‘He was still on his own, Jimmy, with no roof over his head and no bed to sleep in.’
‘True, but you can’t judge other people’s happiness by your own, like, can you? Some fellows are happy being priests, or monks, but you wouldn’t catch me being celibate. I wouldn’t give up women even if they offered to make me the Pope.’
‘That’s about as likely as me being asked to be Mother Superior.’
Five or six people standing at the bus stop were now staring at them and at Gearoid’s body, and several shoppers had stopped to see what was happening. Garda Brogan said, ‘Right. I’ll cordon this area off if you take a few pictures. Then we can cover your man up until the white van gets here.’
He ushered all the bus passengers away from the bus stop with his arms spread wide as if he were herding sheep, and told the shoppers to toddle along and go about their messages. Reluctantly they shuffled off, although a small crowd of curious onlookers had already gathered on the opposite side of the street.
‘Nothing to see here!’ Garda Brogan called out, but they didn’t move away.
He went back to the squad car and took out a roll of crime tape and a digital camera. While he tied tape around the bus-stop railings, Garda Cavey was taking a series of photographs of Gearoid from all angles. The forensic technicians would do the same, but this was part of the new first-response kit that was gradually being issued to gardaí all over the country. It was especially helpful in cases of domestic abuse or accidental death, or the homeless found dead in doorways.
Ten minutes later an ambulance arrived, followed shortly after by a van from the Technical Bureau, two more squad cars, and an unmarked car bringing Detective Sergeant Sean Begley and Detective Garda Bedelia Murrish.
‘So what do we have here?’ asked Detective Sergeant Begley, turning up his coat collar and sniffing loudly.
‘Homeless fellow, name of Gearoid,’ said Garda Brogan. ‘Looks like he died sometime late last night or early this morning.’
‘Poor beggar,’ said Detective Sergeant Begley. ‘Didn’t even get the last rites.’
6
Katie had eased herself out of bed at six a.m., while it was still dark. She showered and dressed as quietly as she could, because Conor was still asleep. Before she left, though, she brought him a mug of tea, switching on the bedside lamp and kissing him on the forehead to wake him.
‘Jesus, what time is it?’ he blinked.
‘Too early for chasing lost dogs. You don’t have to get up yet.’
‘Oh. That’s a relief,’ he said, sitting up. ‘I’ll ring you later so, after I’ve taken Walter in to Gilabbey. Maybe you’ll have time for a bite of lunch with me, even if we only go across the road to The Market.’
‘Let’s play it by ear. It depends what heinous crimes the good people of Cork have decided to commit during the night. Brendan O’Kane’s holding a meeting this morning to introduce himself but I doubt if that will take too long. He’s not a man of many words.’
‘You knew him from Garda College, didn’t you say? Do you think you and he are going to get along okay?’
‘You know me, Con. I’m the Angel of Resilience.’
‘If “Resilience” was a brand of concrete, I’d agree with you.’
Katie kissed him again, on the lips. She had told Conor that she had trained with Brendan O’Kane at Templemore, but she hadn’t told him about their affair, or how it had ended. She didn’t believe in causing pain or jealousy when it wasn’t necessary.
She arrived at Anglesea Street just after seven twenty. It had rained during the night but the clouds had cleared away now and the pavements were shining. Ana-Maria was still at the station, and Katie found her in the canteen, swinging her legs as she was eating a breakfast of Flahavan’s porridge and toast, with a young female garda, Maebh Cassady, looking after her.
Ana-Maria dropped her spoon when she saw Katie walk into the canteen, jumped down from her chair and ran over to hug her. She looked up at her and said, ‘Mătușa… îmi pare rău că am fugit!’
Katie smiled and gave her an affectionate squeeze. ‘Whatever it is you’re saying, sweetheart, I’m happy to see you safe. And I love your dress!’
Ana-Maria’s hair had been washed and braided into two separate plaits, and she was wearing a bottle-green corduroy dress with a cream lace collar, which Katie guessed had been found in the station’s lost property room, because it was two sizes too big for her.
