In Deep Water

by Sam Blake

  Cathy smiled sympathetically, ‘One of my brother’s friends has Asperger’s, I’m familiar with some of the issues. I know no two people are the same, but I get it.’

  Rebecca looked relieved, ‘Come upstairs. Jacob’s in his room. I hope you don’t mind waiting, but I’ll have to get him out first so you can talk to him.’

  *

  Upstairs, Rebecca ducked under the edge of Jacob’s single bed, trying to see him in the gloom.

  ‘Please come down, Jacob, the nice lady I told you about is here. She’s waiting in the living room. She just wants to talk to you about the girl you saw on TV.’ The only light on in the room was his lava lamp, red wax blobs moving languorously in ink-blue liquid, throwing amorphous shadows over the pale-blue walls. Under the bed, the corner Jacob had rolled into beside the far wall was in almost total darkness. And he’d curled up behind a pillow so Rebecca couldn’t even grab him.

  ‘Not coming. I don’t want to talk to her. She won’t believe me either.’ Jacob’s voice was muffled, as much by the pillow as his location.

  Rebecca sat back on her haunches and ran her hands over her face, her bracelets rattling down her arm, taking a deep breath. She knew if she slid the heavy pine bed out from the wall she’d be able to catch him – assuming he didn’t bolt when he realised what she was doing – and bring him physically downstairs. But if she did that, she knew he wouldn’t say a word – he’d bring a new definition to the phrase ‘hostile witness’. She wasn’t going to win this unless she came up with a brilliant idea. And just now she was right out of brilliant ideas.

  Shifting her knees on the hard wooden floor, her wool trousers and Jacob’s fire-engine-shaped rug too thin to make kneeling comfortable, she bent over and tried again.

  ‘The lady needs to talk to you. The girl on the television has got lost and her mummy is really worried about her. If you got lost and I was worried about you, you’d want someone to help, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘No. I don’t get lost. That’s a stupid thing to do. Why didn’t she have a map?’

  Rebecca took a deep breath, trying to hold on to the ragged fluttering ribbon that was her patience; some days it was hard. Sometimes there were parts of her life that felt like a series of constant battles.

  ‘Not everyone can read maps, darling, and maybe she forgot it. We aren’t going to know until we find her. The lady just needs to know what you saw.’

  ‘I told you, her hair was wrong on the TV. They got it all wrong.’

  Rebecca fought to keep her voice steady, ‘Yes I know, darling, but they need to hear it from you so they can get it right. It’s like homework, sometimes you need to make mistakes to learn how to do things right.’

  ‘They’re adults, they should get it right.’ Rebecca put her hands on the side of the bed and rested her forehead on it. The duvet smelled comforting, of the non-bio washing powder she used for his things.

  ‘But that’s the whole point, darling, they don’t know how to get it right unless a really clever little boy who knows what is right can tell them.’

  ‘I’m not little. I’m the tallest in my class.’ She shook her head, would have smiled if this hadn’t been so serious and she wasn’t feeling so desperate. He was the tallest, she’d walked right into that one.

  Rebecca paused. How was she going to get him to talk to them? She kept her tone level, light. ‘I’m sorry – I know, darling. I meant that the adults need help, the Guards need you to help.’

  ‘No.’

  It was a very final sounding ‘no’.

  A gentle knock at the door made Rebecca start. The door opened a crack and Rebecca leaned back on her heels to see the detective – Cathy, did she say her name was? – peeping though the gap.

  ‘I’m really sorry, he won’t come out.’

  Cathy stayed outside the door, ‘Jacob, can I come in?’

  There was a movement under the bed, but no response. Rebecca mimed a shrug. They really didn’t have anything to lose. She gestured to show Cathy that Jacob was under the bed.

  Cathy came in and hunkered down beside it.

  ‘My name’s Cathy, Jacob – except most people call me Cat.’

  Before she could say more, Jacob interrupted, ‘Have you got a tail?’

  ‘Eh, no.’

  ‘So that’s a stupid name, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s a nickname. My real name’s really long . . .’

  ‘What is it?’

