Little Bones: A totally addictive crime thriller

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘How long has Jack Gallagher been employed by you?’

  ‘Just shy of five years.’

  ‘A good employee?’

  ‘Exemplary.’

  ‘No trouble in that time?’

  ‘Jack is one of our best electricians. Eager to please. No job too big or too small for him. Punctual, courteous and hard-working.’

  Costello’s words sounded like a job reference. Blowing out his breath in frustration, Kirby said, ‘Surely he must have some bad habits?’

  ‘None that I know of.’

  ‘What time did he arrive for work this morning?’

  ‘I already gave that information to one of your colleagues over the phone, but I have it all here, anyhow.’ Costello clicked the computer mouse and twisted the screen towards Kirby. It looked like a spreadsheet, with coloured columns containing lots of names and numbers.

  ‘Can you explain it, please?’

  ‘I’ll give you a printout.’ A button was pressed and the soft whirr of a printer sounded from behind Costello.

  ‘That’s great, thanks,’ Kirby said, ‘but if you don’t mind, I’d like you to tell me yourself.’

  ‘Sure, no problem. Jack clocked in at seven ten. His first job of the day was out in Bardstown. A wiring job on a new-build. His van was already loaded from the evening before, so he left the yard at once. You can check our CCTV if you want. I’m eager to help in whatever way I can. Oh, and there’s a key-fob log from the gate here, when the workers come in and out. I assure you there’s no need to suspect Jack of any wrongdoing.’

  ‘And how do you come to that conclusion, seeing as you have no idea what we’re dealing with?’

  ‘Well, regardless, when he reached the house at Bardstown, he called me. The builders had been redeployed to another job and he had no way to gain access. The site was boarded up and locked. That call was around seven thirty.’

  ‘Did he return here, then?’

  ‘No. I contacted the house owner and they said they had a medical emergency and were at a Dublin hospital. So I told Jack to head to a house at Plodmore that had been on our books for a while. Simple job, to install a new fuse box.’

  ‘Does it take long to get from Bardstown to Plodmore?’

  ‘You have to travel along country roads, so maybe you should drive it yourself to see.’ Costello placed his spectacles back on his nose and pushed them up.

  Kirby bristled at the rebuke. ‘Are you sure that’s where he was when you told him to head home after our call?’

  ‘As far as I know, that’s where he was.’

  ‘No way of checking?’

  ‘I can call the occupier.’

  ‘Just give me the contact details.’

  ‘It’s on the spreadsheet.’ Costello smiled.

  Taking the page without looking at it, Kirby said, ‘What’s Jack like? Besides being punctual, courteous and whatever else you told me?’

  ‘He’s a fine man. Always willing—’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ Kirby slapped the desk, losing patience. ‘Had he any friends? Was he a loner? Did he drink? Join the lads in the pub after work? That kind of thing?’

  ‘I have no idea what he did outside of work. Talk to his colleagues. They might be able to fill you in. I only concern myself with my employees on a professional basis. I’m not interested in the rest.’

  ‘What do you mean by “the rest”?’

  ‘Their relationships with each other. Friends or enemies, it doesn’t matter to me as long as it doesn’t interfere with their work. I’m a businessman, not a nanny.’ He smiled again. It was starting to grate on Kirby.

  ‘Do you know a Kevin Doran?’ The boss had texted him, telling him to ask about Doran.

  Costello shook his head. ‘Not one of mine.’

  Kirby glanced down at the spreadsheet, with its coloured columns. ‘Where did Jack work before he started here?’

  ‘I don’t recall that.’

  ‘Can you check your files?’

  Shifting on his seat, Costello seemed to consider these questions for a lot longer than the previous interaction. ‘Sorry. Data protection laws.’

  ‘But you’ve just printed out Gallagher’s work schedule for me; this is no different.’

  ‘What you’re asking for now is historic personal information, not relevant to his current employment. I’m sorry. I can’t give it to you. Unless you get Jack’s permission.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks.’ Kirby decided not to push it. ‘Did you know Isabel?’

