by Linda Coles
Flynn popped into the mix – where did he fit in? Surely he wasn’t a ‘package’ to be picked up or dropped off? Trafficking in Doolin? She doubted that too. She started her brain on the cryptic contacts list. Richard enjoyed a crossword, perhaps he could inadvertently help? If the code names were for a person, they might take some time to decipher, but they could also be for a location, so it was worth investigating. Perhaps she could pretend it was a game later on and ask them to break the code? Four heads were better than one. Maybe after supper they could have a go, she’d write the names out on scraps of paper and everyone could pick one and try and work it out, like Pictionary or literary charades. It could be fun, and no one need know what they were actually doing. If they deciphered a few, it should then be easy enough to decipher them all. Impressed at her simple plan, she upped her pace to a jog to get back to the house for a later than scheduled lunch. They’d wonder where she’d got to, yet again.
Chapter 60
It hadn’t been ideal nor part of the plan that he’d had to flee the castle at Doolin. And just when things were starting to feel comfortable and he was beginning to enjoy life again. It had all been so rushed, so little time to gather their things and then it had almost broken his heart in two to find out that young Flynn had been left all on his own. But as he gazed down into the buggy out in front of him, he was thankful for small mercies that they’d been reunited so quickly, and the boy was fine. Things could have all gone so very, very wrong.
The town looked very much like Doolin, only on a grander scale with much more history and places of interest to look at. Quaint streets and shops sat amongst buildings as old as the hills themselves. A seventeenth-century fortress overlooked the River Bandon, the courthouse dated back to the sixteenth century and now held the Kinsale Museum. He’d looked at it many times, for something to do really. Flynn gurgled in his buggy and he stopped for a moment to watch the boy smile. How he could repay them, he had no idea; he’d be eternally grateful for their help and in their debt for the rest of his life.
His new life.
A chill wind whipped around his head and reminded him he needed to settle all over again, though it would be just him and Flynn. The sun glinted on the boy’s hair. He noticed for the first time the regrowth, the blond shining through at the base of his skull. He needed to attend to it before it got much longer and someone spotted it. He hated dyeing it. Something so young and delicate didn’t deserve such harsh chemicals, but needs must if they were to keep their identities until it was safe to change back, if they ever did. He’d become accustomed to being called Lorcan now, and calling the little one Flynn. He thought back to his previous life as he walked, not much else to fill his mind with, and for a fleeting moment wondered about Tess, his wife. She’d think he’d vanished off the face of the earth. That had been the plan and he felt sure she’d never find him on the south coast of Ireland. Why would she think to look there, and look for who? He was Lorcan now. She’d give up searching one day, let it be and he’d grow old with Flynn by his side, just the two of them, and she’d eventually meet someone new. Somewhere inside him, there was the tiniest spot that wished her well.
He needed to start looking for a job now, his extended holiday well and truly over, and he was almost bored except for the time he got to spend with Flynn. He’d get a job in a bar perhaps, something seasonal maybe, though since it was moving on to winter, it was not the ideal time for it. The cold wind caressed his ears; it wouldn’t be long before the tourists were all but gone until the warmer months returned. He’d look at other employment opportunities in a week or two, though childcare might be an issue. Could he trust to let the boy out of his sight for several hours at a time? He turned into the small park and headed for the centre where the water fountain stood and people gathered on the various benches that surrounded it. A little boy perched on his father’s shoulders, giggled as he hovered near the water, waiting for the fountain to disappear down and return again with a giant splash in front of them. A skateboarder entered from the other side, flipped around the perimeter of the fountain then carried on his merry way. Lorcan spotted an almost vacant park bench: an elderly woman sitting at one end, he could take the other. He sat for a moment, the buggy alongside, enjoying the delights of the weak sunshine and those around him. He was conscious of the older lady looking his way and he turned, meeting her cloudy eyes. White hair escaped from under a pink hand-knitted hat that sported a black pom-pom on the top. Lorcan absent-mindedly wondered about the colour match. Maybe she’d run out of pink and only had black to finish the look. She smiled a toothy grin and nodded down to the buggy where Flynn was half asleep, half awake.
“Bonny,” she said with a surprisingly deep Scottish accent.
“Thank you. He’s my pride and joy.” They sat in silence and observed the pantomime in front of them as other small children watched the water, all wrapped up well in their own hats and coats, some with gloves on, some in Wellington boots. The leaves on the nearby trees had all but gone, winter was well on its way. They sat for a few more minutes before deciding it was time to go. He’d stop for a coffee or maybe put his head in at the bookshop as they passed, or even get fish and chips for a late lunch. He hoped for Flynn’s sake there was to be no more hassle and the two of them moved on because they wanted to and not because they had to. Being settled and in a routine was important for both their souls.
Chapter 61
By the time Chrissy got back with the bread, three hungry adults were waiting for her at the kitchen door.
“I thought you’d got lost,” said Adam sarcastically.
