Saturday 24th September – 1.30 p.m.
Rav hadn’t expected Brandon to return to the farmhouse with them all. But once Finn had finished throwing up over the side of the boat, Brandon had picked an argument – and he hadn’t finished yet.
‘There was nothing in it,’ Finn ranted back. ‘She liked a bit of a flirt. She was young and we were all a bit flighty. She just wanted a bit of attention. And she wasn’t ever gonna get it from you.’
‘Don’t give me that, Finn. You were always after her. I know you didn’t expect her to marry the old boring one, and turn down the flash, charming one. But you could’ve left her in peace once we were wed.’ Sean headed into the kitchen and started filling the coffee machine – and Rav was relieved that it might make Brandon and Finn sober up a bit. The brothers followed, their riled poses and raised voices filling the spacious room.
‘You’re not gonna get the answer from me that you want, so you may as well drop it.’ Finn shoved his hands in his pockets, turning away, shaking his head and muttering.
Conor looked prepared to intervene, but Sean was faster. ‘I’ll make anyone who wants one a coffee. Just don’t go using my mug, however hard you might be working to win the title.’ The curvy mug had been hand-painted by someone not very artistic, the uneven letters spelling out ‘Cuddliest Kennedy’, the ‘edy’ shrinking to fit in.
Conor shot a thin smile at Sean, clearly appreciating his attempts at levity. His other brothers looked unimpressed. But they both had a coffee anyway, from the uniform sage-green Denby mugs that Sean lined up on the counter. He kept Conor’s black, and added sugar for Brandon and himself. As drinks were sipped sulkily, Sean’s phone rang.
He winced as he listened to the conversation, saying only, ‘Yes’, ‘right’ and ‘uh-huh’ in reply. Then he frantically tapped Brandon on the shoulder. Putting his phone on mute, he said, ‘This is the contractor to sort out the damp course for Mammie and Da’s place. They need a deposit. Could you help us out? I’m maxed out at the moment.’
‘Ha! Not bloody likely!’ Brandon scoffed. ‘I’m not the one with the farm, am I? Ask your flash brother over there with his Central Park penthouse.’
‘Finn?’ Sean’s eyebrows rose in hope.
Finn held up his hands. ‘Only brought a few readies with me. Sorry.’
‘But your cards’ll work here, Finn. Could you help?’
‘I didn’t think to set them up. Sorry, buddy. The bank’ll think it’s fraud and block a transaction like that. Wish I could help …’ He spread his palms and gave a rueful shrug.
‘Here.’ Conor chucked his wallet at Sean. ‘Use the credit card. And if they prefer cash, help yourself at the village cash machine. My PIN number hasn’t changed.’
‘Thanks, bud.’ As Sean went through the living room and into the garden, so he could finish the call and pay the deposit in peace, the tense atmosphere was interrupted by a simultaneous beep of texts.
Rav and James both reached for their phones, relieved at the distraction, but Conor slowly took his phone from his pocket, his gaze on his brothers, who had both refused to help their parents. Brandon wandered into the garden, lighting a roll-up and pacing.
Seeing Nell’s words on the screen, Rav blinked in disbelief. Then a swoop of nausea set in as he reread: ‘We’ve just found a body. And Maeve is certain it’s her sister, Siobhan.’
James stood, turning to Conor, who was just opening his phone. In silence, holding his breath, Rav watched with James as Conor read the words, frowned, read them again, shook his head. His chest rose and fell rapidly. He pushed himself out of the armchair and stormed through the French windows, stumbling out into the autumn afternoon.
He paced in the garden, then put out one arm to brace himself against the wall of the farmhouse, leaning like he was going to be violently sick. Brandon shook his head, but Sean looked worried, especially when Conor ignored his offered wallet.
Wandering inside, Sean asked, ‘What’s going on?’
Rav agonised over whether he should tell Sean what he knew, but the decision was made for him when a car screeched to a halt outside and, seconds later, Maeve crashed through the front door.
Finn hurried into the hallway. ‘Maeve?’
‘Is everyone here? I need to speak to all of yous.’ Her tone was tightly controlled, but fury tremored through her words.
Her fiery glare scythed the group, catching sight of Conor and Brandon in the garden. ‘Get them in here now. You all need to hear this. Together.’
Sylvia was already heading outside, taking Conor’s hand and pulling him towards the door, as Brandon frowned, flicked his cigarette towards Sean’s unlit bonfire and strode in.
Sean was staring at Maeve. ‘What’s wrong?’ He reached out to her, but she pushed him away.
