Summer suited the Meath countryside.
Tom and Ray had driven west through the picturesque town of Trim, with its ancient castle and narrow streets. They were now in the more rural end of the county. The hedgerows that lined the roads were pruned to perfection, the grassy fields beyond the knee-high stone walls a rich, fertile green. Meath was known as the Royal County, having once been the ancient seat of the High Kings of Ireland. As they drove, Tom could see the royal colours in the green and gold bunting that locals had hung out in support of the county’s Gaelic footballers, who were playing a championship match in Croke Park that Sunday afternoon.
The combination of the tranquil scenery, the humming of lawn mowers and the smell of weekend barbecues was almost enough to make Tom feel relaxed. Almost.
‘I wish we’d taken my car,’ Ray moaned, rolling up his window to keep out the smoke billowing from the exhaust of his boss’ Citroёn. ‘You need to get that seen to.’
‘It was in the garage last week,’ Tom said. ‘It’s just the system cleaning itself out, nothing to worry about. Diesel engines get a bit clogged up.’
‘All diesels, or just yours?’
Ray fiddled with the air conditioning, turning the cold air up as high as it would go. The car was struggling to keep the heat of the day at bay.
‘Anyhow,’ Tom snapped irritably. ‘I want to get out to this family today. At the speed you drive, we’d still be in the car park back at headquarters.’ He was hot, and tired of having the various minor issues with his car pointed out to him by all and sundry. Louise hated the Citroёn and had been at him to get rid of it since he’d bought it.
‘There’s the stud farm Willie told us to look out for,’ his deputy said, pointedly ignoring his boss. ‘We should pass through Luttrell village shortly and then we just keep going straight. We come off the main road at the sign for their landscaping business. That will bring us to their house.’
Sure enough, within minutes they were driving through a one-street village. They passed three pubs, a post office, a hardware store and a garage with a Centra supermarket.
‘Hello and goodbye, rural metropolis,’ Ray murmured, as the car swept down the main street in less than a minute.
Tom soon spotted the sign for Holland’s Garden Centre and Landscaping.
The road they turned onto was narrow, bordered by high cherry laurel bushes. Further along, they crossed a little stone bridge over a river and took the right fork towards the Holland estate.
‘I think that’s it,’ Ray said, pointing at a set of black and gold wrought iron gates that lay open ahead. ‘Looks like these folks have a few bob.’
Tom nodded in agreement as he cruised slowly along the cypress-tree-lined drive. They emerged onto a large gravel parking area beside a plush green lawn.
‘Would you look at that,’ his deputy whistled. ‘It’s a mansion.’
Ray had grown up on a council estate. He lived in an apartment now, bought in the boom and in massive negative equity following the recent recession and property crash. While it was a step up from the three-bed terraced houses in his former estate, he could only dream of owning a sprawling home like this one.
The building that faced them was Tudor-style – white-fronted with a heavy external chimney to one side and steep-pitched roofs. The sills of the mullioned windows were hung with boxes ablaze with summer blooms.
Tom parked the car beside a brand-new silver BMW and they got out, feet crunching on the pebbles underfoot.
The front door opened as they approached, a frazzled-looking woman hurrying out onto the porch to greet them. She was rake thin – so tiny she looked like a collection of sticks that had been thrown together and covered in a spotty blue dress. A small dog rushed past her ankles, barked at the new arrivals, then dashed onto the perfectly manicured lawn like it was possessed. The woman opened her mouth as though to call the dog, but then decided not to bother. There were more important things to think about than whether the terrier was going to shit on the grass.
‘Are you the detectives from Dublin?’ she asked, her hands balled into little fists at her side. ‘I’m Caroline Holland. Fiona’s mother.’
The inspector had seen several photos of Fiona Holland. Although fuller in figure, she bore a remarkable resemblance to her mother – small, light blue eyes; skinny frame and pale skin; long, strawberry-blonde hair with a flicked Farrah Fawcett fringe. On a good day, Caroline could probably pass for her daughter’s sister. But after a week of worry and the shock of the discovery yesterday, the woman looked haggard. Her neck was covered in nervous red splotches, her forehead was creased in a permanent frown and her eyes carried the haunted look of the insomniac.
The detectives introduced themselves and made to follow her into the house.
‘Do you want me to get the dog?’ Ray asked, before she shut the hall door.
