But Richard shook his head. “I can’t help feeling I’m to blame. I should have given you much more money. Poor sweet Sarah, that lovely girl…” He abandoned his knife and fork and rested his head in his hands.
“That’s rubbish and you know it,” Charlotte said. She hated to see how upset Richard was. He’d only been trying to give them all a nice time. “If anyone’s to blame here, it’s me. Blame me, Richard. I should never have let all of this happen.”
“The other three shouldn’t have split up…” Richard thought aloud, head still in his hands. “That was their mistake. Where they went wrong. They should have stayed together. No matter what. I’ve warned you all before about taking and giving lifts. God knows there are plenty of freak jobs out there. Believe me.”
Charlotte believed her brother alright, but she didn’t want to think about that now. Her head was in a spin. Weirdos did experiments. Weirdos raped dead bodies. Weirdos played with corpses.
“I could do with a beer.” Richard got up wearily. “Fancy one?”
“You won’t find anything alcoholic,” said Charlotte, although just like Richard, she could really do with one. “Mum doesn’t keep alcohol in the house anymore.”
“Pity,” sighed Richard, slumping down again.
Charlotte looked at her brother.
“Where could she be, where on earth is Sarah, Richard?”
His expression was grave. He opened his mouth to speak but before he had a chance to answer, the phone rang out in the sitting room. Their father spent so much time on council business that he’d got the council to install a second phone, next to his favorite armchair.
Charlotte sprinted through the hall to get it.
“Yes?” she asked, out of breath.
“Hey, Charlie, long time no see.”
Tomas Walsh.
She hadn’t seen Tomas all summer. He’d been in Germany working in a pea factory.
“Hi there, Tomas. How’s it going?”
“Hardly the rapturous greeting I was expecting from my gorgeous girlfriend.” Tomas sounded miffed. “How did the re-sits go?”
“Ok, I guess. We should know in two weeks.”
“Something up, Charlie? You sound strange. Look, if you’re mad ’cos I haven’t been in touch –”
“No. No, it’s not that. It’s just that…well something’s happened.” She would have to tell him.
“I see, well are you going to tell me?” he said slowly. Tomas probably thought she’d met someone else.
Charlotte took a deep breath. She forced the words out. “It’s Sarah. Sarah’s missing.”
The words echoed round the sitting room.
Sarah’s missing. Sarah’s missing.
He didn’t respond immediately. She could hear him breathing. He knew that she was serious. She and Tomas had some great laughs together but he knew she wouldn’t joke about something like this.
“Missing since when?” he asked, eventually.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Charlotte heard footsteps in the hall and Richard came to the doorway looking serious.
“I’m on the phone,” she mouthed.
He didn’t move.
“I’m really sorry, Tomas, someone’s here. I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
Charlotte hung up. It was possibly the shortest phone call she’d ever had with Tomas. She looked questioningly at her brother.
“One of the lads to see you, Charlotte.”
“One of the lads?”
“A detective on the case. He wants to ask you a few questions. He’s in the kitchen.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. A detective. The situation had now become a case. Charlotte stood up feeling slightly dizzy. She felt herself float out of the sitting room through the hall and into the kitchen.
Richard was handing a cup of tea to a pale man in his forties. He wasn’t in a uniform. Instead, he wore a dark colored suit and a tie. He wore a badge signaling his abstinence from alcohol.
The detective stood up and shook her hand. He almost looked funereal. “Hello, Charlotte. You know why I’m here.”
Her heart crashed against her rib-cage and she wondered if she might faint.
The detective sat down again. Looking at her all the time. He didn’t smile.
Charlotte nodded, choked for words.
“Now Charlotte, I want you to tell me in as much detail as you can about the weekend you just spent in Clare, concentrating on what happened on Monday.”
He took out a notepad and pen. “Can you do that for me?”
