The Child Before

by Michael Scanlon

  He drank until he didn’t care any more, until he passed through the arrivals department and became a denizen of alcohol utopia, immune to anything other than the muddled blissful state of stupefaction, until there was nothing left but a vast, black, emptiness. From somewhere in this emptiness came a flash, of four shot glasses, being lined up on the counter, clear liquid poured into each. Along with the flash was a face, but he couldn’t quite work it out, whether it was a man or a woman. An image of something else now. He concentrated, willing his skewed memory to crystallise it into something meaningful. He stared, at a worm, an eel, wrapped around a wrist, the bar busy, the sound of laughter, a band playing, a woman in an extravagant blonde wig, singing. He knew that song. Jolene. Staring at the worm, or the eel, whatever the fuck it was. And along the arm, into the face. He knew that face. A man named Darren Murphy. Member of the town’s criminal class. Whom he had dealt with in the past. He’s well known to us, your honour.

  He asked himself: Am I dreaming?

  ‘Alrite der, bud?’ Murphy’s face lopsided in a drunken smirk.

  The lime green tracksuit top was open, a gold medallion visible beneath.

  The worm, the eel, he knew what it was: a thin braided leather bracelet, loops of red thread woven through it. Where had he seen that before? A shape floated across his altered mind. A machine. Black offal. Beck groped through the hall of mirrors that was his sozzled brain. And saw something. A fleeting glimpse. He chased it, caught a corner, and pulled. The shape revealed itself.

  Of course: the black Heidelberg.

  Beck shouted, a word, so loud it drowned out the sound of the Dolly Parton tribute band. His last memory was of squeezing something soft in his right hand, tighter and tighter, and as he did, he heard the sound of Darren Murphy screaming louder and louder. And then everything went blank.

  One Hundred

  PULSE INCIDENT: NUMBER 74649372

  Gardai responded to anonymous report of disturbance at Carolans public house, Church Street, Cross Beg. Darren Murphy, one of those interviewed claimed to have been assaulted by off-duty member. No off-duty member found on the premises. Darren Murphy searched under section 23 of the Misuse of Drugs Act, found in possession of a number of counterfeit $50 notes. Subsequent search of his home revealed large quantities of counterfeit notes to a street value of over $1 million. Darren Murphy arrested under the Criminal Justice, Thefts and Fraud Offences Act 2001, released pending file to the DPP.

  One Hundred One

  Some months later…

  Cross Beg is a child-friendly town. But no one without kids would ever think it. There are three large play areas, two public parks, two riverside walks, and, a little outside of town, a mature wooded area, the remnants of several large land estates now being amalgamated into a single public amenity. The proposed name of this is the Gertrude Wolfe Park.

  It was mid-October and the autumn was so far unseasonably mild – by Irish standards that was. To Mikey however, he may as well have been in Antarctica. Back from Australia for several weeks, he had on a jacket of duck down, with a thick scarf wrapped around his neck, and his mop of hair lost beneath a yellow and black woolly hat that had two strings of twisted wool hanging from it over his forehead: a bumblebee woolly it was called.

  Róisín thought the hat hilarious, pulling at the strings any chance she got.

  Mikey stood behind her, gently pushing her on the swing. Róisín whooped each time she rose through the air. This child was his life now. He had made a vow to himself. That he would show her. That not all men were bad. And that there were more good men in the world than bad. Good men who loved. Who didn’t hate. And that, more than anything, he would always be there for her. That he would never let her down.

  He took off the bumblebee woolly hat and plopped it onto her head. Róisín squealed with delight.

  ‘Come on you two. It’s time for tea. It’s Shannon’s butcher’s sausages. You could never get those in Australia. Could you, son?’

  Mikey turned. His mother was sitting on the bench a few feet away.

  He smiled.

  ‘No mother, I could not.’

  He scooped Róisín from the swing and held her close.

  ‘I’ll never let you down, sweetheart. Never. Not your uncle Mikey.’

  Epilogue

  Superintendent Wilde was pleased. Even if the case against Darren Murphy was eventually dropped; he denied all knowledge of counterfeit notes, and said those in his possession had been given to him in payment for a horse by an unknown individual. A preposterous story, but one impossible to prove or disprove either way. In any case, no further counterfeit notes were discovered in Cross Beg or district afterwards. Which was good enough for Superintendent Wilde. Out of sight, out of mind.

  The funeral for Inspector O’Reilly was a lowkey affair. The suicide of a senior officer was not something that would draw sympathies to the same degree as that of, say, a serving officer killed in the line of duty.

