by Jackie Walsh
I lower my head in sadness. This is Vicky Murphy’s world – her plans, her efforts to make a better life for herself – and now it’s all gone. It feels wrong searching through it.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this, Amanda.’
Amanda looks at me. ‘But I thought you wanted to give it to the cops – which would be an even bigger violation of her privacy.’
‘I know, I…’ My thoughts are jumping around in my head. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
Amanda jumps off the stool.
‘Wait. Think about it. See if you can open the other file. Maybe there’s something in the photos. Try it on Conor’s computer.’ She closes down the lid on my stone-age laptop. ‘This thing is way out of date,’ she says, sliding off the stool.
I nod at her, my head heavy with sadness. Vicky Murphy had beautiful dreams, evident from all the pieces she wrote, the places she wanted to work and see. But she never got to fulfil any of those dreams. Someone brutally murdered her.
Chapter Sixty-One
Amanda wasn’t long gone when Conor arrived home. We had a lovely dinner and shared a bottle of wine which was a welcome change from yesterday’s drama. I had planned on telling Conor about the card but everything was so nice and peaceful I wanted to keep it that way.
He’s fast asleep now at my side, his handsome face shadowed by the full moon hovering above our heads. Shay sleeps in his cot.
Careful not to disturb either of them, I slip out from under the duvet. I grab my dressing gown and quietly leave the room. Sleep has abandoned me. It’s just not happening tonight. The worry of what else could be on the USB keeps rolling around in my head.
Amanda doesn’t want me to give it to the cops because she doesn’t want to be associated with this whole situation. And I don’t blame her. Amanda has goals. Dreams. She plans to be sitting in big chairs on high floors in the years to come. Having any kind of dalliance with the law could jeopardise some of those plans.
I’m not sure I agree with her. I don’t think she’d be in any trouble for what happened between her and Vicky. But it’s not up to me. It’s not my future. And if I can do anything – even something as small as doing nothing – I will. I owe her. So Amanda’s name will not be mentioned.
But I can’t do nothing. There could be something on the USB that would help the detectives solve the murder. I feel I must do something, since Pat is practically accusing Conor. I’m worried. Those detectives are looking at Conor because of the text Vicky sent him and what Pat told them. I might find something important in those photos, something that would take the heat off Conor. If I do, I’ll give it to the detectives. I’ll tell them what I’ll tell Conor. The USB came through the letterbox.
Taking the USB in my hand, I tiptoe out of the room and down to Conor’s computer. Hopefully I can open the folder. Conor has the most up-to-date Mac on the market. Well, at least it was when he bought it.
I remember his face, giddy, like a child in a queue for McDonalds. He kept smiling over at me as Harry from the football team – an IT genius, apparently – rigged it up for him in the side room off the hall. Which Conor now calls his office.
Inside the office I’m immediately greeted by the smell of newness. Conor had it decorated a few months ago and the décor hasn’t quite settled in yet.
A big wooden desk sits proudly at the far end of the room. It reminds me of a scene in a movie. The Godfather, I think, when they all come in to see the boss. Conor doesn’t use it for anything like that. He says he set it up in case he wanted to do some work from home when the baby arrived. But so far, the only thing I’ve seen him do in here is lead a group of virtual men to war or a team of animated soccer players to World Cup success. The walls are covered in images of the solar system and the ceiling is painted like a sky. Every book on the glass shelf relates to the universe. If they ever need a stand-in to solve the mysteries of the universe, Conor will be ready.
Leaning over the keyboard, my fingers trace the edge of the screen searching for the slot to put the USB in. I’m mindful of the hour and pray that Shay doesn’t wake up while I’m doing this. Not that Conor would mind me being in here. He doesn’t. I’ve been in here lots of times. But he might not be happy about my eagerness to probe the contents of this USB in the middle of the night. It doesn’t really fit in with his new relaxed ‘let it go’ mantra.
