Little Bones: A totally addictive crime thriller

by Patricia Gibney

‘There’s no easy way to say this, Mr Gallagher, but I’m sorry to tell you your wife is dead.’

  Instead of breaking down in a blubbering heap, he bit his lip and nodded slowly.

  ‘It’s true, so. I worried it might come to this.’ Then, with dark-ringed eyes filled with tears, ‘Please tell me she didn’t take Holly with her. I could never handle that.’

  Confusion thwarted Lottie’s prepared question. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Isabel … well … you know. She was depressed. In an awful way since Holly was born. Before that, too. During the pregnancy.’ He swept his fingers through his unruly fringe, swiping it back to reveal a smooth forehead. ‘Tell me the truth. I need to know what went on in my house. Where is my daughter?’

  ‘Your mother-in-law is caring for her. Holly was unharmed.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’ His body deflated as he sank to his knees. ‘And Isabel? What did she do? I mean, how did she die?’

  Lottie hunkered down in front of him. ‘Mr Gallagher, have you any idea what might have occurred in your house this morning?’

  His head shot up. Eyes sharp. ‘What do you mean?’

  Uneasiness crept into Lottie’s chest. She shouldn’t be having this conversation here; not while he was in this state. She needed to get him to the station. His clothes should be taken and analysed. Fingerprints and DNA. Not that it meant anything. He’d had ample time to wash, and burn his clothing, if he was guilty.

  She stood and offered her hand. He took it and stood.

  ‘Your wife was murdered, Jack. You need to accompany my detectives to Ragmullin garda station.’

  ‘I’m going nowhere until I see Isabel.’ Each word was hammered out with determination, as if he hadn’t heard what she’d said.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s impossible. Your house is a crime scene.’

  ‘Really?’ His lip curled angrily. ‘My wife was ill. Whatever she did, she can’t be accused of a crime. That’s a throwback to the Dark Ages.’

  ‘Mr Gallagher, Isabel was murdered,’ Lottie repeated.

  ‘No. I don’t believe you.’ The angry red of moments ago paled, revealing thin blue veins on his skin. ‘No. No way. How? My baby …’ He doubled over, clutching his chest.

  Shit, Lottie hoped he wasn’t having a heart attack. She’d had enough drama for one morning.

  Then he straightened, waxen-faced, hands trembling. ‘I need to see Holly. Tell me, please. What happened?’

  ‘Holly is fine. Unhurt. Your mother-in-law identified Isabel’s body. There is nothing you can do here. I’d like you to accompany me to the station. It’s just procedure. You won’t be able to return home until my team and SOCOs complete their work. That could take a few days, unfortunately.’

  ‘You’re not serious.’

  ‘I’m afraid I am.’

  ‘I’ll go with you.’ He picked up his jacket from the ground, where it had fallen during his scuffle with Kirby and McKeown.

  ‘Have you someone to stay with? Your parents? Sisters or brothers?’

  ‘My parents are dead. There’s only me.’

  ‘Your mother-in-law?’

  ‘I’ll see what Anita says.’

  She watched as he straightened himself, his eyes glued to the house, where SOCOs were scurrying around. With a resigned sigh, he followed McKeown to the car.

  Lottie took a deep breath, trying to form an impression of Jack Gallagher. He seemed genuinely upset and distraught, but she’d met good actors and liars before. She’d have to be alert during the interview. But this morning, she felt anything but alert. She felt only anger.

  Pointing to Gallagher’s van, she instructed a SOCO to give it the once-over. ‘And see if there’s anything there that could be our murder weapon.’

  8

  Bubbles Day Care was located in a much more upmarket area than where Joyce lived. But that didn’t worry her. Four walls didn’t make a home. She’d lived in too many loveless abodes to be won over by appearances. But she admired the way the Foleys had converted their large garden into a safe environment for the children they looked after. The day care unit was built onto the house, and the first time she’d checked it out, she’d felt Evan would be safe with Sinéad Foley.

  She glanced at her watch. Her shift at the café didn’t start until twelve, but she knew Sinéad wouldn’t mind taking Evan now.

