No Strangers Here: a Riveting Dark Irish Mystery, page 12
She was at a sudden loss. She had to do something, and that was the safest bet. Type the letter on the computer, erase history, print it out, and pray. At least there were no staff there to poke their noses in her business. She could use a computer and printer somewhere else, but unless she drove out of town, that could be evidence. How aggravating! And she was due at hospital; there was no time to dillydally. Dimpna would have to reopen the clinic soon, but now it was empty and the best in a sea of bad options. She’d type and print the note, figure out a clever way to deliver it, and then go to hospital. She grabbed her handbag and keys and headed across the field to the clinic.
* * *
When Dimpna returned to the clinic with her pack, including her new pal the sheepdog (whom she’d decided to name E.T. given his infatuation with Finbar’s mobile phone), the animals were still all jumbled up in the courtyard and there was a postcard from Disney World tacked to the clinic door. The front featured colorful fireworks raining down on a fairy-tale castle. Dimpna turned it over: At hospital. No need to visit. I will bring your father home. Please do not sleep in your vehicle. Sleep in the caravan, or your father’s room. God bless.
“She lives in a caravan and she’s putting down my bus,” Dimpna said. The animals in the courtyard turned and looked at her, some enthralled, others clearly disinterested. “I only slept in it when I was young,” she said to E.T. He stuck his tongue out and panted. “Hungry?” None of them turned down the offer for food. She set about watering and feeding all of the gorgeous creatures, and then checked the status of the back kennel. To her relief, Sheila was right. Someone had been keeping it up; there were twenty large kennels and they were clean. What the animals really needed were walks and cuddles, but it was getting dark now and Dimpna was knackered. So much for Sheila calling in for help.
Dimpna kenneled as many creatures as they had room for, and only left the ones in the courtyard who were used to sleeping outside—but even the ducks and turtle seemed content to be in the kennel area. But there were a few holdouts—the goat and sheep, and a few stubborn cats, most of whom were already on the prowl. It was not wise to allow dogs to wander around at night, but there was one stubborn black Lab who refused to move, and clearly had no intention of ever leaving the yard. She set a dog bed for him next to the door and he happily slumped into it. Before she even stepped away, the old Lab was snoring. She smiled, taking a moment to enjoy the deep rumbles—the sound of dogs snoring was one of the best sounds on earth next to rain falling on a tin roof.
Dimpna took her now-four-pack into the clinic and flipped on the light. The low mechanical hum was comforting too, and she was thrilled her pack was with her; it was creepy to be here at night by herself. Tonight she would sleep in the flat upstairs, praying her father was still a tidy man and had extra sheets for the bed. Finding a place to live would have to be a priority. She didn’t have much savings left, but she didn’t need anything fancy. Then again, she was going to be accompanied by three dogs and a cat, never an easy feat as a renter. Maybe she would be out in the kennel. But this was Dingle; there had to be a farmer somewhere who had a place to let. She could even do it in exchange for veterinarian services. And then there was a matter of all the other animals her father had recently collected. The sheep with the purple markings should be easy—their color markings would correspond with a Kerry farmer. But the others would be more challenging. If they could not find the owners, they were going to have to arrange a local adoption day. She had a feeling folks had taken advantage of her father’s condition, seeing as he suddenly allowed all these strays to pile up. It infuriated her.
It was common for people to drop off strays at veterinarians, especially sick, injured, and those with behavioral problems, leaving the burden of life and death to them. Dimpna had a soft heart, but the harsh reality was that she couldn’t save them all. Veterinarians had to have boundaries. If every cent went into saving the animals nobody else wanted, they wouldn’t be able to feed and clothe themselves. Their overhead costs included expensive equipment, vet techs, receptionists, assistants, lab work—it was never-ending. There was a misconception that vets were rich. Most of them were just keeping afloat. Part of her training had been accepting this reality. That didn’t stop her heart from bleeding.
She set up pet beds in the waiting room of the clinic and was relieved that her darlings seemed as knackered as she was, for they didn’t put up a fuss. E.T. settled near the clinic door with a satisfied sigh. She wondered if he would dream of herding sheep. Spike ignored his little bed and leapt onto a waiting room chair where he curled up into a tight purring ball. Guinness was already snoring, legs splayed out froglike behind him, and Pickles was flat on his back, all four paws up in the air, tongue hanging out and to the side. She loved them more than she could express, and was eternally grateful that the one soft spot in life was the joy of animals. She couldn’t understand how not everyone felt that way, and she pitied those who didn’t. Even all the horrors that veterinarians had to put up with, for her the good still outweighed the bad.
It was only as she turned to go upstairs that she realized there was waste to clean up in the courtyard. She nearly cried in exasperation and for a second her mind began trying to talk herself out of doing it. Couldn’t she put it off until tomorrow? What was a little poo on top of everything else? But she was already in motion, so she grabbed a large plastic bag from the back room and a little scooper and returned to the courtyard. She flicked on the outside light and began her task. Twenty somewhat-disgusting minutes later she had it sorted.