  Cathy glanced at Rebecca, her face amused. Rebecca shook her head in mock despair and rolled her eyes. She’d explained downstairs that Jacob said what he thought, that he could sound cheeky, but he was actually just saying what everyone was thinking but had learned not to say out loud.

  ‘OK, so my full name is Catherina Anna Maria Connolly. My mum wanted to call me Catherina Maria but my grandmother insisted on adding the Anna, after the Empress of Russia – she had high hopes for me.’

  There was a pause. Then Jacob said, ‘There was a Catherina Maria who was a composer. Are you a composer?’

  ‘No, I’m with the Gardaí, I’m a detective.’

  There was a pause, ‘Just as well you’re not called Maria Catherina then, she was a Dutch serial killer. She killed twenty-eight people.’

  Cathy fought the laughter bubbling up inside her. ‘How on earth do you know that, Jacob?’

  ‘Google, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously.’ Cathy paused. Rebecca tapped her on the sleeve and mimed him playing with a smart phone. Cathy grinned. He was a bright kid. ‘Are you good at finding things out, Jacob?’

  ‘I like facts. What sort of car do you have? My mum’s got a red Golf GTI 161-D-2. It was the second car made last year.’

  ‘I’ve got a Mini Cooper. It’s new too, but not that new. It’s eclipse grey and it’s really fast – a Mini like mine did nought to sixty faster than a Bugatti.’

  There was silence for a moment, ‘It was made faster – that wasn’t a standard model.’

  He’d Googled it. Cathy smiled to herself, ‘That’s very true. You’re good at facts, aren’t you? I like them too – it’s my job to find things out. That’s what we have to do in the Gardaí, we have to look at the facts to find answers.’ She glanced sideways at Rebecca, ‘Can you tell me any more facts about Sarah Jane? The girl we’re looking for? Your mum says you saw her on the TV.’

  ‘They got it all wrong. I keep telling you. Her hair was wrong.’

  ‘Will you come down and talk to me about it? The photo they used on TV was one of mine, Sarah Jane had her hair down the day I took it. But I think you might have seen more than that – could we make a list?’

  ‘I’m busy.’

  ‘Jacob, please . . .’ Rebecca put her head under the bed.

  ‘No.’ It was very definite. ‘I’ve told you already.’

  Rebecca pulled her head out and glanced at Cathy, shaking her head – what could they do? Then she said loudly,

  ‘OK, I’m going to go and make Cathy and the other policeman a cup of tea and I’ll talk to them. I don’t want them to be cross.’ Rebecca stood up stiffly, brushing her head off the pirate bunting criss-crossing the room, her bracelets rattling down her arm. With the lava lamp and all Jacob’s pirate bits, sometimes his room felt like it really was under the sea. Which was a good thing. It calmed him. When things were getting crazy in the real world, this was where he came to sort them all out.

  Cathy stood up beside her.

  ‘Don’t let them have my chocolate biscuits.’ His voice was clear this time. Nothing like getting your priorities right, Rebecca through wryly.

  ‘I won’t. If you came down you could have a chocolate biscuit.’

  Silence.

  Rebecca gestured to Cathy with her head, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, ‘Maybe if we leave him alone he’ll come down on his own.’ Pulling open the door of the attic bedroom, Rebecca followed Cathy down the narrow stairs.

  *

  Downstairs, the living room above the shop was calmin
g and comfortable, in creams and oatmeal, but Cathy wasn’t looking at the décor. She was sure Jacob had seen something, but how could they get him to talk to them?

  Cathy glanced at J.P. He was sitting forward, too big for the space, uncomfortable in his grey pinstripe jacket and striped tie. He never looked comfortable unless he was wearing his jeans and an old sweater. Fanning, with his crisp chinos and suede shoes, was always winding him up about how you could take the farmer out of the farm but you couldn’t take the farm out of the farmer. Right now she was glad of that. There was a quiet strength and calmness about J.P. that made him a great interview partner.

  Cathy turned to Rebecca, tried her best to sound calm, ‘Can you tell us what happened from your point of view, how Jacob saw Sarah Jane?’

