Читать книгу Avenged - Jacqui Rose - Страница 15

Through a hazy gaze of pain and medication, Tommy Doyle stared at the gnarled face of Donal O’Sheyenne leaning over him in his hospital bed.

O’Sheyenne nodded to the Gardaí. ‘Come back in ten minutes.’

With the Gardaí gone, O’Sheyenne turned his attention to Tommy, pulling the hospital covers to expose the injuries.

‘That looks nasty.’ With a grin, Donal squeezed his fingers hard into the bandaged legs. Tommy let out a scream.

‘I swear. I don’t know anything … I don’t …’

‘Save your breath, Tommy; I’m not here for a confession. I’ve got a proposition for you; it’ll be worth your while.’

‘And why would I want anything from you?’

‘Because from where I’m standing I’d say you need all the help you can get. And it’s not like we haven’t had dealings before.’

‘I don’t need your help, O’Sheyenne. I’m not interested in anything you have to say. So why don’t you crawl back to the hole you came from?’

O’Sheyenne chuckled. ‘That’s fighting talk for a man accused of a double murder.’

Tommy stared at Donal. ‘I never did it; you’ll see, I’ll prove it.’

‘They already think it’s you, Doyle, and what with the question mark still over Evelyn’s death … well, if they were to find a piece of bloody rope in your house, the same rope used to tie up poor Connor, to be sure, that would seal your fate, wouldn’t you say?’

Puzzlement spread across Tommy’s face. ‘They won’t.’

‘Well really, that all depends, because it’s quite conceivable that in the next hour our local Gardaí will get a call telling them exactly where to find it in your pantry. But as you say, you don’t need my help; so I’ll bid you good day.’

O’Sheyenne started away to the shouts of Tommy Doyle.

‘You’ll not set me up, O’Sheyenne; you’ll not!’

Donal turned round and grinned. ‘Oh, but I already have … Unless of course you’ll reconsider my proposition?’

Tommy growled, ‘I don’t even know what it is.’

O’Sheyenne walked back to the hospital bed, straightening the covers in feigned concern. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that; simply put, Doyle; you’ve got no choice.’

Five minutes later the two officers, who were more accustomed to dealing with vandalised crops and drunken villagers, came back into the ward. O’Sheyenne smiled at them.

‘I think we have the wrong man, gentlemen,’ His voice was authoritative. ‘I think the blame lies not with Thomas Doyle as we first thought but with his son, Patrick Doyle.’

‘Is this true, Doyle?’ One of the Gardaí spoke up.

Tommy nodded solemnly. ‘Aye, I’m afraid it is. I saw him with my own eyes coming out of the house, and so did Mr O’Sheyenne here; we were together.’

‘Then why didn’t you tell us this before, Doyle? Why run when the men came for you?’

‘I panicked when I heard they were coming after me. You know as well as I do that rumours still mill about the circumstances of me late wife’s death. I was afraid no-one would believe me … It’s a good job Mr O’Sheyenne here was with me … and Father Ryan of course.’

Donal nodded. ‘It’s a grave business, so it is … Tell them the other thing, Thomas, I’m sure they’ll be wanting to hear it.’

Tommy paused, glancing at O’Sheyenne before looking at the Gardaí directly. ‘Patrick hid something in the house. You’ll find it behind the porridge box in the pantry … it’s a rope. A bloody rope.’