When Your Eyes Close

by Tanya Farrelly

  Caitlin sipped her drink. She didn’t know why she’d told Dar Bryan all that, reliving those years made her sad, so incredibly sad. Except wasn’t that the idea of meeting, at least as far as he was concerned, so that they might talk face-to-face? Besides, from the minute he’d walked in she was certain that he wasn’t the one who’d set up David A’s Twitter account. This young man had nothing to hide. She liked how he coloured when he spoke, and his quiet way of talking. When she was finished she’d order another drink, and hope that he had nowhere to rush off to.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Michelle

  Michelle had continued to puzzle over Caitlin’s claim not to have any other family. Surely you wouldn’t deny the existence of an aunt, no matter what type of lifestyle she led. Could it be that Caitlin just didn’t remember? Searching for answers, Michelle made her way to Thornton’s field once more.

  As soon as she reached the door of the mobile home, she got the smell. Gas. She knocked at the door, waiting for the barrage of abuse as soon as Lydia saw her, but no answer came. Growing more worried by the strong odour, she pounded at the door and looked at the windows, all of which were closed tight. Damn it, was the woman in there? Michelle went to one of the windows, stood on tiptoe and cupped her hands to the glass, but all she could see was a wellordered kitchen. She ran to the next window – this time she saw Lydia Davis lying prone on the floor of the mobile home.

  Caitlin pounded at the window, calling the woman’s name, but she got no response. She glanced across the field to the white house, but it was too far. Lydia could be dead from carbon monoxide poisoning, if she wasn’t already, by the time she returned with Bill Thornton in tow. Prepared to do whatever she had to, Michelle ran back to the door and pushed down on the handle. Surprisingly, it opened, and the smell of gas intensified. Covering her mouth, she ran inside and shook the woman on the floor who groaned slightly. At least she was alive. As Michelle pulled Lydia from the mobile home, her eye lit on the cause of the gas leak: a hiss was coming from a Superser heater, and as soon as she’d dragged her outside and laid her on the grass, she went back inside and flicked the lever on the gas cylinder to stop the noxious fumes.

  ‘Lydia … Lydia wake up. Can you hear me?’

  The woman moaned, trying to open her eyes.

  ‘I’m going to call an ambulance, Lydia. Hang tight, you’re going to be fine.’

  As Michelle dialled emergency services, she saw movement up at the white house. She stood up and waved but the man who was presumably Bill Thornton didn’t see her and vanished again from view.

  By the time the emergency services arrived, and two firemen climbed down from an engine saying that there was an ambulance on the way, Lydia Davis had woken up. Michelle had wrapped her in a blanket and kept her outside, opening all the windows in the mobile home to let out the stench of the gas.

  ‘What are you doing round here?’ Lydia asked Michelle.

  ‘I just wanted to talk to you … but let’s make sure you’re okay first. It was the Superser, you must have forgotten to turn it off at the bottle, or maybe the flame went out.’

  Lydia Davis nodded. Michelle was sure she could smell alcohol on the woman’s breath, and she wasn’t sure whether her words were slurry from the poison in her lungs or from something else – maybe from the bottle she’d seen on the small side table next to the woman’s armchair.

  In the fresh air, Lydia began to come round. By the time the ambulance arrived, she was telling them that she didn’t need any help, that she was fine, a bit groggy, that was all. And she certainly wasn’t going near any hospital. The paramedics asked Michelle if she could stay and keep an eye on her for the next couple of hours, and grudgingly Lydia relented to the company if it meant not having to go to the hospital.

  ‘I thought I told you I had nothing to say to you,’ Lydia said, as soon as the paramedics had left. She settled herself into her armchair, took the bottle from the table and swore silently when she saw that it was empty. ‘It’s freezing in here,’ she said, pulling a blanket round her. ‘Light that thing, will you, if you know how?’

