All the Lost Girls

by Bilinda P Sheehan

  Sister Rosario has decided I’m a poor example to the others in the school and has asked me to stay home for the rest of my pregnancy. Mam was livid but I told her to leave it. Kicking up a fuss isn’t going to make this any better. And anyway, if I stayed they’d only find new ways to make my life miserable.

  They said they’ll send my work home for me with Alice but I’m thinking I’ll just drop school completely. I’m old enough now anyway and I could get a job. I’m going to have to do something to support myself for when the baby comes. Things are already tight enough for Mam and Dad without an extra mouth to feed.

  I told Sarah and she said I could always go to England and get it dealt with. I told her not a chance but I can’t say I haven’t considered it.

  I never wanted this baby, I didn’t choose it but now that I have it, I think I kind of love it. But if it wasn’t here it would be easier… Does that make me a terrible person to think that? I suppose it does but I’m so tired all the time and my eyes hurt from crying. I thought life was going to be different.

  I hate myself for being so stupid and believing Liam. How could I have thought he was one of the good guys?

  Sarah said she saw him in town yesterday with Anne-Marie. She’s perfect for him, her parents have a share in Coolmore and Liam loves horses…

  Sometimes I wish I was dead.

  25

  Scooping up the sandwich from its paper wrapping, I stared down at the files spread across the white bedspread. Going through the old files was taking longer than I would have liked but I needed to be thorough. Someone had to be; the mess they’d initially made of the case was criminal.

  A knock on the bedroom door made me jump and mayonnaise plopped onto the paper-towel in my lap.

  “Shit,” I swore under my breath and set the sandwich down on the bed. Light Mayo my ass. Grabbing another couple of napkins I scrubbed my fingers clean of the greasy condiment that had dripped down over my hand. Tossing the used napkins in the bin underneath the dressing table, I pulled the door open and found myself face to face with Ronan.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

  He raised a white bag and grinned sheepishly at me. “Thought after the run in you had with the sergeant you might fancy a Chinese.”

  As he moved the bag, the scent of chow mein wafted out and my mouth began to water. I glanced over my shoulder at the pathetic sandwich on the bed, the lettuce wilting out from between the bread.

  “Come in.” I stepped aside, letting him in the door.

  He glanced around the room and nodded approvingly. “Not bad.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I thought they’d have stuck you in a B&B, or had you bed in with the sergeant.”

  The thought of having to stay with Sergeant John Mills was enough to bring an unladylike snort of laughter spilling from me. Ronan grinned in response.

  “Not a fan then?” I asked, making some room on the dresser, so he could begin unpacking the bag.

  “He’s fine,” he said, somewhat cautiously. “Strict and he tries to be fair.”

  “But?”

  Ronan shrugged. “I guess he’s just a little old-fashioned, like a relic from a bygone era.”

  I knew what he meant. Sergeant John Mills was a good man, I had no doubt about that. And he seemed to care about the case. But there was a wariness about him. I got the feeling that he thought my presence would somehow blow the case out of proportion.

  Perhaps he felt I would upset the delicate ecosystem that existed, trampling over relationships and bonds that were as deeply rooted as some of the mountains that surrounded the county.

  And considering the way he’d blown a gasket earlier today when I’d told him my suspicions about the most recent missing girl and her connection to the cold cases, well it hadn’t exactly put us on the best of terms.

  “Why is he so resistant to the idea that the cases are linked?”

  Ronan shrugged. “Maybe because he’s so old-school? He doesn’t like to jump to conclusions, he tends to follow leads to their logical conclusions and in this case he believes the boyfriend is the most logical conclusion.”

  “But he’s wrong,” I said.

  “But you have no proof of that,” he said.

  “All you have to do is look at the girls to have all the proof you need. I don’t believe in coincidences, Ronan, in this line of work, relying on that kind of policing gets people hurt. Or worse.”

  He shrugged. “It’s your case, you can overrule him if you want to.”

  I nodded and chewed my lip thoughtfully. I could overrule him. I was technically in charge but I was also here as a courtesy. The sergeant had asked for my intervention. He’d really asked for the intervention of the NBCI and I knew if I pushed him too far it wouldn’t be long before he’d go complaining to my superiors. With cases like this, it was vital you kept the local lines of enquiry sweet. A political minefield if ever there was and I didn’t exactly have the best reputation when it came to juggling the feelings of the local Gardaí.

  I caught Ronan studying the newspaper I’d left on the top of the dresser. The photograph of Joanna Burke, the most recent girl to disappear, stared up out of the front page as if she dared us to find her.

  “Do you think the reporters are right?”

  There was an almost imperceptible tightening in Ronan’s shoulders and I knew I’d struck a nerve. The only problem was, I had no idea why.

  “About what?” His tone was deliberately light, as he set the silver trays out and popped the lids free. The room was quickly filled with the rich scent of noodles and spices.

  “That it’s a serial killer at work,” I said.

  “I didn’t think we were allowed to admit that out loud.”

