Red Ribbons

by Louise Phillips

  ‘Like the two girls? Of course I do.’

  ‘Were you ever afraid of anything?’

  ‘I think all kids are, but I’m figuring your answer might be a whole lot more interesting than mine.’

  ‘I don’t know why, but this case has me thinking about when I was that age.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Let’s just say my memories aren’t the stuff fairytales are made of.’

  O’Connor was unusually quiet, and, just for a moment, Kate thought he was going to reach over to touch her. She held her breath, surprised to realise that she’d like it if he did. She could feel the heat creeping up from her chest onto her face, like some wayward teenager. She felt a stab of sadness too: it seemed like an eternity since anyone had held her, touched her. The distance between her and Declan was growing wider by the day. Mostly, it was like she didn’t have a husband any more; she certainly didn’t have a lover.

  O’Connor shifted in his seat, rolling down the car window, looking away from her instead, before turning to smile back at her. ‘I don’t know, Kate; some of them so-called fairytales are pretty scary.’

  Despite herself, she laughed. ‘Start the car, O’Connor, before you begin reciting some of them to me.’

  ‘You could be missing out on a whole lot of entertainment.’

  ‘Maybe, but I think we both have enough on our plate right now, don’t you?’

  This time when O’Connor pulled his car out, he didn’t care who saw him.

  Meadow View

  HE WAS RELIEVED NOT TO BE GOING INTO NEWELL DESIGN, it being Saturday, especially considering the events of the night before. Had it not been for all their vulgar interference, disturbing Caroline from her place of rest, things could have been very different, with no necessity to address the complication of Amelia. It had been a mistake to mention Cronly Lodge to her, trying to impress her with his joy of swimming along the Wexford coast. He had been much more discreet with Caroline, wanting to surprise her with it all.

  It would be too risky to take his usual walk up the mountains, so he decided to stay closer to home, opting for a walk in the nearby park instead, planning to pick up a newspaper at the local kiosk on the way. He wanted to keep abreast of events and figured that compiling newspaper cuttings of developments would be a good place to start. Now that he was something of a celebrity, he may as well enjoy and record his elevated status.

  Although he enjoyed his walks in the mountains, as he entered Herbert Park he reflected on the niceties of a more structured planting environment. The gardens at Cronly were designed with orderly structure in mind – circular bedding areas, shaped hedges, clipped camellias – with all the elements orchestrated to create the perfect balance between control and beauty. Even the wild flowering areas were set within definitive borders and sub-borders to ensure that whilst they displayed all that was good and wonderful about their softness, they were maintained and trimmed to ensure the garden was always the farthest thing from wilderness.

  Herbert Park still boasted the vibrant reds and pinks of late flowering, along with some winter bedding still in its infancy. The farther he walked, the more energised he felt, and he began to look forward to things to come. He managed to pick up a couple of papers at the kiosk. Initially he thought he might stop and have a good read whilst he was out, seeing as both papers had headlines covering the murder, but, on reflection, he kept them under his arm, deciding it would be much better to investigate everything when he got home.

  As he strolled along the pathway through the trees, he picked up the loud voices of a couple arguing. Although, he hadn’t needed to hear them shouting to realise what they were at. His study of people had made him quick to detect any changes of body posture or facial expression. Most people could be rather stupid, tending to fall into the trap of thinking that just because they didn’t hear or see you, then you couldn’t see or hear them.

  The young girl near them was very pretty, with waist-length sandy hair and an innocent face. As he watched, he could tell her parents were paying no heed to her whatsoever. He sat down on a park bench and held one of the newspapers below eye level and watched. Immediately, he noticed how sad the young girl looked. He could tell that about her straight away. The family had a dog with them, a large black Labrador. The girl was fond of the dog – and why not? It wasn’t as if her parents were giving her any attention.

