The drive from Dublin had been long. Very, very long.
Laura had agreed to them taking Ray’s car for the trip, ostensibly so she could do some reading on the way down to West Cork. But she’d forgotten two things. One, she got carsick when she read for any length of time and two, with no driving to concentrate on, all she could think about was the man sitting next to her.
Ray was wearing large, pilot-style sunglasses and a fitted black v-neck T-shirt, tight at the arms where his muscles bulged. He looked fantastic these days, healthy and happy, with a glow that Laura hadn’t seen in him for a while. She had a sinking feeling that he was seeing somebody. What else could put that smile on his face?
And here she was, the prize eejit, lusting after him again.
Why couldn’t she help herself? She was a strong, smart woman, professional in every way – and she couldn’t stop mooning after this bloody man who had no interest. Each time he reached down to the gearstick, she willed his fingers to brush against her bare leg, the skin visible below the cotton-pleated skirt that had ridden up over her knee. She was fixated on that hand – its strong grip, the little nicks and cuts on his fingers.
He had really masculine hands.
She sighed.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked. ‘It’s not too hot for you?’
‘It’s much too hot,’ she murmured under her breath, lowering the passenger window. Yep. What she needed was a cold shower and a bloody good berating.
‘Will we pull over and get some air?’
‘No. We’re nearly there. Just take this slip-road coming up now and we can avoid the traffic.’
Ray had hoped Laura would agree to a pit stop. He was trying to eke out their time together on this trip but she seemed determined to get down and back to Dublin in the shortest time possible. He had played out a scenario in his head where they had to stay the night in West Cork. He’d heard the area was a romantic hotspot and he reckoned if he just had some time to work on her, with that setting as a backdrop, he could thaw the wall of ice Laura had erected.
But it wouldn’t come to pass if she had her way.
They arrived in the village a short time later and made their way directly to the garda station.
Sergeant Doyle was out searching for a dog that had been worrying sheep, so they spoke to his colleague.
‘Oh, yeah, the taxi driver,’ he said, when they asked about the man originally questioned in the Mary Ellen Lehane disappearance. ‘Cormac Ryan. I came to the village after he’d left, but I know where he lived. Nobody has taken the cottage since, so they still refer to it as Cormac’s. I can draw you a map.’
Laura looked over his shoulder as he sketched an outline.
‘Who was the other guard here at the time?’ she asked. ‘Working with Sergeant Doyle, I mean?’
‘That was old Jack,’ the guard replied, his face set in concentration as he followed his outline with the pencil to make sure he’d got it right. ‘I don’t think he was so much working as part of the fixtures, if you know what I mean. One or two cops from the next town over would have come out to help if Ultan needed it, more from the city if it was required. Jack died in that chair you’re sitting in.’ He pointed to Ray, who jumped as if he had just been told he was sitting on old Jack’s lap.
‘Could you find out if anybody knows where this Cormac chap went?’ Laura asked. ‘Sergeant Doyle said something about relatives in England.’
‘Aye. I can do that. I’ll check with some of the locals here. They don’t forget much; somebody’s bound to have an old contact for him still – maybe he didn’t change his number, wherever he went. Now, there you go.’ He handed over the map. ‘That should get you out there all right.’
‘Won’t we need keys?’ Ray queried.
The guard and Laura exchanged a look.
‘Dubliners,’ the officer mocked, and Laura smiled.
‘What was that about?’ Ray asked, as they walked back to the car.
Laura stopped.
‘Look around you,’ she said.
He glanced left and right on the empty street and turned back to her, his face still puzzled.
‘This village, Ray, is the hub of this area and we’re in the throes of the tourist season. See many people? Well, this cottage he’s just drawn us a map to is three miles further into the countryside and hasn’t been lived in for four years. The neighbours will have a key, but chances are the door will be open and the odd tramp will have been using the place. If they haven’t been able to sell it or rent it out, nobody is worried about its security.’
They pulled into the neglected driveway of the abandoned cottage and parked up on a patch of tarmac dotted with weeds and potholes. Dirty net curtains still hung in the windows. The paintwork had peeled from the wooden frames and front door. Several of the windowpanes were broken, tiles had blown off the roof, and most of the front wall had been colonised by a hardy creeping ivy.
The cottage was crumbling. If it lay empty for much longer it would become uninhabitable. It was a shame. They were near the sea now and the surrounding landscape of hills and woods, leading down to a nearby, secluded sandy cove, was magnificent. With a little love and care, the house would be an idyllic spot to live.
‘Honey, we’re home,’ Ray said, turning off the ignition. ‘Reckon there’s any chance of a glass of water in here? I’m parched.’
Laura shook her head. She could only envision brown sludge pouring out of the taps inside. The group scheme that supplied the area would have cut off the water long ago.
