“And you never did?”
“No.”
“What about Daisy? Did they ask her?”
She hesitates, frowns, then says, “I think they did, yeah. They must have done.”
“And you didn’t think of anything or remember anything more that could have helped? It’s funny. Over the years, I’ve thought a lot about Erin’s decision to go down to Glenmalure. It just seemed so … sudden, as though someone must have called her and told her to meet them down there or as though she met someone. But in your statement, you said there weren’t any messages. So why did she go down there?”
“I don’t know, Maggie. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve given out to myself about not ringing her da earlier. I just keep thinking that if we’d rung him up the first night she didn’t come home, then…”
“I didn’t mean that at all,” I tell her. “She’d done it before, so it didn’t seem strange to you. She was an adult. She wasn’t in the habit of telling you where she was going.”
She smiles gratefully. “As my friends have had kids, and the kids have become teenagers, I just keep thinking about how the parents know where they are every second, with mobiles and social media, like. I don’t even know if you could disappear like that again. If she’d gone traveling, she would have been posting pictures of her trip on Instagram and we would have been liking them and telling her to have a pint for us.”
“It’s true. You can’t imagine how social media, camera phones, all that have changed police work.” I take a sip of my coffee. “There isn’t anything else you’ve thought of over the years, is there? We’re a bit desperate. If we can figure out what happened to Erin, we may be able to help find Niamh Horrigan.”
“So they think she…” Emer’s eyes dart away, troubled.
“It’s the logical assumption. Erin didn’t ever talk about being afraid or thinking someone was following her, did she?”
I can see Emer thinking. “I … don’t think so, but … you might want to check with Daisy. I have this memory of her saying something to Daisy, but I can’t think what it was. It must not have been anything very important or Daisy would have said at the time.”
“Maybe it was about Hacky O’Hanrahan? It was Daisy who spoke to him when he called, right?”
“Maybe.” She doesn’t sound convinced, though. “It’s funny about him. I was in a meeting with him a few years ago and I remembered that he’d maybe been seeing Erin. He was putting together some deal with an American technology company and I was brought in to talk about the developers.”
“Did you say anything?” I was curious how he’d reacted if she’d asked about Erin.
“No. It would have seemed mad. It wasn’t my meeting.”
“But you never met him, right? He never came to the house?”
“I don’t think so. But I remembered the name. It was funny to be sitting across from him.”
She tells me about her job as a programmer and I tell her about Lilly and my job. We’re like two old friends, catching up. For a little bit, we forget why we’re talking.
“How is Daisy?”
Emer drains her coffee cup. “She lives in Germany now. Her wife is German and they have a lovely little boy. I get cards from them, but we haven’t talked in years.”
It’s the way she says “wife”—a little hesitant, a little challenging—that makes me search her face. There’s something there that makes me realize what I’d missed twenty-three years ago.
“Hang on, were you and Daisy a couple?” I ask her. “You were.”
She laughs. “Oh God, it must have seemed so odd to you. I’m sure it did to Erin, too. Yeah, we were in love. Or lust, I suppose. No, love.” She smiles a little. “We came to Dublin and got the place together because we wanted to be together for school. But neither of us was ready to be out yet, so we snuck around. Poor Erin. I think we made her really uncomfortable. She must have picked up on something, but we were so closeted—I was terrified my mam and dad would find out—and I think we gave her the idea we didn’t want her around. I’ve felt badly about that, that we weren’t friendlier.”
I’m surprised, but it instantly makes sense. The silences, the way I always felt like I was intruding when I was at the flat. I had been intruding. They just wanted to be alone.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I say. “It’s terrible, but I had no idea. I overheard you whispering once. You spoke in Irish and I understood a few words. Something about a secret and wondering if Erin knew.”
“We couldn’t tell if Erin knew,” she says. “Or if she’d told you. We didn’t know what to do. I didn’t come out for a good five years after that. I think Daisy was longer. Her parents are really conservative. But they’re fine now. She fell in love with a German woman at her first job out of college. They got married a few years ago and live in Aachen. They have a little boy. He’s darling. Her mam and dad love him.”
“And how about you? I was happy to see the news on marriage equality.”
“Yeah, it was fantastic, wasn’t it? My girlfriend and I have been together ages but we haven’t taken the plunge yet. We’ll see. It’s amazing to me to think how far this country’s come in twenty years. Are you married? You didn’t say.”
“Divorced. I got Lilly out of it, though. My ex and I get along well, so it’s okay.” I almost tell her about Conor.
And then she says, “I’ve wondered over the years how you were, whether there was anything new. I wonder and I … like to think she did just take a ferry or a plane somewhere and that she’s happy. Really happy. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I like to think that, too,” I say. “Erin could be so … You never knew what to expect. But when she was happy, she was like a beautiful kite on a perfect day, you know? She could be filled up with joy.”
“I saw that once,” she says. “Not long after she moved in. She’d been out for a walk and she came back, her cheeks pink, her hair all blown by the wind. She was laughing and she said, ‘Emer, I love Ireland! I love it here!’ It was so American, you know? That’s what I thought at the time. But that’s how I like to think of her. That happy and all.”
