Who Took Eden Mulligan?

by Sharon Dempsey

  ‘What about your children?’

  ‘You think I didn’t miss them? I regret every day that I wasn’t there for them. When I heard about Eden going missing, well, I thought they had taken her instead of me. It had crossed my mind on a few occasions that maybe the letter hadn’t been at Eden’s request. Anyone could have pointed the finger at me – said I threatened them, or that I was passing information on to the army. I never did, though.’ He stared into Rose’s eyes intently.

  ‘But I knew if the suggestion of informing had been made, I had no way of disproving it. The threat was enough to scare the life clean out of me.’ He scratched at his neck, the skin red and raw. ‘If they took Eden and I was out of the country, well then, I figured it was best for the kids if I stayed away. Suppose I justified it to myself. I was a heavy drinker in those days. I’ve often wondered if I had said something I shouldn’t have when I was on the beer and whiskeys. Insulted someone who wears the balaclava and the beret. Who knows? Whatever it was over, it cost Eden her life and me my family.’

  She studied Geordie. He was an old man transposed to another country, exiled from his family by the hold the paramilitaries had over his community, with a lifetime of regrets and nothing but theories as to how he had ended up there.

  ‘Do you still have the letter?’ she asked.

  ‘No, burnt it long ago. Threw it into the fire one night when I was morose from the drink and the memories. Watched it go up in flames as I drank myself into a stupor. I woke the next day and told myself to put it all behind me. Tried to get on with making a living. Didn’t forget the threat or my children, but did my best to move on.’

  He paused and looked down into his tea.

  ‘Do you believe in ghosts, Miss Lainey?’

  ‘No, can’t say I do.’

  ‘Well I can tell you, I’ve seen Eden’s ghost many times. She’s always watching, waiting for me to slip up. She’s the only thing that keeps me away from the drink. I know beyond all certainty that if I give in and down a whiskey, she’ll get me. I wasn’t the husband she needed me to be.’

  Rose saw fear and sorrow in his eyes. A life spent on the run from the ghosts of his past was no way to live. His revelations hadn’t moved the case along any, but it had at least clarified in Rose’s mind that he had nothing to do with Eden’s disappearance. He had been a worthless husband and an absent father, but he wasn’t a murderer.

  CHAPTER 29

  Danny woke from a bad dream with a feeling of dread. He couldn’t recall what he’d dreamt about but knew it had been something unnerving and most likely relating to Amy. He turned over and checked the time on his phone. Only 6.05 a.m. and it was already warm. He’d another full-on day ahead of him, but for now he wanted to close his eyes and chill before the work of the day took over.

  He thought of his father, out working on the farm from dawn, and how he would’ve chided Danny for lying in his bed when the day had already begun. It had been a few weeks since he had gone to visit his parents. Lately, he couldn’t face it. The long drive home, the forced small talk, and the pretence that he was interested in farming, were all too much. He’d avoided telling them about him and Amy. It wasn’t as if they loved Amy exactly. They had grown used to her. Liked her, even, but she had never really fit in. Her sophisticated ways, her need for constant reassurance and her fragility had meant that they had never had a chance to really get to know her. She seemed like a mystery to them. Danny blamed himself for this. He had never really helped them understand their delicate flower of a daughter-in-law, preferring instead to keep them pretty much separate in his life and in his head. Sure, she was brought along at Christmas and special family events, but by and large his Belfast life stayed in Belfast. This applied to his working life too. He knew they worried about him, scanned the news for any bombs or dangerous cases, but the less he mentioned work, the less they asked.

  Since his marriage had ended, he’d preferred to spend his weekends working. The extra hours on a case as complex as the Dunlore one were necessary. No one was going to give him a gold star for knocking himself out, but if he didn’t get a result soon, he’d have to answer to his superiors.

