I guide her into the back bedroom and close the door.
“Katie,” I say softly. Her skin has taken on a grey hue, she looks like she’s about to be sick. I gently lead her to the bed and kneel at her feet, holding her hands in mine. “Full disclosure. He hurt you, didn’t he?”
Katie’s eyes well up with tears as she nods. I squeeze her hands tighter, reassuring her that she’s safe now and that I’m here for her.
“Was he the one your so-called friend-”
“No,” she shakes her head dismissively, tears staining her cheeks.
“Ok,” so the bastard either groomed her, raped her or forced her into… I can’t even let that thought enter my mind right now because I will jump into my car, and I won’t come back until he’s in more pieces than a jigsaw puzzle. She was six, possibly seven. We figured it out after her confession, she remembered a rough timeline of when it happened based on a discussion, she was having about Pokémon vs Digimon of all things. A quick google search told us that Pokémon debuted in 1996 while Digimon debuted in 1997. This meant that the abuse had likely occurred between somewhere between 1997 and early 1998 and the kicker, it was another fucking kid who had done this to her, an older kid, but still a fucking preteen.
Does it mean that because he was so young at the time I’m going to let him get away with it? Fuck no. He would have known what he forced her to do was wrong. There is no way that he looked at her sobbing face and thought that what happened was alright. He was her first sexual abuser, which means if my bug confirms that this Keane McCarthy is the same person, I’m going to have to think of a good excuse for my sudden disappearance because I’m going hunting straight after dinner.
“Was he the one…” I try my utmost to swallow the anger and disgust rising in my throat. “When you were six?” Pressing my hands into her knees, I try to force myself to stop my hands from shaking as I wait for her response.
Keane McCarthy abused my girl.
He most likely abused others throughout the two decades since it happened.
Katie nods in confirmation, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Keane McCarthy is going to die tonight.
* * *
“I’ll be as fast as I can, bug, ok?” I say into the phone, my gaze locked on the extension of Keane’s house. He has an alarmsystem in place, but nobody ever seems to think to put sensors on the top windows. The extension is easy to reach, leading to the back bedroom window.
“Is everything ok?” Katie asks. After we had dinner at my mam’s I brought her straight back to my house, gave her free reign in the kitchen, and told her to make herself at home while I took care of a “work thing.”
“Yeah, grand. I’ll have this sorted out in a few hours. My phone is about to go dead, so don’t worry if you can’t reach me. Just make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Ok, I lo—”
My eyes snap away from the estate as I drive past and fix on the phone in the holder.
“—I’ll see you soon,” she hangs up before I can get a word in.
Love.
That’s what she was about to say.
Love.
She loves me.
I want to ring her back and demand that she finishes her sentence, but I resist the urge. Instead, I focus on the road ahead, pull into the nearest garage, and switch my phone off before removing my smartwatch and turning it off as well.
She loves me.
I wait for it to get dark before turning back for Keane’s house, taking care to avoid security cameras and shops too near the council estate. I park my car down the corner from his house and slip into the shadows, easily navigating my way into his back garden undetected. As expected, there is no window facing the back wall of the extension; the view fromthe kitchen window won’t reveal my presence as long as I stay down this end. As soon as I round the corner to the backdoor, I’ll be visible to not only anyone who may be in the kitchen but also to his security cameras, and I’m betting the one pointing from his backdoor towards the shed is motion-detecting.
Gripping the back wall, I hoist myself upward, using the tree branches as leverage to climb onto the roof of the extension. There isn’t a sinner in sight, and any light coming from the house seems to be all in the front. Staying low and keeping my movements slow and deliberate, I carefully make my way across the roof towards the back of the house.
The windows are as bad as Katie’s front door, too easy to open. All I need is the butter knife I tucked into my pocket earlier. With a steady hand, I slide the butter knife into the gap between the window and its frame, gently prying it open and slipping inside. Closing the window behind me, I find myself in a dark and musty room.
Stepping around old shoe boxes, piles of clothes, and a sock that looks like I could crack it in half, I navigate my way towards the faint glow of light coming from under a closed door. As I approach, I can hear footsteps approaching from the other side, growing louder with each passing second.
Stepping behind the door just before it swings open, I wait, glaring at the back of his head as he enters the room. He seems unaware of my presence, shuffling to the dresser littered with half-smoked roll-ups and empty Miller bottles.