She walks me to the main door and tells me goodbye. When I turn around to wave, she’s smiling sadly.
36
SUNDAY, JUNE 5,
2016
Stephen Hines is in front of the hotel when I walk Conor down. We’ve been holed up in my room since last night and I look up from kissing him goodbye to find Hines standing in front of the main hotel entrance, pretending to check his phone but watching us with a small smile on his face.
“Detective D’arcy,” he says, once Conor’s gone. “Good morning. Can I ask what you think about the search of a house in Baltinglass yesterday? Is it related to your meeting with the Horrigans?”
“No comment.” I push past him and take a right on Fleet Street.
He follows me, keeping a respectful distance, but calling after me, “Did you find out anything during your review? Was that you who identified Robert Herricks?”
People on the sidewalk are starting to turn to look at us. I stop and spin around. “No comment,” I say. “I’m sure you can appreciate that Garda investigations have to be kept confidential.”
Something flashes behind his eyes. They narrow a little, angry. “Surely there’s something you can tell me. I helped to get you involved, after all, Detective D’arcy.”
“The Horrigans got me involved.”
“Why are they looking at Robert Herricks? He’s never been on anyone’s radar before. It must have something to do with you.”
I meet his eyes. “No comment,” I say. But I don’t like what I see there. He had a plan for me. He got me into the investigation and I was supposed to give him information. I didn’t go along with it and he doesn’t like that one bit.
* * *
Later, after Conor’s checked in with Adrien, we drive up to Howth to walk on Howth Head. It’s overcast but not raining and the gorse along the cliffs is da
rk yellow, the greens rich and saturated. It feels good to get my heart rate going, and we walk through a residential neighborhood and then up along the cliffs, with the sea below us.
“Where are the rhododendrons?” I ask him as we kiss on the edge of the path. “I was led to believe there would be rhododendrons.”
He pretends to look around. “No, no, no, no. Don’t see any.”
“No, I said. No!”
We laugh. The sky is huge above us.
“I’m so happy,” I whisper into his chest. I’m not sure he hears me, but he pulls me in closer and holds my head against him. We have Irish coffees at a pub by the water and then we drive back down along the coast, the sea to our left, the sun streaming in the window. I close my eyes, let it warm me. Conor holds my right hand as he drives, rubbing little circles on the top of my hand.
“How’s the investigation going?” he asks me later. We’re lying in bed at his house, listening to Miles Davis and eating fried eggs and beans on toast. I’m wearing one of his shirts. He’s wearing a pair of trousers and nothing else. I reach out to touch his chest. Conor.
“Slow. They have a few leads. But time is passing. It’s horrifying, what her parents are going through.”
“But the body they found. It’s not Erin, right?”
“No. It’s a German woman who we’re now trying to trace.”
He looks down at me. “A German woman? What does that have to do with Erin?”
“We don’t know.”
Now he’s tracing my C-section scar with his finger. “Lilly?” he asks. There’s something strange and delicious about hearing him say her name.
“Yeah. It was an emergency one. I’d been in labor for hours and hours and her heart rate started dropping and they finally just said she had to come out right away. Her cord was wrapped around her neck.”
“Did you ever think about having another?”
“Not really. I think I knew the marriage wasn’t going to survive. And it was a bitch, trying to work homicide squad and parent in those early days.”
“I bet.”
“How about you?”
“I think we might have. But Bláithín hemorrhaged with Adrien and we felt lucky they both survived. And I think I’d started to have doubts, too.” He says it carefully.
I want to ask more about that, but I’m not ready.
“Tell me about being a professor. Do you like it?”
“I do.” He puts his plate on the bedside table and pulls me over and into his arms. “There’s politics and all that, but I love teaching and I love researching and writing and I get to do those things at least some of the time.”
“What are you researching right now?”
“I’m working on a book about the Arms Crisis.”
“When was that?”
“Nineteen seventy.”
“I don’t know about it. What happened?”
“Well, ministers in the government of Taoiseach Jack Lynch were sacked when it was discovered that they were helping to smuggle arms to the north. It set off a power struggle and split Lynch’s political party. One of them was Charlie Haughey, who went on to become taoiseach later. But it kind of showed up this split in opinion in the Republic about how involved we should be in the north.”
He turns out the light and we settle in under the covers. His arms feel good around me. He’s warm and clean-smelling, and he holds my arms tight against him.
“I missed you all day,” he whispers. “I don’t want you to go anywhere.”
I fall asleep curled against him, the length of me against the long, naked length of him, and sometime later I wake to darkness, my phone in the pocket of my jeans ringing and buzzing as though it’s having a personal crisis. I jump out of bed, the cold air hitting my body like a bucket of water.
“Hello?”
“Mom?”
“Hi, Lil,” I whisper. “Is everything okay?” I check Conor’s bedside clock: 4:11.
“Yeah. You didn’t call last night.”
