by KC Acton
“I like to make an effort.” Layla disdainfully took in their plain clothes and makeup-free faces.
At over six-feet tall, she was an intimidating presence, and Faith got the impression she would do anything to get her own way. Faith placed her cup on the glass coffee table in front of her, noticing the framed photo of Amira and the girls hanging on the wall. Beside the photo was another of Layla and Amira’s parents. None of the photos included Daniel. Scattered across the coffee table were newspaper cuttings about the Killarney murders. Faith had the distinct impression they were there for her benefit.
“Do you have children?” asked Faith.
“No. I’ve never met the right person. Do you have children?”
“No.” Faith hoped her face didn’t show her lie. Now she felt like she was the one being thrown off guard. “How have you been since the funeral?” she asked, changing the subject. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I hate those overused clichés: ‘sorry for your loss’. Most people don’t know what loss is.”
You have no idea, lady, thought Faith.
“In answer to your question, I’ve been fine; keeping myself busy with work and friends. I don’t believe in moping,” replied Layla matter-of-factly.
“I see,” said Faith. “Some would call that denial.”
“I call it coping,” Layla retorted with a stiff smile.
“I can understand that,” said Faith. “May I ask where you were on the day of the killings?”
“Am I a suspect?” She sounded incredulous.
“That’s not what I’m saying. It’s a question I ask everyone I interview.”
“And I thought you were here to offer your condolences.”
Faith allowed the awkward silence to hang in the air for a moment before repeating her question.
“I was at a medical conference in New York. I didn’t return until two days after they died. You can check with the hotel and the airline if you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you. Your alibi is airtight.” Faith had already checked. “I know you aren’t the assassin.”
“That’s comforting.” Layla eyed her over the rim of her glass. “My sister and I may not have been on speaking terms recently, but I wouldn’t resort to killing her. Daniel was a different story.” She laughed mirthlessly. “Sorry, that was in bad taste. I’m joking.”
“Where were you when you heard of your sister’s death?” Faith didn’t like the way Layla was toying with her.
“I saw reports of the murders on the news when I landed at Dublin Airport, but I didn’t think it was Amira because I had no idea she was in Killarney at the time. I went straight to bed when I arrived home. It was a tough few days and I was exhausted. My friend called me at dinnertime and said she had bad news. She asked if I’d heard about what had happened in Killarney. She thought it was Amira and Daniel who had been killed. I told her it was unlikely that they were in Killarney because the girls should have been at school. Later that evening, two police officers came to visit me and they told me what had happened.”
“But you didn’t feel the need to go to Killarney to be with your nieces, or to identify your sister’s body? Shouldn’t that have been your natural reaction?”
“I wanted to be there, but the press was camped outside my apartment building, and I couldn’t leave. It was a nightmare.”
“I can imagine. Were you and Amira close?”
“We were sisters.”
“But you mentioned that you weren’t on speaking terms.”
“We were opposites; Amira was the serious one, whereas I was more light-hearted. We used to holiday together, but Daniel didn’t like me much. The feeling was mutual. Amira lost her spark when she married him. For all his charisma and charm, he wasn’t an easy man to be married to; he liked to be the centre of attention. I had no problem telling Amira what I thought of him, which didn’t go down too well with her.”
“That’s the first I’ve heard of anything like that,” said Faith. “From all accounts, Daniel was a decent, down-to-earth man.”
“That’s the impression he liked to portray. You know that old saying: ‘if you want to know me, come and live with me?’ It was true in Daniel’s case. He was a control freak. I don’t know how Amira put up with him, but she wouldn’t hear a word said against him.”
“I heard that you and Amira argued about the house. Is it true that your parents split the property between you?”
“It’s true, I owned half the house that Amira and Daniel inhabited,” Layla admitted reluctantly.
“Were you trying to force your sister to sell the house?” asked Faith.
