The Quiet Ones

by Theresa Talbot

  ‘Enjoyed it? It meaning being systematically raped?’ This woman was one sick bitch and Oonagh was struggling not to spit in her face.

  ‘You say potato.’

  ‘You’ve tried that line, Hazel, and I didn’t laugh the first time.’

  ‘Give it a rest. Get off your moral high horse. Everyone does something wrong now and again.’

  Hazel Andrews was clearly mental. Totally off her bloody rocker and Oonagh struggled to believe a word she said.

  ‘Listen, we had a decent set-up. Those girls were well up for it.’

  ‘So what was your role in it all?’

  Hazel shrugged, started making her bed, paying particular attention to the hospital corners, which Oonagh had to admit were impressive. ‘Are you quite finished, Hazel?’

  ‘Hate mess. Always have done.’ She moved to a pile of cards and letters on the table under the window. Oonagh gave her some breathing space to continue. ‘Have you seen my fan mail?’ Hazel nodded to the stack. ‘Get them from all over the world.’ She handed one to Oonagh, who only intended to quickly glance over it, but when she caught out one or two words she was transfixed. This was a fan letter to a killer, seriously. Oonagh wanted to heave. The address at the top said Missouri and was signed by some woman called Fiona. Oonagh tried not to let her mouth hang open as Hazel took it from her grip. ‘I get dozens every week.’

  ‘All from Americans?’ Oonagh had no idea what else to say. She thought voting for Trump was bad, but this was a whole new ball game.

  ‘Yip, they sure are.’ Hazel mocked a Yankee accent and slapped her thigh. ‘Those mother-fuckers are as mad as a three legged toad in summer.’

  Dear God, this was getting worse. It was obvious Hazel was putting on a bit of an act for her benefit, but those letters really did show that there were a lot of very strange people out there. It made Oonagh’s alcohol abuse, insomnia and low level psychosis seem rather mild in comparison. She was out of her depth here.

  ‘As impressed as I am by your hospital corners and crazy-girl fan mail, can we get back to the point, Hazel?’ Oonagh knew she’d need more to corroborate this than the word of Hazel Andrews, but, with Sarah Nugent on board and the accounts going back years, she’d be able to make a pretty decent fist of putting a case together.

  She now knew there had been a brothel in the grounds of Breakmire and Harry Nugent had a client list that read like a who’s who from Hello. The sedatives and drugs the girls had been plied with ensured they’d all been compliant, and the fact they were being treated for a wide range of mental illnesses ensured that it was unlikely they’d have been believed if they’d complained.

  ‘This doesn’t exactly tie in with Nugent’s MO, though, Hazel. He was more into young boys, from what I gather.’

  ‘Listen. He might have been a creep, but he was a fucking clever one. He very quickly realised what was going on. Once he’d caught that wee snotter, Petrie, with one of the girls, he had enough dirt on him to get what he wanted. Also meant he had the run of the place.’

  This hadn’t been just an amateur operation. According to Hazel, once Nugent was on board he’d decided to ratch it up a few notches. He’d made sure the girls were well groomed, had hairdressers visiting most weeks, they had their nails done, had been checked for venereal disease and only the youngest and prettiest had been targeted. It had ensured that Harry Nugent could appeal to some of his well known friends. The ones he’d known who would pay over the odds for this. Oonagh felt sick. This had the hallmark of a high-end business.

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘One of the johns…’ She paused to make sure Oonagh was keeping up. ‘That’s what they call punters, you know. Anyway, one of the johns went too far one night and a girl died.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘He just used too much force.’ Hazel looked quite indignant. ‘It’s easy done, you know,’ she added, as though he’d accidentally killed a spider while getting out of the bath.

  This horror was growing arms and legs. ‘Who was this guy? A pal of Nugent’s?’

  Hazel pulled her shoulders up high against her ears. ‘Dunno. Big noise, I think, though. He was always very well dressed. They’re the worst, you know. They’re the ones who like to knock the girls about.’

  Sadly, Oonagh could well believe it.

  ‘But we were very strict about that kind of thing. No bruising. No damaged goods. Fuck’s sake, we were running a business. Couldn’t have the merchandise looking like a pun o’ mince.’

