Sunday 25th September – 2 p.m.
With the radar team not finding anything, Rav persuaded Nell to return to the farmhouse. He was beginning to feel like an intruder.
They travelled halfway in silence, with Sylvia and Shannon, until Rav mustered the courage to ask, ‘Do you think we should head back home? Now that you’re postponing the wedding, Sylvia, we don’t really have a reason to be here. And I feel like we’re intruding on the family’s grief.’
‘So do I,’ Nell said.
Rav glanced at her, dubious. He knew she was obviously aching to find out what had happened to Siobhan – and her daughter.
Her flush under his knowing gaze proved him right. ‘Of course I want to know what happened. But Conor’s very private, and I respect him too much to—’
‘Phew. All this respect and consideration does put a dampener on things,’ Shannon slid a sly look in Nell’s direction and Nell flushed again.
She glanced in the rear-view mirror to catch sight of Sylvia. ‘What do you think we should do, Sylv?’
‘I think you should speak to Conor,’ Sylvia said. ‘He’ll be honest with you. This is a horrible time for him, and just when he’d need the support of good friends. Especially those who understand him. And the same goes for me.’
‘How are you doing, with all this?’ Nell asked, parking in the drive.
Sylvia shook her head, her eyes watery. ‘Disappointed about the wedding, obviously, but this takes precedence. I think we all need answers. Secrets can’t stay buried forever. Better to get everything out into the open now, and address it.’ As they got out of the car, she paused to shoot a glance at Nell over the car roof. ‘But then, it’s easy for me to say, isn’t it. It’s not my immediate family being ripped apart by it all.’
Nell nodded. ‘OK, I’ll ask him what we should do. If he says he’d prefer peace and privacy, I think Rav and me – and also James and Shannon – should honour that, and go.’
Trying to be tactful, and making sure they were prepared to leave, Rav left Nell to have the conversation with Conor and headed down the garden, wheeling along the farm track towards the cliff and the post that he’d strapped his camera to.
Heaving to push the wheels over the rutted track, his arms burned and his brow beaded with sweat until he finally reached the post that marked the boundary of the Kennedys’ farm. It stood right against the cliff edge. Rav couldn’t bear having to three-point turn over the rutted grass, so he stretched sideways towards it. Surely it was just … within … reach … The fresh sea breeze was salty on his lips, ruffling his hair as he leaned, fingers trying to catch the straps. Got it.
The knots were pulled tight, needing to be unpicked. Pressing further forward, his fingers worked on the tight tangles and he swore under his breath as he tried to loosen them. Stretching further, his wheelchair leaned but he knew he nearly had it, and tugged at the straps. They gave a little and, expecting the knots to untie, Rav reached out even more and yanked hard.
The jerking motion made his wheelchair skid out from underneath him, veering towards the cliff edge. Shock and gravity swooped through him as he found himself staring down the sheer edge at the thundering sea. Earth and stones scattered from under his wheels and went bouncing downwards, off the cliff face.
Rav tried to throw his weight back, to save himself from falling over the edge. But his chair tipped treacherously. Desperately flinging himself landwards, he grasped for something … anything …
As his chair lurched further, his fingers grazed the post … that shonky, loose post … and he grappled to grip it, praying it would hold.
Sunday 25th September – 2.30 p.m.
In the silence as Conor drove them back from the station, James’s mind was racing about the investigation, thinking what he’d do next if he were the investigating officer.
Sergeant Baptiste had covered every angle as far as he could see. James wondered if Conor’s criticism of him was more about needing someone – outside of the family – to blame. And, all those years ago, if the Garda had marked twenty-year-old Conor as a potential person of interest, then no wonder Conor saw them as adversaries.
They’d driven back to Ben Portach, only to find that the ground search had still yielded nothing. Maeve had also returned, and Conor was reluctant to leave her on her own, so they’d waited and watched the radar rolling across the ground in silence.
When Nessa and Baptiste turned up, having dropped Brandon home, James’s own radar twitched. Their demeanour – tense and shooting side glances – said they had news. New evidence? Had Brandon said something?
James didn’t attempt to hide that he knew something was up. ‘What’s happened? What have you found?’
