‘I think we call them itinerant now, Ally,’ said McCormack.
‘Whatever . . . the three boys disappeared in the January of ’83 and by the Feb we were getting unconfirmed sightings of them in the Irish Republic, but they were never followed up properly. The one time we got the Gardaí to do a proper recce of the site they were spotted at, everyone had moved on. I think it’s interesting that the boys were the same age as ours – ten, eleven and twelve. I thought it was worth looking at, especially as the ten-year-old attended St John’s for a while, though it was only a matter of weeks and, being a tinker’s kid, not likely in uniform.’
Valentine removed a chair from the desk he was standing over and lowered himself into it. He sat with his head resting on the flat of his hand as he spoke again. ‘I’m hoping the most-likely file is better than what you’ve shown us so far, Ally.’
‘I’m coming to that now, sir. This was quite a high-profile disappearance going by the records. Two young lads, local boys from Cumnock, who went missing in 1984. That’s exactly thirty-two years ago, sir, so fits our pathology profile of the boys in the oil drum precisely.’
‘Now we’re getting somewhere a little more promising. Go on, Ally.’
McAlister hovered over the open file, seeming unsure of where to begin to present the information he’d accumulated. ‘Well, the case got a lot of press, even made the nightly news regularly because there were a lot of child disappearances then.’
Donnelly spoke, nodding. ‘Yeah, there were a number of prominent serial killers we know about now that we didn’t then.’
McCormack agreed. ‘And the year before we’ve just had those three boys we thought might be sighted in Ireland.’
‘Yeah,’ said McAlister, ‘we’ve got a lot of pressure on to find these boys . . . but nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ said Valentine.
‘Disappeared off the face of the earth, sir. Two boys, both local and still unaccounted for.’
‘Names?’
‘Donal Welsh and Rory Stevenson.’
The DI pushed back his chair. He felt like he’d been struck on the back of the head. ‘Jesus!’
‘Everything OK, sir?’ said McCormack.
Valentine was clawing at his head and neck. ‘Get that file up here now.’
21
Valentine let the tap run, filling his cupped hands with cold water. He could hear DS McCormack knocking on the door and calling his name but he had already decided to ignore her. As he splashed the water on his face he shivered a little, the coldness coming as a shock but not sufficient to knock out his nausea. The skin on his face felt warm to the touch and was burning on his neck and at the base of his skull.
‘Bob, will you open up in there?’ McCormack knocked on the door again.
The DI knew he would have to answer her sooner or later; he’d left the incident room in too much of a hurry for her not to notice that something wasn’t right. He was about to call back and send her on her way when the retching started.
The involuntary contraction in Valentine’s stomach signalled to his throat, and he folded towards the sink. He hoped the noise of the running tap would drown out the dry vomiting, but he knew at once it hadn’t. The detective was bent over, supporting himself on one knee when McCormack eased through the door.
‘Sir, let’s get you on your feet.’ She rushed around him, fretting.
‘Sylvia, this is the Gents.’
‘I know. You’re burning up. On second thoughts perhaps we should sit you down.’ McCormack negotiated the cubicle door behind her and tipped down the toilet seat, helping the DI to rest his weight.
‘If anyone sees us like this there’ll be talk.’
‘Christ, there’s talk as it is.’
Valentine ran the sleeve of his shirt over his wet face. ‘Is there? I never hear any.’
‘You’re the boss, who’s going to gossip to you?’
‘I’ll have to watch what I say now.’
McCormack laughed. ‘No more overnight stays on Arran either.’
‘That’s not funny.’
The DS agreed with Valentine. ‘Sir, you’re so pale I can’t tell where your shirt ends and your face begins. What’s happened?’
‘Nothing, just a headache.’
‘Oh, come on.’ She tilted her chin towards her shoulder. ‘I do this for a living, remember.’
‘OK, I had another turn.’
‘Like the others?’
‘Yes . . . and no.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning if I close my eyes I can still see the face of the wee boy who appeared to me in the incident room.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I think you heard. Now, look, you need to get out of here before someone sees you.’
‘I will if you will. Come on, you’re going home. It’s past six so you’ll not be missed.’
‘But . . .’
‘No buts, Bob. On your feet. I can brief the team about anything that needs doing.’
The DI pushed himself off the toilet seat and steadied himself on the narrow walls of the cubicle. ‘Right, you first.’