All the Lost Girls

by Bilinda P Sheehan

  There was nothing I could say. She was right. We all needed it to be over. As much as I wanted Clara to be found well and alive, I knew it would never happen. She’d been gone for far too long. If she were still alive, she would have found a way to get back to us by now.

  But my parents needed to believe she was still out there.

  What would happen to them once that belief ended?

  “You want me to come in with you?”

  I shook my head. “Nah. I’m just going to go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence as I tried to find the words to thank her for everything she’d done.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said. “I’ll come over first thing and see Ita.”

  “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

  “She won’t.” Imelda gave me a rueful smile. “But I’ll do it all the same.”

  I nodded and stepped out of the car.

  Pausing, I waited for her to drive away, the sound of the gravel beneath the car tyres oddly comforting. Sucking in a deep breath, I turned my head up to look at the sky. It had stopped raining, the clouds thin enough to reveal the stars.

  My breath came in small clouds and still I stood there until the cold crept into my bones, numbing the sensation in my limbs.

  “Where are you?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. Not that I expected an answer, it didn’t stop me from wanting one though.

  Clara wasn’t here. And there would be no answers tonight, divine or otherwise.

  The house was silent as I crept up the stairs, making me think of all the times I’d done the same thing when I was a teenager. Moving softly along the hall, I avoided the old creaky floorboard, deftly stepping around it to avoid alerting the whole house to my presence.

  One night, three years after Clara had gone missing I’d snuck back into the house after meeting with my friends. I’d been drunk—too drunk—and one misplaced step had drawn my mother out into the hall.

  I could still remember the hopeful note in her voice as she’d called Clara’s name. And even though I’d been drunk, I could still remember the look of disappointment that had swept over her face when she realised it was me and not Clara at all.

  That expression had stayed with me and it was that expression I’d recognised in her eyes when she’d looked at me earlier.

  Pausing next to my bedroom door, I stared at Clara’s closed door. Curiosity getting the better of me, I crossed the hall and pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  Even in the dark, I could see everything had been left exactly as Clara had left it. Flipping on the light, I stared over at the rumpled bed sheets and the clothes that sat discarded on the chair next to her bed.

  Nothing had changed. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn that Clara had just stepped out and would be returning at any second.

  Crossing to the dressing table, I sat on the white plush stool in front of her mirror. The surface was cluttered with make-up, hairpins, and bottles of body spray. Scooping up the one nearest to me, I pressed it to my nose and inhaled deeply. It was amazing the way scent could instantly transport you to another place and time. White musk, Clara’s favourite, or at least it had been.

  Would she have still worn it now? Or would she have found another scent?

  People grew and changed all the time; I certainly wasn’t the person I had been back then.

  Pushing up from the stool, I crossed to her wardrobe and pulled the doors open.

  Surprise rocked me back on my heels as I stared in at the neatly plastic wrapped items hanging from the rail.

  It wasn’t Clara’s doing, that much was for certain. My hand drifted over the plastic wrappers, static causing the hairs on my arm to stand to attention.

  I’d thought my mother had left it all untouched. I’d been wrong. The clothes weren’t the only oddity; despite the apparent disarray of the room, I hadn’t found one speck of dust. Clara had been gone more than twenty years. There should have been some dust.

  The air in the room became stale and I crossed hastily to the door. Escaping out into the hall, I pulled it shut as quietly and as quickly as I could. There was something terribly oppressive about Clara’s bedroom. It made me feel as though I might suffocate if I spent too long in there, as though it wasn’t just the clothes that were wrapped in plastic.

  With a backwards glance at Clara’s room, I headed for my own, escaping into the veritable solitude of the alien room I had once called my bedroom.

  The further away from Clara’s room I got the more I realised the sudden sensation of being suffocated had come because the bedroom felt more like a tomb than anything else. It was no longer Clara’s bedroom but a relic, a monument erected to her memory. We had no tombstone and no grave marker. Instead we had a bedroom. A crypt wherein memories of Clara were kept entombed.

  I sat on the side of the bed and glanced around at the unfamiliar wallpaper, which drew a smile from me. My mother had mourned the loss of one daughter by doing everything in her power to erase the one left behind. If I were a more generous person I might have found it ironic but I was too tired to truly care. Rolling back onto the bed, I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me. Perhaps sleep would bring me the peace I sought.

  40

  Sitting outside the Garda station, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. There was one message a single thumbs up emoji from Paul. At least one of us was having a good day. I could still hear Sergeant Mills’ voice in my head telling me there would be no others joining the team. Lack of funds and resources. The usual political bullshit.

  How he could sit there and keep a straight face after seeing the pictures from the crime scenes was beyond me. Every time I looked at them, I felt sick to my stomach. Just knowing there was someone out there capable of that kind of cruelty left me cold.

  And yet, Sergeant Mills hadn’t so much as batted an eyelash at the attempted annihilation of the most recent girl’s body.

