All the Lost Girls

by Bilinda P Sheehan

  Sarah on the other hand was a different matter.

  "Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital and get checked over?"

  She shook her head again. "I'm fine, really. They're just bruises."

  "Do you know where he might have gone?"

  Sarah started to shake her head and then paused. "He spends a lot of time with Robbie. They go out fishing and hunting. They're often gone for hours. That's where he was supposed to be today..." She trailed off her tears starting afresh.

  "They'll find him," I said decisively. "You don't have to worry about him anymore." I pushed up onto my feet and Sarah's hand found mine, her grip painful as she crushed my fingers beneath hers.

  "What would I do without you?"

  "You'd figure it out," I said, slowly extricating myself from her. "Sarah, has Dick ever beaten Ali?"

  The colour drained from Sarah's face. "Never." The word was nothing more than a whisper of sound. "I wouldn't let him touch a hair on her head. I would kill him if he touched her."

  "Where is she now?"

  "I dropped her off at her grandparents after school. It's her birthday on Saturday and I wanted to get some things organised without her knowing."

  Relief flooded through me. At least she wouldn't have to see her mother in the current state she was in. There were some things in this life that children should never have to see. This was definitely one of them.

  "I'll get the kettle on," I said, crossing to the sink. Sarah was on her feet in a flash.

  "Let me. You're my guest."

  "Really, it's fine, I—" Sarah cut me off with a determined shake of her head as she grabbed the kettle from my hands.

  "Sarah, you need to rest. You've been through something traumatic."

  "I'm fine, I wish people would stop thinking I'm this delicate little thing that needs protecting all the time. I'm capable of taking care of myself." Her curt tone told me I'd touched a nerve and short of wrestling her for the kettle, she wasn't going to give it up.

  With a smile, I backed off. Watching as she filled the kettle and set it back on the stand.

  "Do you want some—" she halted, her eyes settling on my suitcase in the corner where I'd dumped it after Dick had fled.

  "You're leaving?" Her voice was flat.

  "It's time," I said. "They don't have news on Clara and things aren't great at home. That's why I came by, to say goodbye."

  "Oh." She turned her back to me.

  "You know what it's like," I said. "I don't belong here anymore, I—"

  "Why don't you stay here?" There was no mistaking the note of hope in her voice. "I could make you up a room and—"

  "I really can't. There are too many things I need to get sorted at home." Her shoulders drooped.

  "I just thought what with everything, this would give us a little time to reconnect. You know, for Clara."

  "It's because of her, I have to go."

  With her back to me, she nodded. "I get it. It's too painful." The sound of the kettle beginning to boil saw her move back into action once more.

  I dropped back onto my chair and stared at the broken screen of my phone. I wasn't going to be able to call Declan and let him know what had happened. I wasn't even going to get to say goodbye to him.

  Regret swilled around in my stomach. Maybe, if I was lucky, he would understand.

  "What's wrong?" Sarah said, pausing on her way back to the table.

  "Nothing," I said. "Well not really nothing. Phone is bust." I held it up so she could see the crushed screen.

  "Do you need to call someone?"

  "Not really," I said. "I was just regretting not telling Declan that I was leaving."

  "You two really seemed to be cozying up last night." Sarah smiled but there was no warmth in her eyes. "Looked like you were going back to old mistakes."

  "Excuse me?" I couldn't keep the surprise from my voice.

  Sarah sighed and set the teacup down in front of me. The fine bone china so delicate I could see through it. I had sudden visions of myself behaving like Mrs Bucket's friend off the television and spilling the tea all over the table and myself.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have said that. It's just with everything you're going through, I don't see how re-treading old ground is healthy right now. I mean you and Declan didn't work out the first time 'round, what makes you think this would be any different?"

  "I don't know." I sighed and picked up the cup, taking a sip of the sweet hot drink before I answered. "You're probably right. I was having doubts last night and then today, after everything here... I don't know. Just part of me wants to maybe at least give it a shot."

