Michelle rose too, and they began to walk. ‘I was listening to a magistrate on the radio recently. He was talking about what should happen with siblings in an adoptive situation. If someone wants to adopt one child, usually the younger one, but not their brother or sister, is it right to separate the siblings? It was interesting, and I thought of you … I couldn’t remember if you’d said if you had any brothers or sisters?’
She glanced at Caitlin who shook her head. ‘No, just me,’ she said. ‘And I was lucky, I suppose, I didn’t spend too much time in the orphanage. I couldn’t have been there any more than six months, though to me then, it felt like years. All I wanted was to go home.’
No brothers or sisters. That was that then. Either Caitlin had blocked the memory of her brother or she didn’t want to talk about it. The only other way she could find out what had happened to the boy was to pay another visit to Lydia Davis. The idea of Lydia prompted her next question. ‘And you didn’t have any other family?’ she asked. ‘Aunts, uncles?’
Caitlin shook her head. ‘Just me,’ she said. ‘Alone in the world until I met David. Gillian’s the only family I’ve got now.’
Michelle glanced at Caitlin, but she was looking out at the duck pond. Could it be that she didn’t know about Lydia Davis, that she’d blocked out everything that had happened before the incident, that the only people she remembered were her parents? She’d heard about people blocking bad experiences, knew that the mind was capable of going into shut-down mode. Whatever the truth, there was nothing she was going to glean here that might help Nick uncover the truth. The only alternative was to try Caitlin’s aunt again, and hope that she could persuade her to talk this time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Nick
Nick was disappointed that Caitlin hadn’t admitted to having had a brother, but what had he expected? Either she genuinely didn’t remember Daniel, or she didn’t like to think about her past, in which case she was hardly going to talk about it with someone she’d only just met, was she? He’d have to wait and see if he discovered anything else through his sessions with Tessa.
The important thing for now was to find out more about David, Caitlin’s husband. When he’d spoken to Andy Quinn at the wine bar he’d established that the two men had been friends. If it happened that Caitlin was reluctant to talk to him about her husband, then this was another avenue. It might even prove a better way; after all there were things that men sometimes knew about each other that never reached their wives.
With this in mind, he had arranged to meet Andy. He hadn’t told Michelle; she was at her Zumba class and he hadn’t expected Andy to agree so readily even though the musician had given him his card in the wine bar and said they must meet for a beer. Now he sat there and thought about the scant information he had about Caitlin’s husband. He knew his place of work, the fact that he was a music teacher and that he’d been married to Caitlin. Another search on the Internet had failed to throw anything else up. It seemed that David didn’t use social media much and the only information to come up when he put the name into Google were the archived newspaper articles on the case.
He sipped a glass of water, would have given anything to order a pint. What would Andy Quinn make of him? Maybe he would be the type of man who didn’t trust other men who didn’t drink. He watched the door and raised a hand when he saw Andy enter. He saw him eye the glass before Nick doubtfully.
‘Can I get you something?’ he asked.
‘No, thanks.’
‘What’s with the water?’ Andy asked him when he came back, sipping his own pint of ale and putting it down before him.
‘Liver’s shot. I was told to stop,’ he said.
‘Jesus, that bad?’
He nodded. ‘I’m on medication – I get sick as a pig if I touch the stuff.’ He didn’t mention the transplant; that would be a step too far. He didn’t want this guy to see him as a dead man walking, which, if he didn’t get on that list, was what he was.
They talked about music for a bit. Nick told him about his days with the band, how it had come to an end about six years before. He didn’t mention Caitlin. He figured Andy Quinn was as interested in her as he was, but for different reasons, and he didn’t have to wait long before he brought her up.
‘How did you hear about the sessions in the wine bar?’
Nick sipped his water. ‘Social media. Twitter, I think.’
Andy nodded. ‘Don’t know what we did before it. And your girlfriend – Michelle, is it? Is she a journalist?’
‘No, a fitness instructor.’
