by Sharon Owens
‘Don’t be afraid to show some emotion,’ the sergeant had told Johnny. ‘We find it helps to jog memories, if the public see how upset people are. Just be as direct as you can. We’ll help you out if you get stuck.’ So, when Johnny had finished speaking, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sighed deeply.
James was still too shaken to say much. He shook his head and nodded to Eddy to say his part. Eddy smoothed down the collar of his jacket, looked into the camera, and waited for the signal to begin. He spoke quietly and tenderly about his beautiful wife and how much her distraught children were missing her. Then Johnny wound up the appeal.
‘Please, please,’ he began, when the cameraman pointed to him. ‘If anyone out there knows anything about the disappearance of my grandmother, Eileen Hogan, or where she is now, please come forward, or call the police. Eileen is a very special woman, and I know she will be bearing up well, but she is over eighty, and we want her back. Gran, if you can hear me, we all love you, and we miss you terribly.’ He held up a picture of Eileen, and wiped another tear from his eye. ‘By the way, I’m offering a six-figure reward for any information that will help us find Eileen and Marion.’ The police were in two minds about that, but Johnny had insisted.
Eddy showed a fairly recent picture of himself and Marion on the cruise together, with the wind blowing his wife’s hair away from her face. She looked just like Marilyn Monroe in the picture, in a white raincoat and with large sunglasses perched on top of her head. One of the detectives read out a telephone number, and urged the public to keep a look-out for the two ladies.
Just as they were about to stop filming, James said, ‘Please, Eileen, come home. And Mrs Greenwood, too. I love you more than anything, Eileen, if you can hear me. We’ll find you soon. Very soon.’
‘Yeah,’ said the cameraman. ‘We got that. Should be in time for the ten o’clock news.’
James Hogan was at home. He sat staring at the telephone. Waiting. He rubbed his eyes. Johnny was keeping vigil in the ballroom, just in case a telephone call came through there. But James had a feeling that he was the one who would be contacted, and he was right., The shrill ringing made him jump, and a yawn died in his throat. He snatched up the receiver.
‘Yes? James Hogan here.’
‘Mr Hogan. I presume you know what this is about? I’ve got your wife.’
‘Is she all right? Have you harmed her?’ James could hardly form the words. A headache began to prickle across his scalp. He rubbed his head gently.
‘She’s fine. There’s no time for small talk.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Money, I’m afraid. I’ve no imagination.’ Eugene read out his demands, and heard James gasp at the other end of the line. ‘I’ll be in touch. Two days’ time.’
‘Let me talk to my wife!’
‘No time for small talk.’
‘Please –’
‘No funny business.’ And he hung up.
Listening to the ten o’clock news that night was one of the highlights of Eugene Lolly’s career.
After, he smiled and turned off the car radio.
‘There, did you hear that?’ he said. ‘We’re famous.’
‘They’re out looking for us, already,’ Eileen said to Eugene. ‘You’ll be back in prison before too long, mark my words.’
Marion did not speak. She had said very little throughout the journey. Fear and unhappy memories kept her thoughts too busy to even try to make casual conversation. Without Lolly’s attempt to rob the ballroom in 1967, she might not have had the courage to leave Johnny and marry Eddy. Was history about to repeat itself, and change her life again? This time, would Lolly’s return bring her tragedy? They had crossed the border into Donegal hours ago, and were parked in a leafy lane near the coast. A fresh breeze streamed in through the window. It was pitch-dark, and windswept bushes flicked the sides of the car. Marion just wanted to curl up somewhere warm and dry and go to sleep. She had never wanted Eddy more than she did at that moment. Eileen, however, was in the mood for an argument.
‘You haven’t got a hope, Lolly, have you? There’s a reward for your capture now, you outlaw!’ She spat out the words, giving him her most intense stare.
‘Good,’ he said, not in the least perturbed. Eileen Hogan was positively ancient, and no threat to him whatsoever. And Marion Greenwood was no heroine either. This was going to be so easy, it was embarrassing. ‘I’m glad to see you’re so popular. That means you’re worth more.’
