by Linda Coles
“Do you have it, officer?”
“I do,” he said, taking it from a jacket pocket and handing it to her. It was in a small plastic bag. “That’s yours, I’m assuming? Only the home image is of the shop.”
Bronagh held her good hand out for it. “Yes, that’ll be mine.” The glass had been cracked badly, hence the bag to save any cut fingers. It certainly looked like her iPhone. The battery was almost dead. She was glad of the locked screen, that no one could get inside it, not easily anyway. As if he read her mind, he added, “’It’s locked, so many aren’t,” and smiled.
“There’s too much on them these days to not lock them.”
“Hate the damn things,” Brocc added from his seat. “Always interrupting my thoughts when they go off.”
Bronagh smiled at her brother’s logic. He still carried an old fashioned one that was actually a phone and offered nothing else save for texting. He certainly didn’t carry his life in his back pocket.
“I’m not sure I can tell you much more, officer,” she added, trying to end the meeting. There was thinking to do, and she needed to get on with it in private. Plus, she was suddenly incredibly tired.
Taking the hint, he said, “Well, I’ll be on my way then. If you think of anything at all, let me know. Something was responsible for an accident such as you’ve had and since you say you didn’t come across another vehicle on the road, then…” He shrugged his shoulders.
“I will. Thanks for coming. Maybe I’ll remember something when I’ve had more sleep,” she said, smiling. Drew Harris gave a quick nod of his head and left Bronagh and her brother alone.
When he was well out of earshot, Brocc said, “You don’t fool me. So why don’t you let me in on whatever it is you’re keeping from me?”
She looked up into his concerned eyes and wondered for a moment if she could. There was so much at stake if she got it wrong, if Brocc didn’t understand. Could she risk it?
“I’ll think about it. But first I need you to do something for me.”
Chapter 23
Brocc left the hospital with so many questions whizzing around the inside of his head. He knew his sister was up to something – even if she wouldn’t tell him what – but having known her for sixty years, he knew when to push and when to wait. She’d come around eventually. In the meantime, she’d asked for his help, and with no further questions asked, he had said yes. He could tell by her demeanour that it was important, though he’d no clue what he was supposed to do with the child in the meantime. All she’d instructed was for him to keep the child safe and that she’d fill him in later. He couldn’t wait for the story she’d concoct, because from experience he knew she’d not tell him the truth first off. It was a big favour to ask, but he’d do it. At least she’d looked a lot better this morning, and her spirit was gathering energy; she’d given him enough worry for the both of them the previous night.
It wasn’t far from the hospital back to his small home, but he had a detour to make before he could have the luxury of a shower and toast. Calling first at Bronagh’s cottage, he let himself in with his own key and headed straight for the cutlery drawer, the teaspoon section in particular, and retrieved another key, one attached to a small pebble with a hole drilled through it. Once it was in his hand, he smiled to himself as his fingers became familiar with the smooth surface once again. He’d made the key ring as a Christmas present for Bronagh when they were young teenagers. The fact that she’d kept it all these years surprised and delighted him all at the same time. But there was no time to dawdle and think of the past. Slipping the key into his pocket, he locked the door again and headed on to his next port of call – the castle. She’d instructed him to be as quick as he could, so he wasted little time in driving across to the old building. Once at the front door, he slipped the key in the lock and turned it.
“Hmm,” he grunted. The door was already unlocked. He stepped inside. All was quiet, not a sound could be heard as he made his way up to the room on the second floor as directed. When he put his head around the door, he was shocked and almost grateful to see the cot was empty.
Baby Flynn wasn’t where he should have been.
Brocc hadn’t been too keen on the idea of transporting the little one to the address she’d eventually given him; it had been a long time since he’d had anything to do with a small child. He stared at the empty cot as if the child would suddenly appear before grunting his consternation and heading upstairs to check the other room. The boy wasn’t there either. Confused, he made his way back down the stairs, and returned to his van where he sat for a moment wondering what to do next. Bronagh had been precise in what he had to do, where to take the child to, and he’d agreed to help if she told him the full story once he’d done as she’d requested. When Harris had left, she’d become extremely anxious and upset, so he’d had no choice but to get involved, if only to calm her down. Now he was puzzled and unsure about what to do next. He checked his watch; it was coming up to 11 am. He was about to pull away when he noticed a Guards car approaching in the distance and, not wishing to be seen anywhere near the castle, he quickly set off in the opposite direction. With a child missing, he rightly assumed the Guards would be heading to the castle themselves. What the hell had Bronagh got herself involved in? And where was the child? And, more to the point, where was the child’s family? It hadn’t escaped his notice that the place was empty save for the boy’s room. Watching the Guards in his rear-view mirror, he wasn’t surprised to see the vehicle pull up on the grass outside, where he’d been parked only moments ago, and two officers get out. Were they looking for the boy too? If he’d been confused before, he was doubly so now, and with no way to inform Bronagh of the situation, he had no choice but to drive back to the hospital and press her more to find out quite what she was involved in.
