by Laura Elliot
The younger man made faint but persistent squeaking sounds, his fingers scrabbling along the surface of the table.
‘Word on the street is that it’s worse down by the river,’ said Grad. ‘Rats. Big problem there. Bigger than cats, I’ve been told. Traps are useless. You’d need a bullet to take the bastards out.’
The same private-school accent; she could remember it clearly now. If you don’t stop screaming, I’ll put this bullet through your fucking mouth.
Adele pushed back her chair and stood. He blocked her way, feinting this way and that as she tried to walk past him.
‘You’re invading my space.’ She would not blink, not this time. ‘Let me pass or I’ll report you for harassing me.’
‘Invading my space,’ the youth repeated in an exaggerated whine. ‘She thinks she’s a fucking space invader.’ He had taken her photograph that night and, despite knowing she recognised him, he lifted his mobile and did the same again.
Brazen and unmasked, they were confident that the terror they had inflicted on her would keep them safe.
‘Harassing you?’ Grad said. ‘Perish the thought, Adele. I’m a great admirer of your blog. When can I expect to read your next post?’
‘Get out of my way.’ His sunglasses reminded her of blindfolds. She saw her reflection pinned like a fly to the mirrored lens.
‘No need to be rude,’ he said. ‘We’re worried about your safety. Those long walks you take by the river. One false move and you could end up as fish feed.’
‘Leave her alone.’ Unnoticed by the group, Bob Molloy had approached the table.
‘Whoa, man, don’t stress.’ Grad held up two fingers in an exaggerated peace gesture and stepped back from her. ‘I was just giving the lady some advice.’
‘Then let me repeat myself.’ The editor’s hands balled into fists as he confronted the younger man. ‘Leave her alone then fuck off back to whatever stone you crawled out from under.’
He wanted a fight. Up close, Adele could see the change in him since their last encounter. The hardness that had descended on him when she spoke about Marianne Mooney had intensified and his aggressive stance dared Grad to make a wrong move. What then? A gun pulled?
Katie was striding towards them now. She looked capable of ejecting both men by the scruff of their necks but Adele was already leaving, looking neither to right nor left as she hurried towards the exit. She kept walking until she reached the car park at the back of the shopping centre. Once inside, the doors locked, she allowed the trembling to take over. She had to leave Reedstown or she would go mad. Her head exploding. What else could it do with all the rage it contained? And the fear – how was she to battle back when she was imprisoned by it, made mute and helpless? There was nothing but an unfulfilled dream to hold her here. Every record of her mother’s experience had been taken from her. But the words Marianne had written in her diary were indelibly etched on her mind. That was the only place where they would be safe.
37 Rachel
Katie’s Kasket was quiet, the brief lull between elevenses and lunch. Rachel found an empty table, ordered herbal tea and a Danish pastry. The Garda station was visible from the window and she kept her sunglasses on, hoping they would provide a barrier between herself and the public. A futile gesture, she realised, when a man entered the café and made his way towards her.
‘Good day to you, Sergeant.’ He pointed at an empty chair. ‘Mind if I join you for a few minutes?’
‘By all means.’ Rachel pushed her sunglasses into her hair and smiled politely at him. He was a bulky man, low-slung jeans over wide hips, a mop of sandy hair streaked with grey. He looked familiar but she was unable to remember his name.
‘Larry Kavanagh.’ He offered her a strong, weathered hand. ‘We met during the flooding last year.’
‘Ah, yes, of course. How are you, Larry? Weren’t you one of the volunteers?’ Knee-deep in water and manning a pump, he was in waders and an oilskin then.
‘Fat lot of good it did me.’ His expression crumpled, ruefully. ‘My place will probably flood again this winter. Not the one I live in but the one I rent by the river.’
‘If I remember rightly, you were worried about your insurance.’
‘It worked out okay in the end but I’ll not be able to insure again if the same thing happens this winter. But that’s not the issue here. I just wanted to check if you’d any success finding out who broke into my property the other night?’
‘You had a robbery?’ Rachel asked. So much for her quiet interlude.
