Tell Nobody: Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘Is she into drugs?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’ He turned off the tap and put the dripping wet mugs on the table.

  A scream caused him to crash out of the room. ‘Lexie!’

  Lottie and Boyd followed.

  The little girl was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Peppa Pig was on the television, the sound low.

  ‘What happened?’ Robbie whipped her up into his arms.

  ‘Peppa crying. Daddy Pig left her on her own.’

  ‘Now, pet, I’m here. You’re okay,’ he soothed the child.

  ‘I want Mummy,’ Lexie sobbed.

  ‘I’ll take you to see her right now.’ He looked up at Lottie. ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s wise at the moment.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We have her under guard.’

  ‘What on earth for? She’s just a girl. Only harm she ever did was to herself. I don’t understand this.’ He sank into an armchair, cradling the child, rubbing his large hand softly over her hair.

  ‘Robbie, I don’t want to say this in front of Lexie …’

  ‘She won’t understand. Go on.’

  Lottie took a deep breath. ‘Hope … well, she told me … she told me that she killed someone.’

  * * *

  After Robbie had comforted Lexie and switched channels to Ben & Holly’s Little Kingdom, they went back to the kitchen and he made the tea.

  ‘I think Hope must have been hallucinating. She’d lost all that blood. You said so yourself.’ Robbie’s head shone with sweat and his big hands gripped his mug.

  ‘I don’t know the full story,’ Lottie said. ‘We’re heading to the hospital shortly. I wanted to get an idea of what was going on before I spoke to her.’ Despite herself, she felt sorry for the big man sitting in front of her.

  ‘Hope’s a good girl,’ he said softly, the hard-man act abandoned. ‘But since she got pregnant with this one, she’s been different. Going on about evil spirits. The devil and such shite. I wanted her to go and talk to a priest, but she wouldn’t. Told me she knew a good person who would listen to her and she didn’t need no kiddy-fiddlers near her. And she was so protective of Lexie. It was a bit unnatural, if I’m to be honest. But then again, she lost her own ma and da at a young age, so you know … But this is the thing. I wondered from time to time if she was … you know … interfered with by some paedo. If that’s what happened, I’ll string the bastard up myself.’

  ‘You say she never told you who the father of the baby was?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘And she looked after herself during the pregnancy? No sign that she might harm the baby?’

  Robbie stood up, brought his mug to the sink and rinsed it. His broad shoulders wrinkled his T-shirt. ‘No. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt a baby.’

  Ten

  After they’d finished speaking to Robbie Cotter, Lottie rang home to make sure Sean was okay, then they headed to the hospital to interview Hope. She was their number one suspect in relation to the baby found in the canal.

  ‘Go easy on her,’ Boyd said.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘You don’t know the baby is hers.’

  ‘Boyd, don’t keep telling me things I’m already aware of. We need to get a statement from her.’ She also wondered if little Lexie was in the best hands. A call to Child and Family Services might be needed.

  She pushed open the door and headed towards the treatment room, where she asked to see Hope.

  A harried-looking nurse set off amidst the chaos, but returned immediately. ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘What do you mean, gone?’ Lottie rushed into the room, tugging at curtains, stripping patients of the little privacy they had. ‘She has to be here.’ She turned on her heel and headed out to the corridor, where the uniformed officer was running his hands through his hair.

  ‘I never saw her leave, honest to God. She never came out the door.’

  Turning to the nurse, Lottie glanced at her name badge. ‘Lucia, is there any other way out besides this door?’

  ‘Follow me.’

  Back inside the twelve-bed treatment room, the nurse led Lottie under an archway and down a corridor.

  ‘This is the way we bring A&E patients to the X-ray department.’ She pointed to an emergency door. ‘She might have got out that way. Her clothes are gone; the bag they were stored in was shoved under the bed. She didn’t even have a pair of shoes.’

  Lottie pushed open the emergency door to a blast of heat and blinding sunlight. ‘How did you not miss her before now?’

