It led to ‘I Believe Her’ rallies around Ireland.
‘What else can you tell me about Chloe? It seems as if she didn’t have a large group around her.’
‘I knew Chloe only as an acquaintance,’ said Beatrice. ‘I don’t know much about her personal life.’
‘What can you tell me?’ I asked.
‘That she was sensitive. Nice. Feisty when she needed to be. Sensitive.’
‘You came back to sensitive.’
‘She was easily hurt. But aren’t we all: all of us who fight for better things? We have to be pissed off about something to get us to this point.’
‘What was Chloe annoyed about?’
‘She wanted people to be treated equally, respectfully.’
‘How long had you known her?’
‘Three years. It galls me, a young woman, is just disposable. And after what happened to Erica McClelland.’
‘Did you know Erica?’ Higgins asked.
‘No. Violence against women peeks my interest. Young women in Northern Ireland are the most invisible demographic. Did you know that?’
‘But Erica …’ I started.
‘Yes, Erica,’ said Beatrice, ‘her death has garnered more media coverage than Chloe’s. And call me cynical, but maybe that’s because there were all those photos of Erica looking beautiful on nights out. Whereas Chloe was beautiful too, but she didn’t subscribe to this Instagram perfection. Or what we are taught by advertisers, and airbrushing, and Photoshop, to think is perfection. Erica was that perfectly groomed ideal. People are still talking about her. As they should be! Yet Chloe’s killing was really recent, and yet it’s as if she is already forgotten about. But she won’t be, we’re holding a vigil outside PACT.’
‘Let us know when.’
‘We will.’
‘Would you have any idea of someone who would do this?’ asked Higgins.
‘My brain doesn’t work like that, fortunately.’
‘How do you mean?’ he asked.
‘I can’t think why anyone would physically harm anyone,’ Beatrice said. ‘There is nothing that would ever make me act that way.’
‘Beatrice,’ I said, remembering Jackie mentioning a Beatrice before. ‘Didn’t you go travelling with Chloe?’
‘Me?’ she said slowly. ‘No.’
‘I thought your name was brought up in relation to Chloe travelling.’
‘When she worked for Amnesty International?’ Beatrice said.
Higgins and I looked at each other. ‘When she went travelling around Europe,’ he replied.
‘I don’t know about that. She didn’t go with me.’
‘Maybe another Beatrice,’ said Higgins.
‘Chloe worked with Amnesty International?’ I asked.
‘Chloe worked with girls who’d had FGM.’
‘What’s FGM?’ asked Higgins.
‘Female genital mutilation.’
‘In Europe?’ I said.
‘No, not in Europe,’ said Beatrice. ‘Actually, Chloe talked very little about it, like it was something she wanted to forget. I didn’t ask too much. I think she just wanted to show me, look, I’ve earned my stripes, here’s what I’ve seen, something bigger and even more rotten than girls here are going through.’ Beatrice linked her fingers together. ‘The wider group didn’t know.’
‘Okay,’ I said, taking some notes. This was completely new to us. ‘Did Chloe have a friend called Jane, or June?’
‘There is a lecturer of hers. Professor June Lundy.’
‘At Queens?’
‘Yes,’ said Beatrice.
‘Thank you,’ I told Beatrice. ‘That was more helpful than you know.’
‘Good!’ she said with the mix of a smile and frown, pushing the pancakes away from her and lifting her phone instead, starting what looked like a text.
Chapter 11
‘It’s your day off,’ Paul said on Saturday morning, ‘and mine, too.’ But still I got dressed for work.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I just need to go to Bangor.’ That, and I wanted to see the gardener with Higgins.
‘Why Bangor?’ asked Paul.
‘Because Chloe Taylor was stabbed three times and so was Erica McClelland.’
‘Oh, yes, Erica McClelland. I’ve seen her photos.’
‘I’m sure you have,’ I said.
‘What’s that?’
‘She was only a kid,’ I said. ‘Won’t be long.’
‘But it’s the wedding, thought you’d want to watch it.’
‘Erm, no thanks.’
