WHEN MAEVE SAID we were looking for the third house along the road, I somehow imagined she was referring to a bungalow. I got that one wrong. She swung the jeep in between two huge pillars and drove up to a large red-brick house with a fountain in front, an expansive garden and a view of the sea. A life-sized Santa and sleigh and a snowman and woman stood on the snow-covered lawn.
“This is Emma’s house?” I asked with surprise. “Carole’s sister?”
Maeve nodded. “The husband inherited money, and they were able to build on Emma and Carole’s father’s land – nice combination if you can manage it.”
She pulled in beside a battered old Ford, one of a number of other vehicles in front of the house. I climbed out of the jeep and glanced into the Ford’s back seat: a banjo case – George’s, I assumed.
A huge unlit Christmas tree was visible through one of the windows as I rang the bell. Maeve’s arms were full; she’d brought a casserole and some loaves of bread. At the last minute I’d grabbed a set of cheese and crackers that someone had given me for Christmas; it seemed more appropriate than a bottle of wine.
The door was answered by a darker version of Carole, in black jeans and green polo-neck sweater, heavy make-up concealing bloodshot eyes.
Maeve gave her a one-armed hug, still clutching her offerings. “Emma, you know Ben,” she said, nodding in my direction.
“I’m so sorry about Carole,” I said, with earth-shattering inadequacy.
“Thank you. You’re good to call, girls. Come on in.”
We followed Emma through a wide hall into a state-of-theart kitchen, where she tried to find space for our offerings on an overloaded worktop. Food in a crisis, I thought. At a time when people least feel like eating, those who want to help bring food. I remembered it happening when Faye died, and now I was guilty of doing it myself.
“There’s tea and sandwiches in the sitting room,” she said as if reading my thoughts. “People have been so good.”
Crystal chandeliers and a huge silver mirror overlooked a room full of people drinking tea and eating cake, avoiding one another’s eyes. There was almost no conversation. It seemed the standard “sorry for your troubles” didn’t work so well when someone had been strangled and left on a hill outside town. I scanned the room for Carole’s children but couldn’t see them, and I was glad. The atmosphere in the room was oppressive. I nodded at a few familiar faces – a smile seemed inappropriate.
Watched by everyone, grateful to have something to distract them, I expect, Emma guided Maeve and me to a large bay window that overlooked the garden. George was there, on an overstuffed white sofa with silver cushions, sitting between Eddie and Róisín, looking bewildered. Eddie stood up at our approach, nudging George, who looked startled for a second before doing the same.
Emma introduced me to George and I expressed my condolences in my usual stilted way while he shook my hand mechanically, as if he wasn’t sure who I was or what I was doing, his long musician’s fingers weak in their grip. But while Emma introduced Eddie to Maeve, he asked my name again. I repeated it and something cleared in his expression.
“You were the one who found her,” he said, his voice reverberating like a loudspeaker in the silent room.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “I was.” It seemed trite to mention that I hadn’t been alone at the time.
I was peripherally aware of Emma’s eyes boring into me, and when I met her glance, she looked at me as if something unclean had found its way into her home. I realized I should have told her at the outset. She reached for George’s hand, but he pulled it back while I struggled for something to say, and I was grateful when Eddie, with surprising gentleness, took George, who had returned to his previously catatonic state, and led him out of the room.
I stood there helplessly until Maeve spoke. “Is your mother here?” she asked Emma quietly. “I’d like to express my sympathy to her if that’s okay.”
With an effort, Emma switched her gaze away from me. “Of course, she’s in the small sitting room off the hall. The kids are with her watching television, but I’ll take them out and get them a drink. I’ll take you in there now.”
Not wishing to cause any more grief than I had already, I said I’d wait outside in the jeep, and there was no objection to that. As I left, Róisín gave me a sympathetic smile. She hadn’t moved from her position on the couch since we’d come in.
Once outside, I stood in the snow beside the jeep, slapping my hands against my sides to warm them up; I’d forgotten to get the keys from Maeve and I wasn’t about to go back in looking for them. It was bitterly cold, but at least the fall had stopped. When I’d passed through the hall, I’d caught a brief glimpse of two small boys being taken upstairs. The elder, a pretty child with striking blue eyes, gazed up at me and smiled as he was carried away, adding to my guilt.
I looked up suddenly as the front door opened, sooner than I had expected. But it wasn’t Maeve, it was Eddie. He came down the steps and walked over to me with a conciliatory smile.
“You were good to come.”
I smiled weakly. “I’m not so sure. I don’t seem to have helped. I’ve just upset people.”
He shook his head. “It’s not your fault that you found her. Someone had to. George knows that too. I think you just gave him a land. That’s why I came out; he wanted to say sorry.”
“God, no …” I was mortified. My main motive for coming here today had been curiosity, and I felt appalled at my own lack of sensitivity.
“He wanted to know if he could come and see you, professionally.”
It was then that I realized how much of a mistake my visit had been. George Harkin was bound to be a suspect in his wife’s murder. I couldn’t take him on as a client when I was the one who had found the body. There would be a huge conflict of interest.
I stalled. “Did he say why?”
Eddie shook his head. “I think he just needs someone to talk to. He’s in bits. He doesn’t have any family of his own and he won’t talk to any of us. I’ve said you’re a good listener.”
I thought of the times in the past when I had treated Eddie as if I were a headmistress scolding a naughty child, and wondered at his recommendation.
“Thanks, Eddie. But I’m not a counselor. I wonder if he should see someone like that?”
Eddie shook his head. “I think he needs some advice. He was talking about going to see you before Carole was found, but he never got around to it.”
“The office is closed until next week,” I said, knowing it sounded feeble.
Eddie knew it too, and so I found myself giving him my mobile number and suggesting he get George to give me a call when he was feeling up to it. As he walked away, I saw Maeve approach and wondered what the hell I had just agreed to.
