She stalls. ‘It’s just a thought, it’s just one of those mad, “what if?” random thoughts, but it’s niggling …’
‘Go on,’ Sexton presses.
‘It’s just that in 2002, I’m fifteen, right, and my parents are planning to take me and my little brother, Josh, on our first summer holiday abroad, and there’s all this excitement about where we could go … Greece, Spain, Italy?’
Sexton glances at his watch. ‘I don’t mean to hurry this trip down memory lane, but the detention clock is ticking.’
‘All right, I’m nearly there. It’s just Josh is three and he doesn’t know what’s going on, but I am totally in with a vote with regards to where we can go. And my mum goes, “As long as it’s not Turkey, I don’t mind.” And I’m, like, “What’s wrong with Turkey?” And she says, “Oh, this little girl was taken from a beach in Turkey. She was the same age as your brother. One minute the kid was collecting shells with her parents, and the next, she’s gone.” So I spend the whole holiday holding Josh’s hand, afraid to let him out of my sight, and ever since then I kind of still have a shit attack at the prospect of going anywhere that involves a plane and sunshine. So, as a result, I’ve kind of retained a lot of the details about that kid who was abducted in Turkey, such as the name Bantam, for instance.’
There’s a split second of silence. ‘What are you saying?’ Sexton asks.
‘That’s the little blonde girl, a few years before Madeleine McCann?’ the chief asks. ‘She looked like the little girl in ET?’
‘Elizabeth Lipton?’ Sexton says. ‘No wonder Lucy had no passport.’
‘Set up a church, convert the damned, it’s the perfect front for mixing with the kind of people ordinary decent folk run a mile from,’ McConigle says.
‘And you based all this on a hunch?’ Sexton asks.
McConigle shows him a sheet of paper she’s been holding. ‘Well, I ran a search on Elizabeth Lipton first.’
Sexton reads it aloud: ‘An American couple living in Bodrum … A dozen failed IVF attempts … It was all the more frustrating for her because she was a medical doctor … Only became suspects because they left the area immediately after the child’s disappearance without ever saying they were going … Never subsequently located … The emergence of other suspects led the inquiry in another direction.’
He looks at McConigle, ‘Lucy’s being treated in the Mater?’
She nods.
‘So where did you end up going on that first holiday?’ he asks.
‘Bundoran,’ she grins.
66
Lucy’s spacious high-dependency room in the hospital is as stuffy as the cramped ward Sexton had to cross to reach it. He’s already shrugged his jacket off while filling her in, and he unbuttons his shirtsleeves and rolls them up to the elbows.
‘I still can’t believe it,’ Lucy says, shaking her head slowly. ‘I mean, I always knew they were weird, but I thought everyone’s parents were weird. I know I should feel like I’ve lost something, but all I feel is anger. Ever since we moved to Ireland, and my Dad … I mean Nigel … stopped practising so he could concentrate on stalking me, I just felt so suffocated by them. All these years without my real mum, and dad.’
Sexton can see she’s struggling to hold back the tears. He leans forward in the chair, towards her bed. A nurse has told him Lucy is recovering well, but she’s still so frail, propped against a stack of pillows and nibbling a slice of toast, barely able to manage even the tiny bite she has just taken, that he knows it’s going to take time. Her voice is croaky.
‘What did my mum … I mean, Nancy, say?’
‘Much the same as Nigel … that they wanted to get you through the teenage years – alive, but without the … difficulties of puberty,’ Sexton tells her.
‘How could they do this to me? They’ve taken my whole life away from me. What they did to me with drugs, I will never forgive them for. That’s not love, it’s warped. It’s evil. They could have killed me. It probably would have suited them better.’
‘Maybe that would have raised too many questions for them?’ Sexton speculates.
‘I never felt connected to them, you know? They always kept me at a distance. Like they were watching me all the time instead of just giving me unconditional love the way parents are supposed to. When I was little, I was convinced I was adopted, that they were keeping it from me, because there was no family, like, anywhere, and no stories of family either. That’s why I got on so well with Beth, and Amy. They understood exactly what it felt like to be on your own.’