He pulled up at his own place, washed and changed, made himself a late breakfast of eggs on toast, and sat for a while deep in thought. Obviously Bronagh had meant to tend to the child herself the previous evening and had been unable to do so, what with the accident and all. Had she been run off the road like she’d suggested? She’d also been adamant her phone was safely zipped away in her bag, as it usually was, yet it had been found out on the road. Did it all mean Bronagh was in danger? Leaving his breakfast crockery where it was, he grabbed his keys and headed back to the hospital to see his sister. A smashed screen would have made it impossible for anyone to swipe the phone open, that much he did know. When Jake, his young apprentice, had smashed his own, he’d cut his finger badly trying to do the same thing. Yet it sounded like someone was interested in it, – how else did it get out from a zipped-up bag? He thought back to Jake’s broken screen.
“How did he get back in then?” he asked himself. Finding his own phone, he called the garage and waited for him to answer.
“Brocc’s Garage, Jake speaking.” He sounded monotone and uninterested like many male youths that lacked a little confidence. The lad was all pimples and hormones encased in black denim that hung off his skinny backside. One day he’d grow into his jeans.
“I’ll be late in,” Brocc said. “Could be after lunch.”
“No problem,” Jake informed him.
“Need a favour. Need to know how you get into one of them fancy phones everyone has, when the glass is smashed. Must be a way.”
“There is. You just install your backup onto your new phone directly from the cloud.”
Brocc made a mental note of the gibberish. He was much more conversant with the inside of a diesel engine than a phone or computer. Perhaps Bronagh would know what the lad meant. Give him a piston or crankshaft any day.
Chapter 24
The wind was much cooler off the water than it had been yesterday, and Chrissy shivered, remembering the words from the lady in the sweater shop. The colder spell was well on its way, sunshine or not. She was glad Flynn had a blanket over his knees. As she approached the holiday home, Chrissy could see Julie watching for her from the front door of t
he house. After all, she’d been gone ages, far longer than she could have imagined, and with no way of calling back to the others, to the house, she’d been stuck. She waved, steering the buggy and Rupert with the other hand. Julie started walking towards her and, as she got closer, Chrissy could see the look of confusion on her face.
“It’s a rather long story,” she called. When the two women finally reached each other, Chrissy stopped for a moment and wrapped her arms around her sister, pulling her close. Julie must have sensed all was not entirely well and stayed quiet for a moment or two, squeezing her back. When she was ready, Chrissy let go and started to speak.
“Let’s get inside first and I’ll tell you all what’s happened. And I need a coffee too, and something to eat.” To her own ears, she sounded weary, the adrenaline had long since surged and evaporated, leaving her system, her being, feeling drained and empty. She handed the leash to Julie, who took Rupert the rest of the short distance as they turned the corner towards the deck and the back door.
Adam and Richard met them as they entered, and Adam’s eyes searched Chrissy’s before she flopped down onto a nearby chair and closed hers for a moment. Richard opted to stay silent for the time being, obviously confused. Julie took charge.
“Give her some space, will you? She’ll tell us when she’s caught her breath.” Julie busied herself putting coffee on and bread in the toaster. She grabbed butter and jam and placed them on the table. “The sugar will get you going again,” she said. “No rush.” Chrissy nodded. When the toaster popped, Julie slid a plate of hot toast over for Chrissy to fix her own. Everyone waited as she sipped her coffee. Flynn was sitting quietly in his buggy. Rupert lay sprawled out on the warm floor tiles. Her hands busied themselves spreading butter and jam, though she didn’t pick the toast up and eat. She took a deep, cleansing breath and then started at the beginning.
As she spoke, the others gathered around the table together and listened. Chrissy recalled everything that had happened, finding Flynn and Rupert, her lack of phone to call them with, and attending to the youngster. “It was obvious Flynn had not been fed or changed for some time, maybe even since yesterday.”
“Poor mite,” added Julie, then allowed Chrissy to carry on.
“So I thought I’d bring him back here since I couldn’t leave him and with no phone…”
“Of course,” said Adam.
“But it gets worse.”
Three sets of eyes glanced at each other before she carried on. As Chrissy explained about the contents of the cellar, Julie gasped out loud, while Richard and Adam opted for curses. There was no way she could have left everything as it had been and run back for help, which was why she’d arrived home with her hands full.
“You did the right thing,” said Adam, placing his arm around her shoulders. “What does everyone think we should do next?” he asked the group. Chrissy tucked into her toast, feeling better the story was out and the problem could now be shared. And sorted.
“I feel the authorities must be informed,” said Richard. “A young child that has been abandoned in some way is a serious offence. We can’t simply keep him, even temporarily. He’s not a kitten.”
“I agree,” added Adam. “We don’t know Ciara and Lorcan from a bar of soap so, to be on the safe side, we have to notify the authorities. As for the coffins, that’s just strange, really strange,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. That left Julie’s opinion. Chrissy looked at her sister and waited for her advice.
“Agreed. Though the poor child entering the system doesn’t fill me with hope either. I wish there was another way.”