‘I reported it to the young one at the front desk. Told her it was those yobs… little feicers. If they’re not robbing shops they’re shooting up by the river. I swear to God, Sergeant, Reedstown is turning into a crime zone. Those yobs smashed their way into my property and broke the windows just for the hell of it. My tenant was scared out of her wits when she came banging on my door in the small hours. And that’s the second time it’s happened to her. Not that the first time was as serious. Stealing an online identity seemed daft when she told me. Now I’d believe anything.’
‘Are you talking about Adele Foyle?’
‘Yes. That’s her, right enough.’ Larry nodded vigorously. ‘The one with the blog everyone’s talking about. What do you make of it, Sergeant?’ He paused as Katie arrived at their table with his cappuccino and Rachel’s order. ‘I’m a blow-in to Reedstown so I wasn’t around then. But if it did happen like the kid in the diary describes, then it’s a bloody disgrace those wankers weren’t brought to justice. That’s got me to thinking that there’re those in the community who’d like that blog closed down. They’ve certainly gone about it the right way. My place is a mess but she’s terrified to report what happened to her. She was holed up in the Loyvale Hotel for a few days but now she’s gone and moved back to Brooklime.’
The Danish pastry, custard and pistachio, her favourite, was delicious but Rachel had lost her appetite after one bite. Her herbal tea cooled at her elbow. The uneasy feeling building inside her whenever she thought about Adele was becoming too familiar. Rachel had phoned her when she discovered that the statement Marianne Mooney had made in the Garda station had gone online. A leak from Garda files. She had her suspicions as to how it had happened but Jack Bale left no fingerprints. There had been no response from Adele’s phone, apart from an automated voice stating that her number was uncontactable.
‘What was taken during the break-in?’ Rachel asked.
‘Nothing,’ Larry replied. ‘That’s the strange thing. One of them stamped on her phone and, like I said, they wrecked my front door and windows. Oh, yeah, they slashed the tyres on her car as well. There were three of them, apparently. Apart from the vandalism, they didn’t steal anything, though I noticed she’s not wearing her engagement ring. She’s either broken up with her lad or else it’s been taken. All that blogging hasn’t done her a bit of good and them little river rats will do anything to line their pockets for those who throw a few euros their way. Is the heat getting to you, Sergeant? You’ve gone very pale, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘No, I’m okay, Larry.’ His concerned expression swam in and out of her gaze. ‘Just getting anxious about the time.’ She pushed herself upwards, a clumsy movement that caused the table to wobble. ‘I’ve been off duty for a couple of days but I’ll check that out and be in touch with an update.’
Outside, the air was heavy and oppressive. If only it would rain and clear away the dust. An Irish summer like this one was rare and the sun’s glister had bleached the landscape. Farmers were complaining about lack of fodder for their cattle and gardeners were being warned to avoid the garden hose. Rachel longed for clouds. The lowering dark ones that could suddenly sweep into view and change everything. Perhaps, then, the oppressive feeling that was dragging her down would pass and her energy would be restored. So, too, would her ability to think calmly, rationally, as she had been trained to do.
Why was Adele so reluctant to make a report? Lack of evidence h
ad never stopped her in the past. Was she afraid Rachel wouldn’t take her seriously again? Unlike a stolen online identity, slashed tyres were evidence that a crime had been committed. Such an act of vandalism should be investigated.
Back at the station she checked the reports. A guard had called to Brooklime and taken fingerprints. Nothing suspicious was found in the shattered glass or the bedroom. Perhaps Larry was right and the youths who hung around the river at night were responsible for the break-in. They knew the Loy as well as they knew the aisles of shopping centres, and had their alibis in place when they were taken in for questioning. Rachel had no difficulty believing they had vandalised Adele’s car and smashed their way into the house, but stealing her online identity would have been way beyond their combined brainpower.
