Can Anybody Help Me?

by Sinéad Crowley

  The young man’s flow of speech halted dramatically and he stared at Claire, tears pricking in the corner of his eyes.

  ‘I want to see a lawyer. Please.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Okay.’

  She closed her notebook.

  ‘If you have someone you want to call, you can do so right away.’

  ‘Detective Boyle?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  Claire was dying to go to the loo, but she tried not to let her discomfort show as she leaned over the counter that separated the station from the public office. She and Flynn had grabbed a quick coffee while Cormac Berry was making his phone call, and then she’d been sidetracked listening to the messages that had built up on her landline. She’d figured she’d still have a few minutes to freshen up before his lawyer got there. But it looked like Berry had used the BatPhone.

  The young woman proffered a slim tanned manicured hand.

  ‘Ella O’Mahony. I’m a legal representative for O’Mahony Thorpe. I believe you are holding one of our employees here?’

  ‘Well I wouldn’t say holding …’

  It looked like the inflectious disease had spread to the legal profession too, but there the similarities between Berry and his lawyer ended. Although a small woman, barely five foot two, Claire reckoned, Ella O’Mahony seemed to have sucked in every drop of the self-confidence that had drained from Berry during the aborted interview. The face was familiar, too; Claire had a vague memory of reading about her in one of the Sundays. The eldest daughter of agency boss Tom O’Mahony, she’d studied law and then come back to work for Daddy’s firm, presumably with a view to taking over some day. Claire shifted from foot to foot and pointed across the counter at a door marked ‘No Entry’.

  ‘I’ll come around and get you.’

  As she guided the woman through the office there were more head swivels, but this time they were out of admiration. And Claire could understand why. Although her colleagues would never have suspected it – and given her work wardrobe, no one would have blamed them – Claire liked designer clothes. She rarely bought them, the demands of her job meant that black suits and flat shoes were easier to match together on a dark and rushed morning. But that didn’t mean she didn’t like looking at them. She could recognise a Chanel suit when she saw one. Ella O’Mahony was wearing the real thing.

  Taking a swift look around the office she caught one of the younger uniforms in the middle of an appreciative eyebrow raise and indulged herself in a look that channelled her old head nun. The man flushed brick-red and buried himself in his paperwork again. Satisfied, Claire quickened her pace and drew level with the solicitor before showing her into the interview room. Cormac Berry stood up the minute she entered, but, after a quick glance from his lawyer, said nothing. Claire paused, and then, channelling her favourite primary teacher this time, gave a bright smile.

  ‘Right! I’ll just leave you two alone, then. I’ll come back for a chat in a few minutes, yeah?’

  She turned and left the room. Dragged the door shut behind her, but slowly, and was just able to catch Berry’s sob.

  ‘I didn’t—’

  But Claire didn’t hear the end of the sentence.

  PRIVATE MESSAGE

  MyBabba – LondonMum

  Hey there got your PM. Was on hols in Spain. Babba loved it. Sorry, thought I mentioned it before we left! Hope you well. Had an amazing time, R loved the flight, no bother at all. Will post details on main forum x

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ‘So, he’s telling us it was a coloured chap?’

  ‘Yes, Superintendent.’

  Claire shifted around in the chair, her back giving a scream of protest. She’d been at work now for – she glanced at her watch – fourteen hours and counting and her body was threatening to collapse under the strain.

  Her boss looked at her and frowned, as if tempted to ask if she was okay. Superintendent Liam Quigley was a father of four, his last child born when he and his wife had been well into their forties. It had been a difficult pregnancy, he had admitted that much to Claire during a quiet moment at the office Christmas party. Claire knew, just by looking at him, that he wanted to tell her to take things easy. She could almost see him swallow back the thought. Those ‘Dignity in the Work-place’ seminars had done their job too well, and Claire knew he had to act as if she were no different to Flynn, or any of the other cops stationed just outside his office door. She should be grateful, she told herself, and fought the urge to ask to be placed gently on a couch and handed a pillow and a cup of tea.