She threw the giant bag of poop in the rubbish bins just beyond the stone wall of the courtyard. She felt a sensation wash over her, as if she wasn’t alone. She looked toward the abandoned auto body shop. It took her several seconds to realize there was a man standing across the street watching her. He was so still, she wondered if it was some kind of hallucination. But her body was on high alert, and on a gut level she knew this was no mirage. With only the dim light above the clinic to cut through the darkness, she couldn’t make out his features. Half of him was swallowed up, making him look more shadow than man. But man he was. Her skin continued to prickle. The old Lab was awake and at the gate, his low growl filtering into the air. If this man had a weapon, he could hurt the dog. “Stay,” she said. She didn’t have her mobile phone on her. Why wasn’t the person making a move—either toward or away from her? “What do you want?” The figure shifted his head, looking around as if checking to see if anyone could come to her rescue. Just then she realized she did have a weapon of sorts; she had just thrown it into the rubbish bin.
She ran over, opened the lid, and grabbed the hefty bag of dog poop. Luckily, as a veterinarian, she was no longer squeamish. Once you stuck your hand up enough cow arses, a bag of poop was child’s play. She twirled the bag over her head. She saw the figure hesitate, then step left and then right, as if not sure what in the world she was doing. She let the bag go and it sailed across the road. The figure started to move, but the bag clipped him somewhere on the face. She heard a soft thud as it made contact, and a second as it hit the ground.
“Fuck!”
She didn’t recognize the voice, but it was definitely a man’s. Had she made a terrible mistake by enraging him? Slowly she backed up toward the door. She didn’t want to turn her back on him and show fear by running. Man was an animal too and animals who spied on people in the dark were no doubt excited by fear. But this man didn’t come after her. He turned and disappeared around the back of the derelict building.
“Come on, pal,” she said to the Lab. This time she planned on running. She turned to hurry inside but had only taken a few steps when something shiny flashed in the grass. She bent down and retrieved what appeared to be a child’s necklace. Gold letters spelled out the name: AISLING.
Although it was a common Irish name, there was only one young lassie in Dingle that she personally knew with this name. Aisling O’Reilly. Sean’s daughter. She was eight years of age. From the photos Dimpna had glimpsed online, she had her father’s sandy curls and his prominent cheekbones. She was cute as a button, always smiling. It was hard for Dimpna to believe that Sean was a good father, but all evidence pointed in that direction. Guilt assaulted her. Ben had an adorable sister. One he would never get to know.
She cupped the necklace in her hand as she hurried back inside the clinic, wondering when the lassie had lost it and what had brought them into the clinic. She locked the door behind her and set the necklace on the counter. The Wildes usually went out to the O’Reillys’ estate to care for their animals, not the other way around. Half sister. Say it. Aisling is Ben’s half sister. Was she a horrible person for shielding that side of his family from him? No. Aisling was innocent, but the rest of the O’Reillys were corrupt. Fruit rotting on a tree. Dimpna wouldn’t be surprised if it was a suicide and Johnny O’Reilly’s last selfish act was to cast Dimpna’s parents as murderers. What on earth had her mother been doing cavorting with him of all people? It didn’t make any sense.
Should she tell the guards that a strange man had been standing across from the clinic watching her? Given there was a murderer loose, it seemed prudent. She reached in her pocket and found the calling card the detective had given her. It was going on half-nine; at least it wasn’t the middle of the night.
He answered on the first ring. “Detective O’Brien.”
“Sorry to bother you. This is Dimpna Wilde.”
“Dr.Wilde. Is everything alright?”
“I debated on whether or not I should ring. I was taking rubbish to the bin and there was someone standing in front of the abandoned auto body shop across the way. He was dressed in dark clothing and I couldn’t see his face clearly. He was just standing there, staring at me.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m inside the clinic. I hit him with a bag of dog poo. He ran away and I’m fine. I just figured it was best to call.”
“You hit him with what, now?”
She explained how she had just cleaned out the courtyard and had then used the bag as a projectile. “I was bang on, so I was. Clipped his cheek, I believe.”
She heard a soft chuckle before he cleared his throat. “The creeper smells like shite. Is that what you’re telling me, now?”
“That’s exactly right.” Dimpna found herself grinning. “Just follow the smell.”
“You did the right thing. Your doors are locked?”
“My doors are locked and my dogs are with me. The other animals are safely kenneled except for one old Labrador, a few cats, two sheep, and a goat.”
There was a pause and then he chuckled. “I guess that’s an improvement. I’m going to send a squad car to the area.”
