Little Girl Lost

by Brian McGilloway

‘Fine. Great. Worried about you.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’ll be out of here in no time.’

  ‘So long as you’re fit to get out.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, waving away her concern. ‘Never better.’

  ‘Do you want me to bring you anything? Have you had your tea?’

  ‘Aye. Bloody boiled eggs. How’s a man of my age meant to live on a boiled egg? I’d kill a nice bit of steak.’

  He laughed lightly.

  ‘What date’s today?’ he asked suddenly, his eyes glinting, his expression sharp.

  ‘The 15th. Why?’

  He repeated the number over and over, silently, the words working on his lips.

  ‘Why Daddy?’

  ‘Who’s the prime minister?’

  ‘David Cameron,’ Lucy said. ‘Why, Daddy?’

  He quietly mouthed the name a few times, committing it to memory.

  ‘Daddy, what’s wrong?’

  ‘That wee shit of a doctor asked me the date and the prime minister. As if I was stupid. If I remember them he might let me go home. You know?’

  ‘What did you tell him when he asked?’

  He looked at her blankly, his eyes wet.

  ‘I … I’m not sure, Janet.’

  Lucy sat for another thirty minutes, as her father drifted further and further away from her. Finally, unable to trust herself not to cry in front of him, she kissed him goodbye and left.

  The house was chilled when she got home, the rooms dark and cold, the whole place carrying the smell of her father, the scent of his tobacco. She realized that she had not had a chance to speak to her mother about her father’s gun. She checked beneath the sink; sure enough, her father kept his gun locker there, just as he had in their previous house when she was a child. It was empty now save for a small box of bullets. She retrieved the gun from her glove compartment and returned it to the small metal cabinet, then locked it and put the key in her pocket.

  That done, she went straight up to shower, glad to have a chance to do so having spent the night in the hospital with Alice. She washed quickly, got changed and padded downstairs again to fix dinner.

  In the kitchen she rooted through the fridge for something to eat. An almost empty bread packet lay on one shelf, a hardened slice and a crust the only contents. Her father had told her that the home help, Sarah, normally brought his groceries for him but, since he was in hospital, Lucy had phoned her and told her not to come.

  Her search proving unsuccessful, she decided to brave the roads to get a burger and chips. With her hair still damp she took her father’s old woollen hat that he used to wear to Derry FC soccer matches and his overcoat, which was hanging on the banister, and went out.

  On her way to the chip shop her mobile rang. The desk sergeant from Maydown introduced himself, told her that someone had phoned to speak to her. She had asked for Lucy by name, insisted that she could speak to no one else. Her name was Annie Bryce.

  CHAPTER 18

  Annie Bryce sat perched at the edge of the armchair in her living room as she spoke to Lucy. Her hands, thick knots of veins crisscrossing the backs, rested uneasily on her knees which bobbed up and down as she spoke. Her eyes were flushed, her nostrils red and flaring. Unconsciously she rubbed at her upper arm at various points during the interview and scratched the skin at the crook of her elbow.

  ‘You’re the one offering the reward, isn’t that right?’ she said after Lucy had introduced herself at the front door.

  ‘No, that’s the—’

  Bryce laughed conspiratorially before she could explain the woman’s mistake. ‘Ah, I saw you on the TV. You offered a reward for news about that wee McLaughlin girl. Come in.’

  Bryce’s house was small, the living room all the more cramped due to the mismatched armchairs and sofa taking up much of the floor space. A fire blazed in the grate, broken sticks and lumps of coal lying on the hearth, which Bryce threw onto the fire as it dipped during their discussion. The heat was such a contrast to the chill outside that Lucy felt light-headed, and had to remove her overcoat and jacket.

  A reality television show played silently in the background. The camera shifted from a stern-faced judge to a teenage boy, his hair tipped and dyed, who burst into tears at whatever harsh critique had been offered.

  ‘God love him,’ Bryce commented, sitting down. ‘They’re hard on them young ones, too, aren’t they?’

  ‘Look, I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong person, Ms Bryce,’ Lucy began. ‘I’m investigating the young girl who was found in Prehen woods. The reward was for Kate McLaughlin.’

