Sitting in a large armchair, Jessica looked like a cross between a contestant from a beauty pageant and some out-of-her-head rocker. Her mother, on the other hand, was dressed conservatively in cream-tailored trousers and matching long-sleeved blouse, fading into the background in comparison to her daughter. The Barry house was also very different from the Devines’, more stylish with its wooden floors, large plush couches and decor that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an interior design magazine. If Jessica’s mother designed and created the interior, thought Kate, then she had a good eye for detail. Maybe when she’d been younger, she had applied this skill to her personal appearance, like Jessica did now. Even behind her now somewhat bland cream attire, you could tell she was once a ‘looker’. Was she happy to be eclipsed by her daughter? Did it create tension between them?
Mrs Barry waited until Kate and O’Connor were seated before taking her own seat on the armrest of her daughter’s chair. Jessica’s mother may have dressed like someone more comfortable in the background, but with her straightened back and head held high, there was no doubt that any questions O’Connor or anyone else might have for her daughter, she would be very much part of the process.
‘Mrs Barry,’ O’Connor began.
‘Pauline, please.’
Kate watched Pauline Barry shift slightly on the armrest, dragging her fingers through her pageboy-style brown hair, pulling it back off her face in response to O’Connor’s words. Maybe Pauline Barry wasn’t such a shrinking violet after all. The officer on duty had already introduced both O’Connor and Kate when they arrived, filling Pauline Barry in with the barest of detail.
‘Jessica, this is Detective Inspector O’Connor, and Kate Pearson. They have some questions for you. Are you okay with that, darling?’ She looked at her daughter.
‘Sure, why not?’ Jessica’s answer seemed tense, nervous, but was delivered emphatically.
‘She’s still very upset, you know. Jessica and Caroline were very close – such an awful tragedy.’ The mother, thought Kate, was either trying to add a greater impression of upset than her daughter was prepared to display or was intent on being Jessica’s spokesperson. Either way, this would take a lot longer if Pauline Barry remained the main mouthpiece.
‘It certainly is a tragedy,’ O’Connor said, giving Mrs Barry a reassuring smile. He looked over at Kate before directing his first question to Jessica. Gunning had interviewed the girl already, but that was before Caroline’s body had been discovered, and before they had a second murder on their hands.
‘Jessica, I know this is difficult,’ he began, ‘but it is important that you try and remember everything you can about the past few days, weeks, even months – before Caroline’s abduction.’
Kate knew O’Connor’s use of the word ‘abduction’, instead of ‘murder’, was a means to keep things calm. Whatever reservations he might have about Jessica Barry, he needed her on his side.
‘I’ll do my best.’ Her answer was a little softer this time.
‘Okay, well what I’m going to do is this, I’m going to ask you some questions and all you have to do is answer them. If you find any of them confusing, just ask me to clarify. Take as long as you like, it’s important that we do this right.’
‘Okay.’ Jessica took in a deep breath, tensing her body, as if she was about to sit an impromptu exam.
Looking across at Jessica, Kate could see some of the girl’s mask was dropping already. There was a reason she was best friends with Caroline, there had to be more there than the exterior image she was projecting. Looking at the emotions playing across her face, Kate knew the two of them must have been close.
‘Jessica, you and Caroline were best friends, right?’ O’Connor continued.
‘Yeah, since our first day at school.’
‘You two have been through a lot together, so?’
The young girl nodded at O’Connor.
‘So you would know if there was anything troubling her, things she mightn’t have shared with other people?’
‘I guess.’
Kate watched Jessica curl her knees up to her chest, an almost instinctual protection exercise.
‘So you would know if Caroline had any issues about her body weight or anything like that?’
‘She wasn’t anorexic, if that’s what you mean,’ Jessica said defensively.
‘But she did discuss her weight with you?’
‘We both talked about it – not just her, me too.’