Caroline looked at him blankly for a moment.
‘Oh. No. Don’t worry. The heat is driving him mad. I’ll leave him out there a while.’
She led them to a comfortable, pleasantly cool sitting room. It was on the opposite side of the house to the sun and was further shaded by a Japanese maple tree outside. The room had been painted olive and its white couches were dotted with cushions in various shades of green. The designer had brought the garden inside.
Caroline had laid a wicker table with a tea service in anticipation of their arrival.
They’d just sat down when the door opened and a man entered.
Richard Holland was tanned and weather-beaten. His coarse brown hair framed dark, almost black eyes. He crossed the room and shook both the detectives’ hands firmly before joining his wife on the two-seater facing them.
‘I’m just back from the local cop shop,’ he said. ‘I’m glad to see you here. They won’t tell us anything. Is it our girl? Did he … did that monster who buried those girls up in Glendalough take her?’ His voice was throaty and he squeezed his wife’s hand as he spoke, her eyes already bubbling with tears.
‘Mr and Mrs Holland, Fiona’s was not one of the bodies discovered in Glendalough yesterday,’ Tom said, annoyed that this fact hadn’t already been communicated to them. ‘I can absolutely confirm that.’
A spring in Caroline Holland’s body seemed to uncoil and she collapsed against her husband, a sound somewhere between a sob and a groan freeing itself from her lips. He placed his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.
‘It’s okay,’ he murmured. ‘It’s not our baby.’
She shuddered. The inspector was willing to give them a minute, but Caroline recovered herself fairly quickly.
‘I’m sorry, Inspector. I don’t know why I’m crying. It must be the relief. I feel like I haven’t breathed since the news broke about the bodies last night. We kept waiting for somebody to ring and say one of them was Fi. Oh God, the parents of those poor girls. I can’t imagine …’
She shook her head.
Her husband was staring at Tom and Ray, intense eyes darting from one to the other.
‘If Fi hasn’t been found – why are you here, Detectives? I mean,’ he pointed to Tom, ‘you’re that chap, aren’t you? The head of the murder squad. The Glendalough thing is your case, isn’t it? Why have you come out here to talk to us?’
The inspector glanced down at his hands, needing to break eye contact with the concerned, astute man sitting across from him.
It was Caroline who voiced what her husband had already pieced together.
‘You think he might have her, don’t you?’ Her voice was small and shocked.
‘We don’t know,’ Tom said, honestly. ‘But it is something we have to consider. I want to give you some confidential information, but I need to be able to trust your discretion.’
Both parents nodded, eyes wide.
‘One theory we are exploring is that the man who murdered the women we found may have held them captive for a short time beforehand.’
Caroline Holland looked like her heart had stopped beating. Her husband sat forward, his elbows resting on knees spread apart, all the appearance of somebody about to vomit.
‘It is still entirely likely that Fiona has gone off of her own accord,’ the inspector continued. ‘That’s the situation in the majority of missing persons cases, as I’m sure you’re now aware. But, as a precaution, we want to intensify the search for your daughter and to do that, I need to familiarise myself with her case. That’s why we’re here.’
‘She wouldn’t have just gone off,’ Richard said, his voice raspy. ‘We keep telling them that, down at the station. I love my girl, Inspector. But Fi and Caroline have a bond. She’s the sort who needs to be mothered. Nineteen, but still a child. Fi thinks she’s strong and mature, but she’s not. She gets herself into situations and there’s the –’
‘No, Richard,’ Caroline snapped. ‘I won’t have a bad word said about my daughter.’
‘I’m not having a go at her, sweetheart. I’m just trying to tell the inspector what he needs to know. It’s better coming from us than from somebody who doesn’t know her.’
‘It is absolutely vital,’ Tom interjected, ‘that you are completely frank with me. For Fiona’s sake. Time may be of the essence here.’
Caroline looked from her husband to Tom. The branches of the tree outside the window swayed softly, causing a shadow effect to ripple over her face. She blinked away tears and sighed.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know. I just don’t want anybody to think that if something’s happened to her, it’s her fault. She’s young. We all do stupid things at that age. We’re supposed to live long enough that they become an embarrassing memory.’
‘Why would anybody think it was her fault?’ Tom asked, his voice gentle.
Richard stood up.
‘Give me a moment,’ he said, leaving the room.