Maeve and Conor both snapped to attention, their gazes fixed on the officers.
Sergeant Baptiste removed his hat, tucked it under his arm. ‘Maeve, I’m come to tell you that the pathologist has concluded their investigation.’ He looked Maeve in the eyes. ‘And I’m sorry to say, you were right. Her death wasn’t an accident.’
He paused to let the words sink in, and Conor’s arm shot round her as Maeve sagged. But she kept eye contact with Sergeant Baptiste. ‘What happened?’
‘She was strangled.’
Maeve crossed herself with a shaking hand. ‘Oh, dear God.’
‘Can you be certain?’ Conor asked. ‘After all this time?’
‘There’s no doubt,’ Baptiste said. ‘I won’t go into details, Maeve—’
‘I want to know, please.’ Maeve’s voice was shaking. ‘It might be awful. But we’ve wondered all this time. And I only have to hear it. She had to bear it.’
‘There’s bruising around her neck, and some clear scratches around her throat that correspond with her own fingernails, suggesting she tried to stop her attacker. She sustained a cricoid cartilage fracture, which would have caused rapid asphyxia.’
Conor tore himself away for a minute, his shoulders shaking. Turning back, he said, ‘That’s a lot of force.’
‘Yes,’ Baptiste agreed.
‘Would have been quick.’ Conor shot Maeve a sidelong look as he spoke to the Sergeant.
‘Yes. That’s the best we can say about it. I’m sorry, Maeve. I … We’ll go and let your folks know now.’
Maeve stared out at the ground crew like her heart was breaking. ‘I’ll come with you. I should really be looking after the living, shouldn’t I.’
Once Maeve had followed the officers in her car, James and Conor drove back to the farmhouse, while James’s agony for the family only grew.
I’ve got no remit here. I can’t assist with the enquiry. I might be able to offer some support, but does Conor really want that? Wouldn’t he prefer some privacy with his family?
As they walked inside, passing Brandon who was pacing as he smoked a roll-up, James couldn’t deny his need to find answers was gnawing at him. He glanced at Conor, trying to gauge what he might want.
Inside, Nell was loitering in the hall, avoiding going into the kitchen, where James could see Sean leaning against the cupboard, talking to Finn, who was out of James’s sightline, and Conor, while Conor poured coffees.
‘I don’t even know what to say,’ Sean said. ‘It feels like an earthquake has just ripped through everything. I just want to know if Maeve is OK.’ He picked up his phone, as if willing her to message or call, and dropped it again when he saw the screen was blank.
‘Maeve’s dealing with her own guilt,’ Finn said. ‘We all knew something was up when Siobhan disappeared. We knew Siobhan wasn’t in a happy marriage. You know full well he wouldn’t have tolerated her leaving.’
He sighed deeply, shaking his head. ‘Maeve’s been blaming herself that her sister didn’t confide in her. Now she’ll blame herself for not realising that Siobhan wouldn’t have left without telling her, and that she didn’t trust her own instincts enough to insist that the Garda keep searching.’
‘Yeah, well, Maeve was right.’ Conor’s tone was flat. ‘The Garda have confirmed Siobhan was strangled. So there’s no clinging to any hope that it was an accident. Someone killed her.’
Shocked silence fell. In the hall, Nell’s horrified eyes met James’s. He nodded. When she winced, James recognised his own uncertainty in Nell. She was never shy about inveigling herself into an investigation – yet this time, she looked concerned about intruding.
As Conor passed them, he gave them both a grim nod. He paused at the hall table, to juggle drinks while he picked up his wallet, then headed out to the garden where Sylvia was sitting. She took her tea from him gratefully and kissed him, as they sat together looking out at the view. Nell held back, hesitating, then followed.
James realised that Nell would be asking to leave, so the family could have their privacy, as he too was planning to do. As he followed her out, his heart heavy, he caught the end of Conor’s conversation with Sylvia, waiting awkwardly for the right moment to interrupt.
‘… I’m sorry I left you to it. But I had to speak to Baptiste—’
‘I was fine.’ Sylvia was quick to reassure him. ‘Your brothers made themselves useful. Sean’s been cooking for Maeve’s folks, and Finn took your parents into town for some supplies. They wanted to talk … about the news. I got back, with Nell, Rav and Shannon, then Brandon arrived, complaining about the Garda.’
