No Strangers Here: a Riveting Dark Irish Mystery, page 13
Dimpna led them to the general area near the hedgerows and small hill where she had seen Saoirse. When they neared the spot, Pickles, most likely picking up on their adrenaline, strained on the leash. “Do you have anything with her smell?” she asked. The mother nodded and handed Dimpna a jumper. She let Pickles sniff it but kept him on the leash. He went for a nearby tree, sniffing around the base.
“It’s so dark,” Nancy Griffin moaned. “Where’s my baby?” She began to call her name, her voice echoing in the shadows. Pickles suddenly faced forward, lunging toward a long grassy road in front of them.
“He’s leaning in this direction.” Dimpna pointed. “At the end of that boreen, there’s a derelict house,” Dimpna said. “The glass has long left the windows, and it’s possible she could have crawled in. If she’s still here, that would be the warmest and safest place.”
Paul cut in before the inspector could speak. “Lead the way.”
They worked their way across the long grassy boreen, torches swinging from left to right.
“Saoirse,” her mother called out. “Baby. Are you here?”
“We’re here to help,” Inspector O’Brien called out. “You’re safe now.”
A sob escaped Nancy Griffin. “My baby. My baby.” Calls for the girl rang out as they picked up speed toward the remains of the old stone house. Finally the road ended in a ford, and their torches illuminated an old stone wall. The guards held everyone back as they stepped around the water and made the first sweep along the perimeter. The door was boarded up tight but they found the nearest window, and as Dimpna had recalled, there was a gaping hole in lieu of glass. Pickles barked. The window was a few meters off the ground, but if she was given a lift, Dimpna knew she could squeeze through.
“Detective Inspector?”
He was at her side in a jiffy. “Find something?”
“If you could give me a hand through this window?”
He swiveled his torch around the old stone frame. “Are you sure?”
“Unless you’re volunteering, I don’t see an alternative.”
He whistled for a guard to shine the torch at the window and laced his fingers together. Dimpna stepped into his palms and hoisted herself up. The stone was bone-cold, and the smell of mold and earth was pungent. She landed hard on the other side but kept her balance. “Torch,” she said. A torch was handed through.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” She shone the torch through the dark crevices, taking small steps and shallow breaths. Something caught her attention just ahead. A lump. Please God, no. She swiveled the torch. A backpack. Purple. Dimpna sagged with relief. “Saoirse?” Her voice echoed off the damp stone.
“Anything?” the detective called from outside.
“A purple backpack,” Dimpna called back.
“Saoirse. Saoirse.” The mother cried out. “I’m sorry, baby,” Nancy said. “Thirteen is the luckiest number of all. We’ll have a proper party, love. I swear on me own grave.”
Dimpna wished she hadn’t just heard the word grave. Please let this lassie be alive. Water dripped from somewhere inside. “Saoirse?” Dimpna called. “I saw you earlier. I was with my dogs. I’ve got Pickles here now. He’s just outside. Pickles is very friendly. Do you like dogs?”
Silence. And then, there it was, faint but audible. The sound of a young girl speaking in a singsong voice. “I’ll never tell, I’ll never tell, I’ll never tell.” The sound echoed off the walls. Dimpna aimed her torch. There, rocking back and forth on the ground, was the young girl she’d seen earlier. “I’ll never tell, I’ll never tell, I’ll never tell.”
Dimpna’s stomach lurched. “She’s here,” she called out. “Saoirse.” Dimpna slowly advanced on the girl. “We’ve got you. You’re safe.”
The girl did not turn her head. She continued to rock. “I’ll never tell, I’ll never tell, I’ll never tell.”
“Is she hurt?” the detective called out.
“She’s alive. That’s all I can say right now.” The sounds of cheers and sobbing rose from outside. “Do you hear that?” Dimpna said. “A lot of people are here. Looking for you.”
The singing ceased. “For me?” A small voice croaked out.
Dimpna didn’t want to advance too quickly so she shone the torch on her face, hoping she didn’t look too creepy. “Yes. Are you hurt?”
