Two rows down, the man snuggled his chin into his scarf. He’d watched the young woman get up from opposite the annoying chatty man and sit over beside the gap-toothed girl. He knew it was a good thing that she was on edge. The guy had distracted her. Made her fearful. He smiled into the wool of the scarