WHEN I WAS about to get into my car that evening, it hit me: there were only two more days till Christmas and I’d done little or no Christmas shopping. I usually bought something for Maeve’s boys, and Leah too, neither of which I had done, since my plan to shop in Dublin had changed. I didn’t want to even think about Molloy. The prospect of buying him a present made me squirm in embarrassment. It would be an acknowledgement of something I suspected neither of us was ready for yet. But what if he gave me something and I didn’t him? Such a clichéd dilemma.
Whatever way I looked at it, a trip to Derry was required. I knew it would be thoroughly unpleasant to have to make the trip so soon before Christmas, but I wasn’t going to find what I needed in Glendara. It was either now or on Christmas Eve, when despite my best intentions, I knew damn well I would have a hangover.
So I rang Maeve to tell her I’d collect Guinness later than planned, and instead of turning the car towards Malin and the refuge of my cottage, I drove to Quigley’s Point and down along the coast road into the city, the line of red lights ahead telling me what I already knew – that I was an idiot who should have done her Christmas shopping weeks ago.
Turning right before a Foyle Bridge strewn with blue lights, I parked on the top floor of the Foyleside Shopping Center, the Mini allowing me to park in a spot that wasn’t strictly speaking a parking space. I took the lift down to the shopping floors, found an ATM and joined a queue that snaked around the base of the escalator.
The shopping center was packed. Shakin’ Stevens’s “Merry Christmas Everyone” was blaring from the sound system and the shops were full of black velvet and glitter. A huge Santa’s Grotto had been constructed on the ground floor and a line of families waited beneath the Christmas tree with its flashing colored lights. There were people everywhere laden down with bags and boxes and wrapping paper, couples squabbling, parents shouting at their kids. Christmas spirit in abundance.
My gaze switched to the queue ahead and I counted five more people before I reached the ATM. I thought I recognized a young couple a few places in front of me. At first, I couldn’t be sure, but then the man looked back, recognizing me at the same time I did him. It was Eddie Kearney with the girl I’d seen him with after the fire. He gave me a wave and whispered something to the girl, who glanced back in my direction. When they finished at the ATM, they came back to talk to me.
Eddie did the introductions. “This is my girlfriend, Róisín. Miss O’Keeffe is the local solicitor, Ro.”
He was proud of his companion and I could see why. The girl was pretty; petite, slim and dark with long black lashes that made a stark contrast to Eddie’s coarse fair ones. A black laptop bag was strapped over her shoulder. She smiled shyly.
“Did you two meet in Australia?” I asked.
Eddie laughed. “Aye, we did, though Ro’s from the Derry Road. I had to go all the way out to Sydney to meet an Inishowen woman.”
It sounded like a line he’d used more than once. His girlfriend was familiar, but I couldn’t place her.
“Did you work in town at some stage?” I asked. I was sure she hadn’t been a client or I wouldn’t have risked it.
She nodded. “Aye. I’m a hairdresser. I worked for Stan MacLochlainn.” She spoke softly.
I smiled. “And did the two of you really never meet? Even though you were working a few doors away from each other?”
Eddie looked sheepish and I felt mean, as if I’d taken all the drama out of his story. Apparently, he still had the ability to make me feel that he was a child I’d just chastised.
“Aye, well, we met. But we only started going out together in Australia.”
I tried to compensate. “Well it was good you were able to get home together.”
Eddie grinned. Apparently, he still bounced back quickly too. “She says I followed her. She went off traveling, but when she said she’d be home for Christmas, I said I might as well come too.”
I reflected that even if Eddie was punching above his weight, it was unfortunate that he thought so. Before I could say anything, we were interrupted by a charity collector shaking a box for the hospice. I produced a few coins and Eddie shoved a note into the box with a flourish.
When the collector moved away, I turned to Róisín. “How is Stan doing after losing his flat?”
Eddie butted in before she could reply. “Ach, sure, he’s doing all right – moved in with Ro’s family, being spoilt rotten. Landed on his feet there.”