Jessica’s mother put her hand on her daughter’s arm in support, but the girl wasn’t having any of it and pulled away roughly. It could have been just a teenage rebellion thing, but Kate wondered about the reason behind the underlying hostility.
‘Did you discuss losing weight?’ It was Kate’s turn to ask the questions.
‘A bit – I mean, the weight bothered Caroline more than it did me. I like being curvy, not being big or anything but, you know, normal.’
‘Caroline had lost a lot of weight. Why do you think that was?’ Kate held the girl’s gaze.
‘She had her reasons.’
‘Jessica, if you know her reasons,’ Kate’s tone was gentle, ‘it would help if you told us.’
Whatever difficulties existed between Jessica and her mother, the girl still looked up to her to check if it was okay to talk.
‘Go ahead, darling. I am sure it is nothing Ms Pearson hasn’t heard before.’
‘She didn’t like her body. At first, it was all about her changing shape, she said it interfered with the swimming, reduced her speed or something daft like that.’
‘And then?’
‘When she got, you know—’
‘When she developed breasts?’
‘Yeah, she had a bit of a freak out, made me rent out that movie, Black Swan.’
‘The one with Natalie Portman?’
Kate felt the girl was more comfortable with her asking the questions rather than O’Connor.
‘Yeah. I thought it was crap, but Caroline didn’t. She thought your woman, Natalie, was great.’
‘Would you say Caroline was self-conscious? Embarrassed even?’
‘She just didn’t like changing, none of it.’
‘So she didn’t have a boyfriend?’
Jessica gave her a look, the kind of one that said: if you think I’m going to answer that, you need your head examined.
‘Jessica, it’s important.’ O’Connor leaned forward, using his bulk to add weight to the question.
‘No. She didn’t.’
‘Okay.’ O’Connor remained sitting forward. ‘I want you to think long and hard before answering the next question. Did anyone try to get friendly with Caroline, you know guys, younger, older, anyone hanging around the pool or anything like that?’
‘There was this one guy, he was a bit weird.’
‘Why didn’t you mention him before?’
Jessica looked back at O’Connor. ‘I didn’t think he was important.’
‘Did he talk to you both?’
‘More to Caroline than me.’
‘Why’s that?’ asked Kate.
‘I don’t know. I only saw him the once at the swimming pool, but he talked to other kids too. He was friendly I suppose, harmless.’
Jessica Barry’s use of the word ‘harmless’ to describe the friendly man at the swimming pool put both Kate and O’Connor on alert. They exchanged a look, but tried not to let their body language show the girl or her mother how eager they were to get more information.
‘Go on, Jessica, tell us what you remember about him,’ O’Connor said, knowing when to give a witness space.
‘I think Caroline felt sorry for him,’ Jessica replied with a shrug, ‘that’s why she stopped to talk to him. He gave me the creeps, though. I mean, he was ancient. Caroline said you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.’
‘What did they talk about?’
‘I dunno. I only remember seeing her talk to him, I wasn’t listening to them. Like I said, he tal
ked to others too. It wasn’t just Caroline.’
‘Was she friendly towards him?’ O’Connor looked from Kate to Jessica.
‘She wasn’t anything – she was just, you know, normal. That was Caroline’s way, friendly. Me, I just blanked him.’
Kate needed to get a few more answers. ‘Jessica, if you didn’t hear what they said to each other, could you make out how he spoke? Did you hear an accent or anything?’
‘Nah.’
‘Did he talk fast or slow?’
‘Slow, I think, just, I dunno. He talked well.’
‘Confident?’
‘Yeah, but not cocky; relaxed, I guess, like an old guy.’
‘Old – what age would you say?’
‘Mom’s age, I guess.’
‘Did he smile at you or at Caroline?’
‘I think he knew I didn’t like him. Yeah, he smiled at Caroline, but, as I said, I only remember seeing him there once.’
‘And did Caroline smile back?’
