‘Was it anything to do with Jack?’
‘Jack? He treated her well, but who knows what goes on behind closed doors?’
‘Isabel didn’t seem to have owned much.’
‘That’s just the way she was. She didn’t like to spend, unlike me.’
‘Did she ask you to babysit often?’
‘Now and again,’ Anita said softly. ‘Usually during the day, when Jack was at work. They didn’t socialise. Always saving. What good has that done them, eh? My little girl is dead and no amount of money can bring her back.’
* * *
In the car, Boyd turned to look at Lottie. ‘I don’t trust Gallagher one fecking inch.’
‘What’s got into you?’
‘He’s trying to steer us towards this Kevin Doran character.’
‘It was me who brought up Doran’s name first, not Jack.’
‘Lottie, it’s staring us in the face. Somehow Gallagher manoeuvred his movements this morning in order to return home and kill his wife. How could it take him twenty minutes to get to work? Once he gets down the lane from his house, it’s a straight drive to Quality Electrical. And we only have his word that he left home at ten to seven. He’s a liar, that’s what he is.’
‘Well, Isabel rang her mother around seven, so she was alive then. Anyway, Kirby should have news on Gallagher’s movements when we get back to base.’ She stared straight ahead. ‘For a minute, let’s say I agree with you about him. What’s his motive?’
‘He’s a controlling son of a bitch and maybe Isabel had found the nerve or courage to leave him. He wouldn’t like that at all. And I’d like to know more about where she went when she needed Anita to babysit.’
‘All right. We’ll talk to Anita again, but we need to let them grieve a little while we try to uncover what we can. Okay?’
He glanced at her. ‘If you say so.’
As he returned his gaze to the road, he swerved the car unexpectedly.
‘Will you watch what you’re doing, for heaven’s sake? You’re making me nervous.’
He righted the car and continued driving more slowly. ‘I’m making myself nervous.’
17
Anita put Holly down on the floor, surrounded with cushions just in case, and laid out soft toys that she kept for the rare visits from her granddaughter.
‘Jack, what are you going to do?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘About Holly.’
‘I’ve just lost my wife and my heart is totally broken. I can’t think about that now.’
‘You can stay here, the two of you, as long as you like. You know that.’
‘Thanks. Appreciated. But as soon as dumb and dumber let me back into my own house, I’m going home.’
‘Dumb and dumber? The two detectives? God, Jack, don’t be so disrespectful.’
‘They were disrespectful to me, so they can fuck off.’
‘Will you shush? Holly’s listening. Babies pick up so much at that age. You don’t want her first word to be a swear word.’
‘She’s just witnessed her mother’s murder, so I think a few swear words are mild in comparison. Oh shite, what am I going to do?’
Anita turned away from her son-in-law as he buried his head in his hands. She stared out through the window and cried silent tears for her beautiful daughter. The image imprinted on her brain was the bedroom of blood, Holly crying in the cot, and poor sweet, kind Isabel lying dead at her feet.
She turned away quickly and moved to the sideboard, picking up a silver frame studded with diamanté. It held a photograph taken of Isabel on her wedding day. She was leaning against a tree, smiling with a smile so bright it was blinding. It was Anita’s favourite image of her daughter. It radiated pure happiness. It was like Isabel felt she’d left her troubles behind, but she hadn’t, had she?
She kissed the photo and vowed that this was the image with which she would replace the vision of savagery she’d witnessed earlier that morning.
Replacing the photo, she picked up little Holly and feathered her cheeks with kisses, holding her close so that the baby could hear her beating heart. She glanced at the photograph again. That had been the only time she’d seen Isabel in a state of unrestrained happiness. What had gone wrong before and after that marriage to make her daughter so sad?
She whispered in the child’s ear so that Jack wouldn’t hear. ‘I hope this horror isn’t all my fault.’
‘I have to get out of here.’ Jack stood up suddenly. ‘I have to be doing something.’
‘Please, Jack, you have to stay. At least until the family liaison officer arrives.’
‘I don’t need another face in mine. Not now. I need air. I’ll be back.’
