Buried Angels

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘You have me terrified now. You see, I found that poor girl’s body in the car at the station, and Kevin went a bit loopy with me after that.’

  ‘Loopy?’ McKeown moved to the edge of her desk. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He came to my flat asking all sorts of questions. I told the other detective. I think she’s an inspector.’

  ‘That’d be Detective Inspector Lottie Parker,’ he said.

  ‘Did you not know about it?’ Karen asked.

  ‘It’s very busy at the station with all the murders. Just mind yourself. And phone us if Kevin arrives.’

  McKeown followed Lynch out of the office without a backward glance at the terrified young woman he’d left behind. It was better to have her warned, especially if she was working with a murderer.

  Ruby O’Keeffe could not remember the last time her father had driven her to school. But he’d been contrite after their morning spat, and apologised, saying his job was getting to him. She had agreed to his offer of a lift, despite an urge to tell him to stuff it up his hole.

  She had sat into the car, earbuds firmly in to block out his conversation, and left her mother peering out the window with a worried expression creased into her brow.

  But her father did not drive her to school. Instead he headed out of town, along the lake road, and now they were sitting in the car on the shores of Lough Cullion. A narrow road along by the railway tracks had brought them here, and she wondered what it was her father wanted to tell her. So far, the only sound was Ryan Tubridy talking nineteen to the dozen on the radio.

  ‘Dad, why are we here?’ she said, freeing her ears of the buds.

  ‘We have to talk.’

  ‘Why are we in Mum’s car?’

  ‘Because mine was out of diesel.’

  ‘I should be in school. This is the last week before the holidays, and I know I usually hate school, but I don’t want to miss the last couple of days. Me and Sean, well, we have our project to complete.’ In truth, the prospect of school was not as awful as sitting here with her dad.

  ‘Fuck Sean,’ he said.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘And fuck you. Fuck your mother. Fuck everyone.’

  Ruby said nothing. Was she about to pay for her earlier outburst? She wanted to kill her father, to smash his face in, but suddenly she felt powerless to do anything other than sit beside this man she felt she hated.

  She huddled against the side window, her legs stretched out in the footwell, her bag on the seat between them, and said nothing. The water lapped hungrily up over the stones on the shore. A family of swans glided gracefully across the grey surface. At peace. Ruby wished she could experience some peace without her father around. She wished she was at home in her room, living in her virtual world of computer gaming.

  Silence filled the car.

  Then her father spoke.

  ‘I haven’t been a great dad to you. Haven’t been a great husband to your mother. There are things going on in my life that I can’t talk about. I’ve messed up badly. Very badly. I did things because I was greedy. I was offered a way to make some money, and I lost sight of what was important. I think your mother will report me for beating her. I’ve been under pressure at work and … other things. I was out of control and I’m a person who likes to be able to control everything and everyone. The guards have interviewed me. They will do so again, and a lot of things will be revealed in the coming days and weeks. But I want you to believe this. I never did anything to intentionally hurt you.’

  ‘You hurt Mum.’

  ‘That woman brings it on herself. I know you see me as the villain. I know all that. But it’s her own fucking fault.’

  ‘Dad, there is no justification for hitting another human being. None.’ She surprised herself with the conviction in her tone. ‘You’re just a big bully. Like the kids in my school who don’t get their own way. You use your fists to show your superiority and—’

  ‘Shut the fuck up.’

  The slap caught her unawares. A clanging noise reverberated deep in the chambers of her ear. She’d thought they were having a father–daughter talk. She was wrong. The only way her father could talk, could get his point across, was with his fists.

  She knew she had to get out of the car. To get away from this man who no longer acted like a true dad should. But the door was locked. She was trapped with a madman.

  ‘Unlock the door, Dad. You’re scaring me.’

  ‘You will sit there and keep your mouth shut and listen to what I have to tell you.’

  Without any other option, Ruby nodded. She would have to bide her time. There was no way her father was getting away with this. No way on earth.

