‘Good, that’s very good indeed,’ he noted out loud. He could hear rumbling from next door; the house attached to his was often louder with its weekend domesticity.
Running another search through Google, there were any number of hits, but one in particular attracted his attention, covering Kate Pearson’s work with the professor. He saved it into Favorites, then went to the kitchen to make a bowl of pasta for lunch. His next trip wouldn’t take long. The bus stop was less than a five-minute walk from the house. He had the choice of any number of buses, which was partly the reason he had chosen 15 Meadow View because it meant that, despite the unreliability of the bus services in the city, the abundance of routes would ensure being late for work, or anything else, was not a problem he would encounter.
Locking his car in the Terenure garage the night before had been a rather rushed affair, and although he’d been careful that there was no mess this time, he would feel happier once he had double-checked that everything was as it should be. Things must always be as they should be.
He arrived at the bus stop ten minutes after finishing his lunch. A group of old ladies were waiting, and a teenage boy – a good sign, another bus would be along soon. It was an excellent day, with lots of sunlight, although chilly. He was glad he’d worn a warm jacket. The bus arrived empty except for a couple of passengers, so he stood back and allowed the others to go ahead of him. This generated smiles all round from everyone except the teenager, who stood back awkwardly.
Once on the bus, he chose a window seat. As he sat down, one of the old ladies smiled at him again. It was amazing how a small gesture could bring you close to people. If he wanted to, he knew he could be on first-name terms with the woman before either of them got off the bus. Instead, he decided to look out the window, allowing his mind drift to Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience, a masterful collection that explored the contrary states of the human soul. Blake saw childhood as a state of protected innocence although, importantly, it was not immune to the immoral world and its sometimes dreadful institutions.
At the stop before his, the old lady with the eager smile got off. He purposely nodded goodbye to her. She looked even happier than before. He didn’t wave to her as the bus pulled out, although he noticed she waited on the footpath for him to do so. There was no point getting too friendly, that was something he kept for people who could be either useful or of interest. He closed his eyes and waited until the woman was no longer in view before returning to watch the rest of the passengers. He liked to watch how people moved, listen to how they talked and take in every little thing about their appearance and that way, bit by bit, he could build up an exact picture of every person he encountered. It felt like a stolen intimacy, and that notion pleased him immensely.
Devine Family Home, Harold’s Cross
Saturday, 8 October 2011, 1.15 p.m.
KATE RECEIVED O’CONNOR’S TEXT BEFORE SHE reached the end of the mountain road. She had no doubt that the last meeting at the Incident Room would have been a difficult one. Two young girls had been murdered, and O’Connor and his colleagues were under serious pressure to deliver the culprit. The text said: ‘Canter’s set up meeting with Caroline’s parents, see you there in twenty.’ Kate sighed – any thoughts of getting back to Declan and Charlie early in the day were lost now.
From the moment of Caroline Devine’s disappearance, the feeling of unrest in the city had been rising. Kate knew there had been editorials on the Devine case and numerous calls to various radio chat show programmes, with callers complaining bitterly about government cutbacks in policing, the dangers to children in today’s society and the seeming inability of the police to find the killer. Any sort of crime concerning children upset people hugely, and attacking the police seemed a kneejerk reaction.