Little Girl Lost

by Brian McGilloway

  CHAPTER 47

  The dawn had torn a red gash across the horizon to the east. Dermot helped her bring her father back home, then, plugging in her mobile, she called for help. She had thought of climbing down to check if Travers had survived the fall, but a quick glance over the edge rendered this unnecessary. His final resting position was all the confirmation she needed that his body was broken beyond repair.

  It took the Response teams the best part of an hour to arrive. When she heard the sirens approaching, she had walked back to the entrance to the wood and waited, then had led the first team through the woods, the journey made easier now by the lightening dawn.

  ‘There’s been a house fire on the city side,’ one of the officers offered by way of explanation for the slowness of their response as they picked their way through the trees.

  She stood at the top of the quarry and watched as the team worked their way down to where Travers lay. They were still erecting the small SOCO tent over his body when Lucy’s mother arrived.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked, laying her hand on Lucy’s arm.

  Lucy nodded. ‘He brought Dad into the woods. I came in after him.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He was looking for Dad’s notebooks. And the name of his informant. He was trying to cover his tracks, I think.’

  ‘What will the SOCO find?’

  ‘I shot him. Once. Then he scuffled with Dad and fell over.’

  ‘Was he armed?’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I thought he was, but then I never actually saw anything.’

  Her mother’s mouth tightened. ‘You shot an unarmed chief superintendent,’ she said softly.

  Lucy swallowed and nodded.

  ‘Where did you get the gun?’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘Dad’s.’

  ‘Where is it now?’

  Lucy took it from her pocket. Her mother glanced around, then took the gun from her.

  ‘Go home,’ her mother said. ‘I’ll be up with you as soon as I can.’

  As dawn broke through the trees, softening the edges of the shadows, she moved back towards her house.

  Her father was sitting in the living room when she came in, sorting through his final box of notebooks. He raised his head and smiled at Lucy when he saw her.

  ‘Nearly done,’ he said.

  She heard her phone ringing in the kitchen where she had left it charging. Lifting it, she saw that it was Robbie and could see from the display that she already had three missed calls.

  Robbie’s voice seemed muted when she answered. ‘Lucy? I’ve been trying to contact you.’

  ‘Robbie, can I ring you later? Now’s not really a good time to talk.’

  Robbie cut her short. ‘Something’s happened,’ he said. ‘I’ll collect you in ten minutes.’

  CHAPTER 48

  By the time Lucy and Robbie pulled into the estate in Foyle Springs, the fire brigade had managed to bring the blaze under control, but even with that the house was no more than a blackened shell, the walls glistening in the growing light.

  One of the firemen sat on the kerb at the side of the road, the streaks of his sweat marked in rivulets on the grime of his face.

  ‘What happened?’ Lucy asked.

  The fireman stared up at her, perhaps suspecting she was a journalist.

  ‘She’s with the PPU,’ Robbie said.

  ‘Arson,’ the man said. ‘The stink of petrol in the place is desperate.’

  One of the firemen came out of the house, his breathing apparatus over his face. He pulled it off and moved to the side of the house. He stood, facing the wall, his head resting on his forearm against the brickwork. One of his colleagues patted him on the back as he passed.

  ‘There were two children living there,’ Lucy managed, the acrid taste of the smoke burning in her throat and causing her to struggle to breathe.

  The man shook his head dejectedly.

  ‘Where are they?’

  He glanced at the house. ‘They were in the bedroom together – one curled round the other. The wee girl had wrapped the baby in wet towels. Hadn’t kept any for herself, just for the baby. He’d not have survived otherwise.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘The wee boy’s in the hospital. He took in a lot of smoke. The girl … we couldn’t help her … she’d already …’ He hung his head, staring between his knees at the ground. ‘She used all the towels on the baby.’

  Lucy felt a sob shudder through her body.

  ‘What about the mother and her partner?’ Robbie asked.

