‘Sorry. I thought you were … oh, you know.’ She felt exasperated and flopped back on her chair. ‘Anything wrong?’
‘Can you come over to the cathedral for a couple of minutes? I want to have a word with you.’
She really should be checking out Hope’s address before returning to the hospital to get an interview with her.
‘Sure. Where will I find you?’
‘I’ll be inside the main gate.’
As she finished the call, Boyd stuck his head round the door.
‘You were looking for me?’
‘Fancy a walk?’
Six
The A&E department was chock-a-block. Doctors and nurses frantic. Orderlies and porters rushing to and fro. Hope found her clothes in a blue plastic bag on a steel rung under her bed. She tore off the IV and the hospital gown and slipped on her blood-soaked elasticated-waist jeans, still damp. The pain in her abdomen protested, but she got them on. Her T-shirt was a mess but she pulled it over her head anyway. There were pads jammed between her legs, and she found it awkward to move. The nurse had told her she’d been brought into hospital from the garda station. Why had she been there? Had she done something awful? Whatever it was, she felt with an unnatural certainty that she had to get out of here.
There was no sign of her hoodie. She had no idea if she had been wearing it or not. And no shoes. Where the hell were her shoes? She would have to go barefoot.
Slowly she dragged the curtain to one side and sneaked out behind a porter pushing a patient in a wheelchair towards a side door marked X-Ray. To the left she saw a fire door with a sign in big red letters warning against opening it.
She ignored the instruction and pushed down on the emergency handle. No alarm sounded. Once outside, she let the door swing shut behind her.
The ground was hard beneath the soles of her feet, but she had to keep going. Keeping her arms across her chest, hugging herself, hiding her bloody T-shirt, she headed for the rear exit out onto the main road. She knew the canal snaked around here somewhere. She just had to find it. And then she should be able to make her way home, relatively easy and unseen.
As she mounted the stile that led to the canal footpath, a cramp assaulted her abdomen, followed by a screeching pain. But she kept going.
She couldn’t remember a thing since just before the baby slid out of her womb.
And then she was struck with a horrible thought. Where was her baby?
The sun dipped behind a cloud and the water darkened.
‘This isn’t much fun,’ Sean said.
Barry flung his empty cider can into the centre of the canal and picked up his rod as a rat scuttled through the reeds. ‘You’re some moaner. You can piss off back home if you want.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ Sean wasn’t sure what he meant, but he didn’t want to annoy Barry. It was cool to hang around with someone other than his friend Niall. Wasn’t it? And Barry was popular. He was different. Sean took a swig from his own can and threw it, still half full, into the water.
‘Let’s see if there’s any more vermin ready to attack,’ he said, forcing bravado into his voice. But his laugh died in his throat.
‘What now?’ Barry asked.
‘Do you see that?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘That … that thing over there … what is it?’
‘I can’t see anything. Anyway, I don’t like the four-legged yokes.’ Barry began to stuff his fishing gear into his bag. ‘Let’s go up further.’
‘Okay so,’ Sean agreed, even though they hadn’t been here long.
As the clouds shifted, a gentle breeze rose and the reeds swayed. Sean felt his eyes widen and his mouth open in protest. He dropped his tackle bag and picked up his fishing rod, leaning forward and poking through the reeds.
‘What the …? Jesus Christ, Barry. Look. Not there. Over here, you eejit. What is it?’
Barry shuffled up to Sean’s shoulder.
‘It looks like … Is it human?’ he said.
‘I need to see more of it.’ Sean prodded with the rod. ‘Jumping jack shit, Barry. We need to call the guards.’
‘What for?’
‘Whatever that is, it … it’s d-dead,’ he stammered. ‘And it looks very small.’
‘Might be a dog or something?’ Barry said.
‘It’s not a dog, you moron. It hasn’t got any fur.’ Sean had his phone in his hand.
‘You don’t even know the number for the guards.’