  ‘Hello, Joyce, you’re early. Hi, Evan, in you go. Hang up your jacket. Your friends are inside.’ Sinéad was motherly and joyful. At thirty-seven years old, she was about ten years older than Joyce.

  ‘You’ve a full house today,’ Joyce said.

  ‘Easter holidays from school, so some of the juniors are here for the next two weeks.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry for arriving early then.’

  ‘Not at all. The more the merrier, as they say.’ Sinéad picked Evan’s jacket up from the floor, where he’d dropped it. ‘What time will you be collecting him?’

  Rocking from one foot to the other, Joyce contemplated the decisions she must make. Hard decisions. For now, she wanted everything to appear normal. ‘Possibly a little earlier than usual. Is that okay?’

  ‘Perfect. See you then.’

  ‘Can I give him a hug before I go?’

  ‘Evan, give your mum a hug.’

  Joyce thought she might cry as her son dropped the toy he was playing with and ran into her arms.

  ‘Love you,’ he whispered into her ear.

  She kissed him and held him tight before releasing him. ‘Love you too, squirt.’

  He ran back to the melee of children and picked up the dropped toy. An action hero figure. She wished that she had a superpower. Then she could hold on to her son for ever and fly away, far away from all the trouble that had hounded her life.

  She walked back to her car, and sat in, her head thumping. She should call Nathan, but he’d be still driving and probably wouldn’t answer the phone. Anyhow, she couldn’t tell him the truth. She couldn’t tell him anything, full stop. She bit her thumbnail down to the quick until it bled. What could she do?

  She had to run. She knew that.

  Otherwise she would be killed.

  And maybe Evan would be killed too.

  9

  After watching McKeown drive off with Gallagher, Lottie turned to Kirby.

  ‘What do you make of him?’

  ‘Not sure, to be honest.’ Kirby took a cigar from his pocket and scratched his head through his unruly curls. ‘Do you suspect him?’

  ‘I’m reserving my opinion until I interview him.’

  Kirby walked with her to the boundary wall and lit the cigar. After taking a drag, he topped it and returned it to his pocket. ‘He seemed genuinely upset. He’s a big strong bloke. Took two of us to hold him back. He could have killed his wife, but he was at work.’

  ‘Check that out. We don’t have time of death yet, but just make sure he was where he said he was. We also need to know if anything has been stolen. Gallagher will have to give us an inventory, and I need to know if they kept cash or valuables inside. But looking around here, it doesn’t seem like they had much.’

  ‘Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?’ Kirby could read her almost as well as Boyd could.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a burglary gone wrong. Her handbag is still on the table. And if it was some random psycho or drug-fuelled murderer, why leave the baby alive? There was so much violence inflicted on Isabel; why not kill the baby too, unless Isabel was the sole target?’

  ‘We need to discover all we can about Isabel Gallagher.’

  ‘Yeah. I wonder did Jack know Anita was due to arrive to babysit?’

  ‘What difference would that make?’

  ‘Just thinking out loud. I’m heading back to the station to get what I can from him.’

  ‘You think it was him, don’t you?’

  Lottie shrugged and tugged her sleeves down over her hands. ‘All I know is that the excessive violence points to someone who lost control. That person could still be o
ut there. God knows where they’ll strike next. That’s what scares me the most, Kirby. If it’s not a domestic act of violence, then someone else could be in danger.’

  * * *

  Lottie flung her coat and bag on her desk and picked up the report McKeown had hastily compiled on the morning’s events. Then she updated Superintendent Deborah Farrell, who officially appointed her as senior investigating officer. After briefing the super, she went to interview the victim’s husband.

  Walking along the corridor, her head down, thinking of all she had to organise, she bumped into Boyd.

  ‘Anita Boland, Isabel’s mother, is feeding the baby in Interview Room 1,’ he said.

  She gawped at him. ‘Jesus, Boyd, could you not find somewhere more comfortable for them?’

  ‘It was the best I could do at short notice. Mrs Boland wanted to return to her own house with the child, but forensics needed samples from her and the baby and I had to wait for the doctor to examine the little one before I could bring them home.’ He tucked his jacket under his arm and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

  ‘Was everything okay with the baby?’

