The Suicide Pact (The Tick-Tock Trilogy Book 3)

by David B Lyons

  Helen nods her head slowly as she stares out of her passenger window.

  ‘Yep,’ she says. ‘If we were to take the time to ring each girl’s home on that list, and spent just two minutes on each call, that’d take us over five hours.’

  Charlie digs the phone into his lip, then looks over at Helen.

  ‘It’s stupid that it’s just the two of us out looking for these girls. The rest of em are all obsessed with tracking down whatever it is they think Alan Keating is up to.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Helen says, still staring out the passenger window.

  The evening has turned to darkness; the moon forming full in the navy sky. Not a good sign for Helen. She believes in all that quirky shit; is convinced bad things are more likely to happen when a fuller moon makes an appearance. She’s also one of those who believe that the horoscopes printed in the Irish Daily Star every day are genuinely accurate. This morning’s horoscope suggested she should be looking at taking every opportunity by the scruff of its neck as it will lead to a brighter future. She’s now wondering whether the horoscope meant she could get back on the force if she were to save these girls’ lives. That’d certainly offer a brighter future for her. Though maybe the future the horoscope was referring to was the future of these two girls. If Helen can stop them, she can turn their lives right around. And that’d mean more to Helen than getting her job back. Saving people from the brink of suicide would be a lottery win for Helen Brennan. A goal she wishes she could have achieved twenty-two years ago.

  She moves her head for the first time in a couple minutes to snatch Charlie’s phone out of his hand and then presses at the screen to view the time.

  ‘It’s almost nine o’clock,’ she says. ‘We need to get a move on.’ Charlie looks at her, his eyes squinting. ‘You’re gonna have to ring your SI; tell him that you need more men to carry out door-to-door enquiries,’ Helen says.

  She hands the phone back to Charlie and notices him swallow hard as he grips it.

  ‘He’ll just laugh at me, Helen. I’m just… I’m just—’

  ‘You are a police officer doing his job properly,’ Helen says. ‘Put him on speaker phone. And remember… don’t mention you’re with me. I’m supposed to be off duty.’

  Charlie holds his eyes closed in frustration before he scrolls at his screen.

  A ringing tone eventually sounds and both of them cock their ears towards the phone Charlie has held between them.

  ‘Yello,’ a voice says.

  ‘Superintendent Newell it’s eh… Charlie, Charlie Guilfoyle.’

  ‘Ah, howaya, young Charlie, Everything alright?’

  ‘Yeah… it’s just, I was asked to look into the possibility that the anonymous phone call made earlier about the suicides was well… well…’ he pauses, looks at Helen. Helen nods her head, then waves her hand in a motion that suggests he should just get the fuck on with whatever it is he’s trying to say. ‘Eh… well, I’ve been asked to look into the phone call as if it was legitimate and I’ve found something interesting.’

  A snuff of a laugh crackles down the line.

  ‘Y’know the call’s not legitimate, young Charlie, yes? It’s that fecker Keating playing games with us.’

  ‘Yeah… yeah, I know,’ Charlie says, looking at Helen again. ‘It’s just… my job was to look into the call as if it was legitimate and well… I have a list, a list of girls in the vicinity who suffer with symptoms of depression. I got them from the local school’s Headteacher.’

  Charlie stops talking, then squints his entire face in anticipation of a response. But no sound comes down the line.

  ‘Sir,’ he says, reprompting Newell.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you are taking your work very seriously, Charlie. And that is… that is fine investigating indeed. Really impressive outside-the-box thinking. But ye know… this is Keating. We’re one hundred per cent certain of it. I’ve got five Detectives sniffing their noses around — so do Rathmines station — and we really need to get back to the invest—’

  ‘Sir, I need help. I need more manpower to try to locate the two girls from this list. I’m sure the two girls who are planning to die by suicide are on it.’

