‘You know what, Finn, you’re a piece of shit,’ Cillian shouted.
‘And we both came from the same family.’ Finn kept walking, talking over his shoulder. ‘You’re no angel, Cillian O’Donnell. I know you. Don’t ever forget that. I know all about you.’
Twenty-Six
The mirror wasn’t doing her any favours tonight. Gilly O’Donoghue wasn’t used to the art of applying make-up. A scrape of lipstick was her usual fare. At least she liked the short cut of her hair. It was handy, especially when wearing her peaked garda hat.
‘You’ll have to do,’ she told her reflection.
She was meeting her friend Mollie in Danny’s Bar because Kirby had had to cancel their Wednesday-night date due to some surveillance job. She’d rung Mollie, who’d agreed to meet up tonight even though she had to be up early for the train every morning.
Gilly had been going out with Kirby for the last four months and trying to keep it quiet at work. But it was hard to hide a secret from a crew of gardaí. Kirby was at least ten years her senior. It didn’t worry her. He actually looked a lot older than that, if she wanted to be totally honest with herself. Probably all the extra weight he carried around his stomach. Could she get him to go jogging with her? She’d ask him.
‘I’m running a bit late,’ she said to the empty bedroom. Better let Mollie know. Tapping the phone, she called her friend. It rang out. She tried again. Same result. She checked the time: 9.45 p.m. Maybe she was in the pub already and couldn’t hear the phone.
Gilly grabbed her coat from the back of the door and left her flat. She hoped Mollie wouldn’t be mad at her.
* * *
The night was dark. The stars had fled, and the frost had disappeared along with them. It was still cold, but he could feel rain in the air.
He thought about Elizabeth. Dammit, he had thought she’d never be found. Had he been careful enough? He had disposed of her phone. Taken it apart. Dropped pieces of it out of the train window and along the streets of Dublin. He’d dumped her handbag into a rubbish bin behind a pub. Was there anything else he needed to be mindful of?
Her clothes were in the skip inside the cemetery wall. That was the reason he’d been there in the first place. Thought the bitch was still in a flatline state. He’d spent ages at the lake with her, undressing her. Dunking the clothes into the water and putting them into black bin bags, ready for the skip. The guards would probably find them now, but he’d been careful. There shouldn’t be any of his DNA on them.
He’d stashed her in one of the caravans at the lake until it was time to move her. He couldn’t risk leaving her there. Maybe he should have done, because her escape from the car had changed everything. And directed him to his next conquest.
He smiled when he thought of the new one waiting for him. He still had her belongings. In the morning, her phone would meet the same fate as Elizabeth’s, and the laptop would be suitably disposed of on the other side of the city. He’d bagged her clothes and boots, and stuffed them into a charity recycle bin outside Tesco.
All was taken care of.
He was free to play.
* * *
Mollie’s Canal Drive apartment was in darkness. She hadn’t been in the pub, and it was unlike her not to let Gilly know that she’d changed her mind about going out.
When she got no response from ringing the bell, Gilly hammered on the door. Standing on the top step, she looked around at the bleak surroundings. In the distance, she could see the lights of the town shining brighter than the solitary lamp at the corner of the block.
Careful not to slip, she made her way down the steps. That was when she remembered she had a key. Mollie had given it to her a while ago, just in case. You never knew when you might need a bed for a night. She made her way back up to the door.
Surely she was overreacting? But now she was here, she might as well check. It couldn’t do any harm, other than wake Mollie up from an early slumber. Rummaging through the multitude of keys on her key ring, she tried two before the door eventually opened inwards.
Stepping inside, she fumbled along the wall for the light switch. ‘Mollie? You all right?’
No one in the kitchen. Cereal was caked to a bowl in the sink. No sign of an evening meal having been cooked. Not even takeaway boxes or wrappers. Gilly made her way to the bedrooms. Both empty.
She tried Mollie’s number once more. No reply.
Leaving the apartment, she pulled the door shut behind her in frustration. She was a tiny bit angry. First Kirby and then Mollie, who hadn’t even had the decency to tell her she wouldn’t be around. Some friend.
As she headed along the path, she wondered if perhaps Mollie had missed the last train home and was spending the night in Dublin with one of her colleagues. But wouldn’t she have let her know? Wouldn’t she answer her phone? Then again, she could be wrapped around a new fellow. Feck you, Mollie.
Now she had to go home and take off her damn make-up. And she hadn’t even had a drink.
* * *
Mollie’s teeth were literally clinking against each other as she tried to recall the sequence of events that had led her here. Her head was woozy and her stomach churning. She’d been drugged, she was sure of it. Her tongue felt like coarse fur was growing on it and her throat was raw.
He had seemed so nice. Offering her a lift. And she hadn’t thought twice about taking him up on his offer. After all, he’d brought her home safely yesterday.
Her train companion had been a pain in the butt. Asking a million questions. Did people no longer respect the unspoken rule of commuting? The unwritten law to keep quiet? The continuous talking had caused her to jump at the chance of escape at the station and accept the offer of a lift. Stupid girl. She didn’t even know him.
The smell, like sour milk or sick wafted around her. Felt like it was stuck to her face. He’d clamped the cloth against her mouth and nose, and the chemicals had hit her brain. Everything she’d ever heard about accepting lifts from strangers reverberated in her mind. But those were warnings for children. Not for a twenty-five-year-old like herself. She realised she had done the most moronic thing of her whole life.
He was here now, sitting on a chair beside the makeshift bed on which she lay. She tried to cover her nakedness, but her hands wouldn’t move. Couldn’t move. They were tied to her sides by the rough rope across her waist keeping her horizontal on the dark-coloured sheets. The room was too small. The walls were too close. He was too near.
‘Where am I?’ she asked. Her vision blurred again before refocusing in the thin light filtering through a hatch in the ceiling.
‘You’re safe. With me.’ He laughed, and the beam from the torch in his hand bumped up and down.
‘Come on, this isn’t funny. Take me home.’
‘Shut your mouth. There’ll be time enough for talk.’
When she’d first met him, he’d appeared normal. She’d seen him around town. He was an ordinary-looking commuter taking the train home from work. Was he the reason she’d felt like eyes were following her every move over the last few days?
‘I’ve been watching you,’ he said. ‘Morning and evening. But you never noticed me. I was either brilliant at concealing my stare, or you had no interest in me. Whatever the case, I can watch you now without disturbance. And you have no choice but to look at me. Just the two of us here. Nice and quiet. The way I like it.’
‘You’re a fucking pervert. Let me go!’ She pulled at the rope, feeling it rip into her skin. But it was the connection of his hand across her cheek that stopped her struggle.
‘Take that back! Say you’re sorry!’ he shouted.
Who the hell was this jerk? No way was she going to apologise to him. Clamping her lips shut, she closed her eyes. Be strong, she willed her bruised body.