The Broken Shore

by Catriona King

  Annette interjected. “Aren’t you concerned for your own career, sir? She could try to smear you in return.”

  Trainor smiled then shook his head slowly. “No, Inspector. For several reasons. My family is very powerful. We have a cohort of lawyers on retainer, so any damage that Melanie could do to me personally would be minimal. Lissy’s death has hurt me more than anything that she could ever do. And also, because I don’t care anymore. I’ve been an MLA for thirty years and I’m fifty-five now. My career in politics is nearing an end.”

  Craig interrupted. “I’ve heard your name mentioned as a possible First Minister.”

  Trainor laughed. “Yes, I’ve heard that rumour too but I’m not holding my breath. Look, I hope I’ve done some good in politics and I’ll continue to be involved with charity work, but I’ve been miserable for long enough. I want to enjoy life now. Let Melanie do her worst.” He smiled at Annette warmly. “But thank you for your concern.”

  Craig smiled then gave Trainor a look that said he hadn’t finished his earlier point.

  “Ah yes, how could my wife’s behaviour have led to my daughter’s death? Well, it’s very simple Superintendent. She’s used a lot of men over the years and they weren’t all happy when it ended. In some cases there were also very unhappy wives who’d found out.”

  “But why not target the ACC herself? Why kill your daughter? She was just a vulnerable girl.”

  Trainor’s eyes filled with tears again and his gaze moved to a picture of his daughter. She was around ten in it, half turned towards the photographer with a wide smile identical to her Dad’s. She looked happy and he could imagine Hugh Trainor taking the snap, saying ‘Lissy, pet, look at Daddy.’ Craig was sorry his words had made Trainor sad but his next words said he’d been right to ask. Hugh Trainor almost spat out his reply.

  “Because Melanie was always well guarded, she made certain of that. Nothing was more important to her than her own security. And I was usually here, hard to get at. But Lissy was just a girl, out there in the world living a normal life. She was easy to reach, Superintendent. She was vulnerable. Through the years when things were really bad I begged Melanie to arrange a protection officer for her, but she refused. She said it would look like favouritism. Bloody favouritism, for her own child.”

  He voice rose angrily. “Her job made Lissy a target for anyone who wanted revenge and then she stood back and let it happen.”

  Suddenly he dropped his head and started sobbing. Annette’s eyes filled with sympathy as she watched his shoulders heave. Craig stood, motioning her to join him, then he laid his hand briefly on Hugh Trainor’s shoulder and they let themselves out. What Trainor had said had expanded their suspect pool hugely; now it was his job to narrow it down.

  ***

  Andy wanted to chuck the files against the wall in frustration. He visualised their spines splitting open and sheets of paper floating to the floor. The image wasn’t half as satisfying as the reality would have been but it would have to do. He topped up his coffee and stared again at the list of Wasson’s victims that Davy had sent through. There were five names on it. Bronagh O’Carolan was one of them. Of the other four cases, all between fifty and seventy-five years old, two were dead and one was in a home suffering from dementia. That only left one woman he could even talk to.

  He stared at the names, wondering how to approach the relatives of women who were long gone, or whether he even should. Was if fair to open their wounds again? And where did you stop? Were only their immediate families suspects in Lissy’s death, or was it wider than that? Did he rule out the husbands and grown-up children and stop there, or go digging deeper, into friends, work colleagues and more? He sighed in frustration. It was never-ending.

  He took a deep draft of his coffee, tutting in irritation as a drop fell onto his shirt, then he dabbed it off and started again. Turning over the pages of each file in turn and making a longer list.

  ***

  The man watched them tiredly as they went door-to-door, street to street, carrying photographs of the girl hopefully, as if people ever registered any face but their own. They had to do it of course, even if it was only to be seen to. To tick a box and strike out the name of another perfect stranger who’d never known Lissy Trainor at all. Unlike him. He felt as if he’d known her all her life.

  He’d watched her play in her garden with her expensive toys since she was small and then at her posh private school. Every fashion fad and techy trend was satisfied as soon as she mentioned the word. And yet…he couldn’t say that she’d been spoiled. He’d seen her stop by each tramp in the street, giving them coins and even notes. He’d watched her volunteer with charities and carry shopping for the lady next door. Saint Lissy, destined for great things, a better human being than both her parents, especially her Mum. Mum, Mother, Mammy, Mom, he spat the words out at the thought of Melanie Trainor wearing them like a badge.

  Her trophy child, the girl who’d had the misfortune to be born to such a bitch. He nodded in acknowledgement. It hadn’t been Lissy’s fault, or her choice, she was just an accident of birth like they all were. He had to give her credit for one thing. As soon as she could think clearly she’d chosen her Dad. Just in little ways at first, like who she ran to when she cried; always him. Then when she was older, always standing closer to him in photos and in life, except when the bitch trotted her out for photo-ops for her career. Here is my perfect daughter and my perfect life, aren’t I wonderful, see what I did. Melanie Trainor, the perfect working mother. I work so hard, I have so much, now give me more. Make me the boss, make me supreme.