  ‘We found the mother. She was in the living room. There is no one else.’

  ‘Did she do it?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. The pathologist will have to examine her first.’

  ‘Her partner got out on bail yesterday,’ Robbie said. ‘One of our workers was out here with them when he arrived. He was in the house last night.’

  Lucy felt the ground shift beneath her. She sat on the kerb beside the fireman.

  ‘We found a phone still in the wee girl’s hand. She must have tried calling for help,’ the man said. ‘Can you imagine that?’

  Lucy suddenly felt her innards twist. She began to retch, had to turn her head away from the man beside her.

  With trembling fingers, she took out her phone. She dialled voicemail, retrieved the message she would have received when she’d been in the woods with Travers and her father had her battery not died.

  Mary Quigg’s voice was hushed, her words slurring, as if she was crying.

  ‘I need help. You said you’d help. He’s hurt Mummy. He’s going to hurt us. I’m in my room with Joe. Please come and get me.’

  Lucy allowed her tears to run freely, lowering the phone from her ear. Mary’s voice could still be heard. Robbie sat beside her and listened, his arm around her.

  ‘He’s going to kill us. Mummy. Mummy!’ The word was a scream, pleading, desperate.

  Robbie reached across to take the phone from Lucy but she would not let him. She had to hear the message.

  And so they sat and listened. Mary’s speech became more broken over the course of the next two minutes, her words more slurred, punctuated by her screams. In the background they could hear the baby’s crying become more muffled, could hear Mary occasionally hushing him. Over and over she said, ‘Is there anybody there?’

  After those few minutes, they heard only the gasping of her breaths. Then those too stopped.

  CHAPTER 49

  By the time she got home, the house was empty. A note on the table from her mother told her to call the station when she was ready. Robbie dropped her off, promised to call on her later to check how she was doing.

  When she went into the PPU suite, Lucy’s mother and Tom Fleming were questioning Kate McLaughlin. Michael McLaughlin sat next to her on the sofa, her hand clasped in his. The interview had been going on for some time, for they were discussing Alice.

  ‘She said she knew somewhere safe, in the woods. A hut her daddy used for camping,’ Kate said. ‘She led me there through the snow, then said she had to go back, in case her father found out she’d let me out.’

  Lucy’s mother glanced up and, seeing her, excused herself from the interview.

  ‘I thought you spoke to Kate yesterday,’ Lucy observed when her mother came out.

  ‘We’re softening up the father. I’m going to put a few of your accusations to him and see what he has to say for himself.’

  ‘You’re making him listen to Kate’s ordeal again to make him feel guilty,’ Lucy said.

  Her mother smiled briefly. ‘Something like that,’ she said. ‘I want you to know that your father has been charged with Bill Travers’s killing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I spoke to him in the house. I showed him the gun that was used and he said it was his. He says that Travers tried to attack you and so he shot him. They fought and he threw him over the quarry edge.’

  ‘But that’s not true,�
� Lucy said. ‘He can’t take the blame. He didn’t do it.’

  Her mother stared at her steadily. ‘He says he did.’

  ‘He’s senile!’ Lucy snapped.

  ‘He seemed sensible enough this morning. He’ll claim diminished responsibility and be put in a secure unit in Gransha Hospital.’

  ‘That’s not fair, Mum,’ Lucy said. ‘I can’t let him take the blame.’

  ‘It’s best all round, Lucy. He has signed a statement already. The case is closed.’

  ‘You’re just punishing him for Janet,’ Lucy said angrily.

  ‘He’s punishing himself,’ she replied. ‘I’m just letting him do it. It should have been done years ago.’

  Lucy knew her mother well enough to know that she would not change her mind on this.

  ‘I heard about the young girl, Quigg,’ her mother said. ‘I’m sorry. Tom said she had connected with you.’

  Lucy struggled to remain composed. ‘For all the good it did her.’

  ‘She called you, is that right? As she died.’