  Oonagh struggled not to retch. Fought not to be sick at the inhumanity of it all.

  ‘So, who was this girl?’

  ‘Can’t remember her name. I think it might have been Rachael, or Ruth, or something.’

  ‘How the hell could you have covered that up?’

  ‘We didn’t. As far as I know they disposed of the body. It’s not actually that hard, you know.’ She waited to see if Oonagh was taking all this in. ‘Hospital incinerators are pretty lethal.’

  Oonagh wasn’t buying this. ‘What about her family? Someone must have missed her?’

  Hazel shook her head. ‘She was just another runaway. There are hundreds each year.’

  Oonagh was almost scared to ask. ‘And Hannah Gray, was she killed too? Tell me the truth.’

  This time Hazel shook her head. ‘No, I’ve already told you. That was an accident. She’d run away and no one noticed until the next day. Shame really. She was a nice looking girl.’

  ‘That’s horrific.’

  She nodded. ‘I tell you, Harry seemed really broken up about it. I think he’d taken a shine to her.’

  That last sentence struck Oonagh. ‘I thought that was before his time there?’

  Hazel shook her head. ‘Nope. He’d been hanging around for a few weeks. I remember it.’

  Oonagh’s mind was racing. All the press clippings she’d seen suggested that Harry’s charity work had started six months after Hannah Gray had died, but it was possible that he might have been going there prior to any official visits.

  ‘Hazel, have you told the police about this? You need to make a statement.’

  ‘You’re really annoying, you know that?’

  ‘The girls.’ Oonagh thought for a moment. ‘I want to talk to one of them. Are any of them still alive?’

  ‘How the fuck should I know?’

  And with that the meeting ended.

  38

  Byres Road was busier than usual. The run up to Christmas seemed to get earlier each year; the Halloween pumpkins hardly had time to rot before the shops had cleared the ghosts and ghouls and fake spiders’ webs from their display, replacing them instead with sparkly reindeer, fairy dust and enough glitter to choke a drag queen. The muzak had taken a decidedly cheesy turn too; Slade belting out ‘Merry Christmas’ and good old Shaky driving everyone nuts with his cheesy yuletide classic, which ensured he’d be enjoying the royalties for many years to come.

  Oonagh needed time to think. The revelation that Harry Nugent had indeed been at Breakmire around the same time that Hannah Gray had died didn’t really amount to much more than she already knew. Hannah was just another poor victim in a long line of people abused by that monster. Oonagh wasn’t sure if she could back up Hazel Andrews’ claims, and she would certainly pass them on to the police, but not just yet.

  It was strangely mild for November and a slight haze hung low in the air. Not exactly what you would describe as balmy, but the street was thronging with jacketless natives, and the odd rolled up sleeve. Glasgow could be cold and damp at the best of times – fifty shades of grey whatever the season – and it took near Baltic conditions for a Glaswegian to succumb to the frivolity of an actual buttoned up coat. Oonagh quickened her step, hoping Christmas would come and go in a blur. As a kid she’d loved every tinsel clad moment of it. But now… Now it was just another chance to get blind drunk and feel like shit the next day. A reminder of how lonely she was.

  The windows of the café were steamed
up, but she spotted Sophie’s partner, Charlie, perched on a high stool, hands wrapped round a mug, sipping her drink at the counter that ran the entire length of the shop.

  ‘Hey, fancy seeing you here.’ Oonagh brazened it out as Charlie started, choking slightly on her drink. ‘Mind if I join you?’ She slipped her jacket off and grabbed a stool before Charlie had a chance to refuse. ‘Sophe not with you?’ Charlie didn’t answer and Oonagh attempted a casual tone as she looked at the blackboard high above the front counter. ‘What you having?’ She leaned over and peered into Charlie’s mug.

  ‘Hot chocolate, and Sophie’s in the loo.’ There was no mistaking the hostility in her voice. It just made Oonagh all the more determined to tell her what she thought of her, but she tried to remain civil. ‘Before Sophie comes out,’ she said, ‘I want a word with you.’ Charlie had a good three inches on her but they were the same height sitting down and anyway, she guessed, like most bullies, Charlie only picked on people who were scared of her and wouldn’t speak out.

