The Suicide Pact (The Tick-Tock Trilogy Book 3)

by David B Lyons

  ‘But… but Debbie has her own life outside of being your nanny,’ I say, as if I’m protecting Debbie. I don’t know why, though. I’m as shocked and as disappointed as Ciara is.

  ‘Debbie? Drugs?’ she says, wiping at her nose after she’s lifted her head from my shoulder.

  I just shake my head a little. I want to tell Ciara that I think she overreacted; that she didn’t need to smash Debbie’s mirror; that she didn’t need to slap her across the face. But I won’t. I’ll just keep her close by me, my arms wrapped around her waist until she stops crying.

  ‘This will all be over soon,’ I say, stooping my head a little to catch her eyes. I want her to stare at me. ‘We want out of this life, right? Look, we can’t even say goodbye to the people closest to us without getting upset. We’re just… we’re just not right for this life. Time to do this, Ciara. Let’s just do it!’

  Ciara swipes at her nose again as her eyes stare into mine. She offers me a tiny smile, then nods her head once.

  ‘Okay, let’s just do it. Let’s do it now!’

  ‘Ciara Joyce. You come over to me right now!’

  I look over my shoulder. It’s Debbie. She’s tightening the belt of her bathrobe around her waist again.

  Ciara turns, runs as fast as she can and I sprint after her.

  ‘Ciara! Ingrid!’ We can hear Debbie shout, but her shouts are getting further and further away.

  ‘Here’s the bus, here’s the bus,’ Ciara says. We both stop running. Then I see that look in Ciara’s eye. She’s changed moods again. The tears have stopped.

  ‘Let’s run out in front of it, ye ready?’ she says, grabbing both of my hands. ‘On three. One, two—’

  ‘No! Wait!’ I scream. ‘I’m not ready. I’m not ready.’

  20:25

  Michael

  I fuckin love this stuff. I pinch at my nose, making sure none of it falls back out, then duck my head down again, grab at the rolled up note and sniff.

  ‘Fuck yeah,’ I say.

  Claudia laughs, then sits up and kisses me, her tongue filling my mouth.

  ‘C’mon, fuck me,’ she begs, lying back down on my desk.

  She looks fuckin deadly with her blonde hair all sprayed out over my work notes. I hired her because she reminds me of that filthy lookin’ bitch who lives up the street from us. The Swedish one. Ingrid’s mam. Jesus, I’d love to fuck her brains out. That jammy bastard Terry Murphy gets to bang her every night. That’s good snatch he gets to play with for someone who’s such a known bore.

  I squint my eyes a little, just so Claudia’s face turns into Ingrid’s mam’s and then I slap both of her thighs wide open and shove my dick inside.

  I’ve had tighter pussy. But I didn’t know what I was hiring, did I? I could hardly have a go on her before she started working here. That’s not how it goes down.

  It’s the power these chicks are into. You have to exert the power before they’ll let you inside them. Once they figure they have opportunity to better themselves in the workplace, they’ll do anything. Filthy bitches. I’m riding three birds from the office at the minute. This time last year I had five on the go. That’s how it works round here. It’s my thanks to myself for building this place up from scratch.

  ‘Yeah, ye filthy slut,’ I say grabbing a fistful of her hair. I continue to thrust in and out of her, enjoying each and every one of her little squeals. Then the fucking phone rings. Again.

  Claudia lifts her head to stare at it. As if she’s never seen a phone ringing before. I yank at her hair and pull her back into position.

  ‘Ignore it,’ I say. ‘It’ll be just my wife.’

  ◈

  Helen puffs out her cheeks, places the phone in the drinks holder next to the gear stick and then turns to face Charlie.

  ‘He lives in Walkinstown. A Mr Patrick Tobin. Balfe Road.’

  ‘Okay,’ Charlie replies, swinging the car around. ‘D’ye think he’ll know the boy in the image?’

  Charlie can see Helen staring at him in his peripheral vision and, in that moment, realises the question he asked was quite stupid. How could she possibly know that? ‘Sorry,’ he says.

  Helen looks away, back through the windscreen.

