by Claire Allan
‘You must try not to get yourself too upset,’ Cliona said, a worried look on her face. ‘Let’s wait until the police have spoken to him. Get all the information. It’s not wise to jump to conclusions. I know this is horribly distressing for you, but you’re still very vulnerable. I can speak to one of the nurses or the doctor to see if they’ll give you a sedative, maybe.’
I shook my head. I didn’t want a sedative. I didn’t want to be taken away from all this only to have it swoop back in again when I woke, like a fresh cut. I thought of that woman. Clare Taylor. How she’d looked at me. Resigned to the fact that she was dying. I saw the light go out in her eyes. Could someone I’d treated as if he were one of my own really have left a human being in that state – butchered, carved up and left to die?
I shook my head, sniffed. Tried to compose myself.
‘No. I need to know what’s happening,’ I said, even though I was weak and tired and really wishing that right now the light would go out in my own eyes. I’d had enough.
I’d lost too many people to tragedy. Seen too much hurt. In the theatres when I was nursing. On the farm. Losing my husband. Losing my children. Now, I could lose Michael and my grandchildren. If this was karma paying me back, she was a cruel mistress.
If only I’d known in the past, when things had seemed so bright, how it would all turn out …
I closed my eyes. Remembered the two little people playing in the yard, laughing together. Teasing each other mercilessly but with great affection. I remembered watching them through the window, the smell of my home baking making my tummy rumble. The feeling of my husband behind me, his arms slinking around my waist, him kissing the back of my neck and then joining me in watching our children play.
‘This is the life,’ he’d said.
I’d never felt as content in my life as I did in that moment. I felt untouchable – how wrong had I been?
DI Bradley came back into the room. I was scared of what he’d say to me.
‘We’ve gone to your son-in-law’s house and he’s not there. Nor is he at work. Can you think of anywhere else he might be?’
‘What time is it?’ I asked.
‘Just before three,’ Cliona said.
‘The school,’ I told him, my stomach sinking. ‘He’ll be picking the children up from school. St Patrick’s.’
‘And his car? Can you describe it? Do you know the vehicle registration? Don’t worry if you can’t, we can check with the DVLA. This might just be quicker.’
My thoughts were all so jumbled. My brain hadn’t knitted all my memories back into place yet. But I knew his car was silver. A Toyota. I couldn’t give any more details than that.
‘Thank you,’ DI Bradley said, putting his phone back to his ear and passing the information on to his colleagues.
He hung up and stood awkwardly at the end of my bed.
‘I’m so very sorry, Elizabeth,’ he said.
All I could do was nod.
‘The children?’ I asked.
‘My team will be as discreet as possible,’ he said. ‘They’re aware that he’s picking the children up and that other children will be present. They’ll have informed the school and have liaison officers in place. The children will be looked after, so try not to worry. I know that sounds impossible.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Elizabeth, I have to ask, have you had any reason at all to suspect Michael before now? Have you witnessed any behaviour that might have indicated a violent nature? His relationship with your daughter?’
I shook my head. No matter how I ran it through my head, I couldn’t say that until a few minutes ago I’d ever considered him capable of hurting anyone. He was as gentle as Laura had been. But did everyone have their limit? Did everyone have a breaking point in the right circumstances? Were we all capable of horrendous crimes if pushed far enough?
‘And he’s the only person you can think of who’d have had access to your home, to your photographs? Who would have known the intimate details of how Laura died and about the flowers. Someone who’d have known about her classmates.’
‘I think so,’ I muttered, becoming aware of Cliona shifting awkwardly in her seat.
‘Elizabeth …’ she began, but we were interrupted by the ringing of DI Bradley’s phone.
He answered it, his eyes on me as he spoke.
‘Right, well that’s enough for an arrest in itself. Oh … okay. Good. Good. Get him booked in and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Any mention or sign of her? No? Okay. Right. See you soon.’