  ‘I don’t think that would be safe, not yet. There could still be fumes …’ Michelle didn’t like messing about with gas; her mother had had a fear of it. She remembered how her grandmother had insisted on using a leaky oven right the way through to her death, and how terrified they all were that she would blow herself up. Lydia gave her a look. ‘A person would freeze to death,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve just the thing …’ Michelle said.

  The woman stole a glance at her, curious, and her eyes lit up when she saw Michelle return with a bottle of brandy in her hand.

  ‘For the shock,’ she said. She unscrewed the top, and Lydia took it greedily with both hands and raised it to her lips. She closed her eyes, clearly savouring the burn as it went down. Michelle thought of Nick and wondered if his cravings were just as strong. She just hoped the bottle was enough to lubricate the woman’s throat and get her talking.

  ‘I wanted to speak to you about your niece, Caitlin.’

  Lydia looked up sharply. ‘What about her?’

  ‘When did you last see her?’ Michelle asked, gently.

  Lydia shook her head. ‘Not since the accident,’ she said.

  ‘You didn’t see her after Johnny … died?’

  ‘He and I weren’t on speaking terms, not after what happened. He blamed me. He had a right to, of course … he was right, I should have been there, should have prevented it … I went to the funeral and they looked right through me as if I wasn’t there.’

  Michelle was confused. ‘You mean Rachel’s death? But how could you …?’

  ‘No, I don’t mean Rachel. I’m talking about the child, that little boy …’

  ‘Caitlin’s brother?’

  Lydia ignored the question, seeming to talk almost to herself. ‘I was minding them you see … supposed to be watching them. If I’d known, I’d never … I wouldn’t have taken my eyes off them.’

  ‘What happened?’

  The woman unscrewed the cap again and took another swig of the brandy. ‘A salesman came to the door. The kids were out the back playing; I figured they were fine. It was bed linen he was selling. I must have looked through them all. And when I went back in …’

  Lydia trailed off. Michelle leaned forward. ‘What happened?’

  ‘They’d climbed up into the old treehouse. I don’t know how so small a child made it up there in the first place. There was no time to do anything, no time to stop it. By the time I got through the door, he was already on the ground …’

  ‘My God, I’m so sorry. But it wasn’t your fault … I mean how could you know that they’d do that? And Caitlin … she saw her brother fall; she must have been hysterical. I can’t begin to imagine …’

  ‘Did she … did she send you here?’ the old woman asked.

  Michelle shook her head. ‘No, it’s like I said, I’m writing a piece on domestic crimes. I’m not a journalist, not really, it’s a piece for a magazine. I read about what happened with Johnny and his wife. People tend to focus on the crime, the atrocity, but I want to look at the reason why people do such things, to find out what Johnny was like before it happened. I promise you I won’t write anything without your say-so …’

  The woman picked up the brandy bottle again. ‘Have you any more of these?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure. I can come out again, get some shopping for you if you like.’

  ‘Johnny was complex, overemotional, but he’d never … he wasn’t violent, if that’s what you want to know. After the accident, he was a mess, they both were. He blamed me, like I said he had every right to, but Rachel didn’t. Rachel said she knew that it was an accident – she grieved as she was; she didn’t turn her hate on me. But it destroyed them.’

  ‘Did she keep in touch then – Rachel – after the rift between you and your brother?’

  ‘She did. And I tried getting in touch with Johnny a few times. I called the
house, but if he answered he’d just hang up the phone. If it was Rachel we’d only talk if he wasn’t home. She used to come out to see me some mornings when he was at work. She told me the state their marriage was in – that he’d withdrawn, that she couldn’t say anything about me without the two of them getting into a fight.’

  ‘So, she turned to someone else?’

  Lydia nodded. ‘Yes, she turned to a friend, Brendan. And I couldn’t blame her. Truth be told there was always a spark between them, but I don’t think they’d ever have acted on it if Johnny hadn’t acted how he did. He pushed her away – he couldn’t get over Daniel’s death. I think he blamed himself for the accident too, even though it was my fault, and I knew how he felt … I knew just how rotten he felt, like life couldn’t go on.’