‘What about Holly?’
‘You seem to be doing okay with her.’ He put on his coat and buttoned it to the neck.
‘But that’s not—’
‘Enough, Anita. I won’t be long.’
She followed him to the hallway just as he slammed the door behind him.
‘Don’t do anything stupid, Jack,’ she whispered.
Kevin switched off the engine and shivered as the heat faded, but he couldn’t keep it running in case he attracted attention. He unwrapped the Subway roll and stuffed his mouth with soft bread, salami and cheese.
When he was finished, he balled up the wrapper and threw it at his feet, where it joined a heap of detritus. It took him three attempts to open the can of Coke with his numb fingers, and when he finally succeeded, the fizz spouted up and spilled over the rim. He downed two good gulps and then sank into the seat to maintain his vigil.
Isabel’s mother had to be inside the house, because her car was parked in the drive. He’d seen one of the guards driving it away from the Gallagher house.
The front door opened and he quelled the urge to leap up and press his nose to the windscreen. Instead he ducked his head and sank deeper into the stained upholstery.
Jack Gallagher came out, tugging a knitted hat from his pocket and pulling it down over his hair, almost to his eyebrows. Where was he off to? Kevin hoped his van couldn’t be seen. Jack kept his head between hunched shoulders and turned left, headed for town.
Debating whether to follow him or to maintain his vigil, Kevin found it difficult to make up his mind. Surely little Holly was still inside with her grandmother? If so, Kevin needed to stay right where he was.
He watched Jack disappear around the corner. He desperately wanted to know where he was going, but he’d made a promise and he’d already failed once. He couldn’t fail again.
Slumped in the mouldy seat, he felt the urge creep up on him. It wasn’t unexpected, but the unbearable helplessness that washed over him in the darkest recesses of his mind was unforgiving and needed to be crushed. He fumbled, fingers numb in his coat pocket, and found the small tin box. Placing it on the greasy dashboard, he wondered if this would distract him or revitalise him. He had no control over his urges. None whatsoever.
‘I’m so weak,’ he told the box. ‘Why do I need you so much?’
But Kevin had relinquished all power many years ago. He opened the lid and removed the rusted razor blade.
Lifting the flap of what was once a pocket on his grubby combat trousers, he stared at the bare skin on his leg. Silver crests marked the flesh like a bed of eels. He found an unblemished spot and lowered the blade, dragging it across the flesh until tiny blood bubbles rose to the surface. Deeper he went, and more blood crept up, flowing a little more freely now. He raised the blade and performed a similar action three more times, careful not to open any old wounds.
When he was done, he squeezed his eyes shut, allowing the pain to ease the anguish in his brain. Then he took an old brown-stained cotton handkerchief from the door panel and wiped the blade before replacing it in the box.
He slipped the box back into his coat pocket and returned to his vigil, watching the front door of Anita Boland’s house through the ochre haze of the afternoon light.
18
Th
e office was buzzing with chatter when Lottie walked in. She had no time to absorb any of the reports on her desk, so she hoped the team were ready to impart all their information. Hopefully positive news, but she had a burning sensation in her chest telling her there would be little to report.
‘Okay, quieten down. I want this over and done with in ten minutes. I’ve a post-mortem to get to and I’m already late. I haven’t time for a full incident meeting. We’ll go with who we have here. McKeown, you’re up first. Anything on this mysterious Kevin Doran?’
‘Blank wall, if you want the truth.’
‘I want progress.’
‘I’ve tried everything.’
‘You can do better than that, McKeown.’ Lottie paced around the cluttered floor.
‘He must be using a false name.’
‘Feck’s sake, he can’t be invisible. Everyone leaves a trace somewhere.’
‘No one knows the licence number of the van. I’ve gone through every Kevin Doran in the county. None of them is our man.’ McKeown ran his hand over his shaved head and stifled a yawn. ‘He must be using an alias or living off the grid. Cash-in-hand jobs and the like. But I’ll do some more digging.’
Lottie turned to Kirby. ‘Did anyone at Jack’s workplace know Doran?’