‘I always knew something like this had happened. I knew.’ Maeve’s impotent fury didn’t dissipate, even as tears fell. ‘I should have—’ She bit a trembling lip, shaking her head, looking away. ‘I let her down so badly.’
‘What?’ Sean’s face registered the recognition that the ‘her’ Maeve spoke of was Siobhan. ‘What’s happened, Maeve?’ His level tone made her look at him. Her face crumpled as she shook her head.
‘Oh, dear God,’ Sean whispered. ‘What? What have you found?’
Maeve shook her head again.
Conor met her gaze. ‘How are you so certain, Maeve? After all this time …?’
‘I know.’ Maeve met his gaze, her trembling body taut. ‘There’s no doubt.’
‘OK, I’m not disbelieving you.’ Conor studied her intently. ‘Just tell me how.’
‘Because of where she’s been … where she’s been …’ it sounded like Maeve was running out of air as she gasped, ‘buried.’ Her face crumpled.
Nell’s eyes flicked to Rav; the look she shot him was significant enough to make him check his texts, seeing her message: ‘Maeve’s only seen her hand. Wedding ring not all that distinctive. Jumped to conclusion? Need for closure, maybe? ’
‘Where was that? Where did you find her?’ Conor’s face flickered with anguish, but he still held Maeve’s eye contact and his quiet questions steadied her.
‘One of you doesn’t need me to answer that.’ She scanned the men, her chest heaving.
‘Maeve?’ Conor pressed.
‘At the bog. On Ben Portach …’ Maeve swallowed and Sean’s face paled. As Brandon’s head jerked up, Finn sat back, folding his arms.
But Conor frowned. ‘Ben Portach? Where? How did you find her?’
Maeve shook her head, unable to speak. Conor – and James and Rav – all turned to Nell. She glanced at Maeve, as if checking it was OK to speak, before answering.
‘The team there were digging supports for a boardwalk. They … uncovered her.’
‘But how do you know it was her?’ Conor asked. ‘After all this time?’
‘Because she’s been perfectly preserved, hasn’t she? She looks like she was laid to rest a few days ago. Except for the colour the peat’s given her.’
‘Just her?’ Brandon asked. His voice was low, but he fixed Maeve with a stare under his crumpled brow. ‘What about little Ciara?’
As horror twisted across Maeve’s face, Rav realised what he was asking. Siobhan had a daughter? And she might …? His blood iced in his veins.
Her shoulders shuddered. ‘I don’t know. Yet. They’re bringing out a team. I’ll have to formally identify her later. And then … then we might know.’
Brandon blinked. ‘Wait, you … you called the Garda? ’
‘Yes, of course we called the Garda,’ Maeve snapped. ‘What the hell do you think you do when you find a body? Or do I already have the answer to that?’ Maeve’s eyes flashed. ‘You should be asking who put her there. And maybe little Ciara, too.’ Her voice broke as she took a step towards him. ‘Or do you already know?’
Finn’s hard glare switched from Maeve to Brandon, but his older brother was shaking his head as he growled, ‘Oh, here we go again with the accusations, eh? You don’t have to set your sights on me, Maeve. There were plenty of others who could easily have argued with her.’
‘Yes, but you weren’t exactly one for keeping your hands to yourself now, were you? But I let you,’ she stabbed an accusing finger at Brandon, ‘and both of you,’ she pointed at Finn, then Sean, ‘convince me that she’d just taken herself off. When I knew she’d never do that. Not without telling me. And I gave up on her. When she needed me most.’ She thumped her chest, sobbing, her hair wild.
When Sean tried to catch her hands, she flailed at him, slapping his forearms until he stepped back. Her shuddering, heaving breaths sounded like they drew air from wells of pain.
‘But now I think something else, too.’ She dashed her hand across her face and nose, standing straighter, her gaze white-hot, her tone scathing. ‘I shouldn’t have believed you brothers when you said you didn’t know anything, that you hadn’t seen her, that you had no idea where she could be. Now I know that’s not true. It can’t be true. At least one of you knows exactly what happened to my sister. And you’ve always known.’
‘Maeve.’ Sean interrupted her accusation.
But Maeve didn’t care. ‘Did it get out of hand? Did you panic? Have to cover it up?’
‘Maeve! ’ Sean yelled this time. ‘How will this help?’
Maeve simmered at him, and this time she included Sean when her gaze swept around the brothers. ‘Last time, I gave up too easily. So you may as well know this: I’m going to find out which one of you did this. And when I know, I’m going to destroy you.’
