Buried Angels

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘I thought maybe she’d gone to visit her mother. The car wasn’t there. I was knackered, so I went to bed without ringing her.’

  ‘Did she often disappear back to her mother’s?’

  He shook his head vigorously. ‘No. Not at all. But she was upset. Over the skull. I wouldn’t listen to her. I didn’t want any hassle. Work is hard at the moment. Derry’s good, but I’m wearing him thin. He’d already given me time off yesterday when I had to go to calm Faye down.’

  ‘And then this morning when she still hadn’t returned home, did you try to look for her?’

  ‘I woke around six. I rang her. No answer. The phone was dead, actually, now that I think of it. Hey, why are you asking all these questions? She reported it, didn’t she?’

  ‘Reported what?’

  ‘The skull. Derry said it was on the radio. He said the house on Church View is taped off and all.’ He paled, the colour fading from his face in one flash of awakening. ‘Oh no.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s dead, isn’t she? In the house. That’s why you have crime-scene tape there. Oh God, Faye. Nooooo.’

  His voice echoed off the walls, deafening Lottie. She knew raw emotion when she saw it. And Jeff was in genuine mental pain, even though she had yet to confirm Faye’s death for him. Or was he putting on an act?

  When his voice eased to a puppy-like whimper, she said, ‘You slept alone all night, got up, tried calling her and then went to work. That right?’

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered.

  ‘Did you call her workplace? Her boss? Did you not think she might be there?’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m exhausted. I had to go to work. I can’t afford to lose this job. Not with the baby and the cost of refurbishing the house. Everything is money, money, money, and we have to work for it.’

  ‘Why didn’t you want Faye telling us about the skull in the wall?’

  ‘I told you why.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘I thought it was fake.’

  She was determined to get as much information as possible before she confirmed to him that Faye had been murdered. She was almost certain he had nothing to do with his girlfriend’s death, but she still wasn’t a hundred per cent sure. For all she knew he could be a very good actor. She kept the interview going because if she stopped, she would see the image of the young woman bundled up as unceremoniously as a side of beef in the boot of the car. It made her angry. So angry. She bit her lip, dug her nails into the palms of her hands and tried to funnel that anger into finding out what had happened to Faye, and why.

  Jeff scraped at an imaginary crack in the table, as if he was filing his nail, which was already bitten, she noticed.

  Kirby said, ‘Do you know where your car is?’

  ‘It’s not at the flat, so Faye must have it.’

  Lottie said, ‘Do you know what happened to Faye?’

  ‘I’m waiting for you to tell me.’ His head hung low, his chin resting on his chest, saliva dribbling from his mouth and tears wetting his T-shirt.

  ‘This morning Faye’s body was found in the boot of your car parked outside Ragmullin train station. I’m sorry to tell you that both she and her baby are dead.’

  Jeff shook his head from side to side, mouthing words that refused to be spoken. He tightened his lips and tears spilled from his eyes like a waterfall. And still he shook his head.

  Lottie let the silence go on so long that when Kirby nudged her elbow, she felt like she was awakening from a restless sleep.

  At last Jeff spoke. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t lay a finger on her. I couldn’t. I love her.’

  ‘Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday evening?’ Lottie still had to get confirmation of time of death, but that might take a while. The body had yet to be removed to the mortuary. McGlynn was throwing a tantrum about having to be moved onto a new site yet again. She toyed with the idea of calling in support from another division, but Jim was the best and she wanted him.

  ‘I told you. I drove to Dublin. Collected the stock and came back. Dropped the van at Derry’s shop, then walked home. I’m sure you can track me on the motorway CCTV, and the warehouse has cameras too. Here, take my mobile. It has GPS.’ He tugged the phone from his jeans pocket and flung it on the table.

  ‘The thing is, Jeff, we don’t know what time she was killed. It could have been after you returned home. Derry told us you were back by nine. You say it was midnight. Faye wasn’t found until this morning, and I know she was still alive at eight thirty last night. That’s the time she left the station.’