The boys were in their playpen, I kissed them on my way out.
*
I stood in the office hurrying Higgins along. Fleur Hewitt looked surprised to see me.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be at home, putting your feet up?’ she asked me.
‘Putting my feet up!’ I got touchy.
‘They can’t get rid of you here.’
‘Who wants to get rid of me?’ I asked and she looked baffled.
Higgins came over. ‘DI Sloane,’ he greeted me professionally for Hewitt’s benefit. ‘I heard on the grapevine that last night Drew was dragged out of The Bell while having a drink. He was pulled into an alleyway and dealt a punishment beating.’
‘Any lasting damage?’ I asked.
‘His leg is broken.’
‘Social control,’ said Hewitt. ‘They want him to keep quiet about something.’
‘Probably a drugs thing,’ I said. I didn’t like how she was explaining a good old Northern Irish tradition to us. ‘The organisation doesn’t like dealers,’ I told her.
‘No shit, hen,’ said Hewitt. She walked away, letting herself straight into the chief’s room without knocking.
‘What a bitch,’ I said quietly.
Higgins was laughing. ‘She can be.’
‘How in the world did she get that job?’
‘Sour grapes?’ he said.
‘Something’s sour and it isn’t me.’
‘Don’t let her annoy you.’
‘Easy for you to say, Carl.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Higgins. ‘I put up with you; I don’t let you annoy me, do I?’
*
It was sunny on the way to Bangor, so sunny Higgins put his shades on and sang Didn’t we have a lovely time the day we went to Bangor.
‘Stick to the drums,’ I told him. After a minute I had second thoughts. ‘Sorry, Carl. Let’s go and speak with Drew instead.’
‘You sure?’ he asked me.
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘Are you sure that’s okay though?’
‘Carl, if you ask me if it’s okay and I say it’s okay with me, then it’s okay.’
‘Can’t believe you’re in here on your day off anyway,’ he said, ‘and with a royal wedding on.’
‘I really wish people would stop saying that to me,’ I said.
‘Not a fan?’
‘Are you?’
‘I liked the last wedding.’ Higgins looked in the mirror and fixed his fringe.
‘You liked Pippa Middleton’s arse,’ I said.
‘How do you know that?’ He laughed.
‘You talked about it for weeks.’
He only laughed harder.
‘Good that you can laugh at yourself,’ I said, ‘anyway, it’s media propaganda: she has no arse. They just can’t let a royal girl have a day to herself.’
‘I like a conspiracy theory!’ he said.
‘It’s the Daily Mail I blame,’ I said.
Higgins laughed ‘Let’s hear it, Harry.’
‘Google these words: Daily Mail, royal and steals the show. Honestly, they love it. ‘Pippa steals the show at Kate’s wedding’, ‘Prince George steals the show at Charlotte’s christening’, ‘Tindall’s little daughter steals the show at the Queen’s birthday’. Bullshit!’
‘You know a lot about them. Their names, anyway,’ he said. ‘I only know about Pippa.’
‘And she isn’t even a royal.’
‘Meghan’s a babe, too,’ he said. ‘I liked watching her in that show Suits. Looks like Pippa a bit.’
‘Does she?’ I frowned. ‘Does Meghan have an arse?’
‘Ooh, Harry. You are hard.’
I laughed as he pulled up in front of Drew’s house. I didn’t know if Higgins was growing on me or if I was just comparing him to Fleur Hewitt.
Maybe I was just delighted to get out of the house on a long structureless Saturday.
Saturdays had become the bane of my life since having the boys. If Paul was off work it was even worse. He liked days out; making the most of time as a family.
I couldn’t do my own thing, put the boys in the double buggy and go out for a run. Then get them to nap so I could put on a movie, pour a glass of wine. Paul just wanted to talk. We had so little in common, and he wasn’t the funniest person I’d ever met.
Higgins, dear help me, was my adult conversation. Mindless and amusing.
At Drew’s house Roxanne answered the door. She was holding the little girl whose pox were less angry.
‘You heard the news,’ she said.
