The Rule Book by Rob Kitchin Read Free Book Online Page B

eaves.
    He started to zip up his navy blue coat. His greying hair kept being lifted by the breeze and falling in odd ways. He tried to pat it down along the parting, but it was immediately ruffled again.
    A figure was walking towards him along the path. He took little notice – the circuit was used by people from the town in the absence of a park, and also by staff and students from the university and the priests and their trainees from the seminary. He’d already passed four people on his first loop round the grounds.
    The person had a baseball cap pulled down low across his brow. His head was scrunched into his shoulders, the collar on his weatherproof jacket turned up, a thin grey scarf buried underneath trying to keep the wind out; faded jeans covered the top of blue hiking boots, his hands sheathed in black leather gloves.
    As the walker came within a few feet, Hennessey nodded an acknowledgement. ‘Chilly night,’ he said as a way of greeting.
    The walker didn’t reply, simply lowering his head so the cap covered his whole face.
    Hennessey shrugged to himself.
    As the person drew level, the blow hit the lower left side of his head just at the base of the skull. His brain exploded into light and pain, immediately cancelled out by darkness and unconsciousness. He hit the ground hard, his head thudding into the broken tarmac, his glasses spilling forwards.
    The assailant pulled a surgical face mask up from under the scarf, placing it over his mouth and nose, and dropped down to his haunches. He rolled the lifeless Hennessey onto his back, grabbed him under the arms, and dragged him quickly in under the nearest yew tree. He looked out along the path, checking for witnesses, but nobody was in sight.
    Happy he was alone he drew a plastic bag from a coat pocket, shook it out and slipped it over Hennessey’s head, tying the handles round his neck. He moved to the end of the body and dragged it underneath the branches, out onto the path between the yew trees, and then along it toward the silent cemetery.
     
     
    The graveyard was dark and silent. McEvoy was not surprised to find he was the only occupant given that the gates had been locked earlier in the evening. He stared down at Maggie’s grave. He could barely make out the inscription in the poor light. He knew it by heart in any case. ‘Margaret McEvoy. 1965-2007. Loving wife of Colm and mother of Gemma.’
    ‘Jesus, Maggie,’ McEvoy stated slowly, ‘where do I start? It’s been a hell of day. We found a girl who’d had a sword thrust through her head. Can you believe the things people do to each other?’ He spent the next 20 minutes reciting his day, gently puffing on his plastic cigarette, craving to replace it with a real one.
    Eventually he started to bring his monologue to a close. ‘I guess I’d better get going. I haven’t been home yet. I need to see Gemma. Our Gemma. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’ He waited momentarily for an answer, then reluctantly headed for the gate and his car, wondering if the pain and grief of Maggie’s death would ever dissipate, knowing he’d have a fitful night after the day’s events.

Chapter Two
     
    Tuesday, April 15 th
     
    Gemma was sitting at the kitchen table dressed in her dark green school uniform. Her long, brown hair fell over her shoulders, her left hand held a book open, her right spooned Rice Krispies from a bowl to her mouth. She looked up as she heard the door opening. ‘You can’t go like that,’ she said, mock horror in her voice.
    ‘Like what?’ McEvoy asked, looking down. A dark blue suit hung loosely from his shoulders, slightly rumpled. A poorly knotted tie fell over a creased, light blue shirt. As he looked up a wisp of tissue broke free from a shaving cut and fell onto his tie. He swatted it away.
    ‘Like that.’ Gemma pointed at him with her spoon.
    ‘This is my best suit.’ McEvoy poured water from a filter jug into a kettle. He had slept fitfully and felt tired and washed