I always believed he latched on to Christianity to differentiate himself from the rest of us, and from Brooks, the way brothers who are close in age try to show that they are different.
Addam saw Mother every other day. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen either of them. I had suspicion that neither of them missed me.
Brooks’s disappearance helped me with Mother’s illness. It was my first experience of someone going missing. I wanted to thank him for that. Then Mother dripped away.
Chapter 33
The next morning, I phoned Olivia Sands on her home number, it being the weekend, to ask if she remembered what the car was like that Zara arrived in at the nursery.
‘It had a cover on the spare wheel that said I like it dirty,’ she told me.
‘So you could see the spare tyre? Was it a jeep, then, rather than a car?’
‘Yes, it was a black jeep.’
‘Did it have anything hanging under it?’ I asked.
‘It may have. Something odd …’
‘A pair of tights that looked like testicles?’
‘Sorry, I never noticed.’ She gasped. ‘God, that’s revolting!’
I relayed this to Linskey who was exfoliating her notes.
‘So Shane drove past the house,’ she said. ‘He was obviously more involved than Zara lets on. Not quite the spurned dad.’
I was exhausted by information and couldn’t find a clear space in my head. I would have loved to have gone for a run, but I was empty.
‘I’m nipping out for some air,’ I said.
‘Just keep bringing the coffees,’ Linskey joked.
Outside I rested my back against the wall. It was muggy, with dark clouds brooding over everything. I thought about Olivia’s remark, about the jeep being the vehicle that collected River, about Zara and Shane together then, and together now. Olivia never knew Raymond.
Constable Higgins was walking about.
‘Have you spoken to everyone? Bet you haven’t,’ he said, and he was right.
I walked away. In the communal kitchen I grabbed two cups and poured some thin coffee into them.
‘Have we let Hammitt off the hook too easily?’ I asked Linskey as I handed her a cup.
Just because it wasn’t Sandy on the ferry didn’t mean he was in the clear. I looked again; there was his business card, pinned to the board in front of us. There was his daughter’s number.
‘What about Hammitt’s daughter?’ I asked.
Linskey looked up at the ceiling, casting her mind, like a net, back to the start of the week. ‘She stayed at theirs,’ Linskey said. ‘Wasn’t the daughter house-sitting?’
I took Meggi’s number from the board, the name and number that Jan Hammitt had written down for us. ‘We should give her a call,’ I said.
‘Couldn’t do any harm.’
I keyed in the phone number. It was a solicitor’s office. I excused myself to the receptionist who answered and hung up.
‘Wrong number?’ asked Linskey.
‘I don’t know.’
I opened a webpage on my browser and typed in the name of the solicitor’s office: Selby and Selby. There they were, based in Carrickfergus.
‘I think Sandy Hammitt’s daughter is a solicitor,’ I said. ‘Meggi Selby and Nigel Selby.’
Suddenly Linskey was interested. ‘Hold on,’ she said, going into the database and looking up an old case. ‘I knew I knew that name. I’ve had a couple of dealings with Meggi before. Husband and wife team.’
‘Not any more. Didn’t Jan Hammitt say they were getting divorced?’
‘That’s a mess,’ said Linskey, ‘working with your other half in the same profession.’ She clapped her hands. ‘There! Got it!’
I stood behind her and looked at the screen. Meggi was Verda Dolan’s solicitor; Verda – the mother of Brody Pottinger, the boy in the attic. Beside the case was the word ‘Reopened’.
‘Do you think this is all coincidence?’ I asked.
‘No, not coincidence,’ said Linskey. ‘I know what this is. This is a daughter who clearly breaches confidentiality by telling her crime-buff dad too much about her cases.’
‘And now the minute Hammitt mentions it, this Pottinger boy crawls out of yesteryear’s newspapers to tell the PSNI that Verda was abusing him for years,’ I said.
‘Well, that might be coincidence,’ said Linskey, ‘but don’t tell Higgins.’