‘I talked to a couple of his colleagues. Ciaran Grimes and Paulo Silva.’ He flicked through his notebook. ‘No one seems to have heard of him.’
‘Someone better find him. What did you find out about Gallagher’s movements this morning?’
‘The boss man is a Michael Costello. He gave me Gallagher’s job log. Tallies with what we were told.’
‘It still took him twenty minutes to get to work,’ Boyd said. ‘And I know it doesn’t take that long.’
‘Agreed,’ Lottie said. ‘Once we get time of death, we can grill Jack about his timeline.’
She stopped pacing at the back of the room and leaned against a filing cabinet, which wobbled, causing a file to fall from the bundle perched precariously on top.
‘This place is a mess. Can you people not put things away when you’re finished with them?’ She indicated the tottering files behind her, then realised she had left them there herself. After replacing the fallen file she resumed her pacing. ‘We’re the whole day at this and nothing close to a clue has been uncovered. Anything from forensics?’
‘Too soon,’ McKeown said.
‘Kirby? Tell me more.’
The detective pushed out his chest with importance, causing a button to burst open. Hastily he tugged his sports jacket over it and related the gist of the conversations he’d had at Quality Electrical.
‘Isabel worked there for a while. Well liked, but she left after meeting Jack. Apparently he convinced her she wasn’t appreciated there, or some such shit, and the boss, Michael Costello, is a misogynist of the highest order.’
‘Just what we need. Did you talk to the clients Jack was scheduled to be with today?’
‘He was unable to access the first property, at Bardstown. Garda Brennan and I visited the second property.’ He glanced at his scribbled notes. ‘Spoke to Mrs Birmingham in Plodmore. She says Gallagher was there until he got my call asking him to return home. He left in an awful hurry, according to Mrs Birmingham.’
‘Are the times tight enough to rule him out as a suspect?’
‘Well, there’s the forty-five minutes from the time he says he left the house, to clocking in at work, travelling to the first client, where he got no response, and then going to Mrs Birmingham’s. No proof he was actually at Bardstown. So there is wiggle room there.’
‘He remains on our list, then.’
‘What list?’ Boyd said. ‘We don’t have anyone other than Jack Gallagher and the invisible Kevin Doran.’
Lottie felt her chest constrict. ‘If you were a bit busier, Boyd, we might have more suspects.’
‘I was with you all day.’
Expelling a breath of frustration, Lottie turned to Lynch. ‘What have you got for me?’
‘Besides being contacted by a hallucinating member of the public, not much. I went through the phone bill you brought back from Gallagher’s. It seems Jack had a habit of phoning home multiple times a day.’
‘That supports my theory that he was a controlling bastard.’ Lottie related her findings at the house. Or rather lack of findings.
‘Doesn’t prove he killed her,’ Boyd said.
‘You’re changing your tune.’ Lottie sighed in exasperation. ‘We need to dig up everything we can on Jack Gallagher.’
‘Maybe he hired someone else to kill his wife?’ McKeown said.
Kirby butted in. ‘Maybe he was having an affair and got his lover to do it. I saw this true-crime documentary and—’
‘Now is not the time for speculation. I want a dossier on Gallagher on my desk first thing in the morning. Job for you, McKeown.’
McKeown yawned again, and she was tempted to shove a keyboard into his gaping mouth if she was boring him that much. He was saved by Superintendent Farrell storming in.
‘I hope you lot are more efficient in here than out there.’
‘What’s up, Superintendent?’ Lottie hadn’t a clue what the woman was talking about.
‘I’ll tell you what’s up.’ Farrell tugged off her clip-on tie and tried to open the top button of her shirt, her face reddening. ‘What lug gave the media a photo of the victim and her husband? It’s been on some morning television show and repeated on the news.’
Lottie looked around at her team and was met with shrugging shoulders and shaking heads. ‘We’re professionals. There’s no way on earth anyone would—’
‘You better find out then. There were uniforms, SOCOs and God knows who else crawling around that house all morning. I want a head on a plate. You hear me? Head on a plate.’