‘Well, she wasn’t going to be rude or anything.’ Jessica’s forehead was creased and Kate could tell she was afraid of misrepresenting her friend. Even though Caroline was gone, Jessica didn’t want to ‘tell’ on her friend. Like all kids, the code of friendship was stronger than anything else.
O’Connor was watching Jessica’s face intently. ‘Did you two ever see him anywhere other than the swimming pool?’
It was the subtle movements in Jessica’s posture – straightening her back up, her head slightly raised from her shoulders, her facial features tightening – before she delivered her emphatic ‘No’ to O’Connor which told Kate the girl was hiding something. O’Connor obviously got the same impression.
‘Are you sure, Jessica?’ he asked quickly.
‘I said so, didn’t I?’ Jessica looked to her mother.
‘Inspector, my daughter has been through a lot, and now to add to everything, we have police protection outside our door. Believe me, we want to be as helpful as possible, but my priority right now is Jessica, and you can see how upset she is.’
Pushing a witness, particularly one who was a minor, was tricky and O’Connor knew when to back off, but he had no intention of leaving without getting something concrete from the girl.
‘Jessica, do you think you could give a visual description, help one of my guys put together a photofit of this man?’
‘I suppose so, yeah.’
‘Good girl.’ Jessica’s mother put her arm around her daughter. The girl leaned in willingly, looking less like a contestant in a beauty contest and more like a young girl on the brink of tears.
Ellie
BRIDGET MUST HAVE SENSED MY MOOD TODAY; SHE is quiet during the usual morning routine. Like I planned, I say nothing to her about the pen and paper. I wait until I know she is about to leave. She reacts according to form, open-faced, followed by a narrowing of the eyes, as she tries to fathom a motive. But she doesn’t go on about it, just says, ‘No problem’, as if I’d just asked her for an extra bar of soap.
I trust Bridget. I trust that she will come back with what I’ve asked for. Funny when you think about it, that the one person I trust in here is someone I’ve spoken to about little more than the weather.
She came back to me just before lunch was being served in Living Room 1, before the end of her rounds. The copybook she handed me was like the type Amy used at school, small and chunky. She also gave me two ballpoint pens in blue. I looked up at her questioningly.
‘Can’t trust those blasted things, they always stop writing just when you’re in the middle of something important.’
I smiled at her, and I could tell she was pleased.
I place the pens and the copybook at the end of my bed before I go to lunch. As I walk down the corridor, I can smell the scrambled eggs on toast. I know I will force myself to eat it. I have no time for any remarks from anyone today. As I eat, I think only about the copybook and the pens waiting for me, knowing that shortly I will have to return to my room and face them.
≈
I sit on the bed, me, copybook and blue ballpoint pens – quite the little threesome we are. When I was younger, I used to enjoy writing. That was partly why I’d chosen an arts degree at college. I had only just started my first year when I met Joe.
I had been working the Friday-night shift at the cinema. I was pleased when I was told about the extra shift, one of the girls was out sick and more hours meant more money. If not for that, I might not have met him.
At the cinema you met many different sorts. When I met Joe I remember thinking, this guy is some kind of chatterbox. I liked meeting chatty people then, it made the night go in quicker. He had two tickets for Rocky IV and apparently his friend hadn’t shown up. Whether the friend was male or female I never found out. I was behind the popcorn counter when it was his turn to be served and as cheeky as anything, he asked me if I wanted to watch the film with him.
I couldn’t because I was working for another couple of hours and, besides, I wasn’t in the habit of going to movies with strange men. The first part of my reasoning I shared with him, doing my own bit of chatty tease – he was, after all, handsome. I don’t know what I expected really. I didn’t think he would come back again. But he did, right after the movie. I guess I admired his persistence as well as his good looks because the following week we met up in town. He was working as a mechanic, which meant his money was good and he got plenty of cash jobs on the side. We went out any night I wasn’t working. He was fun to be with and, for the most part, his positive attitude was contagious.
