Hope stared at the screen, not quite believing her eyes. Who was the woman? Who was that man? Was it Niall? Could it possibly be him? Her mind raced; a whirl of thoughts, hopes and possibilities. She replayed the video over and over again, pausing every time on the photograph of the man who looked so like her husband. She knew it was Niall, she just knew it! A terrible feeling of dread spread throughout her body and then an incredible anger overcame her.
“That's my Niall!” she shouted. “How dare that woman say that he's her husband. I'm calling the police.”
“Why don't we call the phone number on the video?” Chantale suggested doubtfully. “It might be a case of mistaken identity. After all, she said her husband's name is Conor Darcy.”
“I don't care! I know it's Niall!” Hope cried. “I'm calling the police and they can deal with her, whoever she is.” She ran to the phone and dialled the number of her local police station.
Chapter 7
“Another day almost done,” Isabel Murray glanced at the clock, counting down the minutes until she was relieved of her shift and could finally head home. It had been a long, uneventful day at the police station and Isabel was happy that it was almost at an end. She was still wrecked tired after the antics of the weekend. Cork had played host to hundreds of international music stars at its annual summer festival and of course the police had had to deal with a tiresome litany of minor public order offences; people drinking too much, urinating in the streets and picking ridiculous fights with each other. Isabel longed for an exciting case to get her teeth stuck into, but that was unlikely to happen any time soon. Cork wasn't exactly the crime capital of Ireland.
“Cork City police station. How may I help you this evening?” Isabel prided herself on making an effort to sound pleasant on the telephone, unlike many of her colleagues who answered it curtly, as though the ring had disturbed then from far more important business. It was a throw-back to the days she used to work in customer service during her summer holidays from university. The customer service manager had drilled into them the importance of first impressions, even over the phone, and somehow the training had stuck with her. “It never hurts to be polite,” as her mother always said.
“A crazy woman has information about my missing husband! You've got to get over here quick!” cried the hysterical voice on the other end of the line.
Isabel blinked and paused for a second, thinking that one of her colleagues was playing a prank on her.
“Pardon?” was all she could think of in response.
“Please! I need to speak to someone now. Time is of the essence.”
“Okay, I'm on my way,” Isabel took the woman's name and address, just as her colleague, Garda Jerry Reilly, arrived to relieve her.
She explained the situation to Jerry and insisted that she'd investigate the matter. Something in Hope's voice told Isabel that she needed to be handled with sensitivity and Jerry Reilly wasn't exactly renowned for his tact.
Hope stared at the tall, serious-looking woman who followed her mother in from the hall. She was dressed neatly in a beige suit, her curly brown hair scraped back from her rosy face. “I'm Detective Garda Isabel Murray,” she politely introduced herself, holding out her hand to Hope. She smiled at her but Hope could see that it was a professional smile. Isabel took in the other woman's ashen face. Her huge dark eyes were ringed with red from crying and her cheeks were roughened from rubbing with a tissue.
Hope limply shook her hand, suddenly at a complete loss for words. The whole situation was surreal. How could she possibly find the words to explain that she thought another woman was claiming to be married to her husband? She'd probably find herself shipped off to the loony bin!
Chantale stepped in and showed Isabel the video that they'd discovered on Youtube. She explained how Niall had been missing since the end of March and they feared that he'd been a victim of the Japanese tsunami. Hope saw a flash of sympathy in the other woman's eyes as she glanced up at her from her note-taking.
“Let's not jump to any hasty conclusions,” Isabel said when Chantale reached the end of her story. “I'll get in contact with Mrs. Darcy. I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation.” She tried to keep her tone even but her mind was whirling with the possibilities and implications of what she'd just been told.
It took Isabel nearly an hour to reach Ballycotton house. She'd gotten her colleague to trace the telephone and address of the Darcys and decided it was best not to telephone. How could she relay such information over the phone? So she drove along the coast road to Kinsale wondering what on earth was going on! She sat in her car at the bottom of the long, winding drive for a few moments, gathering her thoughts and trying to compose herself. It had to be a case of mistaken identity. Everyone had a look-alike, an exact double who was the spitting image of them yet who they usually never met.
Isabel couldn't even begin to imagine what Hope must have been going through these past months, desperately hoping and waiting for any information on her missing husband. She was obviously so desperate to believe that he was still alive somewhere that she was willing to stake all her hopes on this other woman's husband being Niall. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation, it was as simple as that, and it was her job to get to the bottom of it. She straightened her shoulders, took a few deep breaths and drove up the long drive to the front door. Then she got out of her car, smoothed out the creases in her trousers and rang the front door bell.
Kerry swore softly under her breath when she heard the door bell ring. She hauled herself up from her comfortable position on the couch and struggled to find her walking stick. Her health had improved steadily and the doctors were astounded that she was able to walk already. They told her that most people take three years to recover from her injuries but she'd done it in less than six months. She truly believed that it was her steadfast focus on positive energy and daily meditation that helped her to recover emotionally and physically in such a short time.
