‘I saw it on breakfast TV,’ he explained. ‘The picture of the girl.’
‘I see,’ Lucy said, impatient for him to get to the point. She had come alone, Fleming staying in the woods while forensics were carried out on the shed.
He licked his lips drily. ‘I thought I’d seen her before.’
He reached out one hand, straightening a sheet of paper on the desk.
‘Is her mother here?’ Lucy asked, shifting in her seat.
‘We got her through a temping agency; she only started a while back,’ Graham continued as if Lucy had not spoken. ‘That’s why I wasn’t sure. But when I saw the picture, I knew I’d seen her somewhere before.’ He waggled one thick digit to emphasize his point.
‘Is the mother here?’ Lucy repeated.
‘No. She’s on leave; she’d booked it before she started with us. I’ll show you her desk.’
Graham led her down a narrow corridor to an open-plan office. Six cubicles were partitioned off by freestanding grey boards. Several of the cubicles were occupied. A soundtrack of keyboard keys clacking backed hushed phone conversations.
‘Where do you make the shirts?’ Lucy asked. Derry had once been famous for its shirt industry, but over the past decades the factories had shut one by one.
‘India,’ Graham replied. ‘We simply handle orders here. All manufacturing has been transferred out. Here we go.’
He rounded into the final cubicle. A single desk, PC monitor, desk tidy with a few biros. Sheets of figures lay in a plastic tray to one side of the desk. On the soft baize of the facing wall of the partition, a few postcards and cartoons were pinned up. In the middle was a single photograph of a woman and a child. The woman had a puffy, aged face, her hair a dirty blonde, tied back from her face. The child next to her beamed for the camera, her cheek pressed against her mother’s. There could be no doubt that the girl in the picture was indeed Alice.
Lucy read over the details Graham had given her as she walked out to her car. The woman, Melanie Kent, lived in Church View in Strabane, a good twenty miles from Derry. Alice may well have been in a bad state when Lucy found her, but there was nothing to suggest that she had travelled twenty miles barefoot in the snow.
As she approached the traffic lights at the end of Spencer Road, she cut right, towards Prehen, then continued past it and on up Victoria Road to Strabane. She vaguely knew the town, though certainly not well enough to be able to locate Church View. Instead she phoned through to Maydown and asked them to transfer her to Strabane station.
The desk sergeant who answered sounded young, his accent carrying a rural lilt. She explained the case background and that she had an address for Alice’s mother in Strabane. The man knew the case, commented on having seen it in bulletins and on the TV. He promised to have an inspector meet Lucy at the ‘Tinnies’ on the roundabout.
‘How will I know where the Tinnies is?’
‘You’ll know them,’ he said, laughing lightly. ‘They’re twenty-odd-feet high and made of metal.’
Twenty minutes later, he was proven right. The weak winter sunlight caught on the bands of metal from which the giant sculptures were constructed. The road to Strabane had been salted and Lucy felt the slush beneath her tyres, heard the distinctive sloshing of the watery ice inside the wheel arches as she drove.
She saw the PSNI car parked in the lay-by, just as the desk sergeant had promised. Pulling up in front of it, she got out of her own car and walked back, just as the driver of the first also exited his car. He was a tall man, mid-forties at best, his frame thin and wiry. He had sandy hair, thinning on top and brushed to one side. He smoothed down his moustache with his finger and thumb as he walked, then extended his hand.
‘Inspector …?’ Lucy began.
‘DS Black? Good to meet you. Call me Jim.’
CHAPTER 25
She drove with Jim in his car up to Church View, leaving her own vehicle parked in the lay-by. He drove one-handed, his left hand resting on his leg, unless he needed it to change gear. He smiled as he talked, his eyes shifting across her face.
‘So what’s the story with Melanie Kent, then?’ he asked.
‘I think I found her daughter in the woods a few nights ago.’
‘You think you found her?’
‘Well, I did find a girl. We think Melanie Kent is the mother. Her boss called us this morning, after recognizing a picture of the child on the news.’
He nodded. ‘I saw the piece. What has the child said about it?’
