by Claire Allan
That had been four years ago. There were a couple of occasional drunk and disorderly cases reported on after that. I think of him, needy and lonely, with an air of desperation about him. If I’m honest, I don’t really think he could be capable of stalking me and threatening me. He’s just someone who has fallen about as far as a person can fall and who just wants a friend. I can use that to my advantage.
I scroll through my contacts on my phone until Declan’s number comes up. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I see it is now almost three thirty. I don’t want him to come to my flat again. I’ve not lost my mind completely, but I do want to see him. Preferably somewhere public.
I think of that café in the Rath Mor Centre, where we first shared a cup of tea, and I figure if we move quick enough, it will still be open. It would be ideal.
Tapping the call button, I watch as the call connects, but Declan doesn’t answer. The phone rings a handful of times before it switches to an automated voicemail message. Swearing inwardly, I hang up and send a text message instead.
Declan, it’s Ingrid. Sorry about last night. I was rattled. Give me a call when you get this.
I wait for an answer that I’m sure will be immediate, but my phone stays ominously, and very annoyingly, silent.
I contemplate getting in my car and going for a drive around Creggan, just to see if there are signs that Bernie Doherty might be home, or that word about Jamesy has got out, or, I don’t know, just something to quieten all the voices in my head. But I don’t want to be brazen about it. I don’t want whoever it was who attacked my car to think I’m goading them. If it’s the same people who attacked Liam, or who may have targeted Jamesy, it’s quite clear they aren’t messing around.
I decide to wait for Declan to come back to me. I’m sure he will.
I grab a packet of coloured index cards and start to label them with key points about the case. If I can see the jigsaw puzzle in front of me, something might jump out at me that helps.
All of these people, even Ryan, are tied together by one little girl and the night she died. I just don’t know how.
Chapter Forty
Declan
This time Declan lets his anger get the better of him. Taking his keys from his pocket, he walks alongside his brother’s car, digging the point of the keys into the paintwork as hard as he can. The screech of metal on metal hurts his ears. He can feel it reverberate through his body as if someone were digging the sharp end of a key directly into his bones.
This is how Niall makes him feel. This is the anger he has for his brother and while he has learned to keep a lid on it over the years, just as he has learned to keep a lid on so much, this time he has to show it. He doesn’t want to keep it buried.
He only wishes he were brave enough to walk up to Niall and tell him exactly what he has done. To tell his brother that it was the very least he deserves. That he hopes the bill will take the smug look off his face.
That smile. His teeth professionally whitened, like he thinks he is somebody. Declan would like to knock that smile to the other side of his face.
But he won’t. When he thinks of his ma, of how she frets about them both, he knows he won’t do it to her. It would break her to see either of them hurt. It’s why she has always been so generous with him. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do to ease his path. It’s a pity Niall, with all his money and charm, doesn’t feel the same. He’d deny Declan as quickly as he could look at him.
Niall Heaney wouldn’t think twice about walking over his brother to get to whatever he wanted, and he’d proven it again today. Meeting Ingrid in town. Was it not enough they’d met last night?
He feels a warm sense of satisfaction as he reaches the front of the car and glances back at the deep groove he has just carved into his brother’s pride and joy. He reminds himself that he must not smile. He must not give the game away.
He lets himself into his parents’ house, follows the sound of chatter coming from the living room. Niall is, it seems, holding court. Their parents are enthralled by one of his stories about how he – single-handedly, he’d have them believe – turned a failing school around into something hugely successful.
‘What happened to your car?’ Declan asks, his face a perfect depiction of shock and surprise.
He delights in the change in Niall’s expression. The confusion closely followed by a hint of fear, then anger before he rushes from the room and out of the front door.
A litany of expletives carries into the room on the air from outside and Declan watches as his parents make their own way to the front street. His mother stands, arms crossed, hand to her mouth and head shaking.
‘Some wee bastard,’ his da says. ‘I’ll ask around, see if anyone saw anything.’
