ON SUNDAY, I awoke suddenly. It was early morning and I was in bed with warm, heavy arms wrapped around me and soft breathing in my ear. I turned with some difficulty, waking Molloy as I moved.
He smiled. “Morning.”
“How did you get in?” I asked.
“You let me in, of course.”
I had no memory of that. “Did you … ?”
He grinned broadly, turning onto his back with his hands behind his head. “Carry you up the stairs like in An Officer and a Gentleman? No. You came up yourself. Don’t you remember?”
“Not really. It’s all a bit hazy, to be honest. I still feel a little dizzy.”
“I’m not surprised. You staggered up here, fell into bed and were asleep in seconds.”
“I’m glad you stayed.” I yawned. “Things aren’t exactly easy at the moment.”
His smile disappeared. Avoiding my gaze, he climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans. I watched him move around the room while he searched for his shirt, dipping his head to avoid the low beam; he and Maeve both complained that my cottage had been built for small people. He looked good, strong shoulders, flat stomach; I tried to keep my thoughts on him rather than the other issues vying for my attention.
He pulled on his shirt and leaned over to kiss me. “Stay put for a bit and see if you can have a snooze. I’ll bring you up some tea.”
A snooze wasn’t likely. Molloy had something to tell me, and it didn’t take a genius to work out that it wasn’t of the good-news variety. I took two paracetamols from the blister pack on the bedside table, and ten minutes later, he returned with a pot of tea, two cups, and some toast on a tray. He sat on the bed while I hauled myself up and put a pillow behind me. I felt marginally better than I had yesterday, but maybe it was just the painkillers taking effect. My nose was still blocked and my head felt like lead.
“So what’s this in aid of?” I asked as he poured us both a cup of tea. “I’ve never thought of you as the breakfast-in-bed kind of guy.”
“I need to talk to you about something.”
My stomach sank and I took a sip of tea to settle it. Inhaled the steam to clear my sinuses.
“I’m going to move in with you.”
The tea went down the wrong way and I choked, spluttering it all over the duvet. I don’t know what I’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t that.
When I had regained my composure and mopped up the mess on the bed, I said, “Why?”
“Not forever. Just for a while. Probably only a few days.”
“Why?” I said, more insistently this time.
Molloy looked down. “I did some more digging yesterday after Kirby came into the station.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. I’d been right in the first place: this wasn’t good news.
“I know that when he was released, I advised you to move on, accept that he had served his sentence. But when I met him, there was something about him. I just couldn’t take him at face value.” He paused. “I know the assistant governor of the prison he was in, so I managed to get hold of his prison record.”
“Go on.”
He took a deep breath. “Remember I told you that Dominic Stoop had just begun a new sentence in the UK when he died?”
I nodded.
“Well, before he was extradited to start that sentence, he was in prison here in Ireland. And guess who he shared a cell with?”
My head began to spin. “Luke Kirby.”
Molloy nodded. “It was shortly before Kirby was released, and it was only for a few months. It may mean absolutely nothing, but it’s an unpleasant coincidence.”
“Jesus Christ.” I clutched at the duvet, struggling to make a connection that was just out of my reach. My brain was so clogged that I wanted to bang my head against the wall. “So … ?”
Molloy handed it to me. “The belt.”
Which was all I needed for my mind to race ahead at breakneck speed. “The hairs on the belt. Dominic Stoop’s DNA.”
Molloy nodded.
“If Kirby shared a cell with him, he’d easily have been able to get hold of a few hairs. He could have taken them from a comb or anything.”
“The shaft needs to be attached for them to extract DNA.”
“Kirby would know that. If necessary, he’d have yanked the guy’s hair out while he was sleeping.” I shook my head, my voice growing louder. “Kirby knows all about DNA; that was how he was caught for my sister’s killing. Knowing him, he’ll have a fucking PhD in genetics by now.”
Molloy remained calm, infuriatingly so, waiting for me to finish. “Yes, he could have taken Stoop’s DNA. That was the first thing that occurred to me. But why would he do it? What would be in it for him?”
“He wants something from me.” I pushed the tray aside and climbed out of bed, pacing across the room. “He’s not finished with me. He must have found out Dominic’s connection to Glendara. He knew it was where I lived too; he knew from that call last year. He probably took Dominic’s DNA thinking he could use it somehow.” I turned. “How did Dominic Stoop die?”
“Heart attack. Same genetic problem as his mother.”
“So Kirby wouldn’t have known Dominic was going to die.” My eyes widened as I worked things through. “Maybe he didn’t know Dominic was dead at all, since he died in prison in the UK. Maybe he thought he could blame Carole’s death on him.”