‘Here, go back and finish your breakfast,’ she said. ‘I’ll have a coffee myself to keep you company. Maebh, thanks for taking care of her. Do you know what time Margaret O’Reilly’s coming over?’
‘About eight, she told me,’ said Maebh. ‘She’s fetching an interpreter, too. No, you’re grand – it’s been a pleasure to look after her. She’s a darling. I only wish I could understand a word of what she’s saying. We’ve been playing noughts and crosses, though, and that’s kept us laughing.’
Ana-Maria had just finished her toast when Margaret O’Reilly appeared, accompanied by a young balding man in rimless spectacles and a black Puffa jacket. Margaret O’Reilly worked for Tusla, the department of child protection, and her particular concern was lost or abandoned foreign children. She was a tall woman, with wispy grey hair, and a voice that grew louder and then faded away from time to time as if she were standing on top of Knockboy mountain in a fitful breeze.
‘So this is Ana-Maria,’ said Margaret, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to her. ‘How’re you going on, Ana-Maria? Have you enjoyed your porridge?’
Ana-Maria looked across at Katie with a worried frown, as if she were asking who this woman was, and what she wanted. Katie gave her a reassuring smile and said, ‘Don’t you fret, sweetheart. This is Margaret and she’s a lovely woman and she’s going to take good care of you.’
‘Vreau să rămân cu tine, mătușă,’ said Ana-Maria, holding out her hand across the table.
‘Romanian,’ declared the balding young man with satisfaction. He turned to Katie and said, ‘She just called you auntie – mătușă – and says she wants to stay with you.’
‘She’s going to break my heart, this little one,’ said Katie. She smiled again at Ana-Maria but she almost felt that by smiling at her she was betraying her, because there was no possible way that she could adopt her. ‘Let’s go upstairs to my office and we can ask her a few questions about her background and why she was wandering around by herself.’
The balding young man crouched down beside Ana-Maria so that he was on the same level as her. ‘Salut, Ana-Maria! Numele meu este Murtagh și o să vă spun ce vă spun aceste doamne.’
To Katie, he said, ‘I’ve just told her that my name’s Murtagh and that I’ll be able to translate whatever she says, so that you’ll understand her.’
They all went upstairs to Katie’s office and sat on the beige leather couches beside the window, although Ana-Maria almost immediately stood up again so that she could look out at the passing traffic and the hooded crows that were perched on the roof of the building opposite.
‘Mierle!’ she said, pointing.
‘Nu, ciorile cu capișon,’ Murtagh told her. Then, to Katie, ‘She said they were blackbirds.’
‘Ask her where her father and mother are,’ said Katie.
Ana-Maria was silent for a few moments after Murtagh had asked her that, twiddling with one of her plaits. Eventually, she said, ‘Daddy’s still at home.’
‘Okay. But where’s your ma?’
‘I went around the corner and then she wasn’t there. I went back and called her but I couldn’t see her anywhere. I didn’t know what to do. I asked a lady if she had seen my ma but the lady didn’t know what I was saying.’
‘When did you come to Ireland?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘This country is called Ireland. Did you know that?’
‘No. Ma said that we were going away for three weeks but she didn’t say where.’
‘Did she say why you w
ere going away?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Did she say what you were going to be doing when you got here? Did she say it was like a holiday, or did she say that you were going to be working, or what?’
‘She said we had to ask people in the street for money.’
Katie said, ‘Ask her how many people came from Romania along with her and her ma.’
Ana-Maria counted on her fingers, whispering names. ‘Caturix… Bogdi… Minodora…’ At last she said, ‘Twenty-one, I think.’
‘And you were all going to ask people in the street for money?’
‘Yes.’
‘That man in the grey jacket who you ran away from – did he come with you from Romania?’
‘Yes. He brought us here. My ma hated him. She said he was a lupul. That’s what she always called him, Lupul. But not when he could hear her.’
Murtagh said, ‘Lupul. That means wolf.’
‘If she hated this Lupul so much, why did she come to Ireland with him?’ asked Katie.