‘My mother’s a detective.’ He tried her, but she didn’t pick up. ‘I’m calling 999.’
‘What’ll we do with the booze?’
‘They’re hardly going to search us.’
When his call was answered, Sean gave the details and then hung up. He continued to poke through the reeds with the end of his fishing rod. Suddenly, a rat swam along the edge of the bank and he dropped the rod just as he prodded the thing. He was only just quick enough to save it from sinking.
Barry turned and started to run.
‘Hey!’ Sean shouted. ‘What’s up with you? Come back.’
‘It is a body,’ Barry yelled. ‘Only … only it’s a …’
Sirens sounded up on the bridge.
‘Too late now. You’d better wait. I told them there were two of us here.’
When he saw the pale hue of Barry’s face, Sean turned to look into the water once again.
‘Fuckity-fuck,’ Barry said, and promptly vomited.
Seven
The air was crisp despite the July sunshine, and for a moment Lottie thought she should have grabbed a jacket on her way out. She took the lit cigarette from Boyd and inhaled.
‘About time you bought your own,’ he said.
‘Why would I, when you’re so generous?’
‘Where are we going?’
They stood on the bottom step outside the station. She stared over at the cathedral and thought about Father Joe. She had to keep him on her side. He’d be good to have as a confidant now that Boyd was making a circuitous route around her on the personal front. She couldn’t blame him. For too long she had distanced herself from him, and when he had asked her for commitment, she had baulked. It was her own fault. But she knew her life was too complicated to share with anyone other than her children and grandson. And her mother, Rose? Now she was a different problem altogether. A distorted family history that Lottie had no desire to tackle at the moment.
She spotted Father Joe Burke just inside the main gates. She felt Boyd stiffen beside her. She threw down the cigarette and crossed the road to greet the priest.
‘Nice day,’ she said. ‘You had something to tell me?’
‘It might be nothing, but there is something I wish to discuss with you,’ Father Joe said. ‘In private.’
Lottie turned to Boyd. Shit, now he would have a face on him all day.
‘Would you give us a minute?’
‘First you want me with you, and then … I take it that’s not a request,’ he said. He blew out his cheeks, then ground out his cigarette with the sole of his shoe and stomped back inside the station.
‘Sorry,’ Father Joe said.
‘Oh, don’t mind Boyd. He’ll get over himself,’ Lottie said. ‘You look worried.’
‘Let’s walk and talk.’
They moved into the cathedral grounds.
‘How are things at your mother’s?’ he asked.
‘Cramped,’ she said, with a laugh.
‘How long do you have to stay there?’
‘Not long now. Against my better judgement, I accepted a house for a nominal rent from, of all people, Tom Rickard. You remember him, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do. He was involved in the failed St Angela’s development.’
‘And he’s Louis’ grandad.’
Lottie’s daughter Katie had fallen pregnant by Rickard’s son Jason early the previous year, just before Jason was murdered. Louis was now nine months old. Tom Rickard was residing abro
ad. He knew better than to return to Ragmullin, and that suited Lottie. But following the fire that had destroyed her home in February, he had offered her the use of a vacant house he owned on the outskirts of town, and no matter how proud she wanted to be, she couldn’t turn it down.
‘I should have called you more often,’ Father Joe said. ‘To see how you were doing – you know, since the fire – but …’
‘Don’t worry. I know where you are if I need a chat.’
‘Good.’
A warm silence sprang up and Lottie snapped away the urge to link her arm through his. No, they had never become that familiar, but she liked the younger man’s company. Even though he was a priest.
‘Are we going to walk around in a circle, or are you going to tell me what it is that has worried a furrow so deep in your brow you could sow potatoes in it?’
He smiled, and they turned right and walked towards the large black cross with the crucified Jesus hanging there.
‘I heard you had a young woman present herself at the station this morning,’ he said.
‘Where did you hear that?’ Lottie cursed the grapevine that meandered its way out of the station and wrapped itself around the community so quickly.