Eventually, I locate the slot, pull the seat from behind me and sit down. The screen lights up instantly when I hit the power button. It’s asking for a password. Shit. I forgot about that. Maybe it’s Shay. No. Laura. No. ShayLaura. No. Laurashay. No.
Ah well, worth a try. I’ll ask him for the password tomorrow.
Before closing down the computer, I take one last chance to see if it’s written on something. It wouldn’t surprise me; Conor is so trusting.
I open the drawer closest to me. It’s full of computer games and bits and pieces but nothing that looks like a password. The second drawer is much the same but with a few leaflets added. When I open the third and last drawer I find a batch of DVDs: Star Wars, Game of Thrones, Star Trek.
I’m about to close the drawer when I notice a key lying in the corner. I take it in my hand. It’s not like any of the other bits and bobs in the drawers. It’s old. Very old. Old enough to open the door of an old cottage maybe. I wonder, is it?
Footsteps shuffle on the floor above my head. With the key and USB in my dressing gown pocket, I quietly close the door and walk up the stairs. Conor is about to lift Shay when I walk into the room.
‘I thought you’d made another attempt to escape,’ he whispers, his arms stretched out, ready to take Shay. Is he never going to let me forget that?
‘I’ll get Shay,’ I whisper back. ‘You go back to bed. I just needed some water.’
Conor lies down, pulls the duvet around his shoulder and is fast asleep by the time I have the bottle in Shay’s mouth.
Chapter Sixty-Two
My eyes are fixed on the forest, on the trail of smoke puffing out from the trees. Pat hasn’t left to go to the village yet. I hope he does so I can check if the key I have in my jeans pocket will open the door. If Pat is so sure Conor had a motive, there might be something in that cottage to shine a light on his theory.
It’s not every day he makes the trip to the village. Sometimes it’s late into the night but Conor will be home then and I can’t very well tell Conor that I’m going to break into Pat’s cottage. He’ll think I’ve completely gone over the edge. So here’s hoping Pat’s milk has gone sour or something, and he has to go down to the shop.
Amanda phoned on her way to work asking if I’d found anything else of interest on the USB. I told her I couldn’t open it so she suggested emailing it to her and she would get someone at Imanage to have a look at it. She thinks Simon in IT will be able to do it. She also said she had a mad busy day ahead of her at work but she would get to it as soon as possible.
It’s been a long time since I had a mad busy day ahead of me. Minding Shay keeps me busy and I love it but it’s a different kind of busy. I know what to expect: when he’ll eat, sleep and have his bath. Excitement is delivered in the form of a new sound coming from his mouth or a previously undetected movement.
Grey clouds race across the sky. The trees at the end of the garden are blowing from side to side. It’s a dark gloomy day and on these days the large open wild spaces are not at all welcoming. I wonder if the weather will keep Pat locked inside or pottering in his wood-shed instead of venturing down to the village. I take one last glance out the window but there’s no sign of him.
I wonder what my mam would say if she could see the beautiful life I’ve carved out for myself. She might even be proud of me. She might be able to forgive me. Amanda has told her all the details of my new beginning but as we agreed, Amanda and I don’t talk about her anymore. It was putting Amanda under too much pressure. Telling me she’d told mam about Shay was hard enough for her.
I did try to ring my mother a few months af
ter the trial. I rang her a couple of times. I wanted to hear her voice to tell her how sorry I was and beg her forgiveness. But she never answered. Maybe I should try again. It’s been such a long time. But that just makes it harder to make the move.
I know my mother would have accepted the accident if it was just that. Accidents happen. I remember when she came to the hospital. I was crying. She was crying. Jamie was dead. He had fallen down the stairs.
Amanda had gone out that night and Jamie was upstairs. He was fed and changed and sleeping comfortably. I remember checking in on him. The little blue bundle lying in the cot. I decided to have a drink. Just the one. I was bored and lonely and feeling very sorry for myself, that I couldn’t go out and enjoy myself like everyone else. Earlier that week I’d had a glass or two of wine with Amanda. I felt fine. Got up in the middle of the night for Jamie’s feed, no bother. Sure, I could do it again. Only this time I didn’t stop.