  ‘No need to apologise, Charlie. He’s more likely to know the teenagers in this area than anyone. He works with them all day every day. So… there’s more chance of him knowing who the boy is in the image than anyone.’

  Charlie nods his head. He’s glad, more than anything, that Helen didn’t snap at him. Maybe she’s beginning to warm to his company.

  He shifts his ass cheeks, leaning from one to the other, as he drives, wondering whether or not he should ask her a question that’s been burning his mind ever since she first walked up to his desk about an hour ago. He scratches at his forehead, then sucks in a cold breath through his teeth.

  ‘Mind me asking you a question?’ he says. He tenses his eyeballs as he awaits the response.

  Helen turns to face him again.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s just eh… it’s just…’ he pulls at his ear lobe, ‘every other member of the teams, at Rathmines and at Terenure stations, are eh… well they don’t believe the call is legit, do they? They’re out trying to stop something major from happening. Why do you eh… why do you think the calls are genuine? Do you really believe two girls really are out there somewhere wanting to kill themselves tonight?’

  Helen arches an eyebrow, then returns her gaze through the windscreen to allow a silence to settle.

  ‘It’s personal,’ she says.

  ‘Personal?’ The pitch in Charlie voice rises.

  ‘Listen,’ Helen says, pulling at the strap of her seatbelt and turning side on so she can face Charlie. ‘What did they teach you in Temple Moor when you were training as a cop about dealing with phone calls to the station?’

  Charlie nods his head once. ‘To treat every call as seriously as the caller themselves.’

  Helen doesn’t say anything, she just opens both of her palms and then closes them.

  Charlie shifts in his seat again.

  ‘It’s just… it’s just, the caller wasn’t really serious was he? The youngfella didn’t give any names… any location. It just screams as a hoax call to get us out here looking for something that probably isn’t happening. Meanwhile, something else is going down—’

  ‘Charlie shut the fuck up!’ Helen spits out of her mouth. ‘Listen to me, and listen to me carefully. There are enough Detectives and officers out there looking into the possibility that this was a hoax call. Too many if you ask me. I’m actually furious with how this phone call is being considered by both of our stations. A suicide concern is not… not… to be taken lightly.’

  Charlie glances over at Helen, the emotion in her voice offering the first slither of evidence that there’s a heart beating somewhere beyond that leather coat.

  He wants to ask more, is repeatedly lifting his bum cheeks from side to side in anticipation of asking more. But he stops himself.

  ‘Sirens,’ Helen then says.

  Charlie doesn’t even look at her to question the instruction. They’re not attending an emergency, but he knows matters need to be dealt with as soon as possible. He’s not fully convinced, as much as Helen seems to be, that there are two girls out there planning to commit suicide. But if they are, the clock is ticking.

  He steps on the gas, overtaking cars with his sirens blaring and heads past Crumlin shopping centre towards Walkinstown; towards the home of the local school’s Headteacher.

  ‘If we find the boy, we’ll know everything,’ Helen shouts over the siren.

  Charlie nods his head. He knows she’s right. Regardless of whether or not there are two girls out there wanting to end their lives, or whether it’s just Alan fucking Keating playing games with the cops, they need to track down the boy who made the phone calls. This is a proper investigation, no matter what way Charlie looks at it; his first proper investigation. Normally he’s dealing with dom
estic disturbance calls, or calls from annoyed elderly neighbours giving out that boys are using their gates as goalposts for their little street football matches. Life as a rookie cop really hadn’t lived up to the dramatic hype painted in a lot of TV shows Charlie used to watch.

  ‘D’ye think the other cops will be coming out to this Headteacher’s house as well? Think they’ll be just behind us?’ he asks.

  Helen shakes her head.

  ‘Doubt they’d have thought of it this way. They’ll be wasting time trying to view other CCTV footage of where they think that boy would have gone to next. They’ll be trying to trace his movements. But sure, that was almost two hours ago now since he made that call. He could be anywhere. They’re trying to find where he is… me and you, we’re gonna find out who he is. That’s because we’re better investigators,’ she says. She then winks at Charlie. He’s not sure how to feel about the wink. It sure looked weird. And came at the end of a very weird comment. But it’s more confirmation that she’s warming to him; that she’s happy to teach him as they go.