‘Doesn’t matter, but I think I might have seen her. Day before yesterday.’
‘Where? How do you know it’s the same person?’ Lottie stopped walking and eyed him suspiciously.
‘I was coming out of the cathedral and I noticed someone sitting at the grotto.’
‘Show me.’
Lottie followed as he led her to the partly enclosed space that she had forgotten existed. Trees and bushes circled the mound of moss-covered rocks, on top of which stood a statue of the Virgin Mary. A narrow stone seat was situated at the entrance.
‘There. She was sitting there. Staring up at the statue.’ He sat down and patted the warm stone for Lottie to sit.
She remained standing. ‘Did you speak to her?’
‘I sat with her. She was like a statue herself. Pale as alabaster, unmoving except for her lips. A poor damaged angel.’
‘Was she praying?’
‘That’s what I thought. But she turned to me and I saw she was crying, with her hand resting on her stomach. She was pregnant. I don’t know much about these things, but she must have been eight or nine months.’
Lottie joined him on the seat, their knees almost touching. ‘Tell me what she said.’
‘I’m not sure I can.’
‘Jesus, Joe, it wasn’t confession, was it? You’re not bound by any heavenly rule.’
‘We didn’t speak within the confines of the confessional, you’re right there. But I believe what she told me comes under that seal.’
Lottie jumped up. ‘Ah, for feck’s sake. You and your man-made laws protected by unseen gods.’
‘Sit down, Lottie.’ His voice was so calm and reassuring that she sat, despite her annoyance. ‘The poor girl was distressed. Her hands had been torn to shreds by her own nails. Even though it was a warm evening, and she was wearing a hoodie, she was trembling uncontrollably. But there was something about her that held me back from comforting her. Can you understand that?’
‘No, not really.’
‘And then she spoke …’
‘Go on,’ Lottie said carefully.
‘She said, “Your God can’t keep the evil away from me.” That frightened the life out of me. Her words … it was as if they were spoken by a much older, world-weary woman.’
‘Jesus, Joe. That’s weird. What did you do?’
‘I was dumbstruck. I couldn’t do or say anything. Then, without warning, she laughed at me. She was sort of crying and laughing at the same time. Next thing I knew, she’d jumped up and rushed off. Or more like hobbled. Clutching her stomach like the baby was about to fall out of her.’
Lottie looked up at the statue, its white paint peeling in places, the sun forming a halo about the head. A white feather floated down from the sky and landed on her knee.
‘Did you see where she went?’
Joe turned and pointed behind him at a pathway through the trees. ‘Down there,’ he said.
She got up and stared through the leaves, shielding her eyes with her hand. ‘Did you follow her?’
‘No, I let her go.’ He stood up and gripped Lottie’s elbow, twisting her round to face him. ‘I think she might be the young woman you have in the hospital.’
‘How could you know that?’
‘Covered in blood and has just given birth. It has to be her.’
‘I’d like to know how you’re in possession of this information.’
‘I’m the hospital chaplain. I heard about her from one of the nurses.’
‘So where do you think her baby is then, oh knowing one?’
‘No need to be sarcastic.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Lottie said, seeing the hurt in his eyes.
Someone was calling her name. She snapped her head around. Boyd was running towards her.
She said, ‘What is it?’
‘We found a body.’
‘Where?’
‘Down by the canal. A couple of boys fishing. Jesus, Lottie …’
‘What is it, Boyd?’
He wrung his hands together. ‘It’s a baby.’
‘Oh no. Shit.’
‘And one of the boys who found it … is your son.’
‘Double shit.’
Eight
The two boys were huddled together under the watchful eye of Detective Maria Lynch. After ensuring that Sean was okay, Lottie took a deep breath and moved to the edge of the water.
‘I can’t see anything.’
Boyd handed her a fishing rod. ‘Here, use this.’
She got down on her knees and leaned in over the reeds, parting them with the wooden handle.
‘What the hell?’ She pulled back, almost dropping the rod.