I felt as if the air had been pulled from my lungs and I gripped Cliona’s hand tightly.
‘Michael O’Neill’s in police custody now, Elizabeth. And I’m sorry to have to tell you, my team have uncovered some evidence that appears to link him directly to Rachel Walker.’
I didn’t think my heart could break any more. Oh, Michael, I thought, what have you done?
Chapter Fifty
Rachel
‘What do you mean, you’ve not told me the truth?’ I asked Michael.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you think I mean? You’re a smart woman; you must have figured it out by now. I’ve been lying to you all this time. People like to write me off as stupid. But I’m not a stupid man.’
He stood up again, walked back and forth across the classroom. He still had the knife in his hand and I couldn’t help but flinch each time he came close to me.
He crouched down beside me. ‘Don’t be scared, Rachel. I’ll be gentle,’ he said before pulling himself to standing and walking back across the room.
He seemed to be thinking and I heard him laugh before he turned to look at me again.
‘You know nothing about me. Nothing about the real me. Michael O’Neill isn’t even my real name. I know him, of course. We were good friends, you know. Before Laura died.’
My head hurt. My body ached. I could feel pain shift and move from my arms to my legs to my head. I was just so tired now. What little energy I’d had was seeping from me, as was any hope of being saved.
‘So who are you?’ I asked.
‘I’m not sure I should tell you,’ he said, pacing back and forth again.
I was sure I heard the sound of a helicopter in the sky. Most likely the police. Dare I hope they were looking for me?
Michael, or whatever his damn real name was, heard it, too.
‘You’ve got to give them extra points for trying,’ he said coldly. He pulled his chair closer to me and sat down again. ‘Maybe you could guess who I am. So I’ve told you I’m not Michael O’Neill – and I have to say I’m surprised you never made the connection between that surname and Laura. Didn’t you think it an odd coincidence?’
I didn’t want to tell him that until the last few days I hadn’t thought about Laura O’Loughlin in years, let alone wonder if she’d married and changed her name. I stayed quiet.
He shook his head. ‘Silly, naive, self-obsessed Rachel. Never looks beyond the end of her own nose. Is it any wonder your husband found another woman?’
I wanted to cover my ears. I bowed my head, tried to make myself as small as possible.
‘Look at me, Rachel,’ he said.
I stayed staring at the floor until I felt the tip of his knife at my chin, urging my head upwards.
‘I said look at me!’
I raised my head, blinked and looked at him. This mystery man hell bent on revenge.
‘It doesn’t matter who I am, don’t you realise that? I might as well have stopped existing the day she died anyway. Everything changed. I realised that I didn’t matter. All everyone could think about was poor Laura. Even our own mother. It didn’t matter to her that she still had one living child. I became invisible to her. Do you know what that felt like, Rachel? To lose my sister, to lose my mother, too? And all of it because of you and your stupid friends. For a long time I wasn’t strong enough to do this, but I am now, Rachel.
‘I’ve been planning this for a long time. Watching and w
aiting. Following you all – playing the game. Do you really think it was a coincidence that it was my mother who found Clare on the road that morning? That was a key part of all this. To give her the justice she’d been denied. I wanted her to see what I’d done to the person who hurt Laura so badly. Now it’s time to finish what I started. And my mother will see me now. She’ll forgive me for the person I became. I won’t be invisible any longer.’
The thrum of helicopter blades overhead distracted me. They appeared to distract him, whatever his name was, too. He looked up and walked to the window, pulling back one of the boards just a fraction to try to see out.
This was perhaps the one chance I’d have. I scrambled across the room, half crawling, half walking as I tried to pull myself to an upright position. The door to the classroom was open and I knew if I could get out, there was just the slightest chance I could get away. I’d have to hope I knew the twists and turns of these corridors and school buildings better than he did.
I was holding my breath, afraid that any noise would cut over the sound of the helicopter and attract his attention. I’d just managed to turn right and start to run towards the stairs, when I heard him bellow my name.
