The Stolen Girls

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘You saw her?’

  ‘Met her, actually.’

  ‘What does that mean? Was lover boy with her?’ she asked, without thinking. Kirby still hadn’t found any sign of Jamie McNally. Maybe Boyd could get some information on the criminal’s whereabouts through Jackie.

  ‘Wait a minute. Did you know McNally was back?’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you until we were sure. Superintendent Corrigan had information that he returned to Ireland last Wednesday. Kirby was trying to locate him. To date he’s come up empty.’ Shit, she was making a balls of this. ‘So… you don’t know if McNally’s with her or not?’

  ‘To be honest, Lottie, I don’t give a shit.’

  ‘Rubbish’

  ‘Ah, just give me a break. I don’t want to go over this.’

  ‘Why? Don’t be an eejit. Three years ago Jackie broke your heart and nearly lost you your job.’

  ‘I couldn’t give her what she wanted. It was all my fault.’

  ‘Yes, for marrying her in the first instance.’

  ‘That was my choice.’

  ‘And you still have a choice. Stay away from her.’

  ‘Lottie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Mind your own business.’

  ‘Okay.’ Lottie relented. For now. Perhaps she should have warned Boyd that McNally was back. Bad judgement on her part? No, she’d been trying to protect him.

  ‘Will you find out where we can get a list of the residents at Dan Russell’s facility?’ she asked. Boyd looked like he needed an OCD-type job to get him back concentrating on work.

  ‘I’ll check with the Department of Justice. Though if the facility is outsourced, I’m not sure they’ll be able to help.’

  ‘Try it anyway.’

  With a sigh, Boyd nodded.

  ‘They have a freelance language tutor in the DPC. George O’Hara…’ she began.

  ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  ‘Okay so,’ Lottie relented. ‘About the dress we found in Maeve Phillips’s room,’ she said. ‘From the code on the tag, Lynch discovered it’s only available online. She’s checking with the company now. Hopefully we can trace the transaction.’

  Boyd sat up straight. ‘We’ll never trace it.’

  ‘Be optimistic. There’s enough pessimists around without you turning into one.’ She slammed the desk.

  ‘Got something!’ Maria Lynch interrupted them, dragging a page from the printer. ‘The dress was bought from Dinkydress on April first. Paid for by credit card. They won’t say who owns the card, but it was delivered by courier to Maeve Phillips, 251 Mellow Grove, on the fifth.’

  ‘She had that dress over a month and never wore it. Wonder what it was bought for? Any credit cards in her own name?’ Lottie asked, reading the page.

  ‘She hasn’t even got a bank account,’ Lynch said.

  ‘Someone bought it for her. Might be a boyfriend. See if you can get the company to release the name.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Make something up. I think whoever bought that dress may be Maeve’s mystery boyfriend. If we find this boyfriend, we might find Maeve. We need to be concentrating on the murder of the woman found under the street.’

  ‘Will I hand this missing person case over to someone else, so?’ Lynch asked.

  ‘No. We need to make it high priority. Find out if Maeve Phillips has a passport, and I want to talk to this friend of hers, Emily. I need to be sure Maeve’s disappearance isn’t linked to the murder.’

  ‘Hardly likely, is it?’ Boyd said.

  ‘Ticking the box,’ Lottie said.

  ‘As long as it’s not a wooden one with a brass cross on top,’ Kirby said, raising his head from behind a mountain of paperwork.

  ‘That was anything but funny.’ Lottie ran her fingers through her hair and wondered if Kirby had a point.

  * * *

  Emily Coyne was chatty and full of life. Lottie caught up with her at the Parkway Hotel, where she worked afternoons, after school.

  Flouncing onto a chair in front of the two detectives, Emily’s eyes shone with excitement through pink-rimmed spectacles. Auburn highlights in her curly hair flashed every time she turned her head, which was often.

  ‘Thanks for talking to us,’ Lottie said.

  The girl stared. ‘Oh, Mrs Parker. I hardly recognised you. How’s Chloe?’

  Lottie wondered if Chloe was in Emily’s year at school, and if so, did she know Maeve?

  ‘She’s fine, thanks.’

  ‘Cool,’ Emily said.

  ‘We’re concerned about your friend Maeve Phillips.’