  Sarah sighed and reached across the table to touch her hand to mine. "There's something amazing waiting for you, I just know it."

  With a small smile, I finished the last of the tea and set the cup down on the table.

  "Can I use your bathroom?"

  "Of course," she said. "Upstairs, second door on the right."

  Pushing up from the table, my head swam and I blinked away the dizziness and gripped the table to steady myself.

  "Are you all right?" Sarah stared up at me with concern.

  "Fine," I said. "I just got up too fast."

  Moving away from the table, I made it up the stairs without another incident. The first door at the top of the stairs stood ajar and I caught sight of a pink frill.

  Pushing the door open, I stepped inside and my heart stalled out.

  Alice in Wonderland paraded across the walls. The Mad-Hatter's tea party depicted on one wall, while the other was dedicated to the Queen of Hearts.

  The wall over the bed showed Alice speaking to the white rabbit. The crudely drawn speech bubble from Alice’s mouth and the rabbit’s contained some scribbled words.

  I took another wobbly step into the room and focused on the words.

  “Alice: How long is forever?”

  “White Rabbit: Sometimes just one second.”

  The small single bed against the wall was neatly made, the stuffed animals arranged carefully across the duvet. The large white rabbit sitting pride of place among the others.

  With hands that shook, I picked up the framed picture from the dresser top and stared down at the smiling child that beamed out of the photograph. The little plaque on the bottom of the frame read: Ali. November '17, Aged 9.

  Something nagged at me but the more I tried to grab onto the memory, the more it eluded me.

  My gaze snagged on a small picture album sitting on top of the white bedside table.

  The edges were frayed from use, the sunflowers on the front faded from sitting too long in the sun. My hands shook as I reached out and flipped the album open.

  Clara stared up at me, the same picture from last night. The one I’d found in the garden… My heart stalled out in my chest as I noticed the black marker concealing her eyes.

  "Do you like it?" Sarah's voice cut through the fog slowly taking over my mind.

  She stood in the doorway and I took a step back, my legs bumped the edge of the single bed and I dropped onto the duvet.

  What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I think straight?

  "I named her for you, you know." Sarah smiled and crossed the faded pink carpet. She took the framed picture from my hands and set it back on the dresser before flipping the picture album shut. "Well almost. Alison is pretty close to Alice I think."

  "Sarah," I said, managing to get her name out despite the slurring of my words. "I think there's something wrong with me. You need to call someone..."

  She shook her head, the movement jagged as I tried to blink away the greying of my vision. My limbs were leaden and as hard as I tried to draw a deep breath, I couldn't.

  "You're just tired, Alice," she said. "You need to sleep, then everything will be better. Things will be better."

  "Pleas—"

  Gently, she pushed me back on the bed, cradling my head onto the soft pillow. "I don't want you to hurt yourself," she said. "Until you un
derstand, we need to do things this way." She crouched next to the bed, her face level with mine. "But I swear, I won't let him hurt you. I won't ever let him touch you like the others so you don't need to be afraid. I'll keep you safe. Keep you both safe."

  I struggled against her touch. In my mind I was stronger, strong enough to fight her off and flee from the room. But when I opened my heavy lids, I hadn't moved. She was still poised next to me, her smile beatific as she brushed my hair back from my face.

  "Sleep, Alice. And when you wake, we'll all be together."

  I tried to raise my arms, willed my body to respond as the darkness crept closer.

  But nothing happened. I felt my tears slid from my eye, felt it track over my cheek and run down into my hair. And still I tried to move, until there was nothing but the feel of her hand on my face and the twisted whisperings of her endearments in my ear.

  And then, blissfully... nothing.

  56

  Sometimes, finding yourself demoted isn't always such a bad thing. As I searched through the files Claire had compiled involving young offenders with crimes that potentially fit our man, and those who owned white vans around the same time, I found myself relaxing into the task at hand.

