‘Oh, my God! Are you Oonagh O’Neil?’ The middle-aged woman cut in and pointed. Oonagh nodded, trying not to pant; Fran beamed with pride.
‘Oh, my husband loves you. We always think you’re so natural on the telly…’ She carried on but Oonagh interrupted.
‘I’m really sorry, the studio’s just texted,’ she lied. ‘I’m meant to be doing a promo for…’ She let herself trail off and Fran jumped up and gave her a quick kiss goodbye. Fran regarded Oonagh’s job as something akin to being second in line for the throne. Nothing should ever interfere with it.
‘No worries, I’ll catch you later, sweetheart,’ then she went back to chat to the granny who should be getting danger money.
Oonagh ran down to Argyle Street and flagged down a taxi. Her breathing started to settle, but she wanted home quick. The attack was easing, but she called Alec from the taxi; this couldn’t wait. Her heart was racing slightly, but this time for a different reason. She fished her keys out of her bag as the taxi turned onto Byres Road. The traffic was light so she was home in minutes and raced up the stairs and straight back to the kitchen and the crimes of Dorothy Malloy. She picked up the photograph and jumped when her phone rang.
*
Davies nursed his coffee and looked at the sea of papers.
‘Where did you get all this?’
Oonagh leaned back in her chair, tried to remain composed. ‘And that’s important because?’
‘Because I can hardly condone looking over files you may have…’ he chose his words carefully ‘… acquired by unorthodox means.’ He clearly thought she’d nicked them.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Alec, drop the Boys in Blue routine.’ He gave her a look, which she chose to ignore. ‘I didn’t steal them, right?’ She slid the picture of Dorothy under his line of vision. ‘She stabbed her husband, ripped his heart out, then dragged a five-year-old boy up a flight of stairs, held him in a bath of water until he drowned and she doesn’t have a fucking mark on her!’ Oonagh had to catch her breath and felt a slight tightening in her chest.
At least Alec had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. ‘Oon, I didn’t investigate this case. It happened over a quarter of a century ago. I’ve never even seen the medical notes before.’
‘But you can see them now?’
Alec nodded and picked up the photograph. Oonagh saw this as her inroad. ‘Alec, it doesn’t make sense. Look.’ She pointed to Dorothy Malloy as though Alec wouldn’t know what to look for, but he held up his hand.
‘Oonagh, I’m a detective, you don’t need to over-egg the pudding here.’ He placed his mug down on the table.
‘OK, then play detective. Tell me. Does this look kosher?’ She thought back to the granny in the park with the scratch marks on her neck.
‘This is strictly off the record.’
Oonagh nodded quickly. Desperate to urge him on.
‘If I had to make a guess I’d say she took her husband out quickly. The subsequent wounds to his body would have either been post-mortem or he would have certainly been incapacitated.’
Oonagh had already worked that bit out for herself and grew impatient. ‘And then?’
Alec drummed his fingers on the table and seemed reluctant to give her any more. Oonagh knew better than to push him and leaned against the worktop, chewing the side of her thumb. She and Alec went way back, but he was no pushover.
‘She confessed, Oonagh.’
‘So?’ Oonagh knew some confessions weren’t worth the paper they were printed on. Especially ones from way back. Police procedures were very different then.
‘I want to see the pictures of the boy.’
Alec looked up. ‘Pardon?’
‘Her son. They must have taken post-mortem pictures.’ Oonagh’s mind was working overtime.
Alec stood up and scraped his chair along the wooden floor. He pushed his fingers through his hair. ‘D’you want to calm down? You’re a journalist, not a copper. You’ve got no right to—’
‘I don’t give a shit, Alec.’ Oonagh sifted through the paperwork. ‘Look.’ She held up a sheet of A4. ‘This is a doctor’s notes from her examination with Dorothy Malloy when she entered Cartland.’ Oonagh scanned the paper. ‘She never actually says she killed them.’
‘Where are you going with this?’
‘I don’t know, but there’s something not quite right.’
Alec nodded. ‘OK, for what it’s worth I would expect there to have been some defensive wounds on Dorothy Malloy. Not from her husband but from the boy.’
