Red Ribbons

by Louise Phillips

  ‘Yeah, but I didn’t do anything special.’

  ‘To him, you did.’

  ‘Mom?’

  ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘I missed you today.’

  Kate wanted to scream inside. ‘I missed you, too.’

  ‘Mom?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Will you be here tomorrow?’

  Maybe Declan was right. Maybe she was an awful mother. Not that he used those words exactly, but she knew he thought them, and the irksome bit was that the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that he was right.

  ‘I’ll have to see, honey. Hopefully, I’ll get through my work in a jiffy and we can do lots together really soon.’

  ‘Mrs Evans says a jiffy is a hundredth of a second.’

  ‘Your teacher is very clever. Now come on, Dad will be wondering if I ate you.’ Kate made a face like a scary monster, then scooped him up before chasing him back out to the living room, where Declan was waiting, holding Charlie’s coat and hat.

  ‘Enjoy yourselves. Bash some leaves for me, Charlie,’ she said, giving him a final hug.

  ‘I will, Mom.’

  Declan pulled Charlie’s woollen hat down as Charlie struggled into his coat. He looked up at Kate and his face looked softer. She tried to smile at him.

  ‘I could get a takeaway, Kate, open a bottle of wine when we get back?’

  In one way, Kate wanted to say ‘yes, let’s do that, let’s spend time together the way we used to,’ but something held her back, and she wasn’t altogether sure it was just her looming report.

  ’No drink for me, I’m afraid, I’ve a report to do.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ She winced at the harshness of his tone.

  ‘Declan, I’m just—’

  ‘Busy. Yeah, I know.’

  Turning his back to her, Declan took Charlie by the hand, pulling the apartment door shut behind him with a firm bang. Kate cursed under her breath. She knew she’d just missed an opportunity she would most probably regret, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. Heading down the hallway towards the door of her study, the primary task ahead of her was focusing her mind on the report for O’Connor.

  Ellie

  AS I TAKE MY SEAT IN HIS OFFICE, DR EBBS IS HIS USUAL cheery self. The fact that I have brought the copybook hasn’t gone unnoticed. He tries to disguise his interest by looking the other way, but I’m as good at picking up small details as he is. I notice the slight rise in the right side of his forehead, replaced quickly by a blank expression. He might be worried I didn’t write anything down, or perhaps he’s concerned that what I’ve written in the copybook is something for which he is ill-prepared. Either way, he has chosen to look again at something in my file, apologising, asking me if I could bear with him for a few more moments. I decide to distract myself.

  I imagine the two of us swapping chairs: him sitting on the patient’s chair and being just that, patient. I would think the good doctor would be very good at this. If I were sitting in his chair, would I be trying to look intelligent like him? Perhaps if I were looking at him across the desk as my patient, I would be trying to figure out the emotions on his face. Maybe I could work it out from how he sits, how he holds himself, figure out what truth is hidden behind his calm exterior. Perhaps he is able to do all of this with me. He looks up, closes my file. It didn’t take the good doctor long.

  ‘Well, Ellie, sorry for keeping you there. I just wanted to check a couple of things, hope you didn’t mind.’

  I say nothing. I suppose I could smile, but then that might give him the wrong impression.

  ‘I see you have a copybook with you.’

  I could be smart and say, ‘Very observant of you’, but I choose not to.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And how did you get on? Did you find the process difficult?’

  ‘Surprising.’

  ‘Surprising? In what way?’

  ‘That I wrote anything at all.’

  ‘And what did you write about?’

  ‘An ending.’

  ‘An ending? Not a beginning?’

  ‘No, not a beginning. You asked me to write about the wrong thing.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes, you asked me to write about the beginning, but the only things that matter are the endings.’

  ‘Endings?’

  ‘Yes, there were two. The first when I killed my daughter, the second when I stopped wanting to kill myself.’ His facial expression is one of discomfort, but he retrieves himself well.

  ‘So what did you write?’

  ‘Three words.’

