‘There was no need for that.’
He was still winded, his word coming in short bursts.
‘No need for that sort of messing, now.’
Despite his breathlessness Leah thought she could detect a faint accent. Was that a clue maybe? Something she could use against him? And then he tugged on her hair again, harder this time. All of her strength and bravery deserted her and her legs buckled. He let go of her hair and she dropped to the floor, exhausted. It was useless, wasn’t it? She was never getting out of here.
His voice wasn’t unkind as he bent over her.
‘Come on now, get up. I can’t leave you lying there.’
But Leah was too shattered to move so he grasped her under the arms and dragged her to her feet again.
‘Come on now. Back in the room.’
Almost gently, he pulled her along the corridor until they were at the door of the sitting room again. Keeping a tight grip on her with his left hand, he used the other to pull the scarf up around his face. Before he did so, however, she saw the bruises and scrapes she had raised on his cheeks and the sight gave her one last blast of courage. She stood on her own for a moment and looked straight at him.
‘What do you want anyway? Do you just want to hurt me, is that it? Is that how you get your kicks?’
‘I . . .’
He paused for so long, it was as if he didn’t know the answer. Finally, he shook his head.
‘I don’t want to hurt you, Leah. That was never the plan.’
‘What was the plan, then?’
The man took a small step backwards. He was still holding her arm but absently, Leah thought, as if he had forgotten why he was doing it or who was in charge.
‘We just wanted to take you, to frighten your mum.’
The relief she felt was so strong, Leah almost laughed.
‘Well, that’s it, then, isn’t it? You’ve done that. I’ve been here for hours – she must be up the walls! Just let me go. I swear, you don’t even have to drive me anywhere. I’ll hitch a lift, I’ll do anything.’
‘I can’t, though.’
Again his voice was quiet. Again there was a sense that he was only now realizing what he had done.
‘I can’t. You’ve seen what I look like. She’s seen what I look like.’
‘Who? Mum?’
The man shook his head again.
‘The woman in the surgery. She wasn’t supposed to be there. No one was supposed to be there. It’s all messed up now.’
Maybe there was more than one type of escape route. Leah bit her lip, looked down, and then up into his eyes.
‘I can get you money, if you like. If you let me go.’
He held her gaze, then shrugged dismissively.
‘No, you can’t. I’m not stupid, Leah. I know your old man’s smashed. That was the whole bloody point of it, wasn’t it?’
‘No, you don’t understand!’
She was gabbling now, desperate to get through to him.
‘My stepdad is loaded, seriously. He has more money than my dad ever had. Swear to God! Google Fergal Dillon. He’ll give you whatever you want if you let me out. My mum will make him.’
His grip on her arm tightened again as he stared at her.
‘Are you for real?’
‘Of course I am.’
For a moment he stood looking at her, perfectly still. Then he shoved her away from him, hard. As she fell to the floor and heard the door lock behind her, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she had done enough to set herself free.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The journey from Dublin city centre south along the coast was one of the most beautiful routes in the capital, but today, despite the blue skies over Dublin Bay and the fresh air streaming through the car window, Claire was incapable of enjoying it. Hunched beside her in the passenger seat Flynn looked equally miserable, but at least he had his injured rib as an excuse. Claire felt a flicker of pity for him as he winced when she took a particularly tight corner. Still, at least his bad mood meant he wouldn’t be making any serious attempt to start a conversation. It wasn’t yet 9 a.m., but Claire had already had a lousy morning and a bit of silence on the way to Leah Gilmore’s house was exactly what she needed to digest it.
Changing down the gears, she felt an ache in her lower back and shifted her position slightly. There was nothing major wrong with her, nothing to bother a doctor about anyway. Okay, her thigh muscles were a bit tender, and there was a twang in her shoulder that hadn’t been there a couple of days ago, but it was nothing that a couple of Nurofen and a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix. Getting one, however, was a different story, at least until Leah Gilmore was found. Mind you, if Matt had his way she’d be tucked up in bed right now with nothing more challenging to look forward to than a cup of tea and possibly a trip to the playground. Claire hadn’t expected Matt to be happy when she’d told him she was going to work today, but she hadn’t anticipated the harsh edge to his voice when he’d spoken to her, and the coldness of his tone.
