DI Bradley left. Told me that another police officer would come and sit with me, to ask me a few questions. I sat shell-shocked, with Cliona by my side.
‘Elizabeth,’ she said, ‘I’m going to ask you something now that may be distressing for you. But I feel that given everything that’s happening, I do need to ask.’
I looked at her. I couldn’t imagine anything she’d ask me or say to me could be more distressing than what had already unfurled that afternoon.
‘Do you think that anyone else could possibly have gained access to that photo? Anyone at all who might already have a history of violence?’ She spoke softly.
I shook my head.
‘Elizabeth, I’ve seen your file. I know about Aaron. What happened to you. What he did. Do you think there’s any chance it could be him?’
I shuddered at the mention of his name. I’d not allowed myself to say it, or even think it, since the day and hour he’d left. But no, surely it couldn’t be Aaron? He was long gone. He’d left over a year and a half before. He wouldn’t dare risk coming back.
I had no idea where he was and I didn’t care to know. I never wanted to see his face again. My arm ached, as if the muscles tensed at the memory of that day, and of the days before it.
‘He’s long gone,’ I said. ‘He said he’d never be back.’
‘Could he have changed his mind? He would have known about the picture, about Laura,’ Cliona said. ‘He hurt you before, Elizabeth.’
I started to cry. I hadn’t wanted to think about him.
‘I just think … if there’s even a chance, you should let the police know. You didn’t report the assault last time …’
‘He’s my son,’ I said, which I knew was a pathetic reason for not reporting him.
Especially after how he’d left me, but I had known he was hurting. He was grieving just as I was. But in a different way, and I’d closed down, let him down, so he took that anger out on me. He’d been so remorseful. Promised to leave and never come back. Even before he’d been ordered out of the country by shady forces who’d got wind of how he’d left his mother half dead.
‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘But is there even a chance he’s come back? I assume he’d have access to your house, too?’
He probably had a key, but I’d have known if he’d been in the house, wouldn’t I? And the police said there was a link between Michael and Rachel. So it couldn’t be Aaron. He was still gone. I was still safe.
‘You know that I’m bound by confidentiality,’ she said, ‘but in this case, I feel I have to bring this information to the police. Simply because there’s a woman in immediate danger.’
I wanted to block out what she was saying. What I was thinking. That a child of mine could be capable of such evil. I knew it was a warped logic, but I could take it if it was just against me. I’d deal with that. But if he’d hurt those women … If he was the sick mind behind those notes … I felt sick to my core.
I’d done everything I could to push him out of my head over the last eighteen months. I’d cleared out his bedroom. It was now just filled with boxes, pieces of furniture that no longer had a place in my house.
I’d tried to forget every detail about him, even the good memories. Even the bright smile on his face as a child. All I could see was the hatred in his eyes the night he’d almost killed me.
I still woke from my sleep, my body rigid in shock and pain as I relived how I’d hit every stair on the way down. How he’d screamed at me, spittle hitting my face as he’d told me I was the worst mother God had ever placed on the planet and that Laura was lucky to be dead. ‘She probably did it to escape you,’ he’d screamed at me as I lay on the floor at the bottom of the steps, as he kicked my already bruised and twisted arm so that I heard it break, felt the jagged bone tear through my flesh.
I’d looked through swollen and bruised eyes to see it jut from my skin. I’d been too shocked to feel pain in that moment. But it had been for just a moment – and then the pain had come screaming in.
The stale smell of beer and vodka on his breath. Drunk again, as he seemed to be every day. I’d simply asked him to get up and freshen up. To think about doing some jobs around the farm. Keep busy. It would do him no good to wallow.
He’d reacted like a man possessed. It wasn’t even as if he was looking at me, more like he was looking right through me.
‘You never stop,’ he’d said. ‘Nothing is ever good enough,’ he’d said.
I’d walked away, into my room, and I heard him get up, move about. I’d been relieved. Thought that maybe despite his bitter words, he’d heeded something of what I’d said.
But when I’d started to make my way down the stairs, he was there, on the landing, dressed. His heavy work boots on.
‘Are you happy now? Is this enough now? Do you need to nag more?’
I should have walked away. I should have kept my mouth shut. I’d learned before that when he was drinking, I did well to keep my stupid mouth shut. But I couldn’t help it.
I’d turned to face him. Months of frustration and grief and worry stumbled from my lips.
‘Oh, grow up, Aaron.’
I’d felt the full weight of his boot, kicking, pushing me backwards. I couldn’t stop myself from falling. I’d tried to grab onto something, anything, as I fell, but when I did manage to grasp onto the carpet, I felt the same boot crush down on my hand. I’d pulled my hand away in pain, losing any purchase I had to stop me from falling, and I slid to the bottom of the stairs, the carpet fibres burning my face as they tore at my skin.
