‘We will, mister,’ they chimed in unison.
He could hear the two boys still giggling even after he turned the bend. Smiling to himself, he mused about how children were, by and large, much more trusting and open than adults. It was such an attractive quality.
≈
By the time he reached Meadow View, he was peckish again. The last week had seen a further shortening of the days, with the change in the evenings giving the air an extra bite. Soon it would be Hallowe’en. That wasn’t something he had ever engaged in as a boy. At Cronly, the gates were usually locked early in the day, preventing children from calling. He had no memory of ever dressing up, but, then again, who would he have called to even if he had? Meadow View was different. The proximity of the houses meant that strangers might be tempted to visit, looking for their ‘trick or treats’. Another pagan festival commercialised for all the wrong reasons. He had every intention of keeping the house in complete darkness that night, discouraging any neighbourly interactions.
After feeding Tabs and boiling water for his Mokalbari tea, there was still some late-afternoon light in the kitchen. He felt positively elated at the prospect of checking the internet again. He thought about the website he’d looked at earlier that morning, the one he’d saved in Favorites for reviewing later. His intention was to spend the remainder of the afternoon finding out as much information as possible about the investigation. He took his filled teacup into the living room and switched on the computer, logging on and checking the breaking news first.
It didn’t take long to find out about Amelia.
Pacing up and down the floor, he was damned if he could work out how they had found her, and so quickly. He didn’t like it when things didn’t go according to plan. He took several deep breaths to still himself. The most important thing was that she was of no use to them. A dead girl couldn’t talk. He had handled things expediently and, irrespective of developments, everything was still under control.
Wondering whether the answer to the success of the police investigation had anything to do with the new criminal psychologist attached to the case, he decided to turn his attention to Kate Pearson. He found plenty of helpful information about her and the whole area of criminal profiling. The champion of this work in the UK was Professor Henry Bloom, under whose tutelage Kate had emerged as something of a star pupil. She had been involved in a dozen cases with him, some of them very high profile, and scored a success rate of over ninety per cent.
He Googled images of Kate, wanting to see what his new adversary looked like. When he saw her, he was completely taken aback, sitting upright in his chair before smiling back at the screen. Once the initial shock had passed, he laughed to himself. Sensing his master’s good mood, Tabs jumped onto his lap and was rewarded with some rare gentle petting.
‘Well, Tabs, isn’t life full of the nicest little coincidences?’
Deciding it was time for a second cup of tea, he went back into the kitchen. The house was silent other than the hissing of the kettle coming to the boil. He searched for something nice to have as a treat. A packet of plain digestives would do the trick. He took his cup of tea and biscuit back to the computer, rejuvenated now, eager to find out more.
According to the biography he found on Kate, she had an impeccable educational background. Further searches revealed her late father had been an English literary professor, and had turned into something of a recluse in his later years. Kate was currently working with young offenders as part of the Counselling and Offenders Re-Integration Programme.
‘Well, well, well. Who would have guessed? Quite the do-gooder by the look of things, and intelligent, Tabs, don’t you agree?’ The cat looked up at him expectantly.
Crumlin
Saturday, 8 October 2011, 3.15 p.m.
NEITHER O’CONNOR NOR KATE SPOKE UNTIL THEY were safely away from Jessica Barry’s house and driving back to where Kate had parked her car, outside the Devines’.
‘She’s lying, O’Connor.’