  I hit the call button and raised the phone to my ear. Paul picked up on the second ring, sounding more than a little out of breath.

  “Hey, baby, you get everything wrapped up down there?”

  “I keep running into a brick wall,” I said. “We need more people and every time I ask for them I get shot down in flames. Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “Just give me a second to go somewhere a little more private.”

  “Why where are you?”

  “The gym.” I could practically hear the smile in his voice as he said it. There was the sound of a door sliding closed and then he came back on the line.

  “Give Donovan a call,” he said, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m sure if you explain it to him he’ll send more people your way.”

  “We both know if I call him in, he’ll take me off lead and put someone else on it. I can’t afford to lose this, Paul, not after the last time. As far as Donovan is concerned if I can’t get the locals to cooperate then I’m a liability.”

  “That’s not true,” Paul said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It is.”

  “Well how close to solving this thing are you?”

  I sighed and pressed my hand against my face. How was I supposed to explain it to him? The case wasn’t the straightforward cold case it had been painted as. Especially not now that we had a new victim to deal with. The presumption had been that whoever had been committing these murders had gone to ground. Or maybe gone to jail for some offence or other. But now they were active again.

  “Siobhan?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Look I’m sorry. I’m just tired and it’s been a rough day.”

  “You know if you were here, I could help you unwind.”

  “I’m sure you could,” I said, with a smile.

  “Siobhan!” Ronan’s voice interrupted the call and I turned to see him waving at me from the door of the Garda station.

  “Got to go,” I said. “Duty calls.”

&n
bsp; Paul sighed. “It’s fine, babe, I’ve got a ton of paperwork left to sort through here anyway after the raid.”

  “I’ll call you later,” I said.

  “Sure thing.” The line went dead and I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

  “Sorry,” Ronan said as I joined him on the steps into the station. “Didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

  “It’s fine. I was just finishing up anyway.”

  “Any luck with the sergeant?”

  My expression must have said it all because Ronan gave me a rueful smile. “Yeah, I did say he would balk at the idea.”

  “Have you found something?” I asked, choosing to change the subject rather than go into a blow-by-blow account of my failed meeting with the sergeant. I already felt crappy enough without reliving the moment over.

  “You said you couldn’t find the interviews pertaining to Liam Donnelly, Clara’s boyfriend at the time of her disappearance.”

  “Go on,” I said, prompting him.

  “Well, I went back into records and looked through everything we’ve got and you were right. The records are missing. There is a listing that says he was interviewed but the tapes are no where to be found.”

  “Why would that be?”

  Ronan shrugged. “Could just be a clerical error.”

  “Or, it could be someone trying to hide something.”

  He nodded. “I thought he warranted a second look anyway, so I’ve asked him to come down to the station first thing.”

  “Good thinking,” I said.

  “Yeah...” Ronan scuffed the toe of his shoe against the curb making me think of a young boy rather than the grown man he actually was. “So do you want to grab a drink or something?”

  I shook my head. “If it’s all the same with you, I think I’ll just head back to the hotel and grab some shut eye. The day has already been far too long.”

  He gave me an awkward smile and nodded. “Sure, I can see that.”

  There was a sudden tension to the air that hadn’t been there a moment before and I had the feeling that something had shifted between us. Ronan turned and headed back into the station before I could say anything else, leaving me to stare after him.

  I couldn’t afford to let my thoughts wander from the case at hand. It was too important to screw it up by letting my personal life interfere and I had a feeling that if I had gone for the drink with him, things would get a lot more complicated.

  Things were already complicated enough without adding to them. Heading back into the station, I gathered my things from my desk and stuffed the files and notes I’d been working on into my bag.

  Ronan was across the room, one hipped propped against her desk. He chatted animatedly with her and I watched from the corner of my eye as she smiled coyly up at him.

  Grabbing my jacket from the back of my chair, I slipped into it. Noting the way Ronan leaned down toward Claire to push a stray lock of hair back behind her ear.

  Without a backwards glance, I strode out of the station and called a taxi from the steps.

  The case was definitely beginning to get to me when I found myself getting bothered over the behaviour of a colleague. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be; things certainly couldn’t get any worse.

  Or at least I hoped it couldn’t but there really was no telling where cases like this were concerned.

  41

  Pushing through the station door the next morning, I balanced my paper cup of coffee on the pile of files I was carrying and flashed my I.D at the guard on the desk. He waved me through and I gathered up my things.

  "Siobhan!" Ronan said, catching up to me as I dropped my files back down on the desk. "Liam is here."

  "Great," I said, sliding my notes out from the bottom file. Grabbing the paper cup, I followed Ronan down to the interview room.

  Stepping into the room, I ran my gaze over the man behind the table. He was nervous, his leg hopping up and down beneath the table as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

  "What's this about?" he asked, not bothering with the usual pleasantries exchanged during these types of situations. "I wake up this morning with a Guard outside my front door, demanding I come down the station."

