‘You never appeared when Fred died.’
‘Sorry about that. I’m here out of respect for your daughter, and to tell you that if you need anything, you should give me a call.’
‘What on earth could I want from you?’
He sighed and folded his coat into an even smaller bundle. It would be a ball of creases, but feck him, a creased coat was less than he deserved.
‘I’m sorry, Anita. Sorry for everything.’
‘Bit late in the day for apologies.’
‘I want to make it up to you.’
‘This is not the right time, AJ.’ She couldn’t stop sobbing. ‘I’m a broken woman. I’ve lost Isabel. I’ve lost everything I ever cared for.’ She tried to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘If it wasn’t for Holly, I don’t think I could go on.’
‘Hush, woman. You’re still young. You’ll learn to live with your loss.’
‘I’ve lived with loss all my life, but it’s hard, AJ. Too bloody hard.’
‘Tell me what I can do to help.’ He rose from Fred’s armchair and knelt beside her, taking her wet hand in his.
Fighting the urge to pull away, she said, ‘When I truly needed you, you disappeared. I don’t need you now.’
‘I admit I was a coward. But I’m not the same person I was then. I’m no longer a coward.’
‘What do you want?’ Anger had replaced her sorrow.
‘I met her again recently.’
Her head shot up. ‘Isabel? She worked in your Ragmullin store for a while. Is that what you mean?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘She came in one day; it could’ve been six months or more ago.’
‘Is there a point to this story?’
‘She didn’t look well. Pale and drawn. I happened to be in the Ragmullin office that day. I’m not always there. I travel around a lot and—’
‘For pity’s sake, get to the point.’ Anita knew she shouldn’t be snappy, but AJ Lennon was the last person on earth she wanted in her sitting room right now, and she regretted letting him in.
‘She almost fainted in one of the aisles. I saw it on CCTV. I went to help, but she said she was okay. She was pregnant.’
‘Thanks for helping her, but where is this going?’
He knotted his fingers together until the skin turned white. ‘She said that if anything ever happened to her, would I keep an eye out for you.’
‘What?’ Anita jumped up. ‘Why would she say that? To you? She hardly knew you.’
‘I have no idea, but it struck a chord with me then and again at lunchtime when I heard the news.’ He unclenched his fingers and spread them out on his knees. When he raised his head, Anita felt herself wither under the intensity of his gaze. ‘I feared for her that day. Her terrified little face, pale and drawn, and her bones holding up her baby bump.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Anita wiped her eyes with a balled-up tissue and threw it into the dead fire. Had Isabel been afraid Jack would do something to her? Why would she say that? To AJ Lennon of all people.
With her back to him, she said softly, ‘What do you think she meant?’
‘I honestly don’t know. She drank a glass of water and the colour returned to her cheeks, then she left.’
‘Maybe she had a premonition, or something?’ She couldn’t get her head around what AJ was telling her. Maybe Isabel had suffered from baby brain or whatever. But she knew in her heart that her daughter had been frightened. Why? Of what? ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You could have come around as easily as you did tonight.’
‘She was fine when she left and I was busy. I never gave it any thought until today. I’m so sorry.’ He shook out his coat and tugged it on, then put a card on the arm of the chair. ‘My number is on that. If you need anything, give me a call.’
‘Thank you.’
He paused at the door. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss. Take care.’
Holding a hand to her chest, she listened to him pull the front door behind him. The reality of his words sank in. Why did Isabel think something might happen? AJ’s visit made her think of what she herself had been hiding all these years. Could Isabel have stumbled upon that? Had Anita’s own tragic past been instrumental in bringing a murderer to kill her daughter?
‘God, no!’ she wailed.
Then she thought of her little granddaughter asleep upstairs, and sobbed into her hands.
26
Nathan Monaghan waited for the trailer to be unloaded at the Ragmullin depot, then parked the cab for the night.