‘I guessed this was about money,’ hissed Eileen. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’
‘It’s always about money. Isn’t that all that matters in the end?’ said Eugene, philosophically. ‘Money is the only path to freedom.’
‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Kidnapping two defenceless women.’
‘Shame is a luxury I can’t afford, I’m afraid, Mrs Hogan.’
‘A man in good health has plenty of options, in my opinion. The only thing wrong with you is you’ve got a very plain face.’
‘Ha! Always the smart answer. The story is this: you are a hostage, your family is wealthy, you will be returned when a sum of money has been paid. It’s not rocket science.’
‘How much?’
‘I don’t know yet. Half a million?’
‘You’re out of your mind, Eugene Lolly. We haven’t got that kind of cash flow. The site is worth something, I dare say, but unless you want a building site for your trouble, you’ll get nothing for me. And I’m not scared of you, either. You’re a hateful coward.’
Eileen folded her arms and stared straight ahead. Eugene smiled.
‘Same old Hogan bravado. They’ll pay up for you, all right. No one gets the better of me. Not twice, anyway.’
‘You buck-eejit! Call yourself a kidnapper? You, that shot off half your own hand! Good God, look down on me! I’ve been abducted by a fool with butterfingers. Mother of God, be merciful!’
‘That’s right, say a little prayer.’
‘You’re a bitter man, Mr Lolly.’
‘Not bitter, Mrs Hogan. Just in need of some hot sunshine.’
‘What do you want that for? Don’t you know there’s a price to be paid for sunshine? Snakes and spiders biting the backside off you? Lions and tigers eating the people wholesale? Did you not hear about the crocodile that attacked that poor man in Florida, and him only off the plane two hours?’
‘Be quiet. I’m thinking,’ he commanded.
‘Oh, God above! He’s thinking. God help us altogether!’
‘I said, stop talking! I’m tired of talking. And no more religion either. I’m an atheist and proud of it.’
‘You’ll change your mind when you’re older. When you’re my age. You’ll be grateful for the simple things in life. Fresh air. Flowers.’
‘I said, be quiet!’ said Eugene.
‘Yes,’ persisted Eileen. ‘You’ll be grateful for any day you feel halfway healthy.’
‘Women talk too much, I’ve always said it,’ Eugene snarled.
‘Eileen, please,’ whispered Marion, and silence enveloped them.
The luxury car waited patiently in the Donegal landscape, as the three occupants pondered the existence of God, the universe in general, and the financial health of the Hogan family in particular. Then, Eugene told Marion to start the engine again and make for a lone farmhouse he remembered spotting some years ago. It was too nicely painted to be owned by local people; likely it was a holiday home belonging to some moneybags blow-in from Dublin or Belfast. It might well be empty at this time of year.
‘As if we’ll ever find it in the dark.’ Eileen was very frustrated, and starving too. ‘And when are we going to get something to eat?’
‘There’s plenty of holiday homes around this area. We’ll break in and get set up, comfortable like. And wait until it’s time to call the ice-cream man again.’
‘Who?’
‘Johnny Hogan, in his famous white coat. That’s who. And I’m warning the
two of you, when we move from this car to an empty property hereabouts, if there is one false move, I won’t hesitate to use this knife.’ He pointed the knife at Eileen but she snorted her contempt for him.
‘Oh, shut your mouth,’ she snapped. ‘Where could we go in the dark? In the cold? It’s not you and your stupid knife we’re afraid of. We could die of exposure on a night like this. Or boredom.’
21. Eugene Lolly is Licked
Eugene Lolly was at his wits’ end. Eileen Hogan was driving him crazy. Just a few days with her and he was feeling psychotic. The old bat had far too much energy for a woman of her advanced years, and she was using every drop of it to torture him. Maybe it was a vitamin deficiency that he was suffering from, but he could have sworn she was using psychological warfare against him. She was constantly piping up with daft questions, distracting him when he was trying to make plans for a luxury retirement in some quiet holiday resort in South America. He had to lock the two women in an ensuite bedroom, eventually, just to get a bit of peace. And even then, Eileen demanded that he give them bottles of fresh water to drink, and a fire extinguisher, just in case there was an electrical fault in the room. Complaining about everything, she was: the house was either too cold, too warm or too dry. She wanted him to turn up the heating, turn down the heating or give them another blanket.
