The Silent Speak

by Val Collins

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Aoife rang Orla again. Still no answer. Where the hell was she? Aoife told herself to calm down. She had to think about this rationally. She didn’t believe Triona would murder anybody, so the murderer was either Martin or Keith. Martin had said he wanted to smash Shane’s head in, and Triona confirmed he didn’t like Ruth. But why would he kill Shane’s family? Keith, on the other hand, had viciously attacked her. Given a chance, he might have killed both her and Blaine. Was it so much of a stretch to believe he’d killed Shane’s family? Blaine was older than Shane’s kids, but he was still a kid. Keith hadn’t thought twice about attacking him. But what could either Keith or Martin want from her computer?

  The floor creaked and Aoife jumped. She picked up her phone, keyed in 999 and waited, thumb hovering over the button. Nothing. The tension in her body eased a little once she realised it was just the normal creaking of an old house. When she was sure there was no intruder, Aoife jumped up. She flew from room to room, throwing clothes, toys and toiletries into a bag. Then she grabbed her laptop and ran to her car. The next time the murderer came looking for her, all he would find was an empty house.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Aoife was checking into the hotel when Orla phoned.

  ‘Aoife, I have to tell you about this new guy in the office. We went out last night and I really think I’m in love. Honestly, he looks nothing like a lawyer. Think Liam Hemsworth and—Aoife, are you listening to me?’

  ‘Hmm? Oh, yes, sorry, Liam Hemsworth. What about him?’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I know something is wrong, Aoife, I can hear it in your voice.’

  ‘I had to move out of the house. Amy and I are checking into a hotel.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The murderer was in my house. I think he came there to kill me.’

  *

  ‘I want to go home!’

  ‘We’re on holidays, Amy. Nobody spends their holidays at home. This is a really nice hotel. You’ll love it.’

  ‘I won’t. I want to go home.’

  ‘You wouldn’t like to go to the teddy bear tea party?’

  *

  Amy kept a small yellow teddy bear clamped under her arm as she swapped teddy-bear-shaped sandwiches with her new best friend.

  As Aoife watched, a vision of herself and Amy kept popping into her head. They were lying on the kitchen floor, arms and legs stretched wide. The white tiles were red with their blood, and a knife lay on the floor between them.

  Should she go to the police? And tell them what? A not-fully-engaged latch and a switched-on keyboard were not evidence. They’d take her statement and file it somewhere with reports they received from people with mental health issues. What hope did she have of convincing a stranger? She hadn’t even been able to convince Conor there had been a break-in.

  Her phone beeped and she jumped several inches into the air. One of the other mums glanced at her, then moved to the other side of the room. Great, now she was giving off crazy-lady vibes.

  The text was from Orla.

  ‘All okay?’

  ‘Fine. With Amy.’

  ‘Was thinking about what you said. Have password on home computer?’

  ‘No need.’

  ‘Maybe murderer not interested in computer at all. It was there. Easy to get at. Anybody would be curious.’

  ‘Going to search computer anyway. Will read every single document. See if anything missed.’

  ‘That will take a while.’

  ‘Don’t have a while. Have to find murderer before he comes after us again. Resigned work this morning. Now either with Amy or working on this.’

  ‘Can you afford to resign?’

  ‘No. Better broke than dead.’

  *

  Orla’s text had made Aoife restless. She wanted to start checking her computer that second. Her fight or flight reflex was still engaged and standing around doing nothing was agony. But there was something she could do now, Aoife realised. She could check emails on her phone. Aoife began the long process of opening and reading every email. She took a short break to pose with Amy, the yellow teddy bear and a plate of teacup-shaped biscuits. Later, as Aoife examined the photo, she thought what a shame it was that Lisa would never have children. That was when it struck her. Lisa had sent her an email the day she’d died. Aoife had seen the email arrive, titled ‘List of Ruth’s phone calls’. Figuring Lisa would have phoned her if there was anything worth mentioning, Aoife had ignored it and later forgot it existed.

