Tell Nobody: Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘All stacked up in the storeroom behind the bar. Was going to do it first thing this morning. But … well, you know why I couldn’t.’ Harris shook his head, flesh rolling at the back of his neck.

  Kirby made up his mind to lose weight. He didn’t want to end up looking like Harris in a few years.

  He followed the man across an open-plan area with a bar on one side and tables and chairs lined up along the wall. Harris went through a door at the end of the room and switched on a light. The office was tiny. A single shelf bulged with ring folders and another shelf acted as a desk, holding an old-fashioned computer modem and bulky screen. The chair was small and swivelled on its wheels as Bertie sat down.

  ‘So how can I help you?’

  ‘I was hoping to get your CCTV footage,’ Kirby said. ‘From the cameras outside.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so?’ Bertie shuffled upwards and shoved Kirby back out the door. He opened a cupboard in the wall, revealing an array of high-tech equipment.

  ‘Wow!’ Kirby was impressed.

  ‘Bells and whistles,’ Bert said, flicking buttons on the screen. A DVD slid out of the side of the machine. ‘The last week is on that. Take it.’

  ‘Have you checked it?’

  ‘No need. Only reason I’d have looked is if we had been broken into.’

  ‘And this includes the coverage from the camera at the rear of the clubhouse?’ Kirby couldn’t believe his luck.

  ‘It should do.’

  When everything was locked up, Kirby said, ‘Why not keep the CCTV equipment in the office?’

  ‘Anyone wanting to break in would see the cameras, and the office is the obvious place to search for recordings. But I’m smarter than them.’ A grin spread across Harris’s flabby cheeks.

  ‘You’ll need to come in and give a formal statement.’

  ‘Why? I’m after telling you everything.’

  ‘Mikey Driscoll is dead. You were with the boys in McDonald’s that evening. Can you remember anything about Mikey there?’

  ‘No. The place was packed tight. I’m no help to your inquiries.’

  ‘Let me be the judge of that. It’s the last known sighting of the boy.’

  ‘I can’t remember seeing anything or anyone suspicious.’

  ‘Our interview questions will determine what you did or did not see. Come in tomorrow morning. Won’t take long. About an hour or so.’

  ‘An hour?’

  ‘Just turn up. Don’t make me come looking for you.’

  Outside, Kirby took another look at the area where Mikey’s body had been found. The crime-scene tape hung limply and a scraggy cat stood looking at him, tail arched in warning.

  ‘Shoo,’ Kirby said, and headed for his car.

  Thirty-Six

  After their visit to Kevin Shanley’s parents, Lottie dropped Boyd at the station then headed for Tullamore.

  The air in the morgue was the same as always. Pungent disinfectant masking the stench of death. Bright lights, clean tiles and sterile stainless-steel tables. It gave her the shivers. She hoped the post-mortem on the baby had finished, because she did not relish viewing it.

  After robing up, she followed Jane Dore into the room. There, she was able to decipher the outline of the bodies lying on two steel tables. No sign of the baby. Good, she thought, and exhaled the breath that she’d taken on entering the room.

  ‘Have you finished the baby’s PM?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jane said.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Death by strangulation.’

  ‘He didn’t drown?’

  ‘Already dead when he was put in the water.’

  ‘Was he born alive?’

  ‘Yes, but he only lived a few minutes. It’s likely that a hand was clamped around his throat.’

  ‘A hand?’

  ‘Yes. The indents of the fingers go around the face and behind the ears.’

  ‘Sweet Jesus. Some guy in a rage?’

  ‘Or a mother who didn’t want the burden of a child?’

  Lottie was surprised. She knew the pathologist rarely made assumptions, and it was even rarer to hear emotion in her professional timbre.

  ‘Anything to help us identify the mother?’

  ‘I took blood for DNA comparison,’ Jane said. ‘You just need to find her.’

  ‘The hospital will have a sample.’ Lottie thought of Hope. ‘No other foreign substances? Can you get fingerprints from the marks?’ She knew she was grasping for a little light to shine on her investigation.

  ‘No other substances, and I wouldn’t bank on getting fingerprints. Plus, it’s hard to say how long he had been in the water. It could be up to two days.’ Jane turned away and moved towards the body on the nearest steel table.

