All the Lost Girls

by Bilinda P Sheehan

  I stared down at the remains of the young woman. She had been beautiful; I’d seen it in the photographs. There had been something about her that not even the camera could fully capture, but you could see it, lurking beneath her eyes. The killer had tried to destroy it, done his level best to crush it from her but despite the agony he’d put her through, he hadn’t succeeded. He’d tried to destroy her beauty and failed.

  “It reminds me of that painting,” Ronan said, cutting across my own thoughts. “You know, Hamlet’s girlfriend. She’s in a river and there’s all these flowers floating alongside her and—”

  “Ophelia,” I said simply. “I’m not sure who the artist is but I saw it a few years ago in London. The Tate I think.”

  “It’s a Sir John Everett Millais painting,” Dorian interrupted. “And you’re right, it is in the Tate.”

  “How do you know all this?” Ronan asked. “I can barely remember last weekend’s footie results, never mind remember obscure painters and paintings.”

  Dorian seemed to contemplate the question for a moment before he finally shrugged. “I have an eidetic memory,” he said finally. “There’s not much I forget.”

  “Well it certainly seems like a handy talent.”

  “It’s not always so pleasant,” Dorian said darkly, returning his attention to the body. “There are certain things I have witnessed, I would much rather forget.”

  I knew exactly what he meant. The scene laid out in front of me wasn’t something I would shake free of easily. In fact, I could almost guarantee it would haunt my dreams for a long time to come.

  “You said we had bodies,” I said, breaking the silence.

  Dorian glanced up at me. “We do,” he said. “She’s not alone in here.”

  For a moment I wasn’t sure if I’d misheard him. I scanned the scene but whatever he was referring to was so well hidden that it couldn’t be seen from my vantage point.

  “It’s older,” he said. “The body that is. I don’t think it’s an original site, just like the last girl. It’s a shallow burial, directly beneath this body.” He indicated a section of soft muddy ground he’d excavated from beside Joanna. To my untrained eye, what was in the hole looked like the gnarled roots of one of the many trees surrounding us. Leaning a little closer, I realised it was the ribcage of another victim.

  “Shit,” I said under my breath.

  “So, two then?” Ronan asked.

  Dorian shook his head. “I’ve got reason to believe there’s another next to it,” he said. “I won’t know for certain until I get them all out.”

  “Russian dolls,” Rosie said, her sudden input making me jump. “He practically buried them one on top of the other in there, like those Russian dolls you can get where they all nest inside each other.”

  “How long is it going to take to ID them all?” I had the beginnings of a headache forming in the centre of my skull. This had gotten a lot more complicated in a very short space of time.

  “We’ll try and speed it up as much as we can,” Rosie said. “But we don’t always get lucky with dental records and DNA takes time.”

  “I know,” I said. “Best case scenario?”

  “Best case,” she said thoughtfully. “We might have something for you tomorrow night.”

  “I can’t keep this out of the media until then,” I said. “The families need to be notified and I don’t want to give false hope to anyone else.”

  Rosie shrugged. “It’s the best we can do,” she said. “We’ll send some stuff to Dublin and they might be able to fast track it but even then, everyone is working to capacity.”

  I nodded. It was all I could ask of them. I knew they were working to capacity and to expect miracles from them was unfair.

  “Just get it to me as soon as you can,” I said. “I’m going to have to warn the families involved but I’ll try and hold off as long as I can. If the press gets hold of this...” I blew out a long breath. They’d have an absolute field day with it and would treat it all as proof of the existence of a serial killer. Not that I thought they were wrong but sensationalist headlines only led to panic and right now we needed everyone to keep their heads.

  With one last look at the body we believed to be Joanna, I turned away. Her family still had hope she would return to them alive. When I broke the news to them, I would rip it all away.

  The killer had succeeded at one thing; he’d successfully stolen the hope of all the families involved. He’d taken their children and murdered their futures.

  And if I didn’t find a way to stop him soon, he was going to do it all over again.

  33

  My legs carried me down the road and away from the house as my tears ached to find release. Not that they would fall. I’d cried enough down through the years over my mother’s treatment of me.

  Part of me wondered if she truly hated me the way she seemed to or if it was simply the misguided anger she felt over Clara’s disappearance finding an easy target in me.

  Not that it made any difference. It all hurt the same.

  Time passed and still I walked. The mist had become a steady drizzle, soaking in through the thin jacket I wore so that my clothes were plastered to my skin. I didn’t care. I was out of the house, away from the oppressive atmosphere that sought to stultify my mind.

  It wasn’t until I came to the crossroads that sat opposite the local garage that it dawned on me I’d walked all the way into town. My throat scratched and my eyes felt gritty as I watched the cars moving in and out between the petrol pumps like slow waltzing couples. A perfectly coordinated dance.

  Patting my pockets, I noted the satisfying jingle of change in my jeans and crossed the road.

