with a couple of knives. I remember seeing the photos; it was bizarre. I called Liz and she confirmed that yes one of the toilets on her flight was out of order; in fact, the door was locked.’
‘Do you think Develin did it?’
‘I know he did. It was a “signature kill” you see.’
‘No, I don’t see.’
Munroe sighed. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this but, hell the man’s dead so … Develin kills by first rendering the victim unconscious or at least stunned; I don’t know how. He’d finish them off with something like a knitting needle right through the brain. One look at the victim’s ears and you’d know plus they’re almost always bleeding from the nose. Sometimes there are traces of curare too.
‘That’s a signature kill which usually means he either didn’t have time to square it with the powers that be or he just thought it was a good idea.’ Munroe shrugged as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
‘I knew he was dead; all of us did. Vic, if it wasn’t for him, my kid sister and her friend and everyone on that flight might have died. With him gone there’s one less good guy out there quietly going about the job of ridding this world of evil.’
‘Maybe that’s true Stan but I also think that Richard Develin enjoyed killing.’
3
Yakinchuk sat in the far corner of the precinct’s canteen and waited for Maggie O’Shea. After everything he had learned about Richard Develin, he was uncertain if he was up to talking about family curses; especially the Develin family.
He thought of Sarah Churchill although of course after two back to back marriages she would technically be Sarah Churchill Develin Capritzo. What would she be like, he found himself wondering. Certainly she would be beautiful; that would be a given as would the likelihood that she would be young; probably twenty-five max. Maggie had already mentioned red hair and, judging from the photos he had seen, Develin liked and perhaps even preferred redheads. He remembered reading somewhere that Arab men also like redheads because they were considered exotic. He remembered too that most redheads have a fiery temper. ‘I wonder how Develin would have handled something like that.’
He looked up and smiled. ‘Hello Maggie, how are you?’
‘Oh busy, busy as always.’ She handed him several pieces of paper, carefully folded. ‘I will leave these for you to read later. I don’t want to talk about it so …’ She offered up an apologetic smile.
‘Have you ever been back to the old country Maggie?’
She took the seat opposite him. ‘No, I’ve never been back. I was born an O’Neill and the O’Neills are not welcome in that part of Ireland. My father shipped my sister and me to family here just after the war broke out and he said then, don’t ever come back and we haven’t, either of us.’
‘You mentioned your brother and sister. Do you know what happened to them?’
‘Aye, my father he rung the truth about what happened to my brother Drover and my sister Maureen from Charles Develin’s bodyguard just before he died.’ Maggie’s lips trembled and her eyes grew moist. ‘Not long after the knowing of it, my father died.’ She nodded towards the papers. ‘It’s all in there just as it happened.’
‘Thank you Maggie,’ Yakinchuk said as he reached across the table and enfolded her right hand in both of his.
She nodded, fighting back tears. ‘Well, I had best be off home.’ Slowly she rose from her seat.
Yakinchuk rose with her. ‘Maggie, Richard Develin left behind two young sons; William and Richard.’
‘Ah,’ she said sadly, ‘and their mother, her name is Sarah.’ She stared straight into his eyes. ‘And it’s curious you are about her, aye and it shows Victor. Already she has ensnared you. If you go to her you will never come back - never.’
Yakinchuk was taken completely off guard. Maggie turned away from him and slowly made her way out of the canteen walking as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Yakinchuk slumped back into his seat and stared at the papers. He swallowed hard as he remembered what Maggie had said - the curse and the evil that circles it, generation after generation.
‘In for a penny; in for a pound,’ he whispered as he reached for the bundle and opened it.
The Curse of Buriot
Translated from the Latin
St. John - Chapter 8, Verse 44
Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him.
*********
Now I must speak while there is yet time. They seek me even as I write. I pray to God that He may protect me … and us all. Peter the Anchorite
Two brothers they were, abandoned on the shores of Malin Head, far to the north. No one knew from whence they came, but their names were Rudan and Sabail. Naked they were found upon the rocky stretch where ‘tis said an old woman took pity on them and raised them alone ‘til they were old enough to murder her and escape. By degrees they acquired great wealth in jewels, fine clothes, powerful steeds, so that by the time they arrived here, in this land, they were rich beyond measure.
They traded in souls, or so it was said. Always their prey was the daughters of the wealthy who would pay dearly to reclaim their children, held in thrall.
And so it was that Rudan captured by stealth the Princess Cathleen, daughter of Buriot, Chief amongst men. For her freedom, the brothers demanded the land upon which they stood to the measure, one hundred leagues. Buriot refused, then made ready for war. High in a tower was Cathleen kept, unseen by all. From there she watched the approach of her father’s army ‘til Rudan pulled her from that height to stand barefooted before her father, heavy with the child Rudan forced on her.
The sight of his beloved daughter thus so cruelly used, broke Buriot’s heart. Blood poured from his mouth as he cursed Rudan and Sabail to their faces, calling upon the one true God to avenge his daughter’s fate.
No child of their line would be conceived in love nor would they find love in a father’s arms. Hatred and deceit shall be the crust upon which each generation gnaws, son against father, father against son. From this viper’s nest will pour cold, deliberate poison, which will manifest itself as brother will turn on brother, blood against blood, in jealous hate, usurping the other’s place even unto the bridal bed.
Sabail raised his hand and at its sight Buriot screamed, then fell from his horse, dead. His army fled in terror.
From that time was born the legend of the Devil’s line - the Develin - which to this day, rules this ancient land.
‘The
