‘Take it,’ he says. ‘I’m leaving now.’
Sensational information has come to light regarding the disappearance of Marcus Richardson, 4. Earlier rumours that he had been kidnapped by the notorious Shroff crime gang have now been ruled out by gardaí. An undisclosed number of men, believed to belong to the gang, were taken into garda custody for questioning. All have been released without charge. Now, an anonymous tip-off to gardaí alleges that Marcus Richardson was abducted by someone he trusted. It also claims that there is a link between the boy’s disappearance and the tragic death of Constance Lawson, whose body was recovered from a disused water tank after an extensive seven-day search.
Six years ago, Marcus’s mother, chat show presenter, Amanda Bowe, 32, dominated the media coverage throughout that tragic week with her headline-grabbing features and knowledge of the on-going garda investigation. Without naming Karl Lawson, uncle of the missing teenager, as a suspect she, nonetheless, created an atmosphere of suspicion around him.
In the aftermath of Lawson’s arrest, an investigation was launched by gardaí to find out if confidential information had been leaked to Bowe by a mole within the gardaí. This was dropped due to lack of evidence. It has now been reopened. Questioned today at Shearwater, her luxurious home on the summit of Bayview Head, Bowe insisted she has never received confidential information from a member of—
Unable to read any more, Amanda closes the paper and half-stands. Her legs refuse to support her and she collapses back into the chair, causing it to slide against the tiled floor.
A woman sitting opposite her says, ‘Oh, my God, you’re Mandy Meets.’
Her voice carries across the cafe. Conversation stops. The silence that follows is heavy with sympathy. It lifts Amanda to her feet. As she hurries from the cafe, she glimpses her reflection in the window. Her hair is lank. She can’t remember when she last washed it. Oh, yes, she can. The morning of the day she met Eric. When all that mattered was wringing pleasure from stolen hours.
Three red devils with horns and tridents, and a monstrous green hulk, pass by on their way to a Hallowe’en party. One of the devils waves his trident in her face and shouts, ‘Be a bad angel and come with us.’
Green lights under the Ha’penny Bridge reflect on the river. Love locks are padlocked to the railings. The custom is forbidden by the city council but who would pay attention to a rule that attempts to stifle love?
‘We need to talk.’ Hunter rings as she’s about to start her car. He sounds as if he’s on a marathon with no finishing tape in sight. ‘Can you meet me tonight?’
‘Are you mad? The police—’
‘We can’t discuss this on the phone,’ he interrupts, his breath loud in her ear. ‘I’ll be waiting at the old boatyard belonging to your husband.’
‘I can’t. For God’s sake, Hunter, it’s too risky.’
‘We have to talk. I’ll see you there,’ he says and hangs up.
When she returns to Shearwater, the whiskey bottle on the occasional table is half empty and Lar looks as if he has every intention of finishing it.
‘As usual, you’re at the centre of the storm, Amanda,’ he says. ‘Who was your source?’ His unrelenting stare challenges her to continue lying.
‘I didn’t have a source.’ Deny, deny, deny. ‘But, even if I did, how can you expect me to reveal the name?’
‘You’re my wife. I expect an honest answer to the questions I ask you.’ He refills his glass and slams the bottle down on the marble tabletop. ‘Fool, that I am,’ he adds, bitterly.
‘Being your wife does not negate my responsibility as a journalist,’ she replies. ‘Why are we even arguing about this? It’s a distraction from Marcus, nothing else.’
‘You’re a skilled liar, Amanda. Don’t forget, I know your depths. Tell me his name.’
‘He doesn’t have a name because he doesn’t exist. But Karl Lawson does. He’s taken Marcus.’
‘Karl Lawson? Are you mad?’
‘I spent hours searching for him today. He’s gone to ground. There’s only one reason why. He’s holding Marcus prisoner – that’s if he hasn’t already—’ She stops, afraid to say the words out loud. Lar waits for her to continue. ‘We’re arguing about something that’s unimportant when all the time our son could be dead.’
‘Don’t say that.’ His colour deepens to a dangerous puce. ‘Don’t you dare even think that about my son.’
‘He’s my son, too.’
‘You weren’t thinking about that the day he was taken. Marcus was the last thing on your mind then. Was it worth it, bitch? A few minutes’ heat for a lifetime of regret.’ He is spoiling for another row; anything to assuage his anger, the unrelenting tension that holds them together even when it’s forcing them apart. ‘It’s all your fault. All your fucking fault.’
‘Karl Lawson—’
‘Has nothing to do with this!’ he roars.
‘You fired him when he was innocent of any wrongdoing.’
‘I fire people all the time. Do you expect me to list every one of them as my enemy? I paid him off after he claimed unfair dismissal—’
‘You boasted that it was a pittance compared to what a court case would have cost you.’
He remembers Karl Lawson only as an editor who never wore a tie and liked to tackle controversial issues. He hadn’t seen him enter a police station; being led from a courtroom; following a coffin down the steps of a church, his harsh gaze fixed on Amanda. Recompense. She is haunted by images no one else can see.
‘I don’t boast, Amanda, especially over such a trivial matter.’ Lar is still shouting. ‘How can you possibly believe he has anything to do with Marcus?’
Would he prefer it to be the Shroffs who have their son? To Lar, that would make sense. A deal done, no matter how high the price. But to believe that the kidnapper is a man shattered by Amanda, and the other reporters, who wove their stories from a frayed fabric? Someone he dismissed because his advertising revenue was more important than his employee’s innocence?
Marcus jumps when he hears a bang on the How-To-Do Room’s window. So does Super, like he would after sitting down on a big, sharp thorn. They go outside into the apple garden. A dead bird lies on the grass. It’s got shiny feathers and eyes like glass. Supers says it’s a dove that didn’t know the window was there. He wraps the dove in a plastic bag and puts it in the freezer. Tomorrow they will have a funeral for the dove, but not now because it’s time for Marcus to be Bravo.