The fogginess suddenly cleared from her mind. Jonathan Wheeler, expelled from university for hacking into his professor’s emails and publishing the more salacious ones online, had come to her attention soon after she was transferred to Reedstown. Unlike Larry’s so-called ‘river rats’, the youths who worked sporadically for him at BootUrBytes appeared to be what he claimed they were, early school leavers looking for work experience. They had abbreviated his graduate status into a nickname and referred to him in reverential terms as ‘Grad’. If an online identity was to be destroyed, Grad would have the expertise to do it. Why had she not thought about him until now? The reason was simple. She had not taken Adele’s complaint seriously. Robbery was physical, objects taken that could be sold on and converted into cash. A virtual robbery could easily be confused with a computer virus, a broken hard drive, a careless action on the part of the user.
The apartment where Grad lived with his partner, Haylee, had been raided by the drug squad last year. A botched attempt that left the team furious and red-faced, convinced that he had received advance warning. The apartment was clean in every sense of the word. Shining surfaces, shampooed carpets, fresh sheets, domesticity radiating from every corner.
To organise a Garda search of the riverbank for a minor break-in when nothing had been stolen would be difficult. She needed to persuade her superior officer that a more serious crime had been committed. The name Grad Wheeler was enough to instigate such a search and the painstaking trawl along the riverbank for evidence began.
The discovery was made by Garda Roberts, close to the turn-off path leading to the village. The piece of black material she found had snagged under a bush. It was bagged, along with other miscellaneous items that had already been collected.
Back at the Garda station, Rachel hid her disappointment when Garda Roberts’ find turned out to be a Mickey Mouse mask. It must have been discarded by a child and had probably been lying there since Halloween or some other children’s festival. Her initial reaction changed, though, as she studied the mask. It fitted over the head and was similar to the design of a balaclava. The material looked new, unfaded, the nose and grinning mouth still vividly coloured. She fought back nausea as she stared at the area where the wearer’s eyes would be. It was covered by a blindfold. Blind mice, running in threes… at whose behest?
Unable to look at the mask any longer, she checked the rest of the items. Only one had significance. A buckle, no visible rust on it and still gleaming. It was too small to belong to a belt or jacket. A boot then, worn by a biker or a walker. It could also belong to Grad Wheeler, who wore biker boots with metal embellishments – studs, chains, buckles. Hidden in the wild grass along the riverbank, it would have remained unnoticed if the sun had not reflected off its surface and turned it into a splinter of light.
Without advance warning of a Garda raid, Grad’s apartment was as untidy as Rachel had expected to find it on the previous occasion. Beer cans, pizza wrappings and coffee cups covered the floor. Graphic novels were ranged neatly together on a bookshelf. Grad, it appeared, was a fan of the genre. Copies of Hello! magazine, presumably Haylee’s choice of reading, were scattered over the sofa. He remained composed throughout the search. His supercilious expression told Rachel that there was nothing in the apartment to incriminate him. Haylee, poker-faced, hid her uneasiness by flicking through the pages of Hello!, but when Garda Roberts shouted from upstairs she flinched and abruptly closed the magazine. Rachel hurried up the stairs to join Garda Roberts while another officer moved into position to block the front door.
An engagement ring had been found in the toe of a pair of black opaque tights. Rachel recognised the distinctive art deco design immediately. It was clear from Grad’s furious expression that he had been unaware of its existence. Haylee made this point stridently as they were handcuffed and led away. His boots, minus one buckle, were also removed from the bedroom.
It was dark when Rachel finally left the Garda station. Instead of going home, she turned at Boylan’s Corner and headed towards the Loy. The silvery flow mirrored the sheen of the moon and the burble of the river was audible as she walked towards Brooklime. She had already phoned Adele and told her she would give the doorbell two short blasts and a prolonged ring when she arrived.
Adele opened the door cautiously. Her expression was terse, her body tense as she scanned the darkness for shadows.
‘I’ve already told you I’m not interested in adding to Larry’s report,’ she said.
‘I’m not here in an official capacity―’
‘Your uniform tells me otherwise.’
‘I’m finished for the night. I won’t take up much of your time but it’s important that we talk.’
‘Are you going to tell me how that statement was released?’ she asked.