‘We heard that Drew was …’ I looked at the girl, certain she could understand some things at her age.
‘Come in,’ Roxanne said. She shooed the little girl upstairs to play in her bedroom and on the sofa Drew was lying with his leg elevated and in plaster. His face was scuffed. A pair of crutches leaned against the wall. The baby was tottering about; he came over and held onto my knees and smiled.
‘What age is he?’ I asked.
‘Ten months,’ said Roxanne.
‘And he’s walking?’ I asked, unable to hide my shock.
‘Harrison’s been walking since he was nine months,’ said Drew.
I felt kind of resentful, my two were still uncommitted to getting up on their feet.
‘Are you feeling better now?’ I asked Harrison. But when Drew looked at me I turned my attention back to him. ‘I hear this happened to you, where was it?’
‘I’ve already been asked to give a statement, but thanks for your concern,’ Drew said.
‘And you gave a statement?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘He refused, didn’t he!’ said Roxanne.
‘Why was that?’ I asked.
‘Do I look like a tout.’
‘It’s okay for someone to do this to you, to break your leg?’ said Higgins.
‘What do you think, mate?’
‘Mr. Taylor,’ I started.
‘There’s no getting justice on some people …’ Drew interrupted me. ‘It’s nothing to do with Chloe, if that’s why you’re really here.’
‘How would you know that for sure?’ I asked.
‘It stands to reason,’ he said.
‘Does it?’
‘I’ve pissed somebody off. Nothing to do with Chloe.’
‘They can’t be allowed to get away with this, Andrew,’ said Roxanne.
Drew tutted at her.
‘Maybe someone has decided that your cousin had it coming, too,’ said Higgins.
‘No,’ Drew said strongly.
‘So, you know who killed Chloe?’
‘The fuck I do.’
‘How can you be sure it’s not the same people?’ I pushed him.
‘She doesn’t know these ones and they don’t know her.’
‘Who?’
‘Nice try.’ He chortled, then clutched his ribs.
‘Sore?’
‘What do you think? After they set on me I was lying there, busted open.’
‘This can’t be easy for you,’ I said to Roxanne and she looked back at me with an emptiness in her eyes that gave me a chill.
‘What are your thoughts on this attack?’ Higgins asked her.
‘Keep her out of it,’ said Drew with more than a hint of a warning in his tone.
I looked at Roxanne for a few moments. ‘Oh, I give up,’ she said, sweeping Harrison up and leaving the room. ‘I’m not allowed an opinion on anything.’ Soon Roxy was upstairs, talking loudly to the little girl.
She was saying, ‘You are three, Ella, you know how to use the potty.’
‘Drew,’ I said quietly. ‘Chloe owed you money.’
‘That’s alright,’ he said. ‘She’s my kid cousin, and not much money for that matter.’
‘What did she owe you money for?’ asked Higgins.
‘Nothing.’
‘Was it drugs?’ I asked, in an almost-whisper.
‘Chores,’ he said.
‘Okay … when did you last see her? The truth this time.’
‘A fortnight or so. Could have been a month.’
‘So not Christmas?’ said Higgins.
‘Wasn’t it Tuesday?’ I said. ‘The night before she was murdered?’
‘Who’s been filling your head with that shite?’ Drew asked.
‘You saw Chloe then, at Lizzie’s house.’
‘If she says so.’
‘Do you say so?’
‘You ever let a man rest in peace?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Never.’
Drew raised an eyebrow at me and half-smiled.
‘Who was there, at Lizzie’s house?’ asked Higgins.
‘Mad Lizzie, as you know. Our Chlo, and that’s it.’
‘And you?’ I said.
‘For half a second.’
‘Delivering drugs?’
‘Nah, just saying hi.’
‘You and Lizzie are friendly, then?’
He said nothing.
‘And no one else was there?’ asked Higgins.
‘Your man with the budgie smugglers came home,’ said Drew, ‘and that was that, I was on my way out anyway.’
‘You mean Lizzie’s partner?’
‘Yeah, the English twat. He came in briefly.’