  Despite his growing confusion, he doesn’t say another word as he races the car up Balfe Road, before turning sharply — causing Helen to grip the handle of the passenger door as her body leans towards Charlie.

  ‘What number we looking for?’ he asks as he reaches for a small switch that turns off the siren.

  ‘It’s that one there,’ Helen says pointing, ‘look, he’s outside waiting for us already.’

  As Charlie is pulling in, to park his car across the drive of the man they’ve come to visit, Patrick Tobin strides towards them.

  ‘Hi, officers,’ he says. ‘I got your call. I do hope none of my students are in trouble.’

  Helen waits until she is fully out of the car, standing upright and towering over the short, balding man, before answering.

  ‘We believe two of them may be in quite a bit of danger,’ she says. ‘May we?’ She points towards his open front door.

  ‘Please,’ he says. He leads them up his modest garden path, into his modest home before closing the door and holding a hand to his forehead. ‘Which two students is it?’ he asks.

  ‘Well, that was the information we were hoping you could help us with, Mr Tobin,’ Helen says. ‘We have a picture to show you. Can you name this individual? We believe he may be a student of yours…’

  Helen looks behind her, her hand outstretched. Charlie’s eyes widen.

  ‘Shit,’ he says, ‘left me phone in the car. Gimme one sec.’ He rushes back out the door.

  Helen sighs. A deep, frustrated sigh.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Tobin asks, tilting his head. He had initially been annoyed, thinking students had been up to no good. But he’s sensed a haunting mood since the police entered his home. This news is bad. Really bad.

  ‘We’ve had a call saying two young girls are planning to die by suicide locally tonight. At midnight. We don’t have much time to save them. A young boy rang in to give us that information, but he didn’t leave any names, any locations.’ Tobin scrunches up his nose, then squints at Helen. ‘We don’t know why,’ Helen says, answering the question before it could come out of Tobin’s mouth.

  ‘Here,’ Charlie says, racing back in the door, holding his phone out.

  ‘We are hoping you can give us the name of the individual in this image,’ Helen says.

  Tobin takes the phone and stares at the screen as he walks towards his green sofa and sits in it. Helen winces a little as she watches his head begin to sway from left to right.

  ‘No, I’m sorry. I mean the image is not very clear but I don’t think I know this face. I’m pretty certain he’s not a student in my school.’

  Helen runs her hand up and down the back of her neck, tossing her orange hair into a mess. She’s gutted; genuinely felt she was going to leap yards in front of the other investigation.

  ‘Are you sure, Mr Tobin? Take another look.’

  Tobin shakes his head again.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says, handing the phone back to Charlie. ‘Is there anything else I can help with? I’m willing to help, as much as I can. Course I am. I care for every one of my students. I can’t believe… I can’t believe two of them are planning on committing suicide. You have to stop them… you just have to stop—’

  ‘We will, Mr Tobin. Rest assured we are doing all we can. We just need to know who they are. If we knew who this young man was, we could get to the girls.’

  Helen washes her hand over her face this time, giving herself a quiet moment to think.

  ‘Are there any girls in your school suffering with depression that you know about?’ she asks.

  Tobin blows out his cheeks.

  ‘Well… yes, we have so many issues with so many students. Depression?’ He blows his cheeks again. ‘You’d really need to speak with Sana Patel. She’s our safeguarding and student welfare officer. Bloody good at her job, she is. Knows every student inside out.’

  ‘Can you get her on the phone for me?’ Helen asks.

  Tobin stands up, reaches for the mobile phone on his mantle piece and begins to scroll through it.

  ‘Hey, ring her on Facetime… you got Facetime?’ Charlie asks. Tobin looks at him as if he has two heads. ‘Sana Patel, you said, yes?’ Charlie says, taking the phone from Tobin. He scrolls through it, then scrolls through his own phone with his other hand.

  ‘Got her,’ he says,’ holding his own phone in front of his face as a gurgling tone rings.

  ‘Hello,’ a woman answers.