‘Good idea,’ Declan chimes in, even though he knows full well that no one will have seen anything.
The street was deserted as he walked up it. The wind and rain were keeping anyone with an ounce of sense indoors and in front of the fire.
‘At least it’s only a car. A car can be fixed,’ his ma says, but there’s a tremor to her voice.
‘There’s dangerous people around at the minute,’ Niall says. ‘Think of what happened to Mr Doherty, and Ingrid Devlin, too. Her car has been vandalised. Maybe I should call the police.’
Declan feels his face flush. That would be the last thing he needs – to get into trouble with the law again. He’d been doing a good job of keeping his nose clean and he had no desire to fall back into old habits.
‘There’s no need to be getting the police involved,’ his da says, and Declan fights the urge to sag with relief. ‘It’ll be some hood acting the maggot. I’ll look into it. Give whoever did it a piece of my mind.’
Despite his advancing years, the thought of Frankie Heaney giving you a piece of his mind is still enough to put the fear of God into most people. Especially Declan. His da has always made a formidable opponent.
‘But I’ll need a reference number if I’m to claim it on my insurance,’ Niall says.
‘For the excess you’d pay, and the increase in your premiums, it’ll be cheaper for you to do it yourself, and it’s not like you can’t afford it,’ Declan says.
His brother glares at him. Declan is almost tempted to smile. Almost, just to push his brother into losing his temper. There’s been a row brewing between the two parties for a long time now.
The air is thick with tension. Declan notices his ma looking between the two of them, her mouth a thin line. Her eyes dull, dark-ringed. She’s looking older, he realises. Stressed. He doesn’t want to make it worse.
‘It’s freezing out here,’ he says. ‘Ma, how about a cup of tea?’
She smiles. ‘That’s a good idea, son. I’ll put the kettle on.’
He walks to her, puts his arm around her shoulder. ‘You go in there and sit down and I’ll make the tea. Doesn’t that sound like a better idea?’
‘You’re a good son,’ she says. ‘You are both good sons.’
Declan would like it more if she could just compliment him without the need to compliment his brother, too. Niall gets enough praise.
He knows that makes him a little childish. He hates himself for it. He has always lived in Niall’s shadow and no matter what he has tried to do to direct attention his way, nothing has worked. He sometimes wonders if he is invisible.
If he were to disappear right now, he wonders would anyone even notice, let alone care. But he can’t allow himself to fall down that rabbit hole again. Not now. He is already low enough without making things worse for himself.
He switches the kettle on to boil, moves around the kitchen setting out mugs, putting biscuits on a plate. He doesn’t even hear Niall come into the room and jumps when he hears him speak.
‘You need to watch yourself,’ Niall says, his voice quiet but still with enough menace to make Declan freeze.
It can’t be possible that his brother knows with any degree of certainty that he is responsible for what happened to hi
s car. He decides to say nothing, just to continue with his task of making the tea.
‘Are you listening to me?’ Niall says.
Declan takes a breath, turns to face him. ‘I am. But I’m not sure I’ve the first notion of what you’re talking about.’
‘Back off from Ingrid Devlin,’ he says, and Declan colours. ‘I’ve seen her today and you’re freaking her out. Creeping around. Calling at her apartment like some sad stalker. Is there actually something wrong with you?’ Niall taps the side of his brother’s head, his words dripping with venom.
Declan moves out of the way, fights the urge to punch Niall. He wonders just what Ingrid has said about him. Have the words his brother has used come from her lips? A sad stalker. Something wrong with him. Creeping around.
‘I’ve not done anything wrong,’ Declan says.
‘That’s not how she sees it. Do you know that she’s even worried that it might be you who targeted her car?’
Declan’s fists clench despite his promise to himself to stay quiet. ‘Well, she’s wrong. For fuck’s sake, why would she think that?’
He notices his brother looks delighted with himself. Niall knows he has him rattled.