Sexton nods. ‘How much do you remember about what happened the night of the crash?’
Lucy swallows with difficulty and puts the toast back on the plate on the tray.
‘I got to the hut in the forest, and this freaky guy appeared in a black ski mask, holding a rifle. I started shouting for Red Scorpion to help me, but he’d gone. I thought he might have been killed already. This madman was shooting at us. Then Melissa started shouting back, and we found each other. The gunman chased us, but Eric appeared with Gok in his car and we jumped in the back. At first, I wasn’t sure what they were doing there. I thought maybe they were in on it. You should have seen them, they were covered in blood and guts. We were terrified. Eric and me had had our run-ins, but kill me? There wasn’t time to think it through, we didn’t have an option. We knew we were going to die if we didn’t get out of that wood. So we got in, but it was a mess in that car – blood and body-parts, it looked like. So I thought he was definitely going to kill us. Instead they got us to the entrance to the wood, where Mum’s … I mean, Nancy’s, car was parked. We thought we were safe but I couldn’t get the car going properly. It started, it took off, but then it cut out. We were so scared. We could see him coming behind us. That’s it. That’s all I remember.’
‘How did you persuade Melissa to go with you to the wood in the first place?’ Sexton asks. ‘You two didn’t get on, did you?’
Lucy reaches for a tissue and wipes her eyes. ‘Poor Melissa … I thought she was behind that video, leaving all those horrible messages on the Internet. When she sent me the video showing me how to kill myself, I thought it was a step too far. Amy was already dead because of her, but when I confronted her about it, she claimed that she hadn’t sent it to intimidate me; the only reason she’d sent it was to show me that she was being tortured too.
‘I didn’t believe her. So I told Melissa I’d hired this Red Scorpion guy, a real-life gangster, to teach the person who’d made that video a lesson, which was true. I thought she’d admit straight away that she was lying because she’d be so scared of Red catching up with her, but she didn’t. So I tried another tack. I asked her to come with me to meet Red Scorpion in the wood where Amy died, thinking that would guilt-trip her into a confession, that she’d never be able to go through with that, would be too scared, but she agreed. She said she’d had enough too.
‘When we got there and all the shooting started, at first I thought maybe she’d arranged her own little Red Scorpion to scare me even more, but it turned out Melissa was telling the truth. She really didn’t send the video. She wasn’t the troll.’
Sexton stands and puts his hands in his pockets. ‘You told Rob where you were going?’
‘Yes, I touch … touched base with him most days. I thought it would help him. I told him everything that was going on, about bringing Red Scorpion to the wood with Melissa. I had no idea that I was signing Melissa’s death warrant.’ She breaks down. ‘If it wasn’t for me, Melissa would still be alive.’
‘There are counsellors who’ll be able to help you to deal with all of this.’
‘I just need to talk to a friend. I wish Amy was here. I miss her so much.’
‘I can’t bring her back. But Beth is waiting outside. She came as soon as she heard the news … And I can arrange for you to meet your real mum and dad.’
‘They’re here? In Ireland?’
‘We’ve traced them. Your mum lives here. Your dad�
��s in the UK. He’s flying in tonight. There’s something else. We’re trying to understand if Nancy and Nigel had any links to Rob Reddan.’
Lucy shakes her head. ‘They were always drawn to dodgy people, but I never remember Rob phoning or calling over.’
‘How come you didn’t ask any of the people in the Conquest Church’s choir to scare the troll for you?’
‘I was scared they’d report back to Dad – Nigel.’ She shifts in the bed. ‘Please, can we leave it at that? I’m shattered. I’d like to see Beth, and then get some sleep.’
‘Sure, I’ll send her right in.’
A red-eyed Beth was pacing the other side of the door. He smiled at her and nodded, and she raised her face.
But before he could leave the room, Lucy spoke again. ‘Detec— Gavin?’
‘Yes, Lucy?’
‘Thank you. For everything. I knew when I saw your face that I could trust you.’
Now it is Sexton’s turn to gulp back the tears.
