by Claire Allan
‘Can you think of anywhere that might mean something to Michael? Does he own any other property? Have any storage units? A work space to which only he has access?’
I shook my head. ‘Not that I know of. I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘There are some old outhouses at the farmyard still.’
‘Police have been searching those,’ she said. ‘They’ve not uncovered anything out of the ordinary.’ She glanced down at her notes. ‘And his silver Avensis, the Toyota. Is that his only vehicle that you know of?’
I nodded. ‘He kept hold of Laura’s car, but then … well, he gave it to Aaron.’
I saw her eyebrows rise. ‘And what kind of car was that?’
I tried to remember. It was red, I knew that much. A Renault, I thought.
‘I don’t know the registration,’ I said. ‘But it was a Renault.’
‘Any idea of the model?’ she asked.
I shook my head. ‘Only that it was a saloon car, not a hatchback. And red.’
‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘The more information we have, the better our chances at getting to Rachel Walker. We’ve had a witness come forward who believes she may have seen Rachel with a man who wasn’t her husband. She’s given a description of his car.’
I nodded. ‘And you said you’d found a link between Michael and Rachel?’
‘We’ve found that Michael was taking a class at the NWRC in creative writing, which Rachel Walker tutored on a Thursday night. Were you aware of that?’
I paused for a moment. That didn’t add up. On Thursday nights, Michael went to a bereavement support group. He never missed it. It was specifically for people who’d been bereaved by suicide. I told Constable King this, gave her what details I could remember.
‘He’d even asked me to go with him a few times,’ I said, more confused than ever. ‘He said he thought it might help me.’
‘If you’ll excuse me again, I’ll just phone in this new information,’ Constable King said and left the room.
‘You look worn out,’ Cliona said to me. ‘I think you should take a break.’
‘But I’d never forgive myself,’ I said, ‘if that poor woman’s dead and it’s because of my stupidity. I’ll never forgive myself.’
Chapter Fifty-Two
Rachel
The tiles were slippery beneath my feet. I grabbed hold of the banisters of the stairs to stop myself from falling. I couldn’t afford to take it slowly, or watch my step. I had to move as fast as I could. This school, stretched across three buildings, each from a different era, was a warren of classrooms and corridors linking them together. The oldest building, to my right as I ran, had been converted from old outhouses.
There were stairways there to an upper floor that only those really familiar with the school would have been able to find. But if they were blocked up now, I’d quickly run out of space and find myself at a dead end. The newest building, to my left, held what had once been a darkroom as well as a host of storerooms and offices. Perhaps, I thought, I could hide there. But I’d have to run a considerable distance in plain sight to get to it. I knew I had to get to the safest place possible, as quickly as I could. Instead, I opted to run towards the assembly hall at the front of the school.
I vaguely remembered that there was a storage area under the stage. If I could get there, if I could hide out in a place he may not be able to find, perhaps I’d stand a chance. Or maybe I’d just be imprisoning myself further.
On the off-chance the front doors to the school had been breached before, I ran at them, ramming into them shoulder first, trying to get them to move. They didn’t budge, but the echo of my body slamming against the wooden hoarding echoed through the cavernous halls and I heard a voice echo back.
‘Come out, come out, wherever you are …’
The worn carpet was damp and sticky beneath my feet, the building crumbling after years of neglect, the echo of his voice bouncing off the walls making it difficult to assess just exactly where he might be. I looked up, around, hoping for a glint of light. A broken window. A splintered door. If I could get out, I’d be on the main road back into Derry in seconds. It was bright, traffic would be busy.
I rattled the heavy wooden doors to my left, those that led into the assembly hall, and was able to make my way in. The high-varnished sheen of the floor had long dulled. Echoes of my past were everywhere. The faded posters on the wall, the once plush red velvet curtains sagging, moth-eaten. Only the thinnest slivers of sunlight lit the otherwise tomblike space and I swore I could feel the ghosts of times past. Of that first day at school. When I sat on that floor and Clare and Julie sat beside me and we found each other. We found friendship.
We’d never meant to hurt anyone. We’d never realised how Laura was feeling. I’d never thought she wanted to be a part of our group. Or had I? If I were honest with myself, could I realistically say that? Poor Laura. Poor, poor Laura. We were so young and immature and selfish in the way that only teenagers can be. I could see now how we hurt her. It wasn’t intentional, but I couldn’t deny it. We could’ve reached out to her but it was easier not to. She was different, wasn’t she? Odd.
But my heart ached for her and guilt washed over me. Had we been partly to blame for her taking her own life, for being so damaged?
Had Clare really done what Michael was accusing her of? I’d never be able to ask her. She was gone. He could say what he wanted. You can’t libel the dead. I thought of us all as eleven-year-olds, sitting on that floor. And how it had gone so wrong. Laura and Clare were both gone and I was sure I’d be next. Would Julie be luckier?
And this man, who I swore I could feel bearing down on me, her brother? A man I’d grown to love.
A monster.
I reached the stage, kicked at the doors leading to the under-stage storage. Wept and yelled in pain and frustration when they wouldn’t budge, either. My body ached and I wasn’t sure I had much strength left, but I wasn’t ready to give up yet. I had to keep fighting.
