Lost Girls

by K Leitch

  Before getting back into her car Carla spotted the next door neighbour about to leave her house, she turned round and went over to speak to her.

  After introducing herself she asked if the neighbour, a Glenda Hickstead, had any idea where the couple could be.

  ‘Nah, sorry love,’ the woman said dismissively, ‘I ‘ardly know them if I’m honest, they keeps themselves to themselves like and so do I.’

  ‘Do you know remember when you last saw them by any chance?’ Carla asked.

  ‘Well now you mention it I ain’t seen ‘em for a few days now,’ the woman said getting a bit more animated. ‘Which is a bit strange, ‘cus we leave for work at about the same time in the mornings usually. Not that I speak to her like, she’s a right snobby cow, thinks she’s so much better than us just ‘cus she drives around in a bloody mobile library. The brother’s not so bad…’es deaf you know, but he gives us a smile if we bump into each other on the doorstep. Not if she’s there though…oh no she rules ‘im wiv a rod of iron, keeps ‘im away from us riff raff,’ she finished on a chuckle.

  Carla smiled and asked, ‘Could they be away on holiday do you think?’

  The woman shrugged, ‘Aven’t got a clue love, like I said I don’t spend much time chatting wiv ‘em.’

  Carla gave up, thanked Mrs Hickstead for her time and went back to her car. Now that she’d got this idea into her head about Rebecca Sheenan and the diaries, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to find the girl and look at what Una Flannery had written. She didn’t believe in coincidences and the fact that two people that had been connected with Una in some way had been murdered and that her diary suddenly turned up was too much to overlook.

  And now Brenda Marsh had been killed, even though she hadn’t been directly involved with Una or the Linden hotel it was still a bit close to home, although the way she was killed was completely different. Hers had been a murder of passion, overkill even. Someone had been desperate to get rid of her…to shut her up maybe?

  Oh…Carla’s head felt like it was about to explode, which was why she had asked Frank to take the lead on Brenda’s murder, although she would meet with him in the incident room each day to be kept up to speed. She felt she needed to concentrate on the other killings; she had an awful feeling that that particular murderer wasn’t finished yet!

  Her phone rang, she switched it to speaker, it was Mandy.

  ‘You would not believe what I have found out about Una Flannery Ma’am,’ she said without preamble. ‘That poor girl…’

  ‘Hang on Mandy, I’m almost back with you, tell me when I get there ok?’ Carla interrupted and rang off.

  Mandy was lying in wait and grabbed her as soon as she walked through the double doors that led to the CID headquarters.

  Carla laughed at her and almost ran to get a coffee before dashing into her office, Mandy on her tail.

  ‘Bloody hell you’re keen,’ she teased her as she took off her coat and sat down ready to listen.

  ‘Well you won’t believe what I’ve found out. I got in touch with the Garda in Limerick, which is the nearest big town to the village of Thorn, which is where Una’s family come from. One of the officers there knew the Flannery family; his older sister had been good friends with Una when they were growing up. He remembers Una going off to work in some posh hotel in London, and then he remembers that there was some sort of a scandal when she came back home. Apparently she had got herself pregnant and her parents were advised by the local priest, a Father Matthew, to send her off to one of those mothers and baby units, run by the nuns….

  ‘Shit,’ Carla muttered, ‘I’ve heard awful things about those places…poor girl….’

  ‘Yes well,’ Mandy continued, ‘she ended up in one just outside Limerick…um “The Sisterhood of St Evangeline”, where presumably she had her baby and then according to Garda Sergeant O’Toole, the babies were usually farmed out to good catholic couples….’

  ‘Oh my God does that stuff really still go on….’ Carla put in, horrified.

  ‘Well, we are talking about the early seventies Ma’am,’ Mandy said, ‘hopefully things have progressed a bit by now. Anyway it seems Una didn’t want to give up her baby and she found a way to take him before they could hand him over to his new family….’

