Buried Angels

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘No. Nothing.’ Lisa fumbled with the collar of her cotton dress, the buttons not done up properly over her chest and a faded white bra failing to support her slack breasts.

  ‘Sit down, please.’ Lottie tapped the chair beside her. Lisa remained standing, the child silent in her arms, staring at her like she was a snake about to pounce. ‘I need to talk to Jack.’

  ‘He’s at school. We didn’t know about Gavin earlier. Do you think I should go pick him up?’

  ‘Can you ring the school and just confirm he’s okay?’

  ‘Sure.’ Lisa made the call and confirmed that Jack was safely in school. ‘This is so stressful.’

  ‘I know, but I’m certain he’s better off there. Make sure either you or Charlie goes to pick him up.’

  ‘Okay.’ Lisa clung to her daughter, looking like a little girl herself. ‘I can’t get my head around it. Someone cut up those bodies. That poor child. What happened to Gavin? Oh God, who is going protect my son, Inspector? Who?’

  ‘I have a garda outside and I think you should accept our offer of a family liaison officer.’

  ‘Okay. Yes.’

  Lottie felt a wave of relief. ‘I’ll organise it for you. There will be a garda presence outside your home at all times too. I need to clarify a few things with you. Did Tamara phone you about Gavin?’

  ‘Yes. She rang around half nine last night looking for him. She thought he was here with Jack. Jack was in bed and I told her we hadn’t seen Gavin at all yesterday. She just hung up. Cheeky as you like. Sorry. I shouldn’t say that. Not now.’

  ‘That’s okay.’ Lottie glanced around the kitchen. ‘Where is your husband today?’

  ‘He’s somewhere around about.’ Lisa put Maggie on the floor and leaned against the sink, looking out the window. ‘He might be on the canal. He likes to do a spot of riverbank fishing.’

  ‘A large area of the canal around here is sealed off until we finish our enquiries.’

  ‘I’m not blind. I can see the lights at night. It’s disrupting our sleep.’

  ‘It won’t be for much longer. Come and sit down.’

  Lisa moved away from the window and sat.

  Lottie said, ‘Tell me, how is Jack?’

  ‘Disturbed, as you’d imagine. Not sleeping or eating. I wish we could return to normality.’

  ‘Lisa, a child’s dismembered body was found just metres from your home, and—’

  ‘I know!’ Lisa said. ‘I know what my son found. I see what’s on the news. It’s horrific. A nightmare I want to wake up from. It’s so unfair.’

  ‘Things will die down eventually.’

  ‘How can you say that? Now that Gavin is … Oh God. What’s going on in this world of ours?’

  A good question, Lottie thought. What could she say to this poor woman and her family? How could she help them feel safe?

  Lisa twirled an open button at the neck of the dress. Lottie thought she would surely pull it from its thread.

  ‘Lisa, there’s no need to be nervous. We will get you a FLO and you can keep Jack home from school. So please try to calm down.’

  Jumping up, Lisa swung around on one foot like a drunken ballerina, shaking her fist. ‘Are you for real? Calm down? We’ve been plunged into this nightmare and you tell me to calm down! You can piss off out of here.’ She turned back around so quickly she banged her knee on the open cupboard door beneath the sink. She yelped, and Maggie screeched and ran over, wrapping her small arms around her mother’s knees.

  ‘Sit down, Lisa,’ Lottie said. ‘I want to talk.’

  Lisa picked up her daughter and kissed the top of her head. The action soothed the little girl, who stopped crying immediately. Eventually Lisa sat down opposite Lottie. She worried at a knot in the wood with a fingernail.

  ‘I have nothing worthwhile to tell you.’

  Lottie decided on small talk to try to open her up. ‘I love your home. When did you buy it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Years ago. Charlie will know, he’s good with things like that.’

  ‘I saw him the other day. At Tullamore Hospital. Is he ill?’

  Lisa bit her lip, trying hard not to cry. ‘He’s not been well for a couple of years. He’s been having tests done. We’re waiting for a diagnosis. He was to get the results of his biopsy yesterday, but he … he said they weren’t back yet.’

