Little Bones: A totally addictive crime thriller

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘You think that’s where Michael would go? Misneach?’

  Dervla stared up into Lottie’s eyes, her face a mask of indifference but her eyes dark and ferocious. ‘That’s where he’d go if he wanted to hurt someone, or even bury a body.’

  76

  After she’d left Dervla, Lottie bumped into Boyd in the corridor.

  ‘Misneach Hill. Michael Costello might be headed there. He could already be there. Shit, Boyd, we might be too late.’

  ‘Slow down. I’ve scrambled air support from Baldonnell. There was a reported sighting of Costello’s car heading west from Ragmullin. A silver Tesla.’

  ‘What are we waiting for. Come on!’

  * * *

  The silver car had to be miles ahead of them.

  ‘Put your foot down, Boyd.’

  ‘What do you think I’m doing?’

  ‘How can he drive that fast?’

  ‘It’s a powerful vehicle. And this is a heap of shite.’

  ‘This is the newest in the fleet,’ she yelled, trying to hear herself above the siren. ‘Make it move.’

  The fields and trees whizzed past as Boyd floored the accelerator. Sirens blasted through her skull. The road narrowed the further they drove and it seemed to her as if every farmer in the country had picked that exact moment to take their tractor out for a leisurely drive.

  ‘I can’t see him,’ she yelled. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ Boyd slowed the car, thumping the steering wheel. ‘He must have pulled in somewhere.’

  ‘Wait. Up ahead. Go! Turn right. Now!’

  Boyd swerved past the farmer in his John Deere hogging the centre line of the road.

  ‘Where am I going?’

  ‘Park. There. No! Fuck. Over there, Boyd. Are you blind?’

  ‘God almighty, Lottie. Stop shouting in my ear and I might be able to see.’ He pulled up in a ditch behind Costello’s Tesla.

  Lottie jumped out and raced to the car shaded under a canopy of trees. Unlocked. She tugged open all the doors.

  ‘Empty.’ She scanned her surroundings. ‘He’s gone up the hill. We have to follow.’

  ‘We need to wait for backup.’

  ‘You can stand there dithering if you want to. I’m not waiting.’ She fastened on her Kevlar vest and holstered her SIG Sauer, then took off up the mossy incline. She wasn’t hanging around for Boyd to make up his mind while a little boy was held in the arms of death.

  Michael Costello picked his steps carefully but still moved quickly.

  The kid was heavy, not helped by his thrashing legs beating into his hip bone. He should have tied up the little shit. Should have killed him before he left the house. But a dead weight was worse. He knew that.

  The memory of that night, however many years ago, was the root cause of this necessary re-enactment. He should never have listened to Joyce back then. Bury their daughter and walk away, she’d said. And that was what he had done, to his eternal regret. Then she’d had the cheek to come up with her blackmail plan, thinking she had fucked him over. No, sweetheart, you can’t fuck over the master controller. Ingenious to send her the envelope with the address inside to remind her she was also involved. And a blade to maybe slice an artery.

  The higher he climbed, the darker the evening fell around him. A fog slithered around his feet and he found it difficult to pick his steps.

  He moved on upwards. Sweating. Panting. The kid stopped fighting him and was silent, as if fear had numbed and dumbed him. Good.

  The tree loomed up ahead. White blossoms dotted the branches, with something circling about five metres from the trunk. Crime-scene tape.

  ‘What the hell,’ he muttered, dropping to his knees.

  He kept a firm grip on the boy, squeezing his fingers into his bony arms, and looked all around, searching. He’d been sure they’d already have left, their job completed, but were they waiting for him? Was this a trap? No. There’d been no garda vehicles present when he’d arrived. He stared back down the hill, retracing his path with his gaze.

  Imagination was a weird thing, he thought as he saw Joyce rising up from the fog. The bitch had come to haunt him. Impossible. He’d slit her throat and watched the blood seep from her body. No, it couldn’t be her. She was dead. The vision took form as the woman stood tall and trained a weapon on him.

  ‘It’s over, Michael. Let Evan go.’

  The detective.

  ‘He’s mine, and this is his final resting place.’