  ‘Maeve? Why? What she do?’ The curls remained stationary long enough for the curve of her mouth to dip downwards. ‘Nothing serious, I hope.’

  ‘We’re trying to locate her,’ Lottie said, feeling slightly dizzy at the girl’s constant gesticulations. ‘Any idea where she might be?’

  Emily puffed out her cheeks and widened her eyes. ‘At home?’

  ‘She’s not there. Do you think she might be with her father?’

  ‘That yoke. She hates him.’

  Lottie digested that for a moment, then asked, ‘When did you last see Maeve?’

  More facial contortions and flicking of long nails before Emily said, ‘Let me see. Last Friday at school.’

  ‘Didn’t she stay over at your house for the weekend?’

  ‘No. She was all excited, like. I think she has a boyfriend. Said she’d see me Monday with all the gossip. But she hasn’t been to school this week. Oh shit. I hope she’s all right.’

  Lottie said, ‘Is it unusual for her to miss school?’

  Emily made a face. ‘Yes, it is actually. I should have been more worried about her, but I’ve been so busy revising and working here and all.’ She dropped her head. ‘Maeve rarely misses school, which is odd seeing as how her mum is…’ She paused. ‘I don’t mean to disrespect her mother, but she drinks a lot.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘I tried ringing Maeve. Text and Snapchat too, but I got no reply on anything. I wasn’t concerned about her, though. Should I have been? Do you think she’s all right?’

  Ignoring the girl’s enquiries, Lottie asked, ‘Do you know anything about Maeve’s boyfriend?’

  ‘She only hinted she was seeing someone. Never mentioned a name or anything. I asked but she wouldn’t tell me.’

  ‘And you’re sure she hasn’t been in contact with you since Friday?’ Lottie had been hoping Maeve had stayed with Emily, or at least told her where she was going.

  ‘I only saw her briefly then. We’re in TY together but the class splits up on Fridays for our project.’

  ‘TY?’ Boyd asked.

  ‘Transition year,’ Lottie explained. ‘After they complete their Junior Certificate, students have a choice of taking an extra year for projects.’ She turned back to Emily. ‘What kind of project are you doing?’

  ‘Helping people understand languages a bit better. All boring stuff really.’

  ‘And Maeve’s doing this too?’

  ‘Yes, and she was all excited on Friday. Like I said, I don’t know why.’

  ‘So you definitely didn’t see her after that?’

  ‘No. You have me worried now. Where do you think she is?’ Concern seemed to put a damper on Emily’s antics.

  ‘I thought you might know, but obviously…’ Lottie rose to leave.

  ‘Wait.’ Emily tugged her bag. Lottie resumed her seat. ‘Maeve was online a lot. Tinder and Facebook. Snapchat and Twitter too. More than any of us. I think her fella might be someone she met that way.’

  ‘Okay,’ Lottie said. ‘If you think of anything else, contact me.’ She handed over her card.

  ‘Yup. I’ll ask around too. I can be like a private detective.’

  ‘Emily, we will do the investigating. But if you hear anything, ring or text me.’

  ‘Whatever.’ The curls bounced around even more. ‘Mrs Parker?’

  Lotti
e paused. ‘Yes?’

  ‘You should ask Chloe about Maeve. They’re friends as well.’

  * * *

  ‘I’ll drive,’ Lottie said, at the car.

  ‘Fine by me,’ Boyd said.

  ‘I’d say you’re over the limit.’

  ‘Oh, I was way over my limit three years ago.’

  ‘I’m not talking about Jackie.’

  ‘Neither am I.’

  Lottie unlocked the car and got in. ‘Boyd, I’m very concerned.’

  ‘I feel sick.’ Boyd buckled his seat belt. ‘Hope I’m not getting the flu,’ he complained.

  ‘Grow up. It’s your lunchtime pints mixed with the heat. I’m convinced now that Maeve is missing. I’m just not sure if she ran off freely or not. I’ll need to set up a task force to oversee it. Even with the murder investigation ongoing, we have to keep this high-profile.’

  ‘She’ll be with her online boyfriend. No need to panic.’

  ‘She’d have told her best friend.’ Lottie started the car. ‘Teenagers stick together, tell each other everything. If Emily doesn’t know where Maeve is, then no one does.’