I ran as fast as I could in the darkness, in the dank, sweaty smell of this crumbling building, and I hoped I could outrun him, because I knew without a shadow of a doubt that when he caught me, he’d make sure that I’d never be able to run from him again.
Chapter Fifty-One
Elizabeth
DI Bradley left. Told me that another police officer would come and sit with me, to ask me a few questions. I sat shell-shocked, with Cliona by my side.
‘Elizabeth,’ she said, ‘I’m going to ask you something now that may be distressing for you. But I feel that given everything that’s happening, I do need to ask.’
I looked at her. I couldn’t imagine anything she’d ask me or say to me could be more distressing than what had already unfurled that afternoon.
‘Do you think that anyone else could possibly have gained access to that photo? Anyone at all who might already have a history of violence?’ She spoke softly.
I shook my head.
‘Elizabeth, I’ve seen your file. I know about Aaron. What happened to you. What he did. Do you think there’s any chance it could be him?’
I shuddered at the mention of his name. I’d not allowed myself to say it, or even think it, since the day and hour he’d left. But no, surely it couldn’t be Aaron? He was long gone. He’d left over a year and a half before. He wouldn’t dare risk coming back.
I had no idea where he was and I didn’t care to know. I never wanted to see his face again. My arm ached, as if the muscles tensed at the memory of that day, and of the days before it.
‘He’s long gone,’ I said. ‘He said he’d never be back.’
‘Could he have changed his mind? He would have known about the picture, about Laura,’ Cliona said. ‘He hurt you before, Elizabeth.’
I started to cry. I hadn’t wanted to think about him.
‘I just think … if there’s even a chance, you should let the police know. You didn’t report the assault last time …’
‘He’s my son,’ I said, which I knew was a pathetic reason for not reporting him.
Especially after how he’d left me, but I had known he was hurting. He was grieving just as I was. But in a different way, and I’d closed down, let him down, so he took that anger out on me. He’d been so remorseful. Promised to leave and never come back. Even before he’d been ordered out of the country by shady forces who’d got wind of how he’d left his mother half dead.
‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘But is there even a chance he’s come back? I assume he’d have access to your house, too?’
He probably had a key, but I’d have known if he’d been in the house, wouldn’t I? And the police said there was a link between Michael and Rachel. So it couldn’t be Aaron. He was still gone. I was still safe.
‘You know that I’m bound by confidentiality,’ she said, ‘but in this case, I feel I have to bring this information to the police. Simply because there’s a woman in immediate danger.’
I wanted to block out what she was saying. What I was thinking. That a child of mine could be capable of such evil. I knew it was a warped logic, but I could take it if it was just against me. I’d deal with that. But if he’d hurt those women … If he was the sick mind behind those notes … I felt sick to my core.
I’d done everything I could to push him out of my head over the last eighteen months. I’d cleared out his bedroom. It was now just filled with boxes, pieces of furniture that no longer had a place in my house.
I’d tried to forget every detail about him, even the good memories. Even the bright smile on his face as a child. All I could see was the hatred in his eyes the night he’d almost killed me.
I still woke from my sleep, my body rigid in shock and pain as I relived how I’d hit every stair on the way down. How he’d screamed at me, spittle hitting my face as he’d told me I was the worst mother God had ever placed on the planet and that Laura was lucky to be dead. ‘She probably did it to escape you,’ he’d screamed at me as I lay on the floor at the bottom of the steps, as he kicked my already bruised and twisted arm so that I heard it break, felt the jagged bone tear through my flesh.
I’d looked through swollen and bruised eyes to see it jut from my skin. I’d been too shocked to feel pain in that moment. But it had been for just a moment – and then the pain had come screaming in.
The stale smell of beer and vodka on his breath. Drunk again, as he seemed to be every day. I’d simply asked him to get up and freshen up. To think about doing some jobs around the farm. Keep busy. It would do him no good to wallow.