  The bell over the shop door chimed, heralding my arrival. I shivered involuntarily, the sudden blast of heat a stark contrast to the chill that clung to my wet skin. I ignored the curious stare from the clerk who looked like he wasn’t long out of the classroom and crossed to the alcohol shelf that sat at the opposite wall. They’d moved it since I’d last been in here. When I’d been a teenager, the bottles of vodka and whiskey had lined the back wall. Cheap vinegar tasting wine had sat on the carousel shelving next to it, usually with a large yellow sign overhead proclaiming it to be the offer of the week. It had been easy to slide a bottle or two under your jumper and slip out unseen.

  Judging by the way it now sat under the watchful eye of the attendant in his high-vis jacket, they’d grown wise to our tricks. Stealing a cheap bottle now would take a lot more ingenuity than we’d had to employ in our day.

  Not that I needed to steal it now.

  “Jesus, Alice, what happened to you?” Declan’s friendly voice cut through my perusal of the liquor section. Turning, I found myself face to face with him and the skeptical expression he wore on his face.

  “I needed a walk,” I said, ignoring his obvious concern. The last thing I needed from him, or anyone for that matter was pity and sympathy.

  “So what, you thought heading out in the rain was a good idea?”

  “We did worse when we were teenagers,” I countered, grabbing a bottle of vodka from the shelf. The unpronounceable Russian brand name on the label ensured that what little change I had in my pockets would cover the cost. “Anyway, last time I checked, a little rain never killed anyone.”

  From the corner of my eye I could see the smile that lurked at the corners of his mouth.

  “Shouldn’t you be keeping your arm dry or something?”

  I gave him an incredulous look as I passed him and set the small bottle on the counter.

  “What century are you from? I’m not some fragile woman to be kept in doors for fear of a sniffle.”

  Declan’s chuckle warmed me despite my damp clothes.

  “Eight-ninety-nine,” the clerk said ringing the bottle up.

  I pulled the coins from my pocket and let them spill across the counter, judging by the paltry amount of euro coins I had in the pile, I was going to come up short.

  “Twenty o
n pump two and that,” Declan said from over my shoulder. He thrust a wad of paper money in over my head and let it drop onto the counter next to the vodka bottle.

  The clerk pulled a face. “You should have told me that first,” he said. “I’ll have to cancel this and ring it all up again.” There was a whiney note to his voice that didn’t endear him to me.

  “I’m sure you’ll live,” Declan said, ignoring the bitter look the teenager shot him.

  “I don’t need you to pay for my drink,” I said, as the clerk slipped the bottle into a paper bag and set it back on the counter.

  “I know that,” Declan said, grabbing the bottle before I could stop him. “I just thought it was only fair to pay for my half is all.”

  He sauntered toward the door and tugged it open, an infuriating smirk on his face as he waited for me to follow him.

  Scooping up my coins I shoved them back into my pocket and followed him with a glare.

  “If I’d known you were going to muscle in on it, I’d have picked a bigger bottle.” I threw him a dirty look as I moved out past him and his laughter followed me onto the forecourt.

  His car was the only one at the pumps at the moment but even if the place had been full, I’d still have known it was his.

  “You got it,” I said, eyeing the black Ford pick-up with more than a little envy. Even when I’d known him in school he’d spoken of getting himself a big pick-up style truck. I’d never understood the attraction at the time but looking at the monster that sat next to the pumps I could suddenly understand why he’d been drawn to it. Most people from the area favoured 4x4’s, a necessary vehicle for farming. But Declan’s truck looked much more versatile.

  “Still paying it off,” he said, running his hand possessively over the bonnet. “Runs like a dream though.” He jerked his head toward the cab. “Go on, hop in…”

  I had a moment of hesitation as I stared at the truck and then back to Declan’s smiling face. Clara had been offered a lift the night she’d been taken. Of course, thinking Declan had anything to do with Clara’s disappearance was more than a little ridiculous. We’d both been little more than kids when she was taken.

  Tugging open the passenger door, I struggled up onto the step.

  “Need a hand?” Declan teased as I teetered in the door of the truck.

  I flopped inelegantly onto the leather seats and grinned triumphantly at him. “Told you, I’m not some fragile little woman.”

  “Never said you were,” he said with a grin as he headed for the driver’s door.

  I pulled the door shut and surveyed the view I had from the passenger seat. The cab was positioned high up, giving me a bird’s eye view of everything around me.

  Declan climbed in next to me and passed the still bagged bottle of vodka over the centre console.

  “Want a lift home?” he asked, starting the truck up. The seat beneath me instantly started to warm and I suddenly wondered if my clothes would begin to steam.

  “Any chance you could take me to Galtee woods,” I said. “The car park…”

  His smile faded. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure of anything anymore but I want to see the place where they found the bodies…”

  He stared out the window for a couple of minutes before he nodded. “Fine.”

  We drove in silence for a few minutes and when Declan did finally speak, his voice was more than a little strained.

  “They sure it’s Clara?”

  I shook my head and then realised he couldn’t see me. His gaze was pinned securely on the road ahead, almost as though he was afraid to look in my direction.

  “Actually, they don’t think it’s her at all.”

  “What?” He glanced at me and the car wavered before once more correcting its course. “What does that mean?”

  I filled him in on what the detectives had told us and he listened without uttering a word of interruption, for which I was grateful. The thought of having to repeat myself, or dwell to closely on just what the pathologist’s findings could mean filled me with dread.

