‘Open it and see,’ Chloe snapped, relenting immediately when she saw the hurt skim over his face. ‘Sorry, bro. I’ll go have a look.’
Sean had been through too much. She needed to cut him some slack. She went back and unplugged her phone, glancing at the time. After 1.30. Late for callers.
‘Is she home?’ she asked.
‘Who?’
‘Mother… Mum.’
‘She’s out.’
‘Go back to your PlayStation or whatever you do in that den of yours.’ She smiled.
Sean’s face relaxed. ‘I’ll go with you,’ he offered.
‘Okay.’
Together they hurried down the stairs and Chloe opened the front door.
‘There’s no one here,’ she said. Barefoot, she walked out to the front wall. Looked up and down the road. ‘No one.’
‘I definitely heard the bell.’
‘How could you hear anything with those monster headphones?’ Chloe pointed to where they were hanging around Sean’s neck. ‘World War Three could erupt and you’d hear nothing. You imagined it.’
Marching back up the stairs ahead of Sean, she glanced into her mother’s room. Empty.
‘Wonder where she is.’
‘Probably out on a case,’ Sean said.
‘What’s all the noise?’ Katie said, coming out of her room.
‘Nothing. Go back to sleep. The two of you.’
Chloe closed her bedroom door. Lying on her bed, she wondered if someone had in fact been at the door. And she remembered the feeling of being watched just before Sean burst into her room. Clutching the sheet to her throat, she turned out the lamp. But she couldn’t sleep. She posted on Twitter all night long, hoping he would reply. Where was he? And for the hundredth time that night she wondered: where was Maeve?
The man moved out of the shadow of the neighbour’s garden and smiled to himself. She’d looked so beautiful with her frightened face and flowing hair. Maybe he should have stayed there at the door. Waited for her to open it. Grabbed her round the waist and pulled her body into his. The thought spread a feeling of longing from his chest to his groin, and he hurried to where he could sate his salacious appetite.
Thirty-Two
Tonight was different. Maeve Phillips felt it, even though nothing had yet been said. She hoped whatever was in store for her didn’t involve the room with all the blood. She’d tried not to think of it since she’d collapsed there and been dragged back to her cell. Her prison cell.
How long had she been here? A few days? A week? She had no idea. But now something was going on. Rushing footsteps up and down the corridor outside her door. Muffled voices, low whispers, then shouts. The voices sounded male but she couldn’t be sure. She wished they’d at least left the light on. The narrow gleam from beneath the door offered only shadows.
She closed her eyes and wished for the thousandth time that she had her phone. Would Emily or Chloe be missing her? She’d told Emily she’d fill her in with all the gossip on Monday. What day was it today? No idea. She had lost all concept of time. If her own mother failed to raise the alarm, Chloe surely would do so. She was a detective’s daughter; she would know what to do. She’d miss her at school. She’d miss her on Twitter. Or would she? Maeve wept at the hopelessness of her situation. She had been so trusting. So stupid. As she wiped away her tears, she was grateful for one small thing. So far he hadn’t hurt her. But how long until he did?
The door opened loudly. She darted up.
‘Let me out. Please. My mother needs me.’ She stretched out her hand towards the figure in front of her.
He grabbed and twisted her arm up her back until she screamed.
‘Calm down, little darling. Tonight is your lucky night.’
Kosovo, 1999
He slept for the twenty-kilometre drive into the city of Pristina. The jeep jerked to a stop, causing him to wake with a jolt. The door slammed and the captain jumped out.
The boy stared up at the sign over the door of the building: Klinik?. Most of the surrounding tall buildings had satellite dishes pulsating from their walls like varicose veins. There were so many, he stopped counting.
His eyes drawn to the two-storey clinic, he asked, ‘Is captain ill?’
‘He has to see if the doctor will check you over.’ The soldier reclined the seat and closed his eyes.
The boy closed his too. He didn’t want to be looking at the two girls curving their legs around a lamp post doing their best to attract the soldier’s attention.
The captain returned. ‘Come with me,’ he said, gesturing the boy out of the car.
Looking at his soldier friend, the boy pleaded with his eyes.
‘You better go, lad,’ the soldier said, straightening up. ‘I’ll be waiting here for you.’
The boy clambered over the seat and climbed out of the door. He didn’t know why, but he had an unnatural feeling of terror, even worse than when the men had raped and murdered his mama and sister.
Gulping down his fear, his eyes filling with tears, he read the letters on the green canvas badge taped across the soldier’s chest. He didn’t understand what they said but the letters imprinted themselves on his brain. He knew he would remember his friend for the rest of his life. However long that might be.
Day Four
Thursday 14 May 2015
Thirty-Three
Lottie had walked to work rather than driving, in a bid to clear her head after a restless night. It hadn’t worked.
Following the morning conference with her incident team, she briefed Superintendent Corrigan with information for his press conference. She was glad he was still handling the media, because she had no immediate wish to renew her acquaintance with Cathal Moroney.
‘You don’t have much of anything, do you, Inspector?’ Corrigan turned up his nose at the page of scant notes. ‘Any evidence suggesting the body could be this missing Maeve Phillips?’
‘No evidence, sir. I don’t think it’s her.’
‘You should hand the missing person file over to a new team so you can concentrate on finding the murder victim’s identity. After all, you are the senior investigation officer.’
Tell me something I don’t know, she thought. ‘I’ll hold on to the missing person for a few days, sir.’
‘A few days, then hand it over. I’m going to release this photo to the press.’
‘Maeve Phillips’ photo?’
‘No, the unidentified murder victim. Didn’t I just say we need to find out who she is? The way I see it, you have nothing so far. A whole lot of nothing gives me feckin’ nothing to tell the media.’
Lottie couldn’t disagree. ‘Right, sir.’
Walking down the corridor to her office, all she could think of was the photo of the black-haired girl with the diamond stud in her nose. Maeve Phillips.
Back at her desk, she noticed the report detailing the examination of Maeve’s laptop. Nothing unusual had been discovered. English essays on Word and maths on Excel. The laptop wasn’t set up for internet. Maeve must do her online stuff on her phone, she thought. Where was her phone?