  As the line cackles with laughter Helen grinds her teeth, itching to get in on the conversation. But she manages to bite her tongue. If her husband found out she was investigating behind his back, that could spell the end of their marriage. It’s surviving on such tenterhooks as it is. They’ve been sleeping in separate bedrooms for the past fifteen years; Eddie accepting that they will stay with each other forever, but their marriage — in a traditional sense — well and truly ended the day Scott died. Helen’s been waiting on Eddie to retire, so that they can move to Canada. He promised her — on the evening before Scott’s funeral — that they’d both retire to Toronto when the time was right. That dream is the only thing that’s kept Helen going over the years. She’s desperate to move away from Dublin; desperate to move on from Scott’s death. She nags Eddie about his retirement on a regular basis; but has a horrible feeling the move will never happen. She thinks Eddie loves his job a little more than he loves his wife. She couldn’t be more wrong.

  ‘Listen, young Charlie, you keep following up your leads, I’m glad you are taking the role you’ve been given as seriously as you can, but… I’ve gotta go.’

  Charlie stares at Helen as a dead tone echoes through the car.

  ‘The cunt!’ Helen yells. ‘Why are all Superintendents a bunch of fucking cunts?’

  She clicks at the buckle of her seat belt, then opens her car door.

  Charlie inches forward in his seat and watches as Helen screams into the sky.

  ‘Did the two girls kill themselves missus?’ one of the boys they had been speaking to a few minutes ago shouts over.

  Helen doesn’t answer him; she pinches at the bridge of her nose, then tucks her chin into the collar of her leather coat. After forcing in and out three deep breaths, she takes her own mobile phone out of her pocket.

  ‘Guess I’ll have to make a call,’ she says to herself. She presses at the screen a couple times, then brings the phone to her ear and, as she does so, she walks slowly away from the car.

  ‘Hey,’ Eddie says. ‘We’re crazy busy here at the minute, what’s up?’

  20:50

  Ingrid

  ‘C’mon then, let’s catch the bus to Harriet’s. I promise I won’t jump out in front of it as it’s coming,’ she says, smiling. Typical Ciara. Running out in front of a bus one minute, joking the next.

  So I smile too, pretending I’m not scared. And then we both walk, arms wrapped around each other, towards the end of the road where the bus that’ll take us to Harriet’s house stops.

  Harriet is the only one I really want to say goodbye to. Apart from Ciara, she’s the one person who speaks to me like I’m me… not as if I’m somebody she wants me to be. My parents talk to me as if I’m another person altogether; like a daughter they wished they had instead of me. I feel like I’m bothering them anytime I have to ask a question.

  My teachers don’t talk to me at all. Most of them don’t even know my name. I’m just another face in a room full of faces to them. In primary school, our teachers were great. I love Miss Moriarty with all my heart. But in secondary school it seems as if they don’t care. A little part of me was excited when we were getting old enough to go to secondary school. But I’ve felt so sad ever since we’ve gone there. I never wake up happy in the mornings. Secondary school has been such a let down.

  We’re walking in silence when blue lights flash off the windows of the houses in front of us. Then I hear a car pull up slowly and I turn around to see a policeman with his head sticking out of his window.

  ‘Girls — stop right there!’

  I look at Ciara’s face; wondering if she’s going to make a run for it and thoughts of whether or not I should run with her go through my mind. Running from Debbie is one thing, but running from the police… well… But Ciara doesn’t run, she just s
tands still beside me as the policeman approaches us.

  ‘Girls, a bus driver has just stopped me up the street there and said two girls fitting your description almost ran out in from of him.’

  He frowns his forehead. His wrinkles are really deep. Like an old man’s. Only he isn’t really that old.

  ‘No… don’t be silly,’ Ciara says laughing. ‘I just nearly walked out in front of the bus by accident… my friend here pulled me back. I just wasn’t looking where I was going.’

  He looks at my face, back at Ciara’s, then at mine again.

  ‘This true?’ he asks me.

  I nod my head. This isn’t good. I’m lying to policemen now. He reaches into his back pocket and takes out a small notepad.

  ‘You two girls from around here?’ he asks.

  Ciara nods her head before I have a chance to speak. Which is fine by me. I don’t even know what to say. I’m half scared, half-relieved that a policeman has come to save us.