I remembered there was a doorway on the stage itself. I was sure, if I could haul myself up, I could get to it. As long as he didn’t know I was here, as long as he wasn’t behind me, I could get to it and be safe. I could no longer hear him call me any more. I hoped he’d run down the wrong corridor, was looking elsewhere.
My arm was bruised, useless. But I pushed through the pain to pull myself up onto the stage. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the wings, where I couldn’t be seen. Towards the stage door. With every step, all I could think was that I didn’t want to die. I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave my girls. I couldn’t let him win.
I reached my arm out to the door, ready to open it, knowing I was close to hiding somewhere where he was unlikely to find me. I was almost there. Almost.
My fingertips just reached the tarnished silver of the door handle, when it moved itself, the latch releasing, the door opening. I recoiled, fell backwards as the door opened fully and the shadow of an imposing figure stood over me, arm raised.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Rachel
The light blinded me. Bright, shining directly in my eyes. I raised my arm to shield my face as I tried to push myself backwards, across the stage and out of his way.
‘Please,’ I called out. ‘Don’t do this. Please.’
‘Miss?’ An unfamiliar voice spoke. ‘Miss. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m just … we had reports of a break-in …’
The figure turned the torch towards himself, and I saw a man wearing a slightly horrified expression and a security uniform standing just metres away from me.
‘Please, there’s a man here and he has a knife. He’s killed before,’ I stuttered.
The security man paled. Even in the darkness, I could see the colour drain from his face. He lifted a radio from the lapel of his work jacket and spoke into it.
‘Call 999 now. Police and ambulance. An armed man and a casualty, here at the old school site. I’m going to try to bring her out. It must be that missing woman they’re searching for
.’
A disembodied voice muttered something in return as I nodded to him. I couldn’t make out what the voice was saying. My heart was thumping too hard. All I could think was that we needed to get out and soon. I was sure Michael, or whatever his name was, would be on us at any second.
The security man took a step towards me, reached out an arm to me.
‘Can you stand? Can you walk?’
‘Yes,’ I stuttered. ‘But he’s near.’
‘We’ll get you out of here,’ he said, but I could detect the shake in his voice. ‘The police have been looking for you.’
He took my hand in his and pulled me to standing, paused for just a second and took in the sight in front of him. I dreaded to think how alarming I looked. He turned, arm raised again with his torch and led me through the stage door to the corridor directly behind it. There was no sign of Michael, but I knew he could appear at any moment.
‘This way,’ the security man said, motioning for me to follow him towards the end of the corridor.
I knew there was a door there that led outside, but was sure it would be locked tight, too.
‘I have a key,’ he said, reaching for a large bunch of keys attached to his belt.
He started to fumble through them while I kept glancing at the other end of the corridor. I willed the security man to be quicker, but I could see he was nervous, too. His hands shook as he searched through the keys, which jangled together.
‘Can you hold the torch for me?’ he asked and I took it, shining it down on the keys as he continued his search.
I almost collapsed with relief when he said: ‘Ah, this should do it,’ and slid a key into the lock.
We were almost there. If we could just get outside …
‘Damn!’ he muttered, rattling the key in the lock. ‘It’s sticking. Probably rusted.’
My heart sank.
He pulled the key out and crouched down to look through the keyhole, rattling the door loudly as he went.
Too much noise. We were making too much noise. I felt my fear grow stronger, my legs tremble.
Shoving the key back in the lock, he jiggled it and fought with it, swearing loudly.
‘Hurry, please!’ I said as he rammed at the door with his shoulder, trying to force it open.
A noise from my left-hand side distracted me. I spun around, pointing the torch to the opposite end of the corridor, and saw my captor bearing down on us, his eyes wild with fury.
Twenty feet away.
Fifteen.
Ten.
Then a tug at my arm as I was pulled through the now open door, onto the stone steps outside. The security man followed, pushing the door closed as quickly as he could, putting the full weight of his body against it to hold it shut while he turned the key in the lock from the other side.
I could hear Aaron scream and curse, smash his fists against the door, but he couldn’t get out. Not now. Not from that door, anyway.
But I knew he had his own way in and out, and it wouldn’t take him long to reach it.
‘This way,’ I shouted to the security man as he spoke quickly into his radio.
He followed me down the stone steps and we turned to run up towards the front entrance of the school grounds, where we’d be easily seen by passing traffic.
A white security van was sitting by the entrance and a woman in the same uniform as the man who’d found me jumped out, pulling off her jacket as she ran towards me, wrapping it round me when I reached her.
‘He’s still here,’ I called. ‘He’ll get us.’
‘Help is coming,’ she shouted.
And I could hear the thrum of the helicopter blades overhead again and the distant wail of sirens. My legs finally buckled and the two security staff led me to their van, just as the first police car turned into the grounds.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Elizabeth
The ward was quiet when I woke. Cliona had left and Constable King had gone for a break. She’d assured me she’d be back with any news. I’d managed to drift off for maybe half an hour, but although I was exhausted to my very core, I was too filled with adrenaline to sleep any longer.
