Aisling Mackin, a student, had been reported missing less than six hours ago. Her housemates had alerted the police saying that it was out of character for her not to come home. If she had decided to stay out or gone on somewhere else, then she would have contacted them. It had been too early to consider her a missing person; the police expected her to turn up like the previous missing girl.
Aisling never made it home to the student house she shared with her cousin and four other girls. Hysteria over the murders had rendered the city a jumpy mess, parents demanded that their daughters be home early and to keep in touch at all times. But for Aisling’s parents, it looked like the worst fear possible had happened.
And now, in East Belfast, another girl had been found murdered.
‘I’m not making any official statements on this one yet, but you can assume time of death was around five hours ago. It’s recent. I’ll need to take her in to get further answers,’ the state pathologist, Professor Ciaran Tohill took a few steps back from the corpse. The wheelie bin reeked of fish, rancid fat and dead flesh. Anna fought to suppress the need to gag. A large Belfast City Council sticker was peeling away from the plastic bin. With a bit of luck, it would have captured something of use to the techs.
Thomas was speaking to Manus Magee and technicians at the far end of the alleyway. They were in a busy part of the city, the rush hour was under way and crowds were starting to gather on the other side of the cordon, mobile phones at the ready to take pictures. Anna glared at them; sightseers looking for drama in someone else’s trauma. They needed to make the alley way secure, and to alert the family, before some dickhead uploaded a photo on social media and did it for them.
‘Watch your step, it’s very icy,’ Anna said as Thomas approached.
‘Is it her?’
‘Looks that way. Blonde hair, early twenties. Obviously, we haven’t got a formal ID on her, but when we get her out of that bin, I’d put money on it.’
Aisling had last been seen at a ‘wrap’ party, celebrating the end of filming of a period drama in Belfast. She had bagged a small extras part in the production, the money helping to supplement her student loan. The party was held in Saffron, an upmarket restaurant and bar, and had finished just before two in the morning.
Anna shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets. It was freezing. Belfast had been in an icy grip for over a week. She heard Thomas on the phone calling in a full team of technicians. They couldn’t risk missing anything.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Russell coming over to them.
‘You tell me. Who found her?’
‘A fella opening up the café around the corner. Came out the back of his premises here for a quick ciggie, and caught a glimpse of the red coat hanging out of the bin. Thought he’d found a present for his missus, but I guess he discovered more than he bargained for.’
‘Why stuff her in the bin?’ asked Anna.
Russell blew on his hands to warm them, ‘Who knows? Rushed job or perhaps someone came along and interrupted him.’
‘It isn’t as staged as the other two victims,’ Anna said as much to herself as to Russell. ‘Maybe we are looking at different killer. What state is she in?’
‘Pretty bad. Her face has been messed up. Evidence of bruising around the neck.’
‘Well, that is similar to the previous girls …’
‘Appears so,’ he said. ‘Press are going to have a field day.’ He indicated with a nod of his head the direction of the group of people gathering at the end of the alleyway. ‘The wee spivs are already sniffing round.’
She looked at Russell, and could see he was shaken. Their breath rose in celestial ribbons as they stood guarding yet another dead girl. Three in four months.
‘I take it we are linking the three deaths?’ asked Russell.
‘Looks that way, but keep it in-house for now, until we know for certain.’ Anna felt the cold nip at her nose and ears and felt such a sadness come over her for the dead girl, lying in a dirty bin. There were times she seriously questioned her judgment in her career choice, there were surely easier ways to earn a living. She should have gone into marketing or PR, except she forgot she wasn’t so good with people. Her diplomacy skills were lacking for those sorts of jobs. Anything was better than this. She heard her father’s words from before.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’m heading to the station.’
In the station, Anna called Declan. ‘Listen I don’t want you hearing this on the news, but there has been another one.’ She spoke quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear.
She heard his sharp intake of breath and then the low, ‘Fuck. Is there a bird at the scene, a calling card like before?’