Oonagh looked Alec in the eye. She waited for what was coming next. Alec said nothing.
‘And?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Not my case.’
Oonagh’s lips tightened as she picked up her phone and punched the numbers into the key pad. ‘Press Office, please,’ she asked the voice at the other end. Alec knitted his brow into a V. She held her phone out. ‘If you want me to go through the official channels, I will.’
She should have known better than to call his bluff. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘I’m done here.’ He walked towards the door. She hung up and ran after him.
‘Please help me with this one, Alec.’ Oonagh O’Neil didn’t ask for help lightly and Alec knew that. He allowed her to usher him back into the kitchen. Alec was privy to the original police files. He could easily access the pictures of Robbie Malloy’s body. Showing them to Oonagh would be a different matter.
‘I don’t need to actually see the pictures for myself,’ she offered as a compromise. ‘If you look and think everything’s as it should be, then I’ll walk away.’ She sensed he was softening. ‘That poor wee thing must have put up a struggle, Alec.’ She was surprised to find her eyes were filled with tears. Her bottom lip trembled. ‘He was pinned down under water.’ She sat down, exhausted by the false memory; a slight sob hiccupped from her mouth. ‘He’d have put up a helluva fight. Whoever did that must have left a trace.’
‘You ask a lot, O’Neil.’
31
Glasgow 2002
Her mouth tasted sour and her head was heavy. She struggled to open her eyes and it took a few seconds to register an unfamiliar weight on her right leg. She wriggled free and twisted her head around and groaned as she dropped her head back onto the pillow. ‘Who the hell are you?’
The morning was trying to split through the curtains, spilling some light into the room. She screwed her eyes to focus and thought he looked vaguely familiar but was buggered if she could remember his name.
‘Hiya.’ He laughed as he leaned to kiss the side of her neck and she elbowed him away as she struggled out of bed.
Oonagh scanned the room and realised she was in her own bedroom, but hadn’t yet figured out if that was a good thing or a bad thing as she tried to piece together the events of the previous night.
‘Listen, you have to leave.’
‘I’m in no rush.’
‘No, seriously.’ Oonagh O’Neil was used to thinking on her feet. ‘My husband’ll be home soon and he’ll go insane if he catches you here.’
The guy propped himself up on the pillows. ‘Your husband?’ He folded his arms and smirked. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’ She nodded as she pulled her robe tight enough to choke any remaining Catholic-guilt that threatened to well up inside. As a rule she didn’t do one-night stands and it scared the shit out of her that she had no recollection of the previous evening.
‘You told me last night you were single.’
‘I lied, OK!’ She grabbed random bits of clothes from the floor, throwing them in the direction of the bed. ‘I want you to go. I want you to go now.’
‘Lighten up! We had a lot of fun last night.’ He picked up her mobile from the side of the bed and clicked the down arrow with his thumb. ‘You’re very photogenic!’
‘Is everyone with a phone David Bailey now?’ Oonagh felt sick. ‘Give me that.’ She leaned over but he held the phone out of reach and made out they were playing a game. ‘Come on.
Come back to bed.’ He patted the duvet with his free hand.
‘You’d no right to take those pictures.’ Oonagh’s legs were trembling, and she struggled to stop her voice cracking. She put her hand over her mouth and ran to the en-suite and emptied what little there was in her stomach.
‘Christ, you don’t look like that when you’re on the telly.’
She kicked the door closed with her foot, then brushed her teeth and tried to tidy herself up before going back into the bedroom.
This was such a mess. ‘OK, I’m asking you nicely now. Give me that phone, get dressed, then get out of my fucking house.’ She leaned against the dressing table to steady herself – her legs were turning to jelly and threatened to let her down. Her hand rested on the small brass miniature of Rodin’s Kiss. She felt the cool smooth curves of the couple’s embrace.
He gave a slight snort. ‘You were a right laugh last night. What’s the big deal?’
‘Just give me the phone.’ Her voice was slow and deliberate.
He pushed the mobile under the duvet. ‘Come and get it.’ He laughed.
