Red Ribbons (26 page)

‘Yeah? What and why?’

‘Well, I can only put things in the report that I can back up fully.’

‘Sure.’

‘What do you think of, O’Connor, when you look at the images?’

O’Connor placed her report on the table between them. ‘I think of a lot of things, but mostly that I want to get the bastard.’

‘But what do you see when you look at the girls, other than the
horror, when you look at the positioning, how would you describe the way they are lying?’

O’Connor’s eyes narrowed as he thought about this. ‘They’re both in the foetal position, so I suppose they remind me of babies.’

‘Yes, but what else?’

‘The fingers are joined, and I see in your report you think they are in prayer.’

‘Don’t you?’

‘Probably. Could be.’ He sighed. ‘Nolan really hates that religious stuff.’

‘So what else? What words would you use to describe how they look?’

‘Asleep? Innocent?’

‘I agree. I don’t know why, but he is crafting them, O’Connor, trying to create or recreate an image.’

‘Meaning, he has history?’

‘We all have history, but everything about these crime scenes feels staged. Do you know what I thought of earlier when I looked at both girls?’

‘Enlighten me,’ he said with a touch of weariness, beginning to tire of the question-and-answer game.

‘I thought that they both looked like angels. Don’t look so sceptical, O’Connor.’

‘Well, I don’t know, Kate, it’s a big ask. I mean, bloody angels?’

‘That’s why I didn’t include it in the report,’ Kate said, shooting him a meaningful glance. ‘Look, all I’m saying is that we don’t know for sure what this guy sees when he looks at them, but he sees something. And that’s not the only thing I’ve left out.’

‘Go on, I’m listening.’

‘It’s the crucifix.’

‘The one Caroline Devine was wearing?’

‘Yeah, you see it’s been bothering me all along. Our man is neat,
organised, almost takes pride in how he buries the girls. The crucifix is an iconic symbol, so if he left it there, he must have been happy to do so.’

‘But Amelia didn’t have one.’

‘Exactly. That was why its significance initially seemed less crucial. Do you remember when I said we have to look at the murder and then the burial of Caroline Devine as two different things – one frenzied, the other calm, planned and careful?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, the same goes for how we look at the two girls. There are the similarities, but there are also differences.’

He was looking at her with more interest now. ‘Keep going.’

‘We’ve already looked at the idea that Amelia’s killing was different, and certainly the burial area was, as was the speed with which he made his move. If she was a loose end, then in his eyes Amelia could have been less worthy, almost of a lower status. That, in turn, means Caroline was elevated, more deserving.’

‘He sure has a funny way of showing it.’

‘Listen, O’Connor, if that crucifix was left on her neck, he wanted it there. And that’s not all, look at the type.’

‘A cheap replica, something you would pick up for a euro.’

‘Yes, but a replica of what?’

‘A silver cross?’

‘It’s a corpus crucifix, with the body of Christ on it.’

‘So?’

‘So supposing he gave it to her, the type was specific to him for a reason. But the only way we can be sure it’s part of his signature is …’

‘Yeah?’

‘… is if there’s another victim.’

‘Your report, Kate.’

‘What about it?’

‘“Likelihood of repeat killing – HIGH”?’

‘Not something both of us didn’t already know,’ she said quietly.

‘I know that, but it looks much bloody worse seeing it there in black and white. Listen, I’m not sure about the cross thing, but I’ll run with it. Nothing has come up on any of the databases to do with the ribbons, so we might as well see where this takes us. Gunning’s pushing the enquiries via Interpol, at Nolan’s request, not mine, I might add. He’s a smarmy bastard, Gunning – says nothing when he knows he’s fucked up, and is like a bleeding beacon when it goes his way. Either way, maybe this will shake something more from the mix.’

‘I want to talk to Jessica again,’ Kate said. ‘You said yourself, she’s holding something back.’