‘Nothing,’ Lucy said. ‘She hasn’t spoken to anyone since we found her. The hospital shrink has been trying all week, but nothing yet. Selective mutism, she calls it.’
‘Bloody smart, if you ask me, refusing to speak to a shrink. Maybe the wee girl’s not so stupid, eh?’
He winked at her and smiled.
The house was the end of a terrace on the hill running up from the town centre. Despite the salting, the incline was still difficult and the car slid on the road a few times, before Jim finally pulled it in to the kerb and suggested they walk the rest of the way.
The house looked neat from the outside, the exterior woodwork all freshly painted. A new-style Ford Fiesta sat in the drive.
He leaned against the car, placed a gloved hand against the glass to reduce glare as he peered inside.
‘A few kids’ toys lying on the floor,’ he observed. ‘No booster seat though.’
Lucy knocked at the door, then stood back, scanning the windows for any sign of life inside.
After a moment she knocked a second time, but again with no response. She rattled the door handle, but it was locked. She moved across to the hedge separating the neighbouring house and glanced in the front window there.
‘Doesn’t seem to be anyone home in either house,’ she said.
She glanced over at Jim who was kneeling on the front doorstep, working at the lock. After a few deft movements, he stood and tested the door handle.
‘It’s open,’ he said. ‘Who’d have thought it? We’d best check the place hasn’t been burgled or something.’
‘I checked that door,’ Lucy said. ‘It was—’
‘Open,’ Jim said. ‘You’re absolutely right, DS Black. Very careless in this day and age. After you.’
He held the door open, gestured that Lucy should go in first.
‘That’s a handy trick, Inspector,’ she said as she passed him.
Immediately they were inside, they were struck by the cold dampness of the air in the hallway.
‘No heating on for a few days,’ Jim said, laying his hand against the cold metal of the radiator beside him for confirmation.
‘Hello,’ Lucy called. ‘Police.’
No response.
The hallway had three doorways, with a set of stairs to the left of the front door. They tried the first door, which opened onto a sitting room. The room was tidy, the TV in the corner unplugged. On the wall above the sofa was a large framed colour print of Alice. It was clearly a studio piece, the girl lying on her front, leaning up on her elbows, her chin resting on the flat of her hands. It reminded Lucy of the image of Kate McLaughlin on the Missing Persons poster.
‘It’s her house all right,’ Lucy said, nodding at the image.
‘Lovely looking wee girl,’ Jim said.
The next room seemed to be a den of some sorts. One wall was lined with wide shelving on which sat plastic storage boxes containing assorted toys. A portable TV sat on a corner unit, beneath it a games console. Again, both were unplugged.
The final room at the end of the hallway was the kitchen. It was similarly tidied, though on the draining board beside the sink sat an upturned mug and cereal bowl, both dry. A small puddle of water lay beneath the bowl, where the drips had collected as it dried.
Jim opened the fridge. Apart from a few jars of jam and a tub of margarine, the fridge was empty.
‘It looks as though they have gone on holidays,’ Lucy said. ‘As her boss indicated.’
He no
dded. ‘Looks that way. Check the rooms above.’
The two bedrooms above were neat and tidy. The bathroom, likewise, had clearly been cleaned before Melanie Kent had left.
‘Do you think she abandoned her to look after herself?’ Lucy said.
Jim stood in the doorway to the bathroom. He pointed to a soap-scummed glass that stood empty on the windowsill.
‘Looks like she took their toothbrushes and so on with her.’
Lucy followed him into the room. Assorted toiletries sat on a white cabinet beside the bath.
‘All very flowery,’ Jim said. ‘Nothing masculine.’
‘No husband or partner then?’
He nodded. ‘I’ve not seen pictures of any, have you?’
Now he mentioned it, Lucy realized that the photographs she had seen had been of Alice and her mother.
Jim moved into the next room. ‘Must be the girl’s room,’ he called. The bed was made with a Dora the Explorer duvet and pillow set. Resting on the pillow were two teddy bears.