  She flicked through her emails, searching for it. The email was gone.

  *

  Somebody didn’t want her to know who Ruth had called the day she’d died. Why?

  Aoife went into the corridor to make her call, standing at the window, where she could keep an eye on Amy, who was enjoying her first game of musical chairs.

  ‘Hi, Eamonn.…I’m fine, but I need an email Lisa sent me. It disappeared from my laptop. Do you have access to her computer?…She didn’t have one?…Well, yes, I suppose a lot of people rely entirely on their phones these days. Her phone was stolen, wasn’t it?…Did she have an automatic back-up system on it? Could you check?…Yeah, I know. There are new things every day, aren’t there? Do you have somebody who handles your IT?…An entire department, brilliant. Can you get them to work on it? I’ll text you my email address. If they could resend Lisa’s last email to me, that would be great. Oh, could they send me her call log too? Thanks, Eamonn.’

  If Lisa relied entirely on her phone, it was almost certain that she had a backup system. It should be easy enough for an IT department to get into it, shouldn’t it?

  Maybe it would be better to have insurance. She checked the text she had sent Lisa with Frank O’Meara’s contact details and dialled the number.

  ‘Hi, I’m a colleague of Lisa Grogan. You provided us with a list of calls made by Ruth Kin—’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  The call was disconnected.

  Aoife waited twenty minutes. She fixed her phone so her number was withheld and dialled again. She guessed that a man in Frank O’Meara’s line of business would have to answer calls from numbers he didn’t recognise.

  ‘If you hang up on me, I will come to Harcourt Street and have our conversation there in full view of your colleagues.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘All I want is a copy of the list you gave Lisa.’

  Aoife heard a door bang and traffic in the background.

  ‘I am out of that line of business. Do not phone me again.’

  Aoife raised her voice to be heard over the traffic.

  ‘I paid for that list and I want a copy. You can agree to give me one now, or I can come to your office.’

  ‘Listen to me,’ the voice hissed. ‘I can’t get you the list. The original has disappeared from the DI’s computer. All hell has broken loose here. They’ve called in all kinds of experts to examine the DI’s machine, but they can’t recover the list.’

  ‘Didn’t they get the information in the first place from Ruth’s phone provider? Why not get it again?’

  ‘Somebody in that company opened a dodgy email and their entire system crashed. They’re trying to recover it, but it could take weeks and there’s a good chance that info is gone for good.’

  ‘But I paid—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what you paid for. If anyone found out I gave you that list, I’d lose my job at the very least. I might even end up in jail. Everybody here is under suspicion. Even the DI.’

  ‘The DI?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Moloney.’

  THIRTY-NINE

  Conor was under suspicion? It might explain why he hadn’t been in touch yet, assuming he intended to contact her again, of course. No, she was being stupid. Conor obviously had a lot on his mind. Aoife felt bad for adding to his troubles. She felt even worse when she woke the next morning to find an email from Eamonn with a copy of th
e missing list. Should she forward it to Conor? Okay, she really shouldn’t make decisions before breakfast. That was an incredibly stupid idea. It would make everything much worse for Conor. Everyone would think he’d given her the numbers. All she could do was go through the list herself. If she discovered anything of interest, she would have to find a way to let Conor know.

  Aoife dropped Amy at Maura’s and settled down to her task. Not knowing what cover story Lisa had used for phoning them, Aoife went with a version of the truth. She was a reporter doing a story on Ruth and she was checking to see if any of Ruth’s friends would like to provide backstory.

  The occasional person reacted with shock and horror, but even they said enough to clarify their relationship with Ruth. Most were happy to talk at length about how dangerous the world had become and how shocked they had been by the murder.

  Aoife left Natasha, the nanny, until last. It was hard to know what to say. Lisa and Natasha had obviously spoken, but what name had Lisa given and what cover story had she used? Aoife decided to go with the journalist line. If that didn’t work, she’d leave it a day or so and try another cover story.

