‘I’m sorry, Donal. Do you want a lift anywhere? It’s no bother. Saoirse is still at school. I can—’
‘No!’ He hadn’t meant to shout. Easing the harshness from his tone, he said, ‘I want to be left alone. Can you understand that? Lynn is gone. Maura is gone. I’m next. You can bugger off home.’ Shit, he didn’t want to be angry with Keelan. It wasn’t her fault.
She was rinsing the bowl under the tap, her shoulders heaving. Christ, he hoped she wasn’t crying. He couldn’t handle any more tears. Maura’s had swallowed him up. In a way, he found it peaceful now to be living in the silence of his own home without sobs shrieking through the air.
‘I can do that.’ He took the tea towel from her hand. When she turned around, he saw her make-up was streaked. ‘Didn’t mean to make you cry.’
‘It’s not your fault.’ She was searching up her sleeve and eventually pulled out a tattered tissue. Dabbing at her mascara, she said, ‘It’s Cillian.’
‘What’s he done? Has he … has he hurt you?’
‘No. Nothing like that. Not physical hurt, if you get me.’
‘What do you mean? Come and sit down.’
At the table, Keelan said, ‘He’s different. Distant. Since Maura died. I know it’s probably grief, but he wasn’t particularly close to his mother. Was he?’
‘Hard to say. Cillian and Finn were both close to their sister. Close in age and close … like friends. When she disappeared, it upset the whole family dynamic. You know what I mean?’
‘Tell me.’
‘They were only young then, early twenties. They adored Lynn and she doted on them. No fights. No hair-pulling.’ He noticed Keelan returning his smile. ‘I thought we were the luckiest parents in the world. But you know what? I think Maura was a little resentful of the friendship they shared. It was like they were so close, the three of them, that they shut her out. At times, it led to … I haven’t a clue what to call it.’
‘Jealousy? Was Maura jealous?’
‘I don’t rightly know. I was working long hours back then, so I wasn’t home a lot. But when Lynn went missing, Maura blamed herself for not caring for the children as much as she should have. And she blamed the boys for not watching out for their sister.’
‘But that’s illogical. They were all adults.’
Donal slapped the table. Keelan jumped. He reached out to grab her hand, but she pulled away. He noticed a vein of fear in her eyes before they clouded over with tears.
‘Silly girl. I was only trying to comfort you. I think Cillian is feeling guilty at his mother’s passing. Maybe he thinks he should have been around more to reassure her. To tell her she still had two sons. But he never did. And every time he appeared at that front door, she laid into him. Blaming him. And blaming Finn.’
‘He never spoke much about his mother. Always about Lynn. I can tell you, the only guilt he was consumed with was not being there for his sister when she disappeared.’
Donal stood up and put the box of cereal back into the cupboard. ‘The anniversary of her disappearance is this Sunday, so tell him to call round. Tell him we need to talk. Will you do that for me?’
‘Couldn’t you call him yourself?’ Keelan stood at the door, wrapping her scarf around her neck.
‘He can make the first move,’ Donal said. ‘My son is lucky to have you. You know what? You look a little how I would imagine Lynn would look if she was still alive. I mean …’ He felt bile lurch from his stomach to his mouth. Not once had Maura let him speculate that their daughter might be dead. Not once in the last ten years. Never.
‘I’ll pass on the message,’ Keelan said. ‘And there’s always hope.’ She pulled the door closed behind her.
At the sink, Donal took the bowl from the drainer and put it in the dishwasher. He turned on the machine and listened to it, to work out if anything was amiss with the motor. He stood there for the whole forty-five-minute cycle, water filling and draining. Draining like his life had done since the day Lynn had vanished.
Thirteen
Lottie jumped out of the car at the front of the station and Boyd drove round to the yard. She was considering Anna Byrne’s information that Elizabeth had suffered from psoriasis and didn’t wear costume jewellery because it exacerbated the complaint, when a woman approached her. She wore a denim jacket over a grey hoodie and jeans; mid forties, Lottie thought as her progress to the steps was blocked.
‘Cynthia Rhodes,’ the woman said, thrusting out a hand.
Lottie kept her own in her pocket. ‘Do I know you?’
‘Crime correspondent with national television. I took over after my colleague was murdered.’
Lottie shuddered at the memory but dragged up her professional face. ‘How can I help you, Ms Rhodes?’
‘The activity at the cemetery. Can you comment on it?’
‘Not at this time.’
‘Ah, come on, give me a break. I’m new to the job.’
Lottie wasn’t going to be taken in that easily. Not now that she recognised Rhodes. A shark with very sharp teeth who had hosted a night-time current affairs television programme a few years ago. Covering crime in the midlands appeared to be a demotion.
‘What are you doing in Ragmullin?’
‘My job, unlike some I could mention.’ Her eyes, shrouded by a tangle of black curls, fired cold warnings to Lottie. Better watch what I say, she thought.
‘I’m too busy to talk to you right now.’ She made to pass by, but Cynthia held out a hand, halting her escape.
‘Not so fast. I know all about you, Lottie Parker. I know about your failings in the past. I know of your husband’s death and your brother’s manslaughter, and I can tell you, I don’t feel one bit sorry for you. If this activity at the cemetery is a murder, mark my words, I’ll be walking in your footsteps, waiting for you to trip over and make a mistake.’
‘Is that all?’ Lottie scooted round the woman and up the steps.
‘I’ll be watching you. You can bet your life on it.’
‘And you can bet your life I won’t be watching you on television,’ Lottie muttered as she charged into the reception area. She pounded in the code on the inner door.
‘Hey, Inspector Parker,’ the duty sergeant called out. ‘You’re wanted in the interview room. Detective Kirby is waiting for you there with Bernard Fahy.’
‘Shit.’ Lottie flew down the corridor, the door swinging shut behind her.
* * *
Kirby stood up as Lottie entered the claustrophobic interview room.
‘We’re almost finished here, boss. Do you want to read over my notes and ask anything further before Mr Fahy leaves?’
Tearing off her jacket, Lottie sank into a chair and indicated for Kirby to sit back down.
‘I’ve work to be getting on with,’ Fahy said. He was leaning across the table, his hands clasped as if in prayer.
‘Me too,’ Lottie said. ‘Can you recount what you’ve been doing since Monday? Where you’ve been?’
‘He has it written down.’ Fahy pointed to Kirby.
Flicking through his notebook, Kirby said, ‘I just need to have a word with his wife to confirm she was with him when he says she was.’
‘Do you think I’d be stupid enough to bury a woman in my own graveyard?’
‘Mr Fahy, I’m just trying to get the facts,’ Lottie said, though she had been thinking that exact thing. She turned to Kirby. ‘Does Mr Gilbey corroborate everything?’
‘Gilbey only started work at the cemetery today. I took his statement and DNA and let him go.’ Kirby folded his arms across his bulging stomach.
Lottie read the notes before looking up at Fahy’s agitated face. ‘The victim broke her leg. Was screaming as she tried to get away from her assailant. A terrified young woman running naked through your cemetery in the dead of night. How does that make you feel?’
He shook his head. ‘You’re making a big mistake if you think I had anything to do with it. A big mistake.’
‘Are you threatening me?’ She tried to keep her anger muted. Cynthia Rhodes had already said something similar about mistakes.
‘I had nothing to do with it. My wife can vouch for me. I was at home every night. I was at work every day. That’s all I have to say. Can I go now?’