  ‘Have you started examining either of the boys?’

  ‘The second one has only just arrived.’ She pulled back the sheet on the nearer table. ‘This is the body of Mikey Driscoll.’

  Lottie felt the familiar gush of nausea, and her kidneys contracted. She didn’t know if she wanted to vomit or pee.

  ‘He was a good boy, according to his mother.’

  Jane raised a perfectly plucked brow and leaned her head to one side.

  ‘What?’ Lottie said.

  ‘I’m not sure you’re going to like this.’

  ‘Go ahead. After the last couple of days, I don’t think anything could shock me.’

  Jane consulted her notes. ‘First, the cause of death. Damage to the thyroid cartilage. He was strangled.’

  ‘Like the baby,’ Lottie said.

  Jane nodded. ‘The lividity patterns suggest he was murdered elsewhere.’ She pointed these out to Lottie.

  ‘Any forensic material recovered?’

  ‘It’s likely that his body was sponge-washed. I found a particle of yellow foam in one ear.’

  ‘Shit.’ What kind of sick bastard was she dealing with? Lottie shook her head.

  Jane glanced over. ‘Now, the thing that makes me wonder …’

  Lottie held her breath as the pathologist turned the body on its side. She caught Jane’s eye above the mouth mask, staring at her, pleading. For what? That whatever she was about to announce might not be true? She exhaled. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Significant tissue damage. Internal and external.’

  ‘He was eleven, for fuck’s sake.’ Lottie felt the hairs on her arms rise in protest, and a prickle knotted the hairs on the back of her neck, as though a thorn bush had taken hold of her. Her internal organs were fighting to release fluids. She held her gloved hand to her masked mouth. She had to get out of the room.

  ‘I know,’ Jane said.

  ‘Recent or historical?’

  ‘Both. But nothing in the hours prior to death. There are no bodily fluids present to check for DNA.’

  ‘Oh God. His poor mother. Jesus, Jane, give me something. These crimes must be related.’

  The pathologist walked over to the other table.

  ‘I have yet to start on the second boy, but I did a quick visual check on the body. I am not one to suspect or assume, you know that.’

  ‘Just this once,’ Lottie said. ‘Might give me an idea of what I’m dealing with.’

  ‘Okay. I believe he was also strangled, and he has similar internal injuries.’ Jane pulled down the sheet and turned the body on its side. ‘That’s just from an initial examination. And, he was not murdered where he was found. This is similar to the first body. I’m going to start the full post-mortem once I finish the paperwork for the other victims. I’ll know more after that.’

  Turning around, Lottie sought out a bin, pulled down her mask and vomited bile into the receptacle.

  ‘He had flowers in his hand,’ she said, wiping her mouth, ‘and laid out around his head.’

  ‘Sent to the lab.’

  ‘Any signs of a struggle?’

  ‘None on either boy.’

  ‘So, they went willingly with their killer. Someone they trusted? Someone known to both boys?’

&nb
sp; ‘That’s your job, Lottie. Do you want to remain here while I do mine?’

  ‘No. I need to have a word with Jen Driscoll,’ Lottie said. And after that, she would visit the Shanleys again.

  She escaped out of the cold room into the blazing sunshine.

  Thirty-Seven

  Toby kicked the ball against the wall.

  ‘Hey, you! Get away with that ball or I’ll burst it.’

  He looked up at the window where the neighbour had stuck her head out, curtains flying with her hair. He picked up the ball and turned away, walking across the green with his head down. Someone had cut the grass and bits stuck to his fake Converses. He missed having Mikey around.

  He came to a stop at the edge of the green. Max was lounging against the wall smoking a roll-up. Probably weed, Toby thought.

  ‘Come here!’ Max shouted.

  Shit.

  ‘I said come here.’

  No way out. Toby went over and stood in front of his brother.

  ‘You never gave me back my change.’

  Toby opened his mouth to say there was no change. The chicken roll cost five fifty. He’d had to put in fifty cents of his own. But he couldn’t get the words out.

  ‘You a dummy now? Where’s me change?’