‘And what about Anna?’ he’d almost snarled. ‘What about your daughter? Don’t you even want to spend the day with her?’
‘Oh, come on, Matt – of course I do.’
Claire had thought about adding ‘Don’t be stupid,’ but bit it off before it could escape. From the look on his face her initial ‘Oh, come on’ had done quite enough damage already.
Despite the presence of the baby, fast asleep in the bed between them, he’d raised his voice to a low growl.
‘You’ve a fine way of showing it!’
‘Anna is fine, Matt. She’s grand. She wasn’t hurt.’
And Anna was fine, Claire knew it, and she had the hospital’s opinion to back her up. The little girl had been discharged the previous evening, with no medical instructions other than a warning to her parents to ‘keep an eye on her’ and dispense plenty of TLC. Matt had taken her home, leaving Claire to follow, hours later when she had been released, in a taxi. Anna had her own room, of course: she’d been moved into it at six months old, just as the books advised, but neither parent was willing to let her sleep alone that night. So they’d placed her in the big double bed between them and held hands over her small body, watching her breathe. After a while, exhausted by the day’s events, Matt had fallen asleep, but Claire had still been too wound up even to doze. In the end she had simply stopped trying and just enjoyed spending peaceful hours listening to her baby girl breathing and, when her eyes got used to the darkness of the bedroom, watching her tiny chest rise up and down.
From time to time, the thought of what might have happened to her, to all of them, hit her with a thump, making her pulse race. But for most of the night she was able to remain calm, and delight in having Anna tucked in safe at her side, reaching out every so often to touch her cheek or plant a feathery kiss on her downy forehead, sending thanks out into the blackness that the ordeal was over and her small family together and okay.
But Heather Gilmore’s family was not together and her teenage daughter was not okay. And that was what Matt had failed to understand, when Claire’s phone had gone off at 7 a.m. the following morning.
‘I cannot believe they’re asking you to work today!’
‘It’s not like that. They’re not asking me.’
‘Sounds like it to me.’
The baby between them twitched but stayed asleep as Matt hissed at his wife,
‘They’ve some cheek, after everything that’s happened.’
Claire shoved her phone under the pillow and raised herself up on one arm.
‘Listen to me for a second, okay? That was Quigley. First thing he did was ask after Anna, and me, of course he did. But that girl is still missing: Leah. She’s only nineteen, Matt. Dr Gilmore wasn’t able to say much last night. She and her husband have to be interviewed this morning, and she says I�
��m the only person she’ll talk to. She’s completely traumatized, Matt, which isn’t surprising. But the girl has been missing for over twenty hours and we need to get a proper statement from her mum.’
‘And you’re the only one who can do it.’
That coldness again. And, worse still, the sneer in his voice. Claire had closed her eyes as her husband continued, ‘A police station full of cops but Sergeant Claire Boyle is the only woman who can ride to the rescue. D’you know what, Claire? If I’d known I was marrying Superwoman I’d have bought you a cape.’
Claire had clenched her fists under the duvet, trying to keep her voice steady.
‘I know it’s not ideal, but I’ll only be gone a couple of hours, Matt. I’m not going into the station or anything. Heather lives out in Fernwood – I just need to drive over there, take her statement and come back again. I’ll be here by lunchtime at the latest. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t have to, you know I wouldn’t, but she’s putting her foot down and . . .’
‘And what about my foot?’
Anna had grunted, moved her head, then settled again. The waves of fury coming from her father were so strong, Claire thought, she must be able to feel them, even through the sleepsuit and blanket.
