The pretence we were somehow a normal family going away on holiday irked me as well. I allowed my annoyance with Joe to get in the way of any link I might have had with Amy. I never got to the point where I asked, or wondered, what her thoughts were. But if I’m being brutally honest, I’d have to admit that I barely thought about her on that drive down to Wexford. I’m not the first parent to fool themselves into thinking their children will always be around, that we can pick up wherever we left off, whenever we want to. We forget – I forgot – that life doesn’t work that way, that things happen that we cannot know about, unless we ask.
Apart from the singing and the humidity in the car, when I try to remember that drive I do recall that Amy’s mood was more subdued than normal. At the time, I had taken it as a blessing. She’d made the effort to join in with the singing when her father prompted her, but it must have been just pretence. Was it a pretence for Joe, or for me, or for both of us? Either way, I made no effort to join in with them. I was like some closed-up machine, thinking only about how much I missed Andrew. It had been seven months since our affair had ended and although there were times, thanks to the antidepressants and the alcohol, that I managed to shelve the hurt, I had never got him completely out of my head. I became like some silly adolescent with exaggerated notions of obsession, imagining ways we might meet up, or how it would feel to talk to him again, to be able to share the silliest of things, to have him back in my life.
I must have appeared quite alien to both of them, doing nothing other than staring out the car window as they sang summer songs at the tops of their voices, a wife and a mother who paid more attention to the landscape than to the people who shared her life. In a way, I think I looked on both of them as the enemy, because they were the reason I had to pretend, to take part, to behave as normal. I remember wondering what Joe’s expectations were – just because I’d reluctantly agreed to go didn’t mean I was going to magically transform into a happy-clappy red coat. And again, I made the mistake of putting Joe and Amy together, as if they were both the one person and should be treated as such. Wasn’t that what I did? Hadn’t I let the distance between Joe and me forge a distance between me and Amy? I should have tried. I should have done that much at least.
How many times have I thought about that since I’ve come here? The sin of self-obsession. If my regret began anywhere, it began on that sunny drive to Wexford, my husband and daughter estranged to me, as I behaved like someone who cared for no one other than herself. In a way, that is why I accept my punishment so readily – ‘What goes around comes around’, another one of Joe’s favourite affirmations. If only I’d realised that chances don’t come by too often, that in that drive to Wexford I had at least a chance. I could have made things different. I could have simply turned to Amy and given her a smile, the smallest of gestures, just to let her know that I was there, that her mother cared about her.
If I had my way now, I would stop that car. I would stand right in front of it and when it was still, I would reach inside and give that lost woman in the front seat a good shake. Then I’d look to my daughter and take her by the hand. I’d bring Amy out of there to someplace safe, to me. I could give her one of those long hugs that don’t require words, like the ones I gave her afterwards, when it was too late. I would tell Amy I love her more than anything, more than life.
If I could go back, I would not go to Wexford. I would obliterate it from my memory and live a different life, a life with my daughter still in it.
Rose Lane
HE MADE GOOD TIME GETTING TO TERENURE, THEN HE waited patiently at the top of Rose Lane until he was sure no one would see him slipping down to the garage. Even garage space was expensive to rent around here, but he had no choice after buying the terraced house in Rathmines. He needed to keep the old car parked safely, and this was the best option available.
When the garage door was shut tight behind him, he switched on the mahogany floor lamp he’d taken from Cronly, its bare hundred-watt bulb giving out plenty of light. Part of the reason he had chosen the garage was because of its mains electricity, and checking the coin meter before starting up the vacuum cleaner in the corner, he was pleased that there was still plenty of credit left. While vacuuming the car, he hummed to the familiar rhythm of an old church hymn, ‘Be Not Afraid’, putting a more upbeat slant on its normal rendition.
There was still some red ribbon left in the glove compartment. He sat in the passenger seat, where Amelia had sat the night before, and felt the coolness of the ribbon as he twined it between his fingers. He made a mental note to put the ribbon cutting away in the top drawer of his bedside locker when he got back to Meadow View. Continuing to caress the smoothness of the ribbon, he felt that same sense of wonder he had felt all those years ago.
He remembered the day he first found the ribbon, two days after his eleventh birthday, standing at the large sideboard on the upper landing of Cronly. He’d been angry with his mother, who’d once again done one of her disappearing acts, and so soon after his birthday. She had left him alone before, but that was the first time she’d been gone overnight.
She’d told him he was old enough to look after himself. After sulking for most of the first day, he’d decided he would turn the next morning into an adventure, using his time usefully to make discoveries. He had always been partial to touching things, using the sensation to explore aspects of his surroundings that vision alone could not conjure. The sideboard on the upper landing was a favourite place, primarily because he’d enjoyed running his fingers along the intricate wooden detail across the top, allowing his fingertips to go in and out of the bevelled grooves. It had three top drawers, side by side across the top, drawers that were always locked. Underneath each one of them were three separate sections used to hold extra sheets and pillowcases. The reclaimed wood in the sideboard was the same type as the mirror he now had in the hall at Meadow View. It smelled of beeswax and age.