So Róisín was the girl who was putting him up, I thought. She smiled. “My ma is mad about him.”
I hesitated before asking my next question. “Any word on your sister, Eddie?”
Eddie shook his head and frowned, a note of annoyance entering his voice for the first time. “I’ll tell you one thing for nothing. She needs to get back here sharpish. I don’t know what she’s up to, worrying everyone like that. My other sister, Emma, is stuck minding her wee ones.”
At that point, one of the ATMs became free and Eddie and Róisín moved away. As I shoved my card in, I wondered at Eddie’s lack of concern for his sister. It made me think that maybe Molloy was right in his theory that this was something Carole had done before. I considered people’s usual reasons for going off the radar. One was alcohol; disappearing on a three-day binge was not unknown. Did Carole have a drink problem? Could she have started the fire by accident, then taken off in shame? But what about the petrol? Starting a fire with petrol was no accident. And I hadn’t ever seen Carole drunk, though she worked surrounded by the stuff.
As I placed the sterling notes into my wallet and moved away from the cash machine, my phone rang. It was Molloy.
“Any news on Carole?” I asked before he had a chance to say anything else.
He seemed taken aback. “No. Why? Do you know something?”
I recalibrated, “No. I just ran into Eddie, the brother, that’s all. Sorry. What’s up?”
But Molloy wasn’t letting go that easily. “What did he say?”
“Nothing really. He just seemed annoyed rather than worried. I thought it was a little odd.”
I heard Molloy heave a sigh of frustration. “I wish we knew where the hell she is. We’re no further with the fire investigation, mainly because there’s a bloody great hole where Carole Harkin’s statement should be. I’m going to have to seek a warrant for her arrest soon.”
“Was that why you rang?” I asked.
“No.” Molloy cleared his throat as he always did when he was uncomfortable about something. “Did Phyllis Kettle ask you to her place for Christmas dinner?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because she’s just asked me, too. It’s a bit strange. We’re not exactly close. She spun me some tale about an orphans’ lunch …” He trailed off as if he could tell I was grinning. “What?”
“She knows about us,” I said. “That’s the only explanation. She must have guessed.”
“How? Have you told anyone? I thought we’d decided not to.”
“Not a soul, not even Maeve. But if Phyllis is having us both over for Christmas dinner, it means she’s worked it out. We’ve been busted.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. I felt a sudden pang as it occurred to me that maybe keeping our relationship a secret had been more Molloy’s idea than mine and I simply hadn’t noticed.
“She said something about having heard I was on duty that night so I wouldn’t be able to go too far. That I might be at a loose end,” Molloy said eventually.
I hadn’t even known Molloy was on duty on Christmas Day. It just hadn’t come up. I felt uncomfortable, so I said nothing.
“Ben? Are you still there?”
“That’s Phyllis,” I said. “She wouldn’t say it directly.”
There was a pause at Molloy’s end, followed by an apprehensive laugh. “Well it looks as if we’ll be spending our first Christmas together then, doesn’t it?”
I collected Guinness on my way back through town. He seemed much better, though not quite back to his old self, so I left him to sleep on a blanket in the warm back kitchen with lots of water; Maeve had told me to keep giving him fluids.
The next morning, he shot out between my legs like a bullet from a gun, and five minutes later was scratching at the back door demanding to be let back in. While I tried to have a coffee, he took a flying leap onto my knee, circling and clawing at my lap looking for a comfortable position, knocking the cup out of my hand. It was confirmed: the cat was back to his infuriating old self.
Eddie Kearney was waiting for me when I arrived at the office. Seeing him huddled on the doorstep with his hands buried in the pockets of his coat, collar hiding most of his face, reminded me of his past visits, usually clutching a bunch of new charge sheets. There was a time when it seemed that McFadden’s favorite pastime had been nicking Eddie Kearney for possession of various quantities of weed. Judging from Eddie’s nervous glance when I appeared, he was having similar flashbacks.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
The heavy-lidded look of the habitual dope smoker was back. I hoped it was simply lack of sleep.
