Little Bones: A totally addictive crime thriller

by Patricia Gibney

  Because Superintendent Farrell had taken command of the missing persons media briefings and alerts, Lottie turned her thoughts to Jack Gallagher. He had refused the presence of a family liaison officer yesterday, and now she suspected she knew why. He was turning out to be a cunning individual who didn’t want to be beholden to anyone. She was sure Isabel had been totally under his control. Domestic abuse by denying her money. His television appearance gave that scenario added weight. He was a bloody control freak. But did that make him a murderer?

  She grabbed her jacket and nodded to Lynch to follow her out to the car. Sitting into the passenger seat, she waited for the detective to get behind the wheel.

  ‘Thought we’d be having a recap meeting this morning,’ Lynch said, ‘but it looks like I’m driving. Where are we off to?’

  ‘Wisteria Villas. Anita Boland’s house. I’ll fill you in. I’m too angry to drive. I’d probably knock someone down on the way.’

  * * *

  Anita greeted them at the door, little Holly asleep on her shoulder. The woman looked decidedly older than yesterday, her trendy clothing replaced with baggy tracksuit bottoms with a floaty white T-shirt, and her feet shod in black Ugg slippers.

  ‘Sorry, the place is a mess.’ She led them into the kitchen at the back of the house. ‘I’m not used to caring for a baby, and the neighbours have been calling all morning with food. You can take some home if you like.’

  Every available surface was full of Pyrex dishes and trays of sandwiches.

  ‘Where is Jack?’ Lottie said.

  ‘I don’t actually know.’ Anita sat by the table, cradling the child to her chest.

  ‘Did you watch Good Morning Ireland earlier?’

  ‘Are you joking me? I hadn’t time to brush my teeth or make a cup of tea, let alone switch on the television. Why?’

  Lottie motioned to the kettle; Anita nodded.

  Lynch filled it and flicked the switch. ‘Mugs?’

  ‘Shelf to your right.’

  ‘Where is Jack?’ Lottie repeated.

  Anita patted her granddaughter’s head. ‘I haven’t seen him since yesterday. He left me here all alone with Holly. Just walked out. I hope he didn’t go back to their house. It’d break him altogether.’

  ‘The house is sealed off and under guard. SOCOs are still working there. It could be a week before it’s released back to Jack.’

  Anita shrugged a shoulder. ‘I honestly don’t know where else he would go.’

  Lottie believed her. ‘Jack appeared on television this morning, making a plea for Isabel’s killer to come forward.’

  ‘He what?’ Anita paled and her hand shook so violently that Holly opened her eyes momentarily, before drifting back to sleep. ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘I thought you might know.’

  ‘I … I have no idea. He never said anything. Perhaps the TV show contacted him?’

  ‘I phoned the producer. Jack contacted them.’

  ‘Is he still there?’

  ‘No. I’ve put an alert out on his van.’

  ‘Surely you don’t suspect Jack …?’ Anita’s mouth dropped open as she realised the enormity of what she was about to say. ‘You think he did that awful thing to my daughter, don’t you? And this is his way of deflecting attention.’

  ‘Everyone is a suspect until they’re not.’ Lottie trotted out her old adage.

  Anita’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘Why didn’t you lock him up yesterday, if you thought he did it?’

  The kettle whistled. Lynch said, ‘Would you like tea or coffee?’

  ‘Tea would be good,’ Anita said. ‘I don’t understand any of this.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Lottie said.

  Lynch began opening the lids of canisters in search of tea bags.

  ‘The cupboard beside the one where you found the mugs.’

  ‘Detective Lynch will be here as your family liaison officer. You need to have someone with you at all times.’

  ‘This is my worst nightmare.’

  ‘I know,’ Lottie said. ‘It’s a terrible time for you. Is there any other family who could stay with you?’

  ‘It’s just me and Isabel … I mean, it’s just me now.’ Her eyes were wild with fear and her voice trembled. ‘I have to keep him away from Holly.’

  ‘Don’t worry, once he returns, we’ll be taking him to the station to interview him.’