‘No, but it looks like he was disturbed. The girl appears to have been dumped, maybe he was planning on coming back. But you know we can’t be sure it’s him again, not until we do the autopsy …’ she trailed of.
‘Bullshit, you know it is. We need to move faster. Anything of use?’
‘The girl is slightly older this time, not a school girl, maybe early twenties. We haven’t got a full ID yet. Facial injuries and strangulation marks.’
She thought she ought to say something to reassure him, to make him believe they were close to catching him. But what could she offer? Declan was every bit aware that the bastard was still two steps ahead of them.
Chief Superintendent Richard McKay knew how to hold an audience. Anna watched as he perched on the side of the desk and cleared his throat. Immediately, the room fell quiet.
‘As you probably know, we have the body of another young woman in the mortuary. Aisling Mackin, twenty-one-year-old student and aspiring actress. Pathologists are working to ascertain the cause of death, but initial thoughts are that we are looking for the same person who killed Esme Wells and Grace Dowds. Much of the investigative work is routine, we know what we have to do, forensics, CCTV, talk to the last people in her company. There’s a lot to be done, but routine inquiry is not going to solve these cases alone, we need to think outside the box.’
A murmur rose up.
‘Look for anything unusual, anything that might link them. Aisling’s body was deposited in a wheelie bin; the bin was located two streets away from where it should be. We need to trawl CCTV footage in the area, and look at the reasons for moving her body. She was wearing a distinctive red wool coat so we need to see if anyone spotted her. Was the murderer taking her somewhere else, or had a different party moved her afterwards? We need to look at all options.’
‘Any definite link with the other girls?’ asked Magee.
Anna responded, ‘Nothing beyond the obvious – that they are young girls on a night out. We are still keeping Rory Finnegan in our sights though.’
She felt the cold dread of another long drawn out murder case. Sure, the adrenaline would kick in and they would put in the conscientious hours required to examine all the possible leads and specks of evidence but at the minute all she could think of was the victim. Did fear paralyse her or had she fought for all she was worth? Not for the first time, Anna vowed she would never have children. She couldn’t bear the fear and the responsibility, and the terror of failing to keep them safe. Maybe this time he had made a mistake, something that would help them nail him.
‘Whoever we are looking for has good geographical knowledge of the scenes. Probably lives and works locally. He knows his way around the venues.’ Thomas said.
‘Magee is in charge of reviewing all CCTV. We’ve already spoken to staff working near where she was found. Nobody saw anything strange when they headed into work this morning,’ he took a deep breath, ‘we need to talk to anyone in the vicinity last night. Take a look at all the regular customers; get access to credit card records. We don’t have a primary crime scene at the minute. The wheelie bin had been moved, so there’s a lot of work to be done.’
‘CCTV covers the front of the entrance, but not the back alleyway,’ Anna said.
‘Why move her? Where was he taking her?’ as
ked Thomas.
Anna felt uneasy; the little hairs on her arms were standing on end. She thought of life being as insubstantial as a candle flame, one flicker away from extinction.
‘We need to focus on that alley way – did he have a vehicle waiting to take the body somewhere else? Was he disturbed, and had to leg it? I want answers to all these questions,’ McKay looked defeated. This investigation was catching up on all of them. Even Thomas, normally so fit and healthy looking, was showing signs of eye bags.
McKay started wrapping up the meeting, ‘Get to it.’
‘Holly, you can go on this one with Anna, I want you two to speak to the university. Find out if Aisling had any problems, and talk to the girls she shared a house with.’
Anna noticed a vein on his left temple pulsing. ‘I want every fucking thing you lot are doing summarised and on my desk at the end of every bloody day,’ he stormed off with every officer in the room breathing a sigh of relief they hadn’t been singled out.
Thomas looked pissed off. ‘What more can we do?’ he asked Anna as she headed over to her desk.