“Aye. I just thought I should have a word with you after I ran into you in Derry. Ro agreed.”
I unlocked the door. “Okay. Come on in and have a chat. I have five minutes before my first appointment.”
In my office, Eddie flopped on the seat and unbuttoned his coat. He was flushed. “It’s about Carole.”
I looked up. “Is she back?”
He shook his head. “I think she’s been on to George again, but no sign of her yet.”
“So what is it?”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s just …”
“Go on,” I said.
He took a deep breath. “For a while now, she’s been asking me for money. I’ve been sending it over to her from Australia.”
“And you need it back?” I wondered if that was why Carole had seemed less than happy to see her brother when he’d appeared in the pub on Wednesday.
“No.” Eddie swallowed nervously. “Well, aye, of course I do at some stage. But I’m worried about her, especially with her running off. I know I sounded like I was pissed off with her, but what if she has a problem, gambling or something? I don’t know whether to say anything to George or not.”
“George doesn’t know about the money?”
“No.”
“How much is it, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Eddie’s freckled brow furrowed. “It’s a right wee amount when you add it up. She gave me some story about not getting enough shifts at the pub, but George said she’s been working all the hours God sends, that he hardly ever sees her. That made me think I should talk to you. I mean, what would she need all that money for? It’s not as if George isn’t working. Sure, teachers make a fortune.”
I remembered what Ian Grey had said about Carole working for them. “Did you get a chance to talk to her about it?”
He laughed uneasily. “Aye, but she nearly took the head off me. Turned dog on me entirely. As if I was asking for it back, which I wasn’t. I wanted to help her.”
It occurred to me that the person Eddie should be discussing this with was Molloy. “You know the guards need to talk to her about the fire in the Oak?”
He nodded. “Tony Craig is spittin’. She needs to come back soon or she’ll be in trouble.”
“And you’ve no idea where she might be?”
“None. I left her in the pub on Saturday night and haven’t seen her since. I asked if she wanted to come out to Culdaff with myself and Ro that night, but she said she wanted to get home. But she never went home, did she?”
Tony had been right: Eddie had left Carole to lock up by herself. Culdaff was a favorite destination after the pubs in Glendara closed.
“Does she have any friends who might know where she is?” I asked. “Or why she needed money? Your other sister maybe?”
He shook his head. “George has asked any of them who might know. But I doubt she’d have told anyone about the money. Especially Emma.”
At six o’clock, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Christmas holidays at last. The office wouldn’t reopen until after the New Year and we had managed to close all our sales.
I turned the key in the lock and looked at Leah. “Drink?” ‘
“Absolutely!”
The evening was bitterly cold and I know we were both thinking the same thing: that it felt sad and strange not to be walking around the corner to the welcoming fire of the Oak. Instead, we took a taxi from the square and headed out to Culdaff.
The driver glanced at us through the rear-view mirror. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about a speeding summons I got.”
“Sorry.” I grinned. “As of five minutes ago, I’m off the clock.”
“Starting the holidays?”
I nodded. “Have you been busy?”
The driver winked. “Ach now – taxi drivers are like priests, see everything and say nothing.”
I stared at my reflection in the window as we drove, leaving Leah to chat. The taxi dropped us outside the pub, under an inky blue sky filled with stars, frost already forming on the green. When I was paying the fare, my phone rang. I was surprised to see it was Phyllis. I’d phoned her earlier to accept her invitation for Christmas and wasn’t expecting to hear from her again. I handed Leah some money for drinks and took the call in the porch.
Phyllis sounded stressed.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
“Aye. Sorry. The shop is packed. It’s not that I’m not grateful for the business, but why on earth do people leave it ’til the last minute?” She lowered her voice. “And if one more person asks me for Fifty Shades of Grey, I’m going to scream. Apart from anything else, the bloody book is four years old.”
I laughed and stood aside to allow a crowd of people into the pub.
“Anyway, the reason I rang was, would you mind taking Fred for a walk on Christmas morning? I’ll be up to my tonsils cooking and he’ll be dying to get out.”