  ‘Bollocks to that. You’re surrounded, Michael. Release him.’

  That was when he heard the whirr of rotor blades above his head. A helicopter came into view, circling in the sombre sky.

  ‘Back off, or I’ll slice his throat.’ He brandished the knife. ‘He must rest where his sister had lain.’

  ‘I know what you’ve done, what you did to your little girl. Let your son go.’

  ‘Dream on, bitch. Come here and let me teach you the power of the blade.’ He held the knife high, knowing that one glorious swipe would be enough to end the life of the kid, and then he’d feel an exultation beyond comprehension.

  Perspiration bubbled on Lottie’s forehead and trickled down into her eyes. Her shirt stuck to her back beneath the Kevlar vest. Her feet slipped on the damp grass and her hands holding the gun shook violently. She tried to steady herself, but there was no way she could get a shot off without hitting the child. The bastard was using his own son as a shield.

  Boyd reached her, his leather shoes useless as he slid to a slippery stop.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ he whispered, breathless. ‘The helicopter is above us and the ARU are en route.’

  Lottie didn’t have time to wait for the Armed Response Unit. Costello had to be talked down now.

  She glanced up at the hovering helicopter. Costello had one hand raised, holding the knife, the child gripped to his chest with the other. The wind on the hill dipped as the helicopter flew away to one side. An icy stillness, a veil of fog shrouding the face of evil.

  ‘Listen to me, Michael. Your little girl is no longer buried on Misneach. We’ve taken her bones away. She’ll get a proper burial.’

  ‘You’re a bitch!’

  ‘Come on, Michael. It’s over. Let Evan go.’

  ‘It’s not over until I say so!’ he raged, his voice demonic, his smooth control lost forever.

  Her aim was to keep him talking until either she or Boyd could take a clean shot. ‘What did Isabel and Joyce do to you to cause all this?’

  ‘Stupid women. I had Joyce under my control. Then she betrayed me. The pair of bitches tried to blackmail me. Joyce should have known better. As if I’d pay any of my hard-earned cash to them! I’m superior to everyone.’

  ‘Were they blackmailing you over killing your own child or your drug smuggling business? Or both?’

  Costello’s face blanched under the glare of the helicopter spotlight.

  ‘Yes, Michael. We know all about your drug money. Surrender now. Let Evan come to me.’

  ‘You think I’m going to spend my life in jail because of those women and that skinny bastard Kevin.’ He screamed and raised the knife again.

  ‘Stop! No, Michael. Please. Kevin is alive.’

  His hand relaxed a little. ‘This all started with him. Kevin and Isabel … they must have coerced Joyce. I had her under my control. My control, you hear. And now this one will be under my control for ever as he rots to bone like his sister. I hate you all!’

  He opened his mouth wide and waved the knife at the sky as if beseeching a miracle from some god. The blade glinted under the cone of light from the helicopter, illuminating them like something from a Gothic horror movie.

  A blast rang out.

  The child screamed.

  The noise reverberated in Lottie’s ears, followed by a smack as the boy fell to the ground. She jumped. Surely Costello hadn’t … had he?

  ‘No!’

  All was silent then, save for the roar of rotors above their
heads. Michael Costello dropped the knife, his arm an explosion of blood and bone. Like a slow-motion reel, he fell to the ground.

  Lottie raced forward.

  Evan had rolled away under the crime-scene tape, coming to rest on the dug-up earth where his sister had been unceremoniously buried. Lottie took him in her arms and cradled him to her chest.

  Boyd ran to secure Costello.

  ‘Is he dead?’ she shouted, noticing the man’s hair swept back on his forehead by the force of the gunshot. Above his grey eyes, a thin scar ran along his hairline.

  ‘No, but he won’t be cutting anyone again.’

  She held Evan’s shivering body tight. ‘You’re okay now, pet. It’s all over.’

  ‘Arm hurts. I’m scared. Want my mummy. Want my teddy.’

  ‘I can get you your teddy, sweetheart. Ten teddies.’

  But how was she going to explain about his mummy? The trembling child in her arms had no one left in the world. He would end up in the care system, just as his mother had. For now, though, he was safe. That was the main thing. She had not failed him as others had.