  The nanny had laughed. ‘Sorry, I can’t talk to a journalist about my ex-boss. Dublin is a very small city. I’d never work again.’

  Aoife decided she would break for lunch and then go through Ruth’s phone calls. She brought a sandwich back to her room, made a cup of coffee and switched on the TV while she ate. A rerun of Friends provided background noise without demanding too much attention. Aoife was half listening to Ross and Rachel argue about being on a break and half checking Lisa’s phone log. She had spent quite some time talking to the nanny. Maybe the nanny required urgent attention. When Aoife’s eyes landed on the final number, her sandwich slipped from her hand and she almost sent her coffee flying. The very last person Lisa had contacted was Conor.

  FORTY

  Aoife was on the verge of tears when she phoned Orla. She could hear the hesitancy in Orla’s voice and realised she’d rung at a bad time. Aoife knew she should say it wasn’t urgent and they would talk when Orla was free, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She needed help right now.

  Orla didn’t have time for a sit-down lunch, so they bought crepes in the Lemon Crepe on Suffolk Street and took them into the grounds of Trinity College. They joined a handful of students enjoying the sun on the steps of the Dining Hall.

  ‘That’s not good, Aoife.’

  Aoife caught a bit of cheese that was about to fall out of her crepe.

  ‘I knew you were going to say that.’

  ‘Because you know I’m right.’

  ‘There’s some simple explanation I’m not getting. I need you to help me work it out. Take my word for it that Conor is not involved and try to come up with other possibilities.’

  ‘What I think is’—Orla balanced the crepe on one knee and counted out with her fingers—‘One, Conor was on a beach with Lisa. Two, he denied knowing her. Three, his own son is scared and deleted the photo. Four, the very last person Lisa spoke to was Conor. Five, somebody deleted the email Lisa sent you with Ruth’s phone calls from your computer. Who has easier access to your computer than Conor?’

  She tried to change hands and almost sent the crepe flying. ‘Why don’t they give you paper plates for these? This is ridiculous.’ She wiped her hands with a tissue. ‘Where was I? Oh, right.’ She counted out on her left hand. ‘Six, the day Lisa sent that email, she was murdered. Seven, the last person she spoke to was Conor. Eight, the original list has now disappeared from Conor’s computer.’

  ‘I know it doesn’t look good, Orla, but—’

  ‘You heard what that O’Meara guy said, Aoife. Conor is under suspicion from his own police department. The top police investigation unit in the country think he’s up to something.’

  *

  Aoife’s head was spinning. Conor would never kill anybody. She was absolutely positive about that. Orla didn’t understand because she didn’t really know Conor. Jenny had known Conor longer than Aoife had. If he had been going out with Lisa, it was possible Jenny would know. Even if she’d never met Lisa herself, she was obviously kept up to date about the department’s gossip.

  ‘You’re in town? Great! Pop over and we’ll have a chat.’

  Aoife picked up a packet of M&S éclairs. She wasn’t a huge fan of shop-bought cakes, even M&S cakes, but their éclairs were almost as good as the real thing. If she was hunting for information, the least she could do was bring payment of a sort.

  *

  ‘Ooh, I love these. You’re not doing much for my diet, Aoife.’

  ‘I needed something to cheer myself up.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Lots of things. Conor for one.’

  ‘You had a fight?’

  Aoife nodded.

  ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

  ‘It was a misunderstanding about his son. Jenny, have you ever met any of the women Conor dated before me?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I heard Blaine’s mother visited recently. Is that what the argument was about?’

  ‘It didn’t help. Have you met Katie?’

  ‘No. Did it bother you that she stayed in Conor’s house?’

  ‘Not at first, but when I rang looking for Conor, she answered his phone. It really felt like they were a couple. And then they went to a photographer for some family photos.’

