‘The tip-off we received suggests you were in an intimate relationship with a member of the force during that period,’ says the sergeant. ‘It also infers that you remained in touch with your source until shortly after Karl Lawson was released from custody. The information on his impending release could only have come from a garda source. Is there any truth to that allegation?’
‘Absolutely not.’ Bile fills her mouth. She swallows, struggles to remain still. Body language, they can read it like a book. ‘Why are you following up on an anonymous tip-off that is totally untrue when you should be out searching for my son?’
Garda Browne scribbles furiously in his notebook and asks, ‘Can you tell us why you suddenly switched from your belief that Karl Lawson was guilty of his niece’s—’
‘I never claimed he was guilty, nor did I name him. I simply reported on the investigation. I was doing—’
‘As you’re aware, the implications of what you wrote had far-reaching effects on his life, ’ Sergeant Moran smoothly intervenes. ‘Why did you suddenly change from your perceived notion that he was guilty to your belief that he was innocent and worthy of a campaign that demanded his immediate release?’
‘He was the victim of a miscarriage of justice. I investigated the truth and helped him gain his freedom.’
‘For that reason he should be grateful to you. Why list him among your possible enemies?’
‘Because of the media frenzy surrounding—’
‘A frenzy you were responsible for starting,’ the sergeant curtly interrupts her. ‘What we’re trying to do now is establish whether or not the tip-off we received is connected to your son’s disappearance and worth investigating.’
Amanda moans and rocks backwards, forwards. The wall facing her is invisible, yet she feels as if her head is thudding against it, like she used to do when she was a child alone in her room, seeking courage from the pain. This new pain is inflamed with a terrible truth. Gangsters have nothing to do with Marcus’s disappearance. They are professionals. Like Lar, they look at the bottom line. A ransom note would have arrived by now. Not an anonymous tip-off. Somehow, in the middle of a crowded road, Karl Lawson grasped her son’s hand and led him away. He is manipulating the media, feeding them information drip by drip, destroying her as she destroyed him. It’s not only Amanda Bowe he wants to punish. It’s Eric and Lar, all culpable; and, now, Hunter—
‘Karl Lawson has Marcus.’ She states this fact with absolute conviction. ‘It’s his way of punishing me for reporting on his guilt.’
‘You’ve just told us you never claimed he was guilty.’ Garda Browne sounds like a smug schoolboy who has tripped her up in the schoolyard.
‘The media picked up on his relationship with those young girls. Those concerts…’ She bites hard on her lip, her conviction growing. Memories surge forward and demand to be examined. Not that they’ve ever gone away but, until now, she’s always been able to contain them. She recalls Eric’s bravado as he banged on the front door of Lawson’s house, shoved his questions through the letter box, all the emails he sent, the phone calls, the chase.
‘Before we go, I’d like to confirm what you’ve told us.’ Sergeant Moran prepares to leave. ‘At no time during the search for Constance Lawson, or on any other occasion before and afterwards, did you receive confidential information from any member of An Garda Siochána.’
Has Hunter been questioned? Has he been strong enough to deny any knowledge of their relationship? Amanda has to believe in him.
‘I’ve never received such information at any time,’ she replies.
Garda Browne snaps his notebook closed.
‘Should you think of anything that will help us to further our investigations, don’t hesitate to contact us.’ The sergeant tightens the belt on her hi-vis jacket. Solid brawn, she is a poker-faced harridan, Amanda thinks, who is trying to destroy her. ‘We’ll be in touch again as soon as there is anything new to report in our search for Marcus.’
‘What about Karl Lawson? Aren’t you going to bring him in for questioning?’ Her knees shake. She presses them together, aware of Garda Browne’s scrutiny. ‘He told me once he’d get his revenge. He quoted the Bible at me – vengeance is mine, and recompense, for the time when their foot shall slip—’
‘You think a biblical quote is sufficient evidence to take him in for questioning?’ Sergeant Moran asks. ‘We’re a garda force, Mrs Richardson. Like you, we’re professionals when it comes to obtaining results. We base our success on more than a knowledge of Deuteronomy.’
Bolts of electricity: Amanda can feel them shooting through her body. The police have departed and the information they left behind has jolted her from the stupor of bewilderment and terror that has imprisoned her since Marcus went missing. Somewhere, beyond the gates of Shearwater, Karl Lawson is waiting for her to find her son.
She leaves Shearwater, drives past the journalists, who move rapidly out of the way, uncaring whether or not they follow as she heads towards the M50, her foot hard on the accelerator.
Spiderwebs and skeletons hang from the windows in Cherrywood Terrace. Tombstones lean at dangerous angles in front gardens, pumpkin heads glimmer in porches. Soon, the little ones will emerge, shy witches and devils clinging to their parents’ hands, as Marcus did last year when he dressed as a plink and Amanda called with him to their neighbours on Bayview Heights.
She brakes outside the house where Karl Lawson used to live. The garden has the tufty greenness of fake grass, and a white, mop-headed bichon frise eyes her suspiciously from the living-room windowsill. The dog’s high-pitched bark sounds faintly through the glass when she rings the doorbell.
‘Karl Lawson?’ The man who answers the door grabs the dog’s collar as she tries to escape into the garden. ‘I know he lived here years ago but I’ve had no dealings with him.’
‘What about his post? Do you have a forwarding address?’
‘Afraid not.’ He shouts above the dog’s barking. ‘Check with Maria Barnes. If anyone can give you an update, it’s her.’ He drags the dog back from the open door and closes it.
Maria Barnes is waiting at her gate when Amanda crosses the road. ‘I thought I recognised you.’ Her gaze is sympathetic. ‘I’m so sorry about your boy. I pray to God you find him soon. The waiting must be agony.’ She doesn’t pretend a false optimism. She knows how such searches can end.
‘Thank you.’
‘Are you looking for Karl?’
‘Yes.’ She winces, knowing Maria can barely contain her curiosity. ‘Do you have an address for him?’
‘Not since he left here.’
‘Have you any idea where I can find him?’
‘Not a clue, love.’
‘Do you have an address or a phone number for his wife?’
‘Ex-wife, you mean. Nicole married again.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘I phone Jenna Lawson occasionally. Sasha was Nicole’s flower girl. Gorgeous kid. Karl adored the ground she walked on.’
‘Do you have Jenna’s phone number?’
‘She’s changed it. Last time I rang she’d gone ex-directory.’ She shrugs. ‘Pity. We were friends when she lived here but people move on with their lives.’
‘I have to find Karl. Any information, anything – please Maria… think.’
‘I’ve no idea. Even that plea from his brother on Eavesdrop didn’t turn up anything.’