She walked towards him, hand outstretched, pleading. ‘Please.’ The pictures were sickening. The tears threatened to spill onto her cheek. ‘Please, just give me the phone.’
He looked into her eyes and relented when he saw she was serious. ‘OK.’ He tipped his head and held the mobile in the palm of his hand. Just as Oonagh reached for it he dropped it onto the bed and pulled open her dressing gown, exposing her naked body.
‘You fucker,’ she screamed as she raised her fist and punched him full across the face.
He fell back onto the pillow, cupping both hands to his head. He let out a soft low gasp, but she guessed it wasn’t without pain as the blood seeped from his temple. Oonagh staggered back and Rodin’s entwined lovers fell from her hand and dropped at her feet.
‘You’re fucking for it now, you bitch.’
32
Glasgow 2002
He was at her door within minutes.
‘Run that by me again.’ He held her by the shoulders. Not quite shaking her, but she felt the intent under his gaze.
‘Oh, fuck, what a mess. What am I going to do?’
‘Who is he?’
‘I don’t know. I think he’s a cameraman, or a sound engineer or someone. I’ve seen his face at work… or somewhere.’ Oonagh thought she detected a slight look of disgust on Alec’s face. ‘Don’t judge me on this!’
‘Oonagh, you just caved a guy’s head in, and you think I’m judging you for having a one-night stand?’
‘I don’t do one-night stands,’ she screamed.
‘Well, you fucking do now!’ he yelled back and the veins stood out on his neck. Alec sat on the stairs, he dropped his head on one hand, then craned his neck up to where the noise was coming from. Upstairs the guy with the caved-in head was battering the door.
‘I panicked. I shut him in with the deadlock.’
Alec said nothing, just rolled his eyes as the mayhem from upstairs continued.
‘I thought he was going to kill me. Right.’
‘So basically you shagged him, smashed his head in then locked him in your bedroom?’
She wasn’t really in a position to argue.
‘You don’t do anything by halves, O’Neil, do you?’
She made her way to the kitchen, trying to ignore the racket from upstairs. ‘Can I get you a drink, wine, whisky or… something?’
‘Is this a fucking madhouse? It’s barely ten o’clock.’
‘Well, excuse me for getting this wrong. I’m not really sure how I should behave in this situation. You see, I’ve never actually committed GBH before.’
‘Cool it!’ Alec stood up and towered over her. He held out his hand. ‘Key?’
She tipped her head towards the staircase. ‘It’s in the door.’
‘You know I can’t make this go away, Oonagh.’
Oonagh held her hand over her nose and mouth and nodded as she gulped back the tears.
‘But I’ll try to make it…’ He paused. ‘I can maybe do some damage limitation.’ She detected a note of sympathy in his voice and her bottom lip quivered and dissolved into her chin as she watched him take the stairs two at a time. He turned. ‘For Christ’s sake get yourself some coffee and try to sober up.’
Everything was shiny and new in the kitchen; the guys had pulled out all the stops to get it finished when she’d offered them a five-hundred-quid bonus. She tried to pour herself a drink, but was incapable of even opening the bottle. Her hands shook uncontrollably and her legs turned to jelly beneath her. She steadied herself against the sink and held on tight enough to turn her knuckles white as she wretched into the smooth white porcelain. Her head swam with the enormity of it all, and the banging from upstairs seemed to get louder. Then suddenly it stopped.
Oonagh made her way into the hall and clung to the banister as she hauled herself up the stairs. The silence scared her more than the banging. A stream of catastrophic thoughts flooded through her head: he’d be blind in one eye, irreparable brain damage, scarred for life. No matter how shitty that creep was in her bed, he didn’t deserve this. As she reached the top step the chaos resumed.
‘Fucking psychotic bitch.’
‘You’ll live.’
‘She’s fucking mental.’
‘Here, let’s see. Don’t think you’ll need stitches.’
She slumped down on the last stair and caught Alec coming out of the bedroom. ‘Romeo’s going to live to love another day.’
Relief flooded through her entire body. ‘You mean… he’s all right? I thought…’
‘He’s not very happy.’ He glanced back towards the bedroom. ‘Really pissed off if truth be told.’