Nell almost moved to the door to follow as Maeve stormed out, but she stopped herself, watching the brothers for their reactions. A horrified silence pulsated as the men twitched and paced restlessly. Sean hurried after Maeve, then Conor followed, with a glance at Sylvia.
With a groan and slumping shoulders, Brandon trailed after them, with Finn at his heels. Outside, Maeve’s car door slammed and her tyres squealed as she sped off, presumably towards her parents’ house. Nell realised she’d be telling them, and felt sick at the awful news they’d have to hear. She wondered again if it was premature, if Maeve was grasping for closure. But she was so sure, that Nell was also convinced.
In the driveway, the brothers shuffled awkwardly, until they got into Sean’s car and drove the other way – towards Ben Portach.
‘This is all so awful.’ Sylvia sank onto the sofa, her face drained. ‘Poor Maeve. And her poor parents. What should we do?’ She looked at James, seeking his advice.
He turned his palms up. ‘Take the lead from the family. You might want to …’
‘Oh yes, we’ll postpone. Obviously,’ Sylvia said. Her face flickered with regret, but she looked resolved. ‘I’ll talk to Sean. And I’ll let my parents know, then the Kennedys won’t have the concern of hosting during all this.’ Her smile wobbled. ‘They wanted to see as much of Ireland as they could while they’re here. They can just bring their trip forward.’
Shannon, who sat beside her, took her hand and squeezed it. It must have been cold, because Shannon sandwiched Sylvia’s hand between both of hers. With a fleeting smile at the kindness, Sylvia leaned towards her. ‘I’m worried about Conor as well. He’s not the type to tell me how he’s feeling. I’ll have to guess and try to help him open up.’
‘You said she only saw a hand,’ Rav said, making James and Sylvia’s heads snap up, both frowning as Sylvia said, ‘What?’ and Rav explained, ‘How can she know it’s Siobhan, then?’
‘I guess she saw something identifying. But I’m a bit worried, you know. Decades with no answers …’ Her voice trailed off. Still something in her gut was telling her that if Maeve had reacted like that, then she knew something.
‘Let’s go,’ James said. ‘I can tell you believe her. And Maeve may need support, especially if my guess is right and she’s taking her parents to the … site.’
As they stood, Shannon’s attention was seized by a fairly unremarkable painting in a cheap frame above the fireplace.
‘Coming, Shannon?’ Nell tried not to sound irritated, especially since how Rav was rushing to not hold them up.
‘Yes.’ Hurrying out, Shannon grabbed her coat and dashed into the back seat of Nell’s X5, with James and Sylvia, as Nell folded the wheelchair and put it in the boot.
Parking at Ben Portach, Nell joined the line of cars along the road: Maeve’s, Sean’s, and a few more she didn’t recognise, indicating the excavation may have started.
As she positioned the wheelchair so Rav could transfer to it from the car seat, a car sped along the road, then swerved to park. When the driver – a young woman – leaped out, a burst of ‘A Whole Lotta Love’ broke the eerie silence, until she slammed and locked the door.
Rav squinted at her as she straightened her uniform and hat. ‘Nessa?’
She waved and walked over, falling into step as Nell walked at Rav’s speed over the bumpy ground. As the others joined them, James asked, ‘Are you a Special Officer, Nessa?’
‘Garda Reserve, yes.’ Glancing at Nell, she explained, ‘My day job’s at the distillery, so I hosted these two this morning.’ She bit her lip, clearly anxious at what lay ahead.
‘And the others.’ James nodded towards the brothers, standing ahead of them with Maeve and her parents, along the Garda’s tape that fluttered in the breeze.
A tent shielded the scene from the elements and gave some privacy. Three suited examiners stood by the neat, open grave, swapping shovels for pointed trowels and brushes.
While the brothers hung back, Maeve pressed as close as she could to the grave, her hair whipped back; a silent guardian as her sister was unearthed.
Aoife stood near her, watching the digging like a guard dog. But she didn’t seem to find fault in the meticulous care of the two Crime Scene Examiners. Nell saw the third examiner was Aoife’s supervisor, also in a protective suit as he kneeled beside the grave, alongside a row of bottled soil samples.
Nell wondered if that meant he was a forensic anthropologist, in which case his expertise would be essential to ensure they maintained Siobhan’s unusually well-preserved state.
Their work was painstakingly careful – and achingly slow. As the long hours passed, the sharp wind was icier than Nell had expected, slicing through her. But the whole party remained, in quiet respect.
Nell watched with scientific fascination. As Siobhan’s body was exposed, stroke by delicate stroke, the supervisor progressively wrapped her in white plastic sheeting to protect her from rapid decomposition.