The pewter clouds that had been threatening for the last couple of hours drifted faster in the sky overhead, casting an added appearance of gloom on the deserted homestead. Laura shivered as she got out of the car. The air smelled metallic – of scorched earth and rain to come.
‘You won’t be long waiting for that drink,’ she said, casting her eyes upwards.
He followed her gaze just as they heard a thunderous rumble, followed by the first flash of lightning in the distance.
It’s like God is answering my prayers, Ray thought. It was going to pour down from the heavens, the roads would be flooded and they’d be forced to spend the night together in this lonely cottage, huddled together to stay warm. He’d have picked a nicer place, mind, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
‘Let’s get this over with,’ Laura said, her words a cold shower on his daydreams. ‘I don’t want to be stuck here in that storm.’
She crossed to the front door and gave it a gentle push. It yielded immediately and Laura leaned in, announcing their presence. The deep silence of years of emptiness greeted her in return. She turned to tell Ray they were good to go in and jumped. He was already on her heel, mere inches away.
‘Christ, Ray! Don’t creep up on me like that. This old place is sinister enough.’
‘Sinister? It’s just a rundown cottage. You’ve an active imagination, don’t you?’
He walked around her and into the house.
‘Get behind me, I’ll protect you.’
She scoffed and followed him in – all six foot of him – almost hoping they’d encounter a situation where he’d have to shield her from something.
They moved from derelict room to room, searching for evidence that the previous owner might have kept Mary Ellen prisoner there. Laura had no idea how thoroughly Ultan Doyle had gone over the place when the Lehanes had reported Mary Ellen missing. She’d have laid money on not very thoroughly at all.
They were in the rear sitting room when Ray found something that got both their hearts racing.
‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing at the wall.
Laura frowned.
‘What can you see?’
‘Look.’ Ray crossed the room and ran his fingers over the decaying wallpaper.
Then Laura saw it. It was the imprint of a door, covered by the faded floral wallpaper.
‘Jesus. Well spotted.’ Excitement mixed with trepidation as she helped Ray pull a threadbare settee away from the wall.
Together, they ripped off the paper.
Behind it, they found the door, the handle removed.
‘How will we open it?’ Laura asked, her heart beating fast.
Ray pushed, but he knew it was futile. He could see from the hinges that the door opened into the room. He stood aside for Laura who dropped to her knees and peered through the keyhole.
‘We need a hanger or something to get a grip in here and pull it open. That’s if it’s not locked.’
‘Would a pocket knife do?’
She raised an eyebrow.
‘I see you’re familiar with breaking and entering, Detective.’
‘One of my many talents.’
She let him do the job, inserting the knife into the lock, hoisting it up and tugging the door towards them. It came easily.
Behind the door was another obstacle, plywood this time, old and rotting. Somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to block off whatever was in the next room. Butterflies filled Laura’s stomach as Ray poked at a disintegrating piece of the wood and made a hole.
‘That’s weird,’ she said, peering through it. ‘It looks like a small box.’
‘Ah. Hang on. I’ve just thought of something.’
Ray left the room.
Laura peered through the hole and tried to summon the courage to put her hand in and feel around. There didn’t seem to be anything in there, but she couldn’t help but conjure up images of fist-sized spiders.
‘Boo!’
She leapt back as light filled the space and Ray’s face appeared.
‘What the hell?’ she yelped.
‘I’m in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘You’re looking into the back of a shelving unit. It’s an internal door for the two rooms. The owners must have blocked it off so they could put cupboards on this wall.’
Laura smacked her forehead. They were idiots.
‘Well, that was embarrassing,’ Ray said, grinning in at her sheepishly.
She snorted. He really seemed to be enjoying himself.
There was nothing of personal value in the cottage to tell them about its previous occupant. Cormac Ryan hadn’t left anything behind – no clothes, pictures or books, not even a newspaper. The old fireplace in the kitchen was covered in feathers and birdshit and the whole place reeked of mildew. A thick carpet covered the floor of every room, even the kitchen, in some places so damp it was like treading on a sponge. The sparse furniture was easily inspected and there was nothing in the rest of the desolate cupboards save the odd piece of broken crockery.
The rooms upstairs were the same. The only thing of any interest was a nest of mice hiding beneath the ancient divan bed.
Laura shrieked in terror as two of the poor creatures fled the scene and Ray dropped onto the bed, laughing.
‘You’re great value for money,’ he said. ‘It’s like I’ve taken you to a haunted house. Come on, it’s getting too dark to search. Let’s get out of here before the Blair witch finds us. Or those giant rodents regroup and attack.’
Laura glared at him, her heart still racing. Her imagination was too vivid. She was well aware of that – in his company especially.
The first droplets of rain landed on the rickety windowpanes as they descended the stairs back to the ground floor.
‘You’re satisfied that taxi driver had no way of hiding Mary Ellen here?’ Ray said, stopping in the hall. He wasn’t jesting this time. He wanted Laura to know that, for all his banter, he was taking her concerns seriously.