  The nurse dropped her eyes. ‘We’re rushed off our feet. You can see for yourself. The department’s overflowing. Patients on trolleys, and the waiting room is full. It could be an hour, maybe more, since she was last checked on.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Lottie said. But she knew it wasn’t the staff’s fault; it was the failing health system and that dumb guard she’d left on duty. She called him over. ‘I want you and as many uniforms as you can muster to search the grounds. Try to establish where she’s gone. I want her found. Do you hear me?’

  ‘Loud and clear,’ he said, stepping around her and escaping out into the fresh air.

  Boyd was standing behind her. ‘The patient in the next cubicle says the porter brought him to X-ray about two hours ago. He’s sure the side door opened just as he was being wheeled around the corner.’

  ‘Two hours?’ Lottie dug her nails into the palms of her hands. ‘The girl could be anywhere by now. Call it in. Give her description to Traffic Corps. To everyone.’

  ‘Will do,’ Boyd said. ‘Then we’d better deliver the news to Superintendent McMahon.’

  Goddammit, she thought. McMahon was going to fry her.

  The silence woke her.

  Hope had no idea how long she had been asleep. She pulled her feet out of the water and swiped her hair from her face. Her feet felt better, but pain shot through her as she kneeled. There was still some activity on the bridge. A group of people in white suits moving about. And what was that strung across the path? Blue and white tape. Why? What was going on?

  There was no way she could walk up there covered in blood, but she had to move soon. The only option was over the bank and through the fields. Hopefully the white-suited people would be too busy to notice her.

  She dried her feet on the grass and headed for the steep bank, crawling on her sore belly like she used to as a child. A million years ago. At the top, she could see a sharp dip in the field and a ditch lined with barbed wire.

  She slid down the embankment and came to a stop at the ditch. Warily she squeezed between the gaps in the wire, hoping it wasn’t electrified. It wasn’t. The ditch was full of cow shite and muck and mud. But at this stage, she didn’t care. The wire snagged her hair and took a lump out of her T-shirt, but she wriggled through to the other side. At last. She could see the housing estate in the near distance.

  Walking quickly, the mud drying hard on her feet, she made her way across the field and towards something akin to freedom.

  But Hope Cotter knew she would never be free.

  Eleven

  Alphonsis Ahern stroked his goatee beard. He was happy with it now that it was growing quicker. Made him look older than fifteen, he thought.

  Taking out a can of cider, he balled up the plastic bag. He liked it down here, at the side of the soccer clubhouse. You were out of sight of the housing estate and you couldn’t be seen from the road; when there were no summer camps or training sessions taking place, you could be virtually invisible.

  ‘I’ll have another one, Fonzie,’ Kylie said, flicking her fringe away from her eyes and putting her hand out for a can.

  ‘Ah, bollocks. It’s my last one. I’ll share it with you.’ He eyed Chan and Malia, lying on the grass behind them, tongues halfway down each other’s throats. He edged closer to Kylie. ‘Any chance of a kiss?’

  ‘Piss off, Fonzie,’ Kylie said, taking the can and flicking open the
tab. She took a long drink before handing it back to him.

  ‘Ah, go on,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve to leave soon,’ Chan said, standing up.

  ‘Sure, we’ve not been here that long,’ Fonzie said.

  ‘All the booze is gone and I have to go to work.’

  Fonzie looked around at the cans littering the small grassy enclosure. He didn’t even feel drunk, and he knew he had downed the most alcohol. If Chan leaves, he thought, Malia will too, and then Kylie won’t want to stay without her friend. Trust Chan to feck it all up.

  ‘That father of yours is a slave-driver. He should invest in a proper dishwasher instead of having you doing the donkey work. He must make a fortune in that restaurant.’

  ‘At least I get paid.’ Chan stuffed his hands into his pockets and smiled as Malia linked her arm through his.

  ‘Spoilsports,’ Fonzie said, standing up.

  ‘Better pick up all our rubbish,’ Kylie said, gathering the cans. ‘Or Bertie will know we’ve been here.’ She pointed at the CCTV camera on the side of the clubhouse wall, just under the gutter along the roof.