  ‘She was lovely. Always ready to help out.’

  ‘You knew her personally?’

  ‘She worked here. Did you not know that?’

  The boss had neglected to text that piece of information, and now Kirby felt foolish. ‘When was that?’

  ‘Must be over a year and a half ago. Jack convinced her to give up the job. She was so under his … She was in awe of him. I think she’d have jumped off a cliff if he’d asked her to.’

  ‘Did she work in the office?’

  ‘Yes. Isabel was limited in what she could do. She found it hard to work on her own initiative. Slow at the computer. Filed things in the wrong place. Bit of a scatterbrain.’

  ‘But still you kept her on until she decided to leave. Why was that?’

  ‘It helped to have a pretty face here to offset all those lads around the place.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Kirby was embarrassed by the man’s words.

  ‘Detective Kirby, Jack was insanely jealous if she even looked crooked at anyone. It was a bit awkward, to tell the truth, seeing that eighty per cent of my workers are male.’

  ‘Thought you said he was everything bar a knight in shining armour.’

  ‘A jealous knight. His work is exemplary.’

  Kirby scratched his head. ‘Was Isabel close to anyone else here, besides Jack?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘Was there someone she didn’t get on with?’

  Costello stood and stretched out his shoulders. ‘If you’re asking if I know of anyone who would kill her, then I’m sorry, but I know of no such person. My reputation is my business, and I employ only the best people. Isabel was a lovely girl and it pains me to think she’s dead.’

  Kirby stood too. ‘If you think of anything, contact me.’

  ‘I will.’ Costello picked up his keys and phone and moved around the desk. ‘What’s her name?’

  Kirby turned at the door to see him looking through the window. ‘Who?’ he asked.

  ‘That young garda you brought along with you. Nice tight trousers show off her assets quite well, don’t you think? How does she carry all that equipment?’

  Totally inappropriate talk, but Kirby couldn’t think of a reply without ‘arsehole’ in it, so he just slammed the door on his way out. He thought of Martina Brennan, who was short and a tad overweight – though who was he to talk about weight. She was bright and breezy, always smiling. Maybe he’d chance asking her out, though he knew why he couldn’t do that.

  In the compound, he noticed a couple more vans to his right, parked in front of the unit, the rolling doors now open. Garda Brennan was chatting with two men, huddled together. They stopped and looked at him as he approached.

  ‘Detective Kirby, ready to go?’ she said.

  ‘Are you lads not supposed to be out working?’ Kirby said.

  ‘We came back to base after hearing about Jack’s wife. Garda Brennan wouldn’t tell us much. What happened to her?’

  ‘It’s an ongoing investigation,’ Kirby said, glad that Martina was clever enough not to divulge pertinent information, though he was sure the men knew full well what had happened to Isabel. ‘Can I have a word for a few minutes?’

  ‘We’ve talked to her.’ The tall one broke away from his colleague. ‘You coming, Ciaran?’

  ‘Hold your horses, just a few more questions.’

  The men turned and met Kirby’s eyes with defiance.

  ‘Lads, one minute,’ Garda Brennan said, and smiled.
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  ‘What you want to know?’

  ‘Your name is?’ Kirby asked.

  ‘She knows it,’ the tall man said.

  ‘This is Paulo Silva. From Brazil,’ Garda Brennan said. ‘Worked with Quality Electrical for three years but he’s lived in Ireland for over fifteen. His colleague is Ciaran Grimes. He’s worked here seven years.’

  ‘Are you friends with Jack Gallagher?’ Kirby said.

  The smaller man, Ciaran, looked up at Paulo and shrugged. ‘Jack doesn’t say much.’

  ‘Not drinking buddies, then?’

  ‘I don’t think Jack drinks.’

  ‘What’s he like around here?’

  ‘Doesn’t say much, as I said. Good morning. Goodbye. He never talks about his wife or baby. I talk about my Carla all the time. You want to see a photo?’

  ‘No thanks. Did Jack ever show you photos of his family?’

  ‘Are you for real?’ Ciaran said. ‘We couldn’t even mention his wife’s name or he’d blow a gasket.’