Saturday
67
McConigle sits in a little café in the Mater Hospital with her arm around Nicki Lipton, who is clutching a shredded tissue. She’s a handsome woman, but dressed in clothes way beyond her years – a baggy coat, frumpy trousers. And her shoes are practically old folk’s home, McConigle observes.
‘Do you have other kids?’ the detective asks kindly.
There are four empty coffee cups on the table, and McConigle transfers them to a waiter’s tray as he comes to wipe it down.
‘Three,’ McConigle says with a sniff. ‘The youngest’s one and a half. Lizzie was my first. It broke my heart. I kept having babies to keep busy. Me and Jack … Lizzie’s father … broke up two years later. We weren’t married when it happened, and there was just too much grief afterwards for us to cope with each other’s as well. I haven’t seen him in ten years. I mean, we always contact each other on her birthday, and the anniversary of her disappearance, just to touch base with a quick call or email, but it was too painful … we had to let each other go … I still can’t believe this. I keep thinking, Don’t get your hopes up, just in case. There were so many false leads and knockbacks over the years that I just stopped hoping.’
‘Lucy’s DNA matched,’ McConigle says. ‘I mean, Lizzie’s.’
A man walks briskly through the entrance and glances over, heads for them. He’s got a shock of white hair and a handsome, tanned face.
‘Jack,’ Nicki says, standing and opening her arms awkwardly.
McConigle can see the tension in her face as they hold each other.
‘How are the kids?’ he asks politely.
‘Good, thanks. Yours?’
‘Great, yeah. Keeping me busy.’
‘Time flies,’ Annie agrees.
He turns to McConigle. ‘This is one hundred percent, right? I mean, I don’t want to …’
‘It’s her,’ McConigle promises.
Tears roll down his face.
‘We can head up to see her now, if you like,’ McConigle says.
There’s no more conversation in the elevator up, just a tense silence. When they reach the correct floor, McConigle walks them towards the TV room, off the ward, where Sexton is waiting with Lizzie, who’s in a dressing gown and slippers.
She breaks off her conversation with him and glances up, sees McConigle, and looks at the couple she’s with.
Her faltering steps break into a sickly run. The three hug each other like the world is about to end. Or begin.
McConigle wipes a tear from her eye. There’s a reason she does this thankless bloody pain-in-the-arse job.
‘You know the way you fancy the arse off me?’ Sexton asks.
‘Yeah.’
‘What are you doing tonight?’
‘I’m going to Sergeant John Foxe’s retirement do … with my new boyfriend.’
68
Dan pulls the keys from the ignition and gets out of the car, walking around to the passenger seat to help Jo out. He hands her a Tyvek jumpsuit as he surveys a squat, disused warehouse in the docklands. Sexton had contacted him to tell him that a woman’s body had just been found inside by a bunch of kids drinking cans of cider. Jo wanted to tag along.
It’s a Saturday, but Jo can’t resist. For the first time, it feels safe to leave Rory home alone. She’s found out he was setting up a Facebook page for kids under pressure – researching the whole suicide subject. He’s persuaded counsellors to give their time – for free. He’s going to organize youth-club events and regular ‘meet up’ events to bring the kids together to talk about their feelings while hiking, or camping, or whatever. That’s why he has been doing so much research. It’s going to take up a lot of his time, but Jo doesn’t care about exam results any more. She just wants him happy. And who knows, maybe this will be his calling and he won’t need points to go to college.
Dan links arms and leads Jo to the scene. Her walking stick taps between their steps.
‘Bins out?’ Jo asks, picking up the sickly-sweet stench.
‘Yeah, rats got at them too, by the looks of it,’ he answers.
‘Or foxes,’ Jo says.
‘Trust me, this is no ’burb,’ he says. ‘You sure you wouldn’t rather wait in the car?’
‘I’m sure,’ Jo says.
‘The boys OK?’ he checks.
Jo glances at her phone, and nods. ‘Rory’s got Harry with him.’
‘Foot,’ he says.
She bends her leg and holds it at the ankle behind her, leaning against him. Dan covers her shoe with an elasticated cover. He slaps the other leg. Jo obliges.
‘How did she die?’ she asks.