And when they were in the kitchen together, for meals, she never let up either. He was tempted to keep them in the room all the time, but he hated cooking. That was women’s work, after all. And Eileen Hogan cooked a mean steak. Which was why he hadn’t stabbed her before now.
In any case, he was worn out from lack of sleep. He was confident he would be instantly awake at the first sound, should they try to break out of the bedroom, but that meant his snatched scraps of shut-eye were light, edgy and broken. Eugene checked that he had the house keys in his pocket. He had. How nice of the owners to keep a spare set in the shed. Under a flowerpot, too! Some people just deserved to be burgled. Or, in this case, to have their home occupied by squatters. Eugene checked again that his prisoners were safely locked in their room. He put his feet up on the sofa in the sitting room, and settled down for forty winks.
In the bedroom, Eileen dipped a couple of teabags in two mugs, and added powdered milk and three sugar lumps to each one. (She had created a mini-kitchen on the bedside table.) She handed a mug to Marion who was sitting quietly by the window, hoping that someone would pass by on the road and rescue them. They had thought of trying to smash the triple-glazed window but rejected the idea. He would be upon them at the first sound and then no doubt would tie them up. Tape their mouths, even. They couldn’t bear that. Besides, they were pretty sure the window was unbreakable.
‘Don’t worry, Marion,’ Eileen said. ‘We’ll be out of here by this afternoon. I promise. But you’ve got to pull yourself together, dear. I need you to help me.’ Eileen just hoped that when they did escape, Marion would be capable of driving back to Belfast, even if she had to do it on auto-pilot. Otherwise, they’d have to flag down a lift.
Eileen’s plan was going nicely. She might be old but she was not stupid; she was very quick to notice that Eugene Lolly was a bag of nerves and starved of sleep, and she had used that fact to her advantage. Keeping him on edge, so that he was nearly exhausted. He was barely able to keep awake today, and she decided that it was now time to take control. Eileen had also demanded that the central heating be turned on as high as it would go. Few people could stay alert in a sweltering house and Eugene’s eyes were heavy with lack of sleep. She’d give him ten minutes and then she’d bang on the bedroom door and call him.
Eugene Lolly was an idiot. Any idiot would have known that Johnny couldn’t come up with half a million in cash in two days. These amateur criminals hadn’t a clue. All they knew was what they saw in the movies. It took years to make that kind of money, building up assets. And months to turn assets into cash again. Large sums of money meant large amounts of paperwork.
She was becoming quite fond of this house with its huge windows and its blinding-white walls. A linen sofa, a leather armchair and lots of paintings on the walls – that’s all there was in the sitting room. Big, abstract watercolours of seascapes, great washes of blue and green, dark at the bottom, fading to the merest hint of colour at the top. No people, no details in the paintings. Still, the house was very clean and tidy. And so bright when the sun was shining, such a change from the shadowy world of the ballroom. She wondered if they were keeping the ballroom closed, or open. Eugene Lolly wouldn’t let her see the news on television or listen to the radio. The pint-sized little demon! It was a great pity they had done away with hanging in 1953, she thought bitterly. She took another biscuit from the barrel on the table. And she listened carefully for any sounds from Eugene Lolly. There were none.
‘Are you ready, Marion? Come on, now. Just do what I told you and we’ll be home in no time. Good girl. Be brave, okay? Five minutes is all it will take.’
‘Are you sure, Eileen? I’m frightened.’
‘It will work like a dream, I promise you. He thinks the two of us are useless. Come on, now, lie down on the bed and close your eyes. Try and look ill.’
Marion did as she was told. It wasn’t difficult to look distressed; she was barely able to stay rational. ‘Get on with it, then,’ she whispered. ‘If I don’t do this right now, I never will.’ She thought of her lovely home in Belfast, and how much she wanted to be back there. She closed her eyes and nodded.