  Fonzie looked squarely up at the camera and gave it two fingers. He’d forgotten it was there. The caretaker, Bertie Harris, was a nuisance. Was he spying on them? Fonzie wondered. He got the plastic bag and held it out for the empty cans. Kylie filled it up.

  ‘Hey, I haven’t finished that.’ He grabbed the last can from her hand and swallowed the dregs. ‘Where are the bins? I’m not carrying this junk home.’

  ‘You’re such a wally,’ Kylie said, and took the bag from him.

  Fonzie watched her tight butt clad in skinny white jeans as she walked around the corner to the recycling bins. Chan and Malia were already at the gate.

  ‘Hurry up, Kylie!’ he yelled.

  And then he heard her scream.

  Twelve

  It was hot enough to roast a pig in McMahon’s office.

  A pewter statue that Lottie hadn’t noticed before stood on the window ledge. She concentrated on its angelic face while she related the news to her increasingly red-faced boss.

  ‘Why didn’t you bring the girl straight in for questioning?’ he said, once she had finished.

  ‘She was too ill.’ Fingers crossed he wouldn’t explode.

  ‘Christ, Parker, she had a baby, not an elephant.’

  ‘That’s a bit unfair.’ Lottie glared at him.

  ‘You lost our number one suspect for the death of that baby.’ He swept his hand through his fringe and exhaled loudly. ‘Find her. I want her in an interview room in the next hour. And charge the little slut with murder.’

  ‘Hey, just a minute.’ Lottie felt her mouth drop open. ‘We don’t know how the baby died yet. We don’t know that she killed anyone. We don’t even know if it’s her baby.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what you don’t know!’ He marched round his desk and stood in front of her. ‘How many young women are wandering around Ragmullin dropping babies and appearing in the station claiming they killed them? Eh? How many?’ He held up his hand. ‘No! Don’t answer that, because you and I know she’s the only one. Find her and charge her. Murder or manslaughter or something. Jesus Christ, Parker, I want this closed.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s wise.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s wise and what’s not. Follow my orders. That’s what’s wise.’

  As a smug smirk creased his face, Lottie had to dig her nails into the palms of her hands to stop herself slapping it right off his jaw.

  ‘And bring that uncle of hers in too.’

  ‘But there’s her little girl. Lexie. Robbie Cotter looks after her.’

  ‘That’s why we have Child and Family Services.’ McMahon shook his head. ‘Can you not take a direct order?’

  Lottie exhaled loudly. ‘Hope can’t be far away. She lost a lot of blood.’

  ‘There will be blood spilled here too if you come back without her.’ He strode to the door and opened it. ‘And then get stuck into those court reports and paperwork. You’re dragging down my KPIs.’

  Lottie marched out of his office and down the corridor.

  ‘Bastard,’ she said.

  Thirteen

  Larry Kirby walked slowly, puffing on his cigar, with Maria Lynch muttering beside him.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t smoke around me. I am pregnant, you know.’

  ‘How could I not know?’ Kirby said, pinching out the embers and shoving the cigar into his pocket. ‘You remind me every five minutes.’

  ‘You can be a right arsehole when you want to be,’ Lynch said, picking up pace and passing him by. ‘Don’t know how O’Donoghue puts up with you.’

  Kirby slowed to a stroll. He wondered that same thing himself a hundred times a week. Gilly O’Donoghue was at least ten years younger than him. A beautiful girl in his eyes, with a world of young men to go out with, and she was dating him. He shook his head in wonder that their relationship had lasted this long. He was divorced, overweight; he smoked, liked a few pints – a good few – and still she was with him. Maybe this was his second chance to make things right in his personal life. He hoped so. He really liked her. Thinking of Gilly put a hop in his step and he caught up with Lynch as she rounded the side of the clubhouse.

  A group of youngsters were standing in a huddle, one with a mobile phone in the air. Filming something?

  ‘Now, children, make way,’ Kirby said.

  ‘Who are you?’ A tall teenager with droopy eyes and a goatee beard stepped into his path.

