‘That’s not true.’
Justin wheezed and pulled an inhaler from his jacket pocket. ‘Oh Jesus… Jesus… my little girl… where has she gone?’ His cheeks hollowed out as he sucked in two deep inhalations.
‘Not far, Justin. She can’t be far away.’ Karl gripped his brother’s arms and held on to him as tears coursed down Justin’s face.
Shauna arrived at the community centre. Enquiries from the press had been coming into the Garda Press Office all day. She was worried that the media would gather on Cherrywood Terrace. Justin and Jenna should go home before that happened. There was nothing more they could do today. She overrode their objections and nodded in agreement when she heard that Matthew and Lara would remain with Karl for another night. They must be protected from the unfolding publicity at all costs.
Television crews had already arrived by the time Karl reached the terrace. Satellite dishes extended from the roofs of two television vans parked outside Justin’s house. Photographers had erected cameras on tripods and were photographing Shauna, who had left the house. She ignored the reporters, who clustered around her, microphones and recorders thrust forward. She continued resolutely towards her car and drove away.
‘Jenna’s just been on the phone.’ Nicole met him in the hall. ‘She said you and Justin had a row in front of everyone at the search centre?’
‘It wasn’t a row. Justin was upset over something he read in the paper—’
‘I saw it.’ She had been crying, her eyes red-rimmed, her gaze still angry. ‘Where did the journalist get that photograph?’
‘From one of Constance’s friends, obviously.’
‘It’s not a nice image, Karl. You look…’
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Say it.’
‘It’s as if you’re trying to hide something. And Constance, the way she’s hanging on to you…’ She pressed her lips together and shook her head.
‘What are you suggesting, Nicole?’
‘It’s an ugly photograph,’ she stated flatly. ‘Lecherous, even. It could give readers the wrong impression.’
‘I don’t believe this—’
‘Uncle Karl!’ Matthew stood at the living-room door, his Game Boy in his hand. ‘There’s a man outside the gate taking photographs of your house.’
When Karl rushed into the living-room, Lara and Sasha were standing on the sofa under the window, waving at the photographer from Capital Eye. Karl ordered them to sit down and swished the curtains closed.
‘Why is there a television van outside our house?’ Matthew asked. ‘Is Constance a celebrity now?’
‘No. She’s still just Constance.’
‘I’m going to stop this right now.’ Nicole stormed out to the hall.
‘Stay here and don’t look out the window again,’ Karl warned the children before hurrying after her. She had opened the front door and was about to step outside when he grabbed her arm.
‘Leave me alone,’ she snapped. ‘He’s no right to be on our property.’
‘He’s standing on public property outside our gate.’ Karl slammed the door closed. ‘There’s nothing we can do to stop him photographing the house.’
‘We’ll see about that.’ She tried to jerk free from him but he held her back.
‘Listen to me, Nicole. I know how these stories work. The more you engage with the press, the more complicated it becomes. All he’ll do is take your photograph and use it in tomorrow’s edition.’
‘He’s still there,’ Matthew called from the living-room.
‘I told you to keep away from the window,’ Karl shouted.
‘I’m only peeking,’ Matthew shouted back. ‘There’s a woman coming in the gate.’
‘Go back to the children,’ he whispered to Nicole when the doorbell rang. ‘Distract them somehow.’
Why was he whispering in his own house? Cowering away as if he had something to hide? The doorbell sounded again. This time it was a prolonged blast. Nicole’s expression, before she returned to the living-room, defied him to continue ignoring it.
On the third ring he opened the door to Amanda Bowe.
‘Why are you calling here?’ he demanded.
‘I just want to ask you some questions. Was Connie in a secret—’
‘Her name is Constance.’ He jabbed his finger at her. ‘She hates being called Connie and none of her tearful friends would ever call her by that name. The least you can do is get your facts straight.’
‘Was Constance in a secret gang?’ She appeared unruffled by his fury. ‘Did you know about her involvement in dangerous rituals? If so, why didn’t you alert her parents?’ Her brown stare suggested that every answer she received hid a deeper truth, which she was determined to uncover.
‘Why is she talking about Constance?’ Matthew had pushed past Nicole and was staring up at the journalist.
‘You must be Matthew.’ Her black hair swished over her cheeks when she looked down at him. ‘Did Constance tell you where she was going before she ran away from home, Matthew?’
Karl gripped his nephew’s shoulders and turned him around. ‘Go back into the living-room, Matthew and stay there.’ He stepped towards Amanda Bowe. ‘It seems that ethics were never included in your journalistic training. I’m going to report you to the press council for questioning a child without parental permission.’
‘Why are you trying to prevent me seeking answers that will help in the search for your niece—?’
He closed the door on her words and pressed his arms against the wall. Where was she getting her information? How would she use it in tomorrow’s edition of Capital Eye? His skin prickled in a sudden, uncontrollable flush of anxiety.
‘I guess it’s time for popcorn and hot chocolate.’ Nicole herded the children into the kitchen. ‘Come on, Matthew. I’ll make your favourite flavour, pecan and butter.’
Popcorn rattled furiously against the saucepan lid as the children gathered around the cooker.
Tomorrow, if there was no overnight news about Constance, Nicole would bring them to Grass Haven, a horse shelter in Wicklow run by Jenna’s friend Caroline. A visit to Grass Haven was a good idea. Cherrywood Terrace was no longer a safe place for them. The horses would be a distraction from the terror gathering around them as the second day of Constance’s disappearance drew to a close.
Chapter Five
Day Three
The search broadened. Wastelands and fields beyond Glenmoore were being examined, and Karl, having spent the morning on another futile search, drove into Dublin’s city centre to hand out fliers to passing pedestrians. Some people ignored him, believing he was advertising restaurants or discount deals, but those who accepted the fliers slowed their pace and wished him success in his search for Constance.
His deputy editor rang. Barbara no longer joked about hormonal teenagers. Her tone was sombre when she asked for news and deepened with sympathy when she heard there was none.
‘Have you seen Capital Eye?’ she asked.
‘Not yet,’ he replied. ‘Why?’
‘Amanda Bowe is on the front page again. And she’s written a profile about you on the inside. She doesn’t forgive easily.’