‘Justin?’
‘Yeah. Him.’
‘Do you want to tell us why this happened to you?’ I tried to coax Drew again.
‘Because some people are sore.’
‘What about?’
‘Are you here re: me or re: Chloe?’
‘Re: you pressing charges,’ I said. ‘I think you should.’
‘Who against?’
‘Whoever did this to you?’
He grimaced. He was a brick wall, but I sensed he could be pushed over.
Chapter 12
‘Will we forget Bangor?’ asked Higgins looking at the time as he drove. He was due to meet with Dan Hamilton soon.
‘I’m not sure,’ I said feeling my phone buzz in my pocket. It was Father. ‘I have to take this.’
‘Harry,’ Father said, ‘I’ve had a call from Bethany.’ He meant Mother’s nursing home but made it sound like a person, another woman, or the chippy on the Newtownards Road.
‘Yes?’ My heart sank but instantly there was relief, all in a couple of seconds. I thought my mother might have died, and would no longer be in limbo. We would have an end, finally, to the routine that pulled our lives away from us. ‘Is Mummy okay?’ I asked.
‘Oh, she’s great.’
‘Great?’
‘The same as usual, Harriet,’ he sounded impatient. ‘It’s not about your mother, it’s something else, alright?’
‘Yes?’
‘Someone has threatened the nursing home. They received a letter to say they know where Adelinde is and that someone is going to come and … the staff were reluctant to let me see it.’
‘What did it say?’
‘The letter?’
‘Yes,’ I said, almost losing my cool.
‘You don’t want to know,’ said Father. ‘It could be someone she put away in the past. It could be anyone.’
‘Not really,’ I said.
‘How do you know! It could be someone who visits here and they recognise your mother, or they recognise me, and are still holding a grudge about some legal issue.’
‘Oh, fuck sake,’ I said.
Higgins glanced at me and fr
owned. I shooed him away, as if, don’t listen, it’s not your business.
‘How can we cope with this now, knowing someone might harm your mother?’ said Father.
‘I don’t think it’s likely,’ I said, trying to calm him.
‘She is lying here unresponsive. What if someone was to molest her?’
‘Daddy!’
‘Things like this happen, Harry, as we well know in our line of work.’
‘But why say it now? She’s been like this for years.’
‘Well, I’ve told you,’ Father said, ‘so on your head be it if something happens.’ He hung up the phone.
‘Fuck sake!’ I said, maybe too loud.
Higgins turned fast to look at me. ‘God, what’s wrong?’
‘It’s personal.’
‘You shouldn’t be in today,’ he said.
‘I know, and I’m going home. We’ll go to Bangor later.’
Usually Higgins would joke but he didn’t. He turned the car and we went back to the station.
Back at Strandtown Lewis, Chloe’s ex, called. Hewitt put him on the phone to me.
‘I’m out of the loop,’ Lewis said. ‘Any news?’
‘None,’ I said.
‘Will someone let me know if you get the culprit?’
‘Believe me,’ I said, ‘everyone will know when we get him.’
Chapter 13
Hamilton was working at a house on Kings Road like he’d said he would be. He wore beige khakis and a red fleece. The garden was beautiful, spring was crackling. I could see why he’d be proud of the flower bed he was grafting on. Around it laburnum hung like crayon-yellow grapes, the clematis in full flower, red tulips reached upward like thirsty tongues.
‘Are you Daniel Hamilton?’ I asked him.
‘No,’ he said.
He had a long face. Long ears and nose. He looked like an e-fit in person. But I had a photo, I located it from my pocket. It was him.
‘I go by Terry. My middle name,’ he said. It was a done-to-death ploy, by certain types. Thank god for middle names.
‘We would like a word with you, if you please.’
Hamilton said, ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’
‘I won’t take a minute.’
He gave me a look I knew; a look that made me angry. We directed him over beside the car and he sullenly followed.
‘I called you before and you hung up. Detective Inspector Sloane,’ I introduced myself.
Problems with Girls (DI Sloane Book 2) Page 8