“Forced is a strong word.” Layla stood up and walked to the window that overlooked the busy main street below. “I wanted Amira to see the sort of man she had married. She was blind where Daniel was concerned, but I knew he was a user. I didn’t want someone like him living in my parents’ house. Why should he?” She turned blazing eyes on Faith. “He’s supposed to be a man. Why didn’t he man up and provide a home of his own for his family? I didn’t want my share of my parents’ house funding his lifestyle. There were rumours he cheated on Amira. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen. She tried to say I was jealous, just because she was married, and I wasn’t. It’s not true. I felt sorry for her being with a man like Daniel Gleeson. He was the type of man who used Amira to make himself feel good without appreciating that he was nothing without her.”
Faith was taken aback by Layla’s venom. “Why did you stop speaking to Amira?” she asked.
“I was sick of her naïveté.” Layla kicked off her shoes and sank into the sofa. “We communicated via our solicitors in the months before she died. Once I’ve made up my mind about someone or something, that’s it for me, and I was sick of trying to get Amira to listen to me. I decided to go through the official legal channels. Amira and Daniel wanted me to give them my share of the house. I left it to them in my will, but I wasn’t prepared to sign it over to them; that property is prime real estate. It’s worth almost half a million euro even in today’s economic climate.
“They should have been grateful that I didn’t ask them for rent. I didn’t mind them living there. I didn’t ask them to get a mortgage to buy me out, but I sure as hell wasn’t just going to sign it over to them. If I died before them, I was happy for them to have the house. I think that was more than reasonable, but I didn’t want that twat Daniel inheriting my parents’ house if Amira died before him.”
Byrne glanced at Faith. “Instead they both died before you,” said Byrne.
“I’d give up everything in a heartbeat if it meant having my sister back.” Layla wiped her dry eyes with a tissue. “Amira wanted the house. She didn’t want to wait, but I think Daniel was pressuring her. They were lucky that I didn’t take them to court to force a sale. In the end, I proposed a reasonable price for my share of the house. I was willing to meet her half-way, but she didn’t accept my proposal. I know that husband of hers was pushing her. He was a greedy bastard.”
“When was the last time you spoke to them?” asked Faith.
“I never had much to say to Daniel. He wasn’t the greatest conversationalist. To say he bored me was an understatement. Amira used to be witty and informed, but Daniel was a domineering guy; he liked to be the centre of attention. Amira soon became his sidekick, and I couldn’t stand seeing the change in her. I tried talking to her about it, but like I said, she accused me of being jealous, and told me to stop worrying so much about her husband and get a man of my own.”
“Was Daniel violent?” asked Byrne, glancing up from her notebook.
“I don’t believe he was physically violent, no, but emotional abuse doesn’t leave visible scars. I’ve worked with many victims of domestic violence, both men and women, and the majority say that the emotional abuse is worse. At least there’s some sort of twisted honesty in a punch, not like the insidious erosion of the spirit that comes with emotional abuse.”
“May I
use your bathroom?” Faith interrupted.
“Are you okay, boss?” asked Byrne, noticing Faith’s ashen complexion.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Layla smirked. “Sorry, that was in poor taste. There I go again.” She waved her glass in the air. “I think this whiskey has gone straight to my head.”
Faith headed towards the door. “Is the bathroom this way?” She had to get out of the room.
“It’s the second door on the left.”
Faith closed the bathroom door behind her and splashed cold water on her face. She gripped the sides of the sink, trying to control her spiralling thoughts. “Damn you Dr Crowley,” she muttered. Ever since he’d hypnotised her, the flashbacks from her past were becoming more random and more frequent. She closed her eyes and called to mind the view from her house–her sanctuary–over the waters of Lough Leane with the Kerry Mountains rising in the distance. Slowly, her heart stopped pounding as she focused on the moment.
“Everything alright, boss?” asked Byrne from outside the door.
“I’m fine,” replied Faith. “Too much coffee and not enough sleep are getting to me. Nothing that an early night won’t cure.” She forced a smile she didn’t feel and resumed her place on the couch. “Where were we?”