Caroline watched him go.
‘He’s barely holding up,’ she said, when the door closed. ‘Yet he thinks I’m the one who needs all the support. Richard travels a lot with his job. He feels guilty that he wasn’t here when she disappeared. He worships Fiona, even if at times they butt heads.’
‘Why is that?’ Tom asked.
‘My daughter has what some narrow-minded people would describe as a “reputation”,’ she said, in a tone that challenged the two men to react. When they remained impassive, she continued.
‘Richard is her father – that’s always going to be difficult for him to deal with. She’s not a bad girl. Just a bit wild. At first, it was bunking off school and failing in exams. We argued with her over it, but we didn’t come down like a ton of bricks. Neither Richard nor I were angels as kids and we won’t be hypocrites as parents. I always said to Richard, it’s our job to put our kids on the right path and show them they’re loved, but we must respect them as individuals. We couldn’t beat Fiona into being responsible. And I knew she’d grow out of whatever little phase she was going through, she always did. Her brother is very different. In some ways, he’s harder work. Fi has always been fun-loving and affectionate. She’s always trying to work her way round us with mischievous cheek. Fergus tends to sulk.’
‘Aside from skipping school,’ Ray queried, ‘what else was she doing that concerned you? Was she mixing with a bad crowd?’
Caroline sighed. ‘She started drinking when she was fifteen, going into larger towns like Navan for the nightclubs. We cut her pocket money, even took away her phone at one point. But Fi is good at winding people around her little finger. She’s the sort of girl who doesn’t have to put her hand in her pocket to buy a drink. There’s always a man there, ready to fork out. She made people jealous with that and in turn, it made them spiteful.’
‘People are wont to do that,’ the inspector nodded. ‘So, she has a way with men, like a lot of young, pretty girls. Does she have a boyfriend?’
Caroline bristled.
‘She’s had a few. She doesn’t tell me about all of them. Even though we’re very close, Fi likes her secrets. I always know if she’s seeing a nice chap because she’s all hugs and kisses and “I love you, Mam”. If she’s with somebody she’s not happy with, she just comes home at night and heads straight to her room. She’ll have a face on her for a while until he dumps her.’
‘Why wouldn’t she dump him?’ Ray asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Caroline shrugged. ‘For all the love we give Fiona, she has an awful tendency to pick the bad lads. She’s seeing some guy at the moment; I don’t know his name. But I know she’s not happy.’
Caroline stared at her hands, then looked up at Tom. ‘I should have asked more questions, shouldn’t I? I know I should have. I’ve been too distracted. This last year, Fiona has been making sillier and sillier choices. I should have been more involved. It’s just … I had somebody else to take care of.’
The door to the sitting room opened and Richard came back in. He was carrying an infant, no more than twelve months, a little boy with red hair and sleepy eyes. He’d just woken from his nap.
‘Is this your son?’ Tom asked, confused. He’d been under the impression the other Holland sibling was older.
‘Our son?’ Caroline said, puzzled. ‘No, Fergus is out back.’
Tom turned back to Richard, confused.
‘He may as well be our son, Caroline,’ he said, shifting the baby around to face them. ‘This is Cían. He’s Fiona’s. We’ve no idea who his dad is. She’s never told us. And she doesn’t bother with him much, either.’
‘It’s still no reason, is it?’ Caroline said. ‘Just because a girl is a little wild, that’s no reason for something to happen her?’
The inspector shook his head and looked back to the baby.
He’d had no idea that Fiona Holland was a mother. None of the news items had mentioned a child. He’d scanned her file – if it was in there, he hadn’t spotted it.
And now there was another, even more important person he had to find her for. Her baby.
Fergus Holland was burning cuttings at the far end of his family’s back garden.
‘What do you think of the parents?’ Ray asked, as they walked down the long lawn.
‘They seem terrified,’ Tom said. ‘I’ve no doubt they love that girl. By the looks of things, they’re rearing her child for her, and unquestioningly. Daddy’s princess and Mammy’s pride and joy.’
‘Could it be that she’s just fled the family nest? Got sick of the pandering and fussing? Didn’t want to be stuck with the kid, a reminder of having to be thankful to the folks?’