  The demands of the job were both a salve and a torture. Danny appreciated the ability to lose himself in a case, to become entranced in the evidence, the data, the findings and the procedures. He knew only too well that every case brings with it new possibilities for fucking up. Ever since the Lennon case he’d felt the potential for failure keenly. He may have led investigations in the past, been successful in bringing them to a close, but he had no certainty that he would be so lucky again. And he did think of it as luck, to a degree. There were many variants at play. Yes, he knew how to carry out his duties and follow protocol to ensure that the investigation was thorough, legitimate, and he had allowed no unconscious bias to damage his work. But he realised that people fucked up and in the depths of his despair he feared he would do so again.

  He’d failed in his marriage too. He wondered, if he had known marriage to Amy was going to be so fraught, would he have run for the hills or would he have signed up anyway? It was hard to tell. Back then, he’d loved her enough to think it would get them through any dark times. Now he knew different.

  But still, he missed the companionship. The shared rhythm of living together. He wasn’t made to be single. All of the nightclub trawling, looking to meet someone, was never his thing. Even when he was a student, hanging out with Rose was how he preferred to spend his time. The en masse pub crawls and drinking until you were off your face didn’t get a look in compared to a night of playing Scrabble with Rose while listening to Radiohead.

  The heat of the last few days was alien and intrusive. It made him think of cheap summer holidays, cocktails drunk under parasols, and bodies slick with sun cream. Belfast wasn’t itself at all. Everyone was talking about the inconvenience of having to work in hot weather, as if they should have a reprieve in honour of the surprisingly high temperatures.

  The basement office offered a welcome coolness. Rose seemed to have become accustomed to the gloom and found it a productive place to work. He could still hardly believe she was here working alongside him.

  ‘Hey, boss. I’ve heard back from Henderson about Conal Brady,’ Malachy said, as he stuck his head through the door frame.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He said Brady has a reputation for ambition both within the drug and music scene. Unless Dylan Wray was a rival dealer, it’s unlikely that Brady would have gone after him. Also, the nightclub alibi checked out – he was indeed standing on a stage playing shite dance tunes to a bunch of headers. But that’s not to say that there wasn’t something going on between them. Brady could have paid someone else to do his dirty work.’

  Danny blew out a breath. Malachy was right. Conal Brady’s alibi may have checked out, but he was worth keeping an eye on.

  ‘Let’s do a bit of digging on Dylan Wray, see if anything turns up that would implicate Brady. Have they had any contact recently, any shared connections? Check Dylan Wray’s phone. It was found at the cottage.’

  ‘Right, Sir, on it,’ Malachy said leaving the office.

  The week’s itinerary was laid out on the screen in front of him, of which the most pressing event was a meeting with the ACC to go over the findings to date. Before that, he had plans to speak to the former investigating officer on the Eden Mulligan case. He had long since retired, happy to have his handsome pay out and to spend his days on the Malone golf course. In advance of the meeting, Danny looked over the spreadsheet Rose had created detailing the timeline of the interviews that had been conducted during the original investigation. The initial reluctance to treat Eden’s disappearance as anything other than a runaway mother had prevented vital information being gathered at the start. That reluctance to initiate a proper search and inquiry needled Danny. Identifying the reasons for this, and speaking to the officer who had made that call to not follow up concerns voiced by the family and neighbours, was important. It
could help clarify certain issues that had played on Danny’s mind.

  Former Detective Inspector Victor Mason walked with a brisk step for a man in his seventies. His upright, rigid posture suggested a military background, but as far as Danny knew, his service had only ever been with the Royal Ulster Constabulary, the old Northern Irish police service, not the army.

  ‘Mr Mason, thank you for meeting me,’ Danny offered, standing to greet him.

  ‘Not at all. I’m honoured to be of service, even after all this time.’ He sat on the plastic chair and arranged himself until he was comfortable, then rested his hands on the table, a gold signet ring on his little finger.

  ‘This is about the Mulligan case. You want to talk to me about the investigation, I believe?’

  ‘Yes, I am conducting a review of the case, trying to shine some new light on what happened.’