  ‘What about Chloe?’

  ‘I’ll talk to her this evening, but she’s a year behind Maeve in school, so she mightn’t know much about her.’

  Boyd shook his head. ‘You think Maeve’s been abducted, don’t you? Come on, Lottie. Don’t jump to conclusions. The evidence points to the fact that the girl ran away.’

  ‘Ran away with what? You saw her home. They have nothing.’

  ‘She has a criminal father who is more than likely loaded and you’re panicking because you didn’t do the right thing when Jason Rickard went missing.’

  Lottie slammed on the brakes. Luckily there was no one behind her. She quickly manoeuvred the car onto the hard shoulder opposite the old tobacco factory. Twisting round, she shot Boyd a scathing look.

  ‘That was below the belt. Way below.’

  He appeared to shrink beneath her glare. ‘Shit, I’m sorry. But in all honesty, don’t you think it’s true?’

  ‘Fuck you, Boyd.’

  Gritting her teeth, she floored the accelerator, swerving into the lane without a glance in the rear-view mirror, and roared the car back to the station.

  She was mad at Boyd because she knew he was right.

  * * *

  Lottie rang Jane Dore, but the pathologist had had no word from ballistics regarding the bullet found in the victim.

  ‘Any favours owed to you?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘Cashed them in last time when I bumped that DNA sample to the top of the queue for you,’ Jane said. ‘No identification yet?’

  ‘No. We also have a missing local girl, but I’m nearly positive it’s not her. I’ll email you her photo, just so you can rule her out.’

  ‘Okay, send it on.’

  ‘Do you think our victim could have been shot at the car dismantler’s depot?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘I’m having the bloods checked,’ Jane said. ‘And I found a particle of moss lodged under a fingernail.’

  ‘Moss? But she was buried in clay and dirt.’

  ‘I’m having it analysed at the moment.’

  ‘Let me know as soon as you have results.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Moss,’ Lottie repeated as she ended the call. Her head ached. Looking around, she noticed she was the only one left in the office.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Lottie had let Boyd out of the car at the front of the station while she parked round the back. He had grabbed Kirby, who was on the steps having a smoke, and steered him down the street to Cafferty’s. The pub was quiet at 5.30 in the evening.

  ‘Don’t mind the boss. She’s chewing everyone’s arse,’ Kirby said.

  ‘It’s not that,’ Boyd replied. ‘Jackie’s back.’

  Kirby averted his eyes. ‘That’s all you need.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  Kirby sipped his Guinness. ‘Look, Boyd, I knew your ex-wife was trouble the first time she wiggled her boobs at me.’

  ‘She’s still my wife, if only in name,’ Boyd corrected him. ‘To hell with this sparkling water. Hey, Darren. Put on a pint for me.’

  The barman set about the slow art of pulling the perfect pint of Guinness.

  Kirby said, ‘You’re blind to all things dangerous and criminal when the gorgeous Jackie’s in your vicinity.’

  ‘Playing the philosopher doesn’t wash with me.’

  ‘You know McNally is back in town?’

  ‘I do now, but I didn’t see any sign of him nor did I hang around to hear her story. Not that she had any intention of telling me anything.’

  ‘Was it weird seeing Jackie after so long?’ Kirby finished his pint with three gulps and signalled for another.

  ‘Weird?’ Boyd thought for a moment. ‘That’s one way of putting it after three years. Scary, I’d say.’

  ‘You’re not afraid of Rat-Face McNally, are you?’

  ‘Afraid of what he’s doing back in Ragmullin more like. Trouble tracks him like a second shadow.’

  ‘We need to get on to Europol and see if they can tell us what he’s been up to.’

  ‘We’re not the CIA, Kirby.’

  ‘Hmph,’ Kirby grunted.

  ‘I’m not even sure Jackie’s still with him.’

  ‘Wishful thinking?’

  Darren, the barman, arrived with the pint. While Boyd was counting out the money, Kirby picked up the glass and started drinking.

  ‘I’ll have the other one ready in two shakes,’ said Darren with a wink.

  ‘You’re a greedy bastard, Kirby. Anyway,’ Boyd said, ‘I don’t want to talk about Jackie.’