  ‘So she ran away,’ Carla interrupted again shaking her head sadly, ‘but where would she go, how would a fifteen year old support herself?’

  ‘Well she didn’t get very far,’ Mandy carried on, ‘she was discovered a couple of days later by a farmer. She’d tried to hide in his barn, but he’d heard the baby crying and called the police. That’s all O’Toole could tell me, he doesn’t know what happened to her after that, but he gave me the name of another priest who had dealings with her and might know more.’ Mandy shuffled through her papers, ‘Father Patrick Doherty, he is working in England now, not far from here actually in Pease Pottage, I got his number….’

  ‘Ok love thank you you’ve done brilliantly as usual, I’ll try and give him a call….’

  ‘Actually I called him before you got here, he’s going to give you a call back this afternoon,’ Mandy finished triumphantly.

  Just then Frank popped his head round Carla’s door.

  ‘Dorothy’s just sent over the forensic reports from Brenda Marsh’s house if you want to look them over Carla,’ he said holding up a sheaf of A4 papers.

  ‘Does it throw up anything interesting?’ Carla asked as Frank came in and sat down opposite her.

  ‘Well as you can imagine there are fingerprints everywhere, but most of those have been eliminated because they belong to Brenda herself or Albie and we’ve now got the son’s prints to compare as well. Interestingly though there were some on the door bell that didn’t belong to any of them, and I remembered you said that the neighbour had said she saw someone at Brenda’s door the night before she was killed, so we are checking the CCTV cameras on the main road that joins St Marks square, anyone coming into the square would have to have come from that way so you never know we may get lucky.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Gavin Marsh yet? Do we know where he was on the Tuesday night?’

  ‘Yes, solid alibi, he was taking part in a debate on the global warming crisis; apparently he’s a member of the university debating society. Lots of people met with him there. Apart from that the poor lad’s distraught; he was very close to his mother according to all his friends.’ Frank paused and held up a small plastic evidence bag, he handed it to Carla.

  ‘They did find this though, which may prove interesting.’

  Inside the bag was a small gold coloured key, it had a number printed on one side of it. ‘Safety deposit box maybe?’ Carla said looking it over.

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Frank said. ‘It was on a chain in her jewellery box, whoever was tearing her house apart, didn’t think to look there. I’ve got Mandy emailing all the local banks see if any recognise it as one of theirs….’

  ‘Well done Frank, looks like you’re on top of this one. Wish I could say the same….’ Carla grumbled running her hands through her hair.

  ‘Still no breakthrough?’ Frank asked as he got himself a coffee.

  ‘I am sure it’s all somehow related to this Una girl and what happened all those years ago at the Linden hotel…but I just can’t get my head around it. Dorothy sent over the results of the tests done on the fibres they found at the boathouse. Seems like they are wool, the sort that would be used to make heavy coats… donkey jackets or duffle coats that sort of thing and Midge has found the manufacturers of the Madonna and child figurines, they have confirmed that the fragments of china found near Jonas Silco were from one of their statues, so we are making progress after a fashion,’ she finished shaking her head despondently. ‘It’s just not gelling together yet, do you know what I mean?’ Frank nodded. ‘We’ve got loads of pieces of information but nothing cohesive.’

  ‘It will come Carla, you know it will. One more piece of the puzzle and it will all s
tart making sense….’ He broke off as Carla’s phone rang, he gave her a smile and gathering his things together left her to it.

  It was Father Patrick on the phone.

  ‘Father thank you so much for getting back to me so quickly,’ Carla said.

  ‘Oh no trouble, no trouble at all,’ the priest said, in a bright Irish accent, ‘I was wanting to talk to you Detective Inspector, because I knew Una you see and I always wished I’d been able to be more help to the poor girl.’

  ‘Do you know where she is now Father?’ Carla asked.