She nodded.
‘I can’t see anything Ultan Doyle could have missed. I didn’t spot any outhouses or sheds out the back. We could take a walk through the woods – but if there were any small buildings let with this cottage, Doyle would have known about them. No, I guess we have to take him at face value. The taxi man brought her home and he went back to the village. She must have gone missing after that, like Doyle says. I believe her family when they say they didn’t see her, but maybe she was planning to leave and something happened on the way.’
Laura was disappointed and also a little relieved. It wasn’t like she’d wanted to find some sort of macabre torture chamber. It was more that she’d hoped to prove Doyle wrong, show that the taxi driver might have taken Mary Ellen and it hadn’t been fair to assume she’d done a flit.
Ray studied her face. He’d seen her enthusiasm and resolve ebb as they’d combed the house and found nothing. He hadn’t even met this Doyle character and he was still on Laura’s side.
It was then he had the light-bulb moment.
‘I have a confession to make,’ he said, just as she opened the front door.
‘Excuse me?’
‘My true blue Dublin blood is not as pure as I make it out to be. My granny on my mother’s side is from Roscommon.’
‘Roscommon? Jesus, Ray, you don’t get more culchie than that.’ She smiled, bemused. ‘And why are you revealing this sordid secret?’
‘We used to visit there when we were kids. I remember the cottage. A little like this one, as it happens. It had a big open fire in the kitchen that she used to light every evening, winter or summer. I remember sitting on the hearth as she rocked in her chair drinking Guinness – for the vitamins and the iron, of course. My job was to sweep up the fragments of logs and turf that had been spat out onto the stone floor. Laura, who puts carpet in a kitchen? Especially a country kitchen with an open fire?’
Laura blinked. ‘Not anybody I’ve ever known.’
Ray led the way back into the kitchen. The light was fading fast and it had grown cooler. The storm, the culmination of weeks of unusually hot weather, had finally broken. Rain lashed against windows that had probably withstood much worse but still seemed on the verge of caving in.
The vacant building had suddenly become more ominous – the possibility of a hidden space beneath the floor of the once homely cottage unnerving both detectives.
Ray flicked the light switch in hope, but nothing happened.
‘I can’t believe we’ve been complaining about all that sunshine,’ he said, dropping to his knees inside the door. He felt the edge of the carpet along the wall under the skirting.
‘It’s tacked, but loose,’ he said. ‘I should be able to …’ He grunted as he pulled, eventually freeing the dog-eared fabric from the floor.
‘Got it.’
They knelt on opposite sides of the carpet and began to roll.
As each inch of the original cold stone floor was revealed, Laura felt her nerves steady. How likely was it that a cellar lay under this solid mass? The taxi driver had only rented this accommodation. He was hardly ferrying in cement-breaking machinery and tunnelling into the ground.
And then, suddenly, it was there. A square wooden trap door, at their fingertips.
Laura released her grip like she’d been scalded and sat back on her heels.
‘Christ!’ Ray whispered.
They pushed the remaining carpet to the far wall and stood up.
‘It’s locked,’ Laura said, pointing at the rusty contraption affixing the door to the floor.
Ray kicked hard at the lock. It broke on contact.
‘Do you think that could be considered tampering with evidence?’ Laura asked.
‘Do you really want to wait for a locksmith? Anyway, I used my foot. No fingerprints. Now, is a trapdoor in the kitchen usual? Is it an original feature?’
‘I haven’t a clue.’ She started to shake her head, but stopped suddenly. ‘Hang on. We’re in West Cork.’
Ray shrugged. That much was obvious.
‘The Rebel County,’ she explained. ‘The War of Independence? I know you lot in Dublin think you were the only ones fighting in the 1920s, but Cork and Kerry were sort of holding it together for ye. Michael Collins grew up down the road.’
‘Ah. A hidey-hole,’ he said. ‘For the guerilla fighters.’
‘Exactly. A lot of the houses around here probably had secret cellars for stashing guns or hiding on-the-runs from the British army.’
‘Or kidnapped women …’ Ray said.
Laura felt her stomach lurch. She and Ray pulled on gloves and they knelt together, legs touching. He pulled open the door, cursing at its weight. It took all his strength to lift it.
The smell that rose to meet them was fetid – dank and musty air, undisturbed for years.
‘I can’t see anything,’ Laura said, peering in. A cold tingle ran down her spine and she instinctively sat up and looked behind her to check nobody had crept in to push the two unsuspecting detectives into the open hole.
Ray withdrew his phone from his pocket and switched on its torch. She followed his lead and they shone the combined light into the space.
They saw steps, leading to an underground room. It was small, half the size of the kitchen it sat under. And it was empty, bar one item.
In the corner of the cellar was a bed frame.