The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set

by David B Lyons

  ‘Oh, that?’ Helen responds. She sniffs her nose. ‘Normally lights in toilets are more clinical…. to stop people from shooting up in them. You can’t find a vein if the light is clinical. Did you not know that?’

  Charlie creases his brow at her, making himself look as young as the boy he took a photograph of just a few minutes ago.

  ‘Public toilets in bars and restaurants maybe, but not a bloody office toilet,’ he says. Then he shrinks into his chair a little, in fear of what way Helen will react to him questioning her.

  She swipes a sleeve across her mouth, wiping up some of the moisture under her nose.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. There was no clinical light. Just thought we should give it a go,’ she says.

  Charlie’s brow hasn’t uncreased and his silence makes Helen look at him for the first time since they returned to the car.

  ‘I just wanted to see what other Detectives were looking into the CCTV footage, wanna know who’s on the job, okay?’ she says, relenting.

  ‘Why?’

  Helen shrugs her shoulders.

  ‘See who we might need to lean on later if we need anything.’

  Charlie scratches at his head again, the lines in his brow still wedged deep.

  ‘But why the secrecy, why didn’t we just tell them we had a visual of the boy who made the phone call?’

  Helen whistles, a slow piercing whistle. ‘Wow, young Charlie, you’ve a lot to learn about this Detective business,’ she says. ‘Now; given the information we have, where d’ye think we should go next? If you were leading this investigation, where would your next port of call be?’ she asks, changing the direction of the conversation.

  Charlie sits more upright, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands, then makes repeated bop sounds with his lips as he thinks through Helen’s question.

  ‘Well,’ he says, ‘we don’t really have anything, do we? A grainy picture of a boy who looks to be in his mid-teens. We don’t know where he went after the call… so eh…’ he scratches his forehead again, ‘I actually don’t know.’

  Helen allows a small snigger to creep its way from the corner of her mouth.

  ‘You’re right,’ she says. ‘That is all we have. One grainy picture of a boy. A boy whose friends are going to commit suicide in about four hours. It’s not much to go on. But we can’t sit here and wait for those two girls to tie nooses for themselves. We have to act. Think. Where could we possibly get information from about the boy in this image?’

  Charlie brings his fingers to his mouth and begins to tap away at his bottom lip.

  ‘Sorry, Detective Brennan. But I actually don’t know. Walk the streets, show young people the image, ask if they know who he is?’

  Helen nods.

  ‘Not bad, Charlie,’ she says. ‘We could do that. But that’d take an awful lot of time. Time we don’t have. What about the school next to that Luas stop, the one on the Drimnagh side of the canal.’

  ‘Yeah, Mourne Road school. What about it?’ Charlie asks.

  ‘That’d be the place to start wouldn’t it? Rather than ask a hundred teenagers on the streets of Inchicore and Drimnagh if they know this youngfella, we can ask the Head of the school. He’s bound to know every teenager in that whole area.’

  ‘Ahhh,’ Charlie says as he places the key in the ignition.

  Then he pulls the car out of its parking spot and heads towards the Naas Road.

  ‘But hold on a minute,’ he says, ‘the school’ll be closed now. It’s half eight in the evening.’

  Helen flicks her eyes towards him.

  ‘Jesus, Charlie… you do have a lot to learn.’

  She takes her mobile phone out of her pocket and begins to flick her fingers across its screen.

  20:25

  Ingrid

  The doorbell ringing frightens me, takes me out of the shock I’m in. I can’t believe it. Debbie?

  My eyes are wide when an old man walks in, wearing a suit. He must be fifty, sixty even? I don’t know. I’m not good with ages.

  He stares at me and Ciara as if he’s never seen two teenage girls before.

  ‘Kay girls, out ye go,’ Debbie says. She holds both of her arms out, almost pushing us to the door. That’s fine by me. I want to get out.

  ‘What the hell was all that about?’ Ciara says when we’re standing in Debbie’s tiny front garden.

  I don’t answer her. I’m too busy thinking about Debbie. I think I’m in shock.