  And then he started to talk, and she realised just how terrifying her situation was.

  While Kevin spoke, Ruby worked her fingers on the phone in her pocket. She had to let someone know where she was.

  Sixty-Eight

  Lottie knew that Corrigan’s information might have nothing to do with anything. Because of his illness, he could be totally wrong, but she had to talk to Aaron Frost’s mother. She also needed to find out how Aaron came to be connected to the derelict house.

  Josie Frost opened the front door, her face sunken. She looked like Boyd did after treatment. Lottie supposed her pallor was from grief. Her black shirt was on inside out, with the collar turned up, and she wore creased black trousers. The crutch had been abandoned and she hobbled down the narrow hallway, her hands brushing the walls to support herself.

  ‘They won’t let me bring my son’s body home. Can’t you do anything about it?’

  ‘I have to wait until the pathologist has finished all her tests. It takes time. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sit down. Why are you here?’ Josie’s grief was quickly turning to impatience.

  Lottie decided to tackle what Corrigan had told her first. ‘I want to ask you about your husband.’

  ‘Richard? What about him?’

  ‘You said he left a few years ago. Is that correct?’

  ‘It is. Why are you asking about him?’

  ‘There’s an old abandoned house out by the canal, near the new apartments on Canal Lane. Two years ago, Aaron’s name became associated with it.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Aaron lives here. He never told me about any house.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Was it making money for him? If it was, he should have handed over more.’

  ‘It’s derelict, Josie, uninhabitable, but there was electricity being fed into it. Aaron is on the network lease as occupier.’

  ‘He was paying the bills? Why in God’s name would he do that?’

  ‘I thought you might be able to answer that.’

  ‘I didn’t even know about it.’ The woman crossed her arms indignantly.

  ‘That same house was the site of brutal murders over twenty years ago.’

  ‘Oh sweet Jesus. That’s macabre. What would Aaron want with a place like that?’

  Lottie pressed on, ignoring the question. ‘A mother and her two daughters were killed there. The mother was Sinead Doyle. Ring any bells?’

  Josie’s eyes blinked rapidly, her lips moving and her teeth rattling as if she was chewing an imaginary piece of food. ‘I do recall the murders, now that you mention it. It was all over the papers at the time. Did you work the case?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t long out of training and I think I was based in Athlone then. Sinead Doyle,’ Lottie repeated. ‘Does that name mean anything to you?’

  Josie shook her head, but Lottie had enough experience reading suspects and witnesses to recognise that she knew exactly who Sinead Doyle was.

  ‘It’s important, Josie. Aaron is dead. You have to tell me what you know.’

  After a dramatic sigh, Josie said, ‘There were plenty of rumours. Rumours that broke my heart at the time. My husband, Richard, did not kill that family. He was in London all that week, visiting his mother. A rude detective hounded him when he arrived home, but Richard could prove
he was nowhere near Ragmullin when they were killed.’

  ‘What were the rumours?’

  ‘You’re going to persist until I tell you, aren’t you?’

  ‘I need to know.’

  Josie clamped her lips shut. They were so dry, Lottie thought she heard them crack.

  ‘Come on, Josie. I’m investigating current murders including that of your own son, a young pregnant woman and an eleven-year-old boy.’ She grabbed the other woman’s parchment-like fingers. ‘Please. You have to help me.’

  After a moment, Josie gave Lottie’s hand a squeeze and sat back slowly. Her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘I thought it was over and done with. He admitted it. The affair. Said it was years before that awful event. Years before the family were killed. He told me that Harry, Sinead’s husband, knew all about it and was eaten crossways with jealousy. Richard thought that maybe a row had broken out that night and Harry lost it. Stabbed them all and fled the country with the boy.’

  Closing her eyes, imagining the scene, Lottie couldn’t understand how Harry Doyle would murder his family that particular night if he’d known about the affair years previously. ‘There had to have been something else.’