Outside, Pickles barked excitedly. “That’s your dog?”
“Yes. His name is Pickles. He came to look for you too.”
“Are they here to take me to jail?”
“No, sweetie. We’re here to take you home.”
“Mammy is going to be browned off.”
“She’s just outside, and she’s not browned off at all. You’re in no trouble, do you hear me? Paul Byrne is here too.” Dimpna heard a loud sniff, and then another. Her heart broke open. “Sweetie,” she said. “Can I give you a cuddle?”
Sobs broke from the girl. “Yes.”
Dimpna covered the space between them and took the girl into her arms. “You must be freezing.” She wore only a thin shirt and denims. Dimpna rubbed her arms, trying to warm her up. “There’s a blanket, water, and chocolate out there, just for you. Can you walk?”
“Do you promise I’m not in trouble?”
“I promise. I swear it. You are loved.” Another sniff, then a nod. “Can you walk?”
“Yes.” Dimpna helped her up, and keeping her arms around her, they headed for the window. Dimpna lifted the backpack on the way.
“I don’t want that,” the girl said suddenly.
“I’ll take it,” Dimpna said. “It’s alright, luv.”
“I’ll never tell,” she said. “I won’t.”
“Don’t you worry your head. All you need to do is come outside with me, and all those people out there are going to help you, petal.”
They reached the window, and just as Dimpna was set to help the girl up and out, Saoirse was already clambering up and over herself. She heard more cheers and called out to the inspector. “Sending her backpack through,” Dimpna said. “For some reason she doesn’t want to touch it.”
“Ready,” the detective said. Dimpna hoisted it through the window. “What about you?”
“If she can do it, I can do it,” Dimpna said. She placed her hands outside the sill and pulled herself up. Given she needed strength to make up for her size, Dimpna was an avid weight lifter. Mostly dumbbells, but they did the trick. She pulled herself halfway through, and suddenly the detective’s arms were around her waist as he pulled her the rest of the way out. He set her down immediately, but for a few seconds his hands remained encircling her waist. He dropped them suddenly, as if embarrassed.
“Well played,” he said. “We wouldn’t have found her without you.”
“Thank you, Inspector, but it’s Pickles you should be thanking.”
“I’ll have to do that from a distance,” he said. “Allergies.”
“Right, so.”
“Saoirse, say something,” Nancy Griffin was saying to her daughter, her tone too harsh for Dimpna’s liking. “Say something.”
“I’ll never tell, I’ll never tell, I’ll never tell.”
Nancy threw a desperate look to the inspector and Dimpna. “What’s wrong with her?” she said. “Is she brain-damaged?”
“It’s trauma,” Dimpna said. “Speak kindly to her.” Dimpna approached the girl. “You’re going to be alright, luv.”
“I’ll never tell, I’ll never tell, I’ll never tell.”
“Stop saying that!” her mother screamed.
“Mrs. Griffin.” The inspector’s voice was stern. “Why don’t you come with me for a minute.” He turned around to hand Dimpna the backpack when his torch caught words written across it. In thick black marker four words screamed out: YOU TELL, YOU DIE.
Her mother broke away from the inspector and edged in. “What does that say? What does that say?” She read the words, then gasped. “You won’t tell,” Nancy said. “Will you?” Saoirse violently shook her head. “That’s right. You won’t say a word.”
Paul approached, his hands full with a blanket, and a bar of chocolate. “You must be cold and starving. We have a blanket, a bottle of water here, and a chocolate bar. Just until we can get you a proper supper. Would you like that?” There was a pause and then Saoirse nodded. Paul moved in and wrapped a blanket around her. When he held out the water and chocolate bar, she snatched them with both hands.
“Saoirse,” her mother said. “Why didn’t you come home?”
“Not now,” the inspector said. Saoirse was gulping the water down and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Are you hurt?” Paul asked.
She shook her head, then ripped open the candy bar.
“Good. That’s good.”