He’d opened the middle drawer first. Even though he’d been the only person at home, he’d felt nervous using the small screwdriver to prise it open. It took a while, fiddling with the lock, and there was no way he would have succeeded unnoticed if anyone else had been there.
The first thing that had struck him about the contents was the diversity of colours and then, on closer examination, the patterns. They’d reminded him of a kaleidoscope with its mix of different shapes – spools of thread in every shade, thimbles and cushions with pins of varying size, yarn for darning and odd ends of wool. When his hands had brushed across the contents, he’d been instantly excited, but it was in the small wooden case at the back that he’d found the fabric cuttings, cottons, velvets and silks. When he’d placed it against his face, the silk felt soft and cold, almost as if it was a trickling stream. He’d known all these items had belonged to his late grandmother – his mother was not the type of woman who entertained knitting or sewing of any kind.
He’d found the ribbons caught behind the wooden box. The colour – cherry red – caught his eye instantly. One inch wide, larger than the others, the ribbon had a perforated pattern running along both sides, which he would later discover was called a herringbone weave. It was the feel of it against his skin that he’d liked the most, not just the silk-like quality, which felt cool and smooth, but the herringbone edges, which delicately, but undeniably slowed the movement down, allowing for a more intense experience.
Now he rolled up the small cutting of ribbon and carefully placed it deep inside the pocket of his jeans. The ribbon was the first thing he had ever stolen, and it gave him a sense of power, just like that day in the sacristy. He hadn’t felt any guilt on either occasion. Even the fear of being caught became, eventually, part of the allure.
Once the Carina was as clean as it could be, he tidied everything away before switching off the floor lamp. The garage was trapped in darkness. He would need to return tomorrow – he had more plans for the car. It was a number of days since he’d visited Cronly, and it didn’t do to all
ow these things go unattended for too long. The time would soon come when he would have to consider selling the old place. He had already made discreet enquiries in the town. After all, even in today’s market, it would fetch a decent sum. For now, though, it would remain as it always was, except for one small detail – his late mother no longer lived there.
Home of Jessica Barry
Saturday, 8 October, 2.30 p.m.
O’CONNOR’S MOOD HAD NOSE-DIVED AFTER THEIR visit to Innes, and as they pulled away from the Devines’, Kate could see it had deteriorated even further. His shoulders were tense and he relieved his obvious stress by driving far too fast, his use of foul language upped a hundred-fold the more other people got in his way. She was about to say something when his mobile rang. He barked into it, ‘What?’ He listened for a second and then hung up.
‘Gunning,’ he said. ‘He says Jessica and her mother are ready to see us.’
Kate looked at the dashboard clock wondering what Declan and Charlie were up to. She had already been gone most of the day, a point which would be regurgitated by Declan when she got back. She jumped as O’Connor suddenly thumped the steering wheel, obviously caught up in negative thoughts of his own.
‘It would help everyone, O’Connor, if you would calm down.’ Kate’s voice was tense.
He glanced at her. ‘Yeah, well, let me clarify some things for you, Kate. I am calm, but I’m also fucking livid. Gunning should have picked up that scene from the girl’s window. She was abducted less than a mile from her house, for fuck’s sake, bleeding sick bastard.’
‘I assume you’re referring to the killer and not Gunning,’ she said, raising her eyebrows.
‘You assume right,’ he snapped back.
‘No need to take it out on me, O’Connor. My job is to analyse the killer and his actions. It’s your job to find him. Killers are just like the rest of the human race, they rationalise their behaviour to make excuses for what they’ve done. We need to work out what he’s thinking, and why.’
‘Well, Kate, most of the human race don’t do fucked-up things like this.’
‘Look, I’m just making a point. Whether we like it or not, the way his mind works is important if we have any chance of working out what he’s going to do next.’
‘The only thing I’m thinking right now is that two young girls are dead, and back there in that house there are three people trying to pick up the pieces because of someone else’s messed-up head.’
‘Which is exactly why we need to calm down and shelve the angry outbursts.’
O’Connor let Kate’s last sentence stew for a while before grabbing his phone again and calling CCIU to check for updates on Innes’ computer and confirmation, or not, of his alibi.
‘Right,’ he said, throwing the phone onto the dashboard, ‘Innes’ alibi looks rock solid, but the files on his hard drive were another story. Do you know Manning?’
‘No.’
‘He’s the top man in CCIU. He wants me to back off. It seems Innes didn’t like to do everything alone and he’s sharing images. The CCIU team are watching him closely, but there’s no clear link to either Caroline or Amelia.’
‘You don’t sound happy.’
‘I guess it was a long shot. I just hope CCIU nail the bastard when they’re ready to make their move.’ He took a deep breath. ‘What’s your take on what Emily had to say about Caroline losing weight, not thinking she was pretty?’
‘It’s not uncommon for girls to over-obsess about weight. Practically any young girl you meet on the street would have an opinion on their weight, good or bad, but probably bad.’
‘You don’t think it’s an issue, then?’
‘I said it’s not unusual, but it could well be an issue. Her sister obviously believed it to be a problem, otherwise why mention it?’
