No matter how Kate turned things around, parts of her past and the investigation kept crossing. She pressed record again. ‘The suspected blackmail theory behind the death of Michael O’Neill has been linked to two missing-person cases, those of Amanda Doyle and Robert Cotter. All three parties withdrew large sums of money prior to their death or disappearance. All withdrawals were made in cash, in multiples of five thousand euros, and all of the money is unaccounted for. Both Amanda Doyle and Robert Cotter made contact with their families, officially taking themselves off the missing-persons register, despite their whereabouts being unknown. There is evidence suggesting that Amanda Doyle and Robert Cotter were on some kind of self-discovery or -enlightenment path. Combined with the large sums of money withdrawn, and all links to family and friends severed, their disappearance is consistent with cult-type influences.’
Kate’s final recording covered the transcripts of the letter sent by Amanda Doyle, and the wording of both notes, specifically the second, currently with a script specialist.
She leaned back in her father’s chair. There were three possible scenarios. First, her close personal involvement with the case could be compromising her analysis. Second, someone was intentionally creating links that might or might not be real or substantial. Third, all or some of the strands were definitively linked, and if they were, not only would she potentially be in danger but the suspicious deaths and disappearances could also be indicative of murder on a much wider scale.
Addy
THE FIRST NIGHT ADDY SPENT IN THE SMALL ROOM, all sorts of crazy thoughts went through his mind. What if he was the only one down there? How long would this ridiculous incarceration last? Why had Aoife not come looking for him? Why had he gone to the island in the first place? Was it really about Aoife, or because he needed to get away? His mind kept going back to his life as it had been before. He hadn’t realised how unhappy he was. Even when his anger wanted to bubble over against Adam, trying to come to terms with a father being able to live a life without his son, all Addy had ever wanted was to know who his father was and for him to be part of his life. He had spent his whole life filling in gaps, making up all sorts of possibilities as to why his father wasn’t there. The reality hadn’t measured up, and a huge part of Addy’s existence had shifted gear. He had fought hard against it. He didn’t want Adam to be the missing link. He had created his own missing links of the kind of man his mystery father would be, and they didn’t match up to Adam.
The days that followed were no better. Three times daily, members came with food, but no one spoke to him. It was like a seal of silence. To them, he supposed, he was there to reflect, to gain some sort of personal growth. During the day, he thought about Aoife, and every time he heard a sound, he would think it was her, only to be disappointed. If Stephen had told her he had gone home, she would have believed him, but what would be the point in that? As soon as he saw her, he could tell her the truth. That was when the crazy ideas had started to take hold. Other people had supposedly left the island, but what if they hadn’t? Supposing he never got out of there? Even if his mother made contact, she could be told the same thing: he had left. Who would be any the wiser? Neither did Addy know why Stephen hadn’t returned, but he guessed it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. Maybe he’d been sent to the mainland. That would explain his absence, especially if Saka or Jessica had wanted him to do something. He liked looking good in their eyes.
He had nightmares about the prisoners sent to the island, their torture, screaming for mercy from their abusers, and each time he imagined the abuser’s face, it belonged to Stephen.
He had woken up an hour ago and couldn’t go back to sleep. He put his hands to his face, squashing his fists tight into his eyes, seeing stars and doing it again, pressing harder, as if the pain could ease things. He listened to the gurgling of the water in the pipes, the creaking of floorboards above him, the sound of the wind outside, until he thought he heard something different.
Instantly he panicked. What if it was Stephen? What if this was it? What if all that he feared was actually going to happen?
He saw a gleam of light flickering through the slits in the grille above the door. Moving closer, he braced himself, determined that if anyone opened the door, he would try to bring them down, no matter what. But the door didn’t open. Instead he heard a light tap, then a second.
‘Who is it?’ he asked, keeping his voice low. Whoever it was had tapped lightly for a reason. When no one answered, he said, ‘Is that you, Aoife?’ Still no reply. ‘Chloë?’
The light moved, and he thought, What if they leave without saying anything? He moved as close to the door as he could and said, a little louder this time, ‘Chloë, if it’s you, speak to me. It’s Addy. You know I won’t harm you.’
He saw the light move again, then a piece of paper was passed under the door. He grabbed it, holding it up to the light in the grille, and read, ‘THEY THINK I DROWNED – MY NAME IS DONAL.’
Addy tried to think fast. He didn’t know anyone called Donal, but the name was familiar. The words were written in purple marker, and the writing looked childish, the last few words squashed together, as if the writer had run out of space.
Again, he whispered through the door, ‘My name is Addy.’
‘I know your name.’
He sounded young, maybe even as young as Chloë. For the first time in ages, Addy thought about Kate’s son, Charlie, and how crazy it would be for him to be standing outside a door of a locked room, writing notes to a stranger. ‘Donal, I need you to listen to me. Can you find the key to open the door?’