  ‘No.’ Charlie slammed her mug down on the table. ‘I want a fucking word with you.’ She kept her voice low but deliberate and Oonagh reckoned this was not her first rodeo. This girl had form. ‘I don’t like the way you make Sophie work late and keep her out until all hours.’

  ‘All hours? All hours? Did you really just say that?’ What a flipping cheek. ‘Sophie’s actually working. I’m not asking her to go out clubbing with me.’

  Charlie gave a low snort. ‘I’m sure your clubbing days are long behind you.’ That hurt. ‘Listen, love, you’re taking advantage and I don’t like it.’ This girl was one hard ticket; she clearly didn’t like anyone having any influence on Sophie. If this was a guy Oonagh would be staging an intervention right now. Offering Sophie a safe place to stay, telling the guy to sling his hook or else.

  Oonagh caught sight of Sophie coming out of the disabled loo. She was wheeling a pushchair with a young boy in it. It was difficult to guess his age: he was too old for the pushchair, but clearly in no fit state to walk on his own. She stopped in her tracks when she caught Oonagh with Charlie, who was by now squeezing past the tables to give her a hand.

  Sophie smiled as she grew closer, but had that exhausted look of too little sleep and too much responsibility.

  ‘This is Jake. Jake, say hello.’ Sophie bent to pick up his beanie hat that he’d thrown on the floor.

  ‘Hello, Jake. I’m Oonagh.’ The boy grinned, then looked up at Sophie.

  ‘He’s my little brother. Doesn’t talk much.’

  ‘How old are you, Jake?’ Oonagh made to take his hand but he pulled it away. She wasn’t much use at talking to children and knew she was coming across as a tit.

  ‘Jake’s eight, aren’t you, Jake?’ Sophie’s voice elicited another huge grin as he bent his neck to see his sister’s face.

  ‘We’d better get going.’ Sophie pulled the beanie hat back on his head and pushed the pushchair towards the door.

  ‘Can I just…?’ Oonagh laid her hand on Sophie’s shoulder. Charlie could fuck right off. This wouldn’t wait. Sophie nodded to Charlie, who took the pushchair and pushed Jake towards the door.

  ‘I’ll just be a few seconds.’ Oonagh wasn’t sure if Sophie was reassuring Charlie or telling Oonagh to get to the point.

  ‘Sophie, you know if you have a problem you can talk to me.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ She held her hand up in a stop sign to tell Oonagh the conversation was over and walked out of the door.

  Oonagh wandered back to her coffee just in time to see the waitress clear away her almost full cup when her phone rang. She didn’t recognise the number and pressed her thumb down to take the call.

  ‘You wanted to talk to me?’

  Oonagh not only didn’t recognise the number, she didn’t recognise the voice either. ‘I’m erm… sorry, who is this?’

  ‘It’s Vivienne Gray. If you want to talk to me you’ve got five minutes to say your piece, then I never want to see or speak to you again.’

  *

  Oonagh ordered a coffee to go, then hailed a black cab out on Byres Road. She had a load of stuff to do, but reckoned Hannah Gray’s mum wouldn’t be offering any second chances for this meeting. She gave the driver the address, a little bistro on the edge of Milngavie, a few blocks from where Vivienne Gray lived. Clearly the woman had no intention of inviting Oonagh into her home. She told Oonagh to be there at twenty past; that gave her less than fifteen minutes. The traffic was a nightmare and they got caught at every red light. Oonagh was sure if she was even a second late then Vivienne would scarper and never speak to her again.

  She rehearsed what she was going to say in the cab, jotting down a few notes. It would probably be best at this point not to go into too many details, find out what Hannah’s mum had to say first.

  The bistro was just off the main road, and had a smattering of customers. A woman sitting at a table near the window stood up as she arrived and moved to shake Oonagh’s hand. ‘I’m impressed.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Did you promise the taxi driver a bumper tip to get you here on time?’

  Oonagh smiled as she sat down. Vivienne Gray was warmer than she’d been expecting. Not quite friendly, but not spitting nails either. ‘I was in the west end, didn’t take too long.’ She could already feel the seconds ticking by and was desperate for the whole meeting not to be dominated by the traffic on the A81. ‘Thanks for agreeing to see me, Mrs Gray. Can I ask, why the change of mind?’