  ‘I … I went to the pub. I had a lot to think about.’

  ‘I’m finding it hard to believe you. Twice now you’ve said you went straight home after dropping off the stock. Why didn’t you tell me about the pub first off?’

  ‘Didn’t think it was important.’

  ‘Every second of your day is important in a murder investigation, Jeff.’

  ‘Okay. But Faye … I don’t understand.’

  Lottie ignored his tearful pleas. ‘Which pub?’

  ‘Cafferty’s.’

  ‘I’ll check it out.’

  ‘There was a crowd there. I didn’t talk to anyone.’

  ‘If you were there, I will find out. What time did you leave?’

  ‘Didn’t check. I had a few pints and went home.’

  ‘Are you telling us the truth this time?’ Kirby sounded dubious.

  ‘Yeah.’

  Lottie wondered where to go next with her questions. Something awful had happened in that house in Church View, and she needed more evidence before plunging in. She thought of the blood specks McGlynn had found. They had the skull too.

  ‘Jeff, are you aware of what might have happened in your aunt’s house?’

  He looked at her quizzically. ‘I thought you said Faye was in the boot of the car.’

  ‘I’m talking about the skull.’

  ‘It’s fake.’

  ‘It’s not.’

  ‘Really? Shit. I know nothing about it. You have to believe me.’

  ‘We found specks of dried blood in the bathroom. I know we will find more.’ Lottie stared at the young man. His face scrunched up in confusion.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m asking if you know of anything that might have happened at number 2 Church View that resulted in murder.’ She was going out on a limb here, but what the hell.

  ‘I … I …’ His features slackened, his mouth drooping. ‘I haven’t a clue. You have to believe me. Can I see Faye?’

  ‘We need to take your fingerprints and a sample of DNA,’ Lottie said. He had not asked for a solicitor. That in itself did not signify innocence, even though he looked shocked; trembling uncontrollably.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We’re carrying out a forensic examination of your aunt’s house. You will have left traces there, so we need your sample for comparison and elimination purposes.’

  ‘You can have what you want. I didn’t hurt a hair on Faye’s head.’

  ‘You may not have done that, but did you stab her?’

  ‘Oh God, no, no, no …’ He slumped down in the chair, cradling his head in his hands, sobbing.

  Lottie knew a defeated man when she saw one, but was he being truthful? She’d have to determine that in time.

  They brought Jeff to a holding cell after they took his DNA sample for analysis. She asked again if he wanted a solicitor.

  He didn’t want a solicitor. He wanted everyone to leave him the fuck alone.

  So they did.

  Thirty-Seven

  Lottie paced in front of the incident boards, scanning the crime-scene photos.

  ‘What’s the connection?’

  Before anyone could reply, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She glanced at it.

  ‘Sorry, guys. I have to take a couple of hours’ personal time. I’ll be back in the afternoon.’ She gathered up her files and bag and made for the doo
r. ‘McKeown, check out the CCTV at Faye and Jeff’s apartment. We need to track that car.’

  ‘Anything wrong, boss?’ Kirby said.

  ‘Can we help you with anything?’ Lynch added, curiously.

  ‘It’s personal. Kirby, you take over from me. I’ll be back later. Make sure someone checks the train station CCTV and documents all activity around that car. If you see anyone, track them through traffic cams. You know how to do your jobs.’

  Lottie fumed for the entire drive to the oncology unit in Tullamore. It wasn’t Boyd’s fault. It was her own fault that she’d forgotten today was his treatment day.

  Grace said, ‘Please don’t drive so fast. We’re not late.’

  ‘I know, but if your brother had reminded me, I would have been more organised and maybe a little bit calmer.’ Boyd was in the back seat, the belt keeping him upright, his head drooping to one side as he dozed. She added, ‘I’m afraid he might not get his treatment today.’

  ‘Why not?’ Grace said.