‘I want you home today – Anna needs you! You don’t have to go back to work – God almighty, do they not even give you a day off to get over something like that?’
‘Of course they would, if I asked them.’
She reached across the sleeping baby for her husband’s hand, but he shook it off without looking at her.
‘I can take all the time off I want, when this is over. But I’m the only person Heather Gilmore will talk to, and they really need that statement this morning. Look, Matt!’
She moved her hand upwards, grabbing his cheek and pulling his face towards her.
‘Heather’s daughter is missing. Anna is safe, but Leah isn’t. I just want to help her. Please, Matt, just support me in this. Can’t you try to understand?’
Their eyes had locked and, for a moment, she’d thought she had got through to him. Then he turned away.
‘Don’t rush back. We’ll be fine.’
She’d gone for a shower then and he’d pretended to be asleep when she’d come back to say goodbye.
Bloody hell, though. Claire indicated right, passed a bin truck and moved up to fourth gear again. Would it have killed Matt to take her side? He was off today anyway. It was his day to mind Anna. It wasn’t like he was going to have to change his plans or anything. It was just so typical. Her male colleagues thought nothing of pulling extra shifts, working nights and on their days off, bank holidays and bloody Christmas Day, if it suited them, or if being at home with the family didn’t suit them. How often had she heard the lads standing around, laughing about how they’d ‘got out’ of the mother-in-law’s birthday or the cousin’s wedding because they ‘had to work’? Knowing full well no one would argue with them. And always, always, there’d be a wife at home holding the fort, wrapping the presents, dressing the kids, attending the wedding, making the excuses. Whereas here she was with a perfectly good reason for having to go into work for a few hours and her husband wasn’t having any of it. And this wasn’t just about the incident in the surgery either: this morning wasn’t the first time they’d had a row about her job since she’d gone back after maternity leave, or indeed the second or the third. Back when she was pregnant, Matt, who prided himself on being a feminist, had been full of plans about being what he termed the ‘lead parent in the home’ and told all and sundry that he’d be happy to curtail his working hours to suit Claire’s more demanding and, let’s face it, better paid job. The reality, though, was turning out to be quite different. Sure, part of the problem was that his own job was now busier than they had anticipated. But part of it, she couldn’t help thinking, was that the daily grind of ‘lead parenting’ was just a bit less fun than he’d thought it would be.
‘Beautiful part of the world, all the same.’
Raising himself from his discomfort, Flynn glanced at her, then nodded in the direction of Dublin Bay, which was unfolding behind a curve in the road.
‘We come out here sometimes on the weekends. For a walk, like. Along the strand, or up Kennockmore Hill, if we have the energy. It’s a gorgeous spot.’
Claire nodded, but still caught up in her own concerns, didn’t respond. Philip Flynn had as many reasons as she had not to want to work today, more, really, given his injury, but when she’d texted him out of courtesy that morning to bring him up to speed with developments, he’d volunteered without hesitation to accompany her to Heather Gilmore’s house. It must be so bloody simple to be Flynn, Claire thought. He was still dating Diarmaid O’Doheny, as far as she knew, but he didn’t have to run his plans past anyone and she doubted anyone would even think of asking him what his partner thought about him coming into work today. For a second, she envied him so much it hurt. She used to have that ability to walk out of the door without asking anyone’s permission. To leave the house and stay away as long as she wanted, to make decisions about her job and her life without taking anyone else into consideration. All that was gone, now she had a husband and a child. Things had been much simpler back then. She gave herself a mental shake, disgusted with herself. What was she thinking? She adored Anna, wouldn’t swap her for any other life, or any supposed freedom. It was just that today she could have done with a bit of support, that was all, affirmation that she was doing the right thing. Ah, Claire, grow a pair, she thought, and then winced at the clumsy metaphor. She must be more tired than she’d thought.