Tangled in the mess of empty drink cans and muck and reeds, she saw it. The purple-grey skin. Tiny bare buttocks. Little hands and fingers. Entwined in the detritus. Dumped. Abandoned. Murdered?
‘Dear God in heaven,’ she whispered. ‘Do the boys have a net? Fetch some plastic sheeting.’
‘Hey, Lynch,’ Boyd said. ‘Call in for sheeting.’
‘Kirby’s getting it.’ Lynch pointed to the burly detective rushing down the path with the sheeting rolled up under his arm. She handed Lottie a net.
Lottie pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves.
Lynch said, ‘Let Boyd do that. I really think you need to comfort your son.’
Glancing at the teenagers, Lottie said, ‘I’ll be over in a minute. Keep them occupied. I don’t want him to see this.’
‘He already did. He called it in.’ Lynch moved back to the boys.
Lottie nodded at Sean to stay put and waited as Kirby rolled out the thick plastic.
‘SOCOs are on the way,’ he panted. ‘Shouldn’t we wait?’
Lottie shook her head. Kneeling on the sheeting, she grabbed the long handle of the net, took a deep breath and reached it out over the body. She turned it underneath and dragged it back to the water’s edge.
‘Maybe you should take the boys to the station, Lynch,’ she called over her shoulder. Her heavily pregnant detective shouldn’t have to see this. Nor her son, who was standing a few metres away. She wanted to run and hug him, to reassure him that her job wasn’t like this every day.
‘I will,’ Lynch said, her voice just above a whisper.
When she was sure Lynch and the boys had moved away, Lottie dragged the body closer and, with Boyd’s help, lifted it onto the plastic sheeting.
Falling back onto her buttocks, she looked up.
‘The poor little mite. Jesus, Boyd, what happened here?’
He just shook his head. No words could describe what they were looking at.
The heat of the sun was making her dizzy. But Hope kept walking. Stone and grit cut into her bare feet. She could only feel the pain in her stomach. The emptiness. That hollow fe
eling. The one you know is there but can’t put your finger on. Her baby. It was gone. But something else was flowing freely in her blood, and it terrified her. What was she going to do?
As she rounded the bend in the river, she noticed commotion up ahead. At the place where the river linked into the canal. She paused. What was going on? She hunched down among the rushes and long grass. Two boys and … No! The guards. Twisting to look behind her, she knew she hadn’t the energy to double back and find another way home. To her left was a high bank with a boggy field beyond. There was no way out. She was stuck until whatever was going on up there died down and fizzled out. She hoped it was just young lads caught drinking or smoking dope.
Sitting at the water’s edge, she let her bare feet dangle in the cool water, soothing the cuts. She was no one. A nobody. But there was one person who needed her. And that was the reason she stayed where she was. Waiting until the path ahead was clear.
She lay back on the grassy bed, and was soon asleep.
Jim McGlynn, head of the SOCO team, arrived with perspiration forming on his forehead and dripping down his nose. He’d suited up before making his way along the path, his forensic case weighing him down on one side.
Pulling up his mask, he knelt beside Lottie.
‘I won’t mention the fact that you’ve compromised the scene.’
‘It was already compromised by the boys who found the body.’
He had a look and said, ‘An infant boy. Umbilical cord was cut with a sharp implement, probably a knife. Maybe scissors.’ His gloved fingers hovered over the stomach.
‘How did he die?’ Lottie whispered.
‘No visible sign of any wounds.’
‘Was he born alive?’
‘Won’t know that until the state pathologist does her post-mortem.’
‘Has he been in the water long?’
‘I’ve no way of telling that. And to pre-empt your next query, I don’t know how long he’s been dead either. Yet.’
‘What’s your gut telling you?’ Lottie persisted. The sun was beating down on her back; her hair stuck to the skin of her neck. Her shirt felt like a damp dishcloth, clinging and sweaty.
Tell Nobody: Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense Page 3
