Little Bones: A totally addictive crime thriller

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘I’ve only been back in the country for a few hours. You can’t think I did something to my family?’

  ‘I’m not making any assumptions. I’ll need a full description and photograph of Evan. The same for Joyce.’

  ‘I can’t believe this. Something serious has happened to my family and you’re latching onto me without doing a proper investigation.’ A muscle in his jaw ticked non-stop and his eyes darted around without landing on her.

  What was he afraid of? What was he hiding?

  ‘We have procedures to follow.’

  ‘Okay, Okay. I’ve photos on my phone. I can send them to you.’

  ‘Good. Now come with me.’

  She shooed him out of the room. He didn’t protest, and she pulled the door shut behind her. The only positive in all this was that there was no sign of a struggle, plus Joyce’s car was not in the drive. Maybe the woman had abandoned packing and just fled. But why? And why abduct her own son? Lottie needed to peel away the layers of this family to find out just what the hell had happened.

  Following Nathan down the stairs, she peered over the banister, and that was when she saw the speck of blood on the radiator.

  27

  ‘What was all that about?’ Boyd said, following Lottie into the bedroom.

  For once, she wished he’d gone home to his own apartment. She wanted to stretch out over her bed and sleep for a million years.

  Pulling off her sweater, she said, ‘It’s possible Joyce Breslin ran off with her son. But the timelines don’t add up.’ She explained everything she’d discovered that night. ‘If she scarpered after she dropped her son to day care, why wait until late evening to abduct him? Why not leave town, if that was what she was doing, without dropping him to day care? Why not finish packing and take her belongings? Where is she? Where is Evan?’

  ‘Too many questions for this hour of the night. Why don’t you get some sleep? It will all be clearer in the morning.’

  ‘And then there was the blood on the radiator in the hall. Could have been there a long time, but I think it was fresh. McGlynn will examine it in the morning.’

  ‘It is morning.’

  She sighed and stripped off her jeans and shirt, and pulled on her old pyjamas. Boyd sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, as she rolled under the duvet. ‘I’ve implemented procedures for finding the missing boy. Media outlets have been alerted. I sealed the house and left Nathan Monaghan in a cell.’

  ‘You what? What have you to hold him on?’

  ‘Nothing. He didn’t argue. Said he had nowhere else to go.’

  ‘That’s a highly irregular move, even for you.’

  ‘This whole thing is irregular. Plus, it’s for his own safety. If someone did abduct Joyce and Evan, who’s to say they won’t go after Nathan as well.’

  ‘What about Sinéad Foley? Didn’t her name crop up in relation to the Gallagher murder?’

  ‘Yeah. Isabel was to meet her this morning. Yesterday morning. God! Anyway, McGlynn appointed a SOCO to do a sweep of her house in the morning. Sinéad is staying at her mother-in-law’s for the night.’

  ‘Where’s her husband?’

  ‘He’s with her now. He wasn’t home when I left with Nathan, but Kirby filled me in. I need to check Dylan Foley’s movements.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call me while this was going on?’

  ‘Jealous?’

  He laid a hand over hers and rubbed it gently. ‘No, but I’m tired. Will I go back to my own place?’

  ‘You’re here, so you might as well stay.’ She yawned and fluffed the pillow ready to sleep.

  ‘That’s the most half-hearted invitation I ever heard.’

  ‘Boyd, I’m too tired to play this game. Get into the bloody bed, my feet are freezing.’

  He didn’t appear to need a proper invitation after all.

  She gave him a tired smile, reached for his hand, then closed her eyes.

  It wasn’t an ideal arrangement, but it was better than being stuck in a B&B. McKeown stretched his arm across Martina Brennan’s breasts and twisted the clock to see the time. Two a.m.

  He lay back on the soft pillow. It was too uncomfortable for him, but Martina liked them plush and spongy. He was in no position to object, it was her apartment, after all.