When Amanda arrived back she had found us both at the foot of the stairs unconscious and had called the ambulance. She doesn’t speak about it. How awful it must have been for her to walk in on that scene: her sister and her nephew both lying on the ground. Only one breathing.
The next day the police had arrived at my hospital bedside. My mother was with me and she had heard them question me about the amount of alcohol in my system at the time of the accident. They mentioned something about gross negligence. I could hear their words cutting a hole in my life. I wanted to kill myself. My little boy was dead. His tiny body lying in a cold mortuary because of me. My selfishness. I had survived the fall, only I knew I hadn’t. Any happiness, joy, excitement, any reason to live had vanished when Jamie slipped out of my arms.
I had looked over at my mother. Her face had changed in front of me, her eyes filling with tears that rolled down her pale skin. She listened to the police asking me questions. Her daughter was the reason her grandchild was gone. I remember the last words she ever spoke to me. ‘You stupid, evil girl.’
* * *
My phone beeps. I look out the window. Still no movement from Pat. Lifting my phone, I open the text from Amanda.
You’re not going to believe it. Have a look at the email.
My heart begins to quicken once more. I rush back to the laptop and open the email that has just come in. My fingers wiggle over the keyboard as I wait for the message to download. My stomach is in a knot. What is in that folder? What am I not going to believe?
I click on the message. Then the file attached. The laptop flashes two photographs onto the screen. I freeze. This can’t be right. Holy fuck. I did not see that coming.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Frozen to the spot, I sit staring at the image of Noel and Olive wrapped around one another. In one photo, they’re kissing. Not like friends. This is a ‘please do not disturb’ kiss. In the other, she’s sitting straddled across his lap. They’re sitting on a small grassy hill, a sunny blue sky in the background. He’s kissing her neck. My eyes are unable to move away from the image. What the hell is going on? Vicky Murphy must have been doing a bit of Jessica Fletcher on these two. I wonder who asked her to. Abbie?
That must be why Abbie never lets him out of her sight. She’s either linking his arm or following him from one room to another. Did she know about the affair? Did she ask Vicky to investigate Noel and take her down a path that would ultimately lead to her murder? And Olive, that must be why she’s being so cool with Noel. He’s leaving her. Going to Oman with Abbie and ending the relationship. Maybe Olive was the one angry with Vicky for bringing her secret love life to an end.
I wonder what Conor will say. This is unbelievable stuff and I’m here on my own with a new baby and no one to discuss it with. I really should ring Conor and tell him what I’ve found out. We’re going to have to give this to the police now. No question about it. This is bad. Noel and Olive were having an affair and Vicky had proof. I wonder if they knew she had photos of them. Surely, though, if Olive and Vicky were close friends like everyone said they were, Vicky wouldn’t have taken those photos? She would have warned Olive that someone was suspicious about her and Noel. Wouldn’t she? Maybe she did. I can’t wait any longer. I’m ringing Conor.
Conor’s phone answers after two rings.
‘Hi babe,’ he says. He sounds happy.
‘Conor… are you busy?’
‘Not particularly. Everything okay?’
‘Not exactly. Would you be able to come home for a while?’
‘Is it Shay? Is he alright?’
‘Shay’s fine,’ I say. ‘In fact he’s great. He’s smiling up at me as we speak.’
He’s not. Shay is fast asleep in his cot but I want to reassure Conor.
‘What is it, then?’
‘I have to show you something.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t want to tell you over the phone, Conor. Can you come home?’
‘Okay, give me half an hour. I need to finish something here.’
‘See you then.’
I hang up and look at the screen again. Olive is another reason I couldn’t tell Conor over the phone. She could have been standing near him. She might have heard, or he might have asked her if it was true before I had a chance to talk to him.