  ‘Well, not far from here. We’d need to get a bus home,’ she says.

  ‘What’re your names?’ He clicks on the top of his pen and rests it against his pad.

  ‘Emma Brown,’ she says as quickly as she can, ‘and eh… Mel Bunton.’

  I hold my eyes closed. The last thing I want to do is laugh. But I know exactly where she plucked those names from… it’s a mix up of two of the Spice Girls. Typical Ciara. Thinking on her feet. Making everything up as she’s going along.

  The policeman looks at me when he’s finished scribbling.

  ‘Are you okay, Mel?’ he says. ‘You look a bit eh… ashen-faced, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  I slowly nod my head, unsure what ashen-faced means exactly.

  ‘She’s not ashen faced. She’s just pale. Always has been. Has Swedish blood, don’tcha, Mel?’

  Ciara nudges me.

  ‘Yes… yes, Sir.’ I say. I can hear the fright in my voice. I try to swallow it down, deep in to my stomach before I speak again. ‘Yes. My mother is Swedish. I got her pale skin, her blonde hair.’

  The policeman doesn’t react; no words, no nodding of his head, no scribbling of his pen. He just shifts his eyes from my face to Ciara’s and then back to mine again.

  He clicks at his pen, then stuffs his notepad into his back trousers pocket.

  ‘I’m concerned that the bus driver had to stop me. He got a big fright, said he had to swerve to miss you and he has about twenty passengers on that bus. Nobody was hurt, thankfully.’

  Ciara reaches her arm around my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

  ‘We’re sorry, officer. It was an innocent mistake. I just didn’t look where I was going. We wanted to cross the road and — silly me — I tried to cross it without using the Green Cross Code and then… last second, Mel here dragged me back. She saved my life.’

  Ciara squeezes me tighter.

  I don’t do anything, except stare at the ground in front of me. I want to stare at the policeman’s face. I’d love to know what’s going on inside his head. But I can’t bring myself to look up.

  ‘And you can get home safely now, yes?’ he asks.

  He’s going to leave us alone. I’m not sure if I feel relief or fear go through me.

  ‘Yes, officer,’ Ciara says. ‘We’re just walking to the bus stop now. Heading straight home. Promise.’

  He nods his head once.

  ‘Kay, look after yourselves, girls. And watch what you’re doing when you’re crossing the road, young Emma, yes?’

  Ciara giggles.

  ‘Course I will, officer. I won’t make that mistake again.’

  He looks at her face, then at mine. I don’t think he’s buying all of this. But he seems done with us. Is almost turning to go.

  ‘One thing I don’t get,’ he says, holding a finger to his lips. ‘If you were crossing the road, why haven’t you crossed it since?’

  I feel my mouth fall open. I look at Ciara. She seems lost for words… for once.

  ‘Well?’ the policeman says.

  ‘Changed our minds,’ Ciara says.

  He stares at both of our faces again, shifting his eyes back and forth as if he’s watching a bloody tennis match.

  ‘Girls… I’d like you to come with me,’ he says. ‘Into the car please.’

  20:55

  Greta

  I’m popping another Malteser into my mouth when I realise the second episode of Heartbeat is about to end. That flew in quick. I look up at the clock. Almost nine.

  My two men are in bed. No idea where my little girl is.

  I chomp on the Malteser, wait on the stupidly addictive Heartbeat theme tune to play over the credits and then sit up straight on the couch. She was only here a couple hours ago, cuddling into me. It’s not unusual she’d be in Ciara’s house, but — I don’t know whether it’s mother’s intuition or what it is — I just have a feeling all is not right. It was something about the way she held her face as she was leaving. She didn’t want to look at me. She was holding something back.

  I shuffle my feet into my slippers and make my way to the hallway. Then I flick my way through our little phone book until I see the Joyce’s number and I proceed to dial it.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Vivian, it’s me… Greta. The girls at your house, yes?’

  There’s a silence.

  ‘Oh, sorry. I thought you were going to be Michael. I’m expecting him to call.’