  She felt her tears fall then, a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. They dropped one by one onto the little boy’s head.

  77

  Lynch sank into her chair. ‘I’m done with babysitting adults. I can’t wait to get home and relax in the mayhem of my own house.’

  McKeown pounced across the office like a cheetah. ‘If you ever rat me out again, so help me God, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.’

  ‘Screw you, McKeown, you cheating prick,’ Lynch said, breathing fire.

  ‘Fuck you.’ He stormed towards the door, grabbing Garda Brennan by the hand, propelling her out into the corridor with him.

  Kirby swivelled on his chair and whistled.

  ‘Why are you so happy?’ Lynch said. ‘Thought you fancied Martina?’

  ‘Careful there, or you’ll combust.’

  ‘I know who I’d like to see combust.’ She slapped files around on her desk before swiping them all to the floor.

  ‘Not I, hopefully,’ Kirby said dramatically. He craved a cigar to take the edge off the swirl of his emotions.

  Lynch ceased her tantrum and looked over at him. Really looked. ‘It was you, Kirby! I didn’t phone his wife, so it had to be you. You could’ve warned me.’

  He patted his shirt pocket. ‘I’m heading out for a smoke.’

  The door pushed inwards as Lottie and Boyd arrived.

  ‘Good job, well done.’ Kirby stepped back, cigar forgotten.

  Boyd fell onto the nearest chair, his hands still shaking.

  ‘Where’s the boy?’ Lynch said warily, hoping she wouldn’t have to babysit again.

  ‘At the hospital.’ Lottie felt her legs would collapse if she didn’t sit soon. ‘He’s bruised and has a broken arm. After that, I don’t know.’

  ‘Poor kid.’ Boyd rolled his jacket into a ball on his knee.

  Lottie heard the crinkle of the letter in his pocket and caught his eye. He lowered his head with a quick shake. Now wasn’t the time. But she had to know. Sooner, rather than later.

  ‘We got Isabel’s phone from Dervla Byrne’s fridge,’ Kirby said. ‘Messages on it between her and Joyce since her time working at Foley’s day care. The whole plot laid out. They were blackmailing Costello over his drug smuggling.’

  ‘They must have become friends then,’ Lottie said. ‘From the old cuts on Isabel’s body, it looks like Costello treated her like everyone else in his life. Jack really did save her from him when he convinced her to give up that job.’

  ‘McKeown received Gallagher’s financial records from Revenue,’ Kirby said. ‘Seems Jack made money from his freelance work, but he had a huge tax bill outstanding. That may have been his reason for being stingy at home.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Lottie said. ‘I still think it was a form of domestic abuse, the way he kept money from Isabel. Little did he know his wife was scheming to make her own fortune.’

  ‘Which ultimately led to her murder,’ Kirby said.

  Lottie felt her feet go numb and craved one of Rose’s hot dinners. ‘I think that’s enough for today, lads. We can continue this post-mortem tomorrow with a full-scale debrief.’

  ‘Pub, anyone?’ Kirby said.

  ‘If you’re buying.’ Lynch grinned.

  ‘That’ll be the day,’ Boyd said.

  ‘I’ll buy,’ Lottie offered, and wondered how she’d get through the evening watching them all get drunk. She remembered her fridge was full of Boyd’s beer which she’d left untouched. That thought might keep her going. She’d no intention of ever drinking again. Maybe. Maybe not.

  Epilogue

  Kevin’s eyes flashed open.

  He blinked rapidly, everything out of focus. He had no idea where he was or what had happened. He had the worst pain in his head he’d ever experienced and he couldn’t shake the dream.

  The foster home was the place Kevin thought he might be happy. The couple were older than he imagined parents should be, but no one could be worse than the people he’d encountered during his spell at the industrial school. His skin bore the raised lumps of belt beatings, all in places no one could see, unless he was stripped. He had no intention of ever stripping in front of anyone again. Frank and his wife looked like nice people. Not a bit like people who would make him bathe in front of them. He hoped not, anyhow.