He left me there, on the ground, for two hours. Two hours before he loaded me into his car and, overcome with remorse, sobbed all the way to the hospital. I think he wanted me to tell him it was okay, that I forgave him, but I couldn’t. In that moment, and may God forgive me for saying it, but in that moment, I hated him. I wanted him gone.
I was tired of combining grief with fear. I wouldn’t let him make me think I’d driven Laura to her death. By the time I was discharged from hospital, he was long gone. Seems word of what he’d done to me had got around and he’d had a visit from a group of ‘community activists’, who gave him just twenty-four hours to get out of Derry.
‘Elizabeth?’ Cliona said gently. ‘Just in case?’
I nodded, slowly. I couldn’t run from the monster I’d created any more.
Cliona filled Constable King in when she arrived a short time later.
‘Elizabeth, have you suspected your son might be involved before now? Have you kept this from us?’
Her tone was soft but there was no doubt that she wasn’t impressed.
I started to panic. ‘I didn’t mean to,’ I said. ‘No, he’d gone. Been warned not to come back unless he wanted a bullet in his head. He was elsewhere. I didn’t think of him. Not until Cliona mentioned it.’
But a part of me knew I was lying to myself. A whisper of a memory crept back. Of my being wheeled out of the house on the stretcher. Of the ‘ghost’ I’d wondered if I’d seen in the doorway. Had it just been too horrific to contemplate? Had I ignored it or blocked it out?
‘Elizabeth was diagnosed as suffering from PTSD following the attack she sustained at the hands of her son and the death of her daughter,’ Cliona said. ‘She may have been unable to make the connection herself.’
Constable King got straight on her phone back to base, relayed the information and the description of Aaron I’d given. She left the room to talk and I broke down once again.
‘I didn’t think. I just didn’t think,’ I said. ‘What if it is him? What if I could have stopped it all before it happened? If I’d reported him back then?’
Cliona just held my hand. Told me that at least the police knew now. They could look now.
Constable King came back into the room a few minutes later.
‘Elizabeth, I know that you aren’t well, but it would be very useful to us if you could answer some questions.’
I nodded. I’d do whatever I could. But first I had to know.
‘Has Rachel Walker been found yet?’
Constable King shook her head.
‘And Michael, and my grandchildren? What’s happening?’
‘The children are safe. They’re being taken to Michael’s parents. There’s a social worker there and you’re not to worry. DI Bradley’s also asked me to assure you that your dog’ll be taken care of. Officers are going to search your son-in-law’s home now and they’ll make sure Izzy has a safe place to stay. Mr O’Neill’s denying all responsibility or knowledge.’
I nodded.
‘Can you think of anywhere that might mean something to Michael? Does he own any other property? Have any storage units? A work space to which only he has access?’
I shook my head. ‘Not that I know of. I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘There are some old outhouses at the farmyard still.’
‘Police have been searching those,’ she said. ‘They’ve not uncovered anything out of the ordinary.’ She glanced down at her notes. ‘And his silver Avensis, the Toyota. Is that his only vehicle that you know of?’
I nodded. ‘He kept hold of Laura’s car, but then … well, he gave it to Aaron.’
I saw her eyebrows rise. ‘And what kind of car was that?’
I tried to remember. It was red, I knew that much. A Renault, I thought.
‘I don’t know the registration,’ I said. ‘But it was a Renault.’
‘Any idea of the model?’ she asked.
I shook my head. ‘Only that it was a saloon car, not a hatchback. And red.’
‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘The more information we have, the better our chances at getting to Rachel Walker. We’ve had a witness come forward who believes she may have seen Rachel with a man who wasn’t her husband. She’s given a description of his car.’
I nodded. ‘And you said you’d found a link between Michael and Rachel?’
‘We’ve found that Michael was taking a class at the NWRC in creative writing, which Rachel Walker tutored on a Thursday night. Were you aware of that?’
I paused for a moment. That didn’t add up. On Thursday nights, Michael went to a bereavement support group. He never missed it. It was specifically for people who’d been bereaved by suicide. I told Constable King this, gave her what details I could remember.
‘He’d even asked me to go with him a few times,’ I said, more confused than ever. ‘He said he thought it might help me.’
‘If you’ll excuse me again, I’ll just phone in this new information,’ Constable King said and left the room.
‘You look worn out,’ Cliona said to me. ‘I think you should take a break.’
‘But I’d never forgive myself,’ I said, ‘if that poor woman’s dead and it’s because of my stupidity. I’ll never forgive myself.’