  ‘Bit of a temper, then?’

  ‘You could say that. We just kept our mouths shut,’ Ciaran said, and Paulo nodded.

  ‘Did either of you know Mrs Gallagher?’

  The two men rocked on their feet like a comedy duo, one waiting for the other to speak. It was Ciaran who straightened his shoulders and replied.

  ‘I haven’t seen her since she left the office, before they got married. It’s like Jack saw her as his princess to keep locked in his castle.’

  ‘They had a baby three or four months ago. Did that make Jack happy?’

  ‘We never even knew they’d had a baby,’ Ciaran said, ‘until my mother heard someone mention it in the post office.’

  ‘Do either of you know Kevin Doran?’

  Both men shook their heads.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Certain.’

  ‘Know of any reason why someone would want to harm Mrs Gallagher?’

  Both heads shaking in unison. ‘Nope.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll need your details in case we need to speak with you again.’

  ‘I have them.’ Garda Brennan tapped her notebook in her pocket.

  At the car, Kirby leaned his elbows on the roof and surveyed the compound. ‘Get anything useful out of them?’

  ‘Don’t think so, but I took notes. Sam … Detective McKeown says all information is important, even though it might not seem so at the time.’

  ‘You and he are very cosy, aren’t you?’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Kirby grimaced when Garda Brennan blushed. ‘Oh, nothing at all.’

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business or anything,’ she said, opening the door, ‘but I’m single.’

  ‘Aye, but he’s not.’

  He leaped back from the car with the force of the bang she gave the door.

  12

  After Jack, Anita and Holly had left for Anita’s house, Lottie set the team up in the incident room and doled out their tasks.

  ‘McKeown, I want to know everything about this Kevin Doran, the handyman. All I have is his phone number, and it seems to be switched off or dead. Find out when he was last at the house. How often he works there. What else he does. His whole pedigree.’

  ‘On it.’

  ‘Lynch, search online to see what you can discover about the Gallaghers. Find someone to talk to who knew Isabel so that we can get to know her.’

  ‘Sure.’ Lynch gave her half of a crooked smile, glad to be back in the team after a period of icy isolation that had gradually thawed towards the end of their last major case.

  Looking around, Lottie said, ‘Where’s Kirby?’

  Lynch piped up. ‘He went to Quality Electrical to confirm exactly where Jack Gallagher was until he arrived back home.’

  ‘He’s taking his time.’ She glanced at the clock on the wall, which was set half an hour fast for some reason. ‘Give him a call and see what he has so far.’

  Lynch nodded.

  ‘And phone the state pathologist for the time of Isabel Gallagher’s post-mortem. Plus contact Isabel’s doctor. See if you can wheedle out any information.’

  The group dispersed and she grabbed Boyd to set out to the Gallagher house at Cloughton again. She phoned McGlynn and got his disgruntled permission to have a quick look in the garage. As Gallagher had not given them permission to access his financial or phone records, she hoped she might find something worthwhile.

  They travelled in silence.

  Once they arrived, they suited up. The sun was shining but a chilly breeze cut a sharp line around the side of the house. Standing in the garden with an increasingly belligerent Boyd by her side, she opened the garage door with the key she’d got from Gallagher.

  ‘What’s eating you, Boyd?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Listen, you need to lighten up a little.’

  ‘It was him, I’m sure of it. It’s usually the husband.’

  ‘If it is, we need evidence to prove it, and if it isn’t, we still need evidence to prove someone else did it. Either way, this is a fact-gathering exercise, so untwist your knickers and put on your logical hat.’ She thought that would make him laugh. He just grunted.

  They entered the garage. The only sound was the crinkle of their protective gear.

  ‘Neat and tidy,’ she said, sniffing the fusty air.

  They moved further inside.