‘Keep the investigation moving. We don’t stop. We don’t doubt we’ll get him; otherwise, the bastard has won. We’ve lots of areas to cover, some of it might overlap with previous evidence, but we could find that one piece of information to make this kaleidoscope of fragments fall into place, giving us that perfect picture of truth.’
‘Poetic, Cole,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll head back down to the crime scene have another chat to the fella who found her.’
‘Ok, I’ll catch up with you later. Let’s see if Holly and I can find anything out from Aisling’s housemates.’
A few calls later and Anna had learnt that Aisling was a good student, full attendance, marks on track for a high 2:1, her part-time filming work hadn’t encroached on her studies and she had no issues requiring counseling or assistance from the university welfare office.
‘Right let’s go,’ she said to Holly, grabbing her coat as they made their way out to the pool car.
Within half an hour, they had reached the university area where Aisling lived. Holly turned the engine off and they sat for a moment taking in the view. During term time Aisling lived in Jerusalem Street, a tightly knit street of red brick terraces each with a tiny handkerchief sized patch of garden at the front. At the bottom of the rows of terraced houses, separated by a road, the area was edged by the banks of the River Lagan, a slow and sludge-like river that ran through the city and was known to have had a tendency to stink like a witch’s commode in the heat of the summertime before it had been given an environmental make over. Anna couldn’t help making a mental note of the colours, the shadows and shades. Habit. She’d maybe put it down on paper later.
‘Why’s it called the Holylands?’ Anna asked as they parked in the tightest spot imaginable.
Holly reached for her bag, ‘It was something to do with a fella called Sir Robert McConnell.’
Anna watched as a couple of students ambled past, obviously in love, holding hands and hanging off each other’s words. She envied them and their ability to close the world out and focus solely on their love.
Holly opened her door, continuing, ‘He was a devout Christian and a Victorian developer. He’d gone to Palestine and Egypt so he named the streets after the places he had visited, leaving a legacy of street names like Cairo Street, Jerusalem Street and Palestine Street.’
‘And there was me thinking some wit in town planning had the foresight to see that the Middle East and Belfast would have much in common,’ Anna said, closing the car door. Just then Anna’s phone buzzed. ‘It’s Thomas, hang on.’
She answered the phone, ‘What’s up?’
‘Guess who Aisling’s landlord is?’ he paused for effect, ‘Rory Finnegan, no less.’
‘Shit.’
‘Exactly. Talk to the girls in the house, and I’ll meet you back here. See what you can get out of them.’
37
The student house reeked of Chinese takeaway, stale beer, mildew and cigarettes, with a faint undertone of perfume. It was one step up from a squat, yet there was nothing hard up about them – nice clothes, a good TV, laptop sitting on the sofa. A make-up bag lay opened on the coffee table spilling its guts of Urban Decay and Mac make up – none of it cheap.
Caroline McGinty had obviously been crying. She sat on the black leather sofa, looking down at her hands shredding a damp tissue. ‘We can’t believe it, like. She was so lovely.’
They could hear the tech guys walking around in the room above, still searching Aisling’s room. ‘How long are they going to be up there?’ Caroline asked.
‘Not long. I know this is hard to take in, but we need to ask you some questions about Aisling’s friends. Let’s make you a cup of tea.’ Holly went through to the kitchen and opened and closed a few cupboards looking for cups and tea bags.
Anna waited a few minutes to let Caroline stem her crying. ‘Did Aisling have a boyfriend?’
She sniffed loudly and blew her nose, ‘No and I would have known, we were very close.’
‘Was anyone bothering her, hassling her or making her uncomfortable in anyway?’
‘No, not at all. Sure, it can be a bit mad round here with parties and stuff, but we had done all that in first year. We’ve all settled down a bit now. Aisling was so easy going. Nothing ever got to her. She didn’t even fight about the cleaning rota.’