Chapter 34
We didn’t talk about the science of trying any more. Jason knew my monthly cycle better than any blueprint – better than I did. It was like clockwork, regular.
Four nights a month, no matter what had been said between us, no matter what had happened at work that day, he rolled over and worked his hands over me. I couldn’t say a thing. They rest of the month we didn’t touch; we barely spoke.
We’d moved into Alex’s old house as planned. Our eldest nephew’s old room became Jason’s home office for Sunday night sketching, and masturbating over Pornhub the rest of the time. I had the younger nephew’s room as a dressing room, with a safe for my gun knocked into the back of the wardrobe.
I had come home from work, changed and sat down to dinner with Jason. Then, almost on autopilot, we fucked, my face pressed against the wall so we didn’t have to look into each other’s eyes. Then we went to bed to read and sleep.
The next morning, we woke to face the same day all over again. We fucked, a cold, empty transactional fuck. Then I pulled on Jason’s hoodie, but when I went to the dressing room to get ready for work, I found the safe open and empty.
‘Jason,’ I shouted, ‘I have to phone the station. Fuck, fuck, fuck!’
He was standing in the en suite, his back to me. He wasn’t pissing. There was a soft rain of pills falling into the toilet water. I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He turned, the empty blister packs of my medication in his hands. My gun was on the toilet cistern.
‘You’re still on the pill, you lying bitch,’ he said. ‘How long have you been back on the pill?’
He walked me into the bedroom and whipped me with the pistol, catching me in the hairline.
‘You’re not going anywhere. You’re not going to make a fool out of me any more.’
With nothing to say, I got into bed and lay there, fear swimming in my gut, blood pouring into my eye. Jason sat on the end of the bed, pointing the gun at me with one hand and tapping something into his phone with the other. He read something on screen.
‘We’re not moving for three days,’ he said then, pressing his face against mine. ‘Three days of fucking. One will take, you devious cunt.’
He phoned Alex to say he wouldn’t be in to work. He called Strandtown and told whoever answered that I was in the early stages of pregnancy and was very sick, that I might not be back at all. Ever. Then he paced the room. It was the only time he took his eyes off me. He only let me leave the bed to use the loo.
Over the next few days I slept twice, in short bursts. I woke both times without forgetting for a moment that he was there; Jason didn’t sleep at all. His skin was almost purple with exhaustion. I opened my eyes to see him on the floor, pulling his hair and crying, his nose streaming blood. I knew I could overpower him, but he was in the wrong mental state for me to do anything.
The only time I tried to fight him he straddled me, put the gun in my mouth and told me that if I tried to do anything he would blow my brains out. Then he pulled at my pyjama bottoms and his own and forced himself on me for an endless assault he couldn’t finish to his own satisfaction.
I believed him when he said he would kill me if I told anyone what happened. I knew he had to leave the house some time – leave me – but it was how I might be left that sent a jolt of fear through me. I just wanted to live. I could fix my shattered body afterwards. My bruised palate and chipped tooth could be repaired; the scar on my forehead could be hidden by my hair.
Chapter 35
‘Hello, Detective,’ Cahal said down the line.
‘I’m investigating the calls on Shane Reede’s phone,’ I said.
‘What is it you want with me?’
‘Your number is on Shane’s phone. You phoned him on Sunday evening.’
‘I didn’t call Shane Reede,’ he said, quite adamant and abrupt.
‘You called Shane at eight fourteen in the evening.’
In the background, I could hear Bernadene Cleary reminding him – or giving him a story.
‘That’s right,’ he said sheepishly. ‘I called him to say that an official-looking letter had arrived for him.’
‘Did you ever find out what it was?’
‘No. I gave it to him when he came here. I wasn’t sure if Shane was using the address for dodgy dealings.’
‘Has he before?’
‘What it is is that we once got a phone call – hold on, it’s the missus. I’ll put her on.’
‘Hello? It’s Bernadene Cleary here.’