  Toby started to walk away, but Max caught the neck of his T-shirt and hauled him up to his sour-smelling face. A pony clip-clopped down the footpath and Toby jumped out of the way, landing on top of Max. They both fell into the small rectangle of a front garden.

  ‘You pair of shitheads. Get out of the way.’ The rider dug his heels into the poor pony and trotted off down the path.

  Max jumped up, hurdled the wall and gave chase.

  Toby smiled to himself. It wasn’t often he saw someone get the better of Max, but when they did, it gave him a good feeling. For a moment, he forgot that he was starving but couldn’t eat. Forgot that he couldn’t talk. Forgot that his best friend had been killed. And then he saw Barry Duffy and another lad walking towards him.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Barry said.

  Toby shrugged.

  ‘We’re going to the field. Kick-around. You want to come?’

  Toby felt Barry’s arm around his shoulders, fingers creasing into the back of his neck. Kneading.

  He tried to say no, he didn’t want to go. But nothing came out of his mouth and his feet belied his hesitancy. Barry often hung around their training sessions with his dad. He liked to give the impression he was helping out, but Toby knew he was a bully. Kicking and tripping when he thought none of the adults were watching.

  Toby kept walking with Barry and his friend, down the footpath and around the back of the estate towards the field. Even though, more than anything, he wanted to turn and run away.

  Lottie picked up Gilly O’Donoghue at the station and headed to Munbally Grove. Boyd was organising a team to contact the dead boys’ teachers and classmates. It was proving difficult, as many of them were away on holiday.

  Her stomach churned with the thoughts that someone had abused Mikey and Kevin. They were only little children. Jesus Christ!

  Dolores opened Jen’s door. Lottie followed her into the small living room.

  She hardly recognised Mikey’s mother. The woman had faded to a shrivelled, broken skeleton. She sat on a narrow, frayed armchair, a football hoodie around her shoulders, her fingers wrapped in a school sweater, her body rocking to some soundless tune. A mug of tea sat untouched on the coffee table in front of her.

  Dolores stood in the doorway, pale-faced and helpless. ‘She just sits there. Won’t eat or drink. Says nothing. Only cries and sobs. It’s heartbreaking.’

  Lottie nodded to Dolores, gestured for Gilly to sit, then approached Jen. The woman’s pain emanated from her and Lottie felt it piercing her skin.

  ‘Jen? I need to have a word with you. This is my colleague, Garda Gilly O’Donoghue. If you need anything, Gilly can get it for you.’

  The rocking continued. Tears fell. ‘He was all I had. Who took my baby?’

  ‘Can we talk? About Mikey.’

  ‘He was a brilliant child. He was my boy. Why would someone do this to him? I don’t want to live any more.’ She leaned her head to one side and stared up at Lottie. Eyes red-rimmed from crying, full of sorrow and death. ‘How can I live?’

  ‘It’s hard, I know. Just take each minute as it comes. I can’t tell you it’ll get easier, because the pain of loss will be with you forever. But it will become bearable. Sometime. In the future. Now? Now you have to grieve.’ Lottie took Jen’s cold hand in her own and gave it a warm squeeze.

  ‘Thank you,’ Jen said. ‘For being honest with me.’

  ‘I have to ask you questions, though. I know it seems heartless, but it’s the only way I can find out why this happened to Mikey and discover the identity of the person who … who took him from you.’

  Jen sat up a little straighter. The hoodie slipped from her shoulders. Lottie rearranged it, then sat on the coffee table as she waited for a response.

  ‘Okay. Go ahead. Ask away.’ Jen offered a weak smile. ‘I want to talk about Mikey. I have to.’

  Lottie blew out her cheeks. Took a deep breath. ‘I have a list of people involved with the soccer club, but I’d like you to tell me the names of anyone who would have been in close contact with Mikey.’

  Jen scrunched her eyebrows and squinted. ‘Close contact? What do you mean?’

  ‘People who would have, say, taught him in school, run after-school groups. That kind of thing.’ Lottie indicated to Gilly to take notes.

  Jen’s hands were trembling. Her eyes were wild and round. ‘You think someone I know killed my boy?’