Still, in spite of her healing, she suffered from aches and pains in her legs, especially at the end of the day when she was feeling tired or had over-extended herself. She hated being dependent on anyone and had insisted the previous week that it was time that all their lives returned to normal. Her aunt and uncle returned to their home and Maura still checked in on her every day as she'd always done, but she had taken control of her household again and it felt good. It was tiring trying to do everything that she'd always done. Even something as simple as loading and unloading the dishwasher could wipe her out for a few hours, but she was determined to persevere. It was the only way that she would become stronger.
A sudden sharp pain shot through her left leg and she swore again. She had developed a bad habit of leaning her weight more on her left side than the other, which the doctors had warned her against, but she couldn't help. She hobbled slowly to open the door, knowing it was probably one of Saoirse's friends. Kerry dreaded the inevitable battle which would ensue about how late she could stay out and where she could go and who she was going out with. Kerry just didn't have the energy to argue. She knew she was quite a lenient parent; she allowed her daughter to stay out until midnight at the weekend and on school holidays, but she still insisted on knowing who she was with and exactly where she was going. However, Saoirse hated having to tell her mother her whereabouts and would argue that surely it didn't make any difference where she was as long as she was home by midnight. In fairness to her daughter she was always home on time, even on school nights when her curfew was nine o' clock, a time which none of her friends had to stick to. Sometimes, Kerry could feel herself wavering over the curfew but she never actually gave in. It's so difficult to get the balance right, she thought wearily. How the hell did Aunt Aisling cope with two teenagers?
The doorbell rang again and she tried to quicken her pace to the door. It was at times like this that she wished they lived in a smaller house; sometimes the long expansive hall of Ballycotton House seemed interminable to her as she hobbled
along. She listened as Saoirse thumped down the stairs and waited for her usual call of “I'm going out, mom. See you later,” which would immediately signal the beginning of their debate.
Kerry made it to the door just before her daughter and was taken aback to see a police woman standing there.
“Mrs. Darcy?” Isabel asked, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and wishing that she didn't always feel so inadequate when faced with a truly beautiful woman. She took in the attractive woman standing in front of her, with her dark auburn wavy hair cascading around her slender shoulders and big, soulful eyes.
“Yes,” Kerry replied slowly.
“I'm Garda Isabel Murray. May I come in?”
Immediately, Kerry's thoughts flew to Conor. Had they found him? Was he alive? Was all the agonising waiting and wondering finally over? Her heart began to pound in her chest and she felt the blood drain from her face. A sudden weakness came over her and she gripped her daughter for support. Isabel and Saoirse helped Kerry to the couch.
“Darling, will you go and get me a drink of water please?” Kerry asked her daughter, not wanting her to hear the bad news from a stranger. She'd rather break it to her in her own way. Surprisingly, Saoirse jumped up immediately and went to the kitchen.
“Why are you here?” Kerry asked as soon as Saoirse was out of ear-shot. Her anxiety levels were soaring. “Is it about my husband? Have you found Conor?”
Isabel looked quizzically at her. “I've had a call from a woman who claims to know your husband,” she replied slowly, measuring her words carefully.
“Oh my God! I knew it,” Kerry went even paler and started to shake. “Is he alive?”
“That's the problem, Mrs. Darcy,” Isabel continued. “We don't know. The other woman showed me the Youtube video of you asking for any information on your husband's whereabouts. She is absolutely convinced that your husband is in fact married to her.”
“My husband, married to somebody else?” Kerry stared incredulously at Isabel. “What planet is she on?” She started to laugh hysterically. She laughed and laughed. Saoirse returned with the water and handed the glass to her mother. Sipping it helped to calm her down a little.
“I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me,” she apologised, wiping tears from her eyes. “It's just so farcical. Conor is a loving, devoted husband and father and there's no way he's married to anyone else. He hardly has enough time for us let alone a whole other double life.”
“I see,” Isabel watched Kerry intently. “Why do you think the other woman would have invented such a story? It's quite a serious allegation and she seems very sure that she’s married to your husband too.”
“Well, some people seem to get a sick kick out of other people's pain and suffering,” Kerry retorted, her eyes flashing in anger. “I wish I'd never done that bloody video. All it's done is cause me even more misery; rather than being a help, it's been a hindrance. I have had hundreds of prank calls and letters from some very disturbed people who claim to know what happened to my husband. Every single lead has been followed up by the private detective I have searching for my husband, and every single so-called lead, without exception has been a lie. Maybe, just maybe, that woman is a prankster.”
“She didn't seem like a prankster to me,” Isabel interrupted.
“Maybe she has mental problems,” Kerry continued. “I can tell you categorically that my husband only has one wife; and that wife is me. We've been married for twenty years for Christ's sake! I think I'd have some inkling at this stage if he was married to someone else.” She ran out of steam and sat back, deflated, against the cushions. All the energy seemed to have drained from her body after her outburst.