  She groaned and turned over, pinning his arm beneath her. He slid it out, wishing he could extract himself from the relationship just as easily.

  He fumbled around on the floor until he found his phone under the bed. Seven missed calls from Kirby. Shit, he’d put his phone on silent earlier and switched off vibrate so as not to be disturbed. Must be a break in the Gallagher case. Well, he’d done his shift, so he was glad he’d missed the calls. Life was too short to spend it all at work. There were too many pleasures to be explored. Better ways to spend his time.

  Should he phone Kirby all the same? To see what was going down?

  ‘What are you doing on your phone at this hour of the night?’

  Martina’s voice was groggy with sleep and he felt her hand travel up and down his bare back, igniting a million electrons in his nether regions. Nether regions? He laughed.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m having bad thoughts about what I want to do with you.’

  ‘I’m not objecting. Get back into bed.’ Her hand travelled around his waist and she sat up in bed and kissed the back of his neck while her fingers reached further down and squeezed. ‘You like that?’

  ‘You know me too well.’

  He threw the phone back under the bed, twisted round, hauled himself on top of her and, finding himself fully aroused, entered her with a groan.

  He forgot all about Kirby and his blasted phone calls.

  Anita lay on top of the duvet and covered her face with a pillow so that her uncontrollable crying wouldn’t wake Holly. She couldn’t stop feeling sorry for herself. It was all so unfair. Why hadn’t she done enough to protect Isabel?

  Her anguished cries saturated the pillow. She threw it to the floor and sat up suddenly. The baby was still asleep. Thank God.

  Dragging herself from the bed, she went to maintain a vigil at the window. The amber hue of the street lights shining through the trees across the road caused the shadows to dance like spectres in the night.

  She was sorry she’d let AJ into her home. Sorry to have ever laid eyes on him in the first place, but what had Isabel meant when she’d said those words to him? To look out for her mother if anything happened to her. Did she have a premonition of her death? And why talk to AJ? He had employed her at one time, but there was no relationship or friendship there. Not that Anita knew about anyway. After years keeping her past a secret, had she been found out?

  As the night blurred, she wondered where Jack was.

  She found a fresh pillowcase in the drawer and shoved the pillow inside. Men grieved differently from women, she supposed. But that didn’t give him the right to abandon his daughter. Holly needed her father now that Isabel would no longer be around to care for her.

  As she flung the pillow back on the bed, she heard the tiny cries of the little girl in the cot.

  ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart. Granny’s here.’

  She balled her hands into fists and thumped the pillow before going to pick up her little granddaughter.

  AJ Lennon didn’t feel like going home after leaving Anita’s house, so he drove out to the warehouse distribution depot. He was proud of it. The largest in Ireland, if you didn’t count Lidl. It had been a curse to get planning permission, but eventually, after wheeling and dealing with strategic economic plans, he had it in the bag.

  He hadn’t realised how long he’d spent inside, but it was late when he left by the main door. He stood in the car park, admiring his best accomplishment to date. A massive economic win for Ragmullin. The lights shone from the walls, highlighting the bays where lorries backed up their trailers. He smiled smugly. He was doing well for himself, thank you very much.

  As he turned b
ack to his car, he stopped. Two men were standing by a jeep.

  ‘Damn it to hell,’ he muttered as one of the men got into the jeep and drove off.

  ‘Ah, the self-made millionaire himself.’ Michael Costello’s ginger hair shone yellow under the light and his beard bobbed when he spoke.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Lennon felt small beside the well-dressed man. Well, he was small, but it was more than physical. Grinding his teeth, he added, ‘I don’t want you snooping around my business, Costello, stealing my ideas.’

  ‘Jesus, man, lighten up. There’s not one thing here that I haven’t thought of myself. I could buy and sell you, you know.’ He had the audacity to wink.

  Lennon shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets in case he had the urge to land a punch, knowing full well his hand would bounce right back. ‘Well, I don’t want you here.’