Lucy picked up one of them, the more battered-looking of the two. ‘For Alice,’ she explained in response to Jim’s enquiring look.
To the left of the bed was a chest of drawers. A small goldfish bowl sat on top of it, the fish circling the bowl then surfacing to gulp at the air.
‘They can’t have been gone too long, the fish is still alive,’ Lucy observed.
Behind the bowl was a varnished wooden jewellery box, about six inches long. Lucy flipped the lid open. A tinny version of ‘Clair de Lune’ began to play for a moment, then ran out of steam and tinkled to a stop.
Inside the box were a handful of photographs. Lucy lifted them and glanced through them. Most seemed to be of Alice and friends from school. They wore a burgundy uniform.
‘Is that a local school?’ Lucy asked, handing Jim one of the images.
‘Don’t think so,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen that uniform before.’
Other images included Alice and an elderly couple who Lucy assumed to be her grandparents.
At the back of the photos was an envelope. Lucy glanced at the postmark: Kilmainham, Ireland.
The paper on which the letter was written was thin and flimsy. The letter itself was short.
Dear Alice,
I’m so sorry I’m not there for your big day, sweetheart. Mummy wrote me that you liked the present I sent.
I can’t wait to see you when I get out. Knowing that you will be there when I get out makes these final few months easier to bear.
I’m sorry I’ve missed so much. I’ll make it up to you, I promise sweetheart.
All my love and kisses,
Daddy.
Lucy offered the letter to Jim when she’d read it.
‘Prisoner?’ she said.
He nodded. ‘Contact Portlaoise Prison and get his details. He says here he had months left and this was sent last summer. He must have got out fairly recently. Maybe he got out and the family reunion didn’t go as planned.’
Lucy shook her head. ‘He sounds like he loves her in his letter.’
‘He wouldn’t be the first father to let down his kids, now, would he?’
‘Cynic,’ Lucy said.
‘Realist,’ he replied. ‘It looks like they packed up to go somewhere. Toothbrushes gone, no sign of coats or shoes lying around.’
‘Maybe they went to the father’s house. Even if he did get out, he’s obviously not been living here,’ Lucy said.
‘If he has been released, you should see if Portlaoise has an address for him,’ Jim said.
‘I was going to,’ Lucy said, prickling a little at being told how to do her job.
‘We’ll need to put out an alert for the mother too. I’ll bet you a ton he’s got out, offed the missus and tried to do the kid too.’
‘You’re on,’ Lucy said.
‘Girls and their fathers,’ he said. ‘Tell you what. Leave the prisons to me.’
Lucy raised her eyebrows.
‘We have good contacts with the Guards over the border,’ Jim explained. ‘They’ll get info from them quicker than we will.’
An hour later, as Lucy pulled into the car park of the hospital, he called her back.
‘Peter Kent was released a month ago from Portlaoise after serving five years. He was done in 2004 for planting a roadside bomb in Monaghan. He’s a dissident, or at least he was. Apparently they’d set an explosive charge on the border to hit a checkpoint, then had stretched the detonator wires across into the South. The Guards came on him and another man, Kevin Mullan, hiding in a ditch. They charged them with membership, possession of a weapon and handling explosives. The two of them got twelve years, got out in half that with good behaviour.’
‘Jesus,’ Lucy said. ‘That’s great, Jim, thanks. Any luck with an address?’
He audibly inhaled. ‘That’s where our luck ran out. He had given an address in Dublin, but apparently he never showed up there.’
‘What about this character Mullan?’
‘Well, you could be in luck there. He’s a Derry man. You should have him on your files down there if he’s involved with the dissidents.’
‘Thanks for your help,’ Lucy said. ‘It was nice to meet you.’
‘Likewise,’ he replied. ‘Maybe our paths will cross again sometime.’
CHAPTER 26
‘Hello,’ Lucy ventured, peeking her head around the door of Alice’s room. She had glanced in through the glass pane in the door. The psychiatrist, Dr Matthews, had been sitting by Alice’s bed, reading a book resting in her lap. Alice lay on her side, hunched away from the woman, facing the wall. When she heard Lucy’s voice she turned and looked at her, her eyes expressionless.