As the windswept silence was broken by sobbing, Nell worried her scientific curiosity was misplaced. She didn’t want to seem like a voyeur, disrespecting the anguish of those around her.
She glanced at Maeve’s parents. They both wore smart, dark overcoats and looked gaunt and worn, aged older than their years by unrelenting grief. As they stared at the dark, forbidding hole ripped in the habitat, Nell was glad that the supervisor’s careful wrapping and the angle into the grave concealed Siobhan.
Now, Nell noticed the slim man talking to them, a uniform visible under his forensic suit, and moved closer to hear what he said. His accent, a lyrical fusion of Caribbean and Irish, sounded almost too optimistic for the situation, despite his sombre tone. His salt-and-pepper goatee suggested he was a couple of decades older than Nessa.
‘Once we unearth her, there will be an opportunity to formally identify the body here. Or we can do so back at the station,’ Nell heard him say.
‘I’ll do it, Sergeant Baptiste,’ Maeve said. ‘And I’ll do it here.’
The Sergeant nodded. ‘I’ll be ready for you in a few moments.’
Those moments dragged, but Maeve remained resolute. As Siobhan’s wrapped body was lifted out and placed on a gurney, Sergeant Baptiste beckoned. Taking a breath, Maeve strode over.
A fold of protective plastic was curled back, revealing Siobhan’s sunken face.
Nell saw enough to know that her face was recognisable.
Maeve’s voice was trembling but clear. ‘Yes. It’s her. It’s Siobhan.’
Behind Maeve, her mother gasped, then turned and pressed her face against her husband’s neck. He gripped her as he stared at his daughter, blanketed in the protective cover.
As Sergeant Baptiste looked at Maeve with obvious concern, she dropped her voice. ‘This is her scar, on her left eyebrow. From when she … walked into a cupboard. And I watched as you unearthed her. She was wearing a summer dress with a thin leather belt the day she went missing. It rained around lunchtime, so she wore a leather jacket over it and DMs. Everything but the dress has survived. So I … I recognise what she’s wearing. And you should, too. We described it when we reported her missing, if you remember?’
‘I remember.’ At his nod, Siobhan was tenderly covered again, and wheeled into the waiting ambulance.
Before Maeve could rejoin her parents, the supervisor approached her, pulling some folded pages and a pen from inside his protective suit. His smile seemed overly charming, obsequious even, as he whispered something.
Glancing at her parents, concern etched across her face, Maeve took the pen and dashed something that looked like a signature on the pages.
With an almost hidden smile of satisfaction the supervisor pocketed the pen and paper, and walked to the ambulance, checking on how Siobhan’s body was being stowed.
Finally, Maeve turned to her parents, murmuring the confirmation. They both shot aching glances towards the grave, crossed themselves, then sank into Maeve’s long, heartbroken hug.
Sergeant Baptiste waited for them to draw apart before joining them. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Mary, Declan. The pathologist said she’ll work tomorrow, so you’re not kept waiting any longer.’
‘They’re doing a postmortem?’ Maeve’s father sounded shocked. ‘Don’t you think it was just an accident? Couldn’t she have fallen into the bog?’
Baptiste turned his hands up. ‘It’s only to be sure of what happened.’
‘So how long before we have her home?’ Mary asked. ‘We’re to have a wake for her.’
‘That may be difficult.’ Baptiste spoke kindly. ‘Especially for an open casket. She’ll look different—’
‘That’s not the point. The point is to have her back, to show her … to show her …’ Her voice cracked and she pressed her face against her husband’s shoulder.
Baptiste appealed to Maeve. ‘Given her condition, we’ll also need to keep her in controlled environment. In case of any … forensics.’
Understanding, Maeve embraced her mother. ‘We’ll find some nice photos of her, Mammie. We can make it nice for her.’
As Mary nodded, Maeve turned back to Baptiste. ‘But you’re not stopping yet, are you? What about—?’
‘We haven’t found … anyone else. Yet. But we’d be wasting time to keep digging, without knowing which direction to go in. Especially as it will be dark soon. So, I’ve called in a ground-penetrating radar crew. I’ve asked them to make a start first thing tomorrow.’
Maeve gave a tight nod, even though it looked like her whole body screeched disagreement. She stared at the grave like she wanted to leap in and rip the earth open with her bare hands.
As Nell contemplated the horror of a baby being discovered – preserved – Rav gripped her hand, his face haggard as the same awful thoughts occurred to him.
Nell knew the torture of waiting was almost worse than the discovery. The longest night stretched ahead of them – wondering, dreading, hoping, fearing what the morning would bring.