‘It was leaked,’ Rachel replied. ‘I assure you, I’d nothing to do with it and I intend finding out how it happened. I’ve had a busy day, Adele, and it would help if we could have this conversation indoors.’
Adele shrugged and peered once again into the night before closing the door and leading her into the kitchen. She had been working on her laptop. Three mugs half-filled with cold coffee cluttered the kitchen table.
‘You challenged that statement with a very strong response.’ Rachel observed the rigid set of the young woman’s shoulders, her restless movements as she snapped her laptop closed and cleared away the crockery, clacking the mugs together and dumping them into the sink.
‘It was a vicious lie,’ Adele snapped. ‘Why shouldn’t I challenge it?’
‘Was that the reason for the break-in?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ She rinsed the mugs and smacked them on to the draining board. ‘I told Larry I wasn’t prepared to make a report so there’s no sense arguing with me about my decision.’ She sat down at the table and stared defiantly back at Rachel. ‘I’m leaving here as soon as possible and I don’t want to get caught up in some police investigation that won’t lead anywhere.’
Her engagement ring was missing; instead there was a white circle stark against her tanned skin. Conscious of Rachel’s scrutiny, she folded her arms across her chest.
‘Is this your property?’ Rachel opened a small, velvet bag and emptied the engagement ring on to the table.
Adele’s eyes widened when she saw it. As if unsure of its validity, she touched the ring with her index finger, then cradled it in her palm.
‘Yes, it’s mine,’ she said. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘That’s irrelevant for the moment. You’ll have to come to the station tomorrow to officially declare it missing before you can claim it back.’
‘Okay. I can do that.’
‘This ring obviously means a lot to you.’
‘It does… did.’ She slipped the ring onto her finger and studied the intricate design. ‘I was thinking of how I should return it to my ex-fiancé when I lost it.’
‘You didn’t lose it, Adele. We both know it was stolen. I suspect it was an opportunistic robbery and was not the real reason for the break-in.’
‘You’re wrong, Sergeant. I lost it somewhere along the riverbank. It’s always been a bit too wide for my finger.’ Jiggling the ring, she tr
ied to demonstrate its looseness.
‘Looks like a perfect fit to me,’ said Rachel. ‘So, please stop playing games, Adele. We searched the riverbank this afternoon and found a mask discarded in the undergrowth. That led directly to the recovery of your ring.’
Rachel spread the mask before her and Adele, her eyebrows lifting, hunched forward to stare at it. Unable to disguise the impact it was having on her she pressed her hand to her mouth to control the sudden chatter of her teeth.
‘Two people have been arrested and will go on trial for robbery and malicious damage to property,’ said Rachel. ‘It’s just a matter of time before we arrest the third. Three blind mice. In the light of what you’ve posted on your blog, this has to mean something to you.’
‘I won’t be pressing charges against anyone.’ Adele sounded as if all the energy had been flattened from her voice.
‘If you were intimidated―’
‘I never said I was intimidated. You’re putting words in my mouth. I told you I lost my ring. The break-in is Larry’s concern, not mine. I’m not prepared to report it.’
‘I believe they were sent to silence you.’ Rachel was familiar with the methods of intimidation. The branding of fear on skin, the cleaving of the tongue to the mouth.
‘From where I’m sitting, they appear to have done an excellent job,’ she continued. ‘Do you know who they are? I don’t mean your attackers. They’re hired thugs. But the men you believe are responsible for that crime against your mother. Can you name them? If you have information that will help us find the culprits, you must tell me.’
‘Does that mean you believe me?’ Adele asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And the diary?’
‘That, also.’
When had that happened? The crossing of that delicate line between disbelief and belief? A transition subtle enough to have caught her unawares. Rachel tried not to think of the enormity of her admission, afraid of where it would lead her. She should be at home with Bob, soft music in the background, his arms around her as she broke the news that she had held inside herself for too long. Instead, she was acting far beyond the call of her official duty, searching for what…? These days, she was in a constant state of alert, insidious thoughts gnawing like a toothache.