She had liked excitement and danger, so he supposed that was why she’d hightailed it off to Spain with her lover. Jamie McNally, suspected smuggler of drugs and God knew what else. ‘You’re so boring,’ she’d said in one of their arguments before she left. And she was probably right. But he had loved her and done what he could with what little he had, stretching his savings to their limit for a wedding at Ashford fucking Castle. The wedding had been so expensive they couldn’t afford to buy a house afterwards. His one-bed apartment wasn’t good enough for Jackie. She had spent most weekends in Dublin partying with her friends, leaving Boyd alone in Ragmullin, and eventually she’d been swept off her high heels by Rat-Face McNally.
Boyd had kept her departure under wraps for a while, but Ragmullin, though it was a big town, was still small enough that you couldn’t go unnoticed from being married to being single. Humiliated and ridiculed, with the threat of a major investigation into the scandal, he’d relied on his close work colleagues for support. There had been an inquiry regarding his non-existent association with McNally, but nothing had come of it. He hadn’t been the one cavorting with a criminal. Outwardly he accepted the slaps on his shoulders; inwardly he tried to consign Jackie to his past. Venting his anger on his bike, pedalling like a madman, didn’t make him feel any better, but it did dull the void in his heart. A void into which he had tried unsuccessfully to entice Lottie Parker. But she’d stepped over it like a rain-filled puddle and danced around the edge, sometimes getting her feet a little wet but never jumping right in.
Seeing Jackie heading into the store, her hair shorn so short her neck appeared swanlike, stopped Boyd in his tracks. Why was she back in town, and where was lover boy McNally?
He watched from his vantage point as she exited the shop, unwrapping a pack of cigarettes, letting the cellophane catch in a slow breeze. She looked around nervously, lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Clipping down the street, she turned right, to the Brook Hotel. And Boyd, unable to help himself, followed her.
* * *
As he walked into the hotel lounge, he saw her sitting in a booth. Leaning against a pillar, he watched her. She must have spent the last few years in the sun, he thought. She had changed. A lot. Her skin was like an old brown leather handbag, and her eyes appeared dull and lifeless. But she’d maintained her perfect figure.
She looked up and they stared at each other. No smile. He thought about turning and leaving, but did neither. He walked up the wooden steps, careful not to slip in his haste, and sat on a stool opposite her.
‘Hello, Marcus.’
Boyd cringed. Jackie had never called him Mark, his birth name. Too common, she’d said, the irony lost on her. So she’d rechristened him Marcus. He hated it.
‘It’s Boyd to all and sundry now,’ he said. ‘How’re you, Jackie?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, laying the menu on the table. He noticed her fingers twitching. Itching for a cigarette? Nervous?
‘What brings you back to Ragmullin? If you’d warned me, I would’ve rolled out the red carpet.’
‘Sarcasm never did suit you.’
Boyd put a piece of gum into his mouth and chewed. ‘So, are you going to tell me?’
‘Nothing to do with you, if you really want to know.’
The waitress arrived with a notepad.
‘Just a coffee,’ Jackie said. ‘Something has taken away my appetite.’
‘Nothing for me,’ Boyd said.
He leaned back and remembered just in time that he was sitting on a stool. His knees ached. Could he chance moving over to the seat beside her? No way. Maybe he should just get the fuck out of here, away from his not-yet-ex-wife.
He said, ‘Was it too hot for you in Spain?’
‘What do you think, Detective Sergeant Boyd? Heard from one of my friends that you didn’t make inspector. Sorry about that. Was your reputation sullied by my indiscretions?’ She crossed her long legs, her light dress sliding up her thigh. ‘No need to answer that.’ A smile glided across her face. She knew how to hurt him, knew how to tip his anger off the scale.
Boyd shook his head. ‘So did you leave McNally on a sunbed somewhere?’ he asked.
‘Do you speak in questions all the time? I don’t have to answer any of them. Unless you want to arrest me?’
‘You should have stayed under whatever rock he dragged you to. I don’t need to see you around here.’
‘It’s a free country, last time I checked.’
‘I’d better go, if you don’t mind.’ He stood up.
‘Why would I mind? I didn’t invite you.’
‘Just stay out of my way.’ He walked away before the rage, swelling like lava, overflowed into something he would later regret.
‘Marcus?’
He paused on the bottom step of the booth.
‘You stay out of my way too.’
‘Keep McNally out of my face,’ he said, ‘and you won’t see me.’
He left the hotel and headed for Cafferty’s Bar. He needed a pint before he faced Lottie.
* * *
Jackie Boyd knew it had been a risk returning to Ragmullin. But she had wanted to come, and following lots of cajoling and partaking in a few things she didn’t particularly like in bed, Jamie had relented. She’d known there was a strong possibility she would run into Marcus, and somewhere in her subconscious she had thought he might be able to help her. Before she could dwell on it too much, Jamie was sitting in front of her.
‘Was that Detective Sergeant Boyd I saw leaving like Batman?’ he mocked.
‘He appeared out of nowhere,’ she said, taking the coffee cup from the waitress who had materialised at her side.
‘I hope you haven’t been screwing around behind my back.’
‘I can’t help it if people I used to know happen to bump into me.’ She knew she had said too much the second the words left her lips.
‘Were you talking to him just now?’
‘He said hello. I told him to get lost. He left.’ She hoped Jamie accepted this. She didn’t want a row. Not here. Not in public. ‘How did you get on?’ she said quickly, changing the subject.
‘I’m calling to the house later. See if I can find out anything. If you’re finished, let’s go. I don’t want to be seen.’
She wondered why he was out in a public place if he didn’t want to be seen. Wishing she had time to still her nerves with the coffee, she left the correct money on the table and stood up. McNally caught her by the elbow and steered her down the steps.
He pulled her close. ‘Stay away from your ex or you’ll have me to deal with. You hear?’ He bit down on the lobe of her ear.
‘Of c-course, Jamie,’ she stuttered. ‘Of course.’
Twenty-Seven
Lottie glanced up as Boyd slunk into the office shortly after three o’clock.
‘Liquid lunch?’ she asked.
‘Leave it. Just for once.’ He sat at his desk.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ She noticed he was looking unusually dishevelled, his cotton shirt soaked with perspiration.
‘I said leave it.’
‘Have it your own way.’ There was no getting through to Boyd when he was like this.
Scanning her notes on Maeve Phillips, she considered handing the file over to another team to heighten its profile. She had plenty on her desk already to contend with. She was no closer to discovering who the murdered girl was; there were no results from Weir’s yard; no sign of Mimoza and her son. But she couldn’t ignore the fact that a girl was now missing.
‘You never drink at lunchtime.’ She couldn’t help herself. Boyd was acting so out of character, he was almost someone else.