‘I’d prefer that to the alternative. Look, she’s a young woman who has vanished with no indication that she was planning to leave. We won’t jump to conclusions, but considering we now know there’s a serial killer operating in the State targeting young women, I’m not taking any chances. Let’s step up the investigation into Fiona’s disappearance and if she turns up of her own volition, well, that’s a win. But we’ll sleep easier at night, knowing we acted.’
As they drew nearer to the small bonfire, a young man rounded it, carrying branches. He flung them into the fire, then stood watching them burn as he rubbed his hands together to rid them of the detritus.
While Fiona was the carbon copy of her mother, Fergus could have been carved from the hipbone of his father. He was as tall as Tom or Ray, his shoulders broad and his neck thick. He had the same weather-beaten colouring, a mixture of tan and red. He didn’t come to meet the approaching men, but instead walked back around the bonfire, presumably to fetch more kindling.
‘What’s he at?’ Ray said. ‘I know the heat is going out of the day a bit but why on earth would you light a fire?’
‘He’s got control of it,’ Tom answered. ‘It’s a good distance from the surrounding trees. He’ll let it burn down, then extinguish it. He’s getting rid of dead wood that could cause an actual wildfire.’
Fergus emerged into view with his arms full again. They were near enough now to call out a greeting.
‘I know who you are,’ he grunted, nodding up at the house. ‘The mother texted me. Still haven’t found her, then?’
Tom shook his head.
Fergus threw his load into the flames, then put his hands on his hips, feet planted wide apart. His jeans and T-shirt were dirty from the garden and smoke, but beneath his workman’s appearance – the stance and his obvious strength – he was quite baby-faced. Richard had said Fergus was four years older than his sister, which made him twenty-three.
‘Don’t come any closer,’ he said, nodding at the fire. ‘And don’t inhale too deeply.’
‘Why’s that, then?’ Ray asked.
‘Cherry laurel,’ Fergus answered. ‘When it’s cut, that sweet smell you get is actually poisonous. They say when you burn it, the fumes it releases are akin to cyanide.’
The frown on the young man’s face hadn’t lifted and his tone was confrontational.
‘You must be very worried about your sister?’ Tom probed, thinking if Fergus got any closer to the fire, the chip on his shoulder might ignite.
He shrugged.
‘She’ll be back. She’s just making some sort of point.’
‘Why would she do that?’
‘Dunno. Looking for attention or something. Fi is never happy unless we’re all running around after her. Cleaning up her mess. She doesn’t give a shit about how her carry-on affects us.’
‘How does it affect you?’ Tom asked. Beneath the harshness, he could hear a quiver in Fergus’ voice.
‘It’s not easy being the brother of the town slut.’
The inspector was taken aback. He turned to Ray, whose expression was just as shocked.
‘Aren’t you concerned that something might have happened to your sister?’ Ray asked, unable to keep the incredulity from his voice. ‘Do you really think she’s capable of running away, of leaving her son like that? Did she say anything to you to make you think she was planning that, the last time you saw her?’
‘Her son?’ Fergus snorted. ‘She might have squeezed him out from between those legs she can’t keep shut, but she’s no more his mother than I am. That pair of idiots up at the house are his mammy and daddy. Hopefully, they don’t make as much of a balls with him as they did with Fi. And to answer your question, when I last spoke to my sister, she was telling me to keep my, and I quote, “fucking fat nose out of her fucking business”. She has a way with words.’
‘So, you argued,’ the inspector said. ‘Over what?’
‘Yeah, we argued. And then we went our separate ways, just in case you’re getting any notions. It was the same old row. What man she was screwing this week and how humiliated I should be the next time I was in the pub.’
Neither detective said anything.
Fergus grimaced.
‘I wasn’t … I didn’t start out trying to fight with her. Not that time, anyway. I’d noticed she was coming home with the odd bruise. I asked her what was going on and she just laughed in my face. But whoever she was with, he was hitting her. I mean, how stupid can you get? As angry as I was with her, if she’d been scared of some bloke, I’d have sorted it, you know. She only had to ask.’
‘Your mother said she thought Fiona was unhappy in her current relationship but she didn’t know who she was seeing. Do you know?’
The inspector watched as the fire danced in the young man’s eyes. He could feel the heat from the blaze where he was standing, but Fergus was closer. So he didn’t know if the man was tearing up from the smoke or from sadness.
‘No, I don’t know. But if I find him and he hurt my sister – I’ll kill him.’