‘We’re in the middle of something,’ Matthews said irritably, standing up and laying her book face down on the seat. Lucy recognized the writer’s name; it was not someone she would have thought of reading to Alice.
‘I have something I thought Alice might want to see.’ Lucy reached into her bag and pulled out the teddy she had taken from Alice’s bed. The girl stared open-mouthed, then stumbled from the bed and ran across to her. The movement, the first she had made since Lucy had found her, seemed too much and she staggered as she reached Lucy, grabbing the toy with one hand. She fell against Lucy, who instinctively reached and lifted her, hugging Alice’s body tight against her own to stop the child falling.
Alice’s arms snaked around her neck and tightened. The girl rested her face against Lucy’s. The fur of the teddy bear Alice held against Lucy’s back tickled the nape of her neck.
‘Thank you,’ Alice whispered.
Lucy felt the wetness of the child’s tears against her skin and, despite herself, felt her own eyes begin to burn. She squeezed them shut to prevent the tears fully forming, but with little success.
‘Shush,’ Lucy said. ‘It’s OK.’
Matthews stood facing them, her arms by her sides. She smiled lightly at Lucy, nodding her head.
‘Well done,’ she mouthed.
‘Her name’s Alice Kent,’ Lucy explained to Matthews and Robbie in the sister’s room half an hour later. One of the nurses sat with Alice, trying to engage her with the toys. After her words to Lucy, she had not spoken again, though she seemed more lively, more interested in her surroundings.
‘Any sign of her parents?’ Robbie asked.
‘None. The house is empty. It looks like they were planning on leaving; toothbrushes and that all gone. She lived with her mother.’
‘What about the father?’ Matthews asked, opening a folder she had brought into the office with her and beginning to make notes.
‘He’s an ex-con. He was released a while back, but doesn’t seem to have been living with the mother and child.’
‘What was he serving time for?’ she asked.
Lucy glanced at her, unsure how much she should tell her.
‘I need to know if there was a history of abuse, for example,’ the doctor explained. ‘Either of the child or the mother.’<
br />
‘None,’ Lucy said. ‘He was caught planting a bomb on the border. He did time for weapons possession.’
‘Do you think he killed the mother? Got out after a few years, maybe found the locks changed?’
‘It’s possible,’ Lucy said. ‘We did a fly-by of the woods but nothing showed. There’ve been no accidents reported. With the thaw I might ask for ground searches of the woods and the houses bordering it.’
Matthews nodded. ‘It was a good idea to bring the toy,’ she said. ‘The girl clearly trusts you. You must have made an impression when you found her. She feels attached to you.’
‘It’s no bloody wonder,’ Robbie said, jokingly. ‘She apparently spends every night sleeping in the room with her and reading her fairy tales.’
Matthews glanced at Lucy in such a way she could not help but feel she was being assessed herself.
‘Fairy tales. Which ones?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘The usual. Goldilocks, Hansel and Gretel.’
‘That might explain today’s art work.’ She flicked through the folder then selected a sheet, which she handed to Lucy. Alice had drawn two stick figures, holding hands, walking between black trees.
Lucy shrugged and handed it back. The two figures were both girls in the picture, but she was not sure the doctor would appreciate her pointing this out.
‘Why those particular tales?’ The woman was watching her more closely now.
‘I like them, I guess.’
‘You’re reading stories about children lost in woods to her?’ Robbie asked, smiling.
‘They’re my favourites,’ Lucy said.
‘Are they indeed?’ Robbie said. ‘What does that tell us about this patient, Dr Matthews?’ he added, laughing.
‘I’m not the one in need of attention,’ Lucy replied.
‘I don’t know. All those stories of little girls lost,’ Robbie said.
‘Maybe Alice recognizes a kindred spirit,’ Matthews said. ‘A healthier work–life balance might not do any harm, you know, DS Black.’
‘My balance is fine,’ Lucy replied. ‘Let me know if you need anything further brought down from the house.’
Little Girl Lost Page 12