  ‘Three words?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I hand him the copybook. In truth, I don’t want to take responsibility for it anymore. I can see him look over the words, taking plenty of time to allow their impact sink in. I don’t know what I feel now, but it’s a bit like I’m forming a distance between the words in that copybook and the person who sits in this chair.

  ‘Your words here – “Wexford, Amy, Dead”—’

  ‘Important three words, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, Ellie, very important. Can you tell me why you chose those three specifically?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘Well all three are, as you say, extremely important. But Wexford – even though it is the place your daughter, sorry, Amy, died – is still simply a place. I would not imagine it holds the same weight as the other two.’

  ‘You underestimate its importance.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes, because if we hadn’t gone there, she might still be alive.’

  I can tell he is mulling over this, trying to work out his next question. Perhaps my response was not what he expected. I could help the good doctor here, say something else, but I’m curious which way he is going to turn next.

  ‘Ellie, I’m confused.’

  ‘Confused?’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps I had expected some kind of remorse.’

  ‘I do feel remorse. If I feel anything, it is remorse. I feel it every living, breathing second of this thing called my life. Remorse and loss are the two things that haunt me most.’

  ‘But your words, “Wexford, Amy, Dead”, they are so factual, no emotion.’

  ‘Well she is dead, isn’t she?’ I snap at him.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘So what’s the point in writing anything else down? Other than those three words, nothing else is important.’

  ‘But what about the fire?’

  ‘What about it?’ I lessen the anger in my voice, tired of the same old questions.

  ‘Well it would seem to me to be extremely important.’

  ‘The fire meant nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It says here,’ he flicks through the pages, ‘that when they took you in for questioning, you displayed no outward signs of either upset or regret. An unusual response from a mother who says she has always felt remorse.’

  ‘I told you the fire meant nothing.’

  ‘But your daughter died in the fire.’

  I want to explode. ‘She was dead before the fire. Listen, I’ve said all of this before. You don’t believe me, the others didn’t believe me, so why don’t we just drop it. I’m sure you have more pressing things to do.’

  ‘You’re talking about the mystery man you saw with Amy?’

  ‘Yes.’ I want to leave, I’m sick of playing this game. My thoughts drift inwards. He interrupts again.

  ‘The man no one else remembers?’

  I’ve spent so long inside my own head, if I try hard enough I can shut his words out completely. I’m not bothered by any of them. What I remember is that summer: the light winds scattering grains of sand, families chattering, children running in swimming suits, towels across their shoulders, wet hair mangled, queuing up for ice-cream cones. I can still hear the music from the carousel, over and over, above the noise of slot machines, and in the middle o
f it all I remember him. He looked out of place, as if somewhere deep inside, some warning stirred.

  ‘Ellie, are you listening to me? We were talking about the man.’

  ‘Do I need to go over it all again? It didn’t matter then, it’s hardly going to matter now.’

  ‘But you’ve just admitted, by your own words, that you killed your daughter, not to mention the statement in your file.’

  ‘Oh, yes, the file – everything is in the file.’

  ‘It’s not that I want to labour the point, Ellie, but part of moving forward is accepting the truth. What you say doesn’t add up.’

  ‘Not neat enough, you mean.’

  ‘Things are seldom neat. That much I certainly do understand.’

  ‘Well if you understand so much, Dr Ebbs, why do you waste your time with me? I am what I am, and for the most part, that does me just fine.’

  ‘You say you killed your daughter, you’ve signed a statement saying the same thing, yet you still talk about this mystery man.’

  ‘I’m not talking about him, you are.’

  ‘The report in the file says the fire killed Amy.’

  ‘The report in the file?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well that’s just dandy so.’

  ‘Ellie, you’re not helping.’

  ‘I thought that was your job.’

  ‘Okay, let’s start over. If Amy was dead before the fire, how come you said – and in fact still say now – that you killed her?’

  ‘I did kill her.’

  I can tell he’s agitated, not angry agitated, more confused. I don’t blame him.

  ‘How?’

  ‘How what?’

  ‘How did you kill her, if not by the fire?’

  ‘I killed my daughter, Dr Ebbs, when I stopped being her mother.’