He’d reacted like a man possessed. It wasn’t even as if he was looking at me, more like he was looking right through me.
‘You never stop,’ he’d said. ‘Nothing is ever good enough,’ he’d said.
I’d walked away, into my room, and I heard him get up, move about. I’d been relieved. Thought that maybe despite his bitter words, he’d heeded something of what I’d said.
But when I’d started to make my way down the stairs, he was there, on the landing, dressed. His heavy work boots on.
‘Are you happy now? Is this enough now? Do you need to nag more?’
I should have walked away. I should have kept my mouth shut. I’d learned before that when he was drinking, I did well to keep my stupid mouth shut. But I couldn’t help it.
I’d turned to face him. Months of frustration and grief and worry stumbled from my lips.
‘Oh, grow up, Aaron.’
I’d felt the full weight of his boot, kicking, pushing me backwards. I couldn’t stop myself from falling. I’d tried to grab onto something, anything, as I fell, but when I did manage to grasp onto the carpet, I felt the same boot crush down on my hand. I’d pulled my hand away in pain, losing any purchase I had to stop me from falling, and I slid to the bottom of the stairs, the carpet fibres burning my face as they tore at my skin.
He left me there, on the ground, for two hours. Two hours before he loaded me into his car and, overcome with remorse, sobbed all the way to the hospital. I think he wanted me to tell him it was okay, that I forgave him, but I couldn’t. In that moment, and may God forgive me for saying it, but in that moment, I hated him. I wanted him gone.
I was tired of combining grief with fear. I wouldn’t let him make me think I’d driven Laura to her death. By the time I was discharged from hospital, he was long gone. Seems word of what he’d done to me had got around and he’d had a visit from a group of ‘community activists’, who gave him just twenty-four hours to get out of Derry.
‘Elizabeth?’ Cliona said gently. ‘Just in case?’
I nodded, slowly. I couldn’t run from the monster I’d created any more.
Cliona filled Constable King in when she arrived a short time later.
‘Elizabeth, have you suspected your son might be
involved before now? Have you kept this from us?’
Her tone was soft but there was no doubt that she wasn’t impressed.
I started to panic. ‘I didn’t mean to,’ I said. ‘No, he’d gone. Been warned not to come back unless he wanted a bullet in his head. He was elsewhere. I didn’t think of him. Not until Cliona mentioned it.’
But a part of me knew I was lying to myself. A whisper of a memory crept back. Of my being wheeled out of the house on the stretcher. Of the ‘ghost’ I’d wondered if I’d seen in the doorway. Had it just been too horrific to contemplate? Had I ignored it or blocked it out?
‘Elizabeth was diagnosed as suffering from PTSD following the attack she sustained at the hands of her son and the death of her daughter,’ Cliona said. ‘She may have been unable to make the connection herself.’
Constable King got straight on her phone back to base, relayed the information and the description of Aaron I’d given. She left the room to talk and I broke down once again.
‘I didn’t think. I just didn’t think,’ I said. ‘What if it is him? What if I could have stopped it all before it happened? If I’d reported him back then?’
Cliona just held my hand. Told me that at least the police knew now. They could look now.
Constable King came back into the room a few minutes later.
‘Elizabeth, I know that you aren’t well, but it would be very useful to us if you could answer some questions.’
I nodded. I’d do whatever I could. But first I had to know.
‘Has Rachel Walker been found yet?’
Constable King shook her head.
‘And Michael, and my grandchildren? What’s happening?’
‘The children are safe. They’re being taken to Michael’s parents. There’s a social worker there and you’re not to worry. DI Bradley’s also asked me to assure you that your dog’ll be taken care of. Officers are going to search your son-in-law’s home now and they’ll make sure Izzy has a safe place to stay. Mr O’Neill’s denying all responsibility or knowledge.’
I nodded.
