Unti Lucy Black Novel #3

by Brian McGilloway

  Lucy hefted the bag of frozen food to her free hand. The idea of going swimming with two strangers didn’t appeal to her, but she didn’t want to not help Jenny either. Plus, if she didn’t go, she’d end up sitting in the house, alone, eating ice cream. She could, she reasoned, always do that afterwards, anyway. “Why not?” Lucy said. “That would be nice.” After a swim she’d have earned the ice cream, she decided.

  “Great. We’re going to Lisnagelvin. Is half past seven okay?”

  Lucy glanced at the time on her phone. It was 5:45 now. That would give her just time to go home, grab a quick bite, and shave her legs before heading back out. Not enough time to leave the hour before swimming, though.

  “Can we make it eight instead?” Lucy asked.

  “No problem. We’ll see you there, then. Thanks.”

  “Look, are you sure you want me to come?” Lucy added. If Jenny was attempting to repair her relationship with her sister, Fiona might not appreciate a third party being present.

  “No, please. I don’t want Fiona to think I set her up. It’ll look more casual if she thinks we were planning on going anyway. You’d be doing me a big favor.”

  “See you at eight, then,” Lucy said, then hung up.

  As she pulled out of the car park, her phone rang again and Lucy assumed it was Jenny with a changed arrangement. This time, though, it was the Strand Road station.

  “DS Black? A Mrs. Doreen Jeffries from Bready has been in contact. She’s been burgled.”

  “That’s a uniform callout,” Lucy said, glancing across at the bags of groceries sliding around the footwell of the passenger seat. “I’m finished for the day.”

  “She’s asked specifically for you, said she knew you. She’s in a very bad state, apparently.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  DOREEN JEFFRIES WAS in her late sixties and lived in a small cottage on the roadside in Bready, a village along the A5, about six miles past Prehen. It was technically in Tyrone rather than Derry, but, as Jeffries had claimed, she did know Lucy, which is why, presumably, she had called the PSNI in Derry rather than Strabane.

  Lucy had first met the woman the year previous. She volunteered in a charity shop in Derry, four days a week, sorting through donations to find anything that the shop could actually sell. She’d proudly told Lucy, the first time they met, that she was the one who’d spotted a first edition Harry Potter, which the charity had sold at auction for several thousand pounds.

  The shop in question was one of a number that had agreed to take some of the children from the Social Ser­vices Residential Unit in the Waterside as volunteers. The program had been organized by Robbie, Lucy’s boyfriend. One of the kids, a youngster called Helen Dexter, had been working with Doreen, sorting out clothes and such, in the storeroom of the shop. Doreen had begun to suspect that Helen was stealing from the shop and passed word up to the manager, who had insisted that she report it to the police, in keeping with their zero-­tolerance policy on theft. With a significant degree of reluctance, Doreen had contacted Robbie, to inform him that she would have to report Helen to the PSNI. Robbie had suggested Doreen speak with Lucy, which is how the two had eventually met.

  When Lucy met Doreen, the woman revealed that she had already spoken with Helen herself and the girl had admitted taking clothes from the storeroom. They were, she revealed, for her younger sister; her mother refused to buy clothes for the child, preferring to drink it. The stock she had taken amounted to £45. In the end, the shop manager had agreed not to press charges so long as Helen paid for all that she had taken and was removed from the volunteer program.

  The money was repaid within the day. Helen denied ever having paid it back, nor would she admit where she had gotten the additional hundred pounds with which she had bought her sister a new school uniform, but despite the considerable age difference, she and Doreen had been firm friends ever since.

  DOREEN BEGAN WEEPING the moment she saw Lucy standing at her front door. Without warning, she hugged her, her body shuddering. Lucy embraced her lightly, could feel the thin bones of her shoulder blades through the brown cardigan she wore in spite of the heat.

  “Thanks for coming,” the woman said, when they separated. “I’m sorry for bothering you. I’m sure you were on your way home.”

  “It’s fine,” Lucy said. “You were burgled, is that right?”

  The woman nodded, holding the balled tissue in her fist up to her eyes to stem a renewed flow of tears. Lucy glanced around the living room, which appeared to be undisturbed. Normally, with a burglary, the place would be overturned.

  “What was taken?”

  “Bennie’s watch,” Doreen said, then began to cry again. Bennie, Doreen’s husband, had been an accountant in Derry for years. He’d died of a heart attack five years earlier, long before Lucy had even come back to Derry, so she’d never known the man, save for what Doreen had said about him, which, depending on her mood, ranged from his being a saint to her expressing gratitude for peace now that he was gone.

  “He bought me a watch for our silver wedding anniversary. It had diamonds in the face, one for each hour. It was far too nice to wear, but I kept it in my room. It’s gone. And a lot of the jewelry he bought for me over the years.”

  Lucy glanced around. Doreen’s television set still jabbered away in the corner, she noticed, though having said that, it was an analogue set and probably too heavy for someone looking for a quick snatch-­and-­run.

  “Anything else?”

  Doreen glanced around the room, as if taking a mental inventory for the first time. “Nothing obvious,” she said.

  “How did they get into the house? Any signs of a break in?”