The room darkens. I stick the kettle on and return to the window. It’s lashing rain now. Pat probably won’t venture out in that. I’ll have to wait. The idea of Noel and Olive having an affair is pure madness. But what does it mean? Had either of them anything to do with Vicky’s murder? Maybe they found out what Vicky had stored away on the USB. That would be motive enough for Noel. I don’t think Olive had anything to lose except her good name.
I never would have thought that of Olive – having an affair with someone’s husband. And there I was, feeling sorry for having robbed her man while all the time she was chewing on another bone. A bone that wasn’t hers to chew.
‘Beware of the quiet ones,’ Mam always said. ‘They’re usually quiet for a reason.’
Like me. I was quiet for years after Jamie’s death.
And Noel. What the hell is he at? He has a beautiful wife already. One with loads of money. Why would he be interested in destroying all that? Danger, maybe? Some people love tinkering with it. Testing themselves. Standing at the cliff’s edge looking over. Or love. Maybe Noel and Olive are in love. But when? How? So many questions… I wonder what Conor will say.
I don’t have long to wait for the answer. I’m just about to lift Shay from the crib when Conor walks into the room.
‘Well,’ he says. ‘What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until tonight?’
I walk to the laptop and press a key to refresh the screen, then walk over to get Shay’s bottle.
Conor sits on a stool and looks at the screen. He sighs and clasps his hands together under his chin.
‘Where did you get these?’ he says, his voice low. He closes down the laptop and looks at me. He looks deflated. It must be hard for him – two of his best friends living this lie.
‘They were on Vicky Murphy’s USB.’
‘What are you doing with Vicky Murphy’s USB?’ I take a deep breath, I can’t tell Conor I found it in Amanda’s apartment. I promised her.
‘Eh… it was put through our letterbox…’
‘What? Why would someone send us Vicky Murphy’s USB? When did this happen?’
I realise this is the perfect opportunity to mention the card. Shaking the bottle, I walk over to the crib where little Shay waits for me to pick him up. Conor is still looking at the screen. With Shay in my arms, I say, ‘This morning… and that’s not the only thing that was sent anonymously, there was a card.’
‘A card… What card?’
‘I should have told you earlier, I know, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment. It arrived the day I came home from the hospital. I opened it.’ I’m looking at Shay so I don’t have to see Conor’s face when I tell him. ‘I thought it might be someone playing a sick joke so I didn’t—’
> Conor interrupts me. ‘What about the card?’
‘Well, it was basically accusing you.’
‘Accusing me of what?’ He’s off the stool now and walking towards me.
‘Of killing Vicky Murphy.’ I clench my teeth and peep in his direction to see what he’s doing. Conor stands with his eyes and mouth wide open, looking at me like I’ve two heads.
‘I know I should have told you, Conor, but I put it away and then when I went to get it to show you, it was gone.’
He’s speechless.
‘I think it might have been Pat.’ I say. But Conor remains silent. Gobsmacked.
‘I wanted to tell you but then I didn’t have it and so much was going on and I thought you might not believe me—’ I’m rambling on when he interrupts.
‘What do you mean it’s gone? Gone where?’
‘I don’t know, I put it under a magazine on the counter.’ I point to the island in the centre of the room. ‘The night I came home from the hospital. But it was gone when I went looking for it the next day.’ Conor’s eyes are fixed on me. I can tell he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
‘What exactly did it say?’
A hot tear burns down my cheek. My body is shaking. Conor is going to hate me for not telling him about the card. ‘It said, Your husband is a murderer, where was he the night Vicky was killed?’
Conor looks away from me, hands on hips, eyes on the window. ‘Sweet Jesus, what’s going on Laura? You should have told me.’ He turns, his worried eyes stare at me.
‘I wanted to, Conor, but the card was gone, I had no proof, I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.’
‘And it wasn’t there when you went to look for it?’
‘No.’
‘Have you any idea who might have taken it?’ I shake my head. ‘I don’t know, maybe…’ I want to say Maggie but I’m not sure he’d appreciate me accusing his mam. ‘I don’t know Conor.’
‘Well I do.’