  ‘Good luck with that. In my opinion, for what it’s worth, cases like that one are best left well alone. Waste of valuable time and police resources. I’m sure there are plenty more pressing cases for you to look at.’

  ‘No doubt we could say that the case doesn’t merit our time, but we owe it to Eden Mulligan’s family to do our best,’ Danny replied, disliking how the man had pursed his thin lips in disapproval.

  ‘Well, if the case needs to be re-examined I am certain you will find no wrongdoing on the part of me or my colleagues, but please keep in mind they were different times we were working in.’

  Danny reached for his file to look at his notes. He wanted the older man to feel the weight of officialdom. To know that he wasn’t having a cosy chat with one of the boys.

  Victor sat back in his chair, as if to brace himself.

  ‘Shall we begin? Can you tell me what you remember about the Eden Mulligan case?’

  ‘After she disappeared, most people thought she had simply gone to England to track down the husband. Geordie, I think he was called. A worthless drunk, by all accounts. That seemed to be the most likely scenario.

  ‘The papers at the time described her as a good time girl. For a mother of five she certainly kept herself well clothed and all dolled up. There was no shortage of money for the latest fashion and trips to the hairdressers. You have to ask where did that money come from? I did wonder, was there a fancy man on the side? Someone with a bit of money who was slipping her a few pounds to help stretch the money the husband was sending home. We never identified him, the fancy man, if he did exist, but if you ask me there was something going on.’ His mouth was twisted into a grimace, his disproval of Eden Mulligan and how he assumed she conducted her life was clear.

  Danny sighed and cocked his head to the side. ‘There was no proof that she had a lover or that she was involved in anything, was there?’

  Mason stiffened his shoulders back, as if asserting his superiority. ‘Not as such, but we never had the opportunity to dig too far. Maybe something had occurred to bring her into contact with the paramilitaries. She could have inadvertently rubbed someone up the wrong way. You have to understand that in those days the hold they had over the place was powerful. People were scared to be seen with the wrong person. Frightened to say the wrong word. Communities kept to their own. It was safer that way. Maybe Eden had a lover from across the barricades, so to speak. And then there had been the incident six months before she went missing.’

  ‘What incident?’ asked Danny.

  ‘A house of a known paramilitary man was to be raided and somehow, as so often happened with those things, the IRA got wind of it. Their priority was to move a weapons stash that had been housed in a stable in the Markets area. In those days, there were a few stables down that end of town. There was even a blacksmith’s up until the mid-seventies. Anyhow, the women of the street were called on to hide guns in prams, and to push them through the town, on to another location – somewhere up the Falls Road, I believe.’ He worried at his chin, tapping his fingers in an odd way. ‘Sorry, Parkinson’s. Plays up every now and then.’

  Danny nodded.

  ‘Where was I? Yes, the weapons. It was thought that Eden could have been asked to take some of the guns and refused. That wouldn’t have gone down well within the Markets area. Not enough to see her killed maybe, but enough to see her threatened, taken away and taught a lesson. Perhaps something went wrong and she was killed accidentally.’

  ‘Victor, if you don’t mind me saying, what you have told me is all conjecture. Was there no evidence collected?’

  ‘DI Stowe, please understand that Northern Ireland in 1986 was in the midst of a terror campaign. I don’t mean to be obtuse, but a runaway mother wasn’t high up on anyone’s agenda. Even public pressure for a satisfactory outcome was absent. In those days, things happened in communities that were best left alone. I suppose that you need to have lived through those times to understand. Some cases just have blind spots. Not every crime is committed in full view of witnesses or CCTV cameras.’ His body twitched, as if attached to invisible electrodes. Danny noted the defensive tone, that sense of being blameless, because that was how the system worked back then. Self-important wanker.

  ‘Still, I would have expected a more thorough investigation. People don’t just disappear into thin air without someone knowing something.’