  Incident Room, Tallaght Garda Station

  Saturday, 8 October 2011, 5.00 p.m.

  O’CONNOR REACHED TALLAGHT GARDA STATION AT exactly five o’clock, just as the early evening news came on his car radio.

  The Garda Press Office has just released a statement. A second young girl, Amelia Spain, who was reported missing by her parents late last night, has been found dead. State pathologist Donal Morrison is currently carrying out a postmortem at Tallaght Hospital. The area in the Dublin Mountains where the thirteen-year-old was found is some distance from the site of the burial of Caroline Devine, who was found early Friday morning, although police believe both deaths could be connected. Chief Superintendent Brian Nolan has asked the public to remain calm, saying they are doing everything in their power to track down those responsible. Any information the public may have to help with inquiries can be given through the designated helplines or directly to Tallaght Garda Station, where the main Incident Room has been set up.

  ‘Shit, shit and more shit.’ O’Connor knew that whatever about asking the public to remain calm, that was one thing Nolan was not going to be. He was going to be dragged over hot coals, there was no two ways about it. He needed a cigarette before going in. He lit up, sucking the nicotine in hard and quickly, without pleasure, before finally stumping it out and heading reluctantly inside.

  The Incident Room was even more packed than the last time – after the discovery of Amelia Spain’s body, the guys from Crumlin were now involved. At the top table, Nolan looked like a man who was ready to commit murder himself and Donoghue, seated to his right, looked equally as pissed off.

  Donoghue got the session underway. ‘Right, starting with you Pringle, any more on that car from the canal? Our killer needs to be getting from A to B, and he ain’t flying.’

  ‘We have a second witness who saw the Carina, didn’t get registration number either, but we have a year – 1994. We’re running checks on tyre markings and paint used on that particular year and model.’

  ‘Good, let’s go with it. Get a picture of the make and model out, who knows what it might bring in. No county details for the registration?’

  ‘No, just the year.’

  ‘Right, McCann, I want everybody interviewed on the estate where Amelia Spain lived, or anywhere that young girl went. The guys from Crumlin will work with you,’ he nodded to the crew seated up the front. ‘If you need DI Hyland or any of the others from Harcourt Square to row in, just ask O’Connor.’

  ‘On it,’ McCann said with a curt nod.

  ‘Now, O’Connor, what had Morrison to say about the second girl?’

  ‘He’s doing the postmortem now, but preliminary examination shows the killing was similar but different. The rigor wasn’t forced this time, but that was most probably because of the speed of the burial. The girl was killed by asphyxiation most likely, same as Caroline, but this time a ligature was used, looks like a narrow cable of some kind, no rope marks. No blows to the head, but bruising to face and wrists.’

  ‘And your profiler, what’s she come up with?’

  ‘The killer is a watcher. Hanley’s working on an area under the bridge in Harold’s Cross, opposite the first girl’s family home. Looks like he may have been friendly with her beforehand, the techs are looking for prints from a book of poetry he could have given her.’

  ‘Poetry? A cultured killer. Fucking fantastic. Just what I wanted to hear.’

  ‘We’ll run whatever prints we get through AFIS and, if there’s a match, we’ll find it.’ O’Connor hoped that the Automatic Fingerprint Identification system would find a match – they needed a break, and quickly. He continued, ‘Also Jessica Barry has opened up. She’s putting a photofit together with DS Campbell.’

  ‘Good, glad the security’s been increased on the girl. I want that photofit as of yesterday.’ Donoghue put O’Connor’s name down against that particular task as well. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘McCann and Hyland have spoken to Matt Long, the farmer who owns the site where the first girl was found.’

  Chief Superintendent Nolan looked around the room for Hyland and found him at the back. ‘Well, Hyland, what stories did the old man have from his sick bed?’

  ‘Said he saw a guy hanging around his old family place, the ruins near the burial site.’

  ‘And that was okay with him, an obliging farmer, is he?’

  ‘He thought he was one of those hillwalkers. Both times he saw him was over the weekend, says the guy was very smart looking, not the kind you’d find milking cows.’

