Tom stared at the bedroom ceiling, its white paint cast in a green-grey hue by the dull morning light and wet leaves dancing on the tree branches outside. He watched as a long-legged spider skilfully made its way towards the lightshade, stopping every so often to hang acrobatically from two or three legs.
It was still raining – the heat wave well and truly fractured. He listened to the welcome tap tap of the drops on the windowpane, the trickling sounds from the drainpipe, and felt relief. The high temperatures had made everything about this investigation feel feverish. The cool, calming rain would slow things down, give them time to think.
The spider was dangling precariously from a long silver thread now, his legs working overtime as he spun. Just as well Louise wasn’t here to see the poisonous beast descending towards their bed. She’d have a heart attack.
He reached over to his mobile and dialled his wife’s number. She answered with a breathless, ‘Missing me, are you?’
‘I want to say yes, but it sounds suspiciously like you’re making love to another man. What are you doing? I thought you’d be in bed still.’
‘I’m running on the beach.’
‘At 7 a.m., in the rain?’
‘We’re staying with my parents, Tom. They go to bed at 9 every night. Maria is going out of her mind with boredom. Anyway it’s only a drizzle. Maybe we should move to south Wicklow. Enjoy some of this clean living.’
‘I’d miss all our nights clubbing and the easy access to hard drugs. How are your folks?’
‘At Mass. They go every morning now. Hedging their bets with the big guy. Don’t know why – they’re in the full of their health. It will be a while before we inherit the mansion.’
Tom smiled, thinking of the tiny bungalow his in-laws owned.
‘Have you spoken to Sean?’ Louise panted.
‘Yes, about work stuff. Why?’
‘Ah, nothing really. It’s just, I was talking to Mary yesterday. I rang the house and she answered. Sean and June were at the doctor’s. She said her mother is deteriorating more rapidly than expected. They’re sending her for tests.’
‘For what? They know it’s Alzheimer’s.’
‘They’re concerned there might be something more at play. She might also have a growth on the brain. Shit! I have to stop, I can’t breathe.’
She wheezed to a halt as Tom silently contemplated what she’d said. How much more bad luck could their old friends endure? Was that what June had meant when she’d said it was ‘better this way’? Had she been having a lucid moment, referring to a possible tumour?
He sat up with a sudden jolt.
‘Louise, are you running on your own on that beach?’
‘What? Of course I’m on my own. I don’t actually have a lover in Wicklow, Tom. The whole elderly parents thing isn’t a ruse.’
‘Where’s your car?’
‘In the car park. What’s got into you?’
‘Do me a favour. Keep talking to me and walk back to the car. I don’t want you running this early on your own, okay?’
Louise said nothing for a moment.
‘Okay. But Tom, if the papers are anything to go by, I’m not exactly his type.’
‘I know.’
‘This one is really bothering you, isn’t it?’
He exhaled slowly.
‘Of course it is. A serial killer has been operating under our noses all this time and we didn’t clock it. Oh – also, tell Maria not to get into taxis.’
‘Taxis? There’s not much chance of that down here, love. There’s only one taxi man in the whole village and, anyway, everybody knows him.’
‘Yeah. That’s usually how it is.’
‘This letter is not giving us much.’
Tom was perched on the edge of Emmet McDonagh’s desk, chewing on a sesame bagel smothered in cream cheese. His wife’s absence had thrown up one positive – proper order at breakfast time had been restored.
‘The paper is common, the ink from a regular biro,’ the Tech chief continued. ‘There’s nothing to give us a clue to the environment in which the letter was written. One thing we did notice – the handwriting is forced – as in, whoever wrote it doesn’t write like that naturally. He faked his script. You can see it in some of the characters, look.’
Emmet pointed to the ‘v’ in ‘have’ and ‘n’ in ‘Fiona’.
‘He inclined the pen to the left and tried to keep the letters long and fluid, but those two are inclined slightly right and more blocky. His normal penmanship is so ingrained, his hand betrayed him and slipped into it automatically.’
‘Is that it?’ Tom asked, disappointed.
‘I have one more thing, though I’m not sure if it’s of any use. The page came from a pad. It was a good few blank pages in, so the indentations are very light, but we picked up something that had been inscribed on the pages above it.’
Emmet pulled up an image on his computer.
Tom stared at the letters and numbers, trying to make sense of what he was looking at.
‘I don’t see anything logical here,’ he said, squinting. ‘S-pl. 500. F-er. What the hell does that mean?’
‘Dunno. We’ve been playing brainteasers all morning. You can come up with a lot of words for those letters. Simple. Supple. Fucker. Simple supple fucker.’
‘Thanks. Very helpful.’
Emmet shrugged.
‘I’m not a miracle worker.’
‘Boss?’
Ray stuck his head around Emmet’s door.
‘You look like shit,’ Emmet said, jovially. ‘Nice of you to let the rest of us mere mortals have a chance with the female of the species.’
‘Even with leprosy, he’d have an edge on you,’ Tom said, standing up. ‘Let me know if you find anything else.’