  The soft glow from the fire lit Rebecca’s face as she sat at right angles to them, her knees butting up against a chunky low oak coffee table. Jacob grinned at them cheekily from a jumble of photos on the mantelpiece, a row of brass shell casings sitting like Russian dolls beside them, picking up the lights of the room. Cathy pulled her pendant out from the neck of her sweater and ran it along the chain as Rebecca formulated her thoughts,

  ‘We were in town, we did our shopping and went to McDonald’s – the usual. We’d got back into the car when I remembered that I’d said I’d drop off my Saturday girl’s sister’s CV to The Rookery. Amy’s sister is in London at the moment, but she’ll be coming home soon and wants a job in town – she wants to get into modelling and TV and The Rookery has a reputation for launching the careers of its staff. I’ve known the manager for years.’ Rebecca paused, pushing her hair behind her ear. ‘I swung around there before we came home. Jacob was on his computer and I was only going to be a minute, so I left him in the car while I popped in.’

  ‘Who did you talk to in there?’ The sofa’s vanilla leather creaked as Cathy moved forward. J.P. was silent beside her, but he was taking it all in, she could feel him watching everything.

  ‘The manager. Billy Roberts. But he was a bit busy so I didn’t hang about.’

  ‘What time was it?’

  Rebecca screwed up her face, thinking, ‘About three, three thirty? I’m not totally sure, but about then.’

  ‘So what happened next?’

  ‘Well I got back to the car and Jacob was trying to get out. I’d told him to stay put, but his battery had run out so he was trying to come in to tell me.’ Rebecca rolled her eyes, ‘I should never have left him, anything could have happened if he’d gotten out of the car.’

  ‘But he was fine, and you were only a minute,’ J.P. cut in, his voice soothing, encouraging her to continue. Cathy kept her thoughts about leaving children on their own in cars to herself.

  Rebecca grimaced, ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘So when did you find out Jacob had seen Sarah Jane? Did he tell you when you got back into the car?’ Cathy tried to sound casual, to keep Rebecca relaxed.

  Rebecca shook her head, ‘No, he didn’t say anything – he was focused on his battery going dead. I’ve got this inverter thing that runs the computer from the cigarette lighter so I rigged that up and we came home.’

  ‘And everything was fine until . . .’

  ‘Until the news last night. I’d had a good day in the shop and he wanted pizza.’ Rebecca paused, ‘Sorry, you don’t need to know any of that. So we were sitting watching the news and the girl’s photo flashed up, and he said the picture was wrong, that her hair was different. I was just so surprised. I asked him where he’d seen her and he said she’d been in the car park on Sunday. He’d looked up when his computer stopped and there she was with an army man he said – I think he just meant someone in combats – and that the man was helping her into a car. She had her hair tied into a fishtail plait. Jacob knows a girl who does hers like that and he’s fascinated by it.’

  ‘How does he know it was Sarah Jane?’

  ‘He’s got a brilliant memory, some things just stick. He recognised her.’

  ‘Did he see them leave? Say what make of car it was?’

  Rebecca shrugged, ‘He said they drove past our car really close. I’m sorry, I think he might have mentioned the make but it didn’t mean anything to me and I was just so surprised I didn’t take it on board.’

  ‘Perhaps you can ask him again when he’s feeling better?’

  ‘Of course. I’m so sorry.’ Rebecca ran her hand into her hair, her face pained.

  Cathy shifted on the soft sofa. Despite Rebecca’s distress, she could feel the knots that had been gripping her shoulders from the moment she’d realised Sarah Jane was missing beginning to loosen. Only slightly, but she could feel an adjustment in the tension, hope slowly seeping through her like dye. They were on to something, had to be. She knew kids like Jacob, knew how bright they could be, how observant they were of stuff that other people took for granted or didn’t even see. As Tomás’s friend had explained to her, they looked at the world through different eyes. And they didn’t lie.

  ‘It’s a huge help, don’t worry. It’s vital that we piece together her movements before she disappeared.’

  Rebecca smiled weakly, ‘Her parents must be distraught, I can’t imagine anything worse.’

