by KC Acton
“Daniel liked to keep his private life private. He wasn’t the type to talk about his problems. He was burnt out from working, and studying long hours — he was studying for his doctorate. His back had been playing up all year. He started running a few years ago to lose weight, and he took it too far. I don’t know how many times I told him that he wasn’t an athlete and that he needed to stop training like one, but of course, he didn’t listen until it was too late. Luckily, he had a good surgeon who operated on his back, but he was often in a lot of pain. He refused to get enough rest after the accident. He was the type of person who couldn’t sit still for long. I know he was looking forward to the break in Killarney. He said he couldn’t wait to get away from it all for a while. He invited us to come to Killarney with them, but I hate caravans, so we declined. Who knows, we could be dead too. Sometimes, I wish I was.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Was the holiday planned?”
“It was a last-minute thing. I thought it strange that he was going when the girls should have been back at school; they’d had all summer to go away.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“They had dinner at our house the night before they left. Daniel seemed happy — happier than he had been in months. He was really looking forward to the trip.”
“Did you know that Amira was married before?” asked Faith.
“Not until you told us. I still find it difficult to believe. I always knew there was something suspicious about that woman,” said Mary. “She was so secretive. I knew it had to be something more than shyness; two pregnancies would knock the shyness out of any woman.”
“I think she was a reserved person,” said Conor.
Faith jumped at the sound of his voice behind her.
“I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Mary continued, “but that woman annoyed me. She was happy to let Daniel do everything. He had to work, do the school runs, the shopping, and help Lucy with her homework. Lucy is bright as a button, just like her Dad. She’s only ten, but she has the reading age of a fourteen year old. Can you believe that?”
Byrne and Faith smiled indulgently.
“She was her Daddy’s girl, always hugging and kissing him. It was lovely to see them together. She could speak fluent Arabic; her mother insisted on it, for what reason I don’t know. Lucy always looked after Megan. She was so proud of being the big sister. They’re two gorgeous girls, but polar opposites; Megan’s the clown, she’ll do anything to make people laugh. Lucy is much more serious, a deep thinker.” Mary’s smile faded to sadness. “I can’t believe that Daniel and Amira are dead.”
Conor put his arm around her.
“Did Daniel or Amira mention anything suspicious in the weeks before they died?” asked Byrne.
“Daniel asked us to keep an eye on the house,” said Conor. “They’d been burgled a few months previously; the house was ransacked. Some personal documents and a computer were stolen. We only live a few miles away, and I pass that way most days, so I didn’t mind checking on their house.”
“I think he was worried about Layla doing something to the house while they were away,” said Mary, “I told him to tell the police about his concerns, but he said there was no point because she hadn’t done anything illegal. I still think she could have been behind what happened in Killarney.”
“Oh, Mary, that’s going too far,” protested Conor.
“What do you mean, Mrs Gleeson?” asked Faith.
“She was obsessed with that house,” explained Mary. “I always had the impression that she’s a woman used to getting her own way. Don’t you think it’s peculiar that Layla didn’t drive straight to Killarney when she found out what happened? She was her sister’s closest living relative.”
“When did relations become strained between the sisters?” asked Faith.
“Layla didn’t like Daniel. She wanted Amira to marry an Iraqi man. Amira had lived at the house before she and Daniel were married, but Layla wasn’t happy when Daniel moved in.”
“Why didn’t Amira sell her share to Layla and move elsewhere?”
“Amira was as obsessed with the house as her sister. It was the last home they shared with their parents before they died, so I can understand that the house had sentimental value for them, but surely not to the detriment of their own relationship,” said Mary. “The whole situation was upsetting.”
“Do you think that Layla ordered the hit?” asked Faith.
“No,” said Conor. “Layla is capable of many things, but not conspiracy to murder. She’s a greedy woman; she earns almost a quarter of a million euro a year from her consultancy practice, so she’s not short of money, yet she still wants her share of the house. Of course, she conveniently forgets that Daniel spent time and money on refurbishing it. Money is her first and only love. She’s convinced that because she’s the older sibling the house should have been hers. But, whatever I think of her character, I don’t believe that even she would stoop to murder. I think Daniel and Amira were unlucky; they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps they stumbled across something they shouldn’t have, who knows?”
23
“Daniel and Lucy were outside the car; perhaps they wanted to stretch their legs, or go for a wee. The hitman surprised Daniel outside the car and shot him first,” said Faith, as she paced up and down in front of the whiteboard, trying to make sense of everything. “Lucy was hidden; maybe she had just been for a wee in the undergrowth. Somehow, Daniel got back in the car and locked the doors. He reversed the car but in his panic, he wedged it into the embankment. The hitman approached the driver’s side of the car and shot Daniel and Amira through the window. He reloaded. Then he saw Lucy near the front of the car. He shot her in the shoulder. The gun jammed, which is when he pistol-whipped her before fleeing the scene.
Daniel was shot three times, once more than Amira. Two separate volleys of gunfire were aimed at him; perhaps because he was the main target. The final shot fired at Daniel Gleeson was a bullet between the eyes: execution-style. Who had such a severe grudge against him that they wanted him dead?”
