by Sam Blake
‘Come in. Mr and Mrs Quinn are inside.’
Fanning glanced at Cathy as Mira opened the living room door. The ‘Mr and Mrs’ sounded strange to Cathy’s ear. Everyone used first names in Ireland, but then she didn’t know anyone else who had a housekeeper.
*
Just like the last time they had been here, a fire was roaring in the grate. Orla Quinn was waiting for them, sitting on the sofa closest to it, her legs crossed, her mobile phone on the arm of the chair. At the far end of the room, Cathy got a better look at Conor Quinn than she had the last time she’d visited. He was standing staring out of the living room window, the tails of his jacket pushed back, his hands in his trouser pockets. He was broad shouldered, his dark hair immaculately cut and showing no signs of thinning, his jaw square, if a little soft. He had the type of looks that some women went mad for, but Cathy thought were just too pretty. His navy suit looked handmade but good clothes couldn’t dress up a bad temper. The tension was almost palpable. She’d noticed it the last time she was here as well.
‘Thank you for seeing us again. This is Detective Garda Jamie Fanning, he’s part of the team working on finding out what happened to Tom.’ Cathy addressed Orla, who started to stand. ‘There’s no need to get up, really.’
Orla fell back into the seat, as her husband Conor said, ‘Have you found out what happened? Who did this?’ It sounded more like a challenge than a question.
‘We’re making enquiries. We need to ask you both a few more questions if that’s OK?’
Cathy kept her voice level. Often when relatives had lost a loved one they looked around for someone to blame, and very often that was the very people trying to help them find answers. Everyone dealt with grief in different ways and Conor Quinn was obviously and understandably angry.
‘I don’t see what more we can tell you.’ His eyes narrowed as he scowled at Cathy, like she was the cause of the problem.
‘Please, Conor, they’re here to help.’ Orla stood up. ‘I’ll ask Mira to get some tea. Please sit down.’
Jamie Fanning held up his hands. ‘You sit down – I’ll look after the tea.’
Somehow he made it sound perfectly natural that he would give orders to their housekeeper. Cathy didn’t react. Orla was as pale as her cream silk shirt, obviously unable to focus on anything except the death of her son.
‘Thank you, would you mind? Mira’s just in the kitchen.’
As Fanning slipped out of the door, Conor Quinn turned around to look back out of the window again, rattling the change in his pocket.
‘Will this take long?’
Hiding her own thoughts, Cathy sat down on the sofa opposite Orla and pulled out her notebook.
‘I know how much of a shock this is for you both.’ She sat forward in the chair. ‘And I’m aware you were away, Mr Quinn. New York, was it?’
She’d been about to call him Conor but he was still scowling. He didn’t turn to acknowledge that she’d spoken; instead he addressed his answer to the window.
‘As I told you before. Washington and New York. I was only gone for five days and I come back to this . . .’ He said it as if it was somehow his wife’s fault.
‘A business trip?’ Cathy’s direct tone made him look around.
‘Yes, but I don’t see what that’s got to do with you. I was visiting a couple of radio stations. We’re looking at expanding.’
‘And when was the last time you saw Tom?’
‘Before I left last Sunday. We had dinner the night before. Orla was out. She’s always out, so it was just myself and Tom.’
‘And how did he seem?’
Quinn looked at her like she was stupid. ‘Exactly the same as normal, he was talking about college, about an assignment he was doing.’
‘You’ve given us a list of his friends at college, thank you for that.’ Cathy turned to Orla. ‘Did he mention anyone in particular? We need to start by talking to his close friends.’
Cathy kept her face neutral. She wanted to see if Tom’s parents mentioned Lauren O’Reilly.
Orla looked a little lost. ‘I’m not sure, he had lots of friends . . . He talked about Olivier Ayari a lot, about him being very bright but a bit nerdy. Tom liked him. I think he was fascinated by him and his brother. I only met them briefly at the Ayari Building launch. Oliver seemed quite quiet compared to Xavier, they are completely different.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Do you remember, Conor, you were talking to Xavier for ages?’ She turned back to Cathy. ‘Their family paid for the building. I think Tom said that they’d bought a property on the Vico Road as well. They must be planning to spend time here at some point.’