  The direct order to stay put grated on me, though. I wasn’t a child who needed instructions. But there was definitely something to be said for not having to constantly organise and rally the troops, especially now that everyone was beginning to flag as the weekend drew in.

  "There are too many variables," Ronan said, dropping down into the chair next to me. "We need something to narrow it down."

  I nodded. It was too much.

  "Where's his royal pain in the ass?" Ronan asked, scanning the office. The tension between the two men was enough to cause the station to combust and I'd been glad when Paul had said he was taking Claire out to have a look at the most recent crime scene. He wanted a feel for it. I couldn't blame him; it was definitely the kind of case that benefited from a hands-on approach.

  "Out," I said, keeping my gaze trained on the pages in front of me.

  The sound of a commotion from the other room drew me out of my concentrated study. Ronan hopped to his feet and I followed him, pausing in the doorway as a couple of uniformed Guards hurried past.

  Ronan was deep in conversation with one of the Guards and when he finished I jerked my head back toward the office.

  "What is it?"

  "They're setting up a hunt for Dick Coughlan. Got a call today from Alice McCarthy, she was down at the Coughlan's and she reported a domestic. By the time the nearest car responded he'd already legged it."

  "Anyone hurt?"

  "No one hurt enough to go to a hospital. Although, Mike said Mrs Coughlan had some nasty looking bruises that weren't new."

  "He's been abusing her?" I ran back over my memory of the interview with Sarah Coughlan, searching for any hint that what Ronan was telling me was true. Not that you could tell who might be a victim of abuse. The abuser relied on secrecy, on keeping the victim silent. Most of it was a gradual progression, an upward spiral of abuse both mental and physical, which led to the victim feeling that they were to blame for the abuse they suffered.

  "Looks that way."

  "Jesus," I said. "How long have they been married?"

  Ronan shrugged. "Don't rightly know. Mike knows them." He turned his attention back to the main room. "Hey Mike!"

  The man he'd been speaking to a few minutes before crossed the room, his stride lazy. "Need me to come in there and solve it for you?" There was a wide grin on his face as he leaned against the doorframe.

  "You wish," Ronan said. "You know the Coughlan's right?

  "Well, I know them in passing."

  "How long would you say they've been married?"

  "Jeez," he said, scrubbing his hand back through his hair, the sudden discomfort he felt obvious in the tensing of his shoulders. "A long time. Twenty years I think. They got married when she was young. He's a bit older than her, not that there's anything wrong with that but he got her when she wasn't even out of school. Seems a bit weird to me."

  "Is the kid all right?"

  "Kid?" Mike repeated the word back to me as though I'd just asked him the state of affairs on an alien planet.

  "The daughter," I said. "Is she all right, was she at home?"

  "I'd nearly forgot you're not from 'round here." Mike gave me a friendly smile. "Their daughter is dead. Been dead for a year, maybe more. Sad state of affairs it was too."

  "That's not possible," I said, feeling the bottom drop out of my stomach. "I..." I cut myself off before I finished the sentence and plastered a smile on my face. "You know, you're right. I must have forgot."

  "You're working too hard," he said. "You should come out with us tonight. Now that the big-bad wolf is down from Dublin, you're just one of us."

  "Maybe." I returned his warm smile. "Ronan can I have a word?"

  I left the two men as I turned back into the office and hurried back over to the pile of files on the desk.

  Ronan joined me a second later.

  "What is it?"

  "She lied," I said. "Sarah Coughlan lied to me."

  "About what?"

  "She said she needed to get out of the interview early because her daughter Ali was finishing school."

  "I don't understand," he said. "Why would she lie?"

  "I don't know," I said, "but I think we should find out, don't you?"

  "And how are we supposed to do that?"

  "The husband's name," I said. "I'm going to cross reference him with the files Claire pulled for previous offenders."