“I’ve tried talking to his neighbours, but most of them are sticking to the same story that he was a hardworking family man who kept himself to himself,” said Byrne. “He doesn’t seem to have had any enemies. Layla al-Nin is the only person who didn’t like him.”
“She’s the only person admitting to not liking him,” said Faith. “Any news from the door-to-doors around the Black Valley?”
“The majority of locals heard nothing,” said Kelly, consulting his notes. “A farmer noticed the Mercedes drive past. Hikers heard gunshots but they didn’t check the time; they assumed the shots were from hunters testing their rifles before the start of the hunting season. However, John Newman said that an SUV and a motorbike passed him driving into the forest, about ten minutes before he reached the scene. He said it was around half past two; he’s certain of the time because his wife rang him. He said he couldn’t see the driver of the SUV because the windows were tinted and the motorcyclist was wearing a helmet.”
“Is there anything to suggest that Mr Newman might be something more than just a witness?” asked Faith.
“We have no reason to suspect him,” said Kelly.
“Did the vehicles pass Mr Newman on their way out of the Black Valley?” asked Faith, “there’s only one way in and out of that particular spot, and the whole thing happened within minutes, so surely those vehicles would have passed him both ways.”
“Not if the killer left a different way,” said Kelly. “He could have followed the track over the mountain and joined the main road on the other side. It would have been manageable on a motorbike. He could have driven a regular car if he didn’t mind bumping around or didn’t care about wrecking it.”
“Or the killer could have been on foot,” said Faith.
24
Faith stared at her father’s photo. Tears blinded her as her mind raced. Deep down, she�
�d always known that he was capable of murder. She remembered him strangling the mother cat as she clawed at him to escape. The memory shifted and a woman replaced the cat. The woman scratched her father’s bare hands as he grasped her throat. She fought for her life as her eyes bulged in terror. Faith’s thoughts spiralled as she tried to deny the truth. Who was the man she used to call “Dad”?
A sharp knock on the door jolted her back to reality. “I thought you could do with a coffee,” said Nora. She placed the steaming mug on the desk. “It’s been a long day.”
“Thanks.” Faith forced a smile.
“Are you okay?” Nora couldn’t help noticing her pale face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m fine, just reviewing the case notes.” Faith shuffled the paperwork in front of her, shoving the photo of her father to the back of the pile. The envelope had been sitting on top of her post when she arrived that morning. No letter, only a photo with the words “Love, Daddy” written on the back. Faith wondered if it was a sick joke, or if someone had discovered her secret.
“Let me know if you need anything.” Nora hovered in the doorway.
“I will.” Faith turned back to her computer, willing Nora to leave before she changed her mind and told her everything. She knew if she spoke she’d lose her composure, and that was the last thing she wanted. Living a lie every day was beginning to take its toll. It was all she could do to hold it together. Everyone would know the truth soon enough, but she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
Wherever she looked, it seemed that people’s eyes were full of accusations, knowing what she’d done. She shook her head. It was impossible. She and her father were the only people who knew the truth. But he was gone. Dead. Her father had been right all those years ago when he’d told her she was just like him.
25
“I think we have something, boss,” said Byrne, bursting into Faith’s office.
Faith jumped.
“Sorry, boss, but this might be the breakthrough we need. As we already know, the track beyond the crime scene is intended only for hikers and forestry workers.”
“Yes, get to the point.”
“Kevin Johnson is the only permanent resident who lives in the mountain pass overlooking the Black Valley. He’s just given Kelly and our artist a description of the motorcyclist’s face. I brought it straight to you.”
Faith reached for the police artist’s impression of the man on the motorbike. “How reliable is Mr Johnson’s information?”
“Very. The motorbike passed him a few kilometres from the crime scene. Mr Johnson waved him down and told him that motor vehicles weren’t allowed up that way. He lifted his helmet to talk to Mr. Johnson, who said he had an English accent.”
Faith studied the artist’s black and white sketch of an angular-jawed man with a black moustache and thick dark eyebrows. Her grip tightened on the piece of paper as she took in the cold, dead eyes staring back at her.
“Is everything okay, boss?” asked Byrne, noticing Faith’s incredulous expression.
“I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” Faith shook her head. “Tell Kelly good work.” She forced a smile.
“I’ll go ahead and issue a statement to the press. It should make the evening editions.”
“Great. Hopefully we’ll get some leads on an ID soon.” Faith watched as Byrne left her office and headed back to her desk.
She turned her attention back to the sketch. She would have recognised that face anywhere.
26
“When did you start spending time with that jackass?” demanded Angela, glancing over her shoulder at Kelly’s car that was parked in the drive.
“Hello to you too,” said Faith. “Who says I’m spending time with him? How did you know that was Kelly’s car?”