Andy looked confused. ‘Ah, I thought Caitlin said she’d written an article …’
‘Yeah, about homelessness. She’s a volunteer with the Simon Community; it’s the first time she’s published something though, she’s big into getting the word out. She and Caitlin really seem to have hit it off.’ He waited a beat. ‘And you and Caitlin, how do you know each other?’
Andy looked up from his beer, eyeing him silently before answering. ‘We go way back. Myself and David were in university together.’
Nick nodded. ‘Caitlin told us about her husband. It doesn’t bear imagining. I don’t know how she’s coped. I suppose you just have to somehow.’
‘She’s resilient, and she’s got support. I’ve been there, made sure she’s okay. David would expect it.’
‘She said there were no leads. What do you think happened?’
Andy looked into his glass. ‘If I knew that I wouldn’t be here,’ he said. ‘I’d be after the one responsible, making them pay …’
‘You think he’s dead?’
‘David wasn’t the sort to just up and leave. And he certainly wouldn’t have done it without telling me … we were like brothers.’
Nick could hear the hurt in his voice. He hadn’t ever formed relationships like that with other men, not even when he was a boy. He’d kept mostly to himself. Sure, there was banter, but he was always on the perimeter. He liked it that way. He thought he’d better try now, though, to form at least some kind of trust with Andy Quinn.
‘Look, I know someone who might be able to help,’ he said.
‘How do you mean? A detective?’
‘Not officially, more a freelancer, but he’s good. He won’t stop until he’s got something.’
Andy nodded. ‘Okay, set it up. Can’t do any harm, can it? I’m happy to help with anything he needs.’
Nick thought for a minute. ‘He doesn’t quite work like that. He prefers to stay in the shadows; anything you think might be useful for him, it has to go through me.’
Andy Quinn looked at him incredulously, making some sound between a guffaw and a genuine laugh. ‘What? What kind of dodgy character is this?’ He paused. ‘Or is it you, Nick? That’s it, isn’t it? You’re the one playing detective.’
Nick didn’t laugh. ‘I know people,’ he said. ‘I’ll do whatever I can to help.’
Andy’s eyes slid over him – he knew he was trying to decide if he could trust him or not, but given the circumstances, there weren’t too many options.
‘Okay,’ Andy said. ‘What do you want to know?’
Over the next twenty minutes, Andy sketched a picture of David – who he’d been, the friendship between the two men. ‘Is there anything else?’ Nick asked. ‘Anything that could be connected with his disappearance?’
Andy shook his head. ‘Nothing that I can think of.’
‘What about his relationship with Caitlin, any cracks there? Would you say they were as close as they’d always been when he disappeared?’
A pause. ‘David loved Caitlin. He’d never have left without saying anything.’
He hadn’t answered the question directly. ‘Were there any problems though? Anything he may not have told her?’
Andy shrugged. ‘No.’
‘What about friends … apart from you and Caitlin, who was he friendly with?’
‘A couple of the teachers in the school where he worked, this girl, Louise
, in particular …’
‘Okay. Does she still work at the school?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘And did Caitlin know this girl? Were they close?’
Andy shook his head. ‘David and Louise were work friends. They spent a lot of time together though. I told David it wasn’t a good idea, but he insisted there was nothing going on.’
‘Did you believe him?’
‘I don’t know. Like I say, he loved Caitlin, but that’s not to say that nothing happened with Louise. You know how it is.’
Nick picked up his phone and typed the name ‘Louise’ into the notes app. He’d need to talk to this girl, see if she knew anything.
‘There’s no chance they went away together? That he just hadn’t the guts to tell Caitlin?’
‘No, I’ve seen the girl since. She was with a guy …’
‘Would the police have spoken to her during the initial investigation, do you think?’
‘I’d say they spoke to all his colleagues. Anyone who knew him, especially since he went missing after leaving the school.’