  Danny Black was not deemed insane. He was arraigned before a full jury in the Circuit Criminal Court in Galway. A forensic computer analyst from Garda HQ described how in the preceding twenty hours before the attack on Samantha Power, Danny Black had accessed porn sites on over a hundred and twenty-five occasions. Before the attack on Vicky, it had been constant, both via his home computer and his mobile phone. A psychiatrist told the court that it was his belief that Black had repressed deviant sexual urges all his life, a condition exacerbated in the recent past by a growing addiction to porn. He also said that Black displayed classic sociopathic tendencies and it was his belief, given the chance, that Black would strike again. He may even have already struck before and gotten away with it. No one knew. To find out the answer, The National Serious Crimes Unit had begun a frantic cold case search of unsolved incidents with a similar M.O. That search was ongoing. The jury took less than an hour to reach a verdict. Black was given a life sentence with a minimum time to serve of thirty years before he could be considered eligible for parole. He would not cooperate with gardai at any point.

  His mother was placed in a government-run nursing home in Galway where it was discovered that sometimes, perhaps once or twice a day, she had moments of complete lucidity. It was also discovered that she was a niece of Michéal Peoples, although appeared to have no other connection to Kelly’s Forge. During those brief moments of lucidity she would describe to nurses going to Kelly’s Forge as a child to play with the children there. But then always, as the lucidity began to ebb, she would tell them of how Danny had brought home a baby to her one day. Which would explain how Róisín’s T-shirt had been found where it had. When the nurses asked about this she would babble about how she always wanted another baby, that she and Oliver had always wanted a little girl. And then she would cry for the baby, and cry for Oliver, and wonder when they both would come to visit.

  Beck felt sick when he considered what might have become of Róisín had Black not been apprehended.

  The team from the Historical Crimes Against Children unit spent two weeks in the area where the three baby skeletons had been found. They walked to the location each day and dug with spades and shovels. But no further bones – human that is – were found. The skeletal remains were deemed to be more than a half century old. Analysis showed evidence of calcium deficiencies and general malnutrition. But no foul play. Cause of death was undetermined. The babies were all between seven and fourteen months old. Officers interviewed Kathleen Waldron, and Maurice Crabby too, but ultimately it was recommended a criminal investigation would be futile. Who would they investigate? All adults related to the village from that time were long dead.

  So, the file was quietly placed along the thousands of other files relating to resolved children’s deaths in the latter half of the twentieth century in Ireland.

  Sad, but true.

  Maurice Crabby and his wife continued as before, still apparently living separate lives in their mountainside house on the outskirts of Cross Beg. But Maurice Crabby
never cycled his bike again. There was a rumour he and his wife had been spotted enjoying a candlelit meal in a swank Galway hotel one evening. But nothing could be substantiated, of course. However, it was true, a verifiable fact, that Mrs Crabby had begun spending more time at the supermarket. That she and her husband had been spotted laughing together on more than one occasion. Never had the mere act of laughter between two people drawn so much speculation. It was agreed that generally, the artic ice of their relationship was melting as it encountered warmer waters.

  Claire and Lucy got back together too. But the issue was never truly resolved. Lucy still harboured thoughts of having a child. She just didn’t mention them any longer. She was content to wait the long game, until the time was right. She had Claire back, and that’s all that really mattered. They were still fighting. But a little less, perhaps.

  Kathleen Waldron, Crabby’s mother, was offered sheltered housing in Galway City but refused. She said she was happy where she was. When it was mentioned that residential care of this nature was not suitable or cost effective, she said it would be less cost effective if she were to sue the State for the way she had been treated. There was no further mention of the matter.

  Beck found a new cure for his drinking, which was running the treadmill in the sports hall in Cross Beg. He’d joined the gym after his last bender. With nerves rattled, he’d listened back to the call made from Carolans pub. He recognised the slurred and disjointed voice as none other than his own. But no one else did. He smiled when he thought about it later. Call themselves policemen.

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  Books by Michael Scanlon

  Where She Lies

  The Child Before

  Her Last Goodnight

  AVAILABLE IN AUDIO

  Where She Lies (Available in the UK and the US)

  The Child Before (Available in the UK and the US)

  A Letter from Michael

  Firstly, may I start, as I did last time, by saying a huge thank you to you, the reader, for choosing to invest your time in The Child Before. If you did enjoy it, and want to keep up-to-date with all my latest releases, just sign up at the following link. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.

  Sign up here!

  The inspiration for this book came to me when I was out walking my dog in the woods near Kiltimagh in County Mayo, where my wife comes from. I came across the carcass of a lamb picked clean and about it mounds of wool. On subsequent visits I found further mounds of wool, (but no more carcasses). It got me to thinking about how I might tie this in with an idea I was already developing about a missing child. Near to this spot too is an abandoned village, nothing but stony ruins now. And I wondered how I might also tie this in. And so, The Child Before was born.