Flynn ran his hand over his jaw and stifled a yawn. He had missed a few patches while shaving, Claire noticed, presumably due to the lack of movement in his right side. He pulled himself up higher in the seat again, making a visible effort to become engaged in the job at hand.
‘So remind me,’ he said. ‘We’re going to Heather Gilmore’s house, yeah? And she lives there with the second husband?’
Claire nodded, delighted to have the opportunity to turn her attention to work matters.
‘That’s it. Quigley had a chat with them last night but she was out of it. She’d been given a sedative and sent home to sleep, so he wants us to try again this morning. We need to get to the bottom of her relationship with the Delaney woman, for a start. That seems to be the key to the whole thing.’
‘How long have they been apart, herself and the ex, Gilmore?’
Claire indicated left and took a sharp, possibly too sharp, turn before answering.
‘We had a chat about it once, actually. Anna was in for inoculations and we had to hang around the surgery for a half an hour to make sure she didn’t react.’ She was losing her audience, she could tell, and hurriedly moved on.
‘Yeah, well, anyway, Heather and Marc split around six years ago, around the time Gilmour lost all his money actually.’
Flynn gave a brief shrug.
‘Fair enough. So what do we know about the new husband then? What did you call him – Dillon?’
Claire nodded.
‘Yeah, Fergal Dillon. They’re married a couple of years. I had a quick look online this morning, and he’s the Irish head of a US tech company, headquartered out in Tallaght.’
Flynn frowned.
‘And I suppose there’s no reason to think he has anything to do with this?’
Claire flashed him an appreciative look. He might have been doped up on enough pain meds to send most fellas to sleep but Flynn had a decent brain underneath that sensible haircut. Most incidences involving the abuse of young women involved a relative or person close to them and, strip away all the dramatics, this was what had happened here. The abduction of a young and vulnerable girl.
‘There’s no immediate reason, no. But that doesn’t mean we won’t— Shit!’
Lost in the conversation, Claire nearly missed her turning off an
d, after taking a look at the satnav app on her phone, made an illegal U-turn while Flynn made a painful grab for the handle over the passenger door. A car behind her blared its horn as she flashed her indicator and pulled in. She killed the engine and Flynn, more animated than she’d seen him in a long while, gave a long, low whistle.
‘Bloody hell, boss. I knew you said they lived in Fernwood but – Wow.’
They unbuckled their seatbelts and looked through the windscreen at the tall, imposing white-brick villa that Heather Gilmore and her second husband called home. The gravelled driveway was wide enough for two brand-new cars as well as a large bay window through which a pair of paintings, presumably original works of art, could be seen on the walls. Even if the house itself hadn’t been impressive, its location alone meant the monthly repayment on the mortgage would equal some people’s entire home loan.
Claire wound up the window and climbed out of the car. Even the air felt better out here, fresher. Heather Gilmore’s house had a sea view that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the South of France. If Claire craned her neck she could see two – no, three – yachts making use of the fabulous weather, and beyond them a car ferry sailed serenely by. Fernwood might have been home to more celebs than the Grammys’ red carpet but, Claire reckoned, you’d need to write a fair few hits to afford a better house than this one.
‘Not a bad gaff, is it?’
She locked the car and grinned across at Flynn, who rolled his eyes to acknowledge the understatement.
‘And I’ll tell you something even more interesting.’
‘Yeah?’ He climbed onto the path beside her.
‘This was the house Heather and Marc Gilmore lived in, when they were still married. It was the family home.’
‘No way!’
Flynn liked to pretend he wasn’t interested in gossip, but his eyebrows were now so far up his forehead they were in danger of getting lost in his hairline. Claire grinned. At least the hours she’d been forced to spend in the hospital the previous night hadn’t been completely wasted. Once she’d grabbed her phone back from her husband she had been free to google away, and it hadn’t taken long to discover that the Gilmore marriage had been the subject of more than one Sunday-paper article. Claire had been able to build up quite the dossier on her GP while waiting for Doogie Houser to set her free.
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