“Patience has never been your strong point,” she said pointedly, “but I assure you, this loaf will be worth the wait.”
“What sort is it?” Julie asked.
“It a fresh Irish soda loaf, and anyway I’m back now,” she said, passing the loaf to Adam, who had his hands outstretched ready. Salad, sliced cheese, and ham all sat nearby on a chopping board waiting to go into the bread. She felt almost guilty for holding up their lunch, her own stomach rumbling, reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.
“Have you decided what we’re doing this afternoon?”
“Well, I had a quick look at the map,” offered Richard, “and I think we should drive down to Limerick. It’s only an hour or so away, quite direct, and we can have a look around the shops. I can hobble on behind. Julie wants to look at the shoe shops, as per usual,” he said, casting a glance sideways. “Purely research of course,” he added.
“I’m up for that,” said Adam. “No point in sitting here all day long. How about you, Chrissy?”
She had hoped to go through the photographs she’d taken and make some sense of them. Maybe she could use the time on the way down to sift through. It could work.
“Sounds good,” she exclaimed. “Let’s all get out for the afternoon, good idea.” She couldn’t have sounded any more thrilled if she’d tried. “Has anyone organised where we’re eating tonight? Only I just saw the menu for the bistro up in the village and it looked quite nice. I thought perhaps you’d like to eat there?”
“Has it got white linen tablecloths?” enquired Julie.
“I don’t think so, sis. Is that what you require? Are you getting withdrawal symptoms from the lack of formality?” she asked jokingly.
“No need to be snide,” she said. “I just thought it would be nice to wear the only dress I brought with me before we go back home. And since yesterday’s afternoon tea…” She let the words linger. Julie had missed her fix of being dainty for an hour or two.
She spoke as if she were Marilyn Monroe, desperate for a night out with a Martini between her fingers.
“Then you should choose the venue,” said Chrissy, “white tablecloth eating we can do. Why don’t you book something, and I’ll help to make the sandwiches?”
That would keep Julie happy for a few minutes, and be something to look forward to later. It wouldn’t hurt her and Adam to get glammed up a
bit tonight. She had brought something smart to wear herself; it could be pleasant. “Is there much at Limerick?” Chrissy asked Richard.
“It’s a medieval town, like many in Ireland, so there’ll be some old buildings to view and some walks to be had, or hobbles in my case,” he said, smiling. “A change of scenery, learn something new; it’ll be fun. Life is what you make it,” he said emphatically. Richard seemed to be gaining energy as the days went by, though an energy for life and not being his usual drab self. He’d been as such for all the years Chrissy had known him, and she wondered what was making him re-energised. Was he having a midlife crisis? Surely he wasn’t seeing someone else? He didn’t look the type to be interested, never mind actually do it. But then Julie had a spring in her step again too. Maybe the shoe shops were good for both of them, given them both a goal, something to do together, something to look forward to for their future.
She watched as Richard hobbled into the living room, probably to retrieve his book – he had to be near the end of it by now. When the coast was clear, Adam turned to her and said, “How has your morning been then, what have you really been up to?”
“If I don’t tell you, you can deny all knowledge when later questioned,” she said, grinning.
“Sounds ominous.”
“You love the mystery I provide, Adam Livingstone, and you can’t tell me you don’t.”
“You’re a mystery in itself,” he said, adding cheese and lettuce to a sandwich. She took the plate to the table, while Adam carried on making sandwiches for the others, putting them on various plates before calling everyone through. Lunch was finally ready. When everyone was seated and tucking in, a peaceful silence settled on the room. It was like feeding time in a nursery when babies suckled quietly, a certain air of tranquillity as their own stomachs were filled. The human body needed the same few things all through its life from infancy to old age: warmth, shelter, and sustenance. Everything else was immaterial.
“Limerick,” said Julie suddenly. “What’s the difference between a limerick and a poem?”
“Google it,” said Chrissy through a mouthful of bread and cheese.
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
“Because you won’t learn if you don’t find the answer for yourself.”
“Can I borrow your phone then since you’ve got yours there?”
Chrissy couldn’t very well say no, so she closed the photos and slid it across to her and watched as pretty pink fingernails tapped out the search words. Everyone seemed to wait for the answer. “There we go,” said Julie. “Limerick is a humorous poem, usually five lines, like what you’d hear at school, often rude.” She closed the browser down and slid the phone back towards Chrissy.
“So now you know. If I’d simply told you, you wouldn’t have known the full explanation.”
“You would have told me the same things as what was on the search,” she said satisfied. The two men glanced at each other over the stupid conversation that was going on between the sisters; they sounded like fifteen-year-olds again. Neither husband dared say anything. Something buzzed in Chrissy’s head. Could it be that simple? Another name for something the same?
Chapter 62
Chrissy was anxious to get everybody in the car and get going so she could bury her head in her notebook while travelling on the back seat. Julie, it appeared, was taking an age getting ready for an afternoon out in town, obviously excited about wearing something other than jeans and walking boots. She was like a kid in a sweet shop. What would she be like later on at dinner?