“There’s not much around here that gets past me. Besides, he’s been driving that knackered old banger for years; something you two have in common.” Faith stepped back as her friend brushed past her into the hall, and upstairs to the living room. “Don’t think I’m sharing this wine with him.” She slammed the bottle down on the kitchen counter, and grabbed a crystal glass from the cupboard. “Well, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“I thought there wasn’t much around here that gets past you,” teased Faith, as she helped herself to a Coke.
“Where is the old bastard?” asked Angela, ignoring her jibe.
“He’s renting the flat over the garage. He’s fallen out with the wife. Apparently, she’s found herself a ‘fancy man’ as Kelly puts it.”
“I don’t blame the woman; she’s been putting up with his crap for too long.”
“He’s not that bad.”
Angela almost choked on her wine. “Not that bad? No, he’s worse; he works every hour that God sends, and when he’s not working he’s off down the pub with the lads or at some football match, leaving his poor wife home alone. She and I are in the same book club, so I know all about it. She’s terrified of him, especially when he’s been drinking.”
“I didn’t know it was like that,” said Faith. “I think he’s cut back on the drinking recently; I noticed he refused several offers to go to the pub with the team. Doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?”
“Not everyone.”
“He misses her, y’know. Maybe you could have a word with her? She’s refusing to answer any of his calls.”
“No way. He’s a big boy; he can fight his own battles. Anyway, just to clarify, she hasn’t moved a fancy man into the house. For your information, Kelly moved out; she didn’t kick him out.”
“Kelly claims she kicked him out. He was sleeping at the Station until I rescued him.”
“I don’t care where he was sleeping. I don’t like that man. Never have. Never will.”
“Hey, calm down, lady. I have enough problems of my own without being berated over Kelly’s domestic situation.” Faith took her drink and sat on the couch, leaving Angela standing alone in the kitchen.
“Here, have a refill,” Angela said a few minutes later, breaking the awkward silence between them. “Sorry. I got a bit carried away. I’m stressed out with work and the kids, and Charles has just been made redundant. He’s drowning his sorrows at the pub.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Faith, softening at the worry she saw on her friend’s face. “He’ll get another job soon. The world will always need IT guys.”
“They’re closing the entire IT department, outsourcing it to India. Finding another job won’t be easy in this economy, and I’m barely making enough money at the newspaper to pay the bills.” She flung herself down on the couch, sloshing the wine in her glass. “Enough about me and my moaning, how’s life treating you? It seems like ages since we’ve had a proper catch-up.”
“Life’s okay, I suppose. This case is exhausting; it’s like a mystery within a mystery. I’ve never come up against so many false leads.”
“Well, maybe I can help shed some light on the matter.”
“You know I can’t talk about the case in any detail.”
“You misunderstand, my friend. As you know, I am a news reporter extraordinaire.” Faith rolled her eyes at Angela’s attempt to speak in a French accent. “A source has given me some information on Daniel Gleeson.”
“Really?” Faith sat up straight in her chair. “Who?”
“You know I can’t disclose my source.”
“Spit it out already!”
“Okay, okay. Keep your hair on.” Angela took a slow sip of her wine, savouring the attention. “I happened to be at Daniel Gleeson’s local pub, chit-chatting at the bar, when someone mentioned the case.”
“How convenient.”
“Apparently, good old Daniel had an eye for the ladies. How’s that for a crack in his perfect family man facade?”
“In all fairness, having an eye for the ladies and having an affair are two different things. No one has come forward.”
“They wouldn’t, would they? Who wants to be
known as the mistress of a murdered man? Of course she wants to keep it quiet.”
“I suppose.” Faith shrugged.
“Daniel used to enjoy a few drinks at his local now and then–a few too many, according to my source. About a month before the murders, he told my source that he was in trouble, the kind of trouble that could end his marriage, or worse. My source didn’t pay much attention at the time; he thought it was the drink talking.”
“This is the first suggestion I’ve had that Daniel may have been killed by a jealous husband or partner,” said Faith.
“It could have been a crime of passion. Who knows, maybe the mistress got tired of being the mistress, and took matters into her own hands.”
“Something else to add to my ever-increasing list of possible motives.” Faith sighed. “Can any of this be substantiated? We’ve examined Daniel’s life from every possible angle, and we’ve found nothing that could explain why anyone would want to hurt him. Would someone want to wipe out his entire family because of an affair?”
“Stranger things have happened,” said Angela. “It’s amazing what jealousy and anger can do. Maybe it’s someone from his past, someone who bided their time.”
“Whoever killed them knew about guns,” said Faith.
“That doesn’t narrow it down much, considering the number of hitmen for hire.”
“Anyone I’ve spoken to claims that Daniel was a quiet-living, charming man, with no enemies. Most people think it’s a simple case of the Gleesons being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“That’s always a possibility, I suppose,” said Angela. “But I can’t help thinking it’s more complicated than that.”
“Did you speak with his parents?”
“They’ve refused all requests for an interview. I visited their home in Clontarf but the door was slammed in my face as soon as I introduced myself. They’ve already sent a solicitor’s letter to a journalist who wrote a column speculating on why the Gleesons were killed.”