  ‘I can’t say I know what you’re going through, Aoife. I was Derek’s first serious girlfriend, but I think you may be getting upset over nothing. Every time I’ve seen you together, Conor only has eyes for you.’

  ‘Katie answered his phone, Jenny. It would never even occur to me to touch Conor’s phone.’

  ‘I answer Derek’s phone sometimes if he leaves it lying around. He answers mine. Katie is married, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe she’s in the habit of answering her husband’s phone and she picked it up without thinking. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  Jenny laughed. ‘I’m always right. Didn’t you know?’ She helped herself to another éclair. ‘How’s the investigation going?’

  ‘Terrible. I don’t seem to be getting anywhere with it.’

  ‘Of course you’re getting somewhere, Aoife. In the beginning you thought Shane killed himself and his family. You know that’s not true now.’

  ‘Everybody knows that since Ruth was murdered.’

  ‘Yeah, I can’t believe she had a thing for Shane. I never guessed it. Although maybe I should have. She always started the WhatsApp discussions and occasionally she’d join in with one or two comments, but the one time Shane got involved, she was commenting every few minutes.’

  ‘What were they talking about?’

  ‘Remember, I told you about it. It was the time we were discussing Gone with the Wind.’

  ‘Do you still have those messages?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Jenny scrolled through her messages until she found the correct one. The discussion had started calmly enough. The first question, posted by Ruth, was ‘Did Ashley love Scarlett or Melanie?’ Most people felt he loved Melanie. Shane felt differently. He believed Ashley loved Scarlett. He’d chosen to marry Melanie because she was a safer bet. When Jenny disagreed with him, he replied, ‘Like must marry like or there’ll be no happiness’.

  As Aoife flicked through the messages, she saw the tone change. Shane was more insistent that only racists could possibly enjoy a book that claimed freedom was very hard for slaves and they had a better life under the protection of their masters. Several outraged replies later, Ruth had closed down the thread.

  ‘The night they discussed that book, you said the arguments got very intense.’

  ‘Oh yes. Shane’s insistence that half the group were racists didn’t help. He was getting quite annoyed. It was a good thing he was interrupted by a phone call. Although the call made him even angrier. When h
e left the room, Ruth took advantage of his absence to move the conversation to a discussion of our next read. Then, of course, Shane came back with the cake and everybody relaxed.’

  ‘Do you know who phoned him?’

  ‘No, but Bronagh might. She was sitting beside him when he took the call.’

  *

  Bronagh’s husband, Ed, was not at all what Aoife had expected. As broad as he was tall, he was the perfect build for a rugby hooker. About the only trait he shared with his wife was the complete absence of fat. Were the entire family fitness addicts?

  ‘Hi, could I speak to Bronagh, please?’

  ‘She’s tied up at the moment. Can I help?’

  ‘I’m Aoife. Bronagh and I spoke about Shane Grogan’s death. I would really appreciate it if I could have a quick word. It won’t take a minute.’

  ‘The investigator? My wife has nothing to say to you. She was very upset by Ruth’s death. If you think she’s the murderer, you’re barking up the wrong tree.’

  ‘I wanted to speak to her about the book club.’

  ‘Oh! Well, you’d better come in, then. Bronagh’s out the back,’ Ed said, walking ahead.

  Aoife followed him into the back garden.

  ‘Ed, this is ridiculous.’ Bronagh banged the root of a large thistle against the wall and let the excess earth fall into the rose bed. ‘Wouldn’t you think that after all these years, somebody would have come up with a better way to remove weeds? I mean, how is it possible that we can send a man to the moon but—oh, hi, Aoife.’

  ‘I wonder if we could have a chat.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I’d like to ask you a question about the book club.’

  A broad smile lit up Bronagh’s face.

  ‘Sure.’

  She removed a pair of gardening gloves, turned them inside out and stuffed them in the pocket of her cargo pants. ‘I’m covered in dirt. Let’s sit down out here.’