  ‘We have to start somewhere.’

  She sniffed back a sob. ‘You have the names of those at the soccer club?’

  ‘Yes, I got the official list. But you tell me.’

  ‘I hardly ever went down there. I should have, I know. But I didn’t.’

  ‘Just tell me the names you remember Mikey mentioning.’

  Another sniff. ‘Rory Butler. He’s the coach.’

  ‘Has he been round here at all?’

  ‘Rory?’ Jen looked up, her tear-filled eyes incredulous. ‘He’s posh. No way would he call here.’

  ‘Posh? How do you mean?’

  ‘He’s supposed to be well off and he has an English accent. Mikey tried to copy it one day.’ She smiled sadly at the memory.

  ‘Why would he be involved in the club?’ Lottie wondered. The team were a group of misfits from what she’d heard. From the lower end of the social scale. She supposed that was why it was a big deal when they’d won the under-twelves final on Sunday. And Mikey had been instrumental in that success.

  Jen shrugged and the hoodie slipped down again. ‘You’d best ask him that, hadn’t you?’ She was silent, and Lottie waited her out. ‘Maybe he felt he was contributing something to the community. What’s that word millionaires use to describe themselves? The guys like Richard Branson?’

  ‘Philanthropists. I’ll be talking to Mr Butler. Who else?’

  ‘Bertie Harris. Assistant coach, caretaker, bus driver. No, that’s not right. Wes Finnegan is the bus driver.’

  ‘Wes Finnegan? His name’s not on the list.’

  ‘He’s a bit of a leech. Drives the bingo bus too. Gives me goose bumps. But I’d say he’s harmless.’

  Lottie shook her head. ‘Leech’ and ‘harmless’ didn’t belong together in her vocabulary. Finnegan was definitely a man to be interviewed. ‘Who else?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Maybe Paul Duffy. He helps out at the matches. His son used to play but gave it up, I think. Dr Duffy stayed on to help the other teams.’

  ‘Right,’ Lottie said. She would pay the Duffys another visit. They might have seen someone acting suspiciously. Her mind was drawn back to the baby found in the canal by her son and Barry. Two tragedies in one day. ‘Did Mikey say much about Barry Duffy?’

  Jen tried to think, eyes closed. Shook her head. ‘I don’t re
call. Sorry.’

  ‘Was he close to any of the team staff? Did any of them pay him particular attention?’

  Jen shook her head. ‘I didn’t go to his training sessions or matches. I had to work and … and then I had bingo. The pitch is only over the wall. I was sure he was safe. How wrong could I be?’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself. We’re not sure his death had anything to do with the club. He was last seen in McDonald’s, so it could be someone who saw him there or someone passing by in a car. We don’t know yet.’ Lottie made a mental note to check in with Kirby about the CCTV.

  Jen said, ‘I can’t think of any other adults involved with the team. Have you interviewed all the parents and families?’

  ‘We’re conducting those interviews at the moment and speaking to supporters of the away team who travelled to Ragmullin.’

  ‘And? Any leads?’

  ‘Not yet, I’m afraid.’ Lottie sighed. They had nothing so far, only another body. ‘And school? How were things there? Were there any teachers or assistants Mikey was close to?’

  ‘He had the same teacher for the last two years. Miss Conway. She’s sixty if she’s a day. He loved her.’

  Lottie reminded herself to check with Boyd that he had contacted Miss Conway. He was working on the school list and more than likely was already on the phone to the teacher. ‘Did Mikey brighten up much when the school holidays started?’

  Jen thought for a moment. ‘Actually, he seemed more distracted than usual. Spent a lot of time in his room. Gaming, he told me. I know it’s not good for a young lad, but I had to work and he seemed contented enough to be doing that.’

  ‘Who supervised him while you were at work?’

  A deep flush crept up Jen’s pale face and she shook her head. ‘He was fine. Dolores kept an eye on him and I always had plenty of food prepared. I’m not a bad mother.’

  ‘I’m not saying that, Jen. Just trying to establish if someone could have called in here while you were out.’

  Dolores straightened her shoulders. ‘I would have noticed if anyone called. My kitchen is to the front of my house. I can see the gate.’