  ‘Fine by me. But you’d like to get your leg over her again, wouldn’t you?’

  The barman arrived with the second pint.

  ‘Shut up and let’s get shit-faced,’ Boyd said.

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ Kirby replied, raising his glass in a mock toast.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Chloe was lying on her bed, bright red headphones clamped to her ears, still wearing her uniform. She was thumbing through her phone.

  ‘Can I have a word?’ Lottie walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Chloe jumped up, pulled the Beats down to her neck and slipped the phone under her pillow. Lottie took this as assent.

  ‘How are things? You seem to be in bad form all the time. Why?’

  ‘Just stuff. You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘I’m worried about you; try me.’

  ‘No. Way. What do you want?’

  Sighing, Lottie asked, ‘Do you know Maeve Phillips?’

  ‘What if I do?’

  ‘Chloe, please do me a favour and answer the question.’

  ‘Okay, Detective Inspector. Yeah. I know her.’

  ‘Any idea where she might skive off to?’

  ‘No. Is she gone AWOL?’

  ‘I got the impression she wasn’t the type of girl to go AWOL, as you put it.’

  ‘Maeve is a drama queen, always looking for attention.’

  Lottie knew a couple of other drama queens, both living in her house.

  ‘So it’s not unusual for her to go missing, is it?’

  ‘Not really. She has friends in Dublin. Sometimes she heads up there on the train. Gets sick of looking after her alcoholic mother, so she says.’

  ‘She hasn’t been seen since last Friday,’ Lottie said.

  ‘Don’t think she ever went off for that long before. Usually a day or two.’

  ‘Emily Coyne thinks she has an online boyfriend. Know anything about that?’

  Chloe hesitated. Just a fraction. Lottie caught it.

  ‘Emily is a gobshite. I’m not BFFs or anything with her or Maeve. They’re a year ahead of me.’

  ‘I know. So how are you acquainted?’

  ‘We hang out online sometimes.’

  ‘Facebook?’

  Another hesitation, then, ‘Yeah.’

  Lottie had t
he feeling Chloe was being purposely evasive. ‘If she wanted to leave home, do you think she might go to these friends in Dublin?’

  ‘I said I don’t know.’

  Lottie stood up, went to the door and looked back at her daughter. When had she lost her? Chloe used to be the child she could depend on, the sensible one. Had life in the Parker house become too much for the teenager? Her mood had definitely altered recently. Since Lottie had been off work? At home all day going stir-crazy and making her kids just as crazy? But she sensed it was related to the events that happened in January. Or maybe it went back even further, to Adam’s death. She knew how devastating it had been for the whole family. But she thought Chloe had coped better than the others. Maybe she’d been wrong about that too.

  Chloe chewed her lip for a moment, then, as if having a change of heart, she said, ‘I thought Maeve was supposed to be staying with Emily for the weekend.’

  ‘Emily says she didn’t stay with her. Tell me, what’s Maeve like?’

  ‘She’s okay,’ Chloe said. ‘A bit of a loner. Before you ask, she doesn’t do drugs or any of that shit.’

  ‘This boyfriend of hers…’

  Chloe shrugged her shoulders. ‘She’s always online. Has her phone glued to her hand, even in school.’

  ‘Same as you, then.’ Lottie smiled. ‘We’ll interrogate her Facebook account.’

  ‘Is nothing sacred any more?’ Chloe groaned.

  ‘And we’ll check any other social media sites she might be using.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Chloe pulled the Beats over her ears.

  ‘I’ll be getting my guys to probe all her online accounts, but maybe you could have a look and see if you notice anything unusual or odd that might escape us old people.’

  Lottie walked out onto the landing, followed by the thump of music from the headphones.

  ‘Your room could do with a hoover,’ she said with a backward glance.

  Chloe closed her eyes and waved her away.

  Conversation over.

  * * *

  When she was sure her mother had gone downstairs, Chloe logged on to her phone and searched Maeve’s Facebook page. No updates. She tapped on Twitter, clicked her lists. Nothing. She keyed in the hashtag #cutforlife and scrolled. No posts from Maeve since last Friday. Odd. Normally she posted every day, every minute some days. Luckily they hadn’t told big-mouth Emily anything, because she would surely blab. There was enough strife in her life without her mother finding out about this.