  So, now that my first two books are under my belt, I can say that the process is both enjoyable and challenging. It was Lee Child who said something along the lines that he learns from each book he writes, and believes his next will be a smoother voyage. But it never is, because each book throws up its own unique challenges and difficulties. And always will.

  Sometimes I feel a bit like an imposter. I say this because down through the years I’ve met some truly wonderful and inspirational writers who, for whatever reason, be it bad luck or circumstance, have never been published. Because of this, I feel truly privileged to finally be a published author. I just hope that you enjoy reading about Beck as much as I enjoy writing about him. Once again, therefore, two simple words, to both my readers and publisher, Bookouture: Thank you.

  If you did enjoy The Child Before I would be very grateful if you could write a review. I’d love to hear what you think, and it makes such a difference helping new readers to discover one of my books for the first time.

  I would love to hear from you too, and am on Twitter if you’d like to reach out! Also I now have a Facebook Author’s page – quite a feat for a technophobe like me. Why not visit?

  Thanks,

  Michael

  Where She Lies

  Available now!

  When a beautiful, local teenage girl is found strangled in the cold, dark woods a mile from town. The prime suspect is the seemingly-gentle drifter who found Tanya’s body.

  Detective Finnegan Beck, recently demoted from his high-powered job in Dublin and relocated in disgrace to the small Irish town of Cross Beg, is the police officer in charge, and he seems to be the only person who can’t escape the feeling that Tanya wasn’t killed at random.

  As he digs deeper into the shadows of Cross Beg, he begins to realise it isn’t the sleepy backwater he’d first believed. Everyone here has something to hide. Tanya had a boyfriend, whose name no one knew. A best friend with a loose relationship with the truth. And a habit she thought she’d kept hidden from everyone.

  But, just as Beck believes he is making progress, the body of one of the suspects is found drowned in the river. Is the killer just getting started?

  Everyone in the town seems to have something they would die to protect. But who has a secret they’d kill for?

  This debut novel from a powerful new Irish voice is the first in a gripping series that will feature the brilliant, haunted Detective Finnegan Beck who won’t rest until justice is found. Perfect for fans of LJ Ross, Joy Ellis and Patricia Gibney.

  Get it here!

  Her Last Goodnight

  Eddie stands at his door anxiously waiting for the woman to arrive, touching the engagement ring box in his pocket for luck. He doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him until it’s too late…

  Detective Finnegan Beck is called to a crime scene – a remote house near the rural Irish town of Cross Beg – where a dog lies whimpering beside his beloved owner’s body.

  At first it looks like a burglary gone wrong. But Beck spots something his colleagues didn’t. The victim – Eddie Kavanagh – was wearing his smartest clothes. He’d brushed his hair. And, on closer inspection, a small velvet box containing an engagement ring is discovered in his pocket, along with a letter to a nameless woman, which seems to suggest she’s in danger.

  Those who knew Eddie have no idea about a female friend though – there’s been no one in his life since a girl who he’d loved and who’d broken his heart decades before. Now Eddie leads a quiet, solitary existence, rarely going further than the fields behind his house to walk his sheepdog Max.

  So who was the woman Eddie was waiting for? And did his connection with her ultimately lead to his murder? When a beautiful young woman is then found beaten to death – murdered exactly as Eddie had been, Beck has to ask – is the danger over? Or is just beginning?

  An absolutely addictive and atmospheric crime novel that will leave you gasping for breath. If you love gripping thrillers from Rachel Caine, Robert Dugoni and Kendra Elliot, you won’t be able to put this one down.

  Get it here!

  Acknowledgements

  Firstly, I would again like to thank you, the reader, for taking the time to read this book. Equally, I would like to thank Isobel Akenhead and the Bookouture team for their hard work and dedication. Also to all the reviewers and bloggers who have supported me. To my family, my wife Eileen and daughter Sarah. Also, to Breda Jennings and Jennifer Mulderrig for reading the first draft and giving me their invaluable feedback. Also to my crazy half-Pomeranian half-something-else dog, without whom I would not have bothered going for walks on those cold winter mornings. Such walks afforded me the space to reflect on my story and see where I was going wrong if there was a problem, and where I wanted to go next if there wasn’t.

  T
hanks to all.

  Published by Bookouture in 2019

  An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.bookouture.com

  Copyright © Michael Scanlon, 2019

  Michael Scanlon has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-78681-938-3