by Casey Hill
“Animal feed?” Kennedy asked, remembering Chris’s conversation with the Glynn’s young neighbor earlier that day. “What kind of animal?”
“Exotic animal feed,” Julius said, moving the chair back and forth with his foot. “But the Hacketts don’t have pets.”
“No,” Chris said, recalling with a shudder the cage that had been present in the Glynn house when they had gone to interview Holly and her mother. “But the Glynns do.”
“Would chinchillas - whatever the hell they are - be considered exotic?”
Reilly looked up at Kennedy. “The Glynns have a chinchilla? Why the hell didn’t you mention anything like that before?”
“Because we just found out today,” he shot back. “And in fairness, if we told you about every little thing we saw every time we went to interview someone, it would get very annoying. In any case, I don’t know even what a chinchilla is, let alone what the feckin’ thing eats.”
Reilly ignored him, one last thing niggling at the back of her mind, “The board wax… that fits too,” she said, eyes widening with excitement.
“How?” Chris was already standing up and tugging on the ends of his jacket. He tossed his coffee cup in the bin and inclined his head at Kennedy.
“When you think of surfboards, where else in the world, other than California do you think of?”
“Bloody hell,” Kennedy said, understanding dawning. “It is the Glynn brother - it has to be.”
45
The room filled with an air of expectation as the four of them understood that finally, they had their man.
And that Holly Glynn’s attack had indeed been connected to Graham Hackett’s murder all along.
Chris was on the phone to O’Brien the second they’d identified enough to take Conor Glynn in, and while the chief was dubious - especially given the kid’s solicitor father had recently been in his ear so much - reluctantly, he gave his blessing.
Reilly grabbed her jacket from the table, “I’m coming with you,” she said, struggling to pull it on. Kennedy reached around and found the other sleeve for her, and she thanked him, quietly seething that now it was starting to look like she couldn’t even manage to put her own clothes on.
“When we went to the Glynn house earlier today,” Chris was saying in a rush, as he hit the elevator buttons, “there wasn’t anyone at home. Like all of them had rushed off in a hurry.”
Reilly raised an eyebrow, “So, what makes you think they’re back? What if the parents figured out what Conor did and decided the best option was to just up and leave the country? The father’s a solicitor - he’d work all the angles to protect his son.”
Chris called ahead to another officer to meet them at the house with the warrant for Conor Glynn’s arrest while they exited the GFU building and got in Kennedy’s car.
The cool midsummer air blew in through a crack in the window as Reilly put her head against the glass. Finally, finally, they were getting there.
Her mind swung back round to Holly Glynn then, and the dull feeling that had occupied her stomach for the duration of the case flooded back in. While she was pretty sure they’d managed to find Graham’s killer would it bring them any closer to finding Holly’s attacker?
And what of that attacker - had it been Graham all along? Was Holly pretending that she didn't remember anything about it in order to protect her brother?
But if it wasn't Graham, and Conor had lashed out at the other boy mistakingly assuming he’d hurt his sister, then it made an already troubling situation even more difficult.
Reilly was stuck, unsure right then if she preferred that her child be a girl - always vulnerable to that kind of opportunistic sexual attack - or a boy incapable of controlling his revenge impulses?
“We’re here,” Chris said, eventually.
A soft rain had just started to fall, drifting through the wind, more mist than rain drops. It spattered the windshield in front, accentuating his quiet voice. And sure enough, when Reilly glanced to her right she saw the Glynn house.
On the outside it seemed like the patrons of the house would be happy, perhaps settling down to enjoy a relaxing Sunday afternoon together?
But every single one of that family was now broken in some way, she realized, as she stepped out of the car.
And it was about to get a whole lot worse.
“DETECTIVES!” Chris called out, banging on the front door.
This time, Michael Glynn opened the door, his face grim, “What the hell is this - ”
Chris flashed a copy of the arrest warrant in his face and pushed past him, into the house, “We’re looking for Conor,” he said, loud enough that if the boy was in the house he would hear.