  Bryce rubbed the back of her hand across her nose, her knee jittering more forcefully now.

  ‘Don’t be holding back on me. I heard them say it – one million. I want my fair share, is all. That bitch isn’t getting everything.’

  ‘What bitch, Ms Bryce?’ Lucy asked.

  Bryce lowered her voice and leaned further forward, forcing Lucy to do likewise to hear her.

  ‘That shit Billy thinks he can do me over. He’s been bumming for weeks he had a big score coming. When he’d a bit in him, like. “We’re getting what’s ours,” says he. Like he earned it or something.’

  ‘Billy who?’

  ‘My Billy. Leastways he was my Billy till that slapper waved her arse at him. I stuck by him through his whole stretch. He comes out and says, “We’re going to get what’s ours.” Then the bastard dumps me. Takes up with that Duffy tart.’

  ‘What’s Billy’s name, Ms Bryce?’

  ‘Billy Quinn. Everyone knows my Billy.’

  ‘Why do you think it’s something to do with Kate McLaughlin?’

  ‘I went to him last week. I says, “You owe me, Billy Quinn. Four years smuggling your shit into Magherberry down my knickers and you think you can dump me.” That whore standing at the window, her arms crossed, smirking like she’s Queen Bee.’

  Bryce sniffed again, rubbed her nose between her thumb and forefinger a few times.

  ‘I’m not sure I get you,’ Lucy said.

  ‘Are you deaf?’

  Lucy bit her tongue, tried a different approach instead. ‘So, Billy Quinn did time and you stood by him?’

  ‘Aye, like a bloody saint. No one else would put up with him.’

  ‘What did he do time for?’

  Bryce muttered something, lifted a packet of cigarettes from the armrest and took one. ‘You smoke?’

  ‘No thanks,’ Lucy said. ‘But you stood by him.’

  ‘Aye,’ Bryce replied, winking against the smoke drifting in front of her face when she lit the cigarette. ‘That’s what I’m telling you.’

  ‘And he left you for someone else when he got out?’

  ‘It’s no wonder you’re in the police. He told me he’d see me right, he had a big payday coming. Bumming his load when he got out; him and his mates had a big plan. He was going to take me away.’

  ‘You’d deserve it, standing by him,’ Lucy said.

  ‘I know, love,’ Bryce replied, smiling. ‘I know that. I told him he could take me to Rome. I always wanted to go to Rome. Them Italian men.’ She reached across, pushed Lucy’s knee playfully with her fist. ‘Eh?’ Her laugh dissolved into a throaty cough.

  ‘And he didn’t take you?’

  ‘No. I knew something was up. I wanted to book it. Hold out, says he; I’ve not the money yet. I shoulda knew he was up to no good. He arrived in here rolling drunk one night, a packet of rubbers in his coat pocket.’

  ‘You used …?’ Lucy struggled to word the question appropriately.

  ‘No love, no need. I’ve had it out, you know.’ She gestured towards her groin with the hand holding her cigarette. ‘Cyst on my ovaries.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  Bryce laughed forcefully. ‘Sure I’ve had two wains already; I wouldn’t be looking for more at my age.’

  ‘So you thought Billy was cheating on you?’

  ‘That slapper Dolores Duffy. She picked him up one night in the pub. H
im and her at it in the alleyway up behind the shops. My sister came across them. Phoned me. I had his stuff in bags by the time he got home.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Says he wasn’t staying anyway. Dolores was taking him in. Do you know what the lousy bastard says as he’s standing in the doorway?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll take Dolores to Rome. She wants to see the Vatican. The Vatican? The Pope would chase her if he knew the type of her. There’s only one thing that blade’s ever on her knees for.’

  A sweat had broken on Bryce’s forehead now, her eyes glazing. Whatever she had taken before Lucy arrived was beginning to wear off. If Lucy was going to get anything relevant out of her, she needed to keep her talking before she came down completely and lost whatever train of thought she was following.

  ‘So what makes you think Billy was involved in the Kate McLaughlin abduction?’

  Bryce nodded, acknowledging that she had yet to explain the link. ‘I went down to him last night. He took a hundred pound off me before we split and I needed it back to pay for my heating oil. “We’ve booked to Rome,” says he. “Me and Dolores.”’