‘I’m not sure. I think it was something to do with my daddy. I think Daddy owed Lupul some money.’
‘Do you know what Lupul’s real name is?’
‘I think Dragos.’
‘But you don’t know his second name?’
Ana-Maria shook her head.
Murtagh turned to Katie again and said, ‘Dragos is short for Dragomir.’
‘Ask her when they arrived here in Ireland, and if they came by air or by ferry. If Dragomir’s the name on his passport, the immigration service should have a record of his full name and what kind of a visa he was travelling on, C or a D.’
‘We came on a plane and then we came on a ship,’ said Ana-Maria. ‘We’ve been here… four days and four nights.’
‘Where have you been staying? Do you think you could show us where it is?’
‘It’s a big house up on a hill,’ said Ana-Maria, angling her hand to indicate that the hill was very steep. ‘It’s cold and damp and it smells like varză.’
‘Cabbage,’ said Murtagh.
‘How long have you been there?’
‘Three days and two nights. Yesterday was the day we were supposed to go out into the streets and start asking people for money.’
‘So you went out with your ma to ask people for money… but she disappeared?’
‘Yes.’
‘You don’t know why she might have disappeared? Did she have an argument with Lupul?’
‘I don’t know. She and Lupul were always shouting at each other.’
‘Ask her if she knows what town Lupul comes from,’ said Katie.
Ana-Maria shook her head again.
‘What town do you come from?’
‘Târgoviște.’
Murtagh said, ‘Târgoviște… I’ve been there. It’s about eighty kilometres north-east of Bucharest. It has its cathedral and its historical bits but a lot of it’s fierce run-down. All those Communist-era blocks, do you know what I mean? It’s where they executed the Ceaușescus, out of interest. Out of the courtroom, up against the wall, and bang, all in five minutes flat.’
‘What’s your ma’s name?’
‘Doamnă Bălescu.’
‘And her first name?’
‘Sorina.’
‘What does she look like? What colour is her hair?’
‘The same colour as mine. She’s pretty. With brown eyes and red lips. But a little brown spot just there, on her cheek.’
‘She means a mole,’ said Murtagh.
‘And what was she wearing when she disappeared?’ asked Katie.
‘A red coat. And a brown woolly hat. And brown boots. And she was carrying a big knitted bag.’
‘All right, Ana-Maria,’ said Katie. ‘I’m going to tell all the police officers in the city to start looking for your ma. If she’s still here in Cork, I promise you that we’ll find her for you.’
Ana-Maria nodded, and whispered, ‘Mulţumesc,’ although Katie could see that she was very close to crying.
‘Come on, sweetheart,’ Katie told her, taking hold of her hand. ‘I have to talk to Margaret here for a few minutes. How would you like to do some drawing? Moirin… could you fetch in some paper and some of those coloured pencils, please?’
Moirin came in with a legal pad and a mug filled with assorted crayons. She took Ana-Maria over to Katie’s desk and sat her down and said, ‘There, pet. Why don’t you draw me a pussycat?’
‘Doamnă întreabă dacă ai desena pisoi pentru ea,’ Murtagh translated.
Ana-Maria nodded again, and said, ‘Da.’
She folded back the first page of the legal pad. As she did so, she caught sight of the braided gold ring that Katie had left lying on her desk. She let out a funny little squeal, clapped her hands and picked it up.
‘What’s wrong, sweetheart?’ Katie asked her.
Ana-Maria slid off the chair and came back to her, holding the ring up high. Now the tears were streaming down her cheeks, and her mouth was turned down in anguish.
‘Acest inel… acesta este inelul mamei mele. Ea nu-l scoate niciodată.’
‘What’s she saying?’ Katie asked Murtagh. ‘Something about her mother. Is it her mother’s ring?’
‘Yes,’ said Murtagh. ‘She says it’s her mother’s ring but her mother never took it off.’
Katie held out her arms and held Ana-Maria close. Ana-Maria was trembling and sobbing and squeezing the ring tightly between her finger and thumb as if somehow that could magically make her mother reappear.