There were two men in the frame for an unthinkable crime – two men who were both closely connected to me – two men I loved. My son-in-law, who I’d come to rely on, and my only son who, despite his many faults, at one time had been a good and caring man.
And all this had been connected to my beautiful but troubled daughter.
How had I got things so wrong? Had I been a dreadful parent? Was I ultimately to blame for what had gone so terribly wrong in both their lives and mine?
Maybe if I’d been there more for Michael. Maybe if I’d argued with the paramilitary henchmen who’d ordered Aaron from the country. If I’d reported him to the police that time. Yes, he’d have gone to jail, but maybe he’d have received help for his alcohol addiction, counselling for his anger and his grief over the death of his sister. He could have had a true fresh start. I’d been naive in thinking such anger and hatred would only ever be shown against me. That he wouldn’t focus it on other people. I’d been stupid to think I was a good mother by letting him go and not pressing charges.
I looked out of the window from my room in the South Wing of Altnagelvin Hospital at the cloudless blue skies, the rolling hills. At the cars moving along the road. A bus. People going about their ordinary business. I heard the chatter of the staff outside my room as they prepared to serve dinner.
And I thought about Rachel Walker. Thought of her family. Wondered if she was alive. Had she survived? Would she bear the physical and emotional scars I did for years to come?
I turned my head at a knock on my door. One of the staff nurses stood there, looking at me sympathetically. No doubt they’d all been made aware of the high drama coming out of my room. I was probably a great talking point in the staffroom.
‘Elizabeth, look, we don’t normally do this, but we’re aware today’s been an unusual and stressful day for you. We’ve a visitor here, says she’s your niece? Sister is prepared to let her in for ten minutes, but we’ll have to remind her of the visiting hours.’
I nodded. In truth, I’d almost forgotten about my sister and her daughter visiting given everything else that had been unfolding. It was strange it was just my niece who’d come to see me – we’d never been particularly close, but I didn’t feel I could turn her away given that she’d travelled so far to see me. Perhaps my sister was tired from the journey. Or resting, maybe. Or, knowing her, she’d taken one look at the farmhouse, pulled on the Marigolds and started with a ‘proper clean’.
I used the automatic controls to raise the head height of the bed and waited to see my niece. I was shocked to see Ingrid Devlin walk into the room instead.
‘I’m sorry for fibbing,’ she whispered as she walked across the room to me as if we were best friends or co-conspirators. ‘I knew they wouldn’t let me in unless I said I was family, but I had to see you.’
She pulled a chair close to my bed and sat down. I didn’t want her here. She had no right at all to be by my bedside, especially not now.
‘Why are you here?’ I asked. ‘I don’t want to see you.’
‘I get that you’re suspicious of me,’ she said. ‘But you’re my best lead on this story. And I need to get as much as I can.’
‘I’m not a “lead”,’ I told her, reaching for the call button by my side. ‘I’m a human being. Not just a story. Constable King’ll be back here shortly, you know.’
‘Have they told you about the car?’ she asked.
‘Ingrid, please. Can you leave?’ My finger hovered over the call button.
‘The car he was driving. The man who Rachel Walker was seeing. I told them, you see.’ She looked down. ‘I’d been following her. Even on the evening she disappeared. I’d seen her earlier, driving to the police station. I’d seen them before, too, having a rendezvous near the bridge.’
‘Ingrid, I don’t know what you think this has
to do with me,’ I said, pressing the button.
‘Don’t you realise? I was able to tell the police what car he was driving. I know they suspect your son-in-law. My source told me that. But it’s not him, Elizabeth. It definitely wasn’t him. The man she was seeing was driving a red car. You must be so relieved. If you could just give me a line or two about how police implicated Michael and how wrong they were?’
Her voice trailed off as the ward sister arrived at my door.
‘Please,’ I said. ‘This woman isn’t my niece. She’s a reporter.’
‘Elizabeth, please. Just a line …’
‘Do I have to call security?’ the ward sister asked firmly.
I just turned my head to the side, tried to block it all out. If it wasn’t my son-in-law, Michael, if the man was driving a red car – just like Laura’s – that meant the worst of my fears had come true. Aaron had come back. And he was worse than he’d ever been.
I ignored the cacophony of noise, the arguments back and forth between the ward sister and Ingrid, until I felt a hand on my arm and looked up to see Constable King looking down at me.
‘Elizabeth, we have some news.’
‘It’s about Aaron,’ I said. It wasn’t a question.
She nodded.
‘Has he been arrested?’
She pulled a chair over and sat down.
‘There was a police operation to arrest him. He’d been holding Rachel Walker in the old St Catherine’s building. She managed to escape after site security was alerted to unusual activity. Aaron was left inside the building and we sent our armed response unit in to try to locate him.’
I closed my eyes. Prepared myself for what she’d say next. I already felt it in my heart. Felt that he was gone. Properly this time. Not away to another country.
‘During the course of the police operation, our helicopter noticed movement on the top of the building,’ she continued. ‘We saw there was a man standing there. I’m very sorry, Elizabeth. We sent an officer up to talk to him and, we’re truly, very sorry, but before police could get to him, he jumped.’