  ‘Oh, but she’s dead child,’ Father Patrick said sadly, ‘she took her own life you know. I knew she was as low as she could get but I thought I’d been able to give her some new hope, something to live for…but it was the loss of her child, she just couldn’t get over that you see….’

  ‘Can you tell me what happened Father? I know she had her baby and she tried to run away with it, but that’s as far as I’ve got.’

  Father Patrick sighed deeply, ‘There were many things done in those days, all in the name of righteousness that were just so wrong detective. Una Flannery’s situation was a case in point, the girl obviously wanted her child desperately, these days I would hope that her wishes would be taken into consideration, but not back then. Back then she was seen as a sinner, even though it was obvious that the poor girl was the victim. She told them over and over that she had been raped, but she looked the part of a sinner you see, all her red hair and womanly curves. So she was a sinner and as such could not be trusted to bring a child up in the way that the church would have her do. So the nuns in their wisdom decided that the baby should go to a good catholic couple that had not been blessed with children of their own…ha! If only we’d known then what we know now…but I digress.’ Father Patrick paused again as if trying to choose his words carefully. ‘Whilst trying to run away with her child Una had become very ill,’ he continued, ‘pneumonia actually and when she was found by that farmer she was burning up with fever and completely incoherent. She was taken back to the nuns, who nursed her back to health. But of course by the time she started to recover her baby had already gone to his new home.’

  ‘Oh the poor girl,’ Carla said, ‘to have tried so hard and still to lose him.’

  ‘Yes well she never got over it,’ Father Patrick went on, ‘she searched high and low for months getting more and more desperate. I tried counselling her, trying to help her to move on. We talked about her becoming an apprentice hairdresser…I really thought she was beginning to put it all behind her… and then a few days later she was found by a young novice from the nearby Covent, she’d slit her wrists with a razor so she had….’

  ‘Oh God…that’s so sad,’ Carla gasped in horror, at the thought that this was the second of Jonas Silco’s victims to come to that end.

  Father Patrick didn’t say anything for a moment then he said, ‘When I was going through her things I found her diary and some letters that she had written to her lost son, so I began to make some enquiries about where he’d gone. It took me years to finally find him, the nuns for some reason were very reluctant to help me; I think it was because I had made it clear that I held them responsible in some part for Una’s death….’

  ‘But you did find him eventually,’ Carla asked.

  ‘Oh yes…sometimes I wish I hadn’t.’

  ‘Oh really…why was that?’ Carla asked again.

  Father Patrick sighed again. ‘The child, a boy called John, had been given to a childless couple, Connie and Alfred Sheenan….’ Carla gasped.

  ‘Oh I see that name means something to you detective,’ Father Patrick said.

  ‘Yes it does, but please go on,’ Carla said.

  ‘Well as I said he was given to the Sheenan’s, they already had adopted a child years earlier, a daughter Rebecca. Connie was a devout catholic, who’d earned the reputation for being a strict authoritarian. She followed the example of the nuns that had raised her, in the raising of her own children.’ Father Patrick paused again, Carla waited.

  ‘Unfortunately for the children, Connie died of breast cancer a couple of years later and the children were left to the even more dubious care of their father Alfred. Alfred was a monster, he beat those children from pillar to post, especially the boy who had turned out to be a deaf mute….’

  ‘Why weren’t they taken away from him, surely social services could have…’

  ‘You have to understand they lived in a small community, where parents were taught that to spare the rod was to spoil the child. And Alfred was a big man, not known for his tolerance; I doubt anyone would have dared report him….’

  ‘So how did they end up in England Father?’

  ‘Alfred was sacked from his job, he’d worked as a labourer on a farm near to where they lived. He decided he would have more chance of finding another job in England so they took the boat to Liverpool and sure enough he did find work in the docks there. That was when I finally found them, I had been transferred to a parish in Liverpool and so I tracked them down, and was able to give John the diaries and letters that Una had so wanted him to have.’

  ‘How were the children when you found them?’ Carla asked.