  ‘I spoke to Hannah’s dad yesterday.’ She got right down to business. ‘He told me you gave him a post-mortem report?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry, it probably brought up a lot of painful memories and—’

  Vivienne cut in. ‘I want you to respect my family’s privacy, OK?’

  ‘Of course, it’s just that—’

  ‘This has been hard enough. The death of a child never goes away, and your revelations are doing nothing more than bringing back nightmares and piling on the guilt.’

  ‘Mrs Gray, there’s a chance your daughter was being abused at Breakmire.’

  Vivienne held up her index finger, indicating that she wanted Oonagh to stop speaking. ‘Listen to me, we’ll deal with this. We’ll go through the correct channels and contact the relevant authorities.’

  ‘Vivienne, I understand your—’

  ‘No, you don’t. I have no doubt this would make for a pretty good feature. I know who you are, Oonagh O’Neil. I know what you do. But this is our daughter’s life you’re talking about. I’m not having her plastered all over television. Face in the newspapers. People pointing the finger because we let her down.’

  Oonagh had to tread very carefully with this one. She didn’t want to cross the line. ‘Mrs Gray, Vivienne, please. I’ve uncovered some more… information… I think…’

  The other woman placed her hand on the table. ‘You have a document which I strongly suspect you obtained illegally. Now you drop this whole thing or I’m going to the police.’

  Oonagh weighed up what she’d be charged with. Hospital records were forever turning up on landfill sites, or sensitive documents getting left on trains. It wouldn’t take too much imagination to invent how the report had come into her hands. But that wasn’t the point. She had no desire to intrude on this woman’s grief any more than she had already. ‘OK.’ She was deflated, but nodded quickly, before she had a chance to change her mind. ‘But…’

  ‘But what?’ The initial relief that had passed by Vivienne Gray’s face quickly faded now that Oonagh was about to insert a caveat into the proceedings.

  ‘But I’ve uncovered the very strong possibility of an illegal brothel being run from Breakmire.’ She held up her hand, aware that Vivienne Gray was about to interrupt. ‘I’ll keep your daughter’s name out of things. You can rest assured of that. But you need to appreciate that I can’t sit on this story. I can’t make it go away. And to be honest I don’t want to. This needs to be exposed.’ Oonagh had enough to cover this with or without mentio
ning Hannah Gray. After all, her death had been an accident. The fact she’d been pregnant would indeed have strongly indicated that she’d been abused whilst under the care of the hospital, but it neither proved nor disproved that Nugent or Petrie had been involved.

  The heartache once more flooded through Vivienne Gray’s face and she clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle the gasp that escaped from her lips. ‘We let her down, you know that?’ She immediately seemed to soften, using the same term that her ex-husband had used.

  ‘You did what you truly believed to be the best for your daughter, Vivienne.’

  Vivienne Gray glanced at her watch. The five minutes were well and truly up. ‘I can trust you, can’t I?’

  Oonagh nodded. ‘Of course you can, Vivienne.’ She took a brief pause. ‘But, please, don’t let this one go. Don’t give up without a fight.’

  Vivienne Gray stood up and nodded, but Oonagh wasn’t convinced. She walked out of the door, looking for all the world like a woman with the last ounce of fight squeezed from her.

  39

  Tommy Gallagher 1983

  ‘Ya bandit.’ The bus pulled from the stop just as he came round the corner. They were few and far between in this neck of the woods, so he decided to walk. The nerves, now a familiar feature in his belly, had started as soon as he’d woken this morning. They’d never fully gone away if truth be told. The shame too. He wore that like a blanket, sure everyone could see through it. See into his soul. He’d skipped out of the house, shouting his goodbyes from behind the door as it’d slammed behind him. He couldn’t bear to see his mum’s face. Couldn’t bear the look of pride that would inevitably have been in her eyes. She thought he was a superstar. Boasted to her friends, told everyone on the block how talented he was. Even Auntie Ina. Auntie Ina whom he’d known since he was a baby. Even she got the full ‘look at my Tommy, I’m so proud of him’ routine. His throat tightened and tears stung the backs of his eyes so he was glad of the cold biting wind. It gave him an excuse to wipe his face.