Reilly, Kennedy, and the other uniform moved into the house. She read a decorative plaque resting on a shelf to her right.
When it’s raining, look for the rainbow. When it’s dark, look for the stars.
She looked away from the sign and into the face of Susan Glynn whom she had briefly met in the hospital. Holly’s mum looked incredibly jaded and worried, and Reilly wanted to reach out to her to say something, but instead she just looked at her shoes.
She saw Kennedy heading toward the stairs and followed him up. He moved through the bedrooms, peeking in each one before moving on to the next. She followed him into the last room in the hallway and had to note how startlingly it resembled Graham Hackett’s bedroom.
The posters taped on the walls were exclusively that of famous sports stars, domestic GAA players and international soccer heroes. The walls were dark blue, the bed unmade and messy.
Reilly took a few steps over to the dresser. The drawers were hanging wide open, most of the clothes missing and in disarray, as though they had been ripped from their spots suddenly.
She moved over to a shelf laden with sports trophies and very quickly spotted a familiar looking white cylinder. It looked like soap, except it was circular and waxy. Alongside the shelf, stood a full-length surfboard.
She snapped on a pair of gloves and slipped the board wax container into an evidence bag.
When she and Kennedy were coming down the steps, Chris met them in the hallway.
“He’s not upstairs?” he asked, and when Kennedy shook his head the other officer said, “he’s not back there, either.”
They all moved into the family room, where Holly Glynn and her parents had taken up defensive positions on the opposite side.
“Where is your son?” Kennedy demanded of Mrs Glynn.
“You leave her out of this,” Michael said, stepping between his wife and the detective. The man’s trademark anger was missing this time, and instead it seemed as though the father was jaded and worn.
Chris squared his feet, looking the man up and down, trying to determine if he was a threat to them. Something about this entire situation felt wrong.
Behind him, Reilly had sighted the chinchilla cage, as well as a bag of food open next to it. She produced another evidence bag, taking a small scoop of the food for them to analyze and compare against the trace they had found at the Hackett crime scene.
But by now, she was pretty certain everything fit. All they had to do now was locate their killer.
“Where is Conor?” Chris demanded again, this time a near growl.
“Out training probably. Why?” the father said, his tone low and even, while his Adam’s apple jumped and bobbed.
Chris raised a single eyebrow. Surely, as a solicitor, Glynn understood the costly consequences of lying to the detectives. “Fine,” he said, “take him in.”
The officer moved forward and asked Michael Glynn to turn around so he could cuff his hands. Glynn did so, slow and controlled, like he had been practicing all his life.
“Daddy …!” Holly rushed from the other side of the living room, where she had been sitting quietly before. Her hair was wild, and tears streaked down her face. She looked around the room frantically, and when her eyes caught Reilly’s, she took another step forward, her tone pleadin
g, “You have to help him,” she said, gesturing toward her father, who was being escorted from the house. “He didn’t do anything wrong,” she cried, her words laden with hysteria.
Susan Glynn was sobbing hard, and she moved to embrace her daughter, who pushed her away. “Tell them!” Holly implored of her mother, “Don’t let them do this!”
Kennedy and Chris were busy with Michael Glynn, but Reilly didn’t miss the words Holly had uttered.
Tell them….
She followed close behind Chris and Kennedy, her gaze lingering on a portrait above the mantelpiece of the Glynn family in much happier times.
Reilly looked down at her shoes as she shut the door on the two women, her heart laden with sorrow and guilt for the force that had whirled through this family and torn them apart.
46
Chris walked into the warm interview room and pulled a chair out roughly, sitting down and leaning back in it.
After a minute or two of silence in the stagnant interview room, he laced his fingers together and leaned forward. “Did your son attack and kill Graham Hackett in his own home last Wednesday night?”
Michael Glynn looked up calmly, “Did you attack and kill Graham Hackett?”