  White fungus sprouted in a few corners, and the walls were stained brown with leaks from the roof. Everything seemed to have a space allocated in some kind of methodical order. One side of the garage was taken up with firewood, neatly piled as if the person who’d done it was a Jenga master. The other side was stacked high with empty paint cans in order of size. To her left was a bench with tools and electrical cables neatly rolled and held together with plastic ties. To her right, just inside the door, stood a four-drawer filing cabinet with its top drawer open and Boyd nosing through it.

  She peered over his elbow. The file folders were scattered in a pile and did not seem to be in any sort of order. This was totally at odds with the neatness of everything else in the garage.

  ‘It’s a mess,’ Boyd said, and opened the other drawers.

  All were empty except for a forgotten roll of Sellotape. She couldn’t tell if they had held files or documents at one time. As he moved off to rummage through the electrical equipment, she returned to the top drawer and extracted the bundle of paperwork. She brought it to the bench and began opening the files.

  ‘There’s no bank statements,’ she said.

  ‘Did you actually think he kept his bank statements out here?’

  Concentrate on the job at hand, she warned herself, not rising to his bait.

  The pages consisted mainly of invoices and receipts for electrical work, which made her think Jack worked freelance as well as for Quality Electrical. She shot off a quick text to Kirby to find out.

  ‘Here’s a phone bill printout,’ she said. Placing the four pages to one side, she continued her search, praying for bank statements.

  She was disappointed. There was nothing else of note. They might be lucky and find out something from the phone bill and invoices. And then again, maybe not.

  She placed the invoices in a large evidence bag, which she titled, dated and signed.

  ‘What about those?’ Boyd pointed to the telephone bill printout.

  ‘These are going in a separate bag. I want to examine them the minute we return to the office.’

  He nodded and wandered round the cramped space lifting cables and tools.

  ‘What do you hope to find?’ she asked.

  ‘The murder weapon.’

  ‘I doubt the killer is that stupid. It’s in the bottom of a lake by now.’

  ‘No stone left unturned, to quote a certain detective inspector.’ He glanced over his shoulder at her and she couldn’t help but return his smile.

  ‘Guilty as charged,’ she said. ‘Keep searching and I’ll have a chat wit
h McGlynn.’

  * * *

  The odour of fried food filtered through her mask as Lottie entered the kitchen for the second time that morning. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, as the overriding smell had been death and blood. She walked around slowly, careful to take in anything she might have missed initially.

  Breakfast seemed to have been cereal and toast. A teapot with a knitted cosy. Blue ceramic crockery, some smashed on the floor. Crumbs and congealed cereal. The sink was empty, the stainless steel gleaming. She opened the refrigerator and noted it was well stocked; there were also two bottles of formula, for when Anita was to mind little Holly, perhaps. Closing its door, she considered the kitchen again. Something was giving her an itch beneath her scalp. What was she missing? Was it the fact that there were no toys? No child’s clothing on the back of chairs or on the toppled clothes rack.

  She scanned her eyes over the countertops. The usual appliances and a tub of baby formula. In one corner a changing table with nappies, Sudocrem and cotton wool.

  The walls were devoid of any paintings or photographs except for the wedding photo in the hall. The only nod to decor was functional.

  A small wall calendar pinned above the phone caught her eye. Flicking the pages, she noticed the blank dates. She let it fall back to April, the current month. Today’s date had a small x. Another x on Friday. February had a note on the eighth. Six-week check-up written in cramped script. Nothing else anywhere. She supposed Isabel kept track of appointments this way, as she had no mobile phone. Lottie would die without her phone diary.

  She moved on.

  The sitting room was the largest of the rooms. The fireplace had been fitted with a black stove, the glass gleaming. A basket of kindling stood beside it. She ran her gloved finger over the mantelpiece; no dust or soot came away. The suite was white leather with orange cushions, all perfectly symmetrical. Again, no pictures or photographs on the walls. Plain magnolia paint, expertly applied. She had to hand it to the Gallaghers; they kept a clean house. It was bare and minimalist. No baby play mat or soft toys.

  She glanced into the main bedroom, where McGlynn was working silently, the body now removed to the morgue. The blood-spattered cot seemed to mock her, and she took a step back. A quick glance from Jim warned her he didn’t want to be disturbed.