  Cathy nodded, her mind temporarily with Sarah Jane’s mum, Oonagh. Distraught was one way of putting it, hysterical closer. Cathy had been keeping her updated, had suggested several times that she come up to Dublin, but Oonagh wanted to stay put. As she’d told Cathy, Sarah Jane knew where to find her and how to contact her if she stayed in Kerry. Cathy was sure Oonagh was trying to keep sane by telling herself that Sarah Jane just needed some space, that she would walk in the front door when she was ready. Cathy sure as hell hoped she was right. It was a nightmare for all of them. And they still hadn’t been able to get hold of her dad.

  ‘Does she have brothers and sisters?’

  ‘No, she’s an only child.’

  Rebecca winced, ‘I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to Jacob . . . He’s a handful, but I can’t even cope when he goes to his dad’s. I spend half the night worrying he’s letting him have too much computer time or has forgotten to brush his teeth.’

  Cathy leaned forward and pulled her card from her back pocket, ‘If Jacob can tell you anything else or you can persuade him to talk to us, can you give me a call?’

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry to drag you out for nothing . . .’

  ‘Not at all. We’ll check the CCTV in the area near the restaurant and find the car. You’ve been really helpful.’

  19

  Downstairs in Rebecca Ryan’s shop J.P.’s phone had started to ring before they’d even got to the door. He checked the screen. ‘Better take this. It’s Bray again, that case is in court tomorrow.’

  ‘Go on. You head off, I’ll catch you later.’

  He smiled politely to Rebecca and headed for the door, the phone clamped to his ear. Cathy turned to her, ‘Your clothes are gorgeous.’

  ‘Thank you. Come in one day when you’re not working and I’ll look after you.’

  Cathy was about to reply when the door opened and a man walked in. Turning to acknowledge him, Cathy tried not to stare. He was drop-dead gorgeous. Over six foot, late twenties by Cathy’s reckoning, shoulders broad under a plain khaki combat jacket, blond hair cropped close. And he looked vaguely familiar. Where had she seen him before?

  Rebecca smiled at him, ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m collecting some suits for my boss?’ His voice was friendly, heavily accented, Eastern European . . . Eastern European . . . Cathy remembered where she’d seen him before – in Pearse Street Garda Station, he had acted for the Gardaí as an interpreter. She’d only seen him for a moment, but the girls in Pearse Street had been full of him.

  ‘I have them here.’ Rebecca slipped behind the counter and picked up three huge turquoise paper bags. The man let the door close behind him and Rebecca came around the counter and passed the bags to him. As he turned his back to Cathy, getting a
grip on the silken rope handles, Cathy could see he had a tattoo of a clock on the back of his neck. A very strong-looking neck. He looked like he worked out. Nice. She could see what the Pearse Street girls had been talking about. Then her brain caught up. He might be able to help her with those MoneyGram transfers, or know someone who could.

  Cathy suddenly realised she was staring. She hauled her eyes away but not before, swinging around with the bags in his hand, he’d caught her eye. She could feel her face colouring.

  He flashed her a smile and, not quite knowing where to look, she half returned it.

  ‘Have we met before?’ He looked at her, amused, blue eyes dancing with mischief. Christ, he thought she was trying to pick him up. She added hastily, ‘You’re an interpreter, aren’t you? I’m with the Gardaí.’

  ‘Ah, yes I am. I’m not sure if we’ve met, I think I would have remembered. I’m Aleksy.’

  Cathy almost laughed – he was smooth, she had to give him that. ‘Cat Connolly. Have you got time for a quick chat?’

  *

  The bar in the Enniskerry Inn was empty when they walked in, a fire roaring in the grate. He pushed the door open for her, following her in, the turquoise bags still in his hand.

  ‘What can I do you for?’ The barman appeared, his black shirt rolled up at the sleeves, bald pate reflecting the lights above the recently refurbished bar. All mahogany and chrome, it was slick and trendy, but comfortable. Cathy opened her mouth to reply but Aleksy cut in,

  ‘Are you serving food?’ He turned to her, smiling, ‘Do you mind? Will you join me? I know it’s early, but it’s my day off and I’m starving. I don’t want to head back into the city yet.’