The inspector eyed the backpack. When he reached for it, Saoirse lunged and yanked it out of his way. “Alright,” he said. He pointed to the menacing words. “Did you write that yourself?” A pause and then she shook her head. “Do you know who wrote it?”
She took a bite of candy bar, chewing as she stared at him. Then she shook her head.
“You don’t have to say anything now,” Paul said. “There’s plenty of time. We need to get you to hospital, make sure everything is okay.”
“Can’t it wait until morning?” Nancy Griffin pleaded. “It’s late. I want to take her home.”
“Home,” Saoirse said. “No hospital.”
The inspector stood and gently pulled the mother away again. “She has to go to hospital. She’s dehydrated and needs to be checked out.” He paused. “An ambulance is on the way.”
Paul approached Saoirse. “I’ll go with you to hospital,” he said. She shook her head. “I bet they give you ice cream.”
“Ice cream?” She tilted her head, considering it.
“Loads of ice cream,” Paul said. “And I bet the kids at the group home will all make you cards, and even throw a birthday party for you.”
She took another bite. “Not my birthday.” Dirty tears smeared her face.
“You get a Mulligan,” Paul said. “Know what that means?” She shook her head. “A do-over.”
Saoirse pointed to Pickles who was sniffing her shoes. “Can he come?”
Dimpna joined in. “I’m afraid they won’t let him at hospital, but he can come to your birthday party. He can even wear a funny hat.”
She squinted for a moment, and then shrugged her compliance.
“Good,” the inspector said, gently taking the backpack once more. “That sounds like a very special party for a special lassie.” They began the trek back down the grassy road toward the car park.
“I can’t afford a party,” Nancy said.
“You won’t have to,” Paul said. “The center will take care of it.”
“But I don’t have cancer,” Saoirse squeaked.
Dimpna felt a squeeze of sadness. She was glad Paul was a beacon to the girl. She needed one. Or a hundred.
“You don’t need cancer to have a party,” Paul said. “You deserve it just because of what an amazing girl you are.” Dimpna wanted to pick her up and take her home, and found her own eyes welling. If this girl was the stowaway she’d been hearing about, she couldn’t imagine what she’d been through. You had to be a strong and capable swimmer to make it in the waters by Clogher Strand. In the dark, no less. She could have easily drowned. And the message on the backpack meant that the killer had seen her. Spared her life, but not before threatening her, traumatizing her. Dimpna knew full well the power of trauma to hold someone captive. Her own trauma had erected an impenetrable wall of silence around her, sealed by terror and shame. A single violent act could result in a lifetime of a victim re-traumatizing themselves, keeping everything bottled in tight.
Sirens sounded in the distance. Saoirse let out a shriek and grabbed on to her mother. “Nothing to be afraid of,” the inspector said. “Your mam will ride with you.”
They fell silent the rest of the walk. By the time they reached the ambulance, Saoirse Griffin climbed into it without a fuss. The inspector was now handling the backpack with gloves. He held it in one hand and gave Nancy Griffin his calling card with the other.
“I’ll need to speak with her as soon as the doctor allows it,” he said. “I know she’s been through an ordeal, but the sooner we find out who did this, the safer she’ll be.”
Nancy took the card. “She’s not going to say a word,” she said. “I won’t have my daughter in danger.” Dimpna watched the inspector hold his tongue.
“We’ll keep you both safe,” he said, as Nancy Griffin crawled into the back of the ambulance. “We’ll work it out.” The doors shut and the ambulance pulled away, lights and sirens sounding. Hopefully, Saoirse would find it exciting; she’d already had enough trauma for a lifetime. D.I. O’Brien watched the ambulance retreat, then turned to Dimpna. “Did you hand Finbar Malone’s mobile phone to the guards?”
“I did. First thing.”
“Phone?” Paul said. He sounded alarmed, and if Dimpna was reading it correctly, somewhat jealous.
“Official business,” O’Brien said before Dimpna could answer. “That’s all we can say.” He met Dimpna’s eyes, staring at her until she nodded. “You and your dog did good,” he said. “Hope he gets a treat.”