I have no intention of writing any of this in my copybook. As I think about what I am going to write, I stare at the cover of the copy. It’s dark green, the kind of green you see when mould has had a chance to develop on food. Written across the front of it, in black print, it states that it has ‘120 ruled pages’. Bridget must have been feeling particularly optimistic when she picked out this one.
Finally, I open it. I fold back the front cover as if I mean business. I have already counted that there are twenty-two lines on each page, so taking into account the front and back of each sheet, that makes 5,280 lines in total. I know all this because I have multiplied it out on the inside cover, using one of my blue ballpoint pens.
As I sit there, I think again about what would have happened if I’d stopped being so selfish and thought about Joe, and particularly Amy, during that last drive. What if I’d turned around to her and said, ‘How are you?’ What would she have answered? Would it have made any difference? Of course, the chance of me doing that was remote. It would have meant clearing my head of all the nonsense and picking myself up out of the dark hole I had decided to occupy with such determination for the previous six months. If there had been any prospect that I might actually do that, it was completely shattered the moment Joe told me Andrew would be meeting us there. After that, the only thoughts in my brain were thoughts of him.
When I finally write in the copybook, I write three words: ‘Wexford’ – ‘Amy’ – ‘Dead.’ I give each of them their own individual line, leaving 5,277 lines empty. An odd form of clarity creeps over me as I stare down at each one of those words. I understand only too clearly the strength behind each one.
I don’t expect tears, because they are something I haven’t experienced for a very long time. When they come, creeping stealthily up on me, they don’t feel like relief, they feel like pain. It’s like an overwhelming pressure behind my eyes from a place deep inside that I don’t want to feel any more. My vision blurs, trying to focus on the middle word: ‘Amy’. The evening sunlight is almost gone and the three letters making up her name burn into my brain. I know that even when the light goes and I’m sitting in the dark, I will still see them. The ache I feel is primal – rooted in the very reason for my madness.
When I hear the weeping, it seems as if it belongs to someone else, someone more deserving than me. I ask myself the question that has recently begun to weaken my resolve: What form of man or woman
would seek to live when the world they live in is no longer a world they care for or want?
Meadow View
HAVING CLEANED THE CAR, HE PLANNED TO TAKE ANOTHER bus into town, pick up some books and, depending on how the afternoon went, be back at Meadow View by evening. Maybe it was the delight of being considered ‘Mr Invisible’ that gave him the inclination towards taking risks, but instead of going into town, he took a bus to the outskirts of Tallaght. He got off the bus at the Old Mill pub and started walking up towards Bohernabreena and farther on towards Glencree.
He was halfway up the mountain road when he spotted two short legs with ankle socks and runners sticking out from the hedge. The boy who owned the short legs fired a tennis ball across the road to the other side, forcing him to duck quickly out of the way. He looked surprised, then smiled in a friendly way at the boy, who watched him the way children watch strangers, with that ‘should I talk to him?’ question on his face. He nodded at the boy and walked on.
He was a good two miles up the road when he spotted the police cars, and made the decision. ‘Mr Invisible’ or not, the risks of being seen were just too great. No matter. It was a lovely day, and although he was anxious to get back and check on developments, he was glad he had avoided the pollution of town when fresher air was to be had.
On his way back down the road, he met the boy again, only this time he had a friend with him, another boy of the same age, about seven or so.
‘Are you the boy who nearly killed me with the tennis ball?’ he asked, pretending to scold.
‘No, mister, it was Jack,’ pointing to his friend, ‘he sent it over first.’
‘Shut up, Tommy.’
‘You both friends?’
‘I live up there.’ Tommy pointed across the field, feeling more confident than before. ‘Jack lives at the end of the hill.’
‘Do you only attack strangers, or do you fight with each other as well?’
‘Sometimes,’ they both answered, and then laughed.
Red Ribbons Page 15