He could still picture her from months earlier, placing those small toes in to test the water, pulling her hair back behind her ears before the dive. He had watched as the long strands of her hair had become immersed, floating to the top like seaweed. He had listened attentively as he heard someone call out her name: Amelia. It was such a pretty name for a young girl. He had thought she would be perfect.
In the dark, all he could hear was the flow of the water. Despite the lightness of the girl’s frame, she felt heavy on his shoulders. The ground underfoot was a mix of scrub and barren soil; he made no sound as he moved. They were now in a place without shadows. He had a long way to go. The farther he walked, the more he became part of the night. Past the gorse patches, where groundwater seeped through sand and gravel, the ground then hardening, before turning into the chalky bedrock he required.
For the first time since he left the mountain road, he turned and looked behind him. The vast, darkened wilderness brought him peace. Dumping the bag containing her body to the side, he stretched upwards, allowing his own breathing to settle. This was the place. The grave would not have to be deep.
Even though she had been such a disappointment, he still prepared her body properly – brushing her hair and tying both plaits neatly with the ribbons. Her lips had reminded him of a painting by Vermeer, the deep shades of cherries over-ripening on the canvas. He laid out her body, as if she were a young girl sleeping, before gently kissing her forehead. She hadn’t understood, but then, why should she?
She was never good enough.
Mervin Road, Rathmines
Friday, 7 October 2011, 6.30 p.m.
KATE WALKED DOWN THE LONG HALLWAY OF NUMBER 34 Mervin Road and pulled the bright yellow Georgian door firmly behind her. With at least another hour before Charlie and Declan were due back from the cinema, she had decided to get out of their apartment and go for a run. The three-storey building was divided into apartments, each occupied by a small family, but it was all quiet as she stood on the doorstep, pulling her jet-black hair into a tight ponytail. To Kate, changing into her running gear was like putting on a new skin, but tonight she knew she couldn’t outrun the images in her mind – she would end up thinking about the photographs O’Connor had shown her over lunch.
O’Connor had a good success rate, but that in itself was no guarantee that they would find out who killed the girl. But there was another thought niggling at the back of her mind. She had been surprised at how pleased she’d been to see O’Connor again, and couldn’t help wondering if the difficulties she and Declan had been experiencing lately had anything to do with it. She didn’t like the way that last thought made her feel, so she struck out along the path, determined to run it and all the other thoughts out of her system.
As she made her way out of Ranelagh village, past the small line of bijou shops and bars, she let the breeze consume her as she instinctively ran faster. Her feet sent her on the usual route: rounding the corner at the top of Appian Way, past the road leading to the Royal Hospital and farther on towards Donnybrook. Turning left towards Herbert Park, she felt her body get into a more uplifting rhythm; she could hear the swish of her ponytail and the repetitive sound of her runners hitting the footpath, feeling the bounce as the ground resonated from the soles of her feet up through her body.
The faster she ran, the faster the questions about the murder came. What had led to the event? Why this victim? What had motivated the killer? She thought back to the images from the burial site, how murky everything had looked, alternating shades of grey and black. In the images, it looked as if the soil had eaten into the girl’s body, layering it, creating a sort of uniformity with the land, except for the small glint that one of the cameras had picked up – a silver crucifix around the victim’s neck, reflecting splintered light when all else was dark.
Entering the gates of Herbert Park, she took in the smell of recently cut grass, probably the last cut of autumn. Other than the odd rook and jackdaw cawing from the trees above, the park was empty, and as she made her way past the old stone water fountain, the cascading water blended with the sounds of the tall rustling trees.