‘Right, but it will have to be tomorrow. By the way, we’ve had some good news from the canal site. Hanley’s got us another boot cast, same size, same markings. It’s as common as muck, but it’s a connection.’

‘Anything on the book yet?’

‘Yeah, he’s pulled some prints, nothing matching on AFIS, though. If our man has a previous history in burglary, he’s keeping it very secret.’

‘Okay. I better go. It’s late. See you tomorrow, O’Connor.’ She stood up.

‘Do you want me to drive you back?’

‘No, thanks, I’m fine. The fresh air will do me good.’

Walking towards Mervin Road, the streets grew quieter the nearer Kate got to home. Crossing at the traffic lights on the corner, she passed a jogger coming the other way. She had seen him a number of times before while she was out running. He raised his hand in acknowledgement. She smiled back, glad she wasn’t the only person pushing herself hard on a Saturday evening.

AFTER HIS LAST CONSULTATION WITH ELLIE, DR EBBS had many things to reflect on, not least of which was whether Ellie Brady had spoken the truth, or the truth as she believed it.

It would seem reasonable to assume that, after the fire, she had withdrawn into a kind of protective shell, not out of self-preservation from prosecution but out of necessity for survival. The fact that Ellie had been incapable of showing her true emotions could have been responsible, in part, for blame being laid at her door. That possibility was one of the main reasons the file had unsettled him to begin with. There seemed to be very little doubt about her guilt; everyone, including her husband, had believed and accepted that she was guilty.

Nevertheless, if she truly believed in this mystery man who had befriended Amy, why had she accepted the blame so readily? He knew logic and depression by nature didn’t go hand in hand, but if what Ellie had told him was true, the past fifteen years had been stolen from her. It took a certain calibre of person to maintain a silence for that length of time, and to remain as steadfast in their thinking as Ellie had.

However Ellie Brady had arrived at the set of circumstances that resulted in her daughter’s death, there was no denying she had paid a heavy price.

The writing in the copybook had triggered something, perhaps
feelings locked away for a very long time. The sedatives he gave her were strong, but necessary. The right balance was critical, one wrong move and he could end up undoing any progress made. There were never any guarantees, of course; grief always kept its own time.

From his reading of her file and case history, it seemed that it was Ellie’s physical condition, rather than her mental one, that had been the chief cause of concern in her early days at St Michael’s, especially when she had been force-fed intravenously. Was her decision to eat and drink again based on the realisation that her punishment would be greater alive rather than dead? He felt sure that the surrender of her life and freedom had settled far too easily on Ellie’s shoulders.

He considered whether or not he should notify anyone else of Ellie’s latest revelations, but he couldn’t lose sight of the fact that he was dealing with a long-term patient. At this point, everything had to be assessed slowly. No matter how genuine Ellie might have appeared in her discussion with him, she could simply have been relaying her own version of events, none of which could be validated at this juncture. Whatever happened in Wexford had happened a very long time ago; waiting a little longer wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

HE WAS GLAD HE HAD GONE FOR A RUN; HE FELT reinvigorated in both body and mind. The garda car outside Jessica Barry’s house was no surprise. He had heard on the news that the police were planning to release a photofit and she was the only one who could supply it. Perhaps he should have taken care of her earlier, but, then, the girl had barely looked at him. Perhaps it was Kate Pearson’s involvement that had encouraged the girl to open her big mouth? Kate Pearson was quickly becoming the most interesting aspect of the investigation, and one he intended to study very carefully. If she hoped to get inside his mind, it would prove difficult, but would be well worth watching.

Remembering the young boy huddled over his father’s shoulder, he reflected, not for the first time, on how little those who receive love appreciate it. Maybe Amelia and Caroline had been errors of judgement: both had let him down and had been far too immature to appreciate the importance of the situation. Perhaps what he needed now was an equal, someone with both the sensitivity and experience to understand him. As a firm believer in fate, he couldn’t deny that Kate crossing his path meant something. Was she sent to test him, question his resolve? Or were there more interesting aspects to be revealed?

