With a sigh, she turned back, over the wall and out onto the road. She jogged into town. As she moved down through Friars Street, she noticed a man standing, lips moving as if he was interrogating the twin brass monks with their hollow eyes watching over the town.
It takes all sorts, her mother would say.
Now she had to be the eyes of the town. She had to stop this killer before another young resident was murdered. And with that thought, the weight in her legs returned and she slowed to a walk as she headed towards her new home.
A light was on, and through the window she could see Ben Lynch on a stepladder, painting the sitting-room ceiling.
She paused. Should she call in and see how he was getting on? Maria had been so difficult recently, more so than usual. It was late, and maybe this was not a good idea. But she needed to talk to someone.
She knocked on the window.
Leo Belfield wasn’t at all sure he liked the small-town feel of Ragmullin. A million miles away from the towering architecture he was used to.
He had walked around all day, sourcing information. Hired a car. Driven for miles. Finally got used to driving on the left-hand side of the road, steering from the opposite side of the car than at home in the States.
Papers hidden by his mother, Alexis, had led him here and he needed to find out what they meant. From what he’d discovered, this was Alexis’s home town, and it was possible he had a half-sister. Was it Lottie Parker? He had to talk to her, but with no idea how he was going to approach her, he’d decided to don his detective’s hat and do some digging.
And his first source was someone who was good at digging too. A journalist.
Sean hadn’t wanted to stay at Barry’s for dinner.
‘It’s okay, Mrs Duffy. My gran cooks every day. She’ll be put out if I don’t eat there.’
‘I have enough for everyone. Please stay. I like it when Barry has friends round, which is not very often.’
Sean caught Julia giving Barry a sideways look, but he couldn’t read what the unspoken message was. He glanced at his phone, wondering why his mum hadn’t rung him to check up on him.
‘All right so,’ he said, and reluctantly took his seat at the table.
‘Did you wash your hands?’ Paul said.
He hadn’t, but he didn’t want to have to get up again, so he nodded. He was still thinking about the way Barry had treated that young lad, Toby, earlier. It wasn’t nice and he didn’t like being part of bullying. Maybe he should have stood up for him. But then Toby had run off. He’d check up on him tomorrow. See if he was okay. He must live somewhere near the field.
‘Sean?’
He realised Julia was speaking to him. ‘Sorry. I was miles away.’
‘We always say grace. Bow your head.’
Sean didn’t like being told what to do, but he was in someone else’s house and he’d been brought up to respect other people’s beliefs.
Paul Duffy clasped his hand. Julia said a prayer he had never heard before. And then his hand was released and he realised he was expected to bless himself and hoped he was doing it properly.
‘What did you boys do this afternoon?’ Julia said. ‘I thought you were in your room, Barry. I was surprised to realise you’d gone out.’
‘It’s too warm to be cooped up all day,’ Barry said.
‘You didn’t answer your mother’s question,’ Paul said.
Sean butted in, ‘We were playing football.’
‘Yeah,’ Barry said. ‘Down near where the boy was found dead.’
‘I don’t know what this town is coming to,’ Julia said, putting down her fork. ‘First a baby, and then that boy.’
‘And another one was found today,’ Paul said.
‘That’s just awful.’
Sean didn’t like the food. It tasted of … nothing. Some health-food junk. Bits of stuff that looked like breadcrumbs and tasted how he thought sawdust might taste. And a plate of green stuff. Yuck. His gran’s lasagne would have been a whole lot nicer. He tuned out the conversation and concentrated on moving the food around the plate to make it look like he was eating.
‘Are you not hungry?’ Julia said.
Caught out. ‘Not really.’
‘I have Greek yoghurt and wild berries for desert. Would you like that?’
Laying down his cutlery, Sean said, ‘I really ought to get home. My mum will be wondering where I’ve got to.’
‘Give her a call. Put her mind at ease.’
‘No, really.’ He stood up. ‘I have to go.’
‘We don’t leave the table until everyone is finished,’ Barry whispered.
Sean sat down again. The stark whiteness of the walls was beginning to make him dizzy. He suddenly missed his gran’s cluttered house.
Boyd sat in the lounge bar of the Joyce Hotel in the centre of Ragmullin. It was semi-dark, with a man crooning to the strum of his guitar in a corner. About ten people were dotted around the bar and a few in the nooks.
Nursing a pint of lager, he eyed his phone on the table. Maybe he should have gone for a run with Lottie. But he didn’t want to be too available. He had made his position clear and she had rebuffed him. Tough on you, Lottie.
He took another sip, his heart not really in it, when over the rim of his glass he saw the short black curls of someone he knew, sitting at the bar.
The head turned slightly and he recognised her profile, even though she wasn’t wearing her spectacles. He picked up his glass and stood to go and join her.
She laughed and dipped her head.
Boyd stopped.
Cynthia Rhodes was with a man he didn’t recognise. But even in the dim, orangey-red hue of the bar lights, he thought he looked familiar. How could that be? He was sure he’d never seen him before in his life.