  ‘Ms Patel, my name is Charlie Guilfoyle, I’m a Garda at Terenure station, this here,’ he says turning the screen to face Helen, ‘is Detective Helen Brennan from Rathmines station and I’m sure you know who this man is.’ He turns the screen towards Tobin who holds his hand up to say hello to his colleague.

  ‘Oh my,’ she says, with a subtle Indian accent, ‘what is going on? Are you okay, Patrick?’

  ‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ he says.

  ‘It’s a couple of your students we are worried about,’ Charlie says. ‘I want to show you a photograph of a young boy. I need you to tell me if you recognise him.’

  Charlie fumbles with both phones, mumbling to himself as he does so, then turns the image of the boy on his phone towards Tobin’s screen.

  ‘Take your time, Ms Patel, don’t come to a conclusion straight away, allow the image to sink in,’ Helen says. As she’s saying this, she holds her eyes closed in anticipation, her fists clenched inside her coat pockets.

  ‘No. No, sorry. He’s not one of our students. I know the picture isn’t clear, but I could tell if he was one of ours.’

  Helen shows her teeth; her hands tightening into a firmer ball inside her pockets. Then she lets out a huge grunt.

  ‘Okay, Ms Patel. We have one more question for you,’ she then says, trying to compose herself. ‘Can you tell us of any girls who have come to you with any suicidal tendencies recently.’

  ‘Oh my,’ she says ‘what is going on?’

  ‘We just need answers to the questions, Ms Patel,’ Helen says.

  ‘Okay, okay. Let me compose myself. You have me so worried. Suicidal tendencies. No!’ she says, matter of factly.

  Helen holds her eyes closed.

  ‘What about depression? Any female students talk to you about feeling depressed?’

  ‘Oh yes, oh yes,’ Sana says.

  Helen’s eyes widen. And when Charlie glances towards her, she winks at him.

  ‘Can you give me the names of those girls?’ Helen says.

  ‘Of course. But we’d obviously have to go through the proper procedure in order to—’

  Helen snatches the phone from Charlie, pointing the screen towards her own face. She notices Sana balk backwards at the sight of her. Helen’s aware she’s odd looking. Is used to this kind of reaction.

  ‘Excuse my French here, Ms Patel. But fuck procedure. Two students of yours are planning on killing themselves tonight. Two girls. I need access to the list of femal
e students who have ever confided in you about depression.’

  Sana’s mouth falls open. She doesn’t answer. Is too shocked to talk.

  ‘Sana, you have my permission to share the information with these Guards,’ Tobin says. ‘This is an emergency. We’ll deal with all of the red tape tomorrow. Just let these officers do their job as quickly as they can.’

  Sana nods her head.

  ‘Wait there,’ she says. ‘I need to access my computer.’

  Helen winks a thank you towards Patrick, then holds a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. A breakthrough at last. She’s gonna find out who these two girls are. Is gonna save their lives. It’ll make up for the fact, somewhat, that she couldn’t save Scott’s.

  ‘Okay,’ Sana says down the line. ‘I have my notes here. What do you want me to do, read out the names?’

  ‘Yes. Please,’ says Helen.

  Sana clears her throat.

  ‘Okay. Jacinta Archer.’

  Helen nods at Charlie.

  ‘Elaine Bailly. Anna Barnes. Nicole Casey. Elizabeth Clarence. Sarah Dunne…’

  Helen’s eyes squint.

  ‘Are you… are you reading these names in alphabetical order?’ she asks, bringing the screen to her face again.

  ‘Yes, officer,’ Sana says.

  ‘How many girls have you had come to you to talk to you about their depression?’

  ‘This year, officer?’

  Helen nods slowly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Eh… lemme see…’

  Helen watches as Sana’s lips mumble her counting. She looks up at Charlie. Then at Tobin.

  ‘Modern times,’ Tobin says, shrugging his shoulders.

  Helen holds her eyes closed, gripping the phone as firmly as she can, her knuckles whitening.

  ‘One hundred and sixty-four,’ Sana says.

  ‘Ah for fuck sake!’ Helen roars.

  20:35

  Ciara