  Mason lifted his chin and gave Danny a stern look. ‘I agree, but again, you need to keep in mind the RUC were a credit to their Queen and country. We served under extreme circumstances and were disciplined, dedicated professionals. A young one like yourself can’t possibly know the strain our force was under. Communities were tight. Even if someone knew something, it was in their best interest to keep quiet. People were killed for passing on less,’ he added.

  Danny had become accustomed to this reticence. This sense that the past was an intransigent place that had to be treated with deference.

  Mason placed one hand over the other to steady the tremors. ‘Remember there was no CCTV in those days and we had no witnesses to say that they saw Eden Mulligan being taken. For all we know, she could have decided to throw herself into the Lagan. No one would have blamed her. A young mother trying to scrape by with five kids to feed and clothe. That would be enough to break anyone’s spirit. We can’t even be sure that there were nefarious elements at play. She could have died by her own hand or left home freely of her own accord.’

  Danny listened to his assertions and wondered what it was about Eden Mulligan that made her fair game. Victor Mason’s attitude towards the mother and his lack of concern for her welfare made Danny more curious than ever to know who Eden Mulligan really was, and to find out what set of circumstances brought about her disappearance.

  CHAPTER 30

  Rose wasn’t expecting anyone but when the buzzer went, she was sure it could only be Danny.

  ‘Whiskey?’ she said, raising her eyebrows at the sight of him carrying a litre bottle of Bushmills. ‘It’s that kind of night, is it?’

  Danny said nothing and followed her into the apartment.

  ‘What is it with these places? They all look out at nothingness. A blank expanse of stagnant water. Soulless living at its best.’ He gestured towards the window, his reflection looking back at him like a distorted fairground mirror.

  ‘Somebody’s in a bad mood. What’s up?’ Rose asked, retrieving two glasses from a cupboard in the kitchenette area.

  ‘Nothing. Everything. I just wanted company. Someone to talk shop to.’

  Rose sat on the little sofa beside him. He was leaning forward with his hands raking through his hair. She could tell he had already been drinking. The rosiness of his cheeks gave him away – that, and the scent of smoke. She knew he used to smoke when he was drunk. A habit he had blamed her on. A bad influence he had called her, on more than one night out.

  ‘So, what’s going on? Is the case getting to you?’ Rose knew that pressure had been building for the team to get a result. She knew enough of policing to know that the job got under your skin. You couldn’t help taking home the stench of death and the only
way to find peace was in doing a job well and seeing the culprits put away. But that pressure, that need to see justice done, was like a boulder chasing you down a hill, ever present and ever threatening. That was part of the reason she had never pursued a career in the police in the first place.

  Danny threw himself back on the sofa and placed his long legs up onto the glass coffee table. ‘Make yourself at home, why don’t you?’ Rose said, not annoyed, just concerned. He seemed out of control. Not like his usual careful, considered self. She could see the exhaustion on his face. The shadows of lost sleep and the strain of a complex murder case. Occupational hazards. He passed a hand over his hair again, which Rose noticed was beginning to thin a bit on top. She’d have to slag him about that when he was in better form. She was used to Danny being the one to pick her up, to keep the mood light. Tonight, he gave the impression of a man ready to cry, or to punch someone’s lights out for no particular reason. Either would be the release he looked like he needed.

  Rose leaned back beside him, handing him the glass with a measure of whiskey. ‘Talk me through what’s bothering you.’

  ‘My wife has instructed a solicitor to oversee our separation. I suppose this makes me a free man.’ His words sounded bitter.

  Rose waited. She had always been the one with a reluctance to let him in, and Danny respected this. But Danny, well, he was usually an open book. He downed the whiskey and handed her the empty glass to refill.

  ‘I’m surprised. You didn’t say anything,’ Rose eventually said.

  ‘What like, hey Rosie, good to see you after all this time. By the way, my marriage has failed. I fucked up.’

  ‘You could’ve talked to me.’

  ‘Yeah, like how you’ve talked to me over the years.’ His tone was bitter.

  Rose looked away. She could hardly blame him.

  ‘Talk to me now. I’m here. You must have known this was coming, so why has it hit you so bad?’