Mrs Cleary told me that she once got a hill of letters from various companies, then a phone call about a loan application. ‘There seemed to be a mix-up,’ she said. ‘Shane had given the wrong address. Sometimes that happens easily enough the way these houses are set out, but for him to have given our phone number was something else. It was hard to know if it was an innocent mistake or not.’
‘So this official-looking letter – it was in Shane’s name, was it?’
‘No, it was in the name of Marsh.’
‘Raymond Marsh?’
‘It was Mr Marsh. I don’t recall the details.’
‘What made you think it had something to do with Shane Reede?’
‘Because he had been getting the same letters to his own cottage when he was gone. Same envelope. I ended up looking up the address on the back, and then with these calls for Mr Marsh and the letters, I phoned the company and told them to stop sending the letters.’
‘Bernadene, did you hear that young River’s stepfather has died?’
‘I didn’t know he had one.’
‘His name was Raymond Marsh.’
‘Oh no!’ she said.
‘So you’ll understand that I need to know about this letter, this official letter that arrived for Mr Marsh.’
‘I’ll get Cahal for you, love,’ she said.
Cahal explained that the envelope had red print on it, a final reminder, and that there had been a summons for Shane. He had told the garda his suspicions about the fraud and they were trying to talk to Shane, but Cahal couldn’t give them an address for him up North.
‘Why didn’t you tell me this when we were down speaking with you?’ I asked.
‘The two things aren’t related – the child and the loans. Sometimes these minor things overshadow the bigger things.’
‘I promise you they wouldn’t have, Mr Cleary.’
‘Then why do you need to know?’
‘Why would you tell the guards and not us?’
‘I told them because I thought Reede was going to ruin the credit for our son at that address. I just wanted to let Reede know that they were on to him, that the guards were looking him.’
‘Did you tell Shane this?’
‘I most certainly did,’ he said.
‘And did you tell him about the boy, like you told DI Linskey and I you did?’
‘I did,’ he said, softer. ‘I told him about the boy too. Without question I did. He was away like the wind was under him.’
‘Cahal’s not so big and clever now,’ I said to Linskey later back at the station.
‘Mistakes are always nice when they’re made by someone else,’ she said.
‘Hmm, like toast.’
She let a laugh slip and nudged me. ‘Make us a wee slice of toast, would you? I’m famished.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ I told her.
‘For God’s sake, do something for someone else for once,’ she said, and glanced at me. ‘Fine. I’ll get something in a minute. What about the neighbour who throttled River – Ian somebody or other. He hasn’t been spoken to in any depth.’
‘We’ll speak to him,’ I replied.
‘Raymond sits uneasily with me,’ Linskey admitted.
‘What would have been Raymond’s motive though?’
‘He didn’t seem to think a lot of River. There was no affection for the boy. You saw how he was.’
‘Wouldn’t he cover that up with fake affection?’
‘Hold up – the sleep medication. Maybe there was an accidental overdose and he couldn’t live with himself after.’
‘That’s all I have too,’ I said. ‘But his body language … I don’t know.’
‘Can’t always go on that, Harry. People lie to your face day in, day out.’ She looked down at her notebook. ‘What about Zara?’
‘She loves her therapies,’ I said. ‘Charlotte had this magazine about disabilities in her house and I flicked through it one night. It was talking about kids with autism being accidently killed during therapies. There was this one for deep pressure. Some kids died from suffocation.’
‘Okay, so we have that line of questioning, plus we have to think about the epilepsy.’
‘What are the therapies for it? I’ll look into it.’
‘What about if River had a bad seizure and Zara’s trying to cover it up? Seeing as she doesn’t want people to know about the epilepsy.’
‘I don’t know. Didn’t she just cover it up to get him into nursery? I wouldn’t say that she ignores his epilepsy altogether. She did go to the doctors. Put River through that intensive sleep trial – brain scan too.’