Driving back out through the gates, we passed Liam McLaughlin on the way in. He wound down his window, his face grim.
“Shocking, isn’t it?” he said, as his breath misted in the gloomy air.
“Awful,” Maeve agreed. “You heading in?”
“Not for long. I was here earlier – I’m just dropping something off. They’ve enough gawpers without me adding to it.”
“I know what you mean. Show your support and then go is my motto,” Maeve said.
I could feel my cheeks reddening though I wasn’t part of the conversation. The two drivers’ windows were next to one another and in the passenger seat I was out of the loop.
“Fancy a quick one in Culdaff before heading back?” Liam said.
Maeve shook her head. “I’ve just had a call to go to Moville, so I can’t anyway.” She nodded in my direction. “And I have to drop this one back to Glendara to collect her car.”
“I’ll take her, sure,” Liam said, making me feel like a child being passed from one parent to the other. “Drop her at the pub in Culdaff, and I’ll meet her there in ten minutes.”
It was only as we were driving off that Maeve said, “That okay?”
Maeve dropped me and sped off in the direction of Moville, having performed her usual trick of removing rings and other jewelry while driving and placing them on the dashboard.
Sitting with a coffee by the fire in the Bunagee Bar, I felt a sudden draft as the door opened and Liam appeared. He offered me another coffee, which I declined, before heading up to order himself a drink.
“That poor family,” he muttered, shaking his head when he’d settled himself on his stool.
“I know.”
“George is beating himself up that he didn’t make more of it with the guards when she first disappeared. He was so sure she’d be back.”
“Why was that, do you know?” I asked.
“He was getting those texts from her saying she would be. And she’d done it before. He said she’d take off for a day or two, but she always came back.” He took a long draught of his Coke and wiped his mouth.
“He sounds very understanding.”
“Said she was someone who needed her space. With him being a teacher, she was alone a lot with the kids during the day, so maybe he felt he owed her?”
“But he played in pubs at night too, didn’t he? How did they manage that with Carole’s job in the Oak?”
“I think Emma was always willing to step in. She only works part-time. No kids of her own.”
I felt again the wave of shame I’d felt at the house. “Did he say where Carole went when she took off those times?”
Liam shook his head. “I don’t think he knew. I don’t know if he asked.”
I couldn’t imagine a marriage where that was considered normal behavior. But then what did I know? I’d never been married. So I hesitated before asking my next question. “Did he ever wonder if there was another man?”
“If he did, he never said anything to me about it. Not really one to confide in people, though, is George.”
“Or ask too many questions apparently,” I said.
Liam shrugged. I wasn’t surprised. Liam’s attitude has always been of the horses-for-courses variety. Nothing ever seems to surprise him about human behavior.
“I wonder what she was doing in Dublin last week,” I said.
“It’s funny you should ask that,” Liam said slowly. “I was talking to Stan MacLochlainn before she was found, and he said he saw her on Friday night at the bus station in Derry. With a man.”
“Who was the man? Did Stan know him?”
Liam shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think he was just having a gossip. You know Stan. But she must have come back up on the bus. Why would she have done that if she flew down? Surely it would be as cheap to get a return flight.”
Despite everything, I couldn’t help but smile. It was typical of Liam to focus on the finance.
“Does George know about that?” I asked.
Liam looked uncomfortable. “I don’t think so. It wasn’t as if Stan said he saw her doing anything inappropriate. She may have been just talking to this guy. Although it does seem a bit more significant now, all right.”
The light was on in the Garda station when Liam dropped me to collect the Mini, so I called in. Molloy and McFadden were both in the reception area, looking as if they’d had a day they had no wish to repeat. I sensed a tension between them; McFadden was pulling files from a steel filing cabinet and slamming the drawers shut in a display of temper I’d never seen before. Surprisingly, Molloy didn’t react.
“Have you a minute?” I asked him. He nodded.
“Everything okay?” I asked as I followed him into the little interview room at the back.
“We’ve had the NBCI here along with the super from Letterkenny.”
I knew that the National Bureau of Criminal Investigation had been established as a response to an increase in serious and organized crime in Ireland, and that they were brought in when needed to provide support and specialized expertise to the local Gardaí. I also knew that neither Molloy nor McFadden would relish the invasion of their patch. Still, I’d have thought that would be more Molloy’s concern than McFadden’s.
“Something up?” Molloy asked, closing the door of the interview room behind us.
“Has Stan MacLochlainn been to see you?” I asked.
Molloy nodded. “Is this about the man Carole was seen with in Derry?”
“You know then. Liam’s just mentioned it to me.”
“Yes, we know. We’ve asked the family, but none of them seem to have any idea who it might have been. Stan wasn’t hugely helpful either. He’d had a few drinks at the time so he admits his memory isn’t what it should be. He was in some bar and had snuck out to get some cigarettes when he saw her.”
“Don’t they sell cigarettes in the bars in Derry?”
Molloy raised his eyes to heaven. “That’s what I said, but he insists that’s what he was doing. Maybe he was having a smoke. Anyway, he says he caught a glimpse of Carole, with a man he thought had his arm around her, but he couldn’t be sure.”
Sunday brought more snow and was a day for the fire. Guinness joined me for most of it, moving very little from the couch. Every so often he stretched, yawned widely and went back to sleep. I wasn’t much different. I hoped Molloy would appear, since I knew he was off, but at six he sent me a text to say that something had come up and he wouldn’t make it.
A phone call to my parents in Iceland produced only voicemail, so I sent my mother a text. There was no reply. I hoped that was a good sign; that the news of another untimely death in Inishowen hadn’t yet reached them.
At eight o’clock, I had a call. George Harkin wanted to see me the following day.