The first time he had noticed her wasn’t long after he’d moved into Meadow View. He had passed her running in Herbert Park. There was something special about her even then, a certain determination, an alertness that he could see immediately. He recognised her drive,
she was pushing herself, her level of concentration, focused, striving, thrusting herself beyond the boundaries of pain, showing her hunger to succeed. His curiosity aroused, he had followed her home, seen her with the child, and then later with that husband of hers. He had been too quick to dismiss her, had not known her full potential. But he had been drawn to her, there was no denying that.

Tomorrow he would go to Cronly Lodge and, if necessary, he would take time off work the day after. He had already taken time out earlier in the week, and considering how little his services were appreciated, it shouldn’t prove difficult to do so again.

He had regrets. Not about Amelia. Killing her had been necessary. Caroline was different though. The place he had chosen for her was perfect. The elderberry tree must have been at least twenty feet high. When it had all turned so badly wrong with Caroline, the place had come to mind immediately. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he knew he couldn’t have chosen anywhere better. His mother used to say that berries could grant you a long life. He wanted to remember Caroline the way he’d left her: safe and sound, looking like a perfect angel.

WHEN KATE GOT HOME, SHE WAS NERVOUS IN CASE Declan asked about her plans for the following day. O’Connor would be setting up the next meeting with Jessica Barry, which meant she needed to keep her time free. She knew it would be tricky to discuss not being around again.

She found Declan in the sitting room, watching television, a glass of wine in his hand. When he looked up, his face was softer than earlier. He seemed more approachable, willing to talk.

‘You look tired, Kate,’ he said as she took the armchair opposite him.

‘I am. You look a bit tired yourself. How are you doing?’

‘Okay.’

‘I hope that was a nice bottle of wine.’ Kate looked at the empty bottle on the coffee table.

‘It was – I did offer to share.’

‘I know you did.’

Declan turned up the volume on the television: the double murder was the top news story. They listened in silence as the newsreader gave an update:

‘It’s bloody awful,’ Declan said with a sigh. ‘Not a very nice one for you to be involved with.’ She was surprised by his show of support. ‘Sorry for being grumpy earlier,’ he went on, ‘I guess I just miss having you around.’

Kate looked over at him. ‘I know you do, Declan, and if I could help it, I would.’

‘Truce?’

‘Sure,’ she agreed with a reassuring smile.

‘What do you say we all do something tomorrow? We could go see your mom, have lunch out, then take a drive somewhere, spend time together, just the three of us. Charlie missed you today. I did too.’

Kate took a deep breath. ‘Declan, I’m really sorry, but I might have to work tomorrow.’ She saw the look of disappointment and then hurt register on his face, but she plunged on. ‘Look, when this is all over, we can have as much time together as you want. I’ve already sent Ocean House an email to say I need time off. Once this case is sorted, I won’t rush back. We are both well overdue a holiday anyhow.’

‘Kate, I don’t know.’

‘What don’t you know?’

‘About us.’ He stood up.

‘What about us?’ she said, her voice sounding weaker than she meant it to sound, almost as if it belonged to someone else.

‘You don’t really need me to spell it out for you, you’re not stupid.’

She bit her lip, stung by his tone. ‘I know things haven’t been great, Declan, but we’re not the first couple to go through tough times.’

‘Don’t psychoanalyse us, Kate. We’re not products of some research findings.’

‘I’m not saying that. Look, all we need is time.’

‘Well, let me know when you have some, and while you’re at it, why don’t you let Charlie know as well.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘Isn’t it?’ He started walking towards the door.

‘You know it’s not. Where are you going?’

‘Out.’

‘But it’s late.’

‘Don’t wait up.’

Charlie woke when Declan slammed the front door, appearing suddenly in the doorway of the sitting room. He was in his Batman pyjamas, rubbing his eyes with sleep. Kate hugged him close.