  ‘And feck all CCTV.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Claire looked down at her notebook, now covered in scribbles, dashes, arrows and question marks after an afternoon spent banging the phones. Berry had spent almost an hour with his lawyer before making his formal statement, but that hadn’t meant she and Flynn had been able to take it handy. Between them they’d contacted everyone involved with the apartment block, from the management company to the security firm that, according to the Merview website, was supposed to have a man patrolling outside twenty-four hours a day.

  The calls had added up to absolutely no new information. CCTV footage from inside and outside the pedestrian gates had been sourced and was being sent over, but a truculent supervisor at the management company had admitted early on in the conversation that the camera coverage in the area was ‘patchy’ and ‘broken’. The man had gone on a rant about tenants not paying their fees and companies having to work with the resources they were given, and it had taken Claire several minutes to cut through the chatter and demand his footage. She wasn’t holding out much hope for it though. The same excuse was given by the security firm who’d admitted after some stoic questioning from Flynn that their twenty-four-hour surveillance was more like every second Tuesday, with the possibility of further cutbacks if the Merview tenants didn’t increase their fees. And none of the other residents, when they’d finally been persuaded to open their apartment doors, said they had seen the occupant of 123.

  Meanwhile, a local patrol car in Cork had been sent to the university to break the news to Sean Bradley, the owner of 123, that his new tenant had left more behind than a broken light bulb. He would have to come to Dublin to make a further statement. But his alibi appeared to check out, he had a full-time job in the college and a new baby and had apparently either been changing nappies or doling out lecture notes every day for the past fortnight.

  No matter, they’d question him anyway.

  Claire sighed. She couldn’t help feeling they were only going through the motions until they got in touch with the man who had actually rented the apartment. And Berry had proved as useful as a chocolate teapot when it came to doling out that particular information.

  ‘So, what’s his description?’

  Superintendent Quigley looked over his glasses at her. A tall, broad-shouldered man in his early fifties, he gave off the impression of being as laid-back as a human sunlounger, but Claire knew that the sharpest of brains lay behind the jovial exterior. She had huge respect for him as a boss and as a policeman and she wanted nothing more than to prove to him that she had made significant headway with this, the biggest case to come under the station’s radar in quite some time. But the information to date was, to put it mildly, brutal.

  She looked down again at her notebook as if it might have come up with something new on its own. But only her scribbles stared up at her. The tenant, according to Cormac Berry, had been black, possibly Nigerian. His name was Chris Solana. Claire didn’t think this sounded likely. There was a quite a sizeable Nigerian community in the Collins Street catchment area and she’d never heard a name anything like Solana, but Berry had been adamant.

  A copy of the rental agreement had been faxed over from his office, but the name on the lease was almost unreadable, one of those flashy signatures that people put on their credit cards which made them all the easier to forge. It could have been Chris Solana, it could, at a push, have been Claire
Boyle. There were no references. Claire had fought to keep her face on a neutral setting as Berry gave a tortuous explanation as to how he, like, hadn’t quite, you know, finalized the paperwork? Like, totally? She knew this stank to high heaven, and that there was more to owning and renting than taking a deposit and handing over keys. The tenancy had to be officially registered. Taxation numbers exchanged. At the mention of the Revenue, Berry had shot a quick glance at the door, as if he could mind meld with the lawyer who was waiting for him outside. And then, reddening, had muttered it was all in hand.

  Claire had tried as hard as she could to elicit more information but, fiddling with his cuffs, Berry had stuck to his story. The man had phoned the office, he said, and he had met him at the apartment the following day. He’d shown him around, the man had liked the look of it and had signed a six-month lease on the spot, as well as handing over cash for the deposit. The first month’s rent had also been paid in cash, but the second hadn’t arrived, and it was while trying to make contact with the tenant that Berry had made his grim discovery.

  ‘Physical description?’

  ‘Black.’

  Quigley raised his eyebrows and Claire sighed deeply.

  ‘No, seriously, that’s nearly all we got out of him. Black, wearing jeans and a brown bomber jacket. Short hair. Stocky build. Didn’t appear to be in a hurry, didn’t appear nervous. Berry has pretty much admitted he took the money and ran, the apartment had been vacant for ages and the owner was “desperate”—’

  ‘And we’re talking to him?’

  ‘He’s in Cork, two of the local lads already took a statement. Claims Berry handled everything, he just handed over the keys and his bank details. Alibi checks out. His baby daughter is being christened tomorrow, but he’s coming up straight after. He sounded pretty shaken, according to Flynn. Not the news you want, is it? That someone has been found dead in your place.’

  ‘And you’re happy with this chap Berry’s statement?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Claire frowned, and the Superintendent looked at her closely. ‘There’s something … I don’t know. He was talking away, then he shut up, asked for the solicitor. That’s fair enough, he had the right. And then he gave a pretty full description of the fella, but … I don’t know.’

  She stifled a yawn and Quigley looked more closely at her.

  ‘It’s been a long day. Sleep on it. I believe the identification is confirmed?’

  ‘As good as.’

  The full post-mortem results wouldn’t be available for a few hours yet, but the clothes and wallet found at the scene along with the woman’s estimated size and age made her an exact match for Miriam Twohy, who had been missing from her home in Ballyawlann for the previous fortnight. Her parents were due at the mortuary the following morning to confirm the guards’ suspicions. It was a horrific end to their search, and she could only hope that they would get some comfort from the fact that their daughter had been found.

  There would certainly be no peace when the family discovered how she died.

  Quigley was speaking again and she struggled to focus.

  ‘Keep me updated. I’ll leave Flynn with you if that works?’

  She nodded. Annoying hair or not, Flynn had proved himself to be an adept phone banger and she’d be happy enough to have him by her side.

  ‘Get some rest, so.’

  He muttered the words as if unsure whether to say them, but Claire appreciated the sentiment. She stood up from the chair, utterly exhausted. Suddenly even the thought of getting herself into her car and home was too much for her and she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as she left the superintendent’s office and walked slowly through the banks of desks and computer monitors that led to the exit door. All she could think of was sinking into a hot bath and praying Matt had thrown dinner together. But before she could reach the door, Flynn was at her side.

  ‘I thought you should know we got another call from that computer lady?’

  ‘Who?’

  Tiredness made her sound grumpy and Claire regretted her tone as Flynn flushed before continuing.

  ‘The woman who said she knew Miriam Twohy from the internet? Well she called back to say she’d been mistaken. Her friend has turned up apparently. Wasn’t the same woman after all.’

  ‘Grand. Whatever.’

  Claire nodded and continued the long tramp through the almost deserted station and out towards the car park. She hadn’t time for housewives and their fantasies right now. A young mother was dead and she wasn’t happy with how things were proceeding. Ramblings on cyberspace were one thing. This death was real.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  aRRRGH

  ExcitedM2B

  ARRRGH what the title says!!!! Am 32 weeks pregnant, feel great, all good with babs. We’re having a lil boy DH totally excited, has taken a month off work, totally looking forward to being at home with our new little family! And then my mother rings today and announces that she’ll be coming to stay when babs is born! For a month!!! I told her we had made our own arrangements but she just talks over me like always and says, oh you don’t know how tired you’ll be, I’ll be able to do the night feeds, let you sleep etc etc. Argh!!! God I’m feeling stressed just thinking about it … can anybody out there help me?

  JudyJudy

  Oh been there! DS is six months old, I had a section and the night we came home from hospital I had SEVEN of DH’s family call over for a look!!! I was up and down making tea for them and they were passing the baby around like a parcel! He roared for hours afterwards *bangs head off wall*

  MyBabba

  Sorry to hear you’re so stressed pet. Maybe DH could have a quiet word with her?