Anna Lockharte had told Cathy that they had a house in Killiney as well. ‘Anyone else? Girlfriends?’
Orla shrugged, her eyes filling. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t think of anyone.’ She seemed genuinely at a loss.
‘Would the name Lauren O’Reilly sound familiar to you at all?’
Orla frowned, thinking hard. ‘It does actually . . . Isn’t she the girl who interned with you, Conor, at Life Talk. I’m sure it is?’ Orla looked around at her husband. ‘Conor? Lauren O’Reilly? I’m sure that was her.’
As if he’d only just heard her, Quinn turned and shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. I don’t keep track of the interns. I’ll have to ask the station manager to check—’
Orla interrupted him. ‘The pretty girl. You must remember her. Blonde. It was when Tom was working there too – she’s doing the same course as Tom at Trinity.’
Cathy looked over at Conor Quinn. ‘Mr Quinn? Did Tom talk about her to you?’
‘I don’t think so – maybe. I don’t know. What’s she got to do with Tom anyway?’
‘We don’t know at this stage. Could they have been in a relationship?’ Cathy looked at Orla.
‘I think he’d have mentioned her if they were. I mean he did mention her occasionally, but in a more general context, I think they hung around together in a group.’ Orla reached down beside the sofa and pulled a tissue from a box on the floor, dabbing her eyes. ‘He was just enjoying his time in college so much, he had a lot of friends.’
‘Do you think he could have been meeting Lauren in the village on Thursday night? Could she have been the reason he went out?’
For the first time since Cathy had arrived, Conor Quinn seemed to engage with the conversation, interrupting her.
‘I do remember her now, I think. She was dating some thug from the inner city when she was working with us. Real gurrier. Used to pick her up in a four-wheel drive after work. Could he have something to do with this? Have you asked her?’
‘I’m afraid we can’t ask her, Mr Quinn. Her body was found on rocks below Dillon’s Park yesterday.’
‘Oh my God.’ Orla’s gasp was one of pure shock.
*
Outside in the car, Fanning fired up the engine as Cathy buckled her seat belt.
‘That went well.’ Fanning glanced up at the house as he turned the car around.
‘There’s a lot of tension there between Orla and Conor Quinn, whatever’s going on. But what the hell happened to you? How does it take twenty minutes to make tea?’
Fanning glanced over to her, a sly look on his face. ‘I was chatting to Mira about the inner workings of the Quinn household.’ He raised his eyebrows and threw her a knowing look – a bloody irritating knowing look. ‘Let’s get out of here and I’ll tell you.’
He pulled the car down the gravelled drive, glancing in the rear-view mirror as he rounded the corner to the gates. They were already sliding open as they approached.
Cathy sat back in her seat. ‘So . . .?’
‘So, reading between the lines, it sounds like Mira does everything, basically keeps the wheels moving on the Quinn household machine. She does all the cooking and the washing and virtually brought Tom up. She books all Conor’s trips and makes sure his shirts are laundered. Orla works from an office upstairs but even when she’s in the house, they rarely see her.�
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Pulling out of the gates and swinging left, he headed back to the station as he continued.
‘She said Conor Quinn works really hard, that the radio station is starting to do really well. Both parents are a bit work obsessed but I suppose it pays the bills. They wanted Tom to go into one of the companies, Mira says, except Tom wasn’t keen.’
‘Was that a source of tension?’
He shrugged. ‘Long time till he’d have to worry about a real job. Amazing house, private education, housekeeper. Takes the pressure off a bit.’
Cathy corrected him. ‘Young attractive housekeeper.’
Fanning raised his eyebrows but kept his eyes on the road. ‘Yes, I noticed that too.’
‘So . . .’ She rolled her hands theatrically. ‘Is Conor Quinn usually that bad tempered?’