He sat back down, sipped his pint and studied the pair.
After all, he had nothing else to do.
Forty-Four
Maria Lynch combed out her hair, disgusted at how her pregnancy hormones were playing havoc with it. She flapped some air up under her floral cotton shirt and pulled on a loose pair of pyjama bottoms.
She needed Ben. Right now. The kids were in the living room watching some loud cartoon. She wanted to talk to an adult. The image of the dead baby refused to fade. Running her hand over her protruding belly, she held her breath. Waiting. At last she felt the little one kick. And again. Thank God.
She went and sat with her children, but a dark shadow of foreboding hung over her. Why? The sound of the television? The voices and laughter of her children? She didn’t know, but she knew she wanted Ben here. They were a family. He should be with them. Not off decorating Lottie fucking Parker’s house.
Making up her mind, she switched off the television, to groans from her children.
‘Ah, Mam, it’s not bedtime yet.’
‘I know. We’re going to see if Daddy’s finished painting. And we might get chips on the way home.’
‘Yeah!’ came the chorused reply.
They pulled on their hoodies and she hustled them into the car.
After all that had happened the last two days, she wanted her husband by her side.
‘You’re almost finished, Ben.’ Lottie spun around in the middle of the living room. ‘Love the colour.’
‘Better than your aqua?’
‘I have to agree, it is.’ She slumped on to the sheet-covered armchair.
‘You look bushed.’ He came to stand in front of her. ‘Hard day?’
‘Very hard.’
‘Want to talk about it? Maria says I’m a great listener.’
Lottie smiled up at him. ‘I hope she’s okay. Can’t have been easy on her seeing that dead baby.’
Ben sat down on the arm of the chair. ‘She never told me about that.’
‘Probably didn’t want to worry you.’ Lottie stifled a yawn and jumped up. She was tired, and she still had to run the few kilometres back to her mother’s. And now she’d put her foot in her mouth. Typical.
Ben said, ‘I’ll have a chat with her tonight. Bottling things up is bad for her blood pressure.’
Lottie put her hand on his. ‘Maria’s a tough cookie. You’ve nothing to worry about.’
She felt him squeeze back and suddenly it felt all wrong. Not just two people having a conversation. Tension filled the air around her. And suddenly she started to cry.
‘Oh God, Lottie what’s the matter?’
She turned her back. ‘I’m such a wuss. I don’t usually cry over nothing.’ She felt his hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s just those two dead boys. I can’t stop thinking about them, and about whatever it is I’m not seeing.’
He turned her round to face him, then put his paint-smeared hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him.
‘You are one of the best detectives I know, Lottie Parker – along with my wife, of course. Don’t go beating yourself up. Have a good night’s sleep and you’ll be ready to get stuck in tomorrow. Doctor’s orders.’
She smiled. ‘You’re not a doctor.’
‘I could’ve been,’ he laughed. ‘That smile suits you so much better. Now go home and let me finish this work before Maria comes looking for me.’
He gave her a tight hug before picking up his paint tin and brush.
‘Thanks, Ben.’
‘For what?’
‘For listening.’
As she went to leave, she saw the headlights of a car on the road outside. It swerved and sped off.
‘The lying, cheating bastard,’ Maria Lynch muttered under her breath as she gunned the engine and sped down the road.
‘Mummy! You said a bad word.’
‘Sorry, honey. We’ll be home in a minute.’
‘I want chips. You said we could get chips.’
‘Tomorrow. Please, let me drive in peace.’
As her children lapsed into silence, Lynch wondered how she was going to handle this. Her suspicions were correct. Lottie Parker would pay for this.
She’d let her off with it before. Not this time.
She felt the baby kick hard.
Tears streaming down her face, she gripped the steering wheel, oblivious to her children shouting at her to slow down.
‘Ben,’ she whispered. ‘How could you?’
Forty-Five
It was almost dark when the car pulled up at Robbie’s house. Hope stepped out as Robbie took the sleeping Lexie in his arms.
Once she was inside, she moved in the darkness up the stairs and put Lexie into her own bed, then slid in silently beside her. The sound of her daughter sleeping lifted her heart. She thought of the baby that had grown in her womb. Her baby. What had happened to it? She wished she could remember.
Back downstairs, she cornered Robbie as he flicked through channels on the television.
‘I need to take the car.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s just for an hour or so.’
‘Jesus, Hope, I thought you wanted to lie low. Half the guards in Ireland are probably looking for you at this stage. Where do you want to go?’
‘Don’t ask and I won’t have to tell you any lies.’
She caught the keys as he threw them to her.
‘Thanks, Robbie.’
He had turned his attention back to scrolling through Sky and she eased the door shut and crept out to the car.
Toby knew he really should go home. But he didn’t feel like sitting in the silence that had consumed him all day. The fact that he knew Max would be out half the night still didn’t entice him back. He walked through the tunnel and up the canal bank. He should be afraid, he told himself. But he felt unnaturally calm.
