The Game Changer (20 page)

‘Yes, we did.’

She could tell he wasn’t happy that she was talking about the investigation again. ‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Did you find out who owned it, for a start?’ Her voice was sharper.

‘Yes.’

‘Adam, just tell me.’

‘Kate, we’ve already had this conversation.’

‘I know.’ She softened her tone. ‘I’m not asking you to tell me everything about the investigation, but after all, it was me who found the garage in the first place.’

‘I know you did.’

‘So cut me some slack.’

‘For what it’s worth, it’s owned by a company called Holmes & Co.’

‘What do they do?’

‘Not a lot. The articles of association are as broad as they come. The company was bought off the shelf. The only information we have is the registration address, which belongs to an accountancy firm in town. One of the guys is checking it out.’

‘Was there anything else?’

Adam took another sip of his wine, as if contemplating whether or not he should answer her. Finally, he said, ‘Kate, we didn’t find any notebooks in the garage.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘Nor did we find any hair samples.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ Unable to hide her shock. ‘The other collections were there, all right, and the lads combed the place. I even drafted in a specialist in the area of hair fibres.’

‘Someone must have taken them. You’re making it sound as if I made it all up, or imagined it.’

‘I’m not saying that.’

‘I must have been followed. That’s the only logical explanation.’

‘The way I see it, Kate, is that there are two possible explanations.’

‘Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like either of them?’

‘Explanation one, by not ringing in the information about the garage, you inadvertently gave someone else the time to remove valuable evidence.’

‘And explanation two?’

‘Don’t take this the wrong way.’

‘Don’t take what the wrong way?’

‘You could have been mistaken.’

‘You’re being ridiculous. I saw them with my own eyes. I read the notes. I looked at the newspaper cutting.’

‘That wasn’t there either.’

‘Adam, this is nonsense.’

‘I also spoke to Dr Madden.’

‘I told him to contact you.’

‘Well, he’s not on the top of my popularity list.’

‘He told you about the rumours around my father and the so-called studies?’

‘Yes, he did, although I’d heard the rumours already.’

‘What do you mean? How long have you known?’

He drank more of his wine, not answering her.

‘You decided not to tell me? That was it, wasn’t it?’

‘Keep it down, Kate. Where’s Charlie?’

‘He’s in bed.’

‘Shit, I didn’t realise the time.’

‘You’re not realising a lot of things.’

‘Look, I wanted to tell you but—’

‘So why didn’t you?’

‘You were so damn argumentative today.’

‘So tell me now.’

‘I pulled the missing-person file on you from 1988. And, as Dr Madden confirmed, you were missing longer than you originally thought.’

Kate visualised the dead raven they had found on the steps of the apartment building. Her missing gaps in memory felt like the void the bird represented. ‘So why didn’t you tell me about the rumours?’

‘It was difficult. I don’t know, maybe I was trying to protect you.’

‘You too?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ She put her hands up to her face.

‘Kate, you’re not making this easy.’

‘You’re the one telling me I imagined seeing things in the garage.’

‘I didn’t say that. I said there were two possible explanations and, depending on how you want to look at it, at best you were mistaken, at worst you messed things up.’

‘Why would I be mistaken?’

‘Dr Madden gave us a full statement.’

‘I know. You already told me that.’

‘Off the record, he told me he was worried about you.’

‘And you believed him?’

‘I’m worried about you too.’

‘Jesus, I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Ask Ethel O’Neill. She was in the garage – only for a few seconds, but she was there. She must have seen some of the stuff.’

‘She doesn’t remember going to the garage. The notebooks didn’t register with her either.’

‘She has Alzheimer’s, for Christ’s sake.’

‘Kate, listen to me.’

‘Do you believe me, or don’t you?’

He didn’t say anything for a second. ‘I want to believe you.’

‘What about the note? You saw that yourself.’

‘We don’t know that it has anything to do with this.’

‘But someone sent it. Someone wants to mess with my head.’

‘Kate …’

‘There was a dead bird on the apartment steps today.’

‘And?’

‘It was a raven.’

‘Kate, you’re not making sense.’

‘Think about this for a second,’ her voice agitated, ‘what if someone did follow me to the garage and took the items, what then?’

‘I don’t know … but there is something else I need to talk to you about.’

‘What?’

‘Malcolm Madden’s statement gave me extra clout with PIU.’

‘What? The Paedophile Investigation Unit? But those allegations were pure hearsay.’

‘I know, but with Malcolm confirming O’Neill was part of that group in the eighties, and the uncertainty around his death, it was enough to warrant reasonable suspicion.’

‘My father was part of that group too.’

‘I know that.’

