by KC Acton
“‘But I don’t want to go to Ireland,’ I wailed, ‘I want to go home.’
“‘We don’t have a choice. Daddy doesn’t want us anymore.’ She turned and put her foot down, ignoring us as we sobbed in the back.
“The English countryside whizzed past as we sped along the motorway towards the ferry at Holyhead. Everything was moving too fast. I couldn’t catch up. Part of me couldn’t wait to see Granny Rose again. It had been a year since I had last seen her; she never visited us. Later, she told me she’d never approved of my father. She’d always thought there was something untrustworthy about him. She called him a bad egg.
“Finally, we arrived in Ireland, and a few hours later we were at our grandmother’s house. Granny’s house was at the end of a lane, surrounded by acres of fields. I was used to having a next-door neighbour in Manchester and seeing people of all backgrounds and ethnicity. I was used to walking to my friends’ houses to play. Here, there were no children to be seen, just trees and fields.
“Granny Rose greeted us with big smiles and tight hugs. Her house was an old, rambling farmhouse with lots of rooms to explore. Our little house in England was two-up, two-down.
“I tried to ask Mum about what was going on, but she said I was too young to understand. I had to trust that she knew what she was doing, but I couldn’t help feeling scared. I had no one to talk to; Tim was just a baby, and I had no friends. I tried to pretend that everything was okay, but it wasn’t. All I wanted was our family back together. My Dad wasn’t the best father in the world, far from it, but he was the only one I had.
“As the weeks passed, I became more adept at eavesdropping on the conversations between my mother and grandmother. Apparently, Dad had left us because he wanted to be with Laura — the woman I’d met at McDonald’s. When he finally called, I asked him why he’d left. He said that Laura made him happy. I was heartbroken. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t have been happy with Timmy, Mum, and me.
“Christmas came and went. I hated my new school. Everyone had made their friends, and there was no room for the English girl with the funny accent. Granny did her best to make us feel welcome, but I didn’t want to call her house home.
“I didn’t see Dad for months. Apparently, he had a new job that was keeping him busy and out of trouble, according to my grandmother.
“He came to see me on my birthday in May; it had been six months since I’d last seen him. I didn’t know what to say to him. Part of me was happy that he wasn’t around, but another part of me wished we could all be a family again. Dad sensed my aloofness, and he paid extra attention to me. I didn’t want to be the centre of his attention, knowing how quickly he could turn. He told me he was sorry for leaving, but he couldn’t help falling in love with Laura. I begged him to take us home. I wanted to go back to my old life, my old house, my friends, and my school.
“One morning, Mum burst into my room, all excited. I hadn’t seen her looking happy in months. She couldn’t stop smiling as she told me that Dad was coming to take us home. I shot up in bed, not sure what to think. Mum’s excitement was infectious as she ran around the house, throwing clothes into a suitcase, while Granny Rose looked on disapprovingly. ‘You’ll regret this,’ she warned. ‘That man is no good, you’ll see; once a cheater, always a cheater.’
“We hovered by the window, waiting for him, expecting him to arrive at any minute. The hours wore on. Mum went to the bottom of the drive a few times, searching the road. Eventually, she told us he wasn’t coming. I felt a strange mixture of disappointment and relief; I’d always known he didn’t love us the way he should. Granny Rose had been right all along: he was a bad egg.”
12
“How is she?” asked Faith. Every evening, after work, Faith had stopped by the hospital, willing the girl to wake up. Lucy was the only one who could give them an accurate description of the killer. A child psychiatrist had tried talking to Megan, but she was too young to understand what had happened. Megan talked about how scared she was and about the loud noise when the shots were fired, followed by silence, but she hadn’t seen the killer. Lucy was their only viable witness.
Mary Gleeson jumped at the sound of Faith’s voice behind her. For three harrowing days, she had been keeping a prayer vigil at her granddaughter’s bedside.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” said Faith, approaching the bed. Lucy’s eyes were closed. Her head was bandaged and her face was swollen. The monitor beside her bleeped steadily. “Has she said anything?”
“She woke up for a few minutes. She said she was afraid and asked if the bad man was in prison.” Mary smiled weakly. She was pale, drawn, and hadn’t slept in days. “It’s a miracle she survived.”
Faith nodded, thinking it should never have happened in the first place. She looked at the girl in the bed. Ten-year-old Lucy was in a medically induced coma. Doctors weren’t sure if her injuries were so severe that she would be left permanently brain-damaged. She had suffered a fractured skull and facial injuries from the severity of the pistol-whipping. They also feared that she would be left blind due to the fracture on the orbital bone around her left eye.
Two armed officers stood guard outside her hospital door. A squad car was on permanent watch outside the hospital. Faith wasn’t taking any chances that the killer would come back to finish what he had started.
“You should try to get some sleep,” said Faith.
“I doze in the chair when I’m exhausted. I have to be here when she wakes up again. It’s important that she sees a familiar face.”
Faith nodded. The officers standing guard had informed her that other relatives had visited, but Mary never left her granddaughter’s side. “How’s Megan?” asked Faith.
“She’s confused and keeps asking for her mother. She should be back at school, having fun with her classmates.” Mary wiped a tear from her eye. Faith squeezed her shoulder, not knowing what to say. There were no words. “It’s so unfair,” said Mary.
“I know.” Faith knew first hand how unfair life could be.
***
Daniel and Amira Gleeson were buried side by side in a quiet, tree-lined cemetery in Clontarf, only two miles from where they had lived. Detectives had decided that it was too dangerous for Megan and Lucy to be present. Faith was sure that whoever they were dealing with was callous enough to add the girls to his list of victims.
The memorial service was private, attended only by family and close friends. The press respected the Gleesons’ request for no intrusion during their time of grief; there wasn’t a journalist or camera crew in sight. Family and friends wept as the coffins were lowered into the grave. The local priest led the prayers by the graveside as the rain bucketed down. Conor and Mary clung to each other for support. Amira’s sister, Layla, stood a little apart from the group. She threw a single red rose on the grave.
From a discreet distance, Faith observed the scene.
13
“Have you had any more flashbacks?” asked Dr Crowley.
Faith frowned and leaned back in her chair. “They’re becoming more frequent since this case. They hit me randomly, and it’s like I’m back in the past all over again.”
“Why do you think the flashbacks have increased since this case?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She sighed. “I think those two little girls remind me of myself. They must be feeling so lost and confused, and I remember feeling that way throughout most of my childhood, especially after my father killed himself. He wasn’t much of a father, but he was the only one I had.”
“How old were you when he died?”
“I was fifteen. I came home from school one day and Mum said that Dad was dead. I couldn’t believe it. It took months for me to accept that he was gone, especially because his body was never recovered. I was used to not seeing him for months at a time, so part of me expected him to come back.”
“Did he leave a note or any explanation?”
“No. Nothing. All he left behind were his clothes, nea
tly folded at the edge of the cliff. His death sparked my interest in becoming a detective.”
“Tell me about your father.” He regarded her kindly over the top of his glasses.
“He caused a lot of hurt in my life.” Much to her embarrassment, her eyes filled with tears. Roughly, she wiped them away on the back of her hand.
“It’s okay, Faith. You’re safe here. Remember that what you tell me is confidential, but it’s important that you talk about your father and confront your feelings because that’s the only way to let go of the past.” He handed her a tissue from the box on his desk. “Tell me something fun and unusual about your father.”
“He was named after Robert Redford, the actor, but everyone called my father Bob. He was a soldier in Northern Ireland in the early seventies, but he never spoke about that time in his life. When he left the army, he worked as a long-distance lorry driver.
“I loved my father, in spite of everything. Even before he left mum for someone else, he was often away for weeks at a time. When he took up with his new girlfriend, his visits became less frequent; in fairness, he was living in England and we were in Ireland.”
Her throat went dry as the long-forgotten darkness swept over her. “May I have some water, please?”
“Is everything alright?” asked Dr Crowley, his voice full of concern.
Her hand shook as she took the glass of water from him. “I had the strangest sensation, like there was a ghost in the room.” She shivered. “I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Was it another flashback?” asked Dr Crowley.
Faith nodded.
“I can take you back there, if you’d like,” suggested Dr Crowley.
“I’m not sure.”
“It could be worth exploring. Remember, you’re safe here, Faith. Just breathe. Do you trust me?”
She studied his kind, intelligent face for a moment. “As much as I trust anyone.”
“Lie back in the chair. Close your eyes. Breathe.”
She closed her eyes and let the stillness wash over her.
“Tell me where you are. How do you feel?”
“It’s spring. I can see the first daffodils. I’m brushing my teeth before school, but I feel sick. My stomach’s turning over.”
“Who’s there with you?”
“Just Granny. Mum’s already gone to work. She always drops Timmy to nursery on her way. Granny says I should stay home from school. She tells me that there’s a bad flu going around. She says I should lie on the couch until she gets home from the chemist, and that she won’t be gone long, maybe an hour at most.”
“Were you afraid of being home alone?” asked Dr Crowley.
“No. I was almost twelve years old, and Granny said she wouldn’t be long. She tucked me up in bed with a hot water bottle before leaving. I dozed off for a while, but my cough kept waking me up.
“I had a nightmare about a man trying to break into the house. I felt scared. Those were the days before mobile phones, so I couldn’t call anyone. I prayed Granny would be home soon. I tossed and turned under the covers, and covered my head with the duvet to block out my nightmare. I was just about to doze off again when I heard a car outside. I knew it wasn’t Granny because she didn’t drive; she cycled everywhere. Mum wasn’t due home from work for hours. I held my breath, listening to every sound outside. I heard a car door close, then silence. It was one person.”
“Why didn’t you look out the window?” asked Dr Crowley.
“No way. I knew I had to stay still and out of sight, but the bedroom curtains were open and the bedroom was on the ground floor. Whoever was outside could have seen me if I’d moved. I heard footsteps on the gravel outside my bedroom window. I couldn’t see anything through the duvet, but I sensed that someone was looking in the window.
“I felt I was in danger. I’ve only felt that way a few times in my life. I didn’t move a muscle. Suddenly, there was a knock on the front door. I froze and held my breath. They knocked again. Then there was silence, but I didn’t hear the car door open or close. I prayed that Granny or Mum had left none of the downstairs windows open.
“Finally, the car door opened and closed. Then the engine started. I crept out of bed and crawled to the corner of the window behind the curtain to see who was in the car. It was my father. Mum hadn’t said he was going to visit. Part of me wanted to unlock the door and call him back, but something told me not to. I crept back into bed and waited for Granny to come home.”
“Do you think your father would have hurt you if you’d let him in?” asked Dr Crowley.
“I don’t think it; I know it. I know that whoever was out there would have hurt me.”
“But it was your father at the door.”
“It didn’t matter. I trusted my instinct. I loved my father, I really did, but when he left us, part of me died. In a way, I closed part of my heart to him; I didn’t want him to hurt me again. The day he left me is the day he lost my trust.”
“Which is why you find it so difficult to trust now,” interrupted Dr Crowley. “Children look to their parents to show them how to navigate the world. They take whatever their parents say as fact and believe that they can do no wrong.”
Faith nodded. “Granny used to call him a ‘Disneyland Dad’.” She grinned at the memory. “When we moved to Ireland, we saw him a few times a year, and he’d take us shopping for toys, sweets and games.”
“Did you like living with your Granny?”
“Not at first, no; I wanted my family back together, and I resented living at Granny’s, but eventually life settled into a routine. I accepted that Dad wasn’t going to sweep in and take us away to live happily ever after. Granny’s house in Killarney became home. I felt safe with her.”
“Tell me about your grandmother,” said Dr Crowley.
Faith smiled. “She was a real livewire, always chatting and full of life, not like my mother. Sometimes I wondered how they could be mother and daughter. My mother was thirty years younger than Granny was, but Mum seemed older and beaten down by life. Granny saw the wonder in everything. She was a tiny woman, barely five feet tall, but she was a powerhouse who didn’t take nonsense from anyone.
“She was obsessed with detective shows and true crime stories. We used to watch Murder, She Wrote every Sunday after church. She was thrilled when I said I was going to be a police officer.”
“You don’t talk much about your mother,” said Dr Crowley.
“She was a quiet woman. The marriage break-up almost destroyed her, but eventually, under Granny’s care, she started to enjoy life again. Mum was a warm and loyal person. She became friends with a woman from the office where she worked. Eileen lived in Killarney town with her son. Mum loved being with her because she was fun and had a wicked sense of humour. Eileen was a great storyteller and had a knack for putting a comedic twist on everything, especially her own life. Her stories about her sisters and her ex-husband were as dramatic as they were hilarious. Unfortunately, she was responsible for bringing an evil man into our lives, and for that, I have never forgiven her.”
“What was his name?” asked Dr Crowley.
“Rodger Ian Price.”
14
“May I see your ID?” asked Layla al-Nin from behind the apartment door.
Faith and Byrne exchanged glances as they flashed their badges at the peephole.
“Come in,” said Layla, opening the door wide. She glanced up and down the corridor behind them. “One can never be too cautious at a time like this. The press has been camped outside the building for days. I wouldn’t put anything past those vultures.”
“We understand,” said Faith.
“Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything: tea, coffee, or something stronger?” She laughed self-consciously. “I’m having a whiskey. I find it sharpens the mind. Don’t worry, I’m not a raging alcoholic. Then again, I suppose that’s what they all say.”
“I’ll have a black coffee,” said Byrne.
; “Same for me, thanks,” said Faith, perching herself at the edge of the deep leather sofa in Layla al-Nin’s Dublin City Centre apartment. The apartment was well located: only a few minutes walk from the main shopping street, and ten minutes from the tourist attractions. The apartment building boasted a restaurant, a gym, a podium garden, and concierge services. From the apartment’s prime location and the decor, it was obvious that Layla wasn’t short of money.
“How can I help you, Detective Chief Inspector?” asked Layla, placing the drinks on the coffee table, before sitting beside Faith on the sofa. “Have you found the killer yet?”
Faith had to fight the urge to move away; she hated anyone invading her personal space, and she couldn’t help taking an instant dislike towards Layla. There was something just a little too self-assured, borderline smug, about Amira’s elder sister.
“Actually, that’s why we’re here,” said Faith, leaning back in her seat. She helped herself to a biscuit and sipped her coffee before continuing. Everything about Layla was slow and measured, so Faith followed her lead and matched her pace accordingly. Just as Faith had known, her actions unnerved the other woman a little.
“Oh?” Layla asked, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows. Slowly, she swirled the ice cubes in her glass. She didn’t look like someone who was mourning the loss of her sister and brother-in-law. Her hair was styled in an immaculate, poker-straight black bob; her nails were manicured a blood red to match her full scarlet pout; she was dressed elegantly in a white silk blouse and black palazzo trousers; sky-high stilettoes completed her ensemble. Faith felt underdressed beside her in her black jeans, black shirt, and black blazer.
“Were you expecting company?” asked Byrne, taking in Layla’s appearance.
“No, only you two lovely ladies. Why?”
“There was no need to get dressed up for us.”