  ‘Not to worry, midget man, I’m leaving.’ Costello flicked a finger against the lapel of Lennon’s jacket. ‘And don’t forget our arrangement. I’m counting on you to keep your side of the bargain.’

  ‘I’ve never double-crossed anyone in my life! I don’t intend to start now.’

  ‘Good man. See you around.’

  Lennon swallowed hard as Costello sat into his car and drove off, the engine a soft purr.

  28

  The little bone she’d taken from the hillside seemed to mock Dervla Byrne no matter where she went in her house. She’d placed it in a freezer bag and shoved it behind a tub of Flora. She’d shut the fridge door. Tried to forget about it. It was surely only an animal bone. If that was true, though, why had she brought it home?

  It was the middle of the night and she was hungry. She slipped on a sweater and headed to the kitchen. She baulked at her reflection in the wall mirror. At thirty-five, she looked like a washed-up Hollywood icon. One of those who’d starred in the black-and-white horror movies. Her jet-black fringe was a straight line above unplucked eyebrows, and her only nod to non-conformity was that one side of her hair was longer than the other. Not by design, just a terrible haircut.

  At the refrigerator door, her hand hovered on the handle. She opened it quickly, pulled out a packet of sliced cheese and the tub of Flora. Then she heard the crinkle of the plastic bag as it settled without the support of the tub.

  With one hand balancing the cheese and Flora, she opened the door wide and stared at the little bone lying there in its see-through plastic coffin. Her breath came in sharp bursts and she flared her nose to take in the cool air, to calm her racing heart. Gulping loudly, she reached in and lifted out the bag. But just as quickly, she shoved it back in and slammed the door shut. She leaned against the cold metal and tried to restore her natural breathing using a method she’d learned a long time ago to help her cope with the darkness in her life.

  When she was sure she could walk without collapsing, she moved to the table and took two slices of bread from its wrapper. She opened the tub and dug the knife in, then stopped as a thought fluttered in her brain. Kevin Doran. Why was she thinking of him? The breathing exercise? The past? No, it was because of the little bone lying in her fridge that she’d taken from Misneach hill.

  Slumping onto a chair, she left the knife stuck in the tub. Her appetite had evaporated. She didn’t want those memories to return. She wanted to get her life back on track and consign her miserable past to history. But was it his fault she’d been climbing the hill?

  Without bothering to return the food to the fridge – she didn’t want to see the bone again – she switched off the light and made her way back upstairs, knowing she would find little sleep.

  Lying in bed, she kept thinking of the bone in her fridge. It could be ancient. But in her heart she knew it wasn’t that ancient at all. She had to go back to the hill to find out if there were more bones buried there. It was something she could no longer fight.

  Joyce knew she was being held inside some sort of steel container. A rag was tied around her mouth, but at least she could breathe. Her hands and feet were bound with something rough, possibly a rope. She moved her hands slightly, up and down in front of her. Definitely a rope. It was wrapped around her waist so she couldn’t pull the gag away. There was nothing covering her eyes, but all she could see in the dark was the outline of walls.

  She tried to think back over the events of the day. The terrifying ordeal. She’d been right. The envelope had been a warning. And it was all her fault. Hers and Isabel’s.

  She’d driven out to the lake to clear her head of the fear and foreboding. She’d needed time and space to think about what she could do. She needed a plan. She had to act. And fast. She’d go home and finish packing. Withdraw what she could from the bank, pick up Evan, then flee. She had no idea where to go, but once they were on the road, something would come to her. She’d also decided to tell Nathan everything.

  She recalled now that she’d sat into the car and had been looking at the contents of the envelope. She’d taken it from her pocket and had it on her lap. The razor blade and an address to remind her that she would never be safe. With no clear idea of what to do, the only thing she was certain of was that she had to do something. And do it fast. She’d turned the car and headed up the narrow lane.