  ‘Ingrid!’ Ciara says.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I reply. I still haven’t decided if I want to tell Ciara. It’ll break her heart. ‘Did you see that… in the living room?’ I ask. Ciara’s face goes all scrunchy. She does that when she’s confused. ‘Cocaine,’ I whisper. ‘Loads of it on a little mirror. I know. I’ve seen cocaine in films.’

  Ciara’s face is no longer scrunchy. She’s making an ‘O’ shape with her mouth. Her eyes are kinda making the same shape too. She knows I’m not making this up. I’ve never lied to Ciara. I’ve never lied to anyone. Not until tonight. Not until I told my mum I was going to Ciara’s to study.

  Then Ciara swallows really hard.

  ‘Debbie? Drugs?’ she says. ‘That doesn’t make any sense.’

  Ciara blinks then twists her head left and right. I know Ciara inside and out. I know she wants to go back in there. She’ll have to know the truth. So I hold my hands to the back of both her shoulders and try to lead her out of Debbie’s gate, back to the bus stop.

  ‘C’mon,’ I say. ‘We’ve got to go say our goodbyes to Harriet and Miss Moriarty.’

  But Ciara bends forward a little, places her hands on both of her knees and begins to breathe a bit heavier.

  ‘C’mon, Ciara, let’s go. You’ve said goodbye to Debbie. Two more stops. Then we can finally get ourselves away from all these thoughts. Please. C’mon… let’s go.’

  She stands up straight, blows a large breath through her lips and then heads straight for Debbie’s door, pressing her finger against the bell and holding it there until Debbie snatches the door open.

  ‘Whatcha playing at, Ciara?’ she says. She seems to have lost her bathrobe; is back in just her bra and knickers again.

  Ciara storms by her, heads straight for the living room. I don’t want to follow her in. But I kind of have to. I have to be by my friend’s side.

  When I get to the living room I see the old man with his shirt all open, lipstick marks on his chest. Ciara is pacing around the living room, looking for the mirror I told her had cocaine on it. When she looks up at me I nod my head to the corner of the room, where a nest of tables sit. Ciara walks over to it, picks up the small mirror and then stares at Debbie.

  ‘Ciara Joyce, that is none of your—’ but before Debbie can get her full sentence out, Ciara holds the mirror above her head and throws it as hard as she can against the wall. She walks over to Debbie and I can see her jaw moving in circles, like it does when she gets really angry. I blink my eyes, because I think I know what’s going to happen next. Ciara raises her hand, slaps Debbie across the cheek and then turns to me.

  ‘Let’s go, Ingrid,’ she says. And we do. We run out of the house, out the garden gate and down the avenue. After a while we are both out of breath. Both hunched over, holding on to our knees.

  ‘Whew,’ Ciara says, before she starts laughing. ‘That was mad.’

  I look at her in shock. Though I don’t know why I’m in shock. I know Ciara better than anyone. I know she can be really angry one minute, laughing her head off the next.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ I say.

  She stops laughing and looks up at me.

  ‘That bitch is doing drugs,’ she says, pointing back to the avenue Debbie lives on. ‘She was supposed to be one of my best friends. Like a parent to me. The only adult I thought cared for me.’

  Ciara takes steps closer, waving a finger at me as if it’s all my fault. But I catch her as she continues to rant, and wrap both my arms around her. I let her cry on my shou
lder. Again. This is nothing new. Though it was quite the opposite last night.

  ‘But… but Debbie has her own life outside of being your nanny,’ I say, as if I’m protecting Debbie. I don’t know why, though. I’m as shocked and as disappointed as Ciara is.

  ‘Debbie? Drugs?’ she says, wiping at her nose after she’s lifted her head from my shoulder.

  I just shake my head a little. I want to tell Ciara that I think she overreacted; that she didn’t need to smash Debbie’s mirror; that she didn’t need to slap her across the face. But I won’t. I’ll just keep her close by me, my arms wrapped around her waist until she stops crying.

  ‘This will all be over soon,’ I say, stooping my head a little to catch her eyes. I want her to stare at me. ‘We want out of this life, right? Look, we can’t even say goodbye to the people closest to us without getting upset. We’re just… we’re just not right for this life. Time to do this, Ciara. Let’s just do it!’