  “We’re not,” I said, it felt wrong to deny the possibility that the deaths were the work of a serial killer but I had strict instructions from the higher ups not to entertain the notion, at least not publicly. “Talk like that creates panic, Siobhan, and we have enough of that already.”

  Ronan nodded. “Well, what do you think?”

  “I think it’s more than possible,” I said, grabbing a tray of noodles and plopping back on the edge of the bed. I folded my legs up underneath my body as I pushed the plastic fork into the food and twisted, watching the brown strings wrap around the tines. “There’s a similarity between the girls. Not just in their looks but also in the manner they went missing. That shouldn’t be overlooked.”

  Ronan sat in the chair next to the window and picked at his food, seemingly lost in thought. “It’s a long time though,” he said. “I mean, why go quiet for all those years?”

  I shrugged. “Could be any number of reasons, I guess. I don’t really know. Maybe they were in prison…” I trailed off as my phone started to buzz from somewhere on the bed. Setting the tray of noodles down, I started to search, pulling the papers and folders up in a haphazard fashion as the phone’s ringer increased in intensity.

  It cut off suddenly and I swore under my breath as I pulled the phone free from beneath my crisp white pillows.

  “Expecting someone?” Ronan asked, his barely concealed curiosity drawing a smile from me.

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” I said as I scrolled through the missed calls log. I could feel Ronan’s anticipation as he waited for me to finish but I had no intention of saying anything else. It simply was none of his business and that was all there was to know about the matter.

  “You were saying?”

  “Nothing,” I said, half distracted by the number. It wasn’t one I was overly familiar with and it took me a couple of minutes to place the area code.

  “Limerick,” I said.

  “What?”

  I glanced up and found Ronan leaning forward, elbows on knees, his hands hanging loosely down.

  “Limerick,” I repeated, gesturing to the phone. “Don’t recognise the number but it’s a Limerick area code.”

  Hitting
the redial button, I pushed the phone to my ear and waited. It was answered after the third ring, the man on the other end sounding like he’d crawled out from beneath a pile of clothes, or maybe newspapers.

  “Yes,” he said, the most unenthusiastic answer I’d heard in quite a while.

  “I’ve got a missed call from this number and I’m—”

  “Siobhan Geraghty?” The voice was now suddenly interested and I could almost hear the man on the other end of the line straightening up his glasses and rearranging his tie.

  “Yeah, Detective Siobhan Geraghty,” I said. “And you are?”

  “Sorry about the confusion,” he said. “I’m Dorian Whittiker. I work for the regional forensic pathologist’s office. I was going to send you an email.”

  I paused, waiting for him to continue but the silence on the other end of the line dragged.

  “Right,” I said. “Well I’m here now so what did you want to talk to me about?”

  Dorian coughed awkwardly and I found myself wondering if it was more a nervous tic than any real attempt to clear his airways.

  He hesitated, and I could almost imagine him casting about the room, looking for a jolt of inspiration that would never come. “I was hoping you might be willing to drop in for a chat over some of the results we’ve got.” There was a triumphant sigh once he finished.

  “What kind of results?”

  “Oh.” His voice dropped, all triumph fleeing in the face of my quick response. “This would go much better if you could come by the office,” he said. “I’ll be here until ten and…I could meet you.”

  Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, I did the mental calculations in my head. It would take more than an hour to get up to Limerick and it was already nine forty.

  “Perhaps in the morning,” I said. “I’m coming from Cahir so I won’t make it up there before you leave.”

  Dorian sighed, as though I had inconvenienced him greatly. “Fine. 9am sharp.”

  “Do you have a confirmation on the identity of the body?” I thought about the meeting I’d arranged with Alice McCarthy. At least if I could bring her and the family a positive confirmation, it might help with some of the uncertainty. I couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like to be in their shoes. What must they be thinking?

  “I’m still waiting on some results,” he said, but I could tell there was something he was holding back.

  “What is it?”

  “I’ll talk to you in the morning. Goodbye detective.” The line went dead and I found myself staring down at the black screen of my phone.

  “That is one kooky bird,” I said more to myself than Ronan.

  “State pathologist’s office?”

  I nodded. “The regional office,” I said. “He didn’t want to tell me anything over the phone.”

  “What did he say?”

  I hesitated. What had he said? Nothing, if I was perfectly honest. I’d learned nothing new from him, other than he struck me as someone who suffered with social anxiety. Although maybe it had more to do with the fact that it was a phone call. I’d read somewhere that the more people fell into the trap created by social media and the lure of the smart phone, the more they became incapable of simple conversations on the phone.

  It was easier to write a text or an email. The written word gave them the opportunity to plan out in minute detail exactly what they wanted to say without any of the awkwardness or pregnant pauses that came with collecting their thoughts in real time.

  “He wants to meet tomorrow,” I said. “He’s waiting on some other results but there’s definitely something he wants to talk about.”

  “And he gave no clue what it might be?”

  I shook my head and picked up the now cold noodles. “Nothing. I asked him if he had confirmed the ID for the body but…” I shrugged. “He wasn’t exactly comfortable on the phone.”

  Ronan grinned. “Was it Dorian?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, how did you know?”