He slipped into his car, his legs cramping with tiredness. A good healthy stew was what he needed, and a decent night’s sleep. He should text Joyce to say he was on his way. Shit, he’d never charged his phone. Anyway, it’d be nice to surprise her. She wasn’t expecting him until much later in the night, or even tomorrow. He was always vague. Suited him that way. The thought of hot food and his hot woman filled him with urgency. He floored the car and sped home.
The first thing he noticed was that there was no sign of Joyce’s car in the driveway. He pulled up where her black Ford Focus was normally parked and marched to the door. The second thing of note was that there were no lights lit in the house. No curtains drawn. It was in darkness, with only the street lamp casting hues on the front of the house.
Inside, he switched on the light and waited.
Stillness.
Not a sound.
Not a breath.
‘Joyce? Evan?’ He marched into the sitting room, flicked the switch. Empty. Same in the kitchen. He plugged in his phone to charge and bounded up the stairs, a rush of fear propelling his feet. Evan wasn’t in bed. Joyce was not in bed. He noticed the disarray in the bedroom, and the house felt like it had been abandoned.
He sat on the top step of the stairs. What was going on? Where was his family?
That Dermody idiot had mentioned Evan’s name like it was a threat.
His heart stopped in his chest and he tried to catch his breath. The palms of his hands began to sweat.
As he made his way down the stairs, a finger of fear slithered down his spine like a bony hand nudging each vertebra. Surely this couldn’t be anything to do with Dermody? No way. He’d done what had been asked of him. He didn’t want to know what they were smuggling in the back of his lorry. As long as they did it quickly and stealthily, he should be beyond suspicion. There was no reason to harm his family.
As he reached the kitchen, he heard his phone ping with messages. He grabbed it, still charging, and gaped at the line of missed calls and texts.
He rang Joyce. Nothing.
Then he rang Sinéad.
* * *
Sinéad was frantic. That was the only word Nathan could find to describe her. Hair wild, face tear-stained, with a hand jammed into her mouth, she paced up and down the path in front of her house.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Nathan said, jumping out of the car.
She rushed to him, tripped on a paving stone and fell into his arms. He shrugged out of the impetuous embrace. Holding her at arm’s length, forcibly clutching her elbows, he shook her.
‘Sinéad, for Christ’s sake, get a grip on yourself. I’ve a ton of missed calls. I was driving, my phone died … Where are Evan and Joyce? I’ve just come from the house and they’re not there.’
‘Where were you?’ she cried. ‘I called and called. No one picked up. I couldn’t even reach Dylan. Now Evan is gone.’
‘What are you talking about?’ He shook her again, trying to make sense of her words while recalling Dermody’s veiled threat.
‘Joyce didn’t arrive to collect Evan this afternoon. I kept him here all evening and then … then he was gone.’
‘Gone?’ He tightened his grip on her arms. ‘What do you mean, gone? Where? What are you talking about?’
‘I don’t know. You’re hurting me, Nathan.’
He realised then that he was digging his fingers into her soft flesh and let her go. Evan was missing? No, that couldn’t be right. An
d where was Joyce?
Sinéad walked inside. Her body deflated like a burst balloon, she slumped against the hall wall and slid down to the floor.
He rushed in behind her, drawing the door shut. Stepping over her outstretched legs, he flew through the downstairs of the house, calling for Evan. He glanced at the stairs, then, without waiting for permission, raced up them, running through every room, searching.
Back down again, his body trembling uncontrollably, he hunkered beside her. ‘Sinéad, I want you to tell me everything. Absolutely fucking everything!’ He clenched his fists between his knees in case he lashed out to stop her crying.
A sharp knock on the door forced them to look at it simultaneously. He was first to react, jumping up and hauling the door open.
‘Mr Foley?’ the woman said. Her tall frame was topped with a mess of unruly hair. Flecks of paint dotted her face and hands.
‘Dylan’s not here. Who are you?’ he said.
‘Is Sinéad Foley in? My daughter Katie got a call from her. About a missing boy? I’m Lottie Parker. Detective Inspector.’