  Doreen shook her head. “I didn’t notice anything.”

  “How about I take a quick look around, eh?” Lucy said.

  Lucy moved through the house, checking each window and examining the jambs of both the front and rear doors. In the main bedroom, the drawer of the wardrobe unit was lying on the floor, empty. A musical box lay upturned on the bed, again empty. By the time she came back downstairs, Doreen was sitting on the sofa, cradling herself.

  “You wouldn’t have left a window open, would you? On account of the heat?”

  The woman shook her head. “I always close the windows,” Doreen said. “Force of habit since Bennie was here, God rest him.”

  “Were you in the house all day?” Lucy asked. A creeper burglary was a possibility if there were no signs of forced entry, though Lucy was reluctant to mention it lest the woman had not considered the possibility that someone had been in her house while she was there, without her realizing it.

  “No. I’ve been away on holidays for the past week. To Blackpool with the WI. I only got back half an hour ago. I phoned as soon as I saw.”

  “Does anyone else have a key to the house? Someone maybe who was going to check on it while you were gone?”

  Doreen hesitated, staring from the TV screen to Lucy.

  “Who has the key, Doreen?”

  “Helen has a copy,” the woman said quietly. “I don’t believe it was her who stole from me, though.”

  “Helen Dexter?”

  Doreen nodded.

  “Why has she a key?”

  “She does some light work around the house for me,” Doreen replied. “I pay her for it.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since the whole thing last year. She offered to do it.”

  “To pay you back for the money you gave her?”

  Doreen nodded again. “Did she tell you about it? I asked her not to.”

  “No, I guessed. She’d not a penny to her name to pay off what she’d taken. I knew someone had given it to her, and it certainly wasn’t her mother.”

  “She offered to do some work to pay me back. I let her do it for a week, then told her I’d pay her for it. A few pounds to help her th
rough. A girl at that age needs something to keep her going.”

  Lucy smiled gently. “I hope your kindness wasn’t misplaced.”

  “I don’t believe she’d have stolen from me,” Doreen repeated. “I don’t believe it for a moment.”

  Despite that, Lucy reflected, Doreen had still called her, and had still revealed that Helen had access to her house.

  “I’ll have a word with her,” Lucy said. “See what she has to say.”

  “Don’t,” Doreen said. “She’ll think I don’t trust her.”

  Lucy considered a moment. If Helen had managed to build a proper, healthy stable relationship with an adult, the last thing Lucy wanted to do was damage it unnecessarily. Then again, if Helen had progressed from stealing second-­hand clothes to stealing jewelry, then that would need to be dealt with.

  “What was the value of your jewelry? Ballpark figure?”

  Doreen shrugged. “The watch cost Bennie over eight thousand when he bought it and that was fifteen years ago.”

  “Look, don’t touch anything upstairs. I’ll have someone come out and see if they can find any fingerprints on the jewelry box and that. How about I hold off on speaking to Helen until I get word back on that first. Okay?”

  Doreen smiled, gratefully.

  “Have you anyone who could stay with you tonight? Keep you company?”

  Doreen shook her head, smiled apologetically. “Helen would have been the obvious one to call.”

  “Best not, eh?” Lucy said. “Lock the doors. If you’ve any problems, call me directly rather than the station. Here’s my mobile number,” she said, handing Doreen her card.

  “Do you think whoever did it will come back?”

  Lucy shook her head. “Is there anything else in the house worth taking as much as your jewelry?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’d say whoever it was won’t be back. Can you make out a list of as many of the stolen items as you can remember? Mention any distinctive features. Someone will be out with you to collect it and to take prints.”

  The woman looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time, her lower lip shivering.

  “I have to go out to the shops. The fridge is empty with my being away,” she explained. “I’ve no dinner in. Will the house be okay if I go out?”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Lucy said. “Look, any problems, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll be in touch.”

  SHE PUSHED THE key into the car’s ignition, then, looking back toward the house, made up her mind.

  Doreen looked surprised to see Lucy again so soon, not least because she bore the bags of shopping she’d got in the supermarket.

  “We can’t have you not getting your dinner, now, can we? How does spaghetti Bolognese sound?” Lucy asked, stepping back inside.

  Chapter Sixteen

  FIONA AND JENNY were in the changing room of the pool by the time Lucy arrived. She’d just had time to shave her legs and grab her swimsuit and towel on the way back from Doreen’s. Her legs stung, spots of blood reddening the skin.

  Fiona smiled when she came in, fixing the straps on her suit. She was thin, small-­breasted, with an erect carriage that reminded Lucy of an Irish dancer’s. Jenny, though not heavy, did not have the same slim build, no doubt as a result of having three children. Or four. Lucy couldn’t remember how many she had.

  “Sorry I’m late. Work,” Lucy explained.

  “No problem.” Jenny smiled. Lucy sensed she was relieved, perhaps that her sister would believe that they had been planning on swimming anyway.

  “This must be a busman’s holiday, then,” Fiona said. “The last thing I’d feel like after training all day is swimming.”

  It took Lucy a beat to remember that as far as Fiona was concerned, her work was as a fitness instructor.