Chris sat up in his chair, his jaw visibly tensing. He laced and re-laced his fingers together, “No, Mr. Glynn, as a matter of fact, I didn’t. My DNA wasn't found at the crime scene, nor was there any other trace evidence putting me there. I wasn't the one who had an existing beef with Graham Hackett, nor believed him to have assaulted my sister.”
At this, Michael Glynn looked unnerved, “You have really put a lot of work into this murder investigation, haven’t you? Let me ask you again: where is the devoted team looking for Holly’s attacker? Where are the men barging into homes, looking for the bastard that hurt my daughter? Does it only matter to you when the victim is dead? If the bastard had killed Holly, would you be looking a little harder?”
“Well, based on your son’s actions, it seems we already have Holly’s attacker…” Chris began.
“You don’t.”
“What?”
“You don’t. Holly says it wasn't Hackett.”
“Then why did your son take off on a vengeful rampage? Beat the shit out of Graham Hackett before practically caving his skull in with a hurl?”
Glynn recoiled a little then, evidently unaware of the severity of the attack.
“Michael, I understand your family has been through a difficult time - and that you are only trying to protect them. But I need to talk to Conor. If he did believe Graham Hackett was his sister’s attacker, then there are mitigating circumstances. You as a solicitor know this. But until we have him in custody and find out the real story, we can’t help him or you.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Michael Glynn said, disdain clear in his rough voice, “you barge into my home, scare my already traumatized wife and daughter, and drag me here in cuffs. People like you think you can walk all over everyone simply because you’ve got a flashy badge tucked away in your belt. You know, solicitors get a bad rap, but the guards are the real arseholes. You guys don’t care about anything but locking people up on the flimsiest of evidence. I’ve seen innocent man after innocent man rotting in cells, because a guard was too lazy to get off his fat arse and find out the real truth.”
Chris rolled his lips into his teeth and gripped his file with an intensity that turned his knuckles white, “You’re really not going to tell me where you’re hiding him?”
Glynn scoffed, “No.”
“Well then there’s nothing I can do. Irrespective of what you think, I have responsibilities too. Jim and Tara Hackett lost their son. Holly’s alive.”
“And what about my son? What chance does he have once you lot get to him?” Glynn spat.
“That’s the thing, Michael,” Chris finished. “We will get to him. And soon.”
But as he watched two officers walk Michael Glynn out of the room and down to a holding cell, Chris couldn't be sure if that was the truth.
REILLY REACHED the station just as Chris was exiting the interview room with the officers and Michael Glynn in tow. She watched as he disappeared down the hallway, and as he went, she caught a glimpse of the solicitor’s salt and pepper hair.
The man was doing so much to protect Conor: was giving up everything he had – his family, his job, his life - sacrificing his own freedom for a crime he hadn't even committed.
All to protect his son, who had yet to take responsibility for his actions. Surely as a solicitor he knew coming clean now would stand Conor in better stead.
Though perhaps being a father trumped being a solicitor.
A flash of panic flared in her mind then. Would she be willing to make that level of sacrifice of herself for her child? Would she be willing to give up her own life for her son or daughter? Was she capable of that?
Holly Glynn and her mother arrived at the station just then. Holly wore a light blue sweatshirt that climbed up her collar and ran all the way down to her wrists. Her hair was pulled back in a simple pony-tail, and she wore jeans that covered her legs but were not tight.
When she saw Reilly she made her way over with intention.
“I need to talk to you,” she said, her voice breathless and teary.
“Okay,” she replied cautiously, “what is it?”
Holly shook her head and glanced back in the direction her mother had gone to find out where they were holding Michael.
“No,” she said, her voice low, “I need to talk to you… officially.”
47
The room at the station Reilly found for them to talk in was small and washed out, but on such short notice she couldn’t do much better.
Holly sat still in the seat across from her, her sky blue sweater pulled down over her wrists. She was shaking, but Reilly couldn’t be sure if it was because she was cold, or because of something else.
“OK,” she said, “what did you want to tell me?”
Holly looked her in the eye and said clearly, her voice free of the tears tracking down her cheek, “I think … I think Conor did kill Graham.”