Louise. At least he had one avenue to explore and an interesting one, it seemed, given that David’s best friend suspected there may have been something between them. Still, it could be nothing. And even if it was something, the girl was still around, so there was nothing to suggest that their friendship had anything to do with David’s sudden disappearance.
‘Is there anything else you can think of? Any money worries, any way in which he might have landed himself in trouble?’
‘No. I don’t think so. David was straight up. Caitlin and I … we went over everything I don’t know how many times. His disappearance just doesn’t add up.’
Nick nodded. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start. He’d look Louise up. It shouldn’t be hard to find out if she was still working in the school. And if she had truly been a friend of David’s, surely she’d be willing to talk to him.
Andy Quinn took another gulp of his beer, eyeing Nick over the glass. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked.
Nick shrugged. ‘I want to help. Simple as … that. A man doesn’t simply vanish.’
But even as he said the words, he knew they weren’t true, and the way that Andy Quinn was looking at him, it seemed he knew it too. Thousands of people went missing each year, and there was no way for him to explain why he was so keen to help with this one.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Caitlin
It was the third photo that went up on David A’s Twitter feed that made up Caitlin’s mind. She’d got home from the wine bar and logged on to see that the photo had been uploaded at nine o’clock that evening. This time it was a picture of her, just her, sitting with the violin in her lap. Nine o’clock: that would have been just after the break. She tried to think of the room. Had she seen anyone suspicious? Had any of the other musicians been absent when she’d taken her seat? Andy had left the table just before her. She couldn’t recall whether he’d gone directly to the stage area; she simply assumed he had. As for the others, she really didn’t know. But she was determined to find out who it was who had set up that account.
She didn’t mention the photo to Andy. He’d blame Nick again, and maybe he was right; Caitlin and Nick had appeared in her life from nowhere. She didn’t know a lot about them – particularly Nick. What if he was the one who’d taken the picture?
When she saw the photo, she typed Nick’s name into the Twitter search bar, but nothing came up. He didn’t appear to have an account, or if he had, the profile picture was of something else – something that wouldn’t identify him. Michelle had an account, but she wasn’t a frequent tweeter. The last thing she’d shared was the article she’d written for New Woman, but prior to that, she hadn’t tweeted in two months.
She clicked on her own feed and scrolled through recent tweets; Dar Bryan, it seemed, was online and had retweeted only minutes before – some joke about a dog doing housework. Caitlin clicked on his profile. His picture hadn’t changed; it showed him and his girlfriend, Lisa, his arm around her, both smiling and squinting into the sun.
She clicked on new messages and began to type:
@CaitlinDavis: Hey – how are you doing?
@darbryan1: Oh, you know, same old … you?
@CaitlinDavis: Same. I was thinking, maybe we could meet for coffee, talk in real time?
Nothing for a few minutes. Then:
@darbryan1: What, now?
@CaitlinDavis: Lol. No, tomorrow maybe … if you’re free.
@darbryan1: Okay. I’m free after six. Where do you want to meet?
@CaitlinDavis: The Bailey? 6.30?
@darbryan1: Cool beans, Caitlin. See you then.
She waited for a few minutes to see if he would tweet anything else, but he didn’t, and she presumed that he’d logged off. ‘Cool beans!’ It was a funny expression – it sounded kind of hipster-ish – and she wondered what Dar Bryan was like. It seemed she wouldn’t have too long to find out.
She checked David A’s page again, but nothing else had appeared. She went to bed, lay there and thought about who it was that was messing with her and why. What did they know? And how had they found out?
The Bailey wasn’t busy. She’d arrived early and sat on one of the leather couches where she had a clear view of the door. She wanted to see him come in, wanted to gauge his every reaction. She was good at reading people and if Dar Bryan had something to hide, she was sure that she’d detect it before he’d even sat down.