“Do you need your painkillers, mom?” Saoirse asked. She could see that her mother was in pain. This was the first time she'd spoken since Isabel's arrival and Kerry had almost forgotten she was there.
“Yes, please, love,” Kerry smiled weakly at her daughter, before turning to face the police woman. “Don't you think you should have done a little more research before turning up unannounced at my door?” she hissed.
“Admittedly, I don't have the full details yet but tell me, Mrs. Darcy, with the greatest respect, how do you explain both your husband and the other woman’s husband being in Japan at the same time that the tsunami hit?”
“Coincidence,” Kerry snapped, but Isabel saw a momentary flash of doubt pass across her ashen face. “Who is this mysterious woman anyway? If you give me her telephone number I'll be more than happy to set her straight.”
“I don't think that's a very good idea. Actually, I think I should go,” Isabel got to her feet. “I'm sorry to have disturbed you both. Mrs. Darcy, if you think of anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call me.” She passed her card to Kerry who snapped it out of her hand. “I'll see myself out.” Isabel walked to the front door and closed it softly behind her.
“What's going on, mom?” Saoirse asked in a small voice.
“I don't know darling, I honestly don't know,” Kerry replied. “But whatever it is I promise you that I'll get to the bottom of it.” Kerry could hear herself speaking, but it sounded like her words were coming from someone else. Her thoughts were whirling around in her head but she couldn't seem to get them into any order.
Chapter 8
Isabel Murray sat at her desk sipping hot sweet tea. She was deep in concentration, studying the file notes she'd typed up about the Darcy-Gilligan case. Finally, she'd gotten the exciting case she'd longed for but secretly she wished for the sleepy days before Hope Gilligan had called her in hysterics about her missing husband.
She studied her notes for the hundredth time, trying to find a common link between the two women and the mystery man who seemed to connect them. There were endless hours of interviews lying ahead of her. She'd have to speak with their families, friends, acquaintances, work colleagues; anyone who even vaguely knew either of the women and their husbands. The task ahead seemed insurmountable and she truly didn't know where to begin.
“So, let me get this clear in my head,” James Kavanagh, Isabel's supervising officer said, when he'd finished reading through her case file. “Two women are claiming to be married to the same man, yet neither woman has ever laid eyes on the other, nor are they in any way connected. Don't you think that's just plain crazy?”
“Well, sir, with all due respect, you know that in our job truth can often be stranger than fiction,” Isabel said.
“Which one is the real wife?” he asked.
“That's the problem. They have different last names; one is Mrs. Darcy and the other is Mrs. Gilligan. They both seem utterly convinced that this man is their husband but one of them has to be wrong. Maybe it's a case of two different men and it's just a terrible mix-up.”
“How do you explain these men being absolute doubles of each other?”
“I don't know. It could be one of life's extraordinary coincidences,” but Isabel's expression indicated that she clearly didn't believe in coincidences.
“One coincidence too many, I think.”
“I don't know what the true situation is, but I'm determined to find out.”
James let out a long, low whistle. “It's a real mess,” he said. “I can't see this being anything but a bloody disaster for everyone.”
“None of it makes any sense,” Isabel continued. “Both women were married in a perfectly legal ceremony. They've shown me their marriage certificates.”
“It's a very intriguing situation,” James nodded his head thoughtfully. “I think you're taking the right approach in treating Mr. Darcy and Mr. Gilligan as two individual men. Research both men's backgrounds and interview everyone who is connected to them in any way. Cross-reference your notes and you'll find the common thread that connects them. It's definitely there somewhere; you just need to find it.”
“You look very pretty today, darling,” Chantale smiled indulgently at her daughter as she carefully arranged sunflowers in a vase.
“Apparently
, I'm blooming, mother,” Hope returned her mother's smile, much to Chantale's surprise. It had been months since she'd seen her daughter look anything other than sad and depressed.
“I’m blooming huge.” Hope gently patted her round stomach before checking her face in her compact mirror and applying a slick of bright red lipstick.
“Where are you going all dressed up?”
“I'm going to visit Kerry Darcy,” Hope replied, a chilly calm in her voice.
Chantale froze. “Pardon?” she couldn't quite believe her ears.
“I'm going to visit Kerry Darcy, you remember, mother, the woman who claims to be married to my husband.”
“Yes, of course I remember her name. How could I possibly forget? Why on earth are you going to see her?” Chantale stared incredulously at her daughter but she had that stubborn expression on her face which meant there was no chance of changing her mind.
“I'm tired of wondering about her,” Hope explained. “I think it's time we met and sorted things out. I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation and I'm exhausted from the questions that are constantly going around and around in my head. Who knows, maybe we can help each other.”
Chantale glanced doubtfully at her daughter. She really thought she'd gone quite mad, not that anyone could blame her, after everything she'd been through.
“Will you let me drive you?” she asked.
“That would be wonderful, mama, thank you,” Hope smiled gratefully at her mother. “I'm finding it more and more difficult to squash myself behind the wheel.”
“Does Kerry know you're coming?”
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