  ‘I can empathise with what you’re going through,’ Lottie said. ‘A friend of mine is undergoing chemotherapy at the moment. Has Charlie got cancer?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m only a nurse, not a doctor.’

  ‘Is his consultant’s name, Mr Saka?’

  ‘I don’t know. Sorry. But I can find out.’

  ‘Okay. Where does Charlie work?’

  ‘He was in the insurance business for years, and then two years ago, just before he became sick, he got a job with Irish Canals, mainly doing restoration work. Not a lot of money, and with three kids it’s hard at times, even though I work full-time.’

  ‘I know. I have three of my own, though two of them are adults now. And I’ve got a grandson.’

  ‘Gosh, you look too young to be a granny.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Lottie said, genuinely pleased. ‘Do you know Kevin O’Keeffe, then?’

  Lisa dropped her head. ‘Who?’

  ‘You said Charlie used to work in insurance. I wondered if he worked with Kevin O’Keeffe. He’s with A2Z Insurance in town.’

  ‘Er, yeah. That’s where Charlie worked all right.’

  ‘And you know Kevin?’ It was like talking to a traumatised child.

  ‘I suppose. Yeah.’

  ‘Not close friends?’

  ‘God, no.’

  ‘Tamara is friends with Kevin’s wife, Marianne.’

  Lisa lifted her head and stared, her eyes flaring like fire. ‘That Tamara would sell her granny, so she’s probably using them. Not that she ever told me she knew them.’

  ‘Were they ever around here? You know, for dinner or drinks?’

  ‘Why are you asking me about the O’Keeffes?’

  ‘I’m trying to get a handle on all the people who have popped up in our investigation.’

  ‘And Kevin has something to do with it?’ Lisa said.

  Lottie was confused. A moment ago, Lisa had claimed not to know anything about O’Keeffe; now she seemed to know a whole lot more. She knew she would have to go talk to the O’Keeffes. Based on what Karen Tierney had told her, and the fact that Tamara was friends with Marianne, she felt there might be some link. Probably nothing, but she would have to ask the question.

  ‘Tamara is a leech,’ Lisa said suddenly. ‘She clings to you, sucking the life out of you until you have nothing else to give. But I wouldn’t wish this on her for one minute.’

  ‘I know. Thanks, Lisa.’ Lottie felt a swell of pity for the young woman sitting across from her. ‘Are things okay with you?’

  ‘Fine. Everything is fine. Don’t go hassling Charlie, Inspector. Please. I’m afraid he’s going to worry himself into an early grave. How would I cope then?’

  Lisa stood, shifted the two-year-old to the floor and gave her a jigsaw puzzle to play with. ‘I’ll see you out.’

  Fifty-One

  The wind had shifted direction and blew sharply into Lottie’s face. She’d hardly had her foot out the door when Lisa shut it. A squad car pulled up just as she walked towards her own car. McKeown stepped out and the car reversed and roared back down the lane.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Kirby said you needed assistance; he was doing interviews at the recycling centre, so I came instead.’

  ‘It’s okay. I left Lynch at Tamara Robinson’s apartment and just wanted someone with me while I talked to the Sheridan family. But I’m done now.’

  ‘Grand. Can I scrounge a lift? The search team want you to have a look at an old boarded-up house.’

  ‘Which house?’

  ‘It’s just before the estate where Tamara lives.’

  ‘Hop in. Anything
I should know from the interviews?’

  ‘No one saw anything. Usual shit.’

  At the bridge, McKeown leaned towards the windscreen, the light glistening on his shaved head. ‘That’s it. Over there.’

  She parked and turned off the engine. McKeown went to speak with the two gardaí who were standing outside the hoarding. Lottie joined them.

  ‘Has the interior been checked?’ she said.

  ‘Waiting for you,’ the garda said. ‘The door looks busted.’

  ‘You know what?’ McKeown said. ‘I’m not from Ragmullin, so the area isn’t familiar to me, but I’m sure I’ve seen that house somewhere recently.’

  ‘Really? Where?’

  ‘Can’t recall.’

  ‘It looks like it’s been boarded up for years,’ Lottie said. ‘But let’s have a look.’