  ‘And what about Caitlin? How did she deal with Daniel’s death?’

  Lydia took another mouthful of brandy. ‘She acted as though nothing happened.’

  ‘Do you think she blocked it? Children can do that, can’t they, when something is too traumatic?’

  ‘I’d rather not talk about Caitlin. What’s done is done, and if it was her who sent you, I’d rather you told her you hadn’t found me. Better still, you could tell her I’m dead. If it wasn’t for you, I would have been. God knows, there’s no one would miss me.’

  Lydia stood, shakily. ‘So you’ll bring me another one of these?’ she said, waving the brandy bottle.

  Michelle nodded and stood up too. She’d heard all she needed to, at least enough to convince Nick that Johnny Davis was innocent when it came to the death of his son. ‘Be careful with that gas.’ she told Lydia. She had an urge to put her arms around her, to give her a hug, but she didn’t think such a gesture would be welcome. And so, she put a hand out and squeezed the woman’s frail one with her own.

  ‘Go on now,’ Lydia said brusquely. She stood, hands grasping the door frame, watching, as Michelle drove away.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Nick

  Nick parked in the car park marked ‘Staff Only’ and waited for Louise, the young teacher David had been close to, to emerge. It was 3.40 p.m., in ten minutes’ time the peace of the deserted grounds would be shattered by the gaggle of students who would burst forth, freed from the last lesson of the day.

  He lowered the car window, breathed in the damp autumnal air and tried to ignore the dull pain in his abdomen which had started the night before. He had found Louise Hayes on LinkedIn. With shoulder-length blonde hair and green eyes, he’d put her in her late twenties, thirty at a push, more than a decade younger than Caitlin. She wasn’t conventionally attractive, but that meant nothing. There was no knowing what it was that attracted people to one another.

  Inside the building a bell sounded, not the typical buzz that he associated with the end of lessons in his own school days, but a series of three notes that rose in pitch. Minutes later, a side door opened, and students began to spill out and diverge in two directions: one set making towards the gates through which he’d entered the car park; the other set drifting round the side of the building where another exit must lie. The main glass doors were obviously reserved for staff members only.

  Nick sat in his car and watched the main entrance. The first person to emerge was a man in his twenties. He was dressed conservatively and carried a leather satchel. Teachers were getting younger, he thought, as the man approached and got into a black Volkswagen nearby. Two women were next to emerge, both dark-haired, laughing as they exited the car park on foot in the wake of their yelling students. Still there was no sign of Louise Hayes.

  Twenty minutes passed, and the grounds fell silent again. He didn’t know what the protocol was for teachers – he knew they often had free periods between classes, but he didn’t know if that permitted them to leave early if their teaching duties had finished. He was considering giving up when the doors opened again, and he saw her come out. She was struggling with a large box. The handbag on her shoulder kept slipping to her elbow and she’d stop and balance the box on one knee as she tried to raise the strap of the bag again. Nick waited until he saw the indicator lights flash on a small red car parked opposite before getting out of his car.

  ‘Do you need some help there?’

  She’d stopped again to juggle both box and bag. She turned to him, surprised. ‘No, I’m okay thanks.’

  ‘Are you Louise, Louise Hayes?’

  She bent to put the box on the ground without taking her eyes from him. He saw her throw a quick glance at the main entrance, but there wasn’t anyone else around. He supposed she was startled, a strange man approaching her in the school car park, but she stood her ground. ‘Do I know you?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I’m a private investigator,’ he said. ‘I believe you were friends with David Casey?’

  ‘We were colleagues, yes. Why?’ She opened the passenger door of her car, stooped and juggled the heavy box onto the seat.

  He figured she did it so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes.