  He was huddled in the bathroom while they talked to the social worker downstairs when he heard a hysterical laugh. He peered through the large old keyhole.

  An eye, so dark it might even be black but was probably navy blue, stared back at him. He jumped backwards, cracking his spine against the washbasin. He shrieked at the surge of pain.

  The handle twisted and he realised he hadn’t locked the door. There was no key in the lock, that was why.

  ‘Hello, new boy. Are you going to live with us?’

  ‘Don’t know yet.’

  She looked much younger than him, but she was tall and gangly, her hair cut unevenly – one side swept over her shoulder and the other up over her ear.

  ‘Oh, they’ll take you,’ she said knowingly. ‘They want the money. But you’ll get no cuddles or bedtime stories here.’

  ‘I’m too old for all that.’

  ‘No you’re not!’ She stuck her chest out. ‘I’m five, and I don’t want you here.’

  ‘We could be friends,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t want to be your friend.’

  He raised a shoulder. For some unexplained reason, he wanted this weird girl to like him. ‘I can learn to be a good friend. You can tell me your secrets and I’ll tell you mine.’

  ‘Will you kiss me?’ she said, sounding a lot older than she looked.

  ‘Ugh! Gross.’ He’d never kissed anyone in his life, nor been kissed. Not even by a mother or father.

  She turned up her nose. ‘Don’t want to kiss you any more, so I don’t.’

  ‘You’re weird.’

  ‘I’m not. Have you seen Michael, yet?’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘He’s the blade boy. He likes to watch when he makes me cut myself. He wants me to cut into my bones. He is weird.’

  ‘I don’t think I want to stay here.’

  ‘Cheer up. I bet you’ll like Misneach.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s a hill outside the town. Michael says it has evil spirits. It’s not that high up really.’

  ‘Think I’ll take my chances down on the ground.’

  ‘You’ll do what Michael says. What’s your name?’

  ‘I’m Kevin. What’s yours?’

  ‘Dervla. Nice to meet you, weird boy Kevin.’

  Her laugh followed him from the dark of his dream to his awakening.

  The pillow was soft against his head, but it didn’t ease the pain thrumming behind his eyes. His memory flashed again, of how Michael had abused him with blades. This recollection caused the pain to explode through his head. He put his hands arou
nd his skull to stop it, and felt a row of staples. He didn’t understand.

  The door opened.

  He half expected to see Dervla standing there, with her crooked hairstyle, like the first time he’d seen her through the keyhole. But it wasn’t her.

  ‘Hello, Kevin.’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘You know who I am?’

  ‘Isabel’s mother.’ He bit down on his tongue, trying not to add that he also knew she was his mother. Why was she here, after all this time?

  ‘The doctors say it’s a miracle you survived. You’re a lucky man.’ Her words got caught on her breath. ‘I want to say sorry, Kevin. For everything.’

  A chair scraped across the floor and she sat close, her scent enveloping him. It was strangely comforting.

  ‘It’s okay.’ He wasn’t sure he’d got the words out or that she’d even heard him.

  ‘I think you found AJ years ago, and you’re aware he’s your father. I’m your mother, Kevin. Why didn’t you talk to me? I could have helped you like you tried to help Isabel.’ She struggled to keep her voice even, and he wanted to reach out and hold her, but his hand wouldn’t move.

  ‘Kevin, I only found out about you this week. Who you are. I wanted to meet you and talk to you, but AJ warned me off. I’m so sorry he was ashamed of you. I would never have rejected you when you were born if it hadn’t been for him. He was greedy and selfish as a teenager. He still is.’ Her tears fell like silent raindrops.

  ‘I was forced to put you up for adoption. I was only seventeen. AJ didn’t stand up to his father. I know it’s no excuse, but I was weak and young, and it was a different time. I should have fought to keep you.’ She sobbed, covering his calloused hand with her own.

  ‘Don’t cry.’ His voice sounded like it came from above. Anita, his mother, swam in and out of focus. ‘I believe you. Saw how you loved Isabel. I tried to protect her from Michael. I watched her, but I was never strong enough to confront him.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself, son.’

  Son! At last he belonged to someone.