  ‘Did he say where he’d got the money?’

  ‘No, he did not. And he wouldn’t give me my ton either. I waited till they had gone back into the house and went into his car. He used to leave his stash, his wallet, in the car, like.’

  Bryce glanced nervously at Lucy to see if she had caught the slip.

  ‘Had he?’

  ‘No,’ she continued, releasing her breath slowly, picking her words more carefully now. ‘But I found something on the back seat. Your man that was on with you today.’

  ‘What?’

  Bryce held up one finger, flicked her cigarette into the fire and stood up. ‘Wait here.’

  She left the room and Lucy heard her footfalls thudding up the stairs, across the room above her, then back down again. Bryce came into the room a little out of breath. In her hand she held a tiny gold object, shaped like a locket but so small it seemed more likely to be part of a charm bracelet.

  ‘Wait till you see,’ she said, working clumsily at the catch. ‘I thought it might be worth pawning, if things got tight, you know. Then I saw this.’

  Eventually she opened it and handed it to Lucy. Inside the piece were two tiny photographs.

  ‘I just want what’s mine, you know. I want my share. Why should that bitch get to Rome and me get nothing? When I heard about the reward, well, you know.’

  Lucy blocked out Bryce’s chatter as she studied the pictures, holding it close to her face for a better look at the people in the two images. The one on the left was an attractive young woman, the style of her hair and clothes suggesting that the picture was a few years old. The picture on the other side was that of a man; he was younger-looking than Lucy had seen him, but it was unmistakably Michael McLaughlin.

  CHAPTER 19

  She called Tom Fleming as soon as she made it to her car and explained what had happened. As they spoke she hunted through the assorted papers lying on the back seat for the list of ATM users the bank had faxed. Sure enough, the name of ‘Billy Quinn’ appeared on the second page at 21.37.

  ‘You went out alone to interview someone?’ Fleming said. ‘That’s bloody dangerous, Lucy.’

  ‘I got the message on my way to the chippie. I stopped off on my way. I … I didn’t think.’

  ‘Look, I’ll contact the Chief Super. We’ll need a Response team. Did you get Quinn’s address?’

  ‘Apparently he’s living with someone called Dolores Duffy. She lives on Bishop Street.’

  ‘I’ll get Travers. Good work, Lucy. Just don’t go out alone again.’

  As she drove towards the bridge, Lucy knew she should continue on the Victoria Road towards her father’s house. She could not, however, ignore the irritation she felt that, having managed to get the first tangible lead in the Kate McLaughlin abduction, Tom Fleming had effectively sidelined her.

  As she drove off the upper deck of the Craigavon Bridge and turned right, towards Prehen, she made a quick decision and cut left again, crossing the path of an oncoming lorry, and went down onto the bridge’s lower deck, and headed over towards the city side again.

  A sharp left took her past where the darkened Foyle Railway Museum squatted by the river and onto the Foyle Road, running parallel to Bishop Street. She cut up Brook Street, the car sliding a little on the incline, so that she had to shift up in gear, even as she slowed to gain more traction.

  The poor driving conditions suited her, for it meant she was forced to crawl along the road, allowing her time to peer at each house she passed, looking for one with the house number prominently displayed, without the action appearing suspicious to any onlookers.

  Lucy pulled up across the street from Duffy’s and killed the engine. The lights in the front room of the house blazed brightly, the blinds on the main window open. She sat for a moment, watching the house, then scanned the street for any sign of the Response team which Fleming had said he would call. Finally, aware that her sitting in the car might arouse suspicion, she got out and walked back down the street a distance to a corner shop, which still provided an unrestricted view of Dolores Duffy’s.

  The young girl serving behind the counter raised her gaze momentarily above a copy of Heat magazine. She blew a bubble from the chewing gum she was eating, which burst with a dull plop, then returned her attention to her reading.

  Lucy smiled at her, then went to the magazine stand, which was placed in front of the main window of the shop. Pretending to browse, she was able to watch Duffy’s house from above the upper shelf.