‘The mother, Lilli, seemed to think differently, though. According to her, she just wanted to eat healthily.’
‘We all see what we want to see, O’Connor, or rather don’t see.’
‘You think she’s keeping something back?’
Kate thought about her own mother, how even before the Alzheimer’s took hold, in so many different ways she never looked at life full on.
‘Kate?’
‘Sorry. What were you asking?’
‘I was asking if you thought Lilli Devine was holding something back.’
‘We all have secrets, O’Connor, but she’s just lost a daughter. She’s hardly in a position to welcome any criticism of Caroline.’
‘What’s your call on it, then?’
‘Well, considering the information Emily gave us about Caroline’s body image, it gives us an insight into how Caroline thought about herself. What Emily said went beyond Caroline thinking she wasn’t pretty. She said Caroline thought her body was ugly. That’s a strong word for a young girl to use, especially when you take it in the context that it was a big enough problem for her to share it with her sister.’
‘But isn’t all that looking cool crap just something every kid frets about these days?’
‘Maybe, but combining it with the weight loss, it means Caroline was going through more than the normal level of pre-teen doubts. It could be the weight loss was less to do with wanting to look like Kate Moss and more to do with not wanting to develop physically. Either way, she seemed to feel vulnerable.’
‘What are you getting at?’ O’Connor asked.
‘Pre-teen is a turbulent time, and how we develop during that period forms the adults we become. If there are problems, it’s not unusual for them to manifest themselves at that particular time. Feelings of low self-esteem, becoming overly self-conscious, thinking you’re different from everyone else, they all raise their ugly heads in any number of ways, not least of which is a feeling of vulnerability and a desire to be accepted.’
‘And the book of poetry, what do you make of that?’
‘If our killer was the one who gave it to her, it means he befriended her in some way. It confirms she didn’t perceive him as a threat, probably the very opposite.’
‘Just as well we’re visiting Jessica Barry next,’ O’Connor said, turning the car a sharp left, ‘she might have some idea what new friends Caroline was keeping in the last while. It’s a little over twenty-four hours since we’ve found her friend’s body, hopefully it will concentrate her mind, and not do the very opposite.’
‘She’s another link all right,’ Kate agreed. ‘If Caroline did obsess about her weight and appearance to the degree that there were fundamental changes physically, then her vulnerability may have been something the killer was attracted to, may even have manipulated.’
‘And how would he have done that?’
‘Well, any number of ways.’
‘Give me one.’
‘For a start, if he recognised her vulnerability, the simplest way to gain her trust would be to display his own.’
O’Connor slid the car into a parking space and turned off the engine before turning to her. ‘Like what?’
Kate pushed her hair back from her face. ‘Okay, this is just complete conjecture, but let’s say he came across as someone kind, someone the rest of the world had been unfair to, a person on the margins even. Well, that might have appealed to Caroline’s own sense of perceived isolation. She could have seen some of her own pain in him, and therefore considered him harmless. He wouldn’t necessarily have needed to have a lot in common with her. In fact, the more outside her realm of experience he was, the less able she would have been to recognise any of the normal warning signs. If our man targeted Caroline, there is every chance she wouldn’t have seen the danger signs until it was much too late.’
O’Connor looked like he was mulling this over. ‘For what it’s worth, Kate, if they did meet somewhere, my money’s on the swimming pool in Rathmines. This little lady we’re about to meet might just shed a whole lot more light on things.’
Kate nodded. ‘Before we go inside, would you mind giving me a minute? I just need to make a ph
one call.’
‘Sure, no problem. I could do with some air. I won’t go far.’ He got out of the car and headed off down the street.
Kate tried Declan’s mobile three times, but each time it rang out. That meant it was on, but he wasn’t answering – or was he choosing not to answer? As the ringing tone reverberated in her ear, her mind drifted back to the black-and-white image of Caroline in the grave, the clay covering her body like an extra layer of skin. Down the street, she could see that O’Connor was taking sneaky glances at the car, obviously hoping her call was finished and she was ready to get on the job again. A body in a makeshift grave. She felt the anxiety rising up through her and kept the unanswered phone tight to her ear, stealing a few more seconds to compose herself. It could have been her, in a grave like that. She could still feel his hands, grabbing her, the intensity of his intent. The memory was never far away from her, still raw even after all these years.
≈
Jessica Barry was the same age as Caroline Devine, but as far as her appearance went, she presented herself as an entirely different girl. Her eyes were circled with heavy black eyeliner and her hair, obviously dyed blonde, was backcombed, making her look taller than she actually was. She oozed confidence, despite the police presence stationed twenty-four/seven outside her house. Her lipstick was bright red, her jeans tight, and tucked into biker boots, while her designer white T-shirt with ‘Attitude – What Attitude?’ stamped across the front hung seductively off her right shoulder.
Kate could see O’Connor’s disapproval of Jessica Barry from the moment he walked into the sitting room and laid eyes on the girl. She smiled to herself at his old-fashioned notion of youth. To her, it was a fascinating contrast: Caroline had wanted to stem the oncoming tide of adulthood, while her friend seemed to have big ideas in the opposite direction.
Red Ribbons Page 14