Fanning shrugged, chewing his lip. ‘She said his plane was delayed so when he got home he was already in a foul temper. He gets terrible jet lag apparently. She said he didn’t take the news about Tom well at all, but how could you?’
‘What about Tom, what did she have to say about him?’
Fanning changed gear. ‘She said she thought Tom was very happy. She corroborated what his mum said about him going for walks sometimes at night, that she thought it was because he was studying too hard and needed the air. No particular pattern to them although he seemed to go out between eight and nine quite often, sometimes later. She didn’t think he was dating anyone. She’s absolutely shocked to be honest, she was shaking while I was talking to her. She seems to be very close to them all.’
‘How long has she worked for them?’
‘Since Tom was small, she came as a nanny but she went to college here, did night classes. I get the impression she’s very bright. She said she left Sarajevo when she was about fifteen.’
‘During the war?’
Fanning indicated to pull into the yard behind the Garda station, pausing while the security gates opened for a van coming out.
‘Yes, she clammed up a bit about that. Her family were refugees. It sounded tough.’
‘Did she recognise Lauren’s name?’
‘She didn’t know her specifically, said Tom had lots of friends, of both sexes. But he didn’t really bring people home.’
‘I’m interested in these walks he seemed to take at night. When I spoke to her originally Mira said she thought she’d heard him go out a bit before eight. But Orla thought he was home by eleven. So he needed to have left the house again in order for the accident to have happened. Could he have gone out twice?’
‘I suppose it depends where he went the first time.’ Fanning flicked on his indicator. ‘If he did meet Lauren and she ended up falling off the cliff for whatever reason, he could have panicked and come home, and then got worried he might have left something behind and gone out again to check? Wouldn’t be the first time a killer has gone back to the crime scene.’
Chapter 13
Saturday, 2 p.m.
As Anna Lockharte pushed open the front door to her apartment her phone pipped with a text: Send on. What do?
Her niece had a mastery of text speak that never failed to make her laugh. But perhaps it wasn’t classic text speakery but rather Hope’s take on it. With a Mensa level IQ and a whole bundle of anxiety issues that matched Anna’s own, Hope was a very special girl. And she had such a dry wicked sense of humour that she could keep Anna entertained for hours just with a description of her day. Which was probably what Anna needed today. Her plan to take her mind off Tom and Lauren, to get out of the apartment and focus on her marking, had been a total failure this morning. By twelve o’clock she’d decided she might as well be miserable somewhere more comfortable than her office, somewhere where she could eat ice cream and watch an old movie and try and work through her grief.
But ‘What do?’ was a good question. What do indeed? Anna dropped her handbag and papers in the hall and looked at her screen again. Clicking through to her email, she forwarded the message about the conference to Hope with the details of the virus warning her system had flashed up, asking if she could check it out. If there really was something weird about the email she’d received, Anna was sure Hope would spot it.
As she waited for the email to land and Hope’s reply, Anna went into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle, heading back to her bedroom and changing into her oversized New York Yankees sweatshirt. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and wrapped it deftly into a messy knot, copper curls trying to escape like springs. Being at home was a much better idea than trying to distract herself in her office.
In the living room, she put her tea and laptop down beside her and sat back on the sofa, flexing her shoulders. A shaft of rare winter sun fell on Hope’s silver-grey cat, Minou, who was stretched out to her fullest capacity right in the middle of the floor. Anna took a moment to turn her face into the rays. The apartment was all glass and steel, low maintenance, and with only two bedrooms it was small but airy and bright. And the living room was her favourite room – on the end of the block, two of its walls were glass, with electric curtains that ensured her privacy, and a recessed gas fire that meant she was never cold. One thing she missed about New York, Paris and London was the sunshine. Dublin was wonderful in many ways, but it really wasn’t very warm. And when you got a day like today, the sky azure blue, the sun streaming in, Ireland was the most amazing place to be on earth, and you just needed to enjoy the moment.
Closing her eyes, Anna suddenly felt her sadness manifesting in a physical lump in her chest. It might be a beautiful day but two of her students wouldn’t ever be able to enjoy the sunshine again. Her eyes filled with tears.