‘And she thinks you might the person who broke into her place. Painted on the walls.’
Declan just blinks at his brother. He can hardly believe what he is hearing. Ingrid thinks he’s capable of that? He has only ever tried to help her. He thought she saw him differently from how others saw him. But maybe she is just like all the others. She saw what was on the outside and has made all of her judgements based on that.
‘Do you need some help in there?’ His ma’s voice cuts through their stand-off.
‘No, Ma. We’re grand. Sit you down,’ he calls and then he turns to his brother. ‘The pair of you can go to hell. You’ll make great company for each other.’
‘We do get along very well,’ Niall smirks.
Declan brushes past him, probably a little too roughly, and takes the tea in for his mother. He will not let himself down by showing his anger in front of her.
When his phone beeps later with a message from Ingrid Devlin saying she is sorry for how she treated him last night and asking him to get in touch, he hits the delete button. She’s so sorry for last night that she’s just told his brother she thinks he’s a creep. If he never speaks to her again, it will be too soon.
Chapter Forty-One
Ingrid
Declan hasn’t messaged me back by 9 p.m. I’m tempted to send him another text, try to call, but I don’t want to appear needy. I’m still not sure if I should trust him or not, and I’m worried that if I speak to him now, he might want to call round again.
I’ve been checking The Chronicle website and there has been no update on the body found on the train tracks. Ryan has posted a fairly bland copy of the statement Sue had given out at the press conference about Liam Doherty, but the site is dead apart from that.
I don’t know if Ryan has tried to contact me. It might be childish, but I blocked his number on my phone. I have no desire to listen to anything he has to say. Knowing the arrogance of the man, he won’t have taken me seriously. He will think I’m just being a ‘typical woman’ and I didn’t really mean to quit my job.
He is probably thinking that I will come crawling back to him soon, or that he can talk me round with false promises of promotions and pay rises on the basis that I hand over my research on Jamesy Harte.
If only Declan would call me back. I check my phone again just in case I’ve missed a call, but there are no notifications.
I rub the muscles in my neck and shoulders; they are taut, tense. I can feel the beginnings of a headache. Ideally, I’d stand under a hot shower for half an hour before falling into bed, but I am too wired. I need a second pair of eyes on this. Someone to help me make some sense of it. To give me a different perspective.
I look at the notes again and it strikes me that just as Declan is so sure Jamesy is innocent, Niall is equally convinced of his guilt. Niall, who was so nice today when I had a panic attack. When he’d warned me to be wary of Declan, he genuinely seemed to care. He might just be the person to help me see this more clearly.
I’m only calling him about work, I tell myself as I wait for the call to connect. Nothing more.
He answers. ‘Ingrid? Is everything okay?’
‘Look, there’s been a big development in the story, and I sort of wondered if you were still in Derry and maybe we could talk about it.’
‘As it happens, I am still in Derry. At my parents’ house. Someone took a key to the side of my car and my da’s getting a friend of his to have a look at it before I go back. So, I’m here ’til tomorrow afternoon at least.’
My heart quickens. Someone has attacked his car?
‘Shit, I’m sorry. You don’t think it’s the same person who vandalised my car?’
I hear movement and the sound of a door closing.
‘Sorry,’ he says, ‘I was going somewhere more private. I suspect it might have been Declan, so it might well be the same person who attacked your car if I’m right about that, too.’
‘Jesus,’ I sigh.
‘He’s not right in the head,’ Niall sniffs. ‘Look. It’s not that much damage, but it goes to show that you really can never know what he is capable of. He’s forever getting himself into trouble like this.’
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of him,’ I admit.
‘Why would you do that?’
Niall sounds annoyed. The tone of his voice makes my skin prickle.
‘As I said, something has happened. Something big. Look, I’d rather not talk about it over the phone. Is there any chance we could meet up?’
‘After nine on a Saturday night? Everywhere will be rammed. We’ll be shouting over the noise,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you just tell me?’