‘I have to go. I’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘No, no, don’t go,’ Addy pleaded. ‘We can help each other. I can help you. You want me to help you, don’t you?’
‘I heard you the other day, talking about Chloë to Stephen, wanting to know if she was okay.’
Addy sensed a gleam of hope. ‘Do you know Chloë?’
‘She used to be my friend.’ Disappointment in his voice.
‘Why isn’t she your friend any more?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Donal, look, don’t go. We can help each other.’
The light moved away from the door, and Addy clenched his fists in frustration. Something told him if he yelled after the boy, it would make more trouble for both of them.
He paced the room, then eventually got back into the bed, curling up under the blankets, telling himself that the boy had said he would be back, and despite all the adults above him looking for self-enlightenment, Donal might be his only hope.
Jesus, he thought, how had he gone from being a guy studying an arts degree at college to this? His life was a fuck-up. He had jumped at the first chance he’d had to get away, following Aoife, not only because he cared about her, but because he had nowhere else to go. He was no better than some of the guys he hung around with, directionless in one way or another, going with the flow. How pathetic was that? How pathetic was he?
Earlier that day, Addy had tried again to engage with the members who delivered the food trays, but it was the same as before: no verbal contact. It was like they were struck dumb, with a stupid look on their faces, as if they knew stuff that he didn’t know, the kind of look his mother gave him when she was pissed off with him.
He thought again about the boy. Why did people think he’d drowned? Why was he sneaking around late at night? He didn’t even know what the boy looked like. All he knew was that he was a friend of Chloë’s and pretending to be dead.
Again he thought if he didn’t get out of there he would be considered a missing person. Not all missing persons find their way home, and for some, there was a very good reason for that. He told himself to get a grip, to stop losing the plot. That’s what Stephen wanted, for him to be having a freak-out. If he got out of there, would he be able to convince Aoife to go home? Why had he stayed, knowing she didn’t want him? All that crap about enjoying the physical work, liking the ruggedness of th
e island, it was a load of rubbish: he just didn’t want to go home and face the fact that there was nothing there for him. The island, for all its odd stuff, had given him a sense of independence, away from his mother and the friends he’d known since bloody playschool.
Getting out of bed, he kicked the wall again, and didn’t feel much better afterwards. Despite the screwed-up mentality around the place, he had liked the way people talked to him, as if he was a man, not a boy.
Some bloody man he’d turned out to be. He thought again about all the stuff he had made up about his missing father, and how in a million years, Adam would never have fitted the bill.
The Game Changer
CENTRE OF LIGHTNESS 20
Steps to Self-enlightenment Programme
Confidential Record: 161
There are always loose ends, sloppy bits that require clearing up, especially where people are concerned, despite humanity being predominantly predictable.
The fund now stands at two million euros, with more soon to follow. All attempts at interference will be squashed. From the outside in, it is hard to unravel the maze, but from the inside out, the Game Changer can see clearly defined pathways.
The members in the police force have confirmed surveillance is still in place for Kate. They also believe Ethel’s death has upped the stakes, but no one is any closer to finding out anything of substance. They share this information unaware of how the Game Changer fits into it all.
Kate Pearson has become an important part of the process. There are times when the Game Changer is torn. Implementing two ambitious plans simultaneously carries risks, but the Game Changer is up to the challenge.
(Page 1 of 1)
Kate
WHEN ADAM ARRIVED HOME, HE LOOKED exhausted. Kate waited until he sat on the couch beside her to say, ‘It seems like you’ve had a rough day too.’
‘Not as bad as the chief super.’
‘How’s he taking it?’
‘How do you think? First his brother-in-law, and now his sister.’
‘It’s awful.’
‘For what it’s worth, Kate, she died instantly. Judging by the force applied to the body, whoever hit her was doing some speed.’
‘Any witnesses?’
‘No. It happened down a minor road. It took a while to ID her. She hadn’t any identification on her, no handbag, nothing other than a woollen wristband with keys.’
‘Is there any word on the notes and Amanda Doyle’s letter?’
‘I’ll probably have it in the morning.’
‘Not what I wanted to hear. I’d hoped you would know more by now.’
‘There’s something else you might not want to hear.’
‘What?’
He moved closer to her and softened his tone: ‘I’ve been exploring reported paedophile cases from the eighties. Something’s been rattling me about that whole cognitive study for a while – too many middle-aged men for one thing.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘One of the guys in PIU knew I was doing some general checks, and he approached me about why. I told him about the cognitive studies, the dates, the location, the profiles of the guys involved, and he was able to arrange limited access to a particular PIU file.’
‘Which one?’
‘I haven’t got the name, that’s confidential, but I did read it.’
‘And?’
‘The statements were taken from a woman who only recently came forward, describing her repeated abuse in the late eighties. As I said, I have no names, just part-access.’
‘What do you mean, “part”?’