  MammyNo1

  +1 MyBabba. Get DH to have a quiet word, use the whole pregnancy hormones excuse. Tell her you’ll be delighted with the help and you are dying for her to see her little grandchild but you want the first while to be just the three of ye at home. And then maybe she can come to stay when DH goes back to work? No point having your mum around to do all the work if DH doesn’t learn how to change a nappy! Best of luck

  ExcitedM2B

  Thanks girls but there’s no way DH will have that conversation with her. It’s after getting worse now, my aunt (her sis) just rang and said she knows a MW in the hospital and that she’s going to let her in to visit after babs is born, even though it’s strictly just grandparents! I mean WTF!!! I’m starting to wonder whose baby this is … spent hours last night crying just thinking about it …

  FirstTimer

  Are you serious? My mum’s moving in for a month when baby is born, at least! I’ve asked her to come to hospital with us as well, DH will be useless!!!! I’d have her in the delivery room if I could but the stupid hospital will only allow partners in >(

  LondonMum

  Sorry to hear you’re stressed hon. Just wanted to offer another perspective I guess. I don’t have my mum … we fell out years ago. Long Story. Too long to post here … anyway I’m from London but live over here now so don’t have any family or friends to depend on. DH’s mum is great really but well … you know how it is. I don’t like to ask her to do too much. So it was just me and DH when DD was born really. And he’s up to his eyes in work so a lot of the time it was just me. Not always easy. I mean we were fine, we muddled through. But I suppose what I’m trying to say is, maybe you shouldn’t fall out with your mum over this. Maybe you can come to some arrangement. It is a bit much to expect you to put her up for a month but I wouldn’t fall out with her either. Maybe she can stay for the first few nights and then again when DH goes back to work. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that it’d be nice to have a mum around who was fighting to do things for me … so maybe yours isn’t all bad! Hope it works out for you and best of luck with the baby x

  Della

  Lovely post LondonMum … My mam died when I was 20 and I really missed her when my two were born. Hope you are doing okay x

  FarmersWife


  I’m miles away from my mam as well, she’s alive thank God but lives in Dublin and we are in the sticks. Sometimes I feel like I’d love to have her around and other times … well let’s just say we weren’t always the best of friends growing up . So I’d probably love to have her for about three hours and then I’d want to stab her . I guess a lot of the time we cope with what we are given if you know what I mean. Good luck with your decision.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  It was mostly darkness now. Some light, when she managed to open her eyes. Colour, speech, movement. All caused her pain. Darkness was easier. And in the blackness the thoughts swirled like dust mites, settling for a moment before drifting away.

  She tried to make an effort when they spoke to her. Nobody wore white coats in here, and she found that confusing. No doubt it was supposed to help, make the patients feel more comfortable, that sort of foolishness. You couldn’t call anyone Doctor or Nurse either, just Jason and Courtney, and that dark-skinned girl whose name she couldn’t pronounce. Then again, you weren’t supposed to call them dark-skinned now either, were you? She could never remember the new words. Her head hurt just thinking about them.

  At least he allowed her to speak her mind. He’d been to see her twice now, or was it three times? No matter. He was going to get what he wanted. And then, hopefully, so was she.

  Pain. Pain came, drifted for a while, and then bit and held. She had had pain before. It’s a girl. A daughter. Brightness and hope. And then sadness. Now, more pain. In the darkness, she whispered her daughter’s name. He’d told her that she’d see her soon. So that was the thought she held onto.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ROUTINE FOR TINY BABY?

  FarmersWife

  Hi girls. Just on for a minute DS is thriving thank God. But he’s a bit too fond of the boob for my liking, won’t take a bottle at all. Any tips? I need to get him into a routine pronto, I’m struggling here with the three of them and DH sez cows don’t give paternity leave .