  Father Patrick laughed, ‘Oh they were a funny pair alright,’ he said. ‘The girl, Rebecca, she was a bit…oh I don’t know intense I suppose you’d say, very serious…but she was like a mother to John, he followed her about everywhere. They were both terrified of Alfred, anyone could see that. Anyway I gave them the letters and stuff and that was the last I saw of them. I did hear through the grapevine though that a few months later Alfred had beaten the boy so badly that he had ended up in hospital with serious head injuries. Alfred had been arrested at last… thank God the children were taken away from him then….’

  ‘What age would they have been then?’

  ‘I suppose John would have been about ten, the girl a few years older, I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you Detective Inspector, I hope I’ve been of some help to you.’

  Carla thanked him again and ended the call, she sat for a long while afterwards, thinking of how this information was relevant, once again she had lots of facts but how did any of them relate to the two violent murders she was investigating.

  One thing was for sure though; she needed to speak to Rebecca and John Sheenan as soon as she could, and she needed to get a look at these diaries.

  CHAPTER 55

  Imogen turned and ran towards the locked door grabbing the handle and pulling at it desperately, it was shut tight, she started banging on the door shouting as loudly as she could.

  ‘HELP…SOMEBODY, PLEASE…PLEASE,’ she cried sobbing as she did so. She thumped and banged on the door over and over until at last, exhausted, she sank down onto the floor next to the door and cried pitifully, her face in her hands. Finally her tears subsided and she leant her head back against the door.

  It was only then that she noticed him; he must have been standing there all the time, hidden behind the huge wardrobe that dominated the room. He must have been watching her as she’d panicked and cried for help, now he stood opposite her and his eyes, which were the only part of his face that she could see, bored into hers.

  Imogen sat up straighter, ‘What do you want?’ she asked falteringly. ‘You can take anything you want…please don’t hurt me…please just take what you want and go, I won’t say anything I promise….AARRGGHH,’ she finished on a scream, as another much larger figure appeared out of the darkness right beside her. He lifted her up none too gently and pulled her arms behind her. Imogen squirmed and fought for her life but he held her firm and walked her over to the edge of the bed, forcing her to look, once again, at what was lying there.

  There were two photographs, Imogen recognised both of them. The black, buck toothed face of Missy Gattoré lay next to the slutishly provocative face of Una Flannery.

  ‘You recognise these girls?’ the first man spoke at last.

  ‘Look,’ Imogen tried to reason with them again,
‘I get it, you are somehow trying to make right what happened all those years ago. It was terrible what Silco did to those girls, but what could I have done?’ she said pleading with them. ‘If I’d known I would have stopped it of course I would, but I didn’t know a thing until it was too late…AAARRGGH!’ At a signal from the smaller man, Imogen’s arms were pulled painfully up behind her.

  ‘No…no please, I didn’t do anything you have to believe me…it wasn’t my fault… none of it was my fault…AARRRGGH!’ She finished on an agonising scream as her arms were pulled so tight that one of her shoulders dislocated, she felt herself losing consciousness.

  Despite the agony it was causing her, her attacker continued to hold her upright by her arms. She whimpered and cried as she watched with growing terror as the other man began covering the floor and the bed with plastic sheeting. Neither of her attackers spoke, they ignored her pleading and begging for mercy, her cries becoming more high pitched and terrified as she watched the smaller man go about his business calmly and efficiently.

  They all jumped out of their skins when Imogen’s mobile rang a few seconds later, the screen lighting up in her pocket showed David’s smiling face. Imogen wailed long and hard with frustration as it eventually stopped and the double bleep told her that he had left a message.

  Once the room was covered, Imogen was bundled over to the edge of the bed, she screamed…high pitched animal screams as her hands were pulled in front of her this time and secured with a tie, then she was pulled over the plastic sheeting on the bed and lying on her front, her hands were then tied to a bedpost.

  The smaller of the two men stood in front of her, he held up a small red coloured book, which he began to read from.