The Game Changer (38 page)

‘He died from gunshot wounds, and it is still unknown if the death was self-administered or he was murdered. During the suicide, everyone, including the children, was told to line up and was given a small glass of red liquid to drink, a ritual that had been repeated many times in preparation.

‘On the day of the mass suicide, Congressman Ryan, along with four journalists, was shot dead when they tried to escape with defectors, and a meeting was subsequently called by Jones. Jones assured his supporters that Guyana soldiers or CIA-sponsored mercenaries would soon emerge from the jungle to kill them. That day, the children were poisoned first, and many believe this was partly why so many adults continued with their own deaths.’

Kate pressed the pause button, again looking up at the mind maps on the wall, seeing the names of Mason, O’Neill, Malcolm and her father. Each had links to the earlier studies in the eighties, a grouping that appeared to have derailed from its loftier aspirations of furthering education by acquiring key knowledge, to something allegedly fuelled by abuse of power, and a darker element. What did she know about Malcolm, other than judgements formed as a child? Did he hold a grudge for not being accepted into the illicit grouping? Had he his own agenda and, if he had, was it to the level of someone like Jim Jones, capable of manipulation for their own ends? He certainly had the training necessary to enact some kind of psychologically fuelled power exercise, but it all felt so farfetched – except, she reminded herself, extreme narcissists behave
differently from everyone else. Their behaviour can be fuelled by actions that others may deem of little consequence, while the narcissist perceives them as huge, especially if the act is seen as a personal affront, demeaning them as individuals, unable to tolerate the belittlement of others.

Kate was about to press the record button, when she heard Adam arrive home. She thought about telling him about the possibility of her being pregnant, but it felt like the wrong time. Instead, when she joined him in the living room, she said, ‘I’m going to ask Declan to bring Charlie home.’

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’

‘Don’t you want him back?’

For a split second, he hesitated. ‘Of course I do.’

‘What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy with Charlie coming home.’

‘I am.’

‘You don’t sound it.’

‘It got me thinking about Addy, that’s all. I’ve had his mother on the phone. She’s fretting about him not being in touch.’

‘Are you worried?’

‘He’s a teenager. They’re not always reliable.’

‘Isn’t he with Aoife? You could contact her.’

‘I tried both their numbers, with no luck. Marion says Addy warned her that the mobile signal was bad.’

‘You could contact the Coplands – Aoife’s parents.’

‘Marion’s done that already. They had a letter from her after Addy arrived, but nothing since.’

‘He’s due back in college next week, isn’t he?’

‘That’s the plan.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be in touch.’

‘I hope so. Sorry if I sounded a little off about Charlie coming home. I guess I’ve a lot on my plate right now.’

‘We both have.’ She put her hand on her tummy, feeling
lightheaded again. ‘We can talk more later on.’ She closed her eyes, the sudden exhaustion hitting her, like a slap across the face.

‘Kate?’

‘Hmm …’

‘PIU has released another statement. I want you to read it before Fisher arrives in the morning. I have a copy of it with me.’

THE FIRST PLACE ADDY DECIDED TO LOOK FOR CHLOË was down at the water’s edge, and once he reached the shore, the weather turned bitterly cold, with strong gales blowing in different directions. Flocks of seagulls clattered overhead, as if they were laughing at some unshared joke. He kept calling Chloë’s name, screaming at the top of his voice, knowing the beach was one of her favourite places, and it was as good a place as any to start.

‘Chloë!’ he roared, cupping his mouth with his hands. He took in the span of the island, and when he finally reached the large rock she had told him about, he stopped and, again, looked all around him. He could see the long stretch of stony beach, the rugged cliffs above, the wild grasses and the angry sky littered with birds, and all the while, his eyes filled with water from the sharp winds.

The skies darkened even more, and an unexpected blast of hailstones thundered down. Instead of leaving the beach, he held onto the large boulder, as if it was the wheel of a boat caught in a storm. He yelled Chloë’s name once more, and no one, other than the birds, answered.

Getting down on his hunkers, he saw the purple line markings on the large boulder, similar in shade to the purple used on Donal’s scrawled note.

‘Donal!’ he bellowed. ‘Where the hell are you?’ He pulled himself up, the wind causing him to lose balance. ‘Chloë! If you can hear me, I’m at the big rock. Donal! Chloë! It’s me, Addy!’