“Thank you.” Should she mention the ruby ring? Finbar’s mobile phone? Was that Finbar she’d seen standing there in the dark? She hadn’t made out a beard, but she also couldn’t swear to it that the stranger didn’t have one. Had Finbar realized the phone was gone and he’d come back to collect it? “There are a few other things I should tell you,” she said. The phone was still in the bus. She’d forgotten about it as soon as she’d pulled up to the clinic. What if there was incriminating evidence on it? And the ruby ring. Wouldn’t she be an accomplice if she didn’t mention it? “You said a squad car is coming round?”
“They’re on their way.”
“Can you have them stop at the clinic? I have a few items that you’ll probably want to look at—but is there any way we could talk about them another time?” She was so exhausted, she was almost delirious. Was it only this morning she’d left Dublin?
“That depends on what they are.” Realizing she had no choice, she relayed the incident with Finbar Malone and the mobile phone first, and then backtracked to the ring her father had palmed into her hand. “Put that phone in some kind of plastic bag if you have one. Use gloves when handling it, please. A guard will collect it within the hour. Have you touched it with your hands?”
“No, but it’s been in E.T.’s mouth. It’s in the back of my VW bus right now.”
“E.T.?”
“Sorry. That’s what I named my new pal the sheepdog.”
There was a pause and then laughter filled her ears. “Phone home.”
“Exactly.” Satisfaction spread through her that he got it right away.
“Are the doors to your bus locked?”
“Probably not.” She heard him curse. “It’s parked right in front and the outside lights are illuminating it clearly. I highly doubt anyone has been near it. But if you like I can go and get the phone now. I’m pretty sure the creeper is long gone.”
“Wait for the guards to arrive. They’ll help you collect it.”
“What about the ring?” She tensed as she waited for him to accuse her of being an accomplice to murder.
“Hang on to it. I have no need for it at the moment.”
Was he messing with her? She’d nearly forgotten he wasn’t a local. “Are you sure? Because there is only one man I know of who owned a ruby ring.”
“Keep it in a plastic bag, but hang on to it for now. I’d come myself but we have our hands full with a missing girl.”
Something prickled in the back of her mind—the scraggly young girl peeking out from a small hill in the Valley of the Mad. Was it really just this morning? “Missing girl?”
“Saoirse Griffin, thirteen years of age.”
“Do you have a photo?”
“I just got one from the mother. Why?”
“I saw a girl this morning in Camp where I stopped with my pack.”
“I’ll text it to you.”
She heard her phone ding. She put him on speaker and opened the photo. She stared at the picture of the angry but pretty girl. She knew that face. “Does she have a purple backpack?”
“Yes, she does. By God, she does.”
“I saw her this morning,” she said. “In the Valley of the Mad.”
CHAPTER 14
AT THIS HOUR OF THE NIGHT, DIMPNA MADE GOOD TIME GETTING TO the Valley of the Mad. Her muscle memory kicked in, and she was delighted to discover she remembered nearly every curve in the roads. By the time she arrived at the car park in Camp, squad cars and search volunteers were clogging the lot, but she managed to squeeze in. She and Pickles hopped out of the bus, and still wearing gloves, she handed Finbar’s mobile phone off to a waiting guard. Why didn’t they want the ring? She couldn’t worry about it now. She guided Pickles to where the search group was huddled. She’d never been here at night; the usually familiar surroundings had morphed in the dark, the terrain lit up in patches by the beam of torches. It was a cold night, and hard to imagine a young girl out here all alone. Inspector O’Brien instinctively backed away when his light swiveled over Pickles. “Kids likes Pickles,” Dimpna said. “And he’s an excellent tracker.”
“Good idea.” He removed an inhaler and breathed in.
“There’s a doctor in town who can help,” she said. “His pills would be better than the general ones at the chemist.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Dimp?” She turned at the sound of a man calling her name, and whirled around to find Paul Byrne standing behind her. Still ruggedly handsome. Salt-and-pepper hair, stubble, strong face, deep brown eyes. He was tall, but he never made Dimpna feel small. He stared at her for a long while before embracing her, lifting her off her feet. He set her down and they parted. Dimpna had hoped for more of a formal reunion, and seeing him stirred up a chunk of adolescent longing, and oddly, a stray guilty thought about the inspector, wondering if he was watching them. She scolded herself; they were here to find a missing girl. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied this morning, trying to suss out what Ben knew, maybe she would have realized that the poor thing had been in distress. Given Dimpna used to run wild and dirty around the peninsula, it hadn’t set off any alarms.
“What are you doing here?” She hoped he wouldn’t take it the wrong way.
“I know Saoirse,” he said. “She likes to hang out at the group home.” She nodded, not surprised. Paul had always been the type to take care of others. She was glad that hadn’t changed. A few seconds later she remembered the man he’d beat up, the one that had cost him his job. Griffin. No wonder Paul was here; she’d heard he’d been watching out for the mother and daughter ever since he’d sent the father to prison. The good deed had cost him his job as a detective sergeant.