  He was patient, watching the scene unfold. The mother was attractive, and the type of woman who knew it. It was in the way she flicked her hair, held her shoulders back. The man was clean-shaven and dressed well. His style was not exactly to his way of dress, but it was classy nonetheless. Studying the father, he suspected him to be one of those get-rich-fast types, someone who, perhaps by virtue of the current climate, had fallen on harder times. Maybe they were arguing about money. That was a popular one these days.

  He hadn’t expected the girl to come over, but the dog played a part in their chance conversation. He despaired sometimes at how negligent parents could be.

  The dog’s name was Woody. He heard the girl repeat it a number of times, so by the time Woody flew past him into the bushes, the young girl racing behind him, he was able to join in and help her try to call the dog back. Perhaps it was the smell of Tabs, but Woody came to him immediately.

  The girl was younger than Caroline, but equally as friendly. He could tell she was lonely because of the way she displayed such affection for the animal. That was the thing about children – by and large, they were far more trusting and good-natured than adults. It never ceased to amaze him how adults failed to understand the way children thought. He understood it, but it seemed he had a rare gift. Then again, other adults didn’t study children the way he did. He watched and listened carefully, and, in so doing, made numerous helpful observations, including how children made friends quickly and easily – two seconds and you might as well have known them their entire life.

  ‘Woody’s very obedient,’ he remarked lightly.

  She was delighted with this compliment of her pet. ‘He tries to be a good dog, but he can be tricky.’

  ‘Well, he seems like a very good dog to me. It’s hard for dogs, not speaking our language.’ He smiled, hoping she would smile back.

  ‘He likes you,’ she said, bestowing a small smile on him.

  He patted Woody on the head. ‘Do you think so? I used to have a dog, but sadly I don’t have him any more.’

  ‘Did he die?’

  ‘Afraid so, but then he was a bit like me, not so young.’ He smiled again.

  ‘My granddad’s old.’

  ‘I bet you and him are great friends.’

  ‘Mam says Granddad spoils me. He calls me a chatterbox.’

  ‘Does he? Is that because you’re so quiet?’

  ‘No, silly, it’s because I talk too much.’

  ‘My name is William by the way.’

  ‘Mine’s Melanie.’

  ‘Hmm, a lovely name.’

  ‘I’m called after my grandmother. She’s dead now, like your dog.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ He looked at her with deep appreciation.

  ‘Melanie, come over here.’

  ‘Okay, Mam, coming. I’d better go. Nice to meet you …’

  ‘William.’

  ‘Woody, leave William alone now. We have to go home.’

  ‘Good dog,’ he said, ruffling the dog’s head, ‘off you go now. Be good for Melanie and next time I might have a treat for you.’

  ‘He loves bones,’ she said quickly, almost conspiratorially.

  ‘Does he now? Well, I’ll have to bring one so.’

  ‘Melanie, hurry up, we have to go.’

  ‘See ya, don’t forget the bone.’

  He watched the girl as she ran back towards her parents, Woody at her heels. He smiled to himself. Yes, he had sized up the mother exactly. She didn’t even look at the child when Melanie went over, simply turned away from her and walked out of the park, with the father and child in tow. As they went th
rough the park gates, he could see Melanie dragging her heels, holding herself back from both parents. He thought again about how sad her parents must be making her feel. He remained seated on the park bench until the family were no longer in sight. Folding his newspaper, he placed it under his arm and started to make his way out of the park. Perhaps they would be back again. The park was a great favourite with families.

  Dublin Mountains

  Saturday, 8 October 2011, 11.45 a.m.

  KATE SAT IN HER CAR WHILE O’CONNOR GOT HIS update from Hanley, lifting her head up from her notes to wave to him before he sped off downhill. When he was gone, she checked her phone – nothing yet from Declan. She thought about ringing to find out how he and Charlie were getting on, but if she did, she’d probably feel even worse about deserting the two of them on a Saturday.