  Ciara swipes at her nose again as her eyes stare into mine. She offers me a tiny smile, then nods her head once.

  ‘Okay, let’s just do it. Let’s do it now!’

  ‘Ciara Joyce. You come over to me right now!’

  I look over my shoulder. It’s Debbie. She’s tightening the belt of her bathrobe around her waist again.

  Ciara turns, runs as fast as she can and I sprint after her.

  ‘Ciara! Ingrid!’ We can hear Debbie shout, but her shouts are getting further and further away.

  ‘Here’s the bus, here’s the bus,’ Ciara says. We both stop running. Then I see that look in Ciara’s eye. She’s changed moods again. The tears have stopped.

  ‘Let’s run out in front of it, ye ready?’ she says, grabbing both of my hands. ‘On three. One, two—’

  ‘No! Wait!’ I scream. ‘I’m not ready. I’m not ready.’

  20:25

  Michael

  I fuckin love this stuff. I pinch at my nose, making sure none of it falls back out, then duck my head down again, grab at the rolled up note and sniff.

  ‘Fuck yeah,’ I say.

  Claudia laughs, then sits up and kisses me, her tongue filling my mouth.

  ‘C’mon, fuck me,’ she begs, lying back down on my desk.

  She looks fuckin deadly with her blonde hair all sprayed out over my work notes. I hired her because she reminds me of that filthy lookin’ bitch who lives up the street from us. The Swedish one. Ingrid’s mam. Jesus, I’d love to fuck her brains out. That jammy bastard Terry Murphy gets to bang her every night. That’s good snatch he gets to play with for someone who’s such a known bore.

  I squint my eyes a little, just so Claudia’s face turns into Ingrid’s mam’s and then I slap both of her thighs wide open and shove my dick inside.

  I’ve had tighter pussy. But I didn’t know what I was hiring, did I? I could hardly have a go on her before she started working here. That’s not how it goes down.

  It’s the power these chicks are into. You have to exert the power before they’ll let you inside them. Once they figure they have opportunity to better themselves in the workplace, they’ll do anything. Filthy bitches. I’m riding three birds from the office at the minute. This time last year I had five on the go. That’s how it works round here. It’s my thanks to myself for building this place up from scratch.

  ‘Yeah, ye filthy slut,’ I say grabbing a fistful of her hair. I continue to thrust in and out of her, enjoying each and every one of her little squeals. Then the fucking phone rings. Again.

  Claudia lifts her head to stare at it. As if she’s never seen a phone ringing before. I yank at her hair and pull her back into position.

  ‘Ignore it,’ I say. ‘It’ll be just my wife.’

  Helen puffs out her cheeks, places the phone in the drinks holder next to the gear stick and then turns to face Charlie.

  ‘He lives in Walkinstown. A Mr Patrick Tobin. Balfe Road.’

  ‘Okay,’ Charlie replies, swinging the car around. ‘D’ye think he’ll know the boy in the image?’

  Charlie can see Helen staring at him in his peripheral vision and, in that moment, realises the question he asked was quite stupid. How could she possibly know that? ‘Sorry,’ he says.

  Helen looks away, back through the windscreen.

  ‘No need to apologise, Charlie. He’s more likely to know the teenagers in this area than anyone. He works with them all day every day. So… there’s more chance of him knowing who the boy is in the image than anyone.’

  Charlie nods his head. He’s glad, more than anything, that Helen didn’t snap at him. Maybe she’s beginning to warm to his company.

  He shifts his ass cheeks, leaning from one to the other, as he drives, wondering whether or not he should ask her a question that’s been burning his mind ever since she first walked up to his desk about an hour ago. He scratches at his forehead, then sucks in a cold breath through his teeth.

  ‘Mind me asking you a question?’ he says. He tenses his eyeballs as he awaits the response.

  Helen turns to face him again.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s just eh… it’s just…’ he pulls at his ear lobe, ‘every other member of the teams, at Rathmines and at Terenure stations, are eh… well they don’t believe the call is legit, do they? They’re out trying to stop something major from happening. Why do you eh… why do you think the calls are genuine? Do you really believe two girls really are out there somewhere wanting to kill themselves tonight?’