“Of course, I’d love to.”
A taxi pulled up and more people climbed out, laughing and talking. One of them was Tony Craig’s daughter Susanne, the girl I’d seen on the street; my prospective employee. I wondered if she knew that. She gave no sign of recognition as she passed. She pulled open the door to the pub, forcing me to raise my voice to be heard over the noise. “If the weather’s okay, I could head up to Sliabh Sneacht. Be a nice way to spend Christmas morning.”
I didn’t catch what Phyllis said in reply. I put a finger in one ear. “Sorry, Phyllis. I’m outside a pub in Culdaff. What did you say?”
“I said, you’ll need to be careful going up Sliabh Sneacht if it snows. It was looking very much like it earlier, and it’s freezing tonight. Every time the door of the shop opens, there’s a blast of cold air that would split you in two.”
“Okay.”
“Anyway, if you could take the poor old fella for some kind of a walk, that would be great.” There was a smile in her voice. “Maybe the sergeant will go with you.”
With Liam, his assistant Mary, and Maeve and her veterinary nurse, we were lucky enough to commandeer a large table at the back of the pub. The place was jammed with people who had finished work for Christmas, many who would usually be in the Oak. About eight o’clock, the door opened to a rush of cold air and a man strode in carrying what looked like a guitar case. Chunky and square-faced, with an angular beard and black hair, he went straight to the bar. Liam crossed the pub to greet him, and I watched while they shook hands and had a brief chat.
When Liam returned to the table, he leaned across. “That’s George Harkin.”
“Carole’s husband?”
He nodded. “He’s playing here tonight. Said he was booked months ago and decided he’d still do it. Reckoned he had to get out of the house or he’d crack up.”
“Carole’s still not back then?” I asked.
Liam shook his head. “No, but he doesn’t seem overly concerned anymore. Just irritated. Said he’d had another text. He seems to be expecting her tomorrow. Said she never stays away more than a couple of days.”
So, Molloy was right, I thought. I gave Liam a sidelong look. “She does this regularly?”
Liam scratched his forehead. “Well, he didn’t say regularly, but I don’t think it’s the first time.”
“And where does she go?”
Liam shrugged. “I have no idea. Maybe she just needs some space?”
“Funny time to leave, though, don’t you think? In the middle of the night after a shift at the pub? A pub that then goes on fire.”
“You’ll get no argument here.”
We watched George set up. He carried in amps, plugged in what turned out to be a banjo and set up the microphone, then sat on a high stool tuning the instrument.
Liam leaned forward again. “Wait till you hear him. He’s good.”
George was good. He had a clipped, rather nasal singing voice, a bit like an Irish Hank Williams, but seemed to be able to manage anything: folk, bluegrass, jazz. The punters lapped it up. I found it difficult to take my eyes off him, I couldn’t put my finger on why. He wasn’t immediately attractive, but he had something, that was for sure. He took a break after an hour, saying he’d be back in ten minutes, and I continued to watch him while he ordered a Guinness and sat at the bar. His situation seemed so strange: his wife missing for days while he had a pint and played music in his local pub. Every so often he had a brief exchange with someone at the bar – Susanne Craig at one point, Liam at another – but for the most part he remained alone, hunched over his pint, flipping a beer mat.
Then the door opened and a couple walked in wearing heavy coats and hats. It was getting colder – you could feel the draft from where we were sitting, a good twenty feet away. They nabbed a table by the window that had been recently vacated, and when they removed their hats, I saw that it was Abby and Ian Grey. They shrugged off their coats and Abby gave me a wave and a smile.
Ian went up to the bar leaving Abby alone at the table, gazing into the distance with a wistfulness I hadn’t seen before. He stood beside George for a few minutes, waiting for his drinks. Then he said something to George, and George turned slowly to look at him, an expression of contempt on his face. He raised his hand and brought it down on the bar with a bang before saying something under his breath. Ian turned away, shocked, to bring the drinks down to his wife.