  Lynch poured the boiling water on top of the tea bags and fetched milk, then set a mug in front of Anita.

  The woman lifted it to her lips before putting it down again. ‘That’s the front door.’

  Jack Gallagher sauntered into the kitchen. ‘What are you two doing here? Are they annoying you, Anita? Will I take Holly?’

  ‘Where were you, Jack?’ Anita said coldly, holding the baby tightly.

  Lynch and Lottie stood.

  Lottie said, ‘Jack, we have further questions we’d like you to answer. You need to come with me.’

  ‘I’m going nowhere with you or anyone else for that matter. I need to be with Holly.’

  ‘Didn’t stop you disappearing yesterday, did it, leaving her with Anita. Or driving up to Dublin and plastering your face all over the television.’

  ‘That’s my business.’

  ‘No, Jack,’ Lottie said. ‘Everything you do and everywhere you go is our business while we are investigating your wife’s murder. From what we know so far, you were the last person to see her alive.’

  ‘You know nothing then, because the killer was the last person to see her alive. If this is the way you want to play it, I’m phoning a solicitor.’

  ‘You do that. Then you’re coming with us.’

  He yanked his phone out of his pocket and moved out of the kitchen. Lynch followed close behind.

  Placing a hand on Anita’s shoulder, Lottie said, ‘Have you got everything you need for Holly? Baby formula, nappies?’

  ‘I think I’m okay for now, but all I can really give her is love and the reassurance that I’ll protect her with all my heart. I failed my daughter, Inspector, I’m not going to fail Holly.’

  Lynch returned with Gallagher. ‘Solicitor will meet him at the station.’

  ‘Let’s get going,’ Lottie said.

  ‘Bring a tray of sandwiches with you,’ Anita said.

  35

  It had been an awkward and silent drive out to the lake with Garda Martina Brennan. Kirby had come to the conclusion that keeping his mouth shut was the best option after the earlier McKeown debacle.

  He mumbled to himself as they approached the two traffic gardaí standing by the abandoned car at the end of the lane to the lake. Doors open. Side window smashed.

  ‘The keys are in the ignition,’ Martina said.

  Kirby slouched around the rear of the car, his shoes slipping in the damp reeds. ‘Any sign of the occupant?’

  ‘No.’ Garda Fuery shook his head. He was tall and scarecrow thin, his hat sitting like a sleeping black cat on his narrow skull. ‘My colleague walked the shoreline. I’ve called for support to trek through the woods.’

  ‘Good. Did you open the boot?’ Kirby stuck the stub of an unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Yeah. Found a few reusable shopping bags. All empty.’

  ‘Licence plate has the number Nathan Monaghan gave the boss last night.’ Kirby glanced inside. ‘No blood visible.’ That was good, wasn’t it?

  He pulled on nitrile gloves and opened the back door first. A child’s booster seat with a bundle of picture books on it. He paused before running his hand along the seat and down behind it. Searched through the pockets on the back of the seats. Nothing.

  In the front, he flicked open the glove compartment. A packet of chocolate buttons and a child’s hat. He crouched down and searched under the passenger seat and in the footwell, followed by the driver’s seat. Same result. Then he tried along by the handbrake. His fingers touched something. An envelope. He glanced inside. Shit.

  Hauling himself out of the
car, he asked for an evidence bag. Brennan fetched one and Kirby spread it out on the bonnet of the car and laid the envelope on top.

  Brennan leaned in beside him. ‘A razor blade.’

  ‘Isabel Gallagher was found with a razor blade in her hand.’ Kirby glanced at her. ‘Could mean her murder and the disappearance of Joyce and Evan are linked.’

  ‘There’s a piece of paper, too,’ Brennan said.

  Kirby teased back the flap and read the words on the scrap of paper.

  ‘The Occupier, 14 Castlemain Drive.’

  ‘That’s the big estate on the west side of Ragmullin,’ Brennan said. ‘Over two hundred houses.’

  ‘I know where it is.’

  ‘Joyce Breslin doesn’t live there.’