“Ms. al-Nin was telling us about her work with victims of violence,” said Byrne, consulting her notes.
“Doctor al-Nin, actually,” said Layla disdainfully. “Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes, obviously, I don’t condone violence of any sort, but at least there’s some sort of warped honesty in a punch. It’s over and done with. Emotional abuse is a mind game, and it’s amazing how even the strongest people can be manipulated over time. Amira changed. She became quiet, withdrawn, and lost contact with her friends. Meeting me for lunch or shopping became an ordeal. Invariably, she made some excuse and cancelled. In the end, I stopped asking. We used to be so close. I always thought we’d reconcile, but time caught up with us.”
“It always does,” said Faith.
“I’m having another whiskey,” said Layla, getting to her feet. “Can I get you ladies anything?”
“We’re fine, thank you,” said Faith. “We should head back to the Station. I’d like to get on the motorway before rush hour.”
“I understand. Please keep me informed of any developments, Detective.” Layla walked them to the door.
“Don’t worry. We’ll be in touch,” said Faith, “and it’s Detective Chief Inspector, actually.”
15
“What do you think of Layla al-Nin?” asked Faith, as she and Byrne headed back to the car.
“I don’t like her,” replied Byrne without hesitation, “and I certainly don’t trust her. She’s a bit too arrogant for my liking.”
“But it was interesting what she said about Daniel and Amira’s relationship,” said Faith. “I want you to check if there were any reports of domestic violence. Talk to their friends, see what they have to say.”
“Will do,” said Byrne, making a note in her phone. “Fancy coming for a drink with us? Plunkett just text to say that a few of the team are heading to the pub after work.”
“I’m wrecked,” said Faith. “Thanks for the offer. Maybe next time. I fancy an early night.”
“I suppose I’ll just have to have one for you.” Byrne smiled as they pulled up outside the pub.
“Don’t get carried away,” said Faith. “I need you lot back at the Station bright and early.”
“Yes, boss.” Byrne saluted and slammed the door behind her.
“See you at eight sharp,” Faith called out the window as she drove past.
“It might be ten past.” Byrne grinned.
Faith waved and took the mountain road home. The sun was setting in the distance and the sky was ablaze with varying shades of crimson and cerulean. She let out a long, low sigh, already looking forward to a cup of tea and a bubble bath.
Faith stopped by Angela’s house on her way home. She needed to see a friendly face.
“How are ya girl? Come in, come in.”
Faith smiled at her friend’s warm greeting. She always looked so happy to see her.
The delicious aroma of fresh-baked scones made her mouth water as she pulled up a chair at the kitchen table. Angela’s house was warm and welcoming.
“You’re turning into a real domestic goddess, aren’t you?” teased Faith.
“Someone’s got to give Nigella Lawson a run for her money.” Angela winked. “Help yourself.” She put a plate of buttery scones on the table beside a jar of homemade jam and a pot of whipped cream.
Angela’s easy-going charm and natural ability to entertain made her a pleasure to spend time with, and not for the first time, Faith was grateful to be part of her life. “You spoil me,” said Faith, in between mouthfuls.
“Someone has to.” Angela watched her friend. She knew something was troubling her, but she didn’t like to ask.
***
Faith pulled up outside her house and climbed out of the Jeep, savouring the autumnal air. She closed her eyes and listened to the chatter of the birds and the lake lapping against the shore at the end of the garden. Not for the first time, she said a silent prayer of thanks to her grandmother and the sanctuary she had provided the lost little girl all those years ago. Thoughts of her parents and brother ebbed at the edge of her mind, but she refused to think about them today. “It’s not my fault,” she whispered the mantra that Dr Crowley had taught her. She shook her head and went inside.