“I was so busy. I’m sorry. I meant to and then I knew you wouldn’t be home yet. And then I was really tired so I went to bed early.” I sneak out into the hallway, trying to navigate the unfamiliar surroundings. I pad down the stairs, whispering, so I won’t wake up Conor, and I sit in the dark at the bottom of the long flight of stairs, smiling when my eyes light on the spot where we tore each other’s clothes off when I first came in.
“How’s school going?”
“Good,” she says. “Play tryouts are next week and I’ve been practicing a monologue from Twelfth Night to do.”
“What’s the play?”
“Little Shop of Horrors, but Mr. Anderson looooves Shakespeare.”
“Maybe you could do it with a big plant on the stage or something.”
“Mom.”
I laugh, trying to keep it down. “I miss you so much, Lil.” I do. I want to tell her about Conor. Tell her I’m in love. But of course I don’t.
“Dad had a job interview today,” she says. “At Shaver’s market. To be a manager or something.” I can hear the hope and pity in her voice. She loves him so much. She wants him to be happy.
“That’s great.”
We chat about school, a movie she saw with her friend Ava.
“I love you, Lil,” I tell her. “Is your dad still awake? I want to just ask him a quick question.” She hands the phone over. “Bri?”
“Yup. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. How’s Danny?”
“He’s holding up. Lilly made some cookies for him and we’ll drop them off tomorrow.”
I take a breath. “Everything’s good? You’re setting the alarm and everything?”
“Yeah. Everything’s quiet.”
“Thanks, Bri. Take care. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
I check emails on my phone. There’s one from Emer. She says she called Daisy after our conversation. It was nice to chat, actually, she writes. I asked her if she remembered saying something to me once about Erin thinking someone was following her or after her. I didn’t have it exactly right. She said that she got home and Erin was on the phone with someone. When Daisy came in, Erin got off the phone with whoever it was and Daisy asked her if she was okay—she said she looked annoyed. Erin just said something like, “Oh, some people just don’t know when to stop pushing.” She didn’t seemed scared or anything so Daisy didn’t think she needed to tell anyone. She had kind of forgotten about it. I wish I had more information. I’m sorry. I know it could be important. Anyway, it was lovely to see you again. Please stay in touch. We’d be happy to have you over for a meal!
I sit there on the stairs for a minute. Some people just don’t know when to stop pushing.
I’m scrolling through the rest of my emails when I hear a key in the lock on the front door. I’m about to call out for Conor but then I remember his son and I start to get up to run back upstairs when the lights come on and the door flies open and a woman is standing there, dressed all in yellow, scarves and skirts and a long silk coat and long yellow hair.
For a long moment, she just stares at me and then she says, “Who are you?”
I don’t know what to say and I’m contemplating running past her out the front door when Conor comes flying down the stairs, bare-chested and flustered. “Bláithín, it’s four a.m.”
“He needs the inhaler,” she says. “You forgot to pack it. You didn’t pick up your phone.” Her accent is funny. French, I realize, with a little bit of Irish. She’s gorgeous. There’s no way of denying that. She could be a model.
“Okay. Jaysus. I thought someone was breaking in. Bláithín, this is, uh, this is Maggie D’arcy. Maggie, this is Bláithín Arpin.”
“Hello.” There’s something on her face that makes me think she’s finding this amusing.
“I’m going to go,” I say, looking from one to the other. I wrap the shirt more tightly around my body. I feel exposed, ugly in the harsh light, every line showing, every bit of cellulite on my thighs.
“You don’t have to,” Conor tells me. But I just keep going past him. They’re silent as I head up the stairs. I find my clothes, put them on, quickly splash my face and rinse out my mouth in the bathroom. I can still smell him in my hair, on my clothes. I fold his shirt and lay it over the bottom of the bed just as he comes into the room.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I’m going to tell her to go. Just wait up here.”
“No, I’m going to go. You do what you need to do.” I don’t have any reason to be mad, but I am.
I put on my coat.
“Maggie,” he says. But he’s not trying that hard.
“Call me later.” I put a hand on his arm, but I don’t kiss him.
I just want to get out of there, but when I get downstairs, she’s still standing in front of the door. She watches me. “You look familiar,” she says. “Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so.”
Something clicks when she hears my accent and suddenly she looks confused. Then she says, “Oh God, you’re the American. Erin’s cousin.” There’s something in the way she says “Erin” that puts me on edge. She watches me for a moment and then something crosses her face. Wariness. Excitement.
“That’s right. I’m so sorry. I’m going now.” I try to brush past her, but she won’t move.
She’s looking at me with something I can only describe as fascination.
“Bláithín.” Conor doesn’t move, though. He’s frozen on the top step.
“Did you know about him and your cousin?” she asks, quietly, still watching me.
I feel it like a blow. My vision blurs, my stomach contracts.
She meets my eyes. She’s surprised that she’s said the words and she looks down. She’s not going to tell me.
“Maggie—” Conor starts to say.
“I’m going.” I push past her, my head light all of a sudden. “Goodbye,” I mumble as I shut the door behind me. The air outside is damp and cold. I button up my coat and start walking as fast as I can, out to Pembroke Road, then up Baggot Street toward the canal. There aren’t any cabs on the road. The streets are deserted.
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