  ‘I know that too.’ He put everything in the evidence bag, then signed, dated and sealed it before handing it to Brennan. ‘SOCOs can have a look at these.’

  Lighting a cigar, he inhaled deeply before coughing and spluttering in the cold air. The lake looked as rough as he was feeling. The waves, tossing white froth over the stones, made his stomach churn.

  ‘What do you suggest we do?’ Garda Fuery languished by the rear of the car.

  ‘I’ll get SOCOs to check it first, then you can make yourself useful. Call Hartnett’s Recovery to bring their off-loader and take the car to wherever SOCOs want it. Can you do that?’

  ‘Sure I can.’ The guard sloped back to the squad car.

  Kirby extinguished the cigar between his fingers and inspected the broken glass on the road. He circled the car slowly. Standing behind it, he glanced down at the lake, then back at the glass. It looked like it had been smashed with a hammer or something similar.

  ‘Why break the glass?’ He stood beside Brennan. ‘What does it look like to you?’

  ‘Well,’ she said, tapping the radio clipped to her hi-vis vest, ‘it could be a carjacking.’

  ‘But why was she out here, and where is she now?’

  They moved away and sat into their car.

  ‘You don’t have to keep giving me the cold shoulder,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I know there’s gossip behind my back about Sam and me. I heard his wife appeared at the station this morning.’

  ‘What do you want me to say? I’m not the one who dirtied his bib in public.’

  ‘I thought you at least would be different to the others. My mistake.’

  He ran a hand through his bushy hair. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You seemed more human. I thought you’d be on my side. After all, you and Gilly O’Dono—’

  ‘Stop right there. Gilly and I were two single people. Neither of us was involved in an affair. Not like McKeown.’

  ‘I meant the difference in rank.’

  ‘That’s bullshit and you know it. McKeown is a cheat. When did you find out he was married?’

  She blew out a long sigh. ‘This morning, when I heard about his wife and kids turning up.’

  ‘Don’t give me that crap.’

  ‘All right.’ She slouched down in the seat. ‘I suspected it. Didn’t know for sure.’

  ‘But you went ahead and fucked him anyhow.’ He regretted he’d said it when he saw the hurt in her eyes.

  ‘You don’t have to be so crude,’ she said softly.

  ‘Sorry. What you and McKeown do is your own business. But when it impacts on working relations in the station, then it’s everybody’s business. Do you get me?’

  ‘Think so.’

  Tears were streaking mascara down her cheeks. Brennan had always been fun, and like Kirby, she loved her food. They’d often shared a McDonald’s together. He resisted the urge to push a wayward strand of her fair hair behind her ear.

  ‘Give him the boot,’ he said. ‘That’s my advice, for what it’s worth. He has a wife and three kids.’

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘There’s no but in this situation. Ask yourself, where is he now?’

  ‘He followed her home to Athlone.’

  ‘See?’

  ‘No, I don’t bloody see anything.’ She folded her arms awkwardly over the seat belt, which strained across her stab vest and hi-vis jacket.

  ‘Martina, you’re not naive. McKeown didn’t rush to you when this blew up earlier. He went to his wife. Tells its own tale.’

  She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, like a sad child. ‘Suppose so. But I think I love him.’

  ‘Listen to what you’re saying. You only think it. What does anyone know about love anyway? I was married and thought I knew all about it. I met Gilly and thought I knew then. But now, with all that I’ve lost, I really don’t know what the hell love is. Overrated, if you ask me.’

  She laughed then. ‘You’re a tonic, you know that, Kirby.’

  ‘That’s good to know. Now all we need is a strong drink.’

  ‘Care to help me drown my sorrows?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Come for a drink with me.’

  Kirby felt a smile break out on his face. ‘That’s the best offer I’ve had in ages.’

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘Don’t you think you need time to get over McKeown?’

  ‘I’m not asking for a shag, just a drink.’

  ‘I’m not sure about a drink, sweetheart.’

  ‘And I’m not your sweetheart.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Shit.

  ‘Not yet, anyhow.’

