‘Did the mother ever come back?’
‘It doesn’t look like it. I guess being an unmarried mother thirty years ago was different from how it is today.’
‘I don’t doubt it but, still, it’s unusual for a woman to abandon her child like that.’
He stopped the car. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘That must be the cabin. Full marks to James Gammon for directions. It’s not exactly the Ritz, is it?’
‘It’s certainly isolated,’ she said, taking in the battered, moss-covered wooden structure surrounded by trees.
As they walked towards it, the smell of earth and moss was potent. A crowd of jackdaws scurried from one tree to the next, prompting them to look up. The sound of fallen twigs breaking underfoot exaggerated the thud of their footsteps, as a cold breeze rustled through the trees. The closer they got to the cabin, the more convinced Kate was that nobody was in. The makeshift curtains were drawn, and a large wooden bolt was clearly visible across the front door.
‘There could be an entrance around the back,’ Lynch said, sharing her thoughts.
The place couldn’t have had more than two rooms, although it was longer than it was wide. Kate waited at the side of the cabin, while Lynch went to the back.
‘Find anything?’ she called, after a few minutes, but she didn’t get an answer. ‘Damn him,’ she muttered under her breath. The place was unsettling, and the longer she stood alone, the more she felt as if something or someone in the forest was watching her. She went around to the back and saw that the door was ajar. ‘Mark, are you in there?’
‘Come in. It’s empty.’
She stood at the doorway, trying to work out which of the two rooms his voice had come from. ‘This is breaking and entering, Mark. You can’t be in there without a warrant.’
‘I heard something crashing down inside. I thought I’d better check it out.’
‘Liar.’ She stepped inside. The interior of the cabin was little more than a hovel, with wood chippings on the floor, a dirty sleeping bag below a small indoor wooden frame. She put her hand over the ashes in the grate. They were still hot. ‘Mark,’ she called into the other room, one that looked to be used as a kitchen, with a gas cylinder beside a two-ringed hob. There were basic utensils and tin cans on a square wooden table, with only one chair, facing the back door. ‘He hasn’t gone far,’ she said. ‘The ashes are still hot.’
‘Some place, isn’t it?’ He smiled, walking back towards her. The smile disappeared when they heard the sound of rushed footsteps coming their way.
‘What the hell?’ were the first words out of the old man’s mouth. A rifle hung on his shoulder.
‘The door was open,’ Lynch ventured.
‘That doesn’t mean you’re invited inside.’ Kate heard a mix of anger and fear in his voice.
‘Barry Lyons?’ Mark took a step closer, holding out his hand, but the old man walked past him, slamming the rifle onto the wooden table in the kitchen.
‘Who’s doing the asking?’ he bellowed.
They followed Lyons into the makeshift kitchen.
‘I’m Detective Mark Lynch, and this is Dr Kate Pearson.’
‘What do you want with me?’
‘We need to talk to you about two of your ex-pupils,’ Lynch continued.
The old man let out a sigh. ‘Which two?’
‘Alice Thompson and Sandra Regan – you would have known Sandra by her maiden name of Connolly.’
Kate thought she detected sadness in the old man’s eyes. He remembered them, all right.
‘That was a long time ago.’ He pulled out the one chair at the table, sat down and folded his arms.
‘Maybe so,’ Lynch replied, ‘but it’s important that you tell us what you know of them.’
‘I know an awful lot. I’m an old man, and I’ve acquired a great deal of knowledge over the years … but wisdom is far greater than knowledge. It took me a while to learn that.’ His eyes were fixed on Lynch.
‘Barry … is it okay to call you Barry?’ Kate ventured.
‘That’s my name, isn’t it?’
‘Barry, you knew both girls from the age of four, is that right?’
‘That’s correct, and I taught them for two years running, between the ages of six and seven.’
‘You’ve a very good memory.’ She smiled. ‘Can you tell us if they were happy girls?’ She walked over to the table, squatting on the wood chippings, in the absence of any other seating.
‘The two of them were close, I can tell you that.’ He pointed to the window opposite, looking out to the forest. ‘They were always playing out there, more at home in the woods than anywhere else.’
‘Were they intelligent? Were they talkative?’