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“Bets, love, it’s Malcolm Coveney. I hear you’ve had some trouble down there. I was calling to pay my condolences.”
She went for her meanest voice. “You have some gall to call me after what you did to those poor sheep.”
“Bets, you shouldn’t accuse people randomly,” Malcolm answered in a gratingly arrogant voice. “Defamation is a terrible offense in this country with fines of up to €75,000.”
“More than killing innocent sheep, you bastard. How perfect for you.”
“Must I caution you again, Bets?” Malcolm shot back. “I would have thought that today’s events would have you and the others minding yourselves.”
It was no accident that he’d used the same words that had been sprayed on the dead sheep. Wilt’s mouth tightened, and she wondered if his grip might shatter his phone. “Mary may give you up, Malcolm.”
“Again, you should be careful with such groundless accusations, Bets, especially when a flimsy piece of cloth amounts to no conclusive evidence.”
He already knew about that?
“Especially when no one can discover who it belongs to,” he continued, “as I’ve heard from my close government friends. It seems Officer Hart concluded that only a short while ago after a short interview with Mrs. Kincaid.”
Bets wanted to scream. “You must be spinning all ten of those gold rings you have on your fat fingers you’re so happy.”
“The rings signify power,” he bit out, his tone harsh and frightening. “A power I have. One others would be wise to remember. Veritas, for example.”
“Veritas kicked your butt and stuck the truth of you on a wall for all to see. Public outrage proves how little regard people have for men like you.”
“And yet, people like me are the ones who make people likeyourun around chasing your tails.”
Bets thought back to Liam’s earlier comment.We’re playing amongst the trees while Malcolm is burning the forest.“You should just stick a crown on your head and declare yourself king. Only, the last time I looked, this was a free country.”
“But the old kings would be proud of me and the way I handle things,” Malcolm replied savagely. “This land began because of men like me—my forefathers go back to the kings of Tara—”
“And my people come from the Easter Bunny,” she spat back. “Guess who people like better?”
“Bets,” he said in an eerily singsong voice, “it’s not about people liking you. It’s about people respecting you. Ask me why.”
Her guts gripped, and she had to slowly breathe out the fear he’d created. “Tell me, Malcolm. I know you’re dying to.”
“Yes, I’m practically salivating to see what you’ll choose.” He paused, for effect, she imagined. “You see, I’ve learned that a special investigation led by the government of Ireland has uncovered the real identity of Veritas.”
Bets held her breath as Wilt’s mouth twisted. “I doubt that, Malcolm. According to everything I know, Veritas has managed to evade detection since the beginning.”
“Ah, but this time, he was too cute,” Malcolm responded, his delight evident. “He left himself out of the mural he’d depicted.”
Bets looked at Wilt in confusion, only to watch as his face changed, his brow line sharpening in anger. “Oh, spit it out, Malcolm. I don’t have all day.”
His dark laughter could have made the devil himself pee his pants. “You don’t know, Bets? I thought for sure you would, seeing as you’re so close. As close as mother and son.”
She almost dropped her phone as comprehension hit. “You’re headed for the loony bin if you think my son is Veritas, Malcolm.”
Another monstrous chuckle sounded on the line. “But it’s not what I think that matters, Bets. It’s what this special Garda unit thinks.”
“This is bullshit, Malcolm!” She wanted to punch his stupid face. “Our lawyers are going to have a field day with this. There’s no way you can prove Liam is Veritas. He lives here in Ireland while Veritas travels the world.”
“And yet your son has traveled to some of the same places where Veritas murals appeared. New Delhi. New York. London. Paris. Of course, it will take some time for all theTs to be crossed and his travel logs to be cross-referenced, but the story will be a big one, don’t you think? And the penalty for hate speech in this country is a harsh one. Unlike the unfortunate incident in your backyard today, crimes falling under the Prohibition of Incite to Hatred Act actually carry prison time. Up to five years. Even before a trial can occur.”
Her breath stopped, and Wilt looked off, his jaw locked.
She searched her mind for what she knew. “But that law is supposed to stop people from using hateful speech around age, ethnicity, religion, nationality, sexual orientation, or gender. Nothing more. This ain’t it, as Linc would say.”
“But it’s wider than that definition, Bets.” His voice carried a terrifying delight. “The act covers any offenses that communicate threatening, abusive, or insulting material that stirs up hatred. And Bets, that is exactly what that damn mural has done. You and your arts center have continued to post and speak about the mural. You are, in fact, communicating such material. About me. And now it will stop.”