  She followed McKeown to the wooden gate in the hoarding. ‘The guard on the bridge said he saw Gavin on his way back home around six, but he never got there,’ she said. ‘Maybe something around here raised his curiosity, or he was lured inside. One thing’s for certain: he wasn’t killed where his body was found.’

  She edged inside the gate. Dragging a board to one side, she waited for McKeown to follow her.

  ‘It’s a bit eerie-looking,’ he said.

  She studied the dilapidated two-storey house, once painted yellow but now faded and weather-beaten. The roof had caved in in places, and one upstairs window had been smashed. A small shrub was growing out of one of the chimneys.

  They walked up the cracked pathway to the door. She could smell something sour.

  ‘Can you smell that?’

  ‘I can.’ McKeown was staring at the ground.

  She looked down and saw the small white plastic bag of meat to the left of the door. It was moving like it was alive. Flies buzzed and swarmed around it.

  ‘Fuck,’ McKeown said.

  ‘That could be the meat Gavin bought. They never searched this house last night.’ Lottie tore at her hair. ‘There’ll be hell to pay if he was in here and still alive when his mother reported him missing.’

  ‘I know. But the kid was seen just after six o’clock yesterday evening and she didn’t report him until eleven. Do you think she’s involved?’

  ‘Anything is possible. Call Lynch and tell her to keep a close eye on Tamara.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘And while you’re at it, get someone to check our internal reports to see if this place came up in connection with the body parts found in the canal and on the railway.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘All our efforts were concentrated on retrieving the body parts, but we never found where they’d been stored. McKeown, why does this place look familiar to you?’

  ‘I’m trying to remember,’ he said, and turned away to make the calls.

  Lottie appraised the door, feeling sick to her stomach. The smell of the rotting meat in the bag made her queasy. Gavin had been here, she was sure of it.

  She ran back to the car and pulled on forensic clothing.

  Then she stepped inside the old house.

  Kirby opened the office door at the recycling centre and was hit with a wave of stagnant air. There were too many people in the small windowless space. He glanced over his shoulder to see if there was anywhere else to relocate to. But there was just the one office.

  After introducing himself, he asked everyone except for Brandon Carthy to stand outside.

  Slowly the foul air filtered out with the employees. Leaving the door open, Kirby sat on a chair, making sure there was a garda at the door. The young man sitting opposite him was sweating profusely, his hair flattened to his scalp, his shirt damp to his skin. He had divested himself of his hi-vis singlet and had it bunched up in his fists. His eyes were watery as he stared at Kirby.

  ‘I know you’ve been through something traumatic, Brandon, so to start off, can you tell me about your job.’ Kirby needed to coax him to calm down. Get him onto safe ground, and then he would be a little clearer in his telling of how he found the body.

  ‘My job? Here, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. Unless you have another one.’

  ‘Well, I do the odd stint on the door at the Last Hurdle nightclub at the weekend. But this is my real job.’ He paused, a little of his colour returning to his ashen cheeks. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘What’s the function of this facility and what’s your role in it?’

  ‘I’ve worked here about a year and a half. Bit of a shitty job if you want to know, but I’m not complaining.’

  ‘What does it entail?’

  ‘I open up. Check around. Make sure no one has dumped anything illegally over the fence during the night. That kind of thing.’

  ‘Is that a regular occurrence?’ Kirby had noticed that the depot was encircled on three sides with six-foot-high metal fencing; on the remaining side, the entrance gate was a little lower. A sliding affair.

  ‘Not really, but it happens from time to time. Usually it’s mattresses or stacks of paint cans. Sometimes people just leave them at the gate, but we have CCTV so it’s a deterrent.’

  Kirby’s eyes shot up at this statement. Maybe they’d get lucky and find footage of whoever had dumped little Gavin’s body, someone dragging him over the fence.

  ‘Have you checked the tape for last night and early this morning?’ he enquired.

  ‘No, not yet. I haven’t had time. It’s so surreal, all this.’

  ‘I want those tapes. Tell me exactly what you did this morning.’