  ‘Fine so.’ He let his grin spread from ear to ear.

  ‘Kirby, I’m just lonely.’

  ‘So am I, so am I.’ He shook himself back into work mode. ‘We better get out of here, or they’ll start talking about us.’

  He glanced in the rear-view mirror to see Garda Fuery standing in the middle of the road, smirking.

  ‘For fuck’s sake.’

  He gunned the engine, then raced up the lane and onto the road, away from spying eyes.

  36

  For the second day in a row, Jack Gallagher sat before Lottie and Boyd in the interview room. This time he had a solicitor by his side. She seemed too young to have sat her Leaving Cert, let alone to have qualified as a solicitor.

  Lottie watched mesmerised as the black-haired woman’s fingers fluttered through a file of paperwork before thumbing a diary and marking off notes with a bitten-down Bic biro. She knew all about looks being deceiving, so she’d have to be alert.

  After the formalities were dispensed with for the recording, Jack folded his arms and set his mouth in a thin line. Lottie could hear the ‘no comment’ before it was even uttered.

  Lilian Regan opened her mouth and a set of glistening teeth glared across the table. ‘My client, Mr Gallagher, is extremely upset by your actions today. He has cooperated fully with your investigation into the murder of his wife. He does not see any reason to be in here, once again.’

  ‘It’s just an interview; he hasn’t been charged with any offence,’ Lottie said.

  The solicitor opened her mouth again, then shut it. Flicked a few pages in the file and closed it. Her file was thicker than the murder file being compiled by Lottie’s team. Time to cut to the chase.

  ‘Mr Gallagher, earlier today you appeared on Good Morning Ireland. What was your reason for doing that?’

  ‘I want my wife’s killer found and you lot are sitting on your arses doing nothing except harassing me. I had to do something.’

  ‘You could be hindering our investigation.’

  ‘There’s nothing to hinder, because you’re doing fuck all.’

  Regan laid a demure hand on his arm. ‘Please, Mr Gallagher. Don’t answer unless I say so.’

  He brushed off her hand and laid his on the table.

  Lottie noticed how scrubbed his skin looked. Was she reading more into him than necessary? She saw the little cuts on his fingers.

  ‘Why didn’t you ask us for permission first?’

  ‘I’m a free citizen last time I checked.’
<
br />   For now, Lottie thought. ‘We’re trying to eliminate you from our investigation, so I’d like your permission to check your phone and to triangulate its whereabouts between six a.m. and nine a.m. yesterday.’

  A deep puce flushed up his cheeks and settled in the rings under his eyes. ‘You what?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  Regan butted in. ‘My client has no wish to—’

  ‘I can speak for myself,’ Gallagher said.

  ‘Please do,’ Lottie said.

  ‘My phone is my own private device. You have no business checking it. I’ve given you a full statement on my whereabouts yesterday morning, and I know you’ve checked with my colleagues and my boss. So why the hell do you need my phone?’

  ‘Covering all bases. Doing a proper investigation.’

  ‘While the scumbag who killed my wife is running around free?’

  ‘There are procedures to follow.’

  ‘Procedures my hole.’

  ‘So can we have your phone and permission to—’

  Her words were cut short by the smack of his phone on the table. ‘Here. Take it. Check all you want. I’ve nothing to hide.’

  In that instant, Lottie knew they’d find nothing incriminating.

  Boyd bagged the phone.

  She said, ‘I need you to tell me why Isabel wasn’t allowed a phone of her own and why she was kept a virtual prisoner in the house.’

  ‘You what? You’re losing your marbles, missus.’ He bunched up his hands before loosening them and placing splayed fingers downwards. ‘How many times do I have to repeat myself? Isabel didn’t want a phone. She had a car, didn’t she? So you can cut that prisoner crap.’

  ‘I still can’t understand the rush to do a television interview.’

  ‘I’ll do what I need to do to find who murdered my wife. And if I find him before you, which seems highly likely, I won’t be responsible for what I do to him.’

  ‘Did you really love her?’ She tried to wrong-foot him.