“I’ll try my best.” Charlotte’s mouth went dry. She wasn’t stupid. She knew there’d be detectives. And she’d already broken the weekend into segments in her head. There were the meals, the trip to the shop, the trip to Black Island, the barbeque, the hike, the drinks in the pub. As Charlotte described arriving at the cabin, the detective stopped writing and looked up from his notebook.
“Were you students the only ones at the cabins?”
It was a question that had played repeatedly in her head over the last few days.
“I think so,” she said carefully. “But I couldn’t say for certain. I heard a car a couple of times and the sound of occasional hammering from one of the other cabins. But I think we were the only ones actually staying there.” Charlotte remembered what Sarah had said. “Sarah seemed convinced she’d heard noises on our first night there. But she’s such a townie. Sarah wouldn’t be used to the sounds of the countryside at night. I think it scared her.”
Charlotte looked out the window at the dusk. It would be dark soon. Was Sarah out there in the dark somewhere? She couldn’t think about that now. She had to block it out. Concentrate on dealing with the detective. Tell him what he needs to know. Tell him about the guys in the pub. It might be relevant.
“We met some guys in the pub,” Charlotte volunteered.
The detective stopped writing. He looked up.
“Tell me about that.”
Charlotte told him about the guys from the north of Ireland. About the cave they’d discovered. About the drinks, about the lift home. She concentrated. She hardly drew breath. The detective listened without interruption. He blinked slowly and torpidly.
“Can you remember what Sarah was wearing the last time you saw her? On the Monday?”
Of course she could. As clear as day. It was etched on her mind. Charlotte could picture her as if she were standing there in the flesh. Sarah was wearing her U2 T-shirt with all the tour dates. Her gypsy skirt with the leather tie wrap belt. The black and white scarf. Her biker jacket.
When Charlotte finished talking, the detective didn’t say anything. He remained silent. He appeared to be doodling on his notepad. She waited nervously for more questions but he just sat there, thinking. Was he satisfied or was he suspicious?
Just as Charlotte thought they were done, the detective cleared his throat and leaned towards her.
“Would you say you girls were… let’s see now… good friends?”
It was unexpected. She felt herself grow cold. She looked at Richard for support.
“God, yes. Of course. We’ve been living together for the past two years.”
He wrote on his notepad again. “No falling out over boyfriends?” he asked softly. “No little squabbles after a few drinks?”
Was he trying to trap her? Make her say something she didn’t mean to?
“No. Not at all. Absolutely not.” Charlotte shook her head. She felt unnerved.
“And you all get along well together?”
“I said so, didn’t I?”
He raised an eyebrow. His voice was velvet but he was like a bloodhound. Charlotte dug her nails into her palms.
“You girls all stick together, right? Look out for one another?”
“Of course we do.”
“And that’s why you decided to split up, and all go your separate ways?”
She stared at him now. Flabbergasted. What was he suggesting? Her heart began to pound.
“I don’t know what you mean… this is ridiculous… completely unfair,” she stumbled now. She hadn’t expected this. “What’s this about? I mean I don’t know why you’re not out there looking for her. It’s been three days. You should be out there looking for her now – not sat here talking rubbish to me!” Charlotte surprised herself at the force of her outburst. She wasn’t in control. He’d goaded her and now she knew she sounded panicked. She must have shouted, the way Richard looked at her. But still the detective didn’t stop.
“And where should we start looking, Charlotte? What do you suggest? Do you know? Do you know where Sarah is?”
Charlotte looked at him, dumbfounded. This was crazy. She’d give anything to know where Sarah was. It was freaking her out. Wrecking her head. She remembered every last detail of when she last saw Sarah but where she was now, she just couldn’t fathom. It was a complete mystery to her.
“Of course I don’t. I swear to you, I have absolutely no idea where Sarah is.”
Charlotte now looked to Richard for guidance.
“Look, Detective, you’ve got to ask these questions,” Richard intervened. “I know the score. But if Charlotte says she doesn’t know where Sarah is, take it from me, she doesn’t know where Sarah is. Go easy on her. I think she’s had enough for today.”
