Part 27 (2/2)

*p.i.s.s? In the pot. It's not very pleasant for either of us. But that's the way it is.'

*What about her mental state?'

*She's like Greenland. Big and empty. She's been quite upset. She didn't want to make a statement. She was quite bra.s.sy when I first saw her at Dr Finlay's, but then someone threw a brick at her as we were leaving and I think that surprised her. G.o.d knows why. It didn't hit her. Nearly broke my f.u.c.king foot. Ooops. There I go again.'

He led me up the stairs and unlocked the cell door. As he pushed the door open he whispered, *Word seems to have filtered out, so try not to mention crucifixion. It sets her off.'

28.

I had already observed two sides of Mary Reilly. The first, perched rosy-cheeked on her bike, placid, happily reading the Bible; the second, minutes later, cheeks aflame, bearing down upon an innocent child, seemingly intent on murder. Now there was a third: doe-eyed, colour-drained, straggle-haired, scared.

She looked fearfully up from the bed as the door opened, then shrank back against the headboard as I entered. Murtagh locked the door behind me. I leant back against it. The heavily barred window gave a view of the harbour. The grey box room contained just the bed, a chamber pot, and a copy of the Bible, which lay open on the quilt. Mary's right hand was handcuffed to the metal bedframe. The skin was red-raw at the wrist.

*That must be sore,' I said.

She looked down at the handcuffs, then gave a little nod. She began to ma.s.sage the skin.

*Do you remember me?'

She looked up, nodded quickly again. There were no obvious physical signs of damage from the collision.

*Your mother asked me to come and see you.'

When she spoke her voice was as timid and high as a little girl's. *Mum?'

*She asked me to see how you were.' I pushed myself off the door and stepped slowly towards the bed. As I sat on the end of it she cowered back even further. *It's okay, Mary. I'm here to help you. Is there anything your mum can get you?'

*Why isn't she here herself?'

*She's not allowed, Mary. The Council won't allow her.'

*But why?'

I shrugged. *I don't really know. I think they think you're bad.'

*I am bad.'

*You know that?'

She nodded sadly. *Of course. I tried to hurt a wee girl. Of course I'm bad. What else could I be?'

*Why did you do it, Mary?'

*I was told to.'

*Who told you?'

*The man.'

*What man?'

*The man.'

*What man, Mary? What's his name?'

*He has no name.'

*What does he look like?'

*I don't know. Just a man.'

*Where did you meet him?'

*Somewhere.'

*Somewhere on the island?'

She shrugged. *I don't remember.'

There was a dreamy quality to her answers, but the vagueness didn't strike me as deliberate. There was genuine confusion in her eyes.

*Mary,' I said as gently as I could, *in a couple of hours you're going to be asked a lot of questions up at the church, about what happened. It's important that you tell me anything you can, so that I can speak up for you. Do you understand?'

She nodded slowly. *They don't like me, do they?'

*Mary, it's not that . . .'

*They're going to hurt me, aren't they?'

*If you tell me what . . .'

*He said they were going to hurt me.'

*Who did?'

*The Father.'

*Father Flynn?'

She shook her head. *The other one. He said they were going to punish me for what I'd done.' Suddenly she began to take great whooping breaths and tears began to course down her face. I patted her shoulder. *They're going to hurt me!' she cried.

*They won't . . .'

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