‘This ring was handed in as lost property,’ said Katie. ‘Maebh… can you go down to the front desk and see if they have a record of who handed this in, and when, and if they told the duty officer where they found it. Apparently Sergeant O’Farrell said there was some kind of a story behind it, but I haven’t yet found out what.’
She said to Ana-Maria, ‘May we borrow this for just a few minutes?’ but Ana-Maria shook her head, clutching the ring tight in the palm of her hand and holding it close to her chest.
‘Okay, not a problem,’ said Katie. She took out her iPhone and said, ‘At least let me take a picture of it.’
Ana-Maria reluctantly held it up while Katie took three or four quick photos. While she was doing that, Murtagh leaned over and peered at the ring over the top of his spectacles.
‘Since she’s Romanian, I’m pretty sure I know whose face that is,’ he told Katie, as Maebh left the office. ‘You see this cut in her forehead… that’s not damage to the ring. If this is who I think it is, it’s part of the story.’
‘So who do you think it is?’ asked Katie, stroking Ana-Maria’s plaits to calm her down.
‘Saint Philothea of Argeș.’
‘That’s a mouthful.’
‘She’s the most famous saint in Romania. In fact, they call her the Protectress of Romania, although she was born in Bulgaria. She was only a young girl when she died. It was her job to fetch her father his food when he worked in the fields. Every day, though, she used to give some of his food to poor children that she met on the way. When her father found out what she’d been doing, he was so thick about it that he hit her in the head with an axe. Hence this cut.’
‘Mother of God, what a monster,’ said Katie, although Murtagh had reminded her uncomfortably of what her own father had done.
‘The story goes that her father couldn’t move her body,’ Murtagh went on. ‘He couldn’t shift it for love nor money and nor neither could nobody else. So he called for some priests and they read out a long list of possible places to bury her, and when they came to the monastery of Curtea de Argeș in Romania, her body suddenly became light and they could pick her up. Her remains are still there today, in Curtea de Argeș. It’s a fantastic building all right, massive.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ said Katie. ‘But what we need to know is who took this ring off Ana-Maria’s ma, if she never took it off herself, and where she is now. Tell Ana-Maria she can keep the ring, would you, but she’ll hav
e to give me a few minutes to talk to Margaret. We need to find somebody to take care of her, but it must be somewhere safe. For some reason this Lupul wants to lay his hands on her.’
Maebh said, ‘Maybe he’s after her because she knows something incriminating about him, like, do you know what I mean, even though she doesn’t know herself that she knows it. Do you remember that little Tommy Kelly last year? Only four years old, poor innocent little fellow, and he told me where all of his uncle’s guns were buried. His uncle was only after trying to run him over with his tractor.’
Margaret leaned forward. ‘There’s a couple in Glanmire who could take her in – Michael and Sadhbh Flynn. They’re youngish, in their early forties, and they’ve taken in emergency cases for us before. The husband’s an IT specialist and works from home now, so he’s always around, but he’s ex-Navy so he’s no stranger to security.’
‘They sound perfect,’ said Katie. ‘I’ll make sure that the Glanmire gardaí know that she’s there, though – at least until I know more about this Lupul and why he tried to grab her. Meanwhile, I’ll see if we can’t contact her father in Romania. We can start by contacting the Romanian embassy in Dublin. Murtagh – you could help us with that.’
‘I will of course.’
‘Right – if you could tell Ana-Maria that Margaret is going to take her to meet some really friendly people who are going to look after her. We’ll have to find her a coat, too, otherwise she’ll be foundered outside.’
Murtagh quietly told Ana-Maria what was going to happen, and Ana-Maria nodded, although she never took her eyes off Katie, as if she were expecting Katie to interrupt and say, No, forget that, you’ll be coming to stay with me.
‘There’ll be a rake of paperwork,’ said Margaret. ‘But I’ll sort everything out with the immigration. INIS have always been pure understanding when it comes to stray children.’
Maebh returned a few minutes later, accompanied by Sergeant O’Farrell, who was holding the lost property logbook under his arm.
Begging to Die Page 4