When the sun came out from behind the clouds, the hailstones stopped as suddenly as they had begun. Even the sound of the birds lowered, as if the wind was taking a deep breath, allowing a second
or two of calm. Addy couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw someone or something move behind him in the hedgerow. It might have been a rabbit or a hare, but something had moved.

‘Donal, is that you? I know you’re there. Stop playing games and show your face.’

Despite his brave words, his fear increased. He was becoming increasingly anxious as to who was close by, and why they were not showing themselves. Then he saw another movement, and this time he knew he wasn’t mistaken, because the person wasn’t hiding now. They were standing right in front of him.

KATE CLOSED HER EYES IN PREPARATION. ADAM wanted her to read the statement, and if he did, there was a reason why. She didn’t want to enter that world again. In part, she wanted to put it all behind her, to pretend everything was okay, that things were normal, but wasn’t that what she had tried to do all her life? Running away, always coming back to the same thing?

‘Are you ready?’ he asked.

She didn’t answer him, but took the statement out of his hands. ‘I’m going to read it in the study.’

‘Maybe it’s best if you stay here.’

‘No, it’ll be better if I read it alone.’

‘Remember, Kate, don’t fall into the trap of superimposing someone else’s memories on to yours.’

‘I won’t,’ she replied, even though she knew that was impossible to control.

In the study, before reading the statement, she looked up at the mind maps on the wall one last time, thinking about Peter Kirwan’s disappearance, wondering what he had gone through.

Her eyes dropped. The woman’s handwriting was neat, contained, with joined-up script that leaned to the right. All the letters were consistent and free-flowing, the visual appearance giving nothing away about the prospective horror of the content to come.

Again her identity was hidden, and this time the statement had gaps, with large sections blacked out. Kate took a deep breath and began.

Kate was finding the process even more harrowing the second time around. But what about what the girl had gone through? All Kate had to endure was words. Opening her eyes, she continued reading. The next part was blacked out, so she skipped down the page.

The next page was blacked out in its entirety, except for sentences at the end.

Kate wanted to throw up, but she leaned forward and tried to steady her breathing. She could hear Adam talking in the other room. He sounded animated. A moment later he was standing at the study door.

‘Kate, are you okay?’

She looked at the statement, then up at the mind maps again, staring at her father’s name, wondering what part, if any, he had played in all this. When she finally spoke, it was as if someone else was talking. ‘Adam, I was thinking about what you said, about the girl being taken more than once.’

‘What about it?’

‘The abduction and the abuse, bringing her to the same place, all of it. Everything about it is organised, orchestrated and points in one direction.’

‘And what direction is that?’

‘A single abuse victim is unlikely, and they wouldn’t necessarily have been gender specific.’

‘You’re thinking Kevin Baxter?’

‘Yes. There could be others. Fear, shame or both may have played a role in them for not coming forward.’ The newspaper report on Peter Kirwan flashed before her eyes. ‘Adam?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m assuming you’ve looked at the Peter Kirwan case. It was a year earlier, but …’

‘I have, Kate, along with a great many others.’

‘And?’

‘I met the family liaison officer a short while ago. He’s a good man, and twenty-eight years is a long time to know the family but not know what happened to their son.’

‘I went back to my old house today.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not sure – I guess I wanted to be there again. I met a neighbour, Pat Grant. She had a key belonging to the new owners.’

‘I called to your old house too. It was a while back, near the start
of the investigation. I decided to do some house-to-house when that first note arrived. I figured it couldn’t do any harm.’

‘And did you speak to them, the owners?’

‘I spoke to a woman, yes. She was the one who initially told me about the rumours. Apparently some of the old neighbours had shared them with her.’

‘And did you call to
these
neighbours?’

‘I did, and they backed up her statement or, rather, at least one of them did.’

‘Adam, I found something in the house.’

‘What?’

‘A page from an old newspaper. It was from 1987. It was taped to the back of my mother’s dressing table. I’d been on a school trip to the Áras that year and managed to get my picture in the paper.’

‘So?’

‘It also had an article about Peter Kirwan. His name and the date of the newspaper were circled in red – the thirtieth of November 1987, two weeks after he’d gone missing.’