In a perfect world, Chrissy would have Bronagh’s phone for herself so she could look back and cross-reference points of interest, but she hadn’t. There was no way of Brocc getting it back unnoticed unless he gave her a sleeping pill and knocked her out and that wasn’t going to happen, so she hadn’t even suggested it. As they travelled south along the N85, she jotted down the strange list of contacts and where the texts had come and gone to, and then the locations that she’d found that the woman had visited over recent months. The list sounded like gobbledygook. Autumn climb, old line, citadel pub didn’t make any sense to her from the list of contacts. On the list of locations, there had been plenty going on in Doolin, Castlebar, Kilkenny, Templemore, and Kinsale, along with a whole list of others. The locations unfortunately didn’t give a firm address when she studied the map, but from the image of where all the location beacons were, she could see roughly whereabouts in the town each was situated. It was figuring out the cryptic contact side of things that needed her full attention, and maybe of the others too. She thought back to earlier with Julie and the limerick question. It was a type of poem, usually short and funny. The two things were similar. She contemplated Bronagh’s love for the daily crosswords and the list of regularly visited locations she had. She pulled up a web page on her phone and found the Thesaurus website and clicked on synonyms. She looked at the first noted down, Autumn Climb. She typed and pressed enter: fall, harvest, autumnal, equinox, but nothing meant much to her. So she removed autumn and put climb in on its own then hit enter: clamber, go up, mount, rise, scale, soar, top. The words glared back at her, nothing shaking itself, shouting ‘It’s me!’ More’s the pity. The Irish countryside flashed past the window as Adam chauffeured them out for the afternoon and she tried to lose herself, hypnotise herself even, in the grey tarmac that sped by below the wheels. If she watched it long enough without blinking, it eventually fused into a dark grey blur and she willed the filing cabinets of her mind to open drawers and show her the answer. Mount niggled away for some reason, but maybe that was because they’d only recently been talking about horse riding. Or was it something else?
Mount, climb, rise, top… Something fell into place, like a locking mechanism enables a safe door to open, and she flitted her eyes across to the list and looked back at the map where location dots sat teasing her.
“Got you,” she exclaimed, a little too excitedly, causing all eyes to turn to her brief outburst. “Cracked a puzzle, that’s all,” she said by way of explanation and smiled at as if she’d won a prize. In a way, she had. When you knew the answer, all questions were easy. Autumn Climb had suddenly turned into Spring Mount. Bingo! It really was that easy; basic but clever. Spurred on, she moved on to the next one, Old Line, so she put old into the thesaurus and received aged, ancient, decrepit, elderly, none of which made any sense to her list. She tried line and watched as it returned boundary, channel, edge, border, bar. Maybe Bronagh hadn’t used the thesaurus for this one but her own brain. She checked the map to find another alternative to line. Row beamed at her. It would have smiled if it could have, so Chrissy did instead. Old Line suddenly became New Row. Chapel Less became Templemore. She had the most part of the addresses. Now she had got the hang of it, Citadel Pub became Castlebar and Slay Rogers became Kilkenny. After twenty minutes, she’d solved the majority of the addresses and where they were.
Could they be safe houses of some type? Or addresses for drug dens, maybe, or where paedophiles lived? Was Bronagh on some sort of crusade? She doubted the older woman was dealing opioids or worse, and the cryptic address could be for any number of activities. They were obviously meant to stay private, but why? The list of possible goings-on at each address was endless. She closed her notebook and rested her head back on the seat and closed her eyes for a moment to think through how what she’d learned might fit in with the missing couple and why they’d abandoned their baby at the castle. The place was much more than a holiday home for someone, and Chrissy wondered if the owners even realised it was being used for something she couldn’t yet explain. She thought back to the cellar, the wicker bins, the coffins, but her mind was blank. There was still so little; was it now time to bring in the Guards? But tell them what? A few code names and cryptic addresses? That was it. Would they even be interested since the couple had fled and Flynn was now in care? They’d likely have bigger crimes to solve since no one was in danger. She thought about the woman that had taken Flynn. She seemed
caring enough. Family services often got a bad rap, sometimes warranted and sometimes not. She’d wondered herself, not at all happy young Flynn was now a part of the system.
Bridget sprang to mind, and the locations the van had driven through on the night Lorcan and Ciara had fled. The ANPR cameras had picked up the vehicle heading to Cork, in the south. Which of the deciphered addresses had they gone to? She pressed the Google Maps app on her phone and studied the area. Kinsale, or Clan Bargain as Bronagh had referred to it, was not too far away, on the south-east coastline. She flipped back to the photos she’d been studying and deduced the contact 16 Autumn Climb was the address of 16 Springmount, Kinsale. It was easy when you knew what you were looking for. With her newfound knowledge, she cross-referenced the two lists to see if anything fitted the castle back at Doolin. Was the address significant enough to have a code?