  “Went to school with him,” Ronan said. “His family comes from out the Mitchelstown road. Poor guy wasn’t exactly the most popular at school. Too smart for his own good and some of the other guys didn’t like it.”

  “They bully him?”

  “If you call forcing him to use his school uniform to mop out the urinals bullying, then yeah,” he said. “I guess you could say that.”

  I suddenly had a vision of a young awkward teenage Dorian standing in the boy’s bathroom, his socks sodden as he tried to fish his school trousers out of the urinals. It wasn’t a pleasant thought and I felt bad for being curt on the phone.

  “You weren’t one of the bullies, were you?”

  Ronan’s expression was pleasantly blank as he met my gaze. “I didn’t help them,” he said, “but I didn’t help Dorian either so I suppose in a way…” He looked away and stuck his fork back into the tray of food in front of him a little more forcefully.

  “What do you make of the necklace?”

  The sudden about turn in the conversation left me grasping at straws for a moment.

  “Clara’s locket?”

  He nodded and shoved a forkful of rice into his mouth.

  “It’s weird.” I held the tray of noodles as I tried to scramble my thoughts into something a little more coherent than the jumble they currently existed in. “People make mistakes though,” I said. “Alice doesn’t remember getting it engraved but maybe Clara got it done herself.”

  “Seems a bit odd,” Ronan said, taking another mouthful of rice before he grimaced and sat the tray down on the dresser.

  Stretching, I followed suit and left my own tray of food next to his as I climbed to my feet. The room was small enough that when I stood at the end of the bed, my leg brushed Ronan’s arm.

  His eyes darkened for a moment and I half expected him to reach out toward me. Without waiting for him to say anything, I moved around the bed, standing next to the en-suite door as I shuffled the photographs of the body and the clothes on the bed. I found what I was looking for and stood up, acutely aware of the way Ronan’s dark gaze followed my movements.

  I stared down at the image of the necklace. “What if it’s not the same necklace?”

  “You said Alice was certain it was the same. She said she’d bought it herself, right? You’d think she’d know.”

  “It’s been twenty-two years,” I said. “It’s possible she was mistaken.” I was clutching at straws but nothing else made much sense.

  “I guess, until we know what’s written on the necklace everything else is just speculation,” Ronan said finally. “Why would the killer engrave the necklace?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know… we’re missing something and I don’t like feeling that way.” Glancing down at my watch, the realisation that it was so much later than I’d first thought struck me.

  “I better get some sleep,” I said. “Dorian wants me up there at 9am sharp.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Ronan said. “I’ll even give you a lift if you fancy.”

  I hesitated remembering just how uncomfortable I’d been with him in the car earlier. It wasn’t just him either; it was most people. They all had somewhat of a death wish, or at least that was how it felt to me.

  “We’ll get there faster if I drive,” he said. “I know the area better.”

  “Fine.” I took the rest of the takeaway boxes and proceeded to bag them up. The thought of leaving them overnight in the tiny bin in the corner didn’t exactly thrill me. The place was going to stink.

  “I’ll walk down with you,” I said, as Ronan slipped his jacket on. The momentary expression of surprise that crossed his features disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

  “I’m a big boy you know,” he said playfully, “I can walk myself out.”

  I raised the takeaway bag, the gesture self-explanatory and his grin widened.

  “Anyone would think you were trying to get rid of me,” he said.

  And in a way I supposed I was. I liked him, he was
easy to chat with, and so far he hadn’t looked at any of my theories about the case as though I was utterly losing my mind. He also didn’t appear to mind that I had arrived to effectively take over his position of authority. Most of the men I’d dealt with in the past resented it when I was promoted over them. Almost as if by virtue of being female I belonged in a lesser role, perhaps one that saw me in the kitchen making cups of tea for the real detectives. They weren’t all like that, but enough of them to leave a lasting impression on me.

  We took the stairs down in companionable silence and I waved Ronan off before finding a bin to dump the bag of leftover food. Sitting out at the back of the hotel, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialled Paul’s number from memory. He answered on the third ring and the sound of his voice washed over me like a balm.

  “Hey babe.” His voice was thick with sleep and for a moment I felt a little guilty for waking him.

  “You’re in bed early.”

  “Got an early start,” he said. “A raid on. Have to be in the office by 3am.”

  “You got a break then?” He’d been working a drugs case for the last month and every time he’d mentioned it, there had been no breaks at all but then that was the nature of police work. One minute you were buried up to your eyebrows in dead ends and the next, if you were lucky, it all fell into place.

  “Yeah, Jimbo had surveillance watching the place, caught some suspicious movement in and out of the property. Looked like a fairly large shipment came in so we’re going to move on it while it’s hot.”

  “That’s great.” I was happy for him, genuinely so, but there was a small part of me that felt a little jealous that no matter what happened, it always turned up roses for him. I had no doubt that if he’d been the one assigned to the Clara McCarthy case, he would already have someone in custody.

  It was a petty thought to have and the moment it popped into my head, I felt heat creeping into my face. Shame setting two spots of colour high on my cheeks. Not that Paul could see them. He was still babbling about what they hoped to find on the raid.