‘PIU operates differently from the other divisions. I’d need to have something solid before I could demand names. Unless I can prove something criminal is conclusively linked to their data, everything is by their guidelines. Neither do I have all the transcripts, at least, not yet, and some of what I have has been blocked out, although I’ve read enough to be talking to you now.’
‘Adam, what is it?’
‘I think you should read the woman’s statement. There are similarities to what happened to you.’
‘What kind of similarities?’
‘She was abducted in broad daylight, and she was the same age as you at the time of your attack. The general location matches too. Also, the person who took her grabbed her from behind. They held an army knife to her throat.’
‘That doesn’t necessarily mean …’
‘No, it doesn’t, but I still think you should read the file.’
‘Everything seems to be happening at the one time. And being cooped up here in the apartment day and night, without Charlie, is driving me crazy.’
‘I’ll bring you in in the morning. Let’s take stock after that.’
‘Okay.’
‘There’s one other thing.’
‘What?’
‘We’ve managed to get more information on Holmes & Co., the company that owned the lock-up on Buckingham Street.’
‘Okay.’
‘The accountancy firm who set the company up is the same one used by Malcolm Madden. Naturally, I looked deeper.’
‘Go on.’
‘Madden and some others recently transferred ownership of a number of properties, including the lock-up garage, into Holmes & Co. About twenty properties in total, all rented out, mostly on long-term leases. The change of ownership was purely technical. In real terms the same people owned the properties.’
‘So why set up Holmes & Co?’
‘Some of the investors were looking to opt out early. They decided that, once the interested parties were bought out, it would be prudent to set the holdings up under company status.’
‘Why use the name Holmes?’
‘It’s the name of one of the principal investors.’
‘So, it could all be legit?’
‘It could be. I rang Madden, wanting to know why he hadn’t shared the information about renting the garage to Michael O’Neill.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Not a lot. He wasn’t impressed at the late hour. He said he hadn’t realised it was information we wanted. It was a rental arrangement, and once the rent was paid, it was purely business.’
‘You think he’s drip-feeding you information?’
‘I do.’
∞
Sitting in Adam’s office, Kate felt as if she was watching everything in slow motion. Adam opening the file, checking the content, looking up at her reassuringly, removing some of the pages, then turning the set of papers face down in front of her on the desk.
She stared at them for a couple of seconds. ‘Can I read them on my own?’
‘If you want,’ he moved to her side of the desk, ‘but before you do, you realise none of this may be connected to you.’
‘I do.’
He leaned down to kiss her, not caring who was watching from outside. His kiss was gentle, loving.
‘I’m okay,’ she reassured him. ‘I just need time to take it all in.’
‘I’ll be right outside.’
Kate waited until the door was closed before she began to read. She already knew from Adam that the statement had been written by a woman, but the opening lines were something she could have written herself. It explained how the girl thought someone had been watching her. The man had waited until she was on her own, grabbing her at knife point. The description of his hands and the smell of alcohol on his breath were identical to her story, and as Kate turned to the second page, it was as if someone else was walking over her memories. It felt like a warning. That all the bits she had forgotten might soon be revealed, only this time through the voice of another.
The next part of the statement dealt with a description of the location the woman had been taken to. Like Kate, she had had a short memory loss, a lapse in time that she was unable to fill. According to the statement, she believed the man had drugged her, placing a cloth with something pungent over her mouth. She had assumed afterwards it was chloroform or some other form o
f sedative. The more Kate read on, the less aware she became of her surroundings, or that someone could barge in at any minute. As the words unfolded on the page, her mind went to a place that felt raw; somewhere she had to go alone, the very core of her.
The woman described a prefab structure she was brought to, with grey walls and aluminium windows, three windows in total, all the same size. The front door was heavy, a fire door, with multiple locks. At first, the only noises she heard came from outside – cars and other vehicles going by at speed. They seemed to be a distance away, the traffic sounding like a constant low hum. Every now and again, she would hear a dog barking. When she came to, she had no idea where she was. She was in a strange bed. There was a steel bucket in the corner, and despite not wanting to, she used it to urinate. She remembered screaming a number of times, but nobody heard her. The windows were locked, and even though she was alone for a very long time, she also knew that eventually someone would come.
Reading on, Kate could see herself in that room, remembering how she had felt someone would find her, and in that same instant, she wondered if the woman had felt the same. All of a sudden, it was like she had gone back in time, the statement unlocking a pathway in her mind. She remembered making promises to God that if she got out of there, she would help others, do all sorts of stuff that twelve-year-old girls promise. She remembered worrying that her mother would forget about her. That she would get on with her life without Kate. There was something else, a kind of sick feeling at the base of her stomach, telling her bad things were about to happen. She heard the traffic driving by in the distance too, the same as the woman remembered, and looking straight ahead of her, Kate visualised the windows and the heavy grey door, the multiple locks, her desperation to get home, and how the night had brought darkness, and with that more fear.
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