Anna looked around the living room. It was cluttered with mess – magazines, a few coffee cups and a half-full wine bottle. The usual mess of student life. A coat lay over the back of a chair and a pair of boots lay casually on the fireplace hearth. It was a dark room, overlooking a tiny, high-walled, backyard.
‘How long have you been living here?’ Anna asked gently.
‘From the beginning of term. End of September. We all shared a house last year too.’
‘And who do you share with?’
‘There’s three other girls. Two of them have gone home and Maggie is at her boyfriend’s house. I’m not going to stay here tonight either.’
‘Probably a good idea to get away. The press might try talking to you, but just ignore them. If they hassle you, let us know.’ Holly said, handing Caroline a mug of tea.
‘Your landlord is Rory Finnegan. Is that right?’ Anna asked.
Caroline nodded, sipping the tea.
‘Would you say he’s a good landlord?’ Holly asked.
‘Yeah, we met him when we were signing the rent documentation in his office. Everyone round here knows Rory – he owns half the Holylands. If there’s a problem we call his property management company.’
‘Has there been any need to call them?’ Anna asked.
‘The cooker wasn’t working when we moved in, but he got it sorted for us. Oh, and Maggie’s bedroom door wouldn’t close properly, so a joiner came around and fixed it.’
‘Have you ever had any reason to think Rory Finnegan was especially interested in Aisling?’
‘No. We’ve seen him driving around in his fancy car, but she never said anything about him,’ she stopped, her eyes wide, ‘You don’t think Rory Finnegan did this, do you?’
‘No, but we have to keep all lines of enquiry open,’ said Holly.
‘Do you know when the funeral will be?’
‘Her family will probably let you know.’
Caroline nodded.
‘I know it’s been a long day for you, but if you can think of anything, anything at all,’ Holly said.
She nodded again.
Back in the car, Anna said, ‘So we have a link with Rory Finnegan again.’
‘He keeps popping up like a crooked jack-in-the-box,’ agreed Holly pulling out on to the Ormeau embankment. ‘Maybe we have enough to scare the shit out of him, and make him think we know more than we do.’
‘Let’s see if McKay agrees.’ Anna thought of Declan and felt sick. She didn’t like Finnegan. There was something off about him that was for sure, but the thought of him being
responsible for the murders made her shudder.
38
Anna pushed the food away. Neither she nor Declan had eaten much. She felt queasy and pumped up on adrenaline. Declan was setting up their make shift office in the living room while she cleared the dining table.
‘What’s this?’ he called.
‘What’s what?’ she asked walking back into the living room, carrying two wine glasses and another bottle of pinot noir.
‘This,’ he held up one of her sketches.
‘Oh that. It’s a drawing. I sometimes sketch the scene to help clarify things.’
‘What? You draw the crime scene?’ his tone was incredulous.
‘Yeah, it’s no big deal. It can help me figure things out, work through the tangled mess that’s in front of me, and try to make sense of it.’
‘There’s no sense to be made out of a murder.’
She could hear hurt in his tone. ‘I’m sorry, you weren’t meant to see that.’
He removed another from her pile of paperwork. It was a watercolour painting of the Lagan towpath, the place where Esme had been found. She had worked on it at home using her initial pencil sketch to create the painted image, heavy with atmosphere, a lone rook standing on the lower branch of a tree, looking towards the river.
‘And does it work, do you find meaning in painting the scene?’
‘Yes, I mean, no. It’s neither science nor magic. It’s merely a way for me to process my thoughts, to contemplate what I’ve seen.’
He looked down at a different charcoal sketch, one of a lane leading up to Maude Brier’s house. It was little more than an old cottage, an outline of a run-down shed-like building off to the side and an old well in the foreground. Anna looked at Declan as he placed the sketches on the table. Scenes and drawings she had done of each of the murdered girls. All young women starting out - opportunities, university, travelling aboard, working, relationships – all ahead of them, like a promise to be fulfilled.
Little Bird: a serial killer thriller Page 25