Molloy crossed his arms. “But why would Luke Kirby kill Carole?”
“Because he’s a fucking psycho, that’s why.”
Molloy shook his head. “It can’t be as simple as that. How did he even know her?”
“He’s going out with Susanne Craig, isn’t he? How the hell did he meet her? I mean, what’s he doing? Working his way through all the females in Glendara until he gets back to me?”
Molloy was silent. I realized I was growing hysterical. Although it had cleared my sinuses. I took a deep breath and tried a more reasoned approach. “Carole was married to Dominic Stoop. Maybe Dominic put them in touch with each other?”
“But why?” Molloy said again, frustrated.
“I don’t know,” I said, collapsing back on the edge of the bed, exhausted.
I was moving too quickly, my thoughts disordered and panicked. I closed my eyes to relieve the pressure in my head, and when I opened them again, Molloy’s expression had softened.
“I haven’t worked out what all this means yet, but I’m not taking any chances. I’m going to stay here at night for a while. Or you can move into mine if you like.”
He reached for me but I pulled back. I was too wired. I stood up and walked towards the window, still dark enough for me to see my own reflection. I shook my head, tears pricking at my eyes. “I’m not letting that bastard force me out. This is my home now. Glendara is my home. Inishowen is my home. Not Luke Kirby’s.” And as I spoke, I realized the truth of what I was saying. I would not let Kirby win this time.
Molloy appeared behind me. “I’m going to get McFadden to keep an eye on you while I can’t.”
I turned to him and smiled through the tears. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”
But there was one thing I couldn’t ignore. Molloy knew it too, though he hadn’t mentioned it. My sister had been strangled, just like Carole Harkin.
Molloy left half an hour later. I pushed him out the door, determined to have some time to myself. It was good to have him looking out for me, but I wasn’t sure how happy I was about being babysat by either him or McFadden. How would it even work? Was I about to see McFadden’s red head peering around corners as I made my way to court, like some demented Inspector Clouseau?
But after he left, I felt uneasy. I found myself glancing into corners, closing doors I’d normally have left open. The notion of Luke Kirby and Dominic Stoop sharing a cell opened up all kinds of possibilities, but more than anything, it made me convinced that he wasn’t here by accident. I couldn’t accept it was for Susanne. Luke was a charmer; he would have no difficulty in picking up a woman wherever he was. It was way too much of a coincidence that he just happened to meet someone from the town I lived in, having also shared a cell with someone from that town. It was far more likely that Susanne was easy prey, an easy mark, just as Faye had been.
But I kept coming back to the same question Molloy had asked: Why? Luke Kirby was a calculating individual; his motives, even as a solicitor, had always been his own gain. It seemed highly possible that he was behind what had been happening in the town: Carole’s death, the fire in the Oak. But why on earth would he risk his freedom to carry out such senseless acts?
I washed up the breakfast things and stood for a while looking out the window. It was grey and overcast, just as it had been the day before. But my plan to curl up by the fire and shift this cold didn’t seem so attractive anymore, not if I was going to be twitching at every little noise. Guinness had disappeared too, of course, just when I could have done with another heartbeat around the place.
Abby Grey had suggested I join them for a trek. Part of me wanted to go – it would be a distraction and I could see if I could find out anything more about Ronan – but the truth was, I didn’t think I’d be capable of staying on a horse. Not today.
I checked my phone. There were two missed calls, both from Maeve, who I suddenly remembered I’d been supposed to call the day before. I rang her back but got her voicemail. She was working.
Then the phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from Phyllis. Come in if you fancy it. I’m not opening the shop today and I could do with some company.
I smiled. Phyllis was always perfectly happy in her own company, and with that treasure trove of books downstairs she was never truly alone. What she really meant was that she was worried about me and wanted to know if I needed company. I texted back.
I’m afraid I’m coming down with something. I might be infectious.
I’m immune to everything, she replied. Too much padding for any infections to get through.
Gratefully I grabbed my coat and headed out the door, leaving some food in the bowl for my wayward cat.
Phyllis had lit the fire in her cozy flat, and she made me tea with honey, lemon, and chunks of raw ginger. I had to stop her from putting whiskey in it, since I was driving.
“That’ll sort you out,” she said, sinking into an armchair with her own version of the drink that soothes: a hot chocolate with marshmallows and fresh cream. “But make sure and have a hot whiskey when you get home.”
Fred padded into the room and flopped on the mat with a loud sigh while we sat in silence sipping our drinks, the warmth of the ginger tea soothing nerves I realized had been jangling for days now.