‘Sexton didn’t say. He just said there was a lot of blood.’
‘Did he bag anything at the murder scene?’
‘A monkey wrench.’
‘Any missing-persons reports spring to mind?’
‘Sexton said she was fresh. He said she’s just inside the door. Cordon.’
Jo ducks and Dan raises the ‘Garda No Entry’ navy-and-white tape over her head.
‘Wish I could wait in the car,’ Dan says. ‘Doesn’t matter how used I am to the smell, it gets me every time.’
He pushes open a rattling metal door and guides her in.
‘No officer outside?’ she asks.
‘What? Oh, right. He’s probably gone for a leak.’
‘He should be reprimanded for that.’
Sticky cobwebs brush her hair. Another smell mingles with the fungal must and mould: petrol.
‘What was this place?’
‘A tyre factory, I’d say. For HGVs, judging by the size of a stack over there.’
‘Any signs of that blood so far?’
‘None.’
Water is dripping somewhere. Jo starts at the sound of metal clanking. A bird’s wings flap. She pictures a pigeon.
‘Stay here,’ Dan says. ‘It’s one of those old lifts. There’s no way it could still be working.’
‘Wait,’ Jo says.
‘Don’t move,’ Dan warns. His voice is low and urgent. ‘There’s a mechanic’s pit six deep, three wide, eight long to your right, and a hydraulic platform straight in front of you. This place is an obstacle course of pain. Stay here.’
Jo reaches out to grab him, but he’s gone. She holds her hands out in the pitch dark. Something glimmers in the distance – a flashlight?
‘It doesn’t add up,’ she whispers, as her old instincts kick in. ‘You bring a victim somewhere like this, it’s to die. That means premeditation and nothing left to chance. A killer here would bring their own weapon, not grab the nearest thing to hand. And Dan hasn’t seen any blood …’
Something lurches towards her. Hessian sackcloth. It’s over her head. Jo thrashes.
‘Dan!’
Arms grip her from behind, hands locking on her stomach. A fleshy man lifts her off her feet.
‘Got ya!’ he shouts, pulling the sack off her head.
The place floods with blurry light. Jo’s pupi
ls cannot constrict and she closes her eyes, whacking Sexton on the chest.
‘You’ve put on weight, you fat bastard,’ she says.
‘You need to,’ he says. ‘Turning into a bag of bones.’
Two other detectives from the station jump out from behind a stack of barrels, jeering and clapping amid peals of laughter. Jo recognizes DS Aishling McConigle’s magpie laugh.
Dan comes back; she can hear his uneven steps – quicker than usual.
‘Is this supposed to be funny?’ he asks, panting.
‘Thought if I got Jo’s blood flowing, she might remember why she loves what she does and come back to us full-time,’ Sexton says. ‘And give Foxy one last taste of the job before he leaves.’ He points to the pit, where Sergeant John Foxe is lying in his underpants, bound and gagged.
‘He was initiated when he started this job, and he’s getting the same before he leaves. We didn’t think you’d want to miss it, Chief.’
Foxy looks up at Dan with a ‘Get me out of this’ expression and tries to speak through the duct tape over his mouth.
Dan heads over to help him.
‘No girl with a caved-in head?’ Dan clarifies, unpeeling the duct tape.
McConigle is doubled over, laughing.
‘Give me my clothes. I’m freezing,’ Foxy says, taking a gulp of air.
Dan is not amused. ‘Since you’ve decided to take the afternoon off, you’d better pray there hasn’t been a real murder.’
‘Actually …’ McConigle says, reading a text that’s just beeped in to her phone.
‘Tell me you’re joking?’ Dan demands.
‘No, I mean, he’s solved one. The Segway murder? Lucky Kernick has just walked into the station to confess.’
Sexton claps and rubs his hands together. ‘I might even stretch to dinner tonight, if you’re lucky,’ he tells McConigle.
‘I hate to interrupt,’ Jo says. ‘Under normal circumstances, Foxy in the buff would have been the only time in the last year I’d have been grateful that I couldn’t see. But …’
‘Love?’ Dan asks.
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