  ‘There was.’ Josie found a tissue and tore it to strips between her fingers as she spoke. ‘Sinead got pregnant from the affair. She had a child with Richard.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Oh is right. Harry stood by her, and as far as the town knew, they were happily married. No one could figure out why he did what he did. Killing them all. Shocking.’

  ‘And this child of Sinead’s,’ Lottie knew she had to tread carefully, ‘was it Aaron?’

  ‘Good God, no! Aaron is mine and Richard’s.’

  There went that theory, Lottie thought. ‘Do you know which of the Doyle children was Richard’s?’

  ‘The eldest. The boy. After the murders, the rumours started to fly around town, and it got so bad that Richard confessed to me. I believe it broke his heart to think that Harry had absconded with the boy, and most likely killed him, because no one ever found his body.’

  There was so much to digest, Lottie was sorry she hadn’t brought Kirby with her to take notes. She looked over at Josie, wondering if she had anything to do with the current murders, and how in the name of God they were all connected. Because she was one hundred per cent sure they had to be.

  Josie filled the awkward silence. ‘If Harry didn’t kill the boy at the time, the general consensus was that he probably fled to Spain and changed their names.’

  ‘When did your husband leave home?’

  ‘Two years ago.’

  Lottie regained perspective. ‘So two years ago, your husband left home and Aaron became owner of the Doyles’ old house.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘What happened here two years ago?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ The tissue was in shreds, covering Josie’s trouser legs like snowflakes.

  ‘Maybe the missing Doyle boy has come back,’ Lottie said.

  ‘Maybe Harry came back,’ Josie said.

  ‘No, he did not.’ She couldn’t tell Josie how she knew that. She believed that the fingerprints found on the hand from the railway tracks would prove it was Harry Doyle’s. Even though they did not have the rest of his body, she was sure he’d been dead a long time. She tried to recall the name of the Doyle boy. It had been mentioned in the article.

  ‘Josie, do you know anyone called Karl Doyle?’

  ‘No. But if he’s still alive, he could have changed his name.’

  Thinking out loud, Lottie said, ‘But if he is alive, and had done nothing wrong, why wouldn’t he reveal himself?’

  ‘That I can’t answer for you, Inspector.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t know where Richard is? I really need to speak with him.’

  ‘I have no idea. He upped sticks and left me and Aaron for no good reason. I thought that Doyle business was all water under the bridge. Now I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Lottie said. ‘Thanks for your help. I’ll contact the pathologist to see when she’ll release Aaron’s body to you.’

  ‘Thank you. I just want my son home.’

  Sixty-Nine

  As she returned to the office, Lottie’s mind was churning around all she’d learned from Josie Frost.

  Kirby was at his desk going through a page of illegible notes. ‘I did an online search, and then I phoned the land registry.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The former registered owner of the property was Harry Doyle. No one else registered until it was transferred to Aaron Frost.’

  ‘We know Harry Doyle is dead, so who transferred it?’

  ‘It was done through a solicitor. The woman on the phone said the documents appeared in order.’

  ‘Get on to the electricity company. See who was paying for the power before Aaron took over. Doyle’s house is key.’

  ‘Will do. By the way, while you were out, Jeff Cole arrived. He’s been keeping his nose clean, according to the team who were monitoring him. You said you wanted to talk to him. He’s in Interview Room 1.’

  ‘Good. You come with me.’

  Lottie dropped her bag and jacket and tried to line up her thoughts. She had to find out how Jeff’s aunt’s house was connected to Doyle’s house. The only obvious connection was that the child’s body had possibly been hidden there, in the freezers. But why?

  Sitting next to Kirby in the interview room, Lottie thought she would faint with the smell of French fries wafting to her nose every time he moved his hands. She’d have to talk to him about his personal hygiene.

  Jeff Cole was hunched on a steel chair opposite them, his padded jacket wrapped around him even though it was sweltering in the airless interview room. He appeared gaunt, and Lottie wondered when he’d last eaten.