  “It’s a warm down,” she said, smiling. She pulled off her tracksuit bottoms.

  “Oh,” Jenny said. “That’s a nasty cut.”

  The comment, though clearly directed at the shaving cut on Lucy’s leg, below which a stream of blood had crusted, elicited an instant reaction from Fiona who grabbed her towel and clasped it in front of her, causing both Lucy and Jenny to turn and stare at her. Lucy could see her redden with embarrassment.

  “I made a bit of a mess, all right,” Lucy said quickly, keen to save Fiona further scrutiny. “Shall we go?”

  THE POOL WAS relatively quiet. A few kids splashed around at the shallow end, while toward the deep end, two earnest swimmers pounded back and forth, parallel to each other, completing length after length.

  Lucy eased her way in, then did two breaststroke lengths at an easy pace. She hadn’t been swimming for a while; after work she was normally so knackered, she stopped at the café, then fell asleep on the sofa.

  She turned onto her back and kicked a length, keeping her arms still by her side, then flipped and did a final few lengths using the front crawl. She felt the muscles across her chest and back tightening against the stroke, felt the tension knot across her shoulders.

  Finally, she stopped along the pool’s edge to rest. Fiona was completing a breaststroke length. Jenny was in the deep end, crossing back and forth with a furious front crawl, which seemed more splash than swim.

  Fiona paddled over to where Lucy sat, treading water.

  “I wouldn’t want to be whoever she’s using that water as a substitute for,” Lucy said, nodding toward Jenny’s thrashing.

  Fiona laughed. “Probably her kids. I don’t know how she does it.”

  Lucy nodded, keen not to get too involved in the conversation lest she reveal not only not knowing the children’s names, but even not being sure of their age. She glanced across toward the seated area at the edge of the pool. A man, perhaps in his thirties, was sitting alone at one of the tables. For a moment, Lucy assumed that he was the father of the children in the shallow end but, glancing across, she saw that their father was with them. The man sitting at the table was drinking from a Coke can as he returned her stare.

  “Voyeur at six o’clock,” Lucy said to Fiona. “Dodgy bloke with Coke.”

  Fiona twisted her head to see, pulling her goggles up onto her forehead. She turned suddenly, her face ablaze.

  “Do you know him?” Lucy asked, suddenly regretting the “dodgy bloke” comment.

  “He’s my partner,” Fiona managed.

  “Jesus, sorry,” Lucy said. “I didn’t mean anything.”

  Fiona shook her head. “It’s all right,” she said, pulling on her goggles again, as if to resume swimming.

  “Did you know that he was here?” Lucy asked.

  The girl tossed her head lightly, as if flicking her hair from her face. “I wasn’t . . . he must have come afterwards.”

  It was such a strange syntactical construction; Lucy guessed she was hiding her embarrassment.

  “Does he not trust you to go swimming with your sister?”

  Fiona turned suddenly. “He doesn’t like being on his own. He feels safe with me around.”

  “And how do you feel?”

  Fiona dipped her head beneath water then stood. “What about you? Have you a boyfriend?”

  “Kind of,” Lucy said. “On and off. It’s complicated.”

  “Is he married? That kind of complicated?”

  The blown-­up-­in-­a-­car-­bomb-­intended-­for-­me kind of complicated, Lucy thought. Instead, she said, “Something like that. I don’t like being hemmed in. Controlled. That’s not me.”

  Jenny pushed in beside them, the wake of water moving between them. “What’s not you?” she asked, nervously.

  “Being controlled. Fiona’s partner is here.”

  Jenny looked across to where the man sat. Aware that he was the topic of conversation, he raised his Coke can in salute. Something about the man was vaguely familiar, but Lucy couldn’
t place it. She ran the flat of her hand over her face to wipe the pool water from her eyes.

  “Wanker,” Jenny spat. “What does he want? Apart from a good slap in the nuts.”

  “Don’t, Jenny. He’s my partner,” Fiona said. “There’s a reason I don’t visit.”

  “Yeah,” Jenny retorted. “Because you’re not allowed.”

  “Fuck!” Fiona cried. “You’re just as bad as him.” She pushed over to the edge of the pool, then, using the edge tiles, pulled herself from the water.

  “Fiona,” Jenny said, moving to follow her.

  “Leave her a minute,” Lucy said. “Let me speak to her.”

  Lucy turned and lifted herself out of the water, too, then padded after Fiona into the changing room.

  It was empty inside. The girl had already gone into the shower and was angrily scrubbing at her hair.

  “Leave me alone,” she said, when she saw Lucy watching her.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I want to be left alone. No one leaves me alone. I can’t even have a bloody shower without . . . I just want to be alone,” she pleaded.

  “Jenny’s just concerned about you,” Lucy said. “Try not to be angry at her.”

  “What has any of this to do with you? You’re not family.”

  Lucy shrugged. “I know. Family just nag at you and tell you what to do. Trust me, I know. You should meet my mother. I’m not going to tell you anything. I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

  Fiona stared at her. “I’m just fed up,” she stated. “I’m sick of ­people treating me like I’m weak. Vulnerable. Like I’m stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid,” Lucy said. “Or weak.”