The lights from the town and the round moon in the sky lit up the high path along the canal. He stopped now and then to pick up a handful of stones and threw them into the water as he walked. Mikey would love this, he thought. Skiving off at night. Under the moon. And then he remembered the image of Mikey’s face and started to run.
It had rained a bit earlier but it had stopped now. He hoped it didn’t start again. He had come out without a jacket. He was wearing his Chelsea T-shirt. The one that made Mikey go red in the face. Ha, he thought. Mikey and Kev loved Liverpool.
He felt his smile slip away in the night when he remembered that he’d never get to share anything with Mikey again. Never get to outscore him on the soccer pitch. It had been a good goal, though, he had to admit. The one that had won them the final. Mikey’s goal. And then he’d been a shithead not letting Mikey stay at his house.
He had reached the harbour bridge without realising he’d come so far. The cathedral bell clanged. He’d be dead if he didn’t get home before his dad missed him.
He crossed the bridge and headed towards town. He’d circle around by the shopping centre and run through the tunnel. Quickest way home now.
Then he remembered. That was the way Mikey might have walked on Sunday night. If he’d even got that far.
He pursed his lips and tried to whistle, even though he knew he couldn’t. Mikey could, though. But Mikey wouldn’t, ever again.
He saw a group of lads coming out of Fallon’s pub on the corner, so he stepped into the road to let them pass him by. As they disappeared, a car drove up beside him. It slowed, and he glanced at it, feeling his heart thump like mad. He jumped back onto the footpath, put his head down and started to run. Straight into a girl coming out of the pub.
‘You little pup. Watch where you’re going.’ She grabbed his arm.
Toby twisted out of her grasp. The car sped off.
‘S-sorry,’ he said, his voice miraculously returning after a day of silence.
She stood there unwrapping her long blonde hair, then began rolling it back up in a knot on top of her head.
‘It must be way past your bedtime,’ she said, with a hair grip between her teeth. ‘You look scared to death. Can I ring someone to come and pick you up?’ She finished doing her hair. Her eyes were bright and kind. ‘You shouldn’t be out on your own. You know little boys have been murdered.’
And Toby burst out crying.
Forty-Six
I knew then that I couldn’t help myself.
After I’d done it, I wanted to do it again. My objective filtered into the darkest corners of my mind and was replaced by a blaze of euphoria. The moment of death, the squashing of life – that second before the last breath exhaled, never to be inhaled again. The widening of the eyes and the falling of the long lashes, shutting down on baby flesh.
Yes. I had more work to do. I would show my power in more ways than one. A whisper of a spider web brushed my face as I kneeled beside the tree. Looking up at the black arachnid weaving its way around and up and down, I was mesmerised. I put up my hand and grasped its work, then squeezed it. When I opened my palm, the spider was a nugget of black mush and its web was no more.
Above me, birds chirped before nesting down. I ran my hand along the clean stem of a buttercup and plucked it, root and all, from the parched earth. Looking up at the sky, I felt the first drops of welcome rain pitter-patter on my face.
Earlier tonight, I had failed.
He’d got away.
But I knew I would have another chance to succeed.
Tomorrow night?
I stood up, dropped the flower and walked away.
Day Three
Wednesday
Forty-Seven
I’d kept an eye on the detectives as they travelled around Ragmullin with their heads a mile up their backsides. Not a clue. Asking all the wrong questions of all the wrong people. Well, almost.
The crow looked up at me with its black eyes and yellow beak. I clapped my hands and it flew off into the trees.
Looking up at the boy’s window, I noticed the cotton curtains twitch. He was in there. Hiding. From me?
‘I am coming for you, little boy,’ I whispered, and walked back to my car. Hiding in plain sight. No one bothered to look at me. No one knew who walked among them. I was invisible to everyone. But no more.
I am coming for you.
Forty-Eight
The steps of the station were crowded with reporters, cameras, phones and microphones. Vans with satellites were parked up along the narrow road.
She should have entered through the back door. But she was here now. Nothing for it but to brave her way through the crowd.
‘Inspector Parker.’ Cynthia Rhodes was first to approach and stuck a microphone under Lottie’s chin. ‘What are you doing to protect the children of Ragmullin from this serial killer?’
She had been about to storm up the steps, ignoring any queries. It was Acting Superintendent McMahon’s job to give press statements. But Cynthia had slithered under her skin like a slug. Have you not learned your lesson, Parker? Lottie chided herself. But having seen Boyd in deep conversation with the reporter in Danny’s on Monday, she couldn’t help herself. She cleared her throat and turned to face the journalists.
‘We in An Garda Síochána are working tirelessly to bring the perpetrators of these murders to justice. If you will allow us to continue with our work, I’m sure there’ll be no more of these terrible deaths. I’d like to personally offer my condolences to the families of the deceased, and if anyone has any information, no matter how insignificant it may seem, please ring our hotline. Now if you will excuse me …’ She began to walk up the steps.
Tell Nobody: Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense Page 17