  ‘I miss Faye so much,’ he blurted. ‘It’s funny how much I depended on her. My boss, Derry, is about to give me the boot. So much for compassionate leave. I’ll probably have to sell my aunt’s house too. Have you found who killed my Faye?’ The young man’s thoughts were coming out of his mouth in a ramble of incoherent words.

  ‘We’re making progress,’ Lottie said, without commitment in her tone. ‘That’s why I asked you to come in.’

  ‘You probably think I killed her.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I want to go over the conversation we had previously, about your aunt and cousin. We think Polly is the young girl whose body we found.’ She didn’t add that it was also her skull that Faye had found in his aunt’s house.

  ‘You proved it, then?’

  ‘Your DNA is a familial match. Not a direct match, but enough to prove you were at least cousins.’

  ‘Oh God. The poor child. Why? Who?’

  ‘Jeff, you said you used to visit your aunt’s house regularly and then suddenly it all stopped. Do you have any recollection of why that might have been?’

  He shook his head slowly, as if he was denying it but thinking it over at the same time.

  ‘I was only nine. Me and Polly were friends. I just know I was upset that I couldn’t go over there any more. My mother told me that Aunt Patsy was going through a tough time and had broken off all ties with the family. On her deathbed, she admitted that Patsy and Noel had been deep into drugs. When Patsy eventually contacted me after my mother’s death, she refused to talk about my cousin. The story was that Polly had gone to England with her father. Patsy seemed to be deeply hurt, and she always had a terrified look in her eyes. Maybe I should have pressed her more. But she was addicted to prescription drugs by then, and she was very fragile.’

  ‘I want you to try to remember back to when you were nine. Can you recall anything significant happening that resulted in you being prevented from seeing your aunt and cousin?’

  ‘It was a long time ago.’

  Lottie was not about to let it go that easily. ‘At around that time, a woman called Sinead Doyle, and her two daughters, Annie and Angela, were murdered in Ra
gmullin. Her husband Harry and son Karl disappeared. Do those names mean anything to you?’

  She watched Jeff as he churned over this information. ‘Harry Doyle? That name rings a bell.’

  Opening the file she’d brought in with her, she slid the Doyle family photo across the table. ‘Do you recognise anyone in this photo?’

  He stared at it and shook his head. ‘No. Am I supposed to know who they are?’

  ‘Look at the man standing at the back.’

  ‘Sorry. I don’t recognise anyone.’

  ‘Why do you think you remember the name Harry Doyle?’

  ‘I’m not really sure, to be honest. I think my uncle Noel, Patsy’s husband, used to work with a Doyle man. I was just a kid. Wait a minute. Yes. Patsy was always giving out when he was late in from work, and he’d tell her he was only in the pub throwing darts with Harry Doyle. I remember now because I couldn’t understand how she’d get so annoyed about them playing darts. I had my own dart board hanging in my bedroom and I thought it was great fun. But now … I suppose it was really the drinking after work that annoyed her. Does that help?’

  ‘Yes, it does. Thank you.’

  She turned to Kirby and he nodded. They now had a link between the murdered Doyle family and Patsy Cole’s house at Church View where the skull was found. But how did it all link to the murders this week?

  ‘Where is your uncle Noel now?’

  ‘Aunt Patsy said he died years ago from a stroke. In hindsight, it was probably from drugs. If my mother was still alive, she’d be able to tell you. Aunt Patsy too, for that matter, but they’re all dead. All dead, including my Faye.’ He whimpered into his sleeve, childlike.

  Lottie thought that even if Jeff’s aunt was still alive, she was hardly going to enlighten them as to what had occurred in her house twenty years ago. ‘One final question, and then you can leave,’ she said. ‘Do you know Kevin O’Keeffe?’

  ‘The insurance guy? Yeah. He gave us a quote for Aunt Patsy’s house. Traipsed all over it telling us how expensive it was going to be to insure it because of its state of disrepair.’