  Lucy nodded, but could not trust herself to speak.

  ‘You need to make a real impact on someone to have them think of you at the moment of their death.’

  ‘I let her down,’ Lucy said. ‘She called me and I wasn’t there.’

  ‘That wasn’t your fault, Lucy, and you can’t blame yourself for it.’

  ‘That’s easier said than done,’ Lucy said.

  ‘If you want someone to blame, go for Alan Cunningham. The case is open. Cunningham has fled over the border apparently. I’m sure whoever takes over CID from Travers will be glad to have PPU input. Especially from someone with such an affinity for the vulnerable, Lucy. Don’t waste that.’

  ‘Are you saying this as my mother?’

  ‘And as your commanding officer. I’ve already left the preliminary case notes on your desk.’

  Lucy stared at the woman, then quickly embraced her. Her mother seemed surprised by the gesture.

  ‘Do we have an understanding?’

  Lucy managed a brief smiled. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Her mother nodded, then turned and went back into the Interview Room.

  ‘Let’s talk about property deals, Mr McLaughlin,’ Lucy heard her say, as she passed on the way to her office.

  Through the high window in her room she could see the sun had crested the rusted fence beyond; its light refracting through the drops of meltwater hanging from the barbs on the wire. A thin folder lay on her desk with the initial reports on the fire in the Quigg house. Photographs of Catherine and Mary were attached to the cover sheet.

  She sat and stared at the picture of Mary, rubbed her finger along the girl’s cheek.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mary,’ she whispered.

  Lifting the photograph, she went over to the old noticeboard and pulled down the poster on the need to destroy ragwort. In the centre of the board she pinned Mary’s picture so that, whenever she sat at her desk, Mary would be facing her, reminding her.

  During the rest of the afternoon, as the sun moved across the sky, the small square of light from the window shifted incrementally across the far wall until it seemed to Lucy that, just before dusk, it settled on the picture of Mary, framing her in its dying light.

  CHAPTER 50

  It did not take long for McLaughlin to confess. By the following morning, the story was already featuring on the front pages of the papers. Fleming relayed the details of the interview to her over coffee in the PPU kitchen.

  McLaughlin had bought the land to build on, knowing that the listed buildings would have to be razed if he was to make a profit. Billy Quinn had worked for him even then and suggested he knew someone who could help him out for a cut of the profits. Little did they realize when they planted the bomb that McLaughlin’s wife, who knew nothing of the scam, was in the building.

  Travers had been investigating her killing. When he got the tip-off from Lucy’s father, he’d challenged McLaughlin. McLaughlin claimed he felt relief that it was out in the open, was glad to accept the punishment for what he had done. But then Travers offered him an alternative. He too would take a slice of the profits and, in return, take care of the source of the tip-off, and her handler.

  McLaughlin heard nothing further until he leaked the story about the £25 million bid for the site weeks earlier. He hadn’t realized that Kent and Mullan were out. He’d paid off Billy Quinn in dribs and drabs, keeping him on a full salary for driving a car for him once or twice a month. It was Billy who told him what had happened to Kate. He knew he’d no chance of getting her back when Travers took over the case of her disappearance. But by that stage, he was so deeply enmeshed with the gang, he could tell no one.

  The papers ran a slimmed-down version of the story, focusing on the tragedy of the husband’s actions in killing his own wife, drawing comparisons with Ancient Greek drama. The Director of Public Prosecutions was compiling a file. McLaughlin could serve time. His daughter, Lucy reflected, would be alone again.

  Two smaller stories featured on the front pages too. The first concerned the fire that had claimed the lives of Catherine and Mary Quigg. Police confirmed that it had been started deliberately. The partner of the children’s mother was being sought as part of ongoing inquiries. Latest reports suggested he had made for the border and was hiding out in Donegal. A hospital spokesman said the young boy rescued from the fire was making promising progress.