Oonagh dissolved in a heap on the top landing and sobbed. ‘Thank you thank you thank you.’
‘You thanking God that he’s in one piece, or me for telling you that you’re not in trouble?’
Oonagh ignored the obvious jibe and shook as she peeked round the doorway. The nameless guy with the perfect smile was pacing the floor, a wet flannel against his temple. A bruise was threatening its way towards his eye, blushing across his cheekbone.
‘You’re fucking finished.’ He jabbed his finger towards Oonagh.
Just then Alec came back into the room. ‘Right, there’s a squad car downstairs. They’ll take you to A& E, get you checked over, but I’m sure you’re fine.’
‘I’m going to fucking sue her.’ The mobile was clutched in his hand. ‘I’m going to sell these pictures to every media outlet in Scotland. She’ll be a fucking laughing stock!’
Alec reached across the bed and grabbed the guy by the forearm. ‘OK, Simon, play nice,’ he said as he frogmarched him into the en-suite. Oonagh scrambled into the bedroom and saw them both in the mirror through the crack in the door. Alec kept his voice low and steady but she heard every word.
‘Listen, Simon, I’ve got your fingerprints, I’ve got your DNA and I’ve got a shitload of unsolved cases, some of them quite serious.’
‘You can’t do that! This is… this is… fucking police brutality.’
‘I know. Life’s shite sometimes.’
‘Prick.’
‘Do we have a deal?’
‘Wanker.’
‘Simon…?’
‘Cock sucker.’
‘Excellent. I’m glad you’ve seen sense. Now give me the phone.’ The door opened and Simon staggered out of the en-suite, buttoning his shirt from the bottom up. He was breathing hard through his nostrils. ‘You’re fucking hopeless in bed and farted the whole night, ya manky bitch.’ He grabbed what was left of his clothes and stomped out of the room.
‘I’m…’ Oonagh wasn’t sure what she was about to say but stopped herself anyway and slumped down on the bed. She felt Alec’s eyes on her and his hand reach towards her. She moved to touch him but he stopped short and dropped her mobile on the bed.
‘Get yourself sorted out, Oonagh.’ And with tha
t he was gone.
33
Cartland 1996
She longed for the morning and the relief the daylight would bring. Moving her head from side to side was exhausting; bile, its taste sour, stung the back of her throat, and pooled in her mouth, slowly dribbling from her lips. The footsteps got closer. Her teeth clenched and with every effort she forced her head from side to side, trying to thrash it against the stale pillow. They were louder now, two of them, like before. She tried to spit the bile from her mouth, but could only manage to leak it slowly down her chin. Her tongue lolled out; she kept it there. She tried to shout but could only growl.
They were in the room now, one last effort. Just a few seconds. The growling caused her throat to rasp and burn but she was too terrified to stop.
The footsteps stopped at her bed.
‘Fuck’s sake, man, what’s wrong with her?’
‘Och, she’s mental, ’mon, there’s more over here.’
‘Her mouth’s all minging and slabbers.’
‘Fuck’s sake, just leave her, eh?’
‘Got any young ones?’
And with that they moved on.
Dorothy Malloy let her head sink back, heavy onto the bed. Exhausted. The muscles at the side of her neck ached with the sheer effort of moving. Her head throbbed, her cheeks were wet with tears. If only the noise would stop, but at least this time it wasn’t her.
*
‘Dorothy?’ His touch was soft as his hand rested gently on her shoulder. ‘You OK, Dot?’ She liked being called Dot. It sounded a happy name. ‘You were miles away, love.’ He smiled. ‘You’ve got a visitor, Dot,’ and stretched out his arm, encouraging Dorothy to follow.
The greenhouse was warm and Dorothy didn’t feel much like leaving. She liked it here. They sometimes let her into the garden too when it was dry enough. The soil was soft between her fingers and she could see the sky. Outside the noise of a train thundered in the distance. The train to Glasgow, someone had told her. There had been a time when she would have torn at the walls to get out and onto that train. To get away, but that had been a long time ago and now she had nowhere to go.
Keep Her Silent Page 12