Charlotte looked at her brother gratefully. Richard, loyal as ever.
Richard showed the detective out. Her shoulders slumped. Jesus, that was much tougher than she had expected. Had the other two been interviewed in this way? Had Kathy or Ruth said something to make the police suspicious? And what on earth had Angela Nugent told the police? It was clear to Charlotte that someone somewhere thought their story odd.
Still shaking, Charlotte managed to roll a cigarette as she sank back into her father’s chair. She lit up and sucked the life out of the roll-up. Charlotte was a mess. Before, she’d felt confused and really angry at what had happened. Now, she felt very scared as well. Very very scared.
It was two thirty a.m. when she climbed the stairs again, leaving the downstairs sitting room like the smoky back room of a pub. She burrowed down into the center of the bed. But sleep wouldn’t come. Sarah’s gone. Sarah’s gone. You left her alone and she’s been taken, the voices said. Charlotte tried to block them out. She tossed and turned, but they wouldn’t leave her alone. It was relentless.
Just after dawn broke, the phone rang. She could hear Richard’s low tones. There was the dull creak of the stairs followed by a knock on the door.
“Charlotte, are you awake?” He opened it a crack.
She propped herself up.
“I haven’t been to sleep.”
“There’s going to be a search. Up at the Blue Pool. They want my help. I thought you might want to come.”
Ruth
Missing
August 1991
It was all over the papers, the television, the radio. It was real. Everyone knew she was missing. The Irish Times, The Irish Independent, The Examiner, they all screamed out the same headline – ‘ University Student Missing’. Angela Nugent knew people in high places. She must do. People went missing all the time but rarely could Ruth recall a missing person receiving so much coverage.
Ruth felt nauseous. She felt clammy. She hadn’t slept or eaten properly since it had happened. She felt as grubby on the inside as she looked on the outside. Her long hair hung lank and greasy. She didn’t have the energy to wash it. For the first time in her life, Ruth felt completely useless.
The phone hadn’t stopped ringing. Luke. The guys from the courthouse. And Kathy. She couldn’t get bloody Kathy off the phone. Kathy, like a walking war-zone. The girl should come with a health warning, with blue and white flashing lights.
Ruth was the last of the three girls to be interviewed. She’d have to get her story straight. Be prepared. That was the key. Be prepared.
At first, the detective seemed patient and kind. He’d let her do all the talking. It wasn’t at all how she’d imagined it would be. She thought she’d be asked far more questions, but no, he’d let her tell her version of events. Ruth was nervous and her mouth felt dry but she felt she did a good job. After fifteen minutes of talking, the detective made himself even more comfortable on the sofa.
“So tell me, Ruth, does Sarah have a boyfriend, a regular boyfriend I mean?”
It wasn’t a particularly strange question. But the way he asked it, startled her. Did the police already know something?
“Yes, yes she does,” Ruth replied, cautiously. “Although I’m not sure her mother knows about him. I think he’s a bit of a secret actually,” she lowered her voice. She almost felt disloyal to Sarah, even though she knew that she must help.
“Mother wouldn’t approve? That sort of thing?”
“I guess. Luke’s a good bit older – a fisherman in Galway. I don’t think he’d quite be Mrs Nugent’s cup of tea.”
“Second name?” The detective was taking notes.
“Reilly. Luke Reilly.”
Now poor Luke was going to get a grilling. Even though she wasn’t particularly fond of him, she almost felt sorry for him. He’d sounded gutted enough already. Christ, she hoped the detectives weren’t going off on a wild goose-chase. If they were going to grill anyone they should look at those oddballs from the north of Ireland.
“And what about yourself, Ruth?” smiled the detective. “Do you have a boyfriend yourself?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” she said.
“Sure, we don’t know until we ask.” He smiled again.