I shake my head, even though he won’t be able to see me anyway. ‘No, really. It’s not the kind of news you break over the phone.’
I realise I don’t want to risk his reaction attracting the attention of his parents, or anyone else. This is not the kind of news he will be able to keep to himself once he hears it. For a moment I wonder if I’m making a mistake in trying to get him on board. I know so little about him, but I have to trust my gut and ideally, I’d love to get to the bottom of this before Ryan splashes the news all over the Internet with his own coverage.
‘You could come to my place?’ I say.
There’s a pause. ‘Your place? Are you sure?’ he asks.
‘Strictly business,’ I say, trying to keep my voice light.
‘That’s a shame,’ he says. ‘But I get it. Big story. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not in any danger or anything?’
The concern in his voice is heart-warming.
‘I’m fine. I’m here and I’m locked in,’ I say.
‘Okay, well, let me know your address and I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’
I tell him where I live and he starts to say his goodbyes. I’m about to end the call, when I hear an ‘Oh, Ingrid …’ echo down the line. I put the phone back to my ear.
‘Yes?’ I say.
‘If Declan does call back, if he shows up, don’t let him in. He was in bad form leaving here earlier and he’d already had a few drinks by then. God knows what state he’ll be in by now. Best give him the chance to sober up first.’
The thought of Declan Heaney arriving drunk and angry at my door makes me feel sick.
Chapter Forty-Two
Ingrid
‘Jamesy is dead?’
The look on Niall’s face is one of genuine shock. In fact, he has gone quite pale.
He hasn’t been here long. A matter of minutes, in fact. He arrived twenty minutes after our call, and I was relieved when the door buzzer went to see that it was him and not his brother on the screen, waving at the CCTV camera.
He’d smiled awkwardly when he arrived. ‘I’m not sure I can be any help to you, but I’m guessing the somethi
ng big isn’t a good something big?’
I had nodded, invited him through to the living room. Of course it was impossible for him to miss my fairly low-tech attempts at piecing together all the bits of this investigation and everything that has happened since.
‘You’re really looking at this from every angle?’ he’d asked as he examined the index cards, running his finger down some of them while he read. He had paused for just a moment when he reached the card with his name on it and had glanced back at me.
‘Fame at last,’ he said with a weak smile. ‘Or infamy.’
He paused again at the clipping from The Chronicle with the report on Kelly’s funeral.
‘That was a brutal day,’ he said before he’d spotted Jamesy Harte in the picture of mourners.
‘That man …’ he said, and I blurt out what I know.
‘That man is dead.’
I watch as Niall puts his hand on the back of one of my dining chairs, trying to steady himself.
‘Sit down,’ I urge. ‘I know it’s a shock.’
Niall does as I tell him and drops his head into his hands. For a moment I wonder if he is going to start crying, or maybe be sick.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he says, his voice quiet.
I sit down on the other side of the sofa, angle my body towards his. There is more to tell him and I’m not sure how he will react.
‘What happened?’ he asks.
‘Did you see the news at all today? The body on the train tracks?’
Niall sits back in the chair. It’s almost as if the weight of my words has pushed him back into the seat.
‘Jesus Christ!’ he exclaims. ‘Did he … Was it … Did he kill himself? How do you know all this?’
He blinks at me and there is no mistaking it now – there are tears pooling in his eyes. He tries to stop them from falling, but I notice his hands are shaking.
‘I mean, the police haven’t named him. And wasn’t that in Coleraine or somewhere? It could be anyone. I’d heard he was in Scotland.’
I shook my head. ‘He never left the country,’ I explain. ‘He’s been living in a bedsit in Portstewart. He’s not known as Jamesy any more. He’s Jim. I met him there for an interview just last week.’ I can hardly believe that’s all it has been. So much has happened. ‘I spoke to him last night,’ I tell Niall. ‘He was so upset with me for the article in the paper. And he’d heard about Liam. He said Liam was part of the whole plan to set him up.’