Out in the hall, he took a good look at his deputy. Ray’s eyes were heavy-lidded and ringed, his hair dishevelled.
‘How early did you leave Cork this morning?’ the inspector asked. ‘I wasn’t expecting you back up until later.’
‘We came back last night, arrived about 3 a.m.,’ Ray said. ‘Laura didn’t want to stay down there.’
‘You crazy kids,’ Tom said. ‘You should have stayed in bed for a couple of hours. You’re not much use to me struggling to keep your eyes open.’
‘That was my plan but then Natasha McCarthy called. I was liaising with her on listed sex offenders. Did the sergeant handling Fiona Holland’s disappearance mention a guy called Vincent Carney?’
The inspector shook his head.
‘Not a word. Who is he?’
‘He’s on the offenders’ list. A file full of misdemeanours involving women. He started off flashing and grabbing women’s knickers off washing lines. Graduated to groping and then attempted rape. More to the point, he lives a mile away from Fiona Holland and she made a complaint against him last year. She dropped the charge, though.’
‘You’re shitting me.’
Ray shook his head.
‘Let’s go out there, so,’ Tom said. ‘We’ll take my car. I’m not letting you behind a wheel. You can snooze on the way.’
‘Fair enough. Can I suggest we go via the Hollands’? Apparently Fergus Holland thumped the head off this Carney fella in the not-too-distant past.’
‘Yep. But first, we’re popping in to see Sergeant Bart Healy to ask him why he didn’t give us the heads-up on the local sex perv.’
‘To be honest, now, it wouldn’t have occurred to me.’
Healy’s tone was relaxed, but Tom could see he was on the defensive. They’d caught up with the sergeant in the village near the Hollands’ house, after a fruitless trip to Trim garda station.
‘He’s a bit of a simpleton, Vincent. I checked him out when I moved to the area, ticked all the boxes in that regard. There’s no real harm in him.’
‘No real harm?’ Ray parroted. ‘The man was prosecuted for attempted rape!’
The sergeant flushed.
‘When you meet him, you’ll see what I mean. He’s not all there. That attempted rape charge – he wouldn’t have understood that what he was doing was wrong. There’d have been no real intent. That’s all I’m getting at.’
The inspector observed Healy coolly.
‘Nevertheless, you should have told us he lives in the vicinity. It wouldn’t be the first time a known sex offender had gone further than his priors.’
‘Look, I know that. But, come on, he’s not a serial killer. Vincent Carney has the IQ of a child. He’s not traipsing around the country luring women to their deaths. If Vincent was holding a woman in his house against her will, he wouldn’t have the good sense not to broadcast it.’
‘Firstly, as you must be aware, Fiona’s case might not be connected to the serial killer,’ Tom spelled out. ‘This Carney chap could have tried something on with her and got a bit carried away. He had a go before, so why not again? Secondly, has it ever occurred to you that the simpleton thing might be an act?’
The sergeant’s face reflected how incredible he considered the latter suggestion, but Tom could see a hint of something in his eyes – doubt had crept in.
‘Anyhow, we’ll be heading to see him later,’ he said.
‘Why don’t I come along?’
Tom shook his head.
‘No, thank you. I think it’s better if he realises how serious this is and two strangers are more likely to make that point.’
They left the village. A black plume of smoke billowed in Healy’s direction as he stood in the soft rain, observing their departure.
‘Something’s not right there,’ Ray said.
‘With Healy?’
‘Yeah. And with your car.’
‘I keep telling you. It’s diesel engines.’
Ray snorted and closed his eyes. He was still playing catch-up with sleep.
After a quick stop at the Holland home, Tom and Ray were back on the road to the family’s landscaping business. Fergus was there, according to his mother, keeping everything going while she and her husband concentrated on finding Fiona.
They’d heard of Vincent Carney but claimed to have no knowledge of his supposed attack on Fiona the previous year.
‘Do you think it’s him?’ Richard Holland asked, the veins throbbing in his thick neck as he tried to stay calm. ‘Christ, wasn’t he done for some kind of sex attack before? I should have thought of him, but … the police kept telling us Fiona had probably just run away. I didn’t want to think … well, not until this serial killer business kicked up.’
‘We don’t know if he’s involved,’ Tom said, truthfully. ‘We just want to speak to him. You’re sure Fiona never mentioned anything? She made a report to the police.’
‘Quite sure,’ her father replied. ‘I’d have killed him if I’d thought he’d laid a hand on my daughter. You’d better warn him to steer clear of me, Inspector. And why the hell has that man been allowed to remain in our village? Why isn’t he locked up somewhere he can’t get at women?’
‘Mr Holland, as I said – he may not have had anything to do with this. I know it’s hard, but please don’t go getting yourself riled up.’
The last thing they needed was a witch-hunt against Carney.
‘Look, before we go, I wanted to ask you both – have you lived in this area all your lives?’
Richard and Caroline looked at each other.
‘Yes,’ Caroline answered. ‘Why?’
‘You’ve never worked abroad for any period or in another county? You especially, Richard?’
Fiona’s father shook his head, confused.
