‘Right, I’ll pull the marked cars away from the front of the house. But O’Connor, he’s going to know he has visitors.’
‘He might know that already. Even so, I don’t want to push him out of the area entirely. Any change, phone me.’
O’Connor almost forgot about Ellie and Sinead in the back of the car, until Ellie spoke, quietly, but assured.
‘What’s his name, Detective?’
‘The man we’re looking for?’
‘Yes.’
‘William. His name is William Cronly.’
O’Connor waited for her response. When it came, Ellie’s voice remained slow, as if the speed of his car and the need to get to Wexford fast were completely at odds with her thinking.
‘Detective, you think he killed those girls from Dublin?’
‘I do.’
‘And what about Amy?’
O’Connor needed to control his voice, keep it gentle, especially now he knew Kate and Charlie weren’t at Cronly. Ellie was his only means of finding this guy’s hideout and he wasn’t taking any chances.
‘A photograph of Amy was found, Ellie, at William Cronly’s house in Wexford.’
‘What kind of photograph?’
O’Connor knew Ellie’s question was loaded. What she really wanted to know was whether or not her daughter was alive in it. From what he’d heard from Donoghue, the photograph was taken while the girl was very much alive.
‘I haven’t seen it myself, Ellie, but it’s a Polaroid image taken of Amy probably while you were holidaying that year.’
‘Holidaying?’ Ellie said it in a tone that contradicted every common understanding of the term. ‘How are you so sure it’s a photograph of Amy?’
‘I don’t have the full details, but I understand Gilmartin, the man who dragged you from the fire, has identified her in it. Ellie,’ O’Connor’s voice was almost pleading, ‘we’ll be there shortly. I need your help. You do understand that, don’t you?’
‘I understand you’re telling me that William Cronly is the one who killed my daughter.’
‘Yes, Ellie, we believe so.’ Ellie kept her silence. O’Connor continued. ‘We also believe he killed Caroline Devine and Amelia Spain.’ Ellie did not respond. O’Connor knew he needed her onside.
‘Ellie?’
‘Yes?’
‘I don’t want Kate or her son added to that list.’
‘Nor do I, Detective O’Connor, nor do I.’
For the first time since his passengers got into the car at St Michael’s, he breathed a sigh of relief for that at least.
The Beach Road, Gorey, County Wexford
DRIVING DOWN THE BEACH ROAD, HE TOLD KATE TO PARK the car at the back of the closed-down amusement arcade, instructing her to get out and wait while he unbuckled Charlie from the back seat.
Kate thought about making a grab for Charlie and running as far away as she could, but she knew that with Charlie in her arms, he’d outrun her. She still had the car keys, so if she overpowered him, she might have a chance to get away, but he was fit, strong enough to win the physical battle against her. She couldn’t risk it. If she crossed him, he’d know all the trust-building in the car was nothing more than a pretence, and Charlie would be in even more danger. If she had any hope of getting herself and Charlie out alive, she had to keep playing his game, wait for her chance to get her hands on that knife, use her head, and hope that the opportunity would come soon.
Standing with her back to the deserted amusement arcade, her legs felt like jelly, the sharp October breeze blowing her hair in every direction. She was shivering, more from fear for Charlie than from the cold, but still she smiled at their abductor, as if they were a normal family out on a day trip.
When she heard Charlie moaning from behind the duct tape and saw him struggling in William Cronly’s arms, it took every ounce of self-discipline she had not to make a grab for him.
‘Now, now, Charlie, you don’t want to make me angry.’
Kate moved forward. ‘Shush, Charlie. It’s okay, don’t worry. Maybe I should carry him, William? He’ll be less of a handful with me.’
‘I don’t think so, Kate. The track we’re taking is steep and you’re not used to it. You might let him fall.’
‘I’ll be careful.’
‘Trust me, I know these things. Now, Charlie, don’t get me annoyed.’
‘Honestly. I’ll take him, William. It’ll be better.’
‘Okay,’ he relented, ‘but I’ll keep close behind you, that way I can take him quickly if you stumble. We don’t want anything happening to him Kate, do we?’
Charlie grabbed hold of her, tight, like a wild baby chimp. He buried his face into her neck. Kate felt his tears on her skin. She put a hand under his jacket, wanting him to feel her close. She felt his skin soaked with sweat through his T-shirt, heard his heart thumping, remembered her own feeling of terror all those years before. He had grabbed her from behind, a knife to her throat, her screams loud but unheard, knowing the only thing between her and death was the most fleeting of chances.
‘Shush, Charlie don’t cry, it’s okay. Mommy is here.’
N11, Gorey Exit
Monday, 10 October 2011, 5.30 p.m.