  Brandon rubbed his chin vigorously as if he’d found a spot missed by his razor. ‘I arrived at seven thirty, as usual. I’m never late. I closed the gate after me because we don’t open to the public until eight. I set up the computer and got the keys to the weigh bridge. Then I went to check all the skips and pits to see which needed emptying. When they’re full, a truck from Athlone empties them. I can walk it with you if you want.’

  ‘Later,’ Kirby said. ‘How long was it before you found the body?’

  Brandon glanced at his phone on the desk, as if the inanimate object would provide him with the answer. ‘I’d say it was near enough to eight. That pit is last on my circuit. It’s used for glass and mirrors. The sun was quite high early on and I was sweating like a pig by the time I got up there. I glanced in and, you know, it was like being on autopilot. I’d taken maybe two steps away when I registered that it wasn’t only glass and mirrors down there …’

  ‘Would you like a drink of water?’

  ‘I could do with a vodka and Red Bull, to be honest.’ Carthy pulled at the crew neck of his T-shirt.

  Kirby wouldn’t mind a stiff drink himself. ‘You went back to have a look, did you?’

  The young man nodded. ‘I’m sorry now that I did. Should have kept walking. Let someone else find him.’ He looked up, his eyes sad. ‘It’s not like in the movies, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s not. What did you do next?’

  ‘I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. He was reflected all over the pit. Like those funny mirrors you see in carnivals. It was fucking creepy, to be honest. The sun shining off the glass was blinding me, and I doubted what I was seeing. I had to run and get one of the others to confirm it.’

  Kirby glanced at McKeown’s notes. ‘Some of your colleagues had arrived by then, is that correct?

  ‘Yes. I called Tommy over. Fat lot of good he was. He puked up his breakfast straight away.’

  ‘When you’d confirmed it was a body in the pit, what did you do?’

  ‘Me and Tommy, well we rushed down here to the office and I phoned you guys.’

  ‘Did you notice anything unusual when you first arrived this morning?’

  Brandon thought for a moment, then shook his head, droplets of sweat dripping on the desk. ‘No, nothing out of the ordinary. No rubbish left at the gate or fence. No sign of a break-in or anything like that. The office was locked. Do you think maybe he fell in and cut an artery or something? On the glas
s?’

  ‘We won’t know cause of death until forensics complete their work and the state pathologist carries out the post-mortem.’

  ‘This is like a nightmare. I watch all those true-crime dramas on Netflix. They always blame whoever finds the body. But I did nothing wrong. Just did my job. Swear to God.’

  ‘No need to worry then,’ Kirby said. ‘Don’t get alarmed, but I have to ask this. It’s routine. Can you tell me where you were last night?’

  ‘At home with my mam and dad. I had nothing to do with this.’ Carthy’s voice trembled and Kirby felt sorry for him being thrust into this nightmare.

  ‘That’s grand. You’ll have to make a formal statement. At the station preferably. I’ll accompany you there as soon as we finish up here.’

  ‘If I have to …’

  ‘It’s procedure, Brandon.’ Kirby looked around the sparse, stuffy office. ‘Now, I’d like the CCTV footage for the last twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll get it sorted. It will take a few minutes.’

  ‘We need to have a garda with you. Chain of evidence and all that.’

  Carthy grimaced, but Kirby knew he understood. He and his colleagues were all suspects until they figured out what they were dealing with.

  Kirby had interviewed Gavin Robinson on day one. He felt a responsibility to the young boy to find out who had killed him. He suspected that Brandon Carthy was not a murderer, but Carthy’s blinking eyes told him the young man was hiding something.

  Sean loved silence. He loved being in his own head, his own space, especially at home when his sisters were arguing and his mother was shouting. His nephew was the only one he could put up with. Louis would be two in October and Sean dreaded the prospect. He’d heard his granny Rose talking to Katie about the terrible twos. But Granny Rose didn’t know that Katie was planning to emigrate to New York with Louis. Come to think of it, their mother didn’t know that either.

  ‘Shit,’ Sean said.

  Ruby didn’t answer. She was in a world of her own this morning. They were sitting on the wall outside the school eating their eleven o’clock snack. The silence was punctuated by the birds in the trees down by the canal and the thrum of traffic on the ring road.