  A woman appeared at the window of Duffy’s, heavy-bodied, with platinum-blonde hair fashioned into a loose beehive. Laying one hand on the windowsill for support, she stretched up and attempted to pull on a roller blind at the top of the window. Lucy could see that the small toggle flicked from her reach several times. Finally she turned and addressed someone behind her. A man appeared at the window, his mouth open as he laughed. He reached up and grabbed the toggle, before pulling down the blind.

  He’d been five ten at most, thin, his hair cropped close, no more than a crescent of shadow across his scalp. He’d worn a denim jacket and a dark shirt. From the fleeting glimpse, she’d have said his features were pinched and sharp. It only took her a moment to place where she had seen him before: Michael McLaughlin’s driver ‘William’ from the press conference.

  ‘Are you going to buy that or are you just going to read the whole thing here?’

  Lucy looked around. The girl behind the till had stood up now and was staring at her, the heavy black eye make-up she wore making her seem all the more menacing.

  Lucy glanced at the magazine in her hand, not even aware of what she had picked up and was relieved to find it was a copy of Vogue. Nuts might have been harder to explain.

  ‘Sorry,’ Lucy said. ‘I was daydreaming.’

  Taking the magazine with her, she went over and took a can of Diet Coke and a Bounty, then approached the till. As she did so, the shop bell chimed as the door gusted open and a figure stepped in.

  ‘Twenty Bensons, Molly love,’ Billy Quinn said as he came towards the counter. He paused when he saw Lucy. ‘Sorry, you first.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Lucy said. ‘Go ahead.’

  He winked at her, smiling broadly enough to reveal his tar-stained teeth. ‘Cold one, eh? You’re well wrapped up.’

  Lucy nodded, wordlessly, glancing down at her father’s coat. She knew that, even with her father’s hat and coat on, it would only be a matter of time before Quinn recognized her.

  ‘That’s a fiver, Billy,’ the girl behind the counter said.

  ‘How’s your mother, Molly?’ he replied, handing her a ten-pound note which she took.

  ‘Great. The ol’ boy’s getting out next week so she’s up to high doe.’

  ‘Tell him I said hello,’ Quinn said, taking back his change. He turned to leave. ‘All right,’
he said to Lucy.

  Just as he approached the door of the shop, Lucy became aware of a blue flickering reflected from the snow lying outside. Quinn must have registered it too for he swore lightly and shut the door. Outside a Land Rover pulled to a halt just beyond the shop, the strobing blue light pulsating along the silent road. They had approached without sirens, but had used their lights.

  Quinn glanced nervously at Lucy, and she knew he had placed her. Moving quickly towards the back of the shop, his strides uneven, he shoved open the door marked ‘Staff Only’.

  Lucy dropped her purchases and dashed to the front door. Flinging it open she shouted out, ‘He’s gone through the back here!’

  Turning, she raced towards the door through which Quinn had gone while Molly shouted after her from behind the counter.

  As she pushed through the door into the stock room, Lucy was presented with two choices. To her left a set of stairs led up to above the shop, while to her right was a fire door. She guessed Quinn would not trap himself inside so she shoved the bar down, and went out through the fire exit into the yard at the back of the shop.

  The yard was small, entirely concrete, with lemonade crates full of empty bottles stacked close to the door. Beyond that a number of bins stood, flattened cardboard boxes beside them on the ground, soggy beneath a weight of snow. The area was enclosed by a six foot wall. Initially, Lucy guessed that Quinn would have used the bins to help him scale the wall on that side, but as she looked she realized that on two of the three sides, the coping stones had shards of broken glass cemented onto them. Only to her right was the top of the wall clear. As she scaled it herself and looked over the top, Lucy realized why. The neighbouring building to that side was a residential home for the elderly.

  Looking across the grounds, Lucy could see the tracks Quinn had left in the snow. She pulled herself up onto the wall to swing her leg over then jumped. Skidding as she fell, she landed face down in the snow, but pushed herself to her feet and took off after Quinn. As she rounded the corner she realized she was running alongside the windows of the small chapel in the home. Two nuns stood at the window looking out at her, illuminated from the lights inside. She pointed in the direction Quinn had gone in the hope that they might understand her intrusion on their property, then raced on, sliding as she tried to keep her balance.