  ‘Age?’

  ‘Couldn’t be sure, his sight isn’t too great.’

  ‘Brilliant. Right, get what you can out of him and if it bears any resemblance to the fit Jessica Barry is putting together, I want to know about it. O’Connor, I assume you’re running a check on all hillwalking clubs.’

  ‘Yes, and on the second swimming pool in Crumlin where Amelia went swimming. Both girls were excellent swimmers.’

  ‘Grand,’ Nolan said, nodding, ‘this web is getting itself a lot of legs, but I don’t want anything missed. DI Donoghue was asking you about your profiler; other than the leads picked up at Caroline’s home, what else?’

  ‘Kate narrowed the search area for the second missing girl, which saved us a shitload of time.’

  ‘Good, you know how I hate to waste taxpayers’ money.’

  ‘She believes him to be a loner, very particular, capable of keeping a calm head. Someone who can gain people’s trust easily, he won’t appear threatening. The ritual burials are personal to him, but she thinks the disparity between the two locations and the speed by which he made his move on Amelia means, as I said before, that he considered her a loose end. Either way, bottom line, he is capable of killing again, so he’ll look elsewhere now.’

  ‘When do we get her first report?’

  ‘This evening.’

  ‘Right, make sure Donoghue and I see it the moment you have it. And that Innes guy, what’s the story with him?’

  ‘Rock solid alibi for both abductions. CCIU have asked us to back off, they have their own operation running on him, and some of his friends.’

  ‘And
other sex offenders in the Dublin area and beyond?’

  ‘I have the list, but none of them operate anyting like this guy. Dr Pearson doesn’t think his motivation is sexual.’

  ‘No? What’s her theory then?’

  ‘Probably best to wait for her report, but our man would have had ample opportunity with Amelia, if that had been his intention.’

  ‘I thought you said Ms Pearson figured Amelia to be a loose end? Maybe he was, as she said, particular? Gunning, where are you?’

  ‘Here, sir.’ Gunning put his hand up from the side.

  ‘I want more pressure applied outside. If there’s no match against the ribbons and everything else at home, we’ll need to push on Interpol searches.’

  ‘I’m on it, Boss, they’ll be getting a reality check from me no matter what their preferred language might be.’

  ‘Good – that okay with you, O’Connor?’

  ‘Sure.’ O’Connor wanted to punch DI Gunning in the face and remove any notion he had of being the star pupil. He should have got the boot in earlier about him missing the site opposite Caroline Devine’s house. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

  Nolan was still on a roll. ‘I assume you’ve run checks on any possible visiting paedophiles O’Connor?’

  O’Connor was even quicker to respond this time. ‘Yes, Boss, nothing concrete in as yet, but we’re pressing every possibility; any link or potential link, we’ll see it.’

  ‘Toxicology reports on the first girl back in yet?’

  This time O’Connor was pleased to have a definitive answer. ‘No drugs or any other substances were found in the victim’s system. If Caroline got into a car with someone, she did so of her own free will. That would back up Dr Pearson’s assessment that he gains their trust. All other trace evidence was in line with deposits from the burial site, nothing more.’

  ‘Right, while I think of it, O’Connor, get Rohan to tell those press guys to back off. If I see ‘Mr goddamn Invisible’ in print one more time, I’ll be even more bloody annoyed than I am already.’

  Donoghue did the wrap up. ‘Right, you heard the boss. Gunning, push the Interpol searches, you know how slow they can be to come in. O’Connor, I’ll want to know what Hanley comes up with from the canal, that book of poetry, and Ms Pearson’s report when you get it. We’ll run a public appeal later this evening with the photofit from the Barry girl, and a visual of the Carina. It may not be his, but he’s getting from place to place, meaning he can move anywhere countywide, and if Dr Pearson is correct, this guy isn’t waiting on us for his next move. I don’t need to remind you all, there’s a computer in every police station in the country connected to the Pulse database. I want everyone out there using it. This place is filling up in here, and there’s only one of him. I don’t need to state the obvious.’