  I shot Ronan a sideways glance but his gaze was trained on Liam.

  "Mr Donnelly," I said, sliding into the seat opposite him. "My name is Siobhan Geraghty, I asked for you to come down to the station so we could discuss the disappearance of a young woman by the name of Clara McCarthy."

  If I had thought Liam had been nervous before, I'd been mistaken. The colour drained from his face and he leaned forward in his chair.

  "I had nothing to do with it," he spat the words at me.

  "I never said you did," I said, keeping my voice measured as I flipped open Clara's file. "But you were her boyfriend at the time of her disappearance, is that correct?"

  "What does that have to do with anything? I told you lot everything I knew at the time when she was taken. Its been twenty-odd years, why can't you lot find someone else to pin it on?"

  "I'm not trying to pin it on anyone." I met his gaze head on. "I just want to get to the bottom of her disappearance."

  Liam sighed. "Yeah, we were dating," he said. "Sort of, anyway. When she got pregnant Clara became a little unstable. Hormones or something..."

  "What does sort of mean?”

  “Clara wasn’t exactly one for monogamy.”

  “Was Clara seeing someone else?"

  Liam looked away. "If she was, she never admitted it to me."

  "But you thought she was?" I asked, picking up on the note of discomfort in his voice.

  "Look, I told them then and I'll tell you now. I don't know if she was seeing someone else. There were rumours but I..." he trailed off and dropped his gaze toward the surface of the table. "I tried to ignore them."

  "How did it make you feel?" Ronan asked. "Finding out the she might be seeing someone else behind your back."

  "I just told you, I tried not to listen to the rumours," he said.

  "But she was pregnant," I said. "How could you not listen?"

  "I loved her." There was a stark honesty to his words that tugged at my heart. There was no doubt in my mind that he knew more than he was telling us but he was telling the truth when he said he loved Clara.

  "But we broke up a few weeks before she went missing."

  "How come nobody else knows this?"

  "Because I was trying to get back with her. She was having my baby... A boy."

  "And what did Clara think of your attempts to win her back?"

  "She seemed to be open to the idea of it but—"

  "But what, Liam?"

  "We fought."

  "When?" Ronan couldn't keep the anticipation from his voice.

  "The day she went missing. She didn't want to go out but her sister was desperate to go to some teenage disco. So I said I'd come with her. Keep her company."

  "And what did you fight about?" I could feel the tension in the room begin to climb as soon as I asked the question.

  "What does it matter? I told you, I had nothing to do with her murder."

  "Clara is still a missing person," I said carefully.

  "Don't give me that bull," he said angrily. "We all know she's dead. You found her fucking clothes on a dead body. How do you think they got there if Clara herself isn't dead?" His voice cracked a little at the end.

  "Mr Donnelly, we're trying to find out what happened to her. Anything you can tell us that might help with our enquiry would be greatly appreciated." I left out the part where I was beginning to think he was somehow connected to the death of his girlfriend. Without proof, I had nothing at all. Not to mention the fact that I couldn’t connect him to any of the other missing girls. It wouldn't stop me from looking into him though. No stone would be left unturned.

  "She said she'd met someone else," he said quietly. "Said she had no interest in getting back with me. I lost my temper."

  "And what happened?"

&nb
sp; He glanced up at me. "Nothing. She got out of the car and walked away. I didn't see her again after that."

  "You didn't go after her?"

  Liam shook his head. "I was hurt. I thought about going after her but..." He looked down at the surface of the table once more. "I'm not proud of my behaviour from that night. I regret not going after her, maybe if I had she would still be here and my son would—" He buried his face in his hands as he choked off.

  "Is there anything else you can remember from that night, Liam?"

  He shook his head. "No, I went home and to bed."

  "Is there anyone who can verify that?"

  His head snapped up sharply. "What do you mean?"

  "Anyone who can verify that you went home and to bed that night?"

  "Am I a suspect?"

  I contemplated telling him the truth but I knew that if I did, he would get himself a solicitor faster than I could get the words out.

  "We're just trying to eliminate everyone close to Clara at this time."

  "I'm sure my dad saw me," he said. "I'll have to ask him but when I do, I'll get him to call into the station if you'd like." It was a challenge. He was waiting to see if I really would push him for an alibi but what Liam didn't know was that I had no intention of letting him get away with anything. If he knew something, I would get to the bottom of it. And if he was involved in Clara's disappearance, then I would find out.

  "That would be great," I said.

  "Have you spoken to her sister yet?" There was no denying the hostility in his voice when he spoke about Alice.

  "Why? Should we?"

  "She's a complete basket case. When Clara first went missing, she accused me of being involved.”

  "And why would she do that?" I kept my smile firmly fixed in place but I didn't like the insinuation he was making. Alice had been little more than a child when her sister went missing. There wasn't a chance that she was involved in Clara's disappearance.