  She sent Declan a text – ‘I shouldn’t be long’ – and regretted sending it as soon as it was gone. She had no idea how damn long she was going to be. Who was she fooling? Maybe it was her unwillingness to talk to Declan, or feeling vulnerable during the conversation with Innes and that unexpected reaction to O’Connor, but she suddenly decided to ring Sweetmount. Whatever the reason, she couldn’t deny the feeling of wanting to talk to someone she felt close to. It was coming up to lunchtime and if she was lucky, she could have a quick word with her mother before they all gathered to eat.

  The call was answered quickly by the receptionist, but then it felt like an age passed before she heard her mother picking up the phone. When she did, the signal in the mountains was awful, the sound of her mother’s voice coming in and out. Her mother got more and more confused the longer the call continued, so she ended the call. It had been a mistake to phone her in the first place, but a part of Kate wanted to hear her mother’s voice, remember a time when she depended on her not only as a listening ear, but someone who showed love and support to her.

  She grabbed the camera from the car boot and walked uphill to the first location that was still cordoned off. Her gut was telling her that the first burial site would hold different, and perhaps more important, answers from the second one. Although it was sometimes a very harrowing part of her job, it was always imperative to see a crime scene first-hand. Everything about it was important – what you saw within the surroundings, what you heard, smelled, how isolated it was, how busy, who you would expect to see there, the level of exposure, anything that made it different or unique and, most importantly, what it was that had brought the perpetrator there. Photographs could tell you a lot, but they didn’t relate everything.

  Despite the large garda presence, Kate tried to imagine the area as it would normally be – deserted. During the day, the mountains were tranquil, but once night fell, it was a lonely place. Kate walked farther up the mountain road, keeping a slow pace, taking it all in. She tried to imagine the terrain in complete darkness, listening to the sound of water flowing down from Montpelier Hill. Kate had passed the last street light a hundred yards back. Without a torch or the lights of a car, this area would be densely black at night.

  The road got steeper the farther up she went. She passed furze bushes on either side, the last yellow flowers of the year just about hanging on. Kate knew she wasn’t there for the beauty of the landscape, but there was still something purifying about leaving the city behind and breathing in the crisp, pure air, so different from the suburban madness below.

  When she reached the area marked off by the yellow and black tape, the drop down to the burial site was steep, and the ground was still soft after the rain from a couple of nights before. From where she stood, she could see granite stones and boulders embedded into the soil, as well as smaller stones which probably came from the old granite wall bordering one side of the site. She saw the remnants of an old cottage, almost lost, as if it had been eaten by the earth. Just before the drop levelled, there was a narrow stream. The water flowed fast, rippling along a stony path, in a hurry to move on. At first, the noise of the stream was all she heard, but as Kate moved nearer to the spot where Caroline’s body had been found, she could hear the birds singing. Like the water, they seemed rushed. Chaffinches and greenfinches flew excitedly through the undergrowth, their birdsong falling like raindrops.

  From the roadside, she could see how the lower branches on the trees were barren, dark brown, because they were hidden from the light. To her right, beyond the trees, a carpet of heathers and bilberry bushes spread wide, still in full colour. She could smell the sap from the fir trees and in the distance, farther up the mountain, she saw spruce trees of giant proportions, almost touching the practically clear-blue sky. The place was tranquil, filled with the sounds of nature. She had to shake herself free from its seduction and refocus on the task in hand.

  She continued along the path, meeting more squad cars parked like unwanted visitors, with uniformed guards positioned as sentries along the taped-off terrain. She signed in with one of the guards, who looked fresh out of training college. There was no point engaging the officer in conversation. Once she had clearance, she continued down to the centre of the site, where the burial had taken place beneath an enormous elderberry tree. The tree reached up to at least twenty feet from ground level and much of the upper foliage was still intact because of the shelter afforded by the fir trees beyond. As a result, the berries on it were plentiful.

