14

There were wreaths along the mound of earth and on each side: from Shane’s mother and father, from his aunts on his father’s side, from his cousins, from Noelie, from his school class, from the school itself, from his father’s work colleagues. And many more besides. Shane’s band had sent one in the shape of an electric guitar – it was Noelie’s favourite. Carnations and lilies entwined on a body and a fender expertly shaped from green reeds. A CD of their release, By The Cage, was glued to the makeshift guitar’s fingerboard. Alongside it was a grainy picture of Shane playing at The Old Oak. Lots of signatures were scribbled on the photo, which had been laminated and would outlive the wreaths and flowers that were already withering in the warm July weather.

Shane was found at low tide in the Lee’s north channel. Some years earlier a riverside walk had been put in place on the grounds of the old Irish Distillers’ site. The land was now the university’s but the public had access to the route and it had become popular. A tree branch bowed like a fishing rod under a heavy catch caught a walker’s eye. She took a closer look and realised that something large was snared on the branch – half in, half out of the dark water. This was in the late afternoon, on the day after Bonfire Night, and of course Shane’s disappearance had been in the news by then. The walker recognised the hoodie showing a bicyclist doing a midair turn – an image associated with the band Bombay Bicycle Club. A female detective, Byrne, broke the news to the family.

The subsequent investigation focused on Shane’s last known movements. He was at a friend’s house until around 1 p.m. on the day he disappeared. He sent and received a series of text messages as he walked into Cork city centre. Analysis of this phone traffic indicated that Shane had stayed around the city centre area for about an hour. His final message at 2.32 p.m. – a text of no consequence about a YouTube video – was relayed by a phone mast on Capwell Road, a kilometre and a half from the city centre and about half a kilometre from Noelie’s flat. Following this Shane appeared to move further away from the city centre. The final communication from his phone, as it signed off the network, was picked up by a beacon adjacent to Cork City FC’s football pitch at Turner’s Cross – a location almost in the heart of Cork’s southside suburbs.

Noelie knew he was under suspicion courtesy of his brother-in-law, and Detective Byrne confirmed as much. Within an hour of the identification of the body, she took Noelie aside and informed him that Shane’s disappearance and death would be fully investigated. She would need to see his flat as a priority; he could cooperate or she could get a warrant. Noelie decided to cooperate. He told Detective Byrne in detail about his involvement in the Jim Dalton affair, about his arrest in relation to the assault on Ajax Dineen and everything else that had happened in between. He also told her where he had been hiding during the critical time that Shane vanished. Later, analysis of CCTV footage from the rail station and the tunnel confirmed Noelie’s account.

Those couple of days, a fortnight ago now, were still a haze for Noelie. Eventually he told Ellen more about the trouble he had got into: why he had gone to her house early on the morning of the day of Shane’s disappearance, about the records and about Don Cronin’s goons. As a result his sister had hardly spoken to him afterwards. Hannah had come to the rescue, accompanying Noelie to the funeral Mass and the burial.

In time, other developments had helped shift the focus away from Noelie. The post-mortem revealed that Shane’s cause of death was drowning. No drugs or alcohol were found in his blood. Nor were there any signs on the body of violence or physical trauma. The report noted the presence of abrasions on Shane’s fingertips. These were consistent with attempting to maintain a grip on concrete or on quayside walls.

Another factor that helped to clear Noelie was where Shane was found. The majority of river suicides in the city took place downstream of where Shane was discovered, at the bridges and quaysides around the centre of the town or in the docklands. What was Shane doing so far upriver? It was possible that he had fallen in downstream and had been carried upriver with an incoming tide but this was thought to be unlikely. A possible explanation was that he had entered the river upstream of where he was found. This led Detective Byrne to ‘Bumhole’, an area of waste ground beside the city’s skateboard park. Bumhole was a gathering place for youngsters of Shane’s age and it was rumoured to be a location for drugs and teenage sex. One scenario was that Shane had gone there before he vanished. Byrne hadn’t confirmed this but it was plausible. Had something happened to Shane when he was at Bumhole?

A significant factor too – in particular for Noelie – was the time of Shane’s death. A time bracket was the best that could be done – it was eventually calculated that Shane had been in water for at least forty-eight hours. Given that the time lapse between the final communication from Shane’s phone and the discovery of his body was seventy-three hours, this meant that Shane had died when Noelie was hiding in the train tunnel.

Prior to Shane’s disappearance, there were only two groups of people who knew about Noelie’s recovery of the record collection: Inspector Lynch and his associates in Branch, and Don Cronin and his crew. In the immediate aftermath of Shane’s disappearance Noelie had spoken directly to both men: he felt sure neither was involved. Cronin was the most likely of the two to have had both motive and means, yet in Noelie’s last encounter with him he had come across as someone who was parting company with the entire matter of the lock-ups. The only thing Noelie was unsure about was Cronin’s reference to ‘that crowd’. He took some small comfort in the fact that Shane’s drowning had probably happened before he went to the Daltons – he had been nervous that his revelations had somehow resulted in Shane’s death.

Ellen had latched on to other theories, including the idea that there was a girl or girlfriend involved. As it turned out there was a young woman close to the band. Noelie tracked her down to the Camden Palace, an indie arts venue in the centre of Cork. Anaïs had a beanstalk physique, a sunflower tattooed on the side of her neck and was totally out of Shane’s league. She was in her twenties whereas Shane’s lot were all teenagers. Fancied themselves, of course, but she had seen through that. She confirmed that the idea of her fronting Shane’s band had come up once. She emphasised ‘once’ and implied to Noelie that one of them – Shane possibly? – was into her a bit too much for his own good and that this might have been behind the band’s offer. But in any case, on her say so, the plan went nowhere. She also informed him that the boys did more drugs than was good for them, given their ages. That had come as a surprise to Noelie.