  ‘Yeah. Doc said she’d be fine once she got a bottle into her. No physical injuries.’

  ‘In the greater scheme of things, that’s a godsend.’ Glancing through the scant paperwork in her hand, she added, ‘Do you want to sit in on Jack Gallagher’s interview?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind giving him the once-over to see what he’s made of.’

  She eyed Boyd from under her lashes, noticing the tense line of his jaw and the irritating tap of his shoe on the floor. She’d have to keep a tight rein on him in the interview. ‘Jack Gallagher was at work when his wife was killed.’

  ‘Is that confirmed?’ he said.

  ‘Not officially, but Kirby’s checking. Jane is prioritising the post-mortem and will inform me when she’s ready to start. Once that’s done, we should have a better idea of time of death. According to Jane, it could be within the two-hour period before Isabel’s body was discovered.’

  ‘Doesn’t let the grieving husband off the hook, does it? Let’s see what he has to say for himself.’ Boyd pushed away from the wall and went to head down the corridor.

  She put out a hand. Drew him back. Looked into his angry brown eyes. ‘Boyd, relax. This man has just found out his wife was killed in front of their baby. We need to go easy on him.’

  ‘But what if he was the one who killed her?’ He walked on ahead of her down the stairs.

  They were both letting their emotions run riot. Not a good combination for interrogating a grieving man who, for the moment, they had to treat as a suspect. She considered calling McKeown to replace Boyd at the table, but she decided Boyd was professional enough to park his preconceptions outside the door. He could control his feelings possibly better than she could.

  * * *

  The interview room was tiny, and the refurbishment budget had not extended to new furniture. Lottie eased in behind the old wooden desk and pushed her chair up against the wall, making room for Boyd to sit beside her. The old chair squeaked and rattled as she moved it. Hopefully it wouldn’t collapse.

  Once Boyd had set the recording to begin, with Gallagher’s approval – it was a fact-gathering chat after all – and finished the introductions, she lifted her head. Before she could say a word, Gallagher spoke.

  ‘What are you doing to find the bastard who killed my wife?’ He ran calloused knuckles across reddened eyes. ‘Tell me, please.’

  Lottie felt her heart lurch in sympathy with the broken man sitting across from her.

  ‘We have our technical personnel at your home, going over everything meticulously. No stone will be left unturned until we find out who did this.’ She cringed as the clichés dripped from her lips, but what else could she tell him?

  ‘I can guarantee you, if you leave anything unturned, I’ll turn it myself.’ He paused, then his lip drooped. ‘I heard she was stabbed. My lovely quiet Isabel who wouldn’t hurt a fly, stabbed! Why? Why do that to a poor defenceless woman?’

  ‘We will find out, I assure you.’

  ‘And what about my baby? She definitely wasn’t hurt, was she?’

  ‘A doctor has examined her. She’s fine. You can see her soon. But we need information from you now, to help us advance our investigation.’

  He stared at her, tears lingering in his eyes, trapped on his long lashes. She had to admit he cut a very sad figure. Gone was the aggressive manner with which he had appeared at the house earlier; gone was the fight from his hands as they lay limp on the table.

  ‘I don’t know why I have to be here. I want to see Holly.’

  ‘In due course,’ Lottie said. ‘I have to build up a picture in order to discover what happened to your wife.’

  ‘I heard she was mutilated.’ The ease of his tone belied the harshness of his words. He gritted his teeth, spouting spittle as he spoke. ‘Stabbed over and over. You’re wasting my time and yours by having me in here when you should be out there searching for her killer.’

  Lottie nudged Boyd’s elbow. ‘Would you mind getting Mr Gallagher a cup of tea?’

  ‘Sugar? Milk?’ Boyd stood.

  ‘Whatever,’ Gallagher said, and sank into the uncomfortable chair.

  Boyd left the room. Lottie leaned towards Gallagher. ‘I have the best team working on this investigation, but you have to talk to us. Please, Jack. There might be something you can tell us that will help us find Isabel’s killer. Even something seemingly insignificant might provide us with a clue. We’ll start when Detective Sergeant Boyd returns with your tea.’