  ‘His platelets could be too low from all the stress. A family death takes a lot out of a person. He wouldn’t slow down. Wouldn’t listen to anyone. He’s worse than a teenager.’ Lottie knew she shouldn’t be talking about this with Grace, but she had to get it out of her system.

  ‘I don’t think Mark was ever a teenager. He had to grow up quickly in our house. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry for what, Grace?’

  ‘For being a nuisance to my family.’

  ‘Don’t say that. You were loved and cherished by your mother. Now Boyd and I will continue to care for you and love you.’

  ‘Ha!’

  ‘What?’ Had she said something to offend the young woman?

  Grace folded her arms over her seat belt, pushing her bottom lip out in defiance. ‘I don’t need to be cared for. I am able to look after myself.’

  ‘I know you are. But you’re mourning your mother’s loss, so you need all the support you can get.’

  ‘Support? When my brother won’t do what’s best for his own health? I’d be better off at home, even if it is on the side of a mountain with only goats and sheep for company. Lottie, I want to go back to Galway.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s wise at the moment.’ Lottie wondered if Boyd had discussed the situation with his sister. ‘Has he spoken with you about his plans?’

  ‘What plans?’ Grace said.

  ‘Yeah, what plans?’ Boyd mumbled.

  Lottie glanced in the rear-view mirror to see him sitting up straight. ‘You weren’t asleep, then?’

  ‘Dozing.’

  ‘Feel any better?’

  ‘I felt all right until you started driving like a maniac.’

  ‘Mark,’ Grace said, ‘what plans have you for me?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Don’t pretend to be stupid. Are you going to sell Mam’s house out from under me? Lottie said you have plans.’

  ‘I never said that.’ Lottie wondered what she might have implied.

  ‘Yes you did. You asked if Mark had spoken to me about his plans.’ Grace unfolded her arms and slapped the dashboard triumphantly.

  Lottie groaned.

  Boyd said, ‘I will talk to you, Grace. After I’ve had my treatment. And Lottie, honestly, there was no need for you to drive me.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Getting fined for driving without insurance wouldn’t do your application to return to work much good.’

  Grace’s jaw dropped. ‘You never said you were going back to work.’

  ‘I just put in an application. Look, Grace, we have a lot to discuss and now is not the time.’

  ‘When is the time?’

  ‘Later.’

  ‘Always later, and then it’s never until I find out myself. Have it your own way.’

  Boyd rolled his eyes and Lottie winked at him in the mirror.

  ‘And for your information, I’m asking my consultant today to certify that I’m fit to drive, so that will put an end to that argument.’

  It was an understatement to say that the oncology unit was busy. Boyd waited in line and eventually signed in. They hung around in the long, narrow corridor until seats became available in the waiting room. Boyd had to have his bloods taken first; the results would determine whether he had his chemo. Lottie had intended heading back to work once the drip was up and running, and then returning to collect him when it was finished. She glanced at her watch as they got three seats together.

  ‘You can go,’ Boyd said.

  ‘You know the drill,’ she told him.

  ‘What drill?’ Grace asked.

  ‘I wait until the IV is set up.’

  ‘Okay,’ Grace said. ‘But I’m here today, so you can go now, Lottie.’

  ‘Mark Boyd?’ a nurse called, and he followed her to a cubicle.

  Grace stood, but Lottie stayed her with a hand on her arm. ‘He’ll be back in a few minutes.’

  ‘Does it take long for his blood results?’

  ‘Maybe fifteen minutes, but it’s very busy today so I don’t know.’

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Fire ahead.’ Lottie leaned back on the hard chair, her head resting against the wall.

  ‘Do you think Mark is going to die like our mother?’

  ‘Good God, Grace. Of course not. He’s getting the best treatment and the consultant said his prognosis is excellent.’

  ‘But I looked it up. There are so many forms of leukaemia. He might need a bone marrow transplant.’

  ‘I think he’s responded well to treatment, so that won’t be necessary. But if it is, the doctors will tell us.’