  He watched the police for a moment longer then turned away from the window and rearranged some shelves, counting in his head how long they had left. Lissy had died on Tuesday and they’d found her two days after that. Now it was Tuesday again. He would give them one more day to work out the answer then he would dispense justice himself.

  ***

  Craig rang the doorbell and took a step back, scanning the small terraced house for signs of life. The faint shift of an upstairs blind tannoyed them loud and clear. Annette stared down the quiet street off Belfast’s Lisburn Road and then back at the modest two-storied home. It had a small Victorian garden at the front, divided by the narrow, pebbled path they stood on now. Algerian Iris and winter roses in violet, pink and white bloomed and wound themselves together as they embraced. Ivy rambled around a blue front door set against the snowy pebble-dash of the house’s wall. It was all so quaint and pretty that it made her smile. She couldn’t wait to see the woman who lived inside.

  They heard light footsteps descend the stairs then stop behind the door. Annette could imagine their owner drawing breath for the conversation she knew was coming and she composed her face in a smile. Her sympathy was with Darlene McKenna, whether she was a mistress or not. The door pulled back and Annette’s smile widened even more.

  Darlene McKenna stood in front them, small and thin, with a wary look that said she was waiting to be chastised. She was in her forties somewhere, pale and fair-haired, with an ethereal quality that made Annette wonder if she would blow away. When her voice came it was almost frail, with a tremor behind her words. “Please come in, Superintendent.”

  Craig extended his hand and she stared at it blankly for a moment then slipped her own inside, grasping it as if he was a life belt. Her eyes flicked to Annette and Annette saw that they were beautiful; large and soft, a pure, clear grey. “Inspector.”

  She waved them forward into a small, warm room furnished in a floral Victorian style, as if it was an extension of the garden. Annette gazed around her and smiled. This was no predatory woman, no mistress that every married woman who’d been betrayed like her could hate. This was a quiet soul, a woman from a different time, trying to cope with modern life the only way that she knew how, by retreat. She was no killer, not unless snipping a rose was murder.

  Craig imagined Hugh Trainor here and understood why. Darlene McKenna was the complete opposite of the ACC.
Gentleness versus aggression, light versus shade, and he knew who Hugh Trainor thought was the light.

  “You were expecting us, Ms McKenna?”

  She nodded. “Hugh said you would come. I’m happy to answer anything you ask. But first…” She turned towards a ready prepared tray of tea and poured them each a cup. Annette smiled at the delicate china and imagined Liam sitting there, drinking from dainty cups in a grown-up doll’s house. Darlene McKenna took a deep breath and started to speak unprompted.

  “I know what you must think of me, Superintendent.”

  Craig went to contradict her but she’d already moved on.

  “And I’ll answer all your questions as honestly as I can, but first I must tell you what Lissy told me.”

  “You met her?”

  She smiled and her face lit up. “Many times. I was Hugh’s personal assistant for twenty years. I watched her growing up.”

  Realisation dawned on Craig. Hugh Trainor hadn’t said that he’d met his mistress recently; he said he’d ‘seen’ her. He’d known Darlene McKenna for years but it was only when his love for Melanie Trainor had died that he’d noticed his P.A. and fallen in love.

  McKenna’s face darkened as she talked on. “Lissy used to talk to me when she was waiting for her father and a few weeks ago she told me that she’d been contacted by some man. He’d asked to meet her, saying that they had something important to discuss.”

  Craig interrupted. “Did she ever mention his name?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, no. Just that he was young and it was something to do with the law.” She smiled proudly, as if Lissy had been her child. “She was a very clever girl. She’d finished her law degree and was due to start a Masters in Human Rights Law next term.”

  She screwed up her face trying to remember. “I think she said it was something to do with her dissertation topic.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but that’s all I know. But I do know that she didn’t tell her parents about the man. She said her mother wouldn’t be pleased if she met him.”

  At that she stopped talking, everything she’d needed to say done. Craig turned the discussion to other questions and asked her everything he had to ask, until the conversation wound down to what a lovely summer they’d had and how it had affected the flowers. Finally they stood and left the haven Darlene McKenna had created, knowing that she would have someone to share it with very soon. As they left Craig struck another name off their suspect list.

  ***

  Liam had had enough of the girl’s antics and he thumped the table hard, making her jump up and back all at once. He watched the movement, wondering how she’d achieved it and whether she could manage a repeat. He was tempted to thump again and find out, but Ian Flood’s face said it would be gratuitous and he’d already achieved the effect he desired.

  Liam squinted hard across the table and watched as Mary-Ann Eakin crumbled. Her face flushed and her bottom lip wobbled, threatening tears, but he was stone. Her friend had been murdered and she’d tried to wreak havoc in her romantic life before she had. He had no sympathy for her.

  “Now Ms Eakin, tell me again about the events in the week before Lissy’s death, particularly about her relationship with her boyfriend Conor Ryland.”

  He stressed the word ‘boyfriend’ knowing that it would hurt. The girl in front of him might only be twenty-two but her type was as old as time. He remembered them from when he and Danni were courting. Lovely word ‘courting’, it was a pity people didn’t use it more often, replacing it with unromantic expressions like ‘doing a line’ or worse. Paying court seemed like a much finer thing.