‘Huh.’ Conor grunted. ‘Good. Maybe Baptiste put a bit of pressure on.’
As if trying to not overhear any more, Nell stepped forward. ‘Er … Conor?’
When he turned, his usually stoic face was wrought with grief, and Nell winced then nodded. ‘Rav and I wanted to know if you would prefer that we leave? I feel like this is such a private issue for your family—’
‘No … no. There’s no need. You’re grand.’ Conor’s voice was tight.
‘You might know me well, Conor, but your brothers don’t. Don’t you think they’d prefer—’
‘I don’t care what they want, or what they want to keep private. This is a murder investigation – we know that much now.’ He drew in a long breath, glanced at Sylvia and took her hand. ‘We just found out that Siobhan was murdered. Someone strangled her.’
Sylvia gasped, her hand fluttering to her throat.
‘And even if the Garda’s a thousand per cent more active now than he was twenty years ago, it’s still too little too late—’ His words cut off as his lips pursed into a tight line.
Taking a deep breath, Conor looked at Nell, then James. ‘I know this is a big ask. But I could really use a couple of pals who won’t give up on this just because it’s difficult. Or distressing.’ He nodded at James. ‘You know how these things work. Well, how they’re supposed to work. If you’d be willing to help, it would mean a lot, buddy.’
James clapped Conor on the back. ‘You can count on it.’ He couldn’t help noticing that Nell’s eyes had brightened, and hoped his own body language wasn’t giving him away quite as much.
‘And you.’ Conor turned to Nell, registering her shining eyes, and shook his head in affection. ‘Look at you! It’s all over your face. You’re worse than a dog with a bone. You’ll never let something go. But I could do with some of that right now. So I’m asking you to stay. Please. And that’s all of you, obviously, Shannon and Rav included. I’m asking you to help me dig up the truth.’
With the farmhouse too far away for anyone to hear his frantic yells for help, Rav felt the weight of his wheelchair tipping him dangerously towards the edge of the cliff.
But he gritted his teeth, his fingertips clinging to the unsteady post, as he fought to stay on the clifftop and haul himself … centimetre … by … centimetre away from the sheer drop.
His stubborn wheels were mired in mud, and couldn’t move sideways anyway. He knew he would fall, one way or another. He could only hope it would be onto land.
His muscles strained as he heaved himself and the heavy wheelchair towards solid land and away from the roiling sea.
The post wobbled treacherously, gouging into the earth as Rav hauled himself towards it. But every millimetre gained only widened the hole in the ground, loosening the post and making it lean towards him just as he needed it to stay firm.
Trying to keep his movements smooth, he pulled in until he could … just … reach the post with his second hand. Gripping for all he was worth, he hauled himself inwards, but he was leaning his weight so far sideways that his wheelchair started to tip and slide underneath him.
Frantically angling himself inland, he let himself fall sideways, hoping the chair would fall with him. As he crashed to the ground, the impact winded him and bruised his left leg. But he managed to slither free, scrabbling in the dirt until cool grass threaded between his clawing fists.
Twisting round, he dragged the wheelchair towards him, and righted it, using it to steady himself and stagger to standing.
He didn’t even try to untie the camera now. Leaving it, he forced himself to get back into the confounded contraption that made everything so much harder.
Fire blazed along the nerves in his thigh and calves, his joints swollen. When he was in view of the farmhouse, his body nearly slackened and he had to force himself to wheel the final few yards.
‘Rav? What happened? Are you OK?’ Nell ran out to meet him.
‘Oh God.’ The close call hit him now.
Gently, she pushed him inside – out of the cold evening breeze, but under the questioning eyes of the assembled company. Everyone – even Brandon – had gathered here.
‘I fell,’ Rav muttered to Nell, hating this public spectacle of his disability.
‘What? How?’
‘At the cliff edge. I was trying to disconnect my camera. I … I had to leave it, so I’ll have to go back for it. But I nearly went right over the bloody edge.’