Tom’s face – his laughing blue eyes and thick ink-black hair – jumped into her mind. What had he been involved in that Lauren had got caught up in, that could lead her to contemplate, let alone commit, suicide?
Had she been pregnant? Had she and Tom had a relationship and she’d gone to tell him, and he’d dumped her that night? Anna knew about the Magdalene laundries, about the shame of unplanned pregnancy that had left an indelible stain on Irish history, that even today some families found it hard to cope with. Had she been so frightened of her parents’ response that Tom’s reaction had literally sent her over the edge? That seemed utterly ridiculous in this day and age, but perhaps Lauren thought that getting pregnant was truly catastrophic for her?
Anna didn’t know if the Guards would be able to tell her, but if pregnancy was the cause of all this, surely it would have shown up in the post-mortem? Perhaps it had, and that’s why they had asked her about Lauren’s relationships?
She took a long slow breath, focusing on her mug of green tea. Focus. Breathe. In for the count of five, out for the count of seven. She could feel the physical symptoms of anxiety building in her stomach, a feeling that she knew would make her feel physically sick and unable to eat if she didn’t get on top of it. Focus. Breathe. She put her tea down again and put her face in her hands as she leaned forward, her elbows resting on her thighs.
So many things suddenly seemed unimportant – like Xavier’s message, also waiting to be dealt with in her inbox. Focus. Breathe.
This worked, she knew it worked, she just had to breathe.
The beautiful little book about mindfulness and breathing that Rob had given her was on her bedside table. His face appeared in her mind as she thought about it. Rob Power, who understood her totally and whom she loved passionately, but whom she could never admit to loving. His position in the security services made any hope of them developing a proper relationship impossible; that, and the fact that he was married, however unhappily.
It was at moments like this that she wished so hard that he could be here to hold her.
She’d learned to live with their distance but Anna knew she would have moved continents to be a part of his life. Perhaps they would kill each other if they ever had more than a few hours together but until they tried they would never know, and in the back of her mind she’d always want
ed to try. They were a perfect fit in so many ways but the constraints of his situation prevented him from connecting with her properly. He was part of her past, but Anna secretly hoped that he was also a possibility for her future.
It was all so complicated. From the moment they’d met at her sister Jennifer’s wedding she had been pulled towards him. And the pull had grown stronger whenever they’d met at a family gathering. And all the times they’d found to catch up for lunch when Rob happened to be in her part of the world. After the Skype chats and the phone calls – all supposedly work related, of course. But falling in love with your new brother-in-law’s sister’s husband wasn’t a good game plan. And if Charles’s sister Rebecca had any idea that her husband might have found someone else – well, Anna didn’t want to think about that. They didn’t have children but that didn’t make the situation any better. That first night, the night they’d met at Charles and Jennifer’s wedding in the Hamptons, she and Rob had ended up sitting out the dancing at the same table, talking into the small hours, discovering common ground between his job and her PhD thesis, before they’d even realised they loved the same films, had the same favourite book.
She sighed deeply, listening to Minou’s rhythmic purring, the sound magnified by the hardwood floor. The cat had rolled over closer to the sofa, her soft belly like grey velvet. Perhaps one day Rob would be free. Until then the book he’d given her, with its pale blue cover and charming Victorian engravings, calmed her whenever she looked at it, and whenever she felt really stretched or overwhelmed she reached for it, absorbing the author’s advice word for word. It had been a gift at a time in her life when she had felt that everything was falling apart, and that little book had felt like a lifebuoy.
But it couldn’t solve her current worries – the tragic loss of two young lives.
And then, on top of everything, there was Xavier’s email. He really gave her the creeps. But why was she worrying about that? In the grand scheme of things how important was it? Tom’s and Lauren’s families were grieving and she was worrying about getting hit on by a student. Let’s get real here. She was sure she could delay answering until she was ready and Xavier would just think she was busy. Instinctively she always responded to her inbox immediately, but this could definitely wait.