  ‘I’m his only living relative. I don’t know if I could do it.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Give my bone marrow.’

  ‘Don’t worry your head about it. There’s loads of tests needed first, and anyway, it’s not going to come to that.’

  ‘How do you know? You’re not a doctor.’

  ‘And neither are you. And neither is Google. Stop worrying.’

  Boyd rejoined them, his face yellower than earlier.

  Sitting in the waiting room with sick people was Lottie’s worst nightmare. It brought back the times she had waited by Adam’s side while his bloods were being checked. The day they told him they could do no more chemo. The day they were told to get their affairs in order. The day they found out he was going to die.

  She felt her eyes fill with tears and hoped she wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of Boyd. She couldn’t handle the way he might look at her.

  The door opened and a man walked in, tall and wiry. His shoulders slouched as he automatically ducked his head beneath the lintel. He found an empty chair and sat himself down heavily, stretching his long legs in front of him in the crowded space. It was Charlie Sheridan, the father of the boy who’d found the torso.

  ‘Mark Boyd?’ Another nurse stood at the door, a clipboard in her hand, a thick file under her arm.

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Can I have a word?’

  Boyd followed her, leaving Lottie and Grace to wonder what news he was about to receive.

  ‘Should I go with him?’ Grace said.

  ‘No. He’ll come back if he wants us,’ Lottie said.

  Charlie Sheridan raised his head at the sound of her voice. The two of them locked eyes across the stifling waiting room. Neither moved a muscle. Then he nodded, stood and walked out the door.

  Lottie stood too, but Grace held out a hand and stopped her.

  ‘Whatever it is, Lottie, you’re here for Mark.’

  Lottie sat back down, feeling torn. Grace was right, she told herself. Boyd was her priority while she was here.

  She drove slower on the way home from the hospital. Boyd was in the front seat and Grace in the back.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Lottie looked sideways at him.

  ‘It must be all the activity last week,’ he said. ‘Just a glitch, according to the nurse.’

  ‘I tried to tell yo
u. You wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘I’ll take it easy for now.’

  ‘Do. Please. It’s the only way to get your platelets back up to an acceptable range for your treatment to take place.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s a good sign.’

  ‘Stop. You have to be positive.’

  ‘I suppose so. Thanks.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Being with me. I wanted to do this on my own, but I realise I need you by my side to get through it.’

  ‘Is that why you proposed?’

  ‘Feck off, Lottie. I’d proposed long before I knew I had cancer.’

  ‘That word evokes such horrible memories. Change the subject.’

  ‘Okay. Who was the man that ran out of the waiting room?’

  ‘The case I’m working on. His eleven-year-old son found the torso on the tracks.’

  ‘Weird to meet him there.’

  ‘Small towns, small country.’

  ‘Do you suspect him of anything?’

  ‘Not at all. But he and his wife looked terrified yesterday when Kirby and I were at the house.’

  ‘Maybe he had this appointment hanging over him, or perhaps it was just because of what his son had found. Don’t be quick to jump to conclusions.’

  ‘But why did he rush off the minute he saw me at the hospital?’

  ‘That, I don’t know,’ Boyd said.

  ‘Neither do I.’

  She indicated off the motorway and Grace gazed out of the back window. They remained in their own thoughts until they reached Ragmullin, when an Instagram notification pinged on her phone. She read it and called Kirby.

  Thirty-Eight

  Kirby came with Lottie to the apartment. Tamara opened the door quickly.

  ‘Oh. It’s you again,’ she said. Her make-up was heavier than yesterday, appearing more like cement in the blazing sunshine.

  ‘Can we come in?’ Lottie said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We need to talk to you.’ Lottie pushed past and Kirby slouched in behind her.

  ‘Oh, come in, why don’t you?’ Tamara shut the door.

  ‘Why did you put Gavin up on the internet?’ Lottie said, leaning against the counter, folding her arms in case she lost her temper.