  ‘Detective Larry Kirby. Are you the one that called us? Something about a body. Hope you’re not wasting garda resources bringing us out on a wild goose chase.’

  ‘Yeah, I called you.’ The lad stood to one side, the others clustered around him. Two girls and another boy. ‘Back there. By the wheelie bins. Kylie was dumping a few cans when she saw him. I had a look, then called 999.’

  ‘Wonder why uniforms aren’t here?’ Lynch said to Kirby under her breath.

  ‘Everyone’s out looking for the suspect in connection with the baby’s death,’ he muttered in reply.

  He watched the youngsters’ eyes as he walked by. They all appeared spooked. ‘This better not be a dead dog, or you’ll be answering to me. What’s your name?’

  ‘Fonzie.’

  ‘Like the guy in Happy Days?’

  ‘What?’

  One of the girls piped up. ‘His name is Alphonsis Ahern.’

  ‘And who are you?’

  The girl was very pale. There was dried vomit around her mouth. ‘Kylie.’

  Kirby scratched his head and moved towards the industrial-sized bins.

  ‘Where is it?’ He had been convinced when he got the call that the kids were taking him for a ride. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Round the back.’ Fonzie moved forward. ‘On the ledge. In the flower bed.’

  ‘Stay there. Leave this to me.’ Kirby pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves. Lynch joined him.

  ‘Don’t think you should look,’ Fonzie advised her. ‘Being pregnant and all.’

  Lynch gave him a withering look and continued to glove up.

  ‘Put away those phones,’ she said.

  ‘We’ve got it all videoed anyway,’ the other lad said. He was Chinese, a head smaller than his friend but sporting the same goatee beard. For a moment Kirby wondered if they were a gang, but decided they were just trying to blend in with each other.

  ‘No more filming. And I don’t want to see any of this on YouTube. I’ll have to take your phones.’

  The boys laughed. ‘Grandad here knows about YouTube.’

  Kirby took a step towards them. ‘If I do see it, I will personally smash each and every one of those fancy iPhones. Got it?’

  Fonzie said, ‘You don’t even know what’s over there. Are you going to look or not?’

  With a sigh, Kirby edged between the bins, Lynch squeezing awkwardly in behind him.

  ‘Stand back, Lynch.’

  She didn’t n
eed telling twice. Her face was green.

  With one hand clamped to his face, covering his nose and mouth, Kirby held his breath, wondering if the smell was from the bins or something else entirely. He looked at the grassy bank, which was edged with flowers in full bloom and littered with discarded cans and bottles. Feeling his stomach contract, he turned away and exhaled a long, soft breath.

  ‘Told you so,’ Fonzie said. ‘Can we go now?’

  ‘Stay right where you are. All of you,’ Lynch ordered.

  ‘Call the boss and get SOCOs here. Quickly,’ Kirby said, once he had recovered his voice. ‘And confiscate those phones.’

  ‘What’s up there?’ Lynch asked.

  Kirby took a deep breath and looked again. ‘He’s dead. After that, you really don’t want to know.’

  Once the teenagers had been taken to the station for questioning, and uniforms had a cordon erected and the main gates guarded, Lottie suited up and approached the scene with Kirby and Boyd.

  ‘Not a pretty sight,’ Kirby said.

  ‘Never is,’ Lottie pointed out.

  She fastened her mouth mask in place and pulled the hood over her hair, then stepped up onto the small ledge.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Boyd, look at this.’

  ‘I see it.’

  ‘Told you it was bad,’ Kirby said.

  She looked at her detectives, then climbed the stone steps to the flower bed. Lying among the bottles, cans and plants, face up to the blue sky, the boy’s body was so white it was almost transparent. His only clothing was a pair of football shorts. A halo of plucked wild flowers surrounded him.

  ‘What age do you think he is?’ Boyd said.

  ‘Maybe ten or eleven.’ Her voice was low, her heart racing and her stomach reeling as she studied the body.

  ‘Shit.’ Boyd took a deep breath. ‘Wonder how long he’s been dead.’