‘Talk English, Kate.’ O’Connor sounded tired.
‘Okay, listen. We have to look at each girl, then compare them to establish what they have in common and what makes them different from each other. If Amelia was a threat he needed to get her out of the way, his intention was to kill her from the moment the abduction took place. Caroline’s death was different. The blows to the head don’t fit, too messy for him, unless, of course, they were the result of things not going according plan.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, maybe he hadn’t intended to kill Caroline to begin with. But the positioning makes sense to him. He was able to dispose of Amelia quickly, indicationg he felt very little guilt, if any. He is a killer capable of compartmentalising events, O’Connor. Killing Amelia has proved that beyond doubt, and killers who are capable of that are the most dangerous kind.’
O’Connor turned away to answer his phone. He spoke briefly, then ended the call abruptly.
‘Leave your car here, Kate. That was Dermot O’Brien. They’ve picked up a well-known bastard on the CCTV footage from the canal where Caroline went missing, and we’re both about to pay him a visit.’
Meadow View
HE HAD SET THE ALARM FOR 5.30 A.M. GETTING UP early was something he did whether it was a work day or not. The Cronly family had an ancestry of army men known for their discipline, and despite his aversion to joining such a hideous profession, he was more than willing to churn out the family history at times of convenience, especially when such information could put him in good stature. In truth, the surname and the army ancestry came from his mother’s side, but he wasn’t going to share incidentals like that with anyone if he didn’t have to.
Irrespective of the previous night’s events, continuing his daily routine was important. Teeth brushing for a minimum of ten minutes, using the ‘firm’ toothbrush variety with a designated life span of no more than two weeks. Weighing was another part of his routine. He had kept his BMI at twenty-four for the past five years; with a height of five foot ten inches and a waist of thirty-four inches, maintaining a body weight of no more than twelve stone was imperative.
It was still dark when he finished showering. Down in the kitchen, the kettle was full from the night before. His routine had changed since he moved out of Cronly, but of course the schedule would have been different either way in the big house. Tasks such as lighting the morning fire, turning on the immersion and looking after the old hag would have delayed things considerably.
Porridge made with water was a sturdy start to the day. By the time he sat at his kitchen table for breakfast, he felt a soothing sense of equilibrium return, already looking forward to browsing the newspapers online.
Exactly ten minutes later, he switched on his computer in the living room, ready to pick up whatever details were available. He was intrigued when he read the term ‘Mr Invisible’ used in one of the lower-grade publications to describe the abductor and killer of Caroline Devine. It sounded to him like a superhero character from a comic. Had he entered the world of superhero status? Of course, it wasn’t with candid admiration that the media referred to him that way, but, nonetheless, the inference was there and the language was, at the very least, dramatic.
Unsurprisingly, the story was the lead item on the news when he turned on the radio. ‘Gardaí are appealing for witnesses who may have travelled through the Dublin Mountains area over the course of the past few days.’
Going back to the internet again, it pleased him to find that the term ‘Mr Invisible’ also appeared in one of the more respectable publications. It seemed the use of the term had stemmed from the lack of concrete details about Caroline’s disappearance and murder.
There was no mention of Amelia. No surprise there. It was still early days.
Ellie
IT IS NOT YET SIX WHEN I HEAR THE BIRDS. THEY SWOOP between dark and light while others sleep. Each morning they are my first connection to the living. In the same way as everything about being here is safe in its predictability, so too are they. I don’t envy them their energy, although the night has exhausted me. I envy them their delight.