She left as quickly as she’d arrived.
Lottie scowled. ‘When I find out who leaked that photo, I will personally put their head on a plate.’ Who would jeopardise an investigation like that? Not McGlynn, but she’d have to get him to check out his team, and that would not be a pleasant conversation. ‘Kirby, will you speak to all personnel who were at the crime scene? Anyone who had access to the house. I’ll talk to Jim.’
‘Could be one of the neighbours, or a friend of the family,’ Boyd interjected. ‘Doesn’t necessarily mean it’s one of us.’
‘I know that, but we have to clear our own people first,’ Lottie spat.
McKeown said, ‘The husband might have given it out.’
‘But we had a media blackout in place until he arrived at the scene. He wouldn’t have known why he was being called back home.’
Boyd said, ‘Maybe one of his mates phoned him with the news that something bad had happened to Isabel.’
‘He was Jack-no-mates, as far as Garda Brennan and I could discover,’ Kirby pointed out.
‘Maybe the television crew talked to him before uniformed officers got to escort him up the road,’ Boyd said. ‘They could have asked for a photo and he showed them his wedding photo from his phone. He did tell us he wants to do a television appeal.’
‘Shit,’ Lottie said.
McKeown turned the tablet screen to show them the photo that had appeared on Good Morning Ireland.
‘Jack already knew she was dead,’ Lottie said. ‘He already knew because he killed her, or he knew because the media hacks told him.’
‘But we don’t know that yet,’ Kirby said, trying to defuse Lottie’s rising anger.
‘Okay.’ Lottie sat and stretched her legs, tiredness eating into her bones. ‘Where were we? Anyone got anything else to add to this briefing?’
‘I have something else.’ Lynch waved the phone bill pages.
‘Hope it’s good.’ Lottie glanced at the office clock. At this rate, the post-mortem would be over by the time she reached Tullamore.
‘Isabel had a meeting arranged for ten this morning, but—’
‘That reminds me, did anyone follow up with her
doctor?’
‘Boss, if you’ll let me continue?’
‘Carry on.’
‘The thing is, the meeting wasn’t with her doctor. A few weeks ago, Isabel Gallagher phoned Bubbles Day Care in Ragmullin. I spoke with Sinéad Foley, the owner. Isabel used to work there until her pregnancy sickness got too much and she had to leave.’
‘We know that.’
‘She had an appointment with Sinéad Foley this morning after ten. But we know why she never turned up.’
‘Why am I only hearing about this now?’ Lottie slapped one fist into the other as anger quickly replaced her frustration.
‘You were out most of the day.’
‘I have a phone and radio in the car.’
‘Sorry. Other things came up and—’
‘And this day care owner never thought to inform us?’
‘I’m sure she didn’t even know Isabel was dead. I didn’t inform her of the fact either.’
‘Okay,’ Lottie said. She grabbed her jacket and bag. ‘Organise a meeting with Sinéad Foley for first thing tomorrow morning. She probably won’t be able to tell us anything further, but all the same … Isabel worked there, so we might get a better handle on her, because so far all I’m getting is an isolated woman with no friends.’
‘It seems odd that she’d want to leave the child in a crèche, though,’ Lynch said. ‘She had no current employment.’
‘It’s imperative that we find out more about Isabel Gallagher. Build up a picture of her as a woman, a real person. She was much more than the broken body on her bedroom floor. Something happened to put her in the sights of a killer. Keep digging. As deep as you can go.’
Lottie slung her bag over her shoulder and her jacket on her arm. ‘Jane’s going to kill me.’
19
Walking along the lakeshore, the cool April breeze biting into her skin, Joyce kicked up pebbles, sidestepping the hungry swans as the water lapped at her soft leather pumps. She was despairing of ever being able to escape from her past. No matter which way she turned it over in her head, she could not see a logical conclusion to the mess. All she knew was that she had to act fast, but she’d wasted most of the day. Hadn’t even gone into work, and now it was getting towards time to collect Evan. She hadn’t even packed a bag.
Little Bones: A totally addictive crime thriller Page 9