  The steep drop down to the open grave was full of twigs, pine cones and mossy stones. The landscape was as difficult as it had looked in the photographs O’Connor had shown her. In the dark, it would be tricky to negotiate. Whoever brought Caroline’s body down here must have been agile and fit. She thought about how secluded the area was. Unless you knew where to look, the drop down to the level of the burial could not have been spotted from the road. Cars would have passed by and seen nothing. Whoever the killer was, he knew this area, and was comfortable even in the dark, to make his way around it.

  When she reached the grave, the whole atmosphere changed immediately. This was a place that felt totally cut off from the outside world. What struck Kate most, however, was the beauty of it all: the rambling stream, the birds fleeting in and out of the trees, the elderberry tree and the almost seductive smell of mossy earth, more potent the farther down you went. It felt like a special place, almost private, forgotten. The killer had to have known about this spot beforehand – it seemed highly unlikely that he had stumbled on it in the dark. The intimacy with which he’d arranged certain things about both girls now made sense to Kate in terms of the place he’d chosen for Caroline’s final resting spot. This secluded area was as private as he might have imagined his relationship with her to have been. The more she looked around her, the more convinced she became that this place had been chosen very specifically. If she was right, then like every other component of the burial, there had to be a good reason for it.

  She took her own photographs of the site, first kneeling down to take shots of the immediate area: the ground underfoot, the dugout grave, the view above her, the foliage, the berries on the elderberry tree, the steep drop down – everything was important in order to imagine the killer working his way within it. Standing up, again she used the lens at different angles, close-ups and wider shots, stopping to speak into the small Dictaphone machine she always carried with her, noting the various senses: the sounds, the light touch of a breeze on her cheeks, the smells, the remoteness, the feeling of privacy. She attempted to re-imagine the night of the burial: the blackness, the time it would have taken the killer to prepare the grave, the physical act of burying the girl, yet he had been calm, specific, displaying a detachment from the victim within his own personal sense of intimacy, and probably deep-rooted need.

  Caroline’s body was no longer there, but to Kate, the memory of the burial being re-enacted in her mind brought the girl so close it was almost as if the landscape and Kate had just witnessed the burial all over again.

  It didn’t take Kate long to drive back up the mountain road to the next crime scene, which was still under t
he supervision of Hanley himself. Although less than a mile farther up, the difference in the landscape was remarkable. To the left, the lush green hedgerows led upwards to forest and mountain peaks, while to the right, where the second burial took place, the land was flatter, more barren, seeming to run for miles with little change in the contour.

  She parked well down from the cordoned area and took some general shots of the terrain. The burial site was farther in than she was allowed to go. Currently, no one other than Hanley and his team would get anywhere near it. Zooming in and out with her camera lens, she could see the line of white bodysuits moving across the area, tech guys walking in slow motion, every piece of the landscape under their intense focus. They looked at odds with the place, reminding Kate that this was another tranquil setting that would be marked forever as the burial ground of an innocent young girl.

  One thing was for certain, taking both burial sites into consideration, it hadn’t been the killer’s intention that either victim would ever be found. Kate was worried about what would happen next: if he had been spooked by the finding of Caroline’s body, how would he react to the discovery of Amelia? Kate believed he would react in one of two ways. He might lie low, take his time – as she had thought he would do in the first instance. Equally, he might do the very opposite. It could trigger a new phase and God only knew where that would lead, and to whom. The only thing she was sure of was that once he knew that they had found Amelia, he would be thinking about his next move.

  As she walked back to the car, some brittle branches snapped under her foot. Looking over her shoulder, she caught the light shimmering in and out between the hedgerows, just like in her old memory. She thought about Caroline and Amelia being scared, like she had been all those years ago. He had grabbed her from behind and the feeling of hopelessness had been immediate. No one had realised she’d been missing. The whole world had seemed a lifetime away, and she had been powerless to reach it. In those moments of adrenaline and terror, she had felt forcibly that her life was in his hands – he hadn’t cared if he hurt her or took everything away from her.