  “Shit,” was all he said as I finished up. “I’m sorry, Alice.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek as I stared out the window, my fingers knitting over and back on themselves.

  “I think when they told us first I was relieved,” I said quietly. “That sounds awful, doesn’t it? Like maybe my mother is right and I’d rather Clara was dead than still out there somewhere.”

  “I don’t think that’s awful,” he said, driving onto the road that led up toward the car park. We rounded a corner and the trees were suddenly illuminated by the flashing red and blue lights of a Garda car.

  “Shit,” Declan swore and hit the brakes hard, the seatbelt jerking against me as it kept me from exploding out through the windscreen. “What the hell? They were done up here…”

  The Garda sitting in the car stepped out and slowly sauntered down the gravel road toward us.

  “Road’s closed,” he said, his voice authoritative.

  “What’s happened?” I asked, leaning over Declan toward the open window.

  The Garda shoved his hat back from his forehead, scratching at his hairline, his eyes slid over my face before returning to Declan’s.

  “What are you two doing up here?” There was no denying the curiosity in his voice.

  “Have they found another body?” I answered him with a question and his expression darkened with irritation.

  “I think you two should get gone, before I haul you both in.”

  Declan nodded politely. “Of course, Guard.”

  The Guard stepped away from the driver’s side of the car before Declan slammed us into reverse.

  “Wait—” I demanded. “Why are we leaving?” I struggled to pull my seatbelt free of its moorings. “If they’ve found another body I want to know…”

  My stomach clenched painfully as the trees crowded in around the car. What if Clara was here, somewhere, waiting to be found? They’d found the other girl and she’d been wearing Clara’s clothes, it wasn’t hard to believe my sister was still here…

  What if they were here because they had found her?

  A chill, which had nothing to do with my damp clothes, crawled down my spine.

  “We can’t stay here,” Declan said. “They’ll drag us into the station and—”

  “I don’t care,” I said, pulling the seatbelt free and flinging open my car door.

  “Christ, Alice!” Declan swore as he hit the brakes. The car came to a jerky halt, the engine stalling. Silence rushed in to fill the void. Ahead, I could see the flapping white tape with the word Garda blazoned in blue, blocking the rutted road that wound up into the trees.

  I was out of the car before he could stop me, my feet slapping the ground with each step. The Guard who had greeted us, turned at the sound of my echoing footsteps. His mouth became an ‘O’ of surprise as I closed the gap between us and slipped past him.

  “Hey!” His shout went up behind me but I didn’t care.

  Footsteps crashed behind me and I was suddenly transported back to that night, the night Clara was taken. The footsteps gaining ground at my back belonged to the one who had taken her. My breath grew ragged in my lungs but I pushed on. She was here, I knew it. I could feel it in my bones. I just needed to reach her. If I could do that, then everything would be—

  A body slammed into me, driving me into the dirt. A knee pushed in the centre of my back, forcing me face down onto the muddy, puddle-strewn path that ran alongside the road.

  Someone grabbed my uninjured arm, pulling it sharply behind my back. Under normal circumstances, it would have hurt but it was no comparison to the violent agony in the shoulder I’d been shot in. Pain seared through my brain and I tried to scream but there was no air in my chest and the sound left me in a panicked wheeze.

  There was a commotion of voices behind me but they were drowned out by the beating of my heart and the hissing of the rain that had started to
fall.

  “Hold still…” The one holding me down grunted as I fought his grip. I felt the cold circle of metal close around my wrist and I knew what was coming before it even happened.

  I tried to tell him not to pull my other arm, to warn him but the words wouldn’t come.

  The howl that ripped from me then was more animal than human, the sound reverberating off the trees. Fire spread from my shoulder and down my spine, darkness eating at the edges of my vision as the one holding me down twisted my injured arm behind my back.

  I let the darkness take me, grateful for the oblivion it promised. It was a safe harbour from the pain that exploded through my nerves and threatened to send me over the edge into madness.

  34

  “Siobhan!” Ronan’s voice carried over the patter of raindrops on the plastic tent, cutting through my silent contemplation of the scene.

  Two bodies sat in bags nearby, their remains carefully collected from the hole they’d been dumped into. Dorian was crouched over the third set of remains, his expression unreadable behind the white mask he wore.

  “What is it?” I turned to Ronan who had paused next to me, his mouth ajar as he stared at the skeletal remains in the grave. The bones stuck up at odd angles. The only thing holding it all together was the plastic the killer had left beneath it. Unlike the other bodies, this victim had no clothes to keep the pieces in place. A lead weight sat in the bottom of my stomach as I found myself wondering if perhaps the lack of clothes was an indicator of just whom the body belonged to.

  After all, the killer had used Clara’s clothes for Evie’s burial.

  “Ronan,” I said, prompting him once more as I touched his arm.

  “Sorry,” he said, scrubbing his hand over the dark stubble that had started to sprout on his jaw. “We’ve got a problem out here.”

  “Well what is it? I’m a little busy right now…”

  “Alice McCarthy,” he said, and the discomfort in the pit of my stomach grew. “She’s out front.”