‘My God.’ Nell kneeled, pulling him close, her arms tight around him like she believed she was his shield.
He avoided the looks of sympathy rippling around the room. ‘It’s OK, I’m fine,’ he whispered into Nell’s ear. ‘Don’t make a big thing of it. Change the subject, will you?’
‘OK.’ Nell didn’t release him straight away. Maybe she was trying to think of something to say. Which, he realised, wasn’t easy when you were worried. When she did, she turned to Sean. ‘Couldn’t help noticing that your lovely landscape has gone.’ She pointed at the wall behind Rav.
Sean snapped round to look, then blinked. ‘Oh. How weird. Well, it is Mammie and Da’s. Perhaps they came by to collect it. They’ll be settling in over there by now. They only moved out when Maeve and I let them know we were an item, so she could move in. So they’re probably reclaiming their treasures! Making the place homely.’
‘They’d’ve said something, though, surely?’ Conor said. ‘And today wasn’t exactly the day for home decorating, was it?’
‘Well, it can’t be far, can it?’ Finn dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand. ‘And I think we have bigger priorities today than a missing painting, don’t you?’
Sunday 25th September – 6 p.m.
Despite Conor’s invitation, Nell was sure that he and Sylvia would want some time alone. And Rav also seemed keen for a chance to escape the farmhouse after his close shave at the cliff edge. So there was an almost silent agreement between her, James, Shannon and Rav to head to the pub for dinner.
She knew Rav was still shaken when he didn’t stop her pushing his wheelchair. But the buzz of Nell’s phone made her pause.
‘May I help, Rav, while Nell gets that?’ James asked.
At Rav’s nod, Nell checked her phone and lagged behind the company as they kept moving. It was a text from her mother. ‘I’ve just had Sylvia’s message. Why has her wedding with Conor been postponed? Is everything OK?’
Ugh, I should have anticipated this. Nell started to reply, then deleted the first few words. She was wondering what to say when her phone rang.
With a groan, she mouthed at Rav that she’d catch them up. ‘Hi, Mum.’
‘What’s going on?’ Her mother was used to getting answers, without flannel.
Nell walked behind the others as they made their way along the quiet winding lane to the village. As she crossed the harbour under the shadow of the lighthouse, towards The Boxing Hare, she was frowning, looking out to sea, as she tried to find tactful words.
‘It’s private, Mum. But there have been a few disruptions.’
‘They’re OK, aren’t they? Sylvia and Conor?’
‘Yes, they’re fine. It’s a few family things.’
‘OK. Well, would you please give my best to them both. And do tell them that if they need anything, if we can help in any way at all, just let me know. I don’t like to think of them being unhappy. For any reason.’
‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll tell them.’ Nell felt mean for ascribing nosiness rather than kindness to her mother’s motives. But it was probably both that had made her call.
‘And Jezebel is keeping me busy.’ Her mother’s tone became starchy. ‘She’s taken to pouncing on my slippers. So you can train her out of that habit when you get back, please.’
‘I will. Thanks for taking care of her while we’re away.’ Nell bit back a smile, knowing her mother would have been more amenable about her cat if she’d been confided in.
As she pocketed her phone and walked past the last few boats, something made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.
She turned sharply.
The shifting shadows of the bobbing boats scattered her attention in a hundred different directions as an icy dread slithered over her.
Someone’s following me … The thought was a certainty.
Trying to calm her breathing, she inhaled, drawing briny air into her lungs, and focused, listening. Only the tinny rattle of boat rigging clinked and echoed around her, and there was no sign of the others, who must have got further ahead.
As Nell scanned around her, she felt that whatever direction she wasn’t facing, was the direction her assailant was coming from. She made a nauseating, jerky full turn, then just knew she had to move.
Jogging, she quickly left the harbour behind, the boats tilting around her as she sped. Panic set in as she ran harder down the quiet streets, the gold Gin Festival flags and lights above her a glittering blur. She just made out the pennant outside the pub, marking it as the second stop on the Gin Tour – tomorrow’s venue if their trip hadn’t taken such an unexpected turn. It beckoned like an oasis.
As her lungs felt like they’d explode, she pushed herself harder, and sprinted.