaiety, the openness, and the warm personality. There was very little, if any, guile in Katie, and she had a pureness, an innocence that he had only ever seen in Cecily. And like her long-dead aunt, whom she had never known, Katie truly was a free spirit.

He was thankful Niall was with Katie at the barn; that was a most comforting thought to him. His mind instantly veered to Denise’s family. There would certainly be no comfort for Peter and Lois Matthews, and none for Ted either, who was a widower and childless and adoring of his only niece.

Michael shuddered again at the thought of Denise’s awful fate. He had known her since she was a child, and Carly, too, for that matter, but Carly was alive, thank God. He hoped her injuries were not too severe. Suddenly, thoughts of her mother, Janet, intruded. As a widow all alone she had striven hard to do her very best for Carly, after her husband had died. Barry Smith had been a good friend of his for a number of years, and like everyone he and Maureen had been shocked when Barry had died of lymphatic cancer. He had been far too young for the grave. After his tragic death it had been a struggle, an uphill battle for Janet, and she had been faced with so many difficulties. Maureen had often wondered aloud to him how she managed.

Bad days ahead for those two families, he thought, his mouth grimly set, but he and Maureen would do the best they could to help them through this painful and shocking ordeal. He sighed and his hands gripped the steering wheel that much tighter…burying a child was something he could not imagine, or contemplate. A murdered child, at that…

Michael slowed when he came to the entrance to the dirt road which rolled down the hill to the barn. He eased the car in gently and found his way instantly blocked by a state trooper’s patrol car.

As he opened his window another state trooper suddenly appeared as if from nowhere, and was already peering in at him.

‘Can I help you, sir?’

‘I have to pass through here, trooper.’

‘Sorry, sir, but you cannot. Not tonight.’

‘But I must. My two kids are down there at the barn. They were the ones who discovered the bodies of their friends, Denise Matthews and Carly Smith.’

‘What’s your name, sir?’

‘Michael Byrne. I live in Malvern.’ Michael pulled out his driver’s licence and showed it to him.

Once the state trooper had scanned it and was seemingly satisfied, he nodded. ‘It’s okay, you can go on down to the barn. Ask for the detective in charge, Lieutenant MacDonald.’

‘As in Mac the Knife?’ Michael asked, a dark brow lifting.

The state trooper grinned at him. ‘So you know the lieutenant, do you?’

‘I sure do. I went to school with him.’

As he drove slowly down the hill, Michael immediately became aware of the activity below him in front of the barn. There were five patrol cars, along with several unmarked vans, and a number of men both in and out of uniform.

He recognized at once that this was a major crime scene, and he felt cold chills running down his back because his children were involved, however inadvertently. But naturally it was a big deal if Mac MacDonald was here. His old pal was in charge of the Connecticut State Police Major Crime Unit in the Litchfield area, and known to be one hell of a tough cop. They hadn’t seen each other lately, not for several years in fact, but he had read about Mac in the local newspapers, and noted his climb to success and fame in law enforcement. Michael was relieved to know that Mac was in charge, because the investigation would be handled with great skill and professionalism.

After he parked, Michael got out of the jeep and slammed the door. He could see Mac a few yards away, talking to a good-looking blonde who was leaning against a Cherokee. When Mac happened to glance across and spotted him, Michael raised a hand in greeting, then walked around the front of his jeep.

A moment later the two of them were shaking hands and slapping each other on the back. Once they had pulled away from each other Michael said, ‘My kids are here, Mac. I’ve come to get them.’

‘They’re fine, Mike, and they’re ready to leave. They’ve been giving their statements in the barn.’

‘What’s taken so long?’ Mike asked, frowning, staring into Mac’s cool silver eyes, lots of questions reflected in his own.

‘My fault, Mike, I got here late. My guys wanted me to have a couple of words with them.’ Mac turned quickly as Allegra Marsh approached them.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Mac, but I have to be going. I just wanted to say goodnight.’

‘Allegra, this is Mike Byrne, my old buddy from school. Katie and Niall are his kids. Mike, meet Allegra Marsh. The Medical Examiner.’

Stretching out her hand, Allegra shook Michael’s and said hello.

Michael nodded, cleared his throat and muttered, ‘I can’t believe something like this happened here. It’s always been a sleepy sort of place. Never any problems, at least not this kind, anyway.’

Allegra gave him a long look through compassionate brown eyes. ‘I know what you mean. Tragedies such as this are always a dreadful shock, and heartbreaking.’

She sounded sorrowful and concerned, and Michael looked at her closely, saw a sympathetic woman in her forties who happened to be beautiful in a cool, restrained way.

Mac interjected, ‘This is the worst kind of crime, Mike. Such a lousy thing to deal with. Allegra’s right, it’s heartbreaking, they were only young girls…’ He cut himself off, remembering what a narrow and lucky escape Katie had probably had.

As if he was reading his thoughts, Michael remarked, ‘My Katie left early today, and I can only say thank God she did.’ He first eyed Allegra, and then Mac. ‘Any idea who could have done it?’

‘No,’ Mac said laconically and took hold of his arm. ‘Let’s go and get your kids, so that you can take them home. It’s been a rotten few hours for them, all considered. But they’ve held up well, Mike. Very well indeed.’

Allegra murmured, ‘Goodnight,’ and stepped away from the two men. Then she suddenly spun around, and added, ‘I’ll call you first thing in the morning, Mac, and just let’s hope these golden hours really do turn out to be golden.’

‘I’m praying they are,’ Mac answered. ‘Praying damned hard, I might add.’

‘What does she mean by golden hours?’ Michael asked as he and Mac walked over to the barn.

‘We call the first seventy-two hours the golden hours, because that’s when we really can determine if the crime is going to be solved quickly. If a crime is not solved within those two and a half days…well…’ Mac shrugged.

Michael caught hold of his sleeve. ‘Are you saying that if you don’t solve this crime by Monday it won’t get solved at all?’

‘Yes, that’s what I’m saying,’ Mac answered. His face was bleak.

Stunned, Michael stared at him speechlessly. Recovering, he exclaimed, ‘Seventy-two hours and then you give up?’

‘No, we never give up,’ Mac assured him. ‘But if we haven’t solved it in that time, we know we’ve got a bad crime scene. That means no evidence, no real clues, no leads…a hard job ahead of us. But, let me repeat it again, Mike, we never give up.’