  There had been girls back then like Mary-Ann Eakin, girls who’d tried to split them up. Some who were jealous because they wanted him for themselves, not that he fooled himself that there were many of those. But at least he’d understood the logic there; it was the ones like the girl in front of him that he couldn’t comprehend. Girls who didn’t want the man, but wanted to keep their friend all to themselves, or for them to be single and miserable too. That was Mary-Ann Eakin and millions like her, before and since.

  Her next words confirmed he was right. “He wasn’t her boyfriend, he was a two-timing scumbag who went off to Turkey with his mates on a shag-fest. Lissy deserved better.”

  “And you decided that she was going to get it?”

  She sniffed and folded her arms across her chest. Liam noticed a tattooed bracelet around her wrist and shuddered. He couldn’t abide tattoos on anyone but even less on girls. He added it to the mental list of things his toddler daughter was never going to do and turned his thoughts back to their guest.

  “Did you decide Conor Ryland wasn’t good enough for her?”

  She nodded defiantly. “Yes. I knew he was playing around. He’d been the same since school. I was going to get the evidence and show her.”

  A penny dropped in the back of Liam’s brain and he smirked. “Dump you, did he? When you were at school?”

  Her instant blush told him he’d got it in one.

  “It hurts, doesn’t it? And you wanted to make sure you hurt him back.”

  He suddenly leaned across the desk, watching as she jerked back in her chair. “Were you following Conor Ryland to try to catch him out?”

  She nodded in reflex then tried to take it back, but it was too late, he’d seen it.

  “Was that a yes?”

  “Yes.” It was a grudging sound but still a yes.

  “Were you following him on Sunday evening? And did you see him on the pier at Portrush Harbour at eight o’clock?”

  She nodded reluctantly, each movement of her head as small as it could be.

  “Say it please, for the tape.”

  Her round face twisted up defiantly and Liam leaned forward again, squinting her into answering.

  “OK, then. Yes. Yes I saw him.”

  “How long did you watch him for?”

  “Two hours.”

  Liam leaned back and stared at her until her face flushed again, then he shook his head slowly, tutting with each move. Finally he sighed and stood, looming over her for a moment.

  “Constable Flood here will take your statement, because he’s a nice sympathetic young copper and I’ve seen your type of jealous, malicious behaviour too often before. It’s boring, and so are you, young lady. Take my advice. Go and get yourself a life and stop trying to hijack one that belongs to someone else.”

  ***

  Craig showered and shaved and changed into his best suit, one that befitted an evening spent perusing art. He cast a quick look around his apartment then grabbed a bag packed with spare clothes for Portstewart and headed for the door. It was six p.m. and he was meeting Jake at the gallery at half-eight, plenty of time to meet John for dinner and forget he was a policeman for a few hours.

  That was the problem with working away from home, every waking hour became about the case. When you were at home at least you could get on with your life; meet your mates, have a drink, even tidy the house if you had nothing better to do. Hotel life was different, all cable TV and different food and over-heated rooms where you never quite slept.

  He knew he shouldn’t complain. Lots of the guys he’d done law with at Queens were corporate lawyers now, flying all over the world and crossing every time-zone between San Francisco and Sydney. They buggered up their body clocks and spent their days baring their teeth at bigger sharks than themselves. Airports, flights, hotels and meetings; travelling for business was just one long commute no matter how glamorous they tried to make it sound.

  He gunned the Audi down the Stranmillis Road and headed towards town, parking on Oxford Street outside John’s latest restaurant find, ‘OX’. The décor was elegant and after a meal of Antrim beef and red wine they were well relaxed, and John thought it was safe to raise the thorny subject that Natalie had been bending his ear about all week. He swallowed hard, knowing his friend wasn’t the most forthcoming of men where relationships were concerned. Craig could see it coming and gav
e him a resigned look, raising a hand.

  “OK, so this is where you meander around the subject of my relationship with Julia, until you finally ask the question Natalie has briefed you to ask. Where it is going?”

  John’s mouth dropped open then he nodded in relief. “How did you know?”

  Craig stared at him sceptically. “Because it’s been written all over your face for the past twenty minutes. Don’t ever join MI5, John, you’d make a terrible spy.” He sipped at his beer and shrugged. “The honest answer is, I don’t know.”

  He outlined the conversations they’d each had with Sean Flanagan and Terry Harrison’s attempt to block Julia’s transfer at every turn, ending with.

  “If Harrison wants to be a complete bastard there’s nothing we can do to stop him. There are no vacancies for Inspectors in Belfast, or nearby. Even if he advertises Julia’s post and manages to recruit to it, that still leaves her with nowhere to go.”

  “Can’t she take a sabbatical and move down anyway, until an opening comes up here? She could live with you.”

  Craig shook his head tiredly and John could see they’d already had the discussion many times. Craig fell quiet for a moment and when he spoke again his warm voice held defeat.

  “I’ve told her a millions times, John. I earn enough for both of us. But she won’t listen. It’s about her independence, which I respect, but not when it’s wrecking our relationship.”

  John scrutinised his empty wineglass for a moment, thinking, then he filled it up and hesitantly started again.