  ‘I was informed that you and David were close. Good friends. We’ve received some information that might shed some new light on the case and it’s important that we talk to everyone who knew him. I know you’ve probably gone through all this before, but if I could just go over a few things with you, it might really help.’

  ‘Who’s “we”?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m liaising with the police,’ he said.

  She slammed the car door shut. ‘Does it have to be now?’ she said. ‘I have to be somewhere.’

  Nick nodded. ‘I’m sorry, I’d have called you if I’d had a number. It won’t take long. If we could maybe go somewhere to talk?’

  ‘Where did you get my name?’ she asked.

  ‘A friend of David’s – Andy Quinn – he said that David had told him about you.’ He let the words hang, saw her glance towards the building again.

  ‘We could use one of the classrooms,’ she said. ‘But I can’t stay long.’

  ‘I won’t keep you, just a few minutes.’

  She locked the car, and he fell into step beside her as they crossed the car park to the brightly lit foyer.

  ‘What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Nick. Nick Drake,’ he said.

  ‘Like the singer,’ she said.

  ‘Ha, yeah, I get that a lot. Thought you’d be too young to know.’

  He followed her down the corridor and was disappointed to see that school buildings were just as depressing as ever – so cold with their brick walls and tiled floors. A cabinet in the corridor displayed trophies won by the school sports teams down through the years. Framed photos captured images of past students as far back as what he imagined was the 1980s – long before Louise would have started teaching. She might even have been one of those awkward teens caught in the lens.

  She led him through a set of double doors then swung right into a classroom. She hit a switch on the wall and several fluorescent lights flickered to dispel the gloom. She closed the door, pulled out a chair at the teacher’s desk and indicated for him to sit opposite. He felt, momentarily, like a schoolboy again.

  ‘Who do you work for?’ she asked.

  He gave her the name of an agency he’d found, figuring she’d never check, and told her that David’s wife had hired him. She nodded, seemingly satisfied. She didn’t even ask to see an ID. It’s the first thing he would have done, but again, what would it really prove? IDs could be faked too.

  ‘What’s this information then?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said you had new information, a breakthrough?’ She was sitting forward in her seat, eager now to hear what he had to say.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t say,’ he told her. ‘It may be nothing.’

  She nodded. He wondered if the police had spoken to her before, and whether Andy Quinn had told them what he’d told Nick. Or if he’d kept silent for Caitlin’s sake. If he spilled something like that to the police, surely Caitlin would know about Louise.

 
; ‘Have you ever met Andy Quinn?’ he asked.

  The young teacher shook her head.

  ‘He said that you and David spent a lot of time together …’

  ‘We hung out some – we were good friends.’

  ‘According to David you were more than friends.’

  ‘That’s not true. David wouldn’t have said that.’ She stood up, agitated, and cast a glance at the closed classroom door. He wondered for a moment if she was going to bolt. He’d definitely touched a nerve.

  ‘Why not? Because he was married? Because he wouldn’t want people to find out? His wife, for instance?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ she said.

  ‘Really? Then why would David have told his friend about you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose he mentioned me, like people do. It’s not unusual, is it? Nothing happened between us. Like you say, he was married.’

  ‘And what about you, Louise? Were you in a relationship at the time? Or were you simply waiting, hoping that David would leave his wife for you?’

  ‘I don’t have to listen to this. What has this got to do with finding David? This is just bullshit.’

  Nick kept his voice even. ‘Louise, I’m not here to judge anyone – and frankly, I don’t care what you did or didn’t do with David Casey. My job is to find out what happened to him, and I imagine that, as his friend, that’s what you want too.’

  She paced before him, hands in the pockets of her smock dress. ‘I don’t know what I can tell you that would be of any help.’

  ‘Do you know Caitlin Davis? David’s wife.’

  She stopped pacing. ‘No. Why?’

  ‘You never met her … at a work do, anything like that?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘I saw her once, yeah, but I didn’t talk to her.’