  ‘I don’t want bloody tea. I want my daughter.’

  Boyd arrived with a paper cup of milky tea from the vending machine. Gallagher slurped the tepid liquid, swallowed noisily and set down the cup.

  ‘Tell me about Isabel,’ Lottie began.

  ‘What?’ He looked up with watery eyes, his eyebrows clenched in a frown.

  ‘How did you meet?’

  ‘She worked in the office.’

  ‘What office?’

  ‘Quality Electrical. I’m an electrician. She used to work in the office.’

  ‘What was her role there?’

  ‘General dogsbody, if you ask me. That twat Michael Costello made her do everything from fetching his coffee to taking notes while he looked at her legs. She was really sad in that job.’

  Lottie noted his choice of words. Wouldn’t one say unhappy rather than sad? She let it pass.

  ‘Why did she leave?’

  ‘It was awkward, what with me on the books and her in the office. Do you understand?’

  She didn’t, but she supposed in a warped sort of way it had made sense to Isabel and Jack.

  ‘She left the job after you got married?’

  ‘No, a year before that. When we started going out.’

  ‘Did she find another job after that?’

  ‘A few hours a week at Bubbles Day Care.’

  ‘The Foley place?’ That was where Katie sent Louis, Lottie thought.

  ‘Yeah. Passed the time for her, but then she started to get really ill with the pregnancy. About three or four months before Holly was born.’

  ‘Was she working anywhere outside the home at the time of her death?’

  Gallagher grimaced. ‘No. She’d just had a baby, for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘What was she like as a wife and mother?’

  ‘She was a good mother.’

  ‘And as a wife?’

  He scrunched up his lips and gave a slight shake of his head. ‘She was my angel. But she had her ups and downs. Isabel was a little complicated.’

  ‘How?’

  He sighed before answering. ‘I don’t see what this has to do with you catching her killer.’

  ‘Anything, no matter how inconsequential it might seem, could turn out to be crucial.’ Lottie clasped her hands on the table and listened to Boyd scribble in his notebook, keeping her gaze firmly on Jack Gallagher, who
closed his eyes and rubbed them with rough fingers. When he took his hands away, red creases circled his eye sockets.

  ‘What can I say that will help you?’ He shrugged. ‘I wasn’t even at home when she …’

  Lottie found it difficult to handle emotional men, and Jack Gallagher was fighting a battle to keep his emotions in check.

  ‘This morning, what time did you leave for work?’

  ‘The usual. Ten to seven.’

  ‘Did you lock the door when you left the house?’

  ‘No need to lock it when Isabel is there.’

  ‘How was she when you were leaving?’

  ‘Same as usual. A little grumpy. You know what women are like.’ He threw an eye to Boyd for support, but found none there.

  ‘Why was she grumpy?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘You know. Woman things. Things she wouldn’t tell me about. It was a tough labour and birth. Twenty-two hours, and Holly was eventually born just as they were prepping Isabel for a C-section. I know it’s been over three months, but she’s been like a witch since Holly arrived. This morning she wanted me to feed Holly. Said she was exhausted. But I had to get to work.’

  ‘She had an appointment at ten fifteen, didn’t she?’

  ‘Did she? She never told me that. Who was the appointment with?’

  ‘Her doctor, according to Anita.’ Lottie flicked the few miserable pages in the file, then closed it again.

  As if registering the fact for the first time, Gallagher asked, ‘Why was Anita at our house this morning?’

  ‘To babysit Holly. How do you get on with your mother-in-law?’

  ‘She’s good for Isabel. Helps her out around the house and with Holly now and again. But I don’t think she likes me.’ He ran his hand across his sweaty brow and sniffed. ‘I’m not good enough for her precious daughter. She gives out that I’m not doing as much as I should. With the house, the baby. Every blasted thing. Jesus Christ, I work every hour God gives to save for the extension. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for Anita Boland.’

  ‘You’re finding it hard to finance the extension, are you?’