“OK, Holly,” Reilly said softly. “Tell me everything, right from the beginning. The truth this time.”
The girl took a deep breath. “Most of what I already told you and the detectives was true. The girls and I got to Graham’s house sometime after ten and the party was already going strong. After a while, a couple of us went out to the back deck. Graham and I started chatting. You know, how when you break up with someone, there’s that awkward period of time where you can’t talk? Graham and I had gotten over that, and we were just talking. He was telling me about this other girl that he really liked actually. But he wouldn’t tell me who she was.
“I felt a bit sick and went to the bathroom upstairs, and when I came back out I saw Megan and some guy pass by. I told Graham that I was going to go see what was going on. He was going to come with me, but I didn’t want to embarrass Megan, so I told him to leave it. I followed her, like I told you, but then I lost sight of them at the bottom of the garden. So like I said, I didn't feel too well, and it was late so I decided to just go home. Not long after that, there he was walking along with me. He said he’d walk me home.”
Reilly held her breath. “Who?”
She looked tearful. “It was creepy from the moment he came up to me, but I didn’t want to make a fuss so I just let him walk me home…” Holly trailed off, wiping her face with her hands clumsily.
I didn't want to make a fuss.
It was an almost innate female trait, Reilly knew, that came from physically being the weaker gender.
“Then about half way to my house, near the green, he started trying it on, started kissing me and stuff. I told him to stop, that I wasn't interested … but then he got mean … angry. He’s strong, and he pushed me down on the grass like I was a feather. I kept saying no, tried to push him off me and then he started saying how I was stuck up, thought I was too good for him. A
snowflake. Like Conor.”
Reilly frowned, her brain racing through the various witness reports as she tried to figure out who Holly was talking about. Was it Edward, her brother’s teammate - who seemed to have some kind of unrequited crush on Conor? But if he was homosexual why would he be interested in Holly? Though who knew with kids these days - especially in the teenage experimental phase. But more to the point, why would Holly protect Edward?
“He tore at my clothes and I tried to fight him off then, but he got his body between my legs and held me down. Like I told you before, it was only when he was …unbuckling himself that I managed to raise my knee and get him in the groin.
So I ran off and he screamed after me, calling me a frigid bitch and swore that I’d better not start accusing him of anything or he’d tell everyone that Conor was stacking too - mess up the scholarship for him.”
“I don’t understand. Why would Edward want to mess up Conor’s scholarship?”
“Edward? Edward Lyons? No, God no, he adored Conor - is one of his best friends. I’m not talking about Edward - I’m talking about - ”
A snowflake… Tell everyone that Conor was stacking …
“Dean,” Reilly said, suddenly recalling those same distinctive phrases the teen had been using in his social media exchanges.
Holly nodded ashamedly. “I should have told him to piss off, but he’s mean … I know what he’s capable of too. He hated Conor - all the other lads did. And it would be just like him to try to ruin my brother’s future out of badness.”
“So presumably you told Conor what happened?” Reilly asked, realizing that Holly’s attack must have been the trigger for her brother’s murderous rage.
But why did he go after Graham, when Dean was the one to blame?
Holly started to cry again. “After I got away from Dean, he walked back in the other direction toward the house, and I continued on home. I was shocked, upset, and still a bit woozy, and I stumbled on through the streets, without anyone noticing me, I thought. But then a taxi pulled up, and it was Conor. He’d seen me walking on my own and asked the driver to stop. When he saw my torn dress and that I was in a state, he started freaking out, asking me what had happened. It was stupid, but I couldn't tell him about Dean then because I was scared he’d make good on his threat. So I was telling Conor that I was at Graham’s house, and Conor just … took off. He looked so angry… I don’t know what I thought was going to happen, but I never thought he was capable of …that. He didn't know it was a party - didn't realize that were loads of us there. He thought it was just me and Graham in the house and that Graham had ….” She was crying outwardly now, heavy sobs. “And by the time he got to the house everyone else must had gone.”