The lighting was subdued. The waiter came and asked if she’d like something, and she ordered an Irish coffee even though she hadn’t intended to drink. A drink was different from a coffee, a drink was too much like a date, but it looked like a café latte for all the world – he wouldn’t know the difference. Then she chided herself, what did she care what this man thought? She was only here on a case of elimination. If Dar Bryan really was who and what he said, then she’d have to admit that the most likely culprit was Nick Drake and she really didn’t want Andy to be right on this one.
He didn’t see her when he came in. Not exactly the sign of a would-be stalker. In the end, she raised a hand and he nodded and made his way over to the table.
‘Sorry, the lighting in here … you look different from your picture.’
‘Is that a bad thing?’ Caitlin said. And immediately regretted it. The last thing she wanted was to sound as if she were flirting.
‘No … of course not, it was hard to recognize you, that’s all.’ He was awkward, had turned a shade of pink that was unmistakable even in the dull light. She’d been right about the hipster thing. He wore a grey tweed jacket, boot-cut jeans and chequered runners. On his head he wore a fedora which he took off, and then ran a hand, self-consciously, through the flattened curls beneath.
He sat and took out his wallet. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No, thanks. I just ordered a coffee. She left out the word Irish, hoping it wasn’t written on the glass. The waiter appeared again, and Dar Bryan ordered a Guinness. No apologies from him for drinking. Why would he?
‘Where are you from?’ she asked.
‘Sligo. What was the giveaway?’
She smiled. ‘You don’t sound like a Dub.’
‘And you, are you a native?’
‘Yep – born and bred. Can’t you tell? I grew up in Rathfarnham, near the Dublin mountains.’
‘Your accent is neutral – like Lisa’s.’
‘No news since we last spoke, I suppose?’
He shook his head. ‘It’ll be six years at the end of this month. You stop expecting to hear anything.’
‘But you never give up.’
‘No.’
She thought of Gillian, David’s mother, and felt a pang for all that she’d been through. No mother should ever bury their child, she’d said. But she hadn’t buried David. Without a body there was always hope, and Caitlin did everything she could to keep that hope alive.
‘Y
ou were young when Lisa disappeared,’ she said.
‘Just gone twenty-five. We met at college, had been hanging out for a couple of years before we started going out officially.’
‘What took you so long?’
‘Us country lads aren’t the fastest in the race. In the end, it was her that made the move, said she was sick of waiting. Truth be told, I never thought she’d be interested in me, not like that.’
The waiter came with a tray and set it down; Dar Bryan insisted on paying.
‘Funny,’ he said. ‘They were both teachers.’
Caitlin had forgotten that. She nodded now, remembering that Dar’s girlfriend had been a special needs assistant. ‘And what is it you do?’ she asked.
‘Journalism.’
‘Really, who do you work for?’
‘I’m a freelancer. Didn’t want to associate myself with any specific tabloid. I did for a few years; it was dreadful the things they wanted me to cover. You know they had me go undercover to this girl’s house they’d been tipped off was a prostitute. I was to take pictures … get the fix. And you couldn’t say no once they’d assigned you a story.’
‘So, what did you do?’
‘I did it – I went to the house, took the pictures. Of course she went mental when she saw the camera, the poor girl. I felt horrible. I know it’s not right what she was doing but … I quit the next day – told him there’d been a mistake. I sent the girl an apology, told her I’d got rid of everything. At least I’d given her warning – she was wise to the fact that she was being watched. Maybe she managed to sort herself out … Anyway, after that I went solo. I don’t exactly earn a living from it, but I teach a few classes on the side to help pay the bills.’ He took a sip of his pint and licked the froth from his top lip. ‘What about you?’
Caitlin smoothed her dress. ‘I edit a magazine, set it up a few years ago. I did a degree in publishing and got tired of doing one internship after the next. It’s hard to get a job in a publishing house – the ones here can’t afford to pay full-time staff. I spent a few years in the UK, but I wasn’t happy there, and so I came back all fired up with the idea of the magazine. Then I met David just as things were getting off the ground and settled here.’
When Your Eyes Close Page 18