  Another silence.

  ‘Vivian… the girls with you? Ingrid said they were going to your house to study.’

  I hear her sniff her nose.

  ‘No. Eh… I’m sure Ciara said they were going to your house.’

  Shit. Something is up. I bloody knew it!

  ‘Little rascals are up to something. Y’know, I knew it as soon as they left the house. Ingrid looked… she looked as if she was hiding from me.’

  Vivian sniffs again.

  ‘They’re probably down in Macari’s eating chips,’ she says.

  I sigh. I can’t imagine that’s what they’re doing. They only go to Macari’s on a Friday evening. Nah… something else is going on.

  ‘It’s just they were at that party last night. I’m wondering if something happened at it.’

  ‘Ah… they’ll be fine. They’ll be fine,’ she says; almost as if she doesn’t care.

  ‘Well eh… if they come back to yours, tell Ingrid she has to come straight home. She’s in trouble. They shouldn’t be lying to us.’

  ‘Ah, we all lied to our parents when we were teenagers,’ Vivian says. I hold the phone away from my ear and stare at it as if I’m staring at Vivian, my eyes narrowing. ‘But yeah… I’ll send Ingrid back when they get here.’

  Then she hangs up.

  She really is a crap mother. Always has been. So bad, she had to hire a nanny even though she didn’t even work herself. I know it must be nine o’clock, but I still look up at the clock over the fireplace when I stroll back into our living room to make sure. Maybe they did sneak out for some Macari’s chips. But it seems too much of a coincidence that they’ve gone AWOL the night after they’ve been to a party. I bet they’re meeting boys. I get it. We all start fancying boys at that age… it’s just, I can’t stand the thought of Ingrid lying to me. I love Ciara, but her character is probably becoming too influential on Ingrid. I don’t want Ingrid to grow up. Not yet anyway. I love that she’s quiet. Love that she’s shy. Because it means she’ll never really get herself into trouble. Though that may be wishful thinking. I read a book once that said parents never truly know their own children, because children act differently at home than they do outside the house. But I always assumed that was a bullshit theory when it came to my two. At least I know Sven will never lie to me. He’s not capable.

  I suck on my lips and then find myself taking our stairs two at a time, clinging on to the banister as I go. I peak around the door of Sven’s room and stare at his face; his mouth open, his nostrils whistling a little snore like they always do.


  I walk, almost on my tiptoes, into my own bedroom. Terry’s not snoring, but I can tell by his heavy breathing that he’s already fast asleep. He’d hate it if I woke him. He’s got to get up at five a.m., needs to get into the radio station for six. But maybe I should wake him; our daughter’s a hell of a lot more important than his little show.

  I tip-toe back towards the bedroom door, and shut it behind me. Tight. Fast. Then I hear him… shuffling under the duvet before he lets out a groan.

  ‘For Christ sake, Greta,’ he says, ‘you’ve just fuckin’ woken me.’

  I blink my eyes and feel a little relief wash itself through my body.

  ‘Sorry, dear,’ I say, turning around to re-enter the bedroom. ‘Door slipped out of my hand as I was closing it. I eh… I’m glad you’re awake though. I’m eh… worried. About Ingrid. And Ciara. They’ve gone missing.’

  20:55

  Ciara

  He presses at the top of my head as I get into the back of his car, then does the same with Ingrid.

  I feel frightened. Though I’m not sure why. He’s hardly arresting us for walking out in front of a bus, is he? He’s just worried for us. Is doing his job to protect us. But he won’t. There’s nothing he can do that’ll save our lives. Even if he delays it by an hour or two, even if he calls our parents to come pick us up from some police station, me and Ingrid will eventually get around to doing what we want to do. I try to slow my breaths, reminding myself that there’s no need to be frightened.

  When he shuffles his way into the driver’s seat, he reaches for a button that turns off the blue lights. Then he turns around to us, his hand resting on the top of the passenger seat.

  ‘No need for you to take the bus, I’ll get ye home,’ he says. ‘Where is it ye live?’