Nobody spoke. A possible lifetime of being fostered and passed around rarely ended well for a child.
“Plus, I’m confused about the coffins and where they fit in,” Julie added, trying to change the subject away from his Flynn’s abandonment.
“You think they do fit in, do you?” asked Richard. “I mean, it’s a holiday let, and they could be the owners’ own. You hear of people planning their own funerals, maybe they’re theirs?”
“He’s got a point,” said Adam.
“Well, whatever the issue with the coffins, young Flynn needs looking after and if Ciara and Lorcan have gone missing, we should call the police now,” Julie said firmly.
“Gardai.”
“Pardon?”
“The Irish police, they’re called the Gardai.”
“Then let’s call the Gardai,” Julie said, a little exasperated.
“I don’t see we have a choice,” Adam added. As Chrissy looked around the group, each face wore reluctance. While nobody wanted young Flynn to go into the system, each of them knew they couldn’t take him in, not even temporarily. There were strict processes to be followed, for the child’s own good. It wasn’t like they were even remotely family members.
Standing, Chrissy said, “I’ll make the call.”
As she reached for her phone, the woman’s words from the sweater shop came back to her: Nobody in there at this time of year. Owners only come in summer; it’ll be empty now.
Why hadn’t she mentioned that part of the story to the others, she wondered. Perhaps deep down she was chewing over the intrigue of it. After all, she was a private investigator.
Chrissy dialled the number anyway.
Chapter 25
Brocc drove the same route Bronagh would have driven the night of her accident. As he approached the crash scene, he slowed down slightly and pulled in. There was no one else on the road, no one behind him, no one off in the distance. Broken glass still lay at the edges of the tarmac, but there was little else to tell anybody that there’d been a bad accident there recently. He stepped out of the car and walked over to the banking that Bronagh had hit and put his hand on the soil that had been ripped loose into clumps. There was no real need to do so, and it helped in no way at all. It just felt like it was something he should do, feel the impact with her as she hurtled through the air. Had someone run her off the road? Or was she being conspiratorial? There were plenty of conspiracy theorists around with views on a variety of subjects, whether it was mobile masts, vaccinations, mobile phone tracking, or Princess Diana’s death. He didn’t believe in all that. He led a simple life with simple things and kept himself to himself. He stood there for a moment and let the sun shine on his head. It was barely warm but still it felt good that something so far above could touch him. At least she’d survived the mangled wreckage, that was the main thing. He didn’t know what he’d do without her in his life, they were good friends as well as siblings.
So why wouldn’t she trust him with her secret?
With nothing else to see or do, he returned to his waiting car and headed across to the hospital. She wouldn’t be expecting to see him so soon; he should have been travelling elsewhere, taking the child to the address she’d given him, but all that had changed now since there was no child to take. Somebody had got there before him. The more he thought about the whole situation, the more intrigued and confused he became, and he wondered once again just what Bronagh had got herself mixed up in.
By the time he’d parked up in the hospital car park, morning visiting hours were well and truly over. But he hoped the ward sister would let him in, just for a few minutes, so he could explain, because she’d be worried. He crossed his fingers for compassion. As he arrived on the ward, a senior nurse scurried over, a stern crease on her mouth and he knew what was coming. He put his hands out in front of him by way of surrender and said, “I’ll be five minutes, I promise. Just need to tell Bronagh something since her phone is broken and then I’ll leave. Ah, go on.”
He put his hands down and waited for her response. Her eyes softened a little, her shoulders slumped down to the normal position, and a small smile crept across her cheeks.
“Five minutes. I’m counting.”
Brocc headed straight for his sister and hoped she was still awake. He wasn’t disappointed. As soon as she saw him, she tried to sit up in bed, her face covered in confusion. He
shouldn’t be back so early, what had gone wrong? He didn’t waste any time making himself comfortable and simply said, “He’s not there. I don’t know where he is.”
She was about to say ‘what do you mean?’ he could see it written on her face, the questioning look, the doubt.
“How can he not be there?”
He repeated himself: “The place was empty.”
“That can’t be,” said Bronagh. “Nobody knows.”
“Come on, Bronagh. Why don’t you tell me what it is you’re involved in because I can see it’s troubling you, and if there’s a child involved…?” He let the question linger, waiting for an answer. She had to say something soon; there could be a life at stake if someone had kidnapped this child he knew nothing about. He had to tell someone, alert the authorities perhaps. But he didn’t want to drop Bronagh into any trouble. He needed to find out what was going on before making his own mind up.
“Come on, Bronagh,” he said. “We’re family. Whatever you’re mixed up in, I’m already helping now, I could help you more.”
“I can’t involve you any further,” she said. “It’s not safe. And anyway, you wouldn’t understand.”
“You obviously trusted me enough to go to the child in the first place. And I might understand, if you let me. Come on, Bron, I can keep a secret.”
She knew from experience that part, at least, wasn’t true, that there had been many times during their lives together he’d taken pleasure in dumping her in it, but he’d been a different man back then. Could she trust him now?