Now, two weeks on, he stood at his nephew’s graveside for the first time since the funeral. He was at the cemetery for another reason but he couldn’t not visit Shane’s grave. Stooping eventually, he placed his hand on the damp mound. He clenched some soil, put it down and clenched more.

He only occasionally went to his parents’ graves – he never got that much out of visiting. But this somehow felt different. He didn’t know if it was Shane’s age or the rapport he had felt he had with him – or perhaps it was residual guilt? – but he felt the need to talk. He told Shane that he was very low and that Ellen was trying her best to cope without him. He also told him that the band had been up to visit her a couple of times. There were tears in his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ he said, adding, ‘I don’t understand …’

Opinion remained divided on what had happened to Shane. The unspoken consensus was that it was either an accident or suicide – although no one seemed able to explain the latter. Shane, it seemed, had plenty to live for. The rock band he was in was popular; his mood before his disappearance had been upbeat. No one had been able to dredge up any particularly unsavoury interaction, apart from an allegation – unproven – that one of their songs had been ripped off by another local band. In sum, nothing made sense.

A small wooden cross stood at the head of Shane’s plot; it would remain until a headstone was cut and inscribed. Noelie straightened it and said, ‘I’m not forgetting you.’

He looked around. In the distance, on the far side of a border hedge, he saw movement: what looked like the top of a milk float moving along. He walked between the lines of graves and emerged onto a gravel path. Eventually he caught up with the vehicle. It was pulling a trailer, from which the driver-caretaker had unloaded hedge trimmers and a small petrol mower. The man was of retirement age, grey-haired and small. He looked up when Noelie approached.

‘Wondering if you can help? I’m looking for the paupers’ area. In the newspaper they said that the human remains found in Glen Park have been laid to rest there.’

The caretaker nodded. ‘See the maples yonder? There a low marble wall on the other side of those. Number 72–5. Coffin half the size of normal. Like a child’s. Not much of him. But that’s not the paupers’ area. The opposite actually.’

Noelie didn’t understand.

‘That’s the most expensive part of the cemetery,’ said the caretaker. ‘Take a look and you’ll see what I mean.’

Noelie walked to the line of trees. The section was up against the outer cemetery wall. A low marble division snaked around a good half acre, marking it out as separate from the main graveyard. There were flowerbeds, seats too; many had dedications inscribed on them.

Plot 72–5 was just a mound of earth. Freshly dug as well. Unlike Shane’s plot there were no wreaths at all. The grave looked very bare and lonely. As with Shane’s grave the official marking of identity was just a simple wooden cross. A name was written on it: Michael Egan.

The Dalton family had held a press conference on the day after Bonfire Night at one of the main hotels in Cork; it was well organised and received considerable media attention. At the event the Daltons made public the Sugrue statement and called for an inquiry into what it alleged. The family also petitioned for an immediate search of the area in the Glen that was marked on the map.

Garda HQ in Phoenix Park in Dublin refuted all the allegations. A personal statement was also issued on behalf of Inspector Lynch. It also refuted the Dalton family’s claims.

However the gardaí did agree to initiate a search of the area marked by a cross on the map. Human remains were found almost immediately. Then came the surprise. To the Dalton family’s dismay, they were not those of Jim Dalton – this was established using dental records. It further emerged that the remains had been in situ for over thirty years, which took matters back to the seventies, whereas Jim Dalton went missing in 1990. What happened next was by no means as clear-cut. Noelie and Hannah had gleaned as much information as they could from the newspapers; Hannah also had her own contacts.

Shortly after the discovery in the Glen, an appeal was made for information about the remains. Almost immediately a local station, Red FM, received a significant anonymous tip. This led directly to a man reported missing from west London in 1970 – an Irishman in his early twenties who had been working on the buildings. He never arrived for work one week. When his rent fell due, the family he was in digs with made enquiries. Apparently they were fond of this man and had gone to some lengths to find out what had happened to him. They eventually filed a missing person’s report. His name was Michael Egan.

Noelie wandered over to the grave next to the Egan plot. A headstone was already in place there: a shiny black marble commission with an inset colour picture of a dark-haired child alongside a gold cross and an offertory prayer. A solar lantern was alight. Fresh flowers had recently been placed on the child’s grave and Noelie read the attached note. Thinking of you always, Sweetie. Love, Mammy and Daddy.

He remembered something. Looking at the Egan grave once more and then at the child’s plot, he returned to find the cemetery caretaker tackling a hedge. He had ear muffs on and Noelie had to tap him on the shoulder. The caretaker shut off the trimmer and lifted his goggles and muffs.

‘Well?’

‘I see what you mean. It’s nice there. Manicured, better cared for.’

‘Premium zone. Some whizz-kid in the council had the idea. You know the way they are these days. You pay for the privilege of course.’

‘How much?’

‘Twice the usual. But that’s not all. Did you notice anything else about the plot?’

Noelie shook his head. ‘Can’t say I did.’

‘It’s much bigger.’

‘Is it? By how much?’

‘That’s a treble, he’s in. It can take two more as a minimum. It’s five grand’s worth easily.’

Noelie looked back in the direction he had come from. ‘No pauper so.’

‘Doesn’t look like it. We’re wondering ourselves. Now someone did say it could be those people over in London are paying for it, the ones who helped to identify him, but in that case why a grave for three?’

Noelie eyed the caretaker. He wondered if this might be some kind of wind up, but the tired expression on his face remained.

‘There’ll be a headstone?’ Noelie asked.

‘Takes time to order and do up. A few weeks to six months is normal.’

‘Any idea who’ll be doing it?’

‘Brennans, off Shandon Street. Them usually.’