  That was when she saw it. Coming towards her at speed. A dark SUV with tinted windows. She’d pressed her foot on the brake pedal, an automatic reflex when she should have kept going, rammed the other car or driven up on the bank and swerved around it. But no, she’d hesitated and it was enough.

  The SUV’s lights were on full, and even though it was daylight, they blinded her. There was nowhere for her to go. If she reversed, she was in the lake. She knew the other driver could reverse a little to give her room. There was something threatening in the way he just sat there. She couldn’t make out his face through the tinted window, but it was possible he had a peaked cap and sunglasses.

  The razor blade in the envelope burned a hole on her knee.

  The SUV door opened.

  He began walking towards her.

  Frantically she looked around, hoping to see someone who could help. But there was no one else at this isolated location. She was on her own.

  He had something long in his hand. Was it timber, or steel? Sharp pieces protruding at the end. Didn’t look like nails; were they blades? Her hand went to her throat, a reflex caused by the fear coursing through her veins.

  Then he was standing by her window. A gloved hand knocking on the glass pane. Her heart thudded like a train and her skull filled with blood. Her hand flew to the gearstick; she shifted it into reverse and was about to push her foot on the pedal when the window smashed.

  Shards of glass had rained in on top of her. Stuck to her cheek and neck. Her hand fell into her lap. She felt the envelope there and quickly shoved it down the side of the seat, hoping someone might find it in the car and ask the right questions.

  A hand thrust through the shattered glass, grabbed her throat. She wriggled and tried to twist out of the grasp, but she was restrained by the seat belt. She couldn’t even bite through the leather glove. The engine died as her legs ricocheted around the footwell. His grip was getting tighter. She tried to gulp some air into her lungs, but nothing could get through the tightness.

  The wind whistled through the branches overhead, rustling their budding leaves. A swan on the lake trumpeted, and the smell of something like sewage caught on the breeze. It would have made her gag, but she was already swimming into unconsciousness.

  At least Evan was safe. No harm could come to her son.

  That seemed like days ago, but it was still the same day, possibly night now. She was in some dark, cold, damp container with no idea of how she’d been brought here. Her head throbbed and tears slid from her eyes. She prayed that no matter what happened to her, her son would be safe. That was all she cared about.

  A door opened. Something rattled. Footsteps pounded towards her.

  She felt a presence loom above her. Her eyes widened as light fell through
a narrow doorway behind the figure.

  It was a ghost. Tall and white. All white, arms outstretched like an angel. No, she thought, it’s the devil in disguise.

  ‘Home at last.’ A male voice. A laugh. Then a screech as he opened the lid of a box. ‘I’ve brought your favourite toy. Now we can have some fun. Like the old days. You used to like this. Remember?’

  She knew then what this was all about. She knew what was in the box. She knew the first cut would be the hardest. And after that, who knew what he had planned for her?

  And Joyce wished she was dead.

  Thirty years ago

  At fifteen, he knew he had achieved ultimate control of his domain. His foster parents were eating out of his hand. He was able to keep the girl in check even though she was only five and already being spoiled by the ‘parents’.

  The newest kid wasn’t so easy, though. He had already fallen through the cracks in the system. With nowhere else to go, the authorities had landed him here, in this house. Not fair, but fair enough; he just had to watch and wait, see what he was made of.

  He discovered that the new boy was insular and quiet. Frightened and ashamed. What did he have to be ashamed of? It was the ones who’d abandoned him who should show shame. But one good thing worth noting: he never fought back.

  In the words of the Bible, or some other book, it was like taking a lamb to the slaughter.

  Tuesday

  29

  The light cut across his eyelids. Kevin swiped a grimy hand around his face as he tried to wake up. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He should have been out there, watching. Watching was his self-imposed job.

  He’d been good at keeping a lookout. For the others. He’d always been the first to spot trouble and give the warning. That wasn’t a gift; it came from the painful personal experience of sometimes being too late. He had vowed after one particularly bad episode that he would try to prevent it happening to others. So he became the lookout. He became the Watcher.