‘Isaac Cronin’s basement.’ Hunter’s voice sounded as heavy as lead.
The video Connie had taken was grainy but it was possible to make out the pale curve of her face, her too-wide smile, her off-focus glance as she boasted that she had taken on the graffiti challenge. A Blasted Glass logo zoomed into view, then disappeared, as if Connie, breathless with nerves or excitement, had jerked the phone. Amanda could see it then, the sheen of paint setting it apart from the older graffiti. The wall behind Connie looked grotesque, a psychedelic backdrop that Karl Lawson had examined one night, watched by the man sitting beside her.
Hunter leaned closer, his knee touching hers. Amanda doubted if he was aware of the contact. His car suddenly seemed too small for both of them. She had no idea what was coming next. She just knew it would be bad. He clicked into another short video Connie had filmed outside the padlocked gate. She must have climbed over the wall and was standing on Orchard Road.
‘It took a while, Fearless, but it’s done,’ she’d shouted. The video blurred, as if she had been distracted by something. A kid out of her depth; her hands must have been shaking as she panned the road, then focused back on the gate.
‘No one can ever call me chicken again.’ Amanda heard the relief in the young voice; tiredness too.
‘Look carefully at this.’ Hunter replayed the video, then froze it on the road. A smudge of light on the edge of the screen. Amanda peered closer.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘A jeep,’ he replied.
‘How can you tell?’
‘The video has been analysed by forensics.’
‘And?’
‘Constance Lawson died an instant after she took that video.’
‘Oh, my God! I don’t believe you.’
‘You mean you don’t want to believe me.’
Now that she knew it was a jeep, Amanda could make out the square, solid shape and the aggressive bull-bars that always reminded her of gumshields. But maybe that was only her imagination. An illusion made fact. An opinion solidifying into a perceived truth. She was scrabbling to understand, trying to grasp the enormity of what Hunter was telling her.
‘But Karl Lawson—’ she began.
‘Is innocent,’ he interrupted her. ‘The driver of the jeep committed suicide. He left a note confessing everything and put the girl’s phone on top of it.’
Amanda longed to put her hands over her ears and drown out his voice. His dulled recital of the details that had been established. The driver was an off-duty fireman, driving home on the night Connie stepped out from the dark in front of his jeep. He had swerved to avoid her and would have done so if only she had moved a fraction faster. The wing mirror barely clipped her but it caused her to fall backwards and hit her head against the edge of a sharp brick that once formed part of the boundary wall. Blunt-force trauma – death must have been instantaneous. The autopsy had proved she died from a head injury but the pathologist had assumed the cracked ribs had been administered during what was believed to have been a vicious assault.
The driver had tried to resuscitate her. When he realised she was beyond help, he had put her in the boot of his jeep. He had driven to the small cottage where he lived alone and collected a crowbar and shovel. He knew the whereabouts of the disused water tank that was still buried on Isaac Cronin’s land.
Split-second decisions were often made for the most mundane reasons and no one would have blamed Dominick Kelly if he had been sober that night. Connie was running wild and accidents happen. But he had too much to lose, his marriage, his family, his job. The break-up with his wife had tilted him over the edge and, after drowning his sorrows in his local pub that night, he had taken a chance on driving home, believing the road would be clear. Orchard Road was a lonely place, almost forgotten since the closure of Cronin’s orchard. Connie Lawson was a blur on his horizon when she stepped out in front of him and ended up dead.
Amanda wanted to cry but tears would only trivialise her shock.
‘What’s happening to Karl Lawson?’ she asked when she felt strong enough to cope with Hunter’s answer.
‘He’ll be released as soon as Kelly’s confession has been fully investigated,’ Hunter replied. ‘I’m giving you first bite at the story.’ He spoke dispassionately. ‘You can look upon it as my farewell gift. I don’t want you near my house, my wife or my children ever again. Do you understand?’
He didn’t need to be so emphatic. Amanda had no desire to be in his car, sharing her guilt with a man who had led her astray with misinformation. They parted shortly afterwards, both of them anxious to create as much space as possible between them.
She spoke to Connie’s friends. - This time, she didn’t allow them to sob in each other’s arms. Nor did she allow them to lie glibly about The Fearless, and its leader, Lucas O’Malley. After she had extracted the truth from them, she returned to her desk at Capital Eye. She didn’t need notes. She knew exactly what she had to write.
Innocent Man Still on Remand
Amanda Bowe
Eight months ago, Karl Lawson, 36, cut a lonely figure when he was remanded in custody to await trial for the alleged murder of his niece, Constance Lawson, 13. Important new proof has now come to light that not only casts doubt on the evidence submitted by gardaí to the office of the DPP but will exonerate an innocent man.
Based on reliable information, Capital Eye can reveal that the missing teenager was the victim of a hit and run accident that occurred on Orchard Road. The Garda Press Office refuse to verify or deny the allegation that the panicked driver buried her remains in a water tank rather than face the consequences of his actions. If this proves to be the case, Karl Lawson must be freed without further delay.
Capital Eye believes that a local Glenmoore resident had accepted responsibility for the tragic death of the young teen. Now deceased, he is believed to have taken his own life and admitted his guilt in a note found beside his body. A phone, also found at the scene, proves that information received by gardaí from Karl Lawson during the search was accurate. Constance has called out from beyond her grave and laid her handprint on the guilty.
Her disappearance resulted in a nationwide search. As efforts to find her intensified, gardaí, in a routine house search, discovered a bra belonging to her in the bedroom Lawson shared with his wife. A media presence gathered outside his house and gained momentum as the popular editor of the best-selling music magazine, Hitz, became the chief suspect in his niece’s disappearance.