Faith kicked off her boots and padded into the kitchen, hesitating before she unlocked the cupboard door. She pulled out the bottle of Jack Daniels that had sat there, untouched, for years. She had seen the devastating effects of alcoholism and had promised herself when she finally quit drinking that she would never touch another drop. Alcohol aggravated her dark side, and if abstaining helped to control it, then it was a small price to pay.
She remembered the way her grandfather belittled her father when he’d had too much to drink. He’d spoken to his son like he was a naughty child instead of a grown man. The two men had never gotten along. It was as if they were in a constant battle of wills, each desperate to outdo the other. She remembered her grandfather telling jokes at her father’s expense and seeing the hurt on his face. Even as a grown man, he still carried the emotional scars.
She opened the bottle of Jack Daniels and inhaled the heady aroma. It took every bit of willpower to close the bottle and replace it in the cupboard. Instead, she poured herself a large glass of Coke and popped one of Angela’s homemade lasagnes into the microwave. She flopped onto the couch, savouring the peace and quiet. Five minutes later, the microwave pinged, jolting her back to reality. She was almost finished eating when her phone rang. Sighing, she picked it up. “Faith Whyte.”
“I’ve just emailed you the Gleesons’ Facebook history, emails retrieved from their computers, and records from the phones recovered at the crime scene,” said Kelly, getting straight to the point. Neither of them bothered with pleasantries.
“Thanks,” said Faith. She glanced at her watch; it was almost ten o’ clock. “You’re working late. I would’ve thought you’d be at the pub. Byrne mentioned that the team was going for a few drinks.”
“Duty calls,” said Kelly. “Besides, Byrne and I don’t get along.”
“I see.” Faith wondered if anyone got along with him. “Thanks again for the email.”
“Always a pleasure,” said Kelly. “See you in the morning.”
Faith opened her iPad and clicked Kelly’s email. Attached were call and text records from the Gleesons’ phones; hundreds of emails; logs from chat rooms and Facebook messenger exchanges; and several years of Facebook posts. She fired up the coffee machine. It was going to be a long night.
First up, were the Skype conversations between Daniel and his friend, Steven Garrett. Steven had provided a full transcript of the Facebook Messenger exchanges between himself and Daniel from the previous two years. The messages began in
September 2012. Faith smiled at the banter between the two friends. They referred to each other as “love” and “sweetheart”. They had an easy rapport that switched between jokes to more serious exchanges. Most of the chats were about work, family, politics and mutual friends. Daniel’s love for his daughters shone through in the messages; he talked about watching cartoons with the girls, and reading them a bedtime story. In another message, Daniel chatted about taking his daughters to visit Santa, and wrapping their Christmas presents.
Faith noticed that the two friends often spoke into the early hours of the morning. One message showed Daniel logging on at 3.30 a.m., greeting his friend with a cheery “Morning, lovely”. There were several pages from Steven ranting about his family life, with Daniel giving his advice. Faith couldn’t help wondering if Daniel was happy with his own domestic situation, given that he was online late into the night, while his wife and daughters were sound asleep.
There were a few mentions of Layla visiting. Daniel didn’t seem too keen on seeing her, but said he’d make an effort for the girls’ sake because they were mad about their aunt, and she always made a fuss of them. He seemed angry about how unreasonable Layla was being about her share of the house. “Of course, Layla conveniently forgets how much time, effort, and money I’ve put into refurbishing the place,” wrote Daniel. “It wouldn’t be worth half what’s it’s worth now if it wasn’t for me. Greed is that woman’s biggest motivator. She’s money-mad.” A few days before they left, Daniel mentioned his plans for their last-minute trip to Killarney. “I’m stressed out. I can’t wait to get away.”
Faith wondered why Daniel had taken the girls on holiday, knowing that they would have missed the start of the new school term. She made a note to follow it up later.
The messages ended two nights before the family departed for Killarney. In their final exchange, Daniel asked Steven to keep an eye on the house while they were gone. In the message, Daniel said he was worried about something happening to the house. Their exchange ended with their usual “goodnight, sweetheart.” One week later, the Gleesons were dead.