‘No. I travel around the country for landscaping contracts, but I rarely stay more than a couple of days in any spot.’
‘So your parents were from here, too? You’ve no family home in any other part of Ireland.’
‘Mine are from Navan, but Caroline’s moved to Luttrell from Dublin. Why is any of this relevant, Inspector?’
Tom shrugged.
‘I just wondered about your own backgrounds,’ he said. ‘Whether somebody from your past might have had cause to harm your daughter.’
‘But if it’s this serial killer who’s taken her, it couldn’t have been somebody in our lives,’ Caroline said, staring at him suspiciously.
The inspector just gave a noncommittal grunt.
‘We’ve been wondering,’ Richard said, ‘if we can give another press conference. Plead for him to bring her back. We want to help. We’re going mad here, waiting.’
‘Let me think about it,’ Tom said.
They found Fergus on the shop floor of the Hollands’ huge garden centre. The family appeared to have a roaring trade in supplies for DIY gardeners, if the bustling centre was anything to go by.
‘We need to talk to you,’ Tom said. Fergus was moving heavy ceramic plant pots, aided by another man. He placed his load on the floor near Tom’s feet and stood up straight, his face red from exertion, dark eyes intense and angry.
‘Find my sister yet?’
‘No.’
‘Then what do you want with me?’
‘We want to ask you about Vincent Carney.’
Fergus looked like he was going to spit on the ground. Instead he pulled off his gloves and handed them to his assistant.
‘Finish these off, then bring in those bags of fertiliser, Charlie.’
‘There are five hundred bags!’
‘Then get one of the lads to help. Christ! Do I have to do everything?’
The other man nodded and tried to keep his expression neutral. He looked to be in his late thirties and the inspector could tell he was bristling at having to take orders from the boss’s charming son.
‘We can do this in the office,’ Fergus barked over his shoulder at the detectives as he strode ahead.
Tom and Ray dutifully followed. Once inside, the inspector shut the door and peered out through the window blinds. He watched as the employees on the shop floor cast surreptitious glances at the office and whispered amongst themselves.
‘It can’t be easy,’ he said, turning to face Fergus. None of them sat; instead, they hovered around a table strewn with various files, a phone and a desktop computer.
‘What?’ Fergus muttered.
‘Having to deal with that lot when you’d rather be out looking for your sister. I’m sure they’re well-meaning, but it’s just a sideshow for them, isn’t it?’
Tom was trying to be sympathetic. Fiona’s brother was prickly, but at the heart of it he was a young man trying to hold his family business together and deal with his baby sister vanishing off the face of the earth.
Fergus’s eyes flicked to the window behind Tom. His fierceness wavered. The inspector could see a slight softening in the boyish face hidden behind the beard.
‘Nosy bastards,’ he said, by way of response. ‘Look at them. Little worker ants. They’re trying to come to terms with me being the boss, that’s their main problem. Dad just comes in to oversee the orders – I’m in charge of everything else at the moment. I’m not as soft as the old man. I don’t give a shit if they need the afternoon off for a doctor’s appointment or to collect their kids. They’re paid to work.’
Tom sighed.
‘Alright, let’s talk. What happened with Vincent Carney?’
Fergus dropped onto the leather chair behind the desk. He was roughly the same size as his father and yet the chair swamped him.
‘He tried to feel Fi up. He scared her. Well, he must have. She told me about it and she didn’t tell me nothin’. It’s not right, you know?’
‘What isn’t?’
‘A pervert like that, allowed to live among normal people.’
‘She reported it, but you still went after him.’
‘Only because nothing happened.’ Fergus glowered. ‘She told her buddy – Sergeant Healy. He made the right noises but all he did was go out and have a little chat with Vincent. He claimed the dirty sod didn’t know what he was doing. Then Fiona dropped it altogether. So, I thumped Carney. I only did what anybody would’ve done.’
‘Did he go near Fiona again?’ Tom asked. ‘Or any of the other girls in the village?’
Fergus shook his head.
‘No. It seemed like he’d learned his lesson. I didn’t hear about him harassing anybody in the village after, anyway. Why are you raking all this up? Do you think he has something to do with her going missing? Shit – he’s not your serial killer, is he?’
Tom shook his head. They were poking at a wasp’s nest here. Now they’d introduced Carney into the equation, keeping Richard and Fergus Holland away from the man was going to pose a challenge.
‘We’re just going to talk to him,’ the inspector said. ‘Rule him off our list. How come your parents didn’t know about any of this?’
‘Why do you think? Fi didn’t tell them anything about her life outside the house. She wouldn’t have told them about the baby if she wasn’t growing a great big massive belly on her. Fi was one thing for Mammy and Daddy and another thing out in the big, bad world.’
‘But you were trying to protect her,’ Tom remarked.
‘Didn’t succeed, did I? He has her, doesn’t he? The serial killer. She’s probably dead now. We may as well just accept it. Fiona’s …’
Fergus’ voice broke. Tom’s heart went out to him.
‘Fiona’s gone. My sister is dead.’