Eileen put on her cardigan, took a deep breath, and thumped on the door.
Eugene Lolly was out for the count. Snoring, with his mouth wide open. Days’ worth of stubble on his jaw, and red rims round his eyes from all the wine he had drunk the night before. There were beads of perspiration on his forehead. The room was very hot. He became aware of a commotion somewhere in the house. Then Eileen began hitting the bedroom door with her shoe, and he went staggering down the corridor in a stupor.
‘Help! Help! Mrs Greenwood’s collapsed! Help!’
Eugene unlocked the door and barged in. Marion was collapsed on the bed with her eyes closed. Eugene ran over to her and began gently slapping her face while Eileen hovered behind him. Eileen was delighted to see that he had left the knife elsewhere in the house and that she wouldn’t have to resort to Plan B, which was to hit him over the head with the electric kettle.
‘I think she’s in a shock-induced coma,’ she cried. ‘She’s a nervous wreck at the best of times. Now you’re in trouble! If she dies, you’ll be hailed a murderer.’
‘Shut up! Give her some water.’
‘There’s none left in the bottle.’ Eileen had poured it down the sink.
‘Use the bathroom tap.’
‘I will not. It’s not for drinking.’
‘Go to the kitchen, then, you stupid woman!’ he roared.
‘Don’t shout at me. I’ll get it. You try and get her to sit up. I don’t think she’s breathing!’
Eileen rushed to the sitting room and found the knife on the floor next to the sofa. When she came back, Eugene was struggling to sit a moaning Marion up.
Eileen came up behind him and held the thin sharp blade against his neck.
‘Don’t move a muscle, you little rat!’
He flinched, and made to turn around but she pulled the knife across the back of his neck and left a red mark that made him gasp.
‘Just a flesh wound. Hurry up, Marion.’
The other woman jumped up off the bed like a grasshopper.
‘Get the keys,’ ordered Eileen, pressing the knife harder into Eugene’s unshaven neck.
Marion reached into Eugene’s pocket, and felt the cold steel of the keys. She held them tightly. ‘I’ve got them!’
‘Let’s get out of here, then,’ said Eileen. ‘Don’t try to stop us, Lolly, or I’ll run you through, I swear it. They won’t even put me away for it. Self-defence, you see. And I’ve got a witness.’
‘Eileen, come on,’ urged Marion, from the do
or.
Eileen darted for the door and Marion slammed it behind her and locked it, removing the key. They ran for the front door, Marion searching for the key with fumbling fingers. She found it, unlocked the door and out they went.
Eugene had tied the keys for the car onto the house keys, the silly man. Eileen laughed out loud. ‘I told you he was a brainless chancer!’
Marion found the right key and opened the car door. Eileen lowered herself into the passenger seat and waved to Eugene, who was now trapped in the ensuite bedroom of his dream cottage, with his own blood seeping into the collar of his best coat, pounding at the window in rage. Marion flopped in behind the wheel, and started up the engine. Then she reversed down the drive, completed a near-perfect three-point-turn, and swung out onto the main road, holding her breath all the way.
Eileen cheered and clapped. What a turnaround! That horrible creature, Lolly, was locked into a house with triple-glazing. Like a goldfish in a bowl, he could not get out. Marion moved the driver’s mirror a little bit, and looked out for the signs for Belfast. A couple of hours at least, it would take. They ought to telephone home, of course, but they had no money with them. Eugene had taken their handbags. And anyway, they were afraid to stop the car in case it would not start again. That was the kind of thing that happened in some TV dramas. Eugene might catch up with them somehow if they dallied at all. And so, they drove on towards the city, only taking a couple of wrong turns.
At seven o’clock, they parked right outside Eileen’s home on Eglantine Avenue, and tooted the horn loudly, and hugged each other.
‘Thank you, Marion, you’ve been brilliant,’ Eileen said.
‘We made it,’ said Marion. ‘We really made it!’
James’s lovely face appeared between the linen drapes, and Eileen waved at him and blew him a kiss. The glossy front door flew open, and down the path he came, all tears and laughter, and bewilderment.