“They’re gone, you know,” Phyllis said finally.
“Who?”
“Susanne and that man.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Dublin, I think. Too dull for Susanne around here, I expect.”
“Really?”
“There’s some animal rights meeting tomorrow and they’ve gone down for it.”
“Animal rights? Luke?” I said. I remembered that my first doubts about Luke had arisen when he had shown no interest in my parents’ dog – a sweet old mongrel called Belle, long since dead.
Phyllis fished one of the marshmallows from her drink and popped it into her mouth. “Apparently that’s what they have in common, he and Susanne. Or so Tony says. He was certainly talking the talk on New Year’s Eve after you left. Like Susanne on Christmas Day.” She gave me a wry look. “Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf. Like finding God in prison.”
I wasn’t convinced. I thought it far more likely that Kirby was spinning Susanne a line. It looked almost as if he were taking on Dominic Stoop’s persona as some kind of eco-warrior. Maybe he’d told Susanne that that was why he’d been in prison. It would explain her attraction to him.
“They met in Spain, apparently,” Phyllis said. “At some anti-bullfighting thing. Or maybe it was the running of the bulls in Pamplona. One of those.”
“When?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“Because it can’t have been very long ago,” I said. “Luke has only been out of prison a couple of months. He must have gone straight there. I thought he was in the UK.”
“Easy enough to get to Spain from the UK.” Phyllis shook her head. “Still, at least it solves your problem, them both taking off. He’s out of your hair.”
“True.”
She looked contemptuous. “What a bastard, though. Fronting up to Tony’s party knowing you were there.”
I looked up. “How did he know I was there?”
“We were talking about you before you came out of the kitchen. If he’d had any decency about him, he’d have left then and there rather than putting on that bloody charade of pretending he didn’t know you.”
“What was said about me in his presence? Can you remember?”
“I can’t really … Just that someone should fetch you before midnight, I think.” Phyllis flushed suddenly. “Oh, and someone may have said that you might be missing your sergeant.”
“Ah.”
Embarrassment colored her neck and face. “I hope I didn’t say anything wrong.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t know who he was.”
“No,” Phyllis said, her voice hardening. “I didn’t. The man’s entitled to live his life if he’s served his time, but to my mind, he should be required to stay at least fifty miles from you and your family.”
I smiled weakly. “Thanks, Phyllis. I can’t disagree with you.”
“Have you given any more thought to what we should tell Tony?” she asked. “Do you think he has a right to know?”
“Oh, Phyllis, I don’t know.”
My head felt like lead again and I realized I didn’t want to discuss Luke Kirby any longer. Maybe I should just be glad for small mercies and be grateful that he was gone. I looked around for a distraction. There was a book on the coffee table in front of me, a book about Irish sacred sites. I picked it up, as much to change the subject as anything else.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Phyllis said, taking a sip of her chocolate. “It’s too good to put in the shop. I’m going to hang onto it, I think.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said, running my hand across the cover. It was a luxurious glossy book with lovely illustrations. I opened it to the table of contents – there were sections on rag trees, fairy forts, stone circles, holy wells.
“The well at the top of Sliabh Sneacht is in it. Go on, have a look,” Phyllis urged.
I checked the index, found the page, and there it was: a clear color photograph of the place Molloy and I had found on Christmas Day, before losing Fred and following him down the hill. Fred gazed up at me from his position on the hearth, as if reading my mind. I leaned down and rubbed his head. But as I did so, I had the same feeling I’d had before, that something didn’t make sense, something just out of focus.
Phyllis looked at me curiously. “You can borrow it if you like.”
Phyllis saw me to the door of the bookshop, where Fred lolled at her feet while we chatted on the step. Phyllis spent a lot of time standing in her doorway surveying the square, and she was doing that now.
“Emma,” she muttered under her breath. “Well you’ve got what you wanted for Christmas, anyway.”
I followed her gaze and saw that she was watching Carole’s sister across the street, struggling with two bulging shopping bags. I gazed at Phyllis wide-eyed and she caught my look, flushing suddenly when she realized what she had said.
“Oh God, no, I don’t mean Carole’s death.” She clapped her hands to her face. “Lord, that really did come out wrong.”
“What did you mean?” I asked.
She looked embarrassed. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said it. I’ve always thought that Emma carried a bit of a torch for George. Not that she’d have done anything about it, I’m sure. Are you reopening the office tomorrow?” she asked, hastily changing the subject.
I nodded. “I’d better go, actually, if I’m to get an early night.”
“Don’t forget the hot whiskey!” she called after me as I turned to walk towards my car.