“He certainly will,” Dimpna said. “I’m relieved we found her.”
“She’s in no shape to be interrogated this evening,” Paul said.
The inspector held up the backpack. “She saw our killer,” he said. “She’s in danger.”
Paul continued speaking. “We need guards posted at their house twenty-four-seven. She cannot be allowed to wander off on her own.”
“We could bring the mother up on neglect charges,” the inspector said.
“Christ,” Paul said. “That will only make things worse. She’s already had her father taken away. I’ll have a word with the mother. This won’t happen again.”
“I know you have a relationship with the girl, and I’ve heard a lot about you at the station, Detective Sergeant,” the inspector said. “I’m more than happy to work with you.”
“I’m no longer a detective sergeant.” Paul was being surly. Was it jealousy?
“You are, in my book,” the inspector said. “And as I stated, I welcome your assistance. In fact, I’ll need it. It’s obvious the lassie trusts you, and she may be our only chance of finding this killer.”
“Whatever I can do to help, Inspector,” Paul said. His jaw was set. This was difficult for him.
The inspector nodded and then headed for a red Toyota.
Dimpna headed for her bus, Pickles on her heels. Paul grabbed her arm. He let go, just before Dimpna could tell him it hurt. “What’s this about a phone?”
“It’s been a long day,” Dimpna said. “I need to get some sleep.”
“Still keeping secrets,” Paul said. “I guess some things never change.”
“You’re one to talk!” She hadn’t meant to engage, but she was so tired, her filters were all gone.
“What secrets have I kept from you?”
She shut her mouth. He was right. It was all in the past anyway. “I found a lost phone. That’s all.”
“I doubt that’s all.” He moved in closer. “Did I hear him say it belonged to Finbar Malone?”
“He doesn’t want me talking about it.”
“He also said he needed my help.”
“Then why don’t you ask him?” She was tired and hadn’t expected a grilling. Especially not from Paul.
“Listen,” he said, lowering his voice and moving in closer. “You know I’m on your side.”
“I have a side?”
“Come on, Dimp.”
“Come on, what?”
“We’re talking about Johnny O’Reilly here. Róisín and Sean are determined to see someone in your family—probably all of you—go down for this.”
She exhaled, and nodded. “I’m aware.”
He placed his hand on her arm. “You can trust me.”
She let out a snort. She couldn’t help it. She had trusted him once. He’d broken her heart. They hadn’t spoken in twenty-seven years. She didn’t know him at all. “It’s nothing that concerns you.”
“Are you ever going to forgive me?” There was pain in his voice. She couldn’t take it on. She had no room for it.
“I no longer need to forgive you. We were completely different people then. It’s in the past.”
“We’re the same people. At least I am. There hasn’t been a day go by that I haven’t wished you well.”
“And I you,” Dimpna said, feeling her hard edges softening. “But right now, all I want is to sink into bed.” She took a few steps away from him.
“I don’t trust that inspector. You shouldn’t either.”
“My parents are subjects of his inquiry. I don’t think it’s a good idea to get on his bad side.”
“Don’t let him charm you. He’s not your friend.”
“What on earth are you getting at?” She knew him. He was holding something back.
He brought his hand up to rub his chin, and for a flicker of a second she wondered if he was the man she saw staring at her from the auto body shop
“Have you spoken with Donnecha?” he asked.
Dimpna hadn’t expected him to mention her brother. What now? “Not yet. Why?”
“He was being held at the station.” He looked back to make sure the inspector wasn’t in earshot. “I don’t know if he’s still there.”
“Why was he there?” And why didn’t he call? Was it too much to ask that one member of her family behave like a normal person?
“The morning after the murder he was wiping down O’Reilly’s yacht with a bottle of bleach.”
Dimpna realized she was shaking her head and willed herself to stop it. “What are you on about?”
“He’s a caretaker for one of O’Reilly’s boats. A small yacht. The inspector thinks that particular boat was used by the killer to transport the body to the beach.”