  Helen arches an eyebrow, then returns her gaze through the windscreen to allow a silence to settle.

  ‘It’s personal,’ she says.

  ‘Personal?’ The pitch in Charlie voice rises.

  ‘Listen,’ Helen says, pulling at the strap of her seatbelt and turning side on so she can face Charlie. ‘What did they teach you in Temple Moor when you were training as a cop about dealing with phone calls to the station?’

  Charlie nods his head once. ‘To treat every call as seriously as the caller themselves.’

  Helen doesn’t say anything, she just opens both of her palms and then closes them.

  Charlie shifts in his seat again.

  ‘It’s just… it’s just, the caller wasn’t really serious was he? The youngfella didn’t give any names… any location. It just screams as a hoax call to get us out here looking for something that probably isn’t happening. Meanwhile, something else is going down—’

  ‘Charlie shut the fuck up!’ Helen spits out of her mouth. ‘Listen to me, and listen to me carefully. There are enough Detectives and officers out there looking into the possibility that this was a hoax call. Too many if you ask me. I’m actually furious with how this phone call is being considered by both of our stations. A suicide concern is not… not… to be taken lightly.’

  Charlie glances over at Helen, the emotion in her voice offering the first slither of evidence that there’s a heart beating somewhere beyond that leather coat.

  He wants to ask more, is repeatedly lifting his bum cheeks from side to side in anticipation of asking more. But he stops himself.

  ‘Sirens,’ Helen then says.

  Charlie doesn’t even look at her to question the instruction. They’re not attending an emergency, but he knows matters need to be dealt with as soon as possible. He’s not fully convinced, as much as Helen seems to be, that there are two girls out there planning to commit suicide. But if they are, the clock is ticking.

  He steps on the gas, overtaking cars with his sirens blaring and heads past Crumlin shopping centre towards Walkinstown; towards the home of the local school’s Headteacher.

  ‘If we find the boy, we’ll know everything,’ Helen shouts over the siren.

  Charlie nods his head. He knows she’s right. Regardless of whether or not there are two girls out there wanting to end their lives, or whether it’s just Alan fucking Keating playing games with the cops, they need to track down the boy who made the phone calls. This is a proper investigation, no matter what way Charlie looks at it; his first
proper investigation. Normally he’s dealing with domestic disturbance calls, or calls from annoyed elderly neighbours giving out that boys are using their gates as goalposts for their little street football matches. Life as a rookie cop really hadn’t lived up to the dramatic hype painted in a lot of TV shows Charlie used to watch.

  ‘D’ye think the other cops will be coming out to this Headteacher’s house as well? Think they’ll be just behind us?’ he asks.

  Helen shakes her head.

  ‘Doubt they’d have thought of it this way. They’ll be wasting time trying to view other CCTV footage of where they think that boy would have gone to next. They’ll be trying to trace his movements. But sure, that was almost two hours ago now since he made that call. He could be anywhere. They’re trying to find where he is… me and you, we’re gonna find out who he is. That’s because we’re better investigators,’ she says. She then winks at Charlie. He’s not sure how to feel about the wink. It sure looked weird. And came at the end of a very weird comment. But it’s more confirmation that she’s warming to him; that she’s happy to teach him as they go.

  Despite his growing confusion, he doesn’t say another word as he races the car up Balfe Road, before turning sharply — causing Helen to grip the handle of the passenger door as her body leans towards Charlie.

  ‘What number we looking for?’ he asks as he reaches for a small switch that turns off the siren.

  ‘It’s that one there,’ Helen says pointing, ‘look, he’s outside waiting for us already.’

  As Charlie is pulling in, to park his car across the drive of the man they’ve come to visit, Patrick Tobin strides towards them.

  ‘Hi, officers,’ he says. ‘I got your call. I do hope none of my students are in trouble.’

  Helen waits until she is fully out of the car, standing upright and towering over the short, balding man, before answering.

  ‘We believe two of them may be in quite a bit of danger,’ she says. ‘May we?’ She points towards his open front door.