‘I honestly don’t think it’s anything to do with Zara,’ Linskey said.
‘What about our man Shane?’
Linskey looked more serious now. ‘He’s our best bet, isn’t he?’
‘And what does he have in the way of a motive?’
‘I really don’t know, not now I’ve seen him and Zara together. There seems to be something between them.’
‘Grief and pity?’ I suggested.
‘I don’t know about that. Something more. Shane said he’s staying with Zara because she’s used to a full house.’
‘He’s seizing his opportunity to get close to her again. Some men love nothing better than a vulnerable woman.’
‘There doesn’t appear to be bad blood,’ said Linskey.
‘It seems wrong, the pair of them.’
‘Zara and Raymond seemed more wrong.’
‘Let’s get back to River. Why would Shane take his own son? Why would he hurt him?’ I asked.
‘I’ve left a message for Bronagh Shaw. Maybe she can shed some light.’
‘She’s in England, then?’ I said.
‘She is.’ Linskey frowned down at her notebook again. ‘Shane went to Monaghan on Wednesday afternoon for an alibi.’
‘We need to find out more about this mother of his – Margaret, isn’t that her name? – if he was with her or not,’ I said, imagining what my father would advise. ‘Could River be in the South with this grandma? Has Shane decided to give the boy to someone else? Is he downplaying his relationship with his mum? Was he really carjacked and left lying in the bushes unconscious?’
But I had a feeling, the way I sometimes did, that Margaret was a dead end, and that what we really needed to zoom in on was right under our noses.
Chapter 36
The desk sergeant came to get me from the office at midday. ‘Alexander Hammitt’s here to see you.’
‘What does he want?’ I asked.
‘Well, it was Linskey he was wanting, but she’s left now.’
‘What do you think he wants?’
‘He says he wants a word,’ said the sarge.
I went out to reception and found Sandy, his index finger hooked over his shirt collar.
‘Mr Hammitt, you wanted to see me?’ I said.
‘Can we talk?’ Sandy asked.
‘We can. Go ahead.’
‘No, not here.’ Sandy eyed the sergeant, who was looking back at him.
&n
bsp; ‘Okay, come through,’ I said, bringing him into an interview room for privacy. ‘Why don’t you take a seat, Mr Hammitt?’
Sandy sat down and locked his hands in front of him. ‘I’ve done something a bit stupid,’ he said. ‘I’m cross with myself.’
‘What have you done?’
‘My DNA might be on the coat.’
‘Why would that be?’
‘Because I touched it. I lifted it down and looked at it, saw that it said River on the nametag and put it back. I made sure to put it back the way it was, though.’
‘But when you called the station, weren’t you told not to touch it?’ I asked. ‘Didn’t you tell us you knew not to, when we arrived at Shaw’s Bridge?’
‘Yes, but it was too late then. I told my daughter, who’s a solicitor. She told me I better say.’
‘And that’s the only reason why your DNA might be on the coat?’
‘God, yes! Don’t say that. I’m not … I just saw the coat.’
‘Okay. We’re going to need your prints. And forensics will need to go over your car.’
‘I just want you to know that I did touch the coat …’
‘You may have contaminated evidence, Mr Hammitt.’
‘I know. I should know better. I feel bloody stupid. I just thought, what’s the likelihood that this coat is … you know what I’m saying?’
Sandy went back to get his prints taken. I watched him, wondering what he would say if we could link him to the other fingermarks. When he was done, I asked him if he needed a lift home, since he couldn’t use his own car, but he said that Jan was coming to get him.
Chapter 37
It was four o’clock on Saturday afternoon and the wind was up. An empty drink can made music on the pavement. From the outside, Zara’s house looked as if it was in darkness. Inside, it wasn’t much better. It was dull and empty, like my apartment when I came home to it alone, when no one had breathed life into it all day. Death filled the place, and it was hard to imagine light, or sound, or laughter ever being there again.
The Sleeping Season Page 17