“Well, no, as a matter of fact, I don’t have a boyfriend at the moment.”
He looked down at his notepad. “And Charlotte Moran, does she have a boyfriend?”
“Yes, she does.”
Where was all this going?
“And what about Kathy Clarke?”
Ruth couldn’t help smirking. “I don’t think so at the moment. But there’s usually someone lurking about.”
The detective considered her responses. “So, your three friends – all attractive young women, they all have admirers. How does that make you feel?”
God, that was insulting. What the hell did he mean by that? “Pleased for my friends,” Ruth said drily.
“It’s just that I have a lot of sisters you see. Sometimes there can be a bit of competition when you get a group of women together,” he chuckled.
Ruth was not amused. After a few more minutes, the detective seemed satisfied with her answers and he rose to put on his raincoat. It was pouring down outside.
“Miserable, isn’t it?”
Ruth nodded.
“Not the kind of weather you’d like to be out in.”
“No.”
She showed him to the door but just as he was about to leave he turned on his heel and swung around to face her. “So, Ruth, that’s it then? Nothing else you’d like to add?”
Her heart skipped a beat. She held his gaze. There was only that one niggle, nothing concrete. Best not to say anything. “That’s it,” she said confidently. “That’s everything. As much as I remember anyway.”
His eyes held hers for a few seconds. “Good. Good. It’s best to be in possession of all the facts.”
And off he shuffled into the rain.
Ruth felt disconcerted. She knew the facts. The facts were, they shouldn’t have been hitching in the first place. They shouldn’t have split up. They shouldn’t have left Sarah to fend for herself. What other facts were there? That Sarah shouldn’t be the one that was missing? And if bloody Kathy rang her one more time to grovel her thanks about Ruth keeping quiet, she’d explode.
Inside, Ruth was screaming. She’d beaten herself up. She felt battered and bruised and bloody. Seeing Sarah on TV had been surreal. The story had gone national and in some sick way it had captured the imagination of the public.
The public saw photos of a missing young woman who came from a wealthy, respected, and educated, Dublin family. The woman was blonde,
pretty and vulnerable. Sarah smiled demurely from the telly. The photo was flat. It was two-dimensional and devoid of any personality. It was not the Sarah they knew. No trace of her coquettish nature. The photo had been taken on Dun Leary Pier.
Ruth watched and shook her head. In no way did that photograph reflect the Sarah they’d spent the last few days with. In it, her hair looked smooth and silky like an ad for shampoo. There was no stud in her nose. The photo was probably chosen by Mrs Nugent, showing Sarah the way Mrs Nugent wanted her to be, rather than the way she really was. Ruth felt suddenly mean. I’m being a bitch, she thought. Whatever her shortcomings as a mother, Mrs Nugent must surely be going through hell.
* * *
Day Four.
By now, the police were pretty certain that Sarah had never made it to the train. No ticket collectors could recall anyone that matched her description. An incident room was being set up in Ballyvaughan. An incident room for God’s sake. Those words chilled her to the bone.
Ruth’s father was going to drive her there from Kerry in the morning. Ruth and the other two girls had been asked to help with the inquiry. And Ruth had booked the three of them into the local hotel. But the Nugent family would be there too and she was dreading that.
And there was still the rest of today to get through. There would be the main evening news tonight. Angela and Wynn Nugent were going to make a televised appeal for any information regarding the whereabouts of their youngest daughter, Sarah.
Ruth had never considered herself the praying type. She was practical. She wasn’t the crying type either. But yesterday she’d spent the day doing both. She’d skulked into the local church hiding in a pew at the back. She’d prayed as she’d watched a group of clucking women polish and arrange flowers. And she’d prayed some more. There was nothing to do but pray and wait.
After the detective left, her mother served her up a toasted sandwich. It went untouched. Out of nowhere, great big tears rolled down her face and plopped on to the plate. Her mother looked at her in alarm.
The Blue Pool Page 18