  The second, smaller sidebar story mentioned, in passing, the events in Prehen. A serving PSNI officer had died in tragic circumstances after going into the woods to search for a retired RUC officer who had got lost. Travers had not been mentioned in the McLaughlin story either. Travers had been right in one respect. Lucy’s mother would not want her own reputation besmirched by the truth of her father’s crime against Janet coming out. As a consequence, Travers’s own reputation, publicly, remained unblemished.

  After leaving Fleming, she visited her father in Gransha. A psychiatric nurse led her down the corridor to the secure room where her father was being held. It was a basic affair: a metal-framed bed, a hard chair, a sink.

  Her father looked older than she had ever seen him before. He sat on the edge of his bed, one arm strapped to the frame. His eyes were glazed as if he were having difficulty in focusing. His head was bowed, his mouth hanging slightly open.

  ‘Daddy?’

  He made an effort to glance up at her, then lowered his head again.

  ‘It’s me, Daddy. Lucy.’

  He nodded lightly.

  ‘Mum told me what you said. You should have told the truth.’

  He angled his head to one side, rubbed at his cheek with the back of his hand.

  ‘You should have told them what really happened. In the woods.’

  ‘The woods,’ he repeated.

  ‘You remember we were in the woods,’ she said, sitting beside him on the bed. She laid her hand on his back, felt the frail movements of his ribs as he breathed.

  ‘I found the grave.’

  ‘What grave?’

  He smiled a narcotic-induced grin.

  ‘Where the elephant was buried? Do you remember I told you that?’

  Lucy placed her hand on top of his.

  ‘I’m talking about Bill Travers, Dad. Do you remember?’

  Her father held her hand lightly. ‘For years I could never find it, but I knew it was there. But I found it again last night.’

  ‘Travers, Daddy,’ Lucy said with desperation. ‘Do you remember?’

  Her father shook his head. ‘Remember, remember,’ he repeated. ‘Things get lost and things get found,’ he cooed, rocking lightly to a rhythm only he could hear.

  Lucy sat with him a moment longer, then got up to leave. ‘I’m meeting someone for lunch, Daddy. I have to go.’

  When she was at the door, he spoke a final time to her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lucy. For everything. For all you lost because of me.’

  Lucy nodded, but did not look back at him.<
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  It was bright outside, the air carrying the new-found heat of the early spring sunshine. Robbie was waiting for her in the car.

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘It went fine.’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  Lucy inhaled deeply, held it, then released, feeling herself relax.

  ‘I am,’ she said.

  Robbie shifted into gear.

  ‘Good. So, where do you want to go for lunch?’

  ‘Wherever you like. I want to visit Mary’s baby brother afterwards. See how he’s doing. Would you mind?’

  ‘So that’s a visit to a psychiatric hospital, some lunch, and then a trip to the children’s ward. Has anyone ever told you, you’re quite the date, Lucy Black?’

  ‘So, you think this is a date, do you?’ Lucy said.

  ‘Or not,’ Robbie replied, his hands raised in surrender. ‘You choose.’

  ‘I already have,’ Lucy said, with a smile.

  In this exclusive ebook extra, author Brian McGilloway presents a series of his own photos showing some of the novel’s settings.

  All material © Brian McGilloway 2011

  THE LANDSCAPE OF LITTLE GIRL LOST

  This is Prehen quarry. It was dug during the 1950s to provide stone for Lisahally Docks when the Americans developed a naval base in the city. This image is taken from the upper lip of the quarry site. The River Foyle is visible through the trees. I grew up in the development close to these woods and spent a lot of time playing in them when I was young. Many of the stories mentioned in connection with the woods date back from my own childhood – especially the story about the elephant’s grave.

  This is taken of the quarry a little further down the side. My brothers and I used to climb the rock face when we were children, racing to see who could get to the top first. That thought terrifies me now. Lucy alludes to this in her own childhood in the book.

  This is the steepest part of the drop down and it is around here that the final scenes in the woodland happen in the book.