‘Nathan Monaghan. Joyce is my … Evan is … Oh God, I don’t know where they are.’
‘May I come in?’
He opened the door wider and watched her appraise Sinéad’s slumped figure, sitting on the floor. Shit, he thought, this looks terrible, but he didn’t care how it looked. He had to find Joyce and Evan.
Sinéad dragged herself to her feet. ‘I’m Sinéad Foley. Thanks for coming.’
She led the detective into the sitting room and Nathan followed, his mind a jumble. This was the last thing he needed. A fucking detective in his face. But then maybe it was for the best. He was tired of all the lies.
Lottie stood with her back to the fireplace, where an earlier fire had burnt to embers. The room was warm and quiet. Sinéad sat on the arm of a leather chair while Nathan paced up and down, thumping clenched fists against his thighs.
‘I don’t understand what’s going on,’ he said.
That makes two of us, Lottie thought. She garnered the bones of the events from Sinéad before directing her question at Nathan.
‘Joyce and Evan were definitely not at home when you arrived there?’
‘No. There’s no one there.’
‘Sinéad, could Evan have opened the door and let himself out?’
‘He’s tall for his age, but I don’t think so. I know he was bored and tired. Missing his mum. But I honestly think someone came in. I should have reacted sooner. I assumed it was Dylan – my husband. He had a late meeting after work before he went to the gym. He goes there every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Regular as clockwork. He should have been back by now, though. I couldn’t get him on the phone, but I can try him again.’
‘Did you hear Evan scream or cry out?’
She shook her head, then her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh God, do you think he knew who took him?’
‘I don’t know. Can you contact your husband for me, please?’
While Sinéad left the room to make the call, Lottie studied Nathan. Nerves flew off him in waves. Wired. He ground his fingers into his thighs. Eyes wide and edgy. Edgy? More like cagey. Was there something rumbling beneath his taut muscles? Something sinister? Or was it just her imagination running away with her after a day working on Isabel Gallagher’s murder?
She sat opposite him. Took out her notebook. Leaned forward. Assumed her easy-to-listen-to voice.
‘How long have you and Joyce been together?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘I need to have all the facts.’
‘Why are you even here?’
‘Sinéad asked me to come round. Once I’ve assessed the situation, I’m calling it in. Then it will be official.’
He kept his head bowed. ‘No need for that. Evan must have run off.’
‘Do you really think he did that at this hour of the night? He’s only four, isn’t he?’
‘Did what?’ He raised his face to her, eyes piercing, like steel bullets.
‘Ran off.’
He moved towards her. ‘I don’t know what to think. I’ve been on the continent for two days, driving for hours on end, and I just came off the boat, delivered the load and picked up my car. Then I arrive home to this … mess. I don’t even know where Joyce is.’
‘Are you sure she couldn’t have just arrived here and taken Evan?’
‘How would she get in? I doubt she has a key. What are you even doing here? You should be out there searching for them. Someone might have taken them.’
Lottie straightened her shoulders. ‘Taken them? Why would you say that?’
‘I … I don’t know what I’m saying. Look, I’ve only just arrived back in the country. I don’t know where they are, but I want them found.’
‘Okay.’ Lottie folded her notebook closed and slotted it back into her mess of a bag. ‘I’m calling in support, then we’ll go to your house. A quick search.’ A four-year-old boy was missing. His mother also. That was all she knew at this time. ‘Once I have an officer here with Sinéad, you can show me the way to yours.’
Sinéad returned to the room as Lottie finished her call to the station.
‘I eventually got hold of Dylan. He was delayed at the gym and has only just switched his phone back on. He’s on his way home now.’
‘Was your husband home at all this evening?’
‘No, like I said, he had a meeting and went to the gym from there.’
‘Where does he work?’
‘He’s in the health service.’
‘Okay. Can you describe what Evan was wearing when you last saw him?’