  "Look, the guy is obviously an asshole but it doesn't make him a killer."

  "No. But what reason would Sarah have for lying to me? It doesn't make any sense. Not to mention, she knew Clara. I don't believe in coincidences."

  Ronan nodded. "Fine, what's the husband's name?"

  "Dick Coughlan," I said, typing the name in the computer. The wheel crawled around the screen before a big fat zero appeared.

  "There's nothing," I said. "In all the files Claire pulled there's nothing on a Dick Coughlan."

  "What about Richard?" Ronan asked, his fingers flying over the keyboard of his own computer. I held my breath, waiting for his answer and when he shook his head, I felt my heart drop.

  It was a dead end. I'd been so sure.

  "Maybe the guy we're looking for doesn't have any priors?"

  Closing my eyes, I leaned back in my chair. "That doesn't make any sense. This isn't the kind of thing you just wake up one morning and start doing. The savagery involved, it's too much. If Clara McCarthy was his first offence then something serious must have happened to tip him over the edge."

  "That's assuming she was murdered with the same level of rage involved."

  Scooting the chair across the floor to Claire's desk, I grabbed the files she'd been compiling on Sarah Coughlan. There was a birth certificate, driver's license entry, marriage license, and birth and death certificates inside the beige folder.

  "Why are you searching her name now, you don't think she has anything to do with this, do you?"

  "No, but we're definitely missing something."

  I paused over the death certificate. My eyes scanning over the cause of death, Alison had died from internal bleeding.

  "Shit," Ronan said, reading over my shoulder. "She was hit by a car."

  I nodded. "Can you find anything about it in the files. Was anyone charged?"

  Ronan moved away and only the sound of his fingers hitting the keys told me he was still in the room.

  We were so close I could taste it. There had been something off about Sarah when I'd interviewed her but I hadn't been able to pinpoint just what it might be. However, knowing I'd caught her in a lie.

  My breath caught in the back of my throat as I scanned the marriage certificate.

  "I know why we haven't been able to find anything on Dick Coughlan," I said, my voice strained. "He wasn't always Dick Coughla
n. Coughlan is Sarah's maiden name. He took it when he married her. According to the file here, his name was Keith Richard Reardon before he got married."

  "Shit..." Ronan mumbled and my head snapped up.

  "What?"

  "The car that hit Alison," Ronan said, "was registered to her father but the name on this says Richard Coughlan. They determined it an accidental death, nothing more than a tragic accident. According to the statements from both parents, Alison was playing in the driveway and Dick didn't see her.” Ronan hesitated and lifted his gaze to me. “He reversed out on top of her."

  Typing the new name into the computer, I widened the parameters to a country-wide search. This time the computer gave me a very different set of entries.

  “It’s him,” I said, scanning the list of prior offences.

  “Why didn’t we know this before?” Ronan asked, coming to stand behind me.

  “He grew up in Galway so he wasn’t local to this area. When he got down here, he was probably already going by the name Dick and not Keith.”

  “That still doesn’t make sense though, why didn’t we know about these files, why hasn’t someone linked his names together? The man is a bloody criminal?” I could hear the frustration in Ronan’s voice and I couldn’t blame him.

  Leaning back in my chair, I turned so I could see his face.

  “They had a push a couple of years ago to start computerising the older case files. There’s only a fraction of the files actually logged. We’re lucky we found this. There’s probably a lot of other things that haven’t made it onto the system yet.”

  Ronan shook his head and scrubbed his hands over his face.

  “When the cases were initially investigated the files probably weren’t computerized. Nobody knew what they were looking for anyway because of a lack of inter-county cooperation. Christ, if the domestic hadn’t been called in earlier today, we wouldn’t yet know his real name.”

  “Petty theft. Indecent assault but the charges were dropped. There’s even a caution listed because he was picked up outside a neighbours house in the middle of the night.” I shook my head. How could they let so much slip through the cracks?