‘What did you find out?’ lowering her voice to barely a whisper. ‘Listen, Kate, I know this is tough on you. It’s a lot to take in.’ Leaning against the wall in the kitchen, almost as if she was in a trance, she said, ‘After my conversation with Malcolm, I remembered something else.’

‘What?’

‘At first, I couldn’t work out my age, but I must have been around six. I was standing in the kitchen at our old house. It was dark, and I think it was the middle of the night. I was wearing a purple nightdress. My father was there. Neither of us said anything to each other, but I felt uncomfortable, as if something I didn’t understand was happening.’

‘That doesn’t mean anything, Kate. You’ve said yourself a million times that disjointed memory cannot be relied on. Maybe you were frightened because it was the middle of the night – perhaps your father had scolded you or something. There could be any number of reasons why you would have felt uncomfortable. It doesn’t mean your father was a …’

‘Say it, Adam, say what you’re thinking.’

‘I’m not thinking anything, and for what it’s worth, I found nothing with the PIU.’

‘But you said a minute ago that you had something you needed to talk to me about.’

‘Okay, but let’s sit down inside.’

‘I’m fine here.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

He let out a sigh. ‘When you run checks with PIU, it’s customary to check with another department.’

‘Which one?’

‘Domestic Violence. It’s standard to source data from both bodies.’

‘And?’

‘Something came up about your mother.’

‘What?’

‘There’s no easy way to say this.’

Kate wanted to block out his voice, to be a child again, so she could run away, or hide under the blankets in bed, until everything was all right, until all the bad thoughts disappeared.

‘Just tell me,’ she finally said.

‘Your father hit your mother. It happened more than once. Kate, she was a victim of domestic violence.’

‘She can’t have been. It’s not true. I would have known. I would have remembered.’ She closed her eyes, as if trying to concentrate, to take it all in.

‘You would have been very young.’

‘But even so.’

‘You said yourself that there are parts of your childhood you can’t remember.’

‘But most of that is normal. It’s the same for lots of people, but this, Adam, how could I not know something like this?’

She heard him say, ‘People are good at keeping secrets …’

He continued talking, but she had already stopped listening, retreating to a part of her memory, her mother’s subservience, the tension at home, the fear, anger, dread, but there was something else. What was it? Was it to do with her father? Was he part of something more sinister than she could have imagined?

‘Kate, what’s wrong?’

‘I don’t know,’ she replied, her voice shaking, sounding uncertain. ‘Some of this must come as a shock.’

‘That’s the thing, Adam, it doesn’t. None of it does.’

O’NEILL’S NOTEBOOKS, ALONG WITH THE HAIR samples, were piled high on the table. It was good timing getting to the garage before the search warrant had been approved. Kate’s plastic gloves and booties were no longer in the skip either. They had been retrieved for the Game Changer, who held them close, isolating the smell of rubber and waste from Kate’s scent, the same way a tracker dog would inhale in preparation for their prey.

THE FIRST EVENING ON THE ISLAND HAD FELT strange. A strangeness that Sarah suspected came from within. She had always felt different from others, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t care to apologise for it, or to pretend that she was the kind of person who worried about stupid things like a perfect house or any of that stuff so-called
normal
people cared about.

‘Everyone wanted me to accept a dead daughter,’ she whispered angrily under her breath. ‘How could that be normal?’ Nobody had said it to her outright, but that was what they meant. They said Lily was in a good place now, or time was a great healer, or that Lily would be for ever in their prayers. They thought Sarah could get up in the morning and continue to do ordinary things as if nothing had changed – that she could drink coffee, or make lunch, listen to the news, watch television, read a book, or go out to meet friends, that she should ignore it, get over it, move on.

‘I only went back to work to fill the days with something other than sadness,’ she had told the camera earlier. It wasn’t because she wanted to forget Lily, or to deny her. She was searching, and she understood that now. She was lost, but on the island she would put that old world behind her. Saka and the others were her world now. They accepted her wholeheartedly for who she was, and she was happy that she was part of the circle of trust, and that she didn’t have to pretend any more. The group was the only family she and Lily needed.

She held her baby in her arms, and there was comfort and release in not having to be around John any more, witnessing his daily torture, criticising them both.

Another change was coming over her. Her emotions were churning, like the waves crashing against the shore, but she told herself her past vulnerabilities were turning into strengths. She cradled Lily, listening to the island breeze, unforgiving and relentless, like a crazed god who didn’t want to settle until his wishes were granted.

She thought about John’s anger again: if the wounds hadn’t been so deep, the rage wouldn’t have been so strong. She would contact him soon, and tell him that they were both happy. Part of her already knew she was never going back. When Lily began to suckle, she repeated the words out loud, ‘I am never going back. I am never going back. I am never going back.’

She had sworn the oath of secrecy on arrival, and she knew she would gain strength from the union of members. If she was called upon, she would not falter.