‘His jacket is still here. He had on his blue Bubbles sweatshirt, white polo shirt and navy joggers. I think he had his green dinosaur runners on.’
‘Grand, thanks. Detectives and uniformed officers will be here soon.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Sinéad said. ‘I should have kept him by my side and not let this happen.’
‘It’s not your fault. We need to locate his mother. Have you any idea where she might be?’
The woman shrugged.
Nathan was wringing his hands into knots again. Lottie thought there must be no skin left. Sweat pulsed on his forehead. Was it only genuine worry bubbling under the surface of his skin?
‘Nathan? Where might Joyce be?’
‘I don’t know. She’s usually either at home or at work. She goes nowhere.’
She noticed he had tears in his eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ he cried. ‘This is surreal. I don’t know what to do or say.’
A car screeched to a halt outside, followed by a loud knock on the door.
Sinéad went to let them in.
Lottie said, ‘Garda Thornton and Detective Kirby will stay here with you, Sinéad, and take your statement. If you’re ready, Nathan, let’s go to your house.’
She turned to Kirby. ‘Get as much detail as you can. By the way, where’s McKeown?’
Kirby held up his phone. ‘I’ve tried calling him six times and no reply. Had to bring old Thornton from the desk with me.’
‘Okay, fine. I’ll check in with you later.’
* * *
As she stepped over the threshold, Lottie noticed how clean and sweet-smelling the house was. Nothing out of place. No coats hanging on the banister. No shoes dropped by the door. She wished she could maintain a tidy house. As she moved further inside, the minimalism struck her as being similar to Isabel Gallagher’s house. Was her tired mind playing tricks on her?
‘She’s not here,’ Nathan said. ‘I’ve already searched.’
‘I want to see for myself. Does she drive?’
‘Yes, and her car isn’t here either.’
‘Colour, make and licence plate number?’
‘Black Ford Focus, 2007 reg. I’ll get you the number.’
‘Thanks. First let’s see if any of her clothes are missing. Upstairs?’
His eyes widened. ‘You really t
hink she’s run away?’
‘I don’t know what to think,’ Lottie said, honestly.
She checked the kitchen and sitting room with a cursory glance before following him up the stairs. Three bedrooms and a family bathroom. So pristine as to be almost sterile.
‘This is Evan’s room,’ Nathan said, a tremble in his voice.
She stepped over the threshold and sensed the energy. Baskets of toys. Shelves of colourful books. A single bed in the shape of a racing car, with a teddy bear resting on the pillow. Its ears were worn away from constant rubbing by little fingers. Its nose had the impression of having been sucked. To soothe Evan to sleep? If Joyce had taken him, Lottie was sure she wouldn’t have left without her son’s comfort toy. Unless she hadn’t time to stop and think. No. She’d dropped the boy to day care with the intention of going back for him. Or had someone taken the mother and then gone to the day care and snatched the child? Her gut told her that was what had happened, but it could be totally wrong. There might be a reasonable explanation.
‘Does it look like anything is missing?’ she said.
‘I don’t know. His teddy is on his bed. He needs that to fall asleep.’ Nathan opened the wardrobe and shrugged. ‘How would I know what’s missing? Joyce does all this stuff.’
‘Let’s have a gander in the main bedroom. You sleep together?’
‘Of course we do.’ He walked in ahead of her.
A suitcase lay open on the bed. Clothes had been dragged from the wardrobe; some lay on the floor, with more on the bed and very little in the suitcase.
‘Looks like she was planning to leave,’ Lottie said, staring at the clothing. All adult female attire.
‘No, that can’t be right. Why would she do that?’
‘You tell me. Do you have more suitcases or holdalls?’
He dragged two empty holdalls from the wardrobe. Lottie wondered if Joyce had intended to run off and been interrupted while packing.
‘Nathan, this looks highly suspicious to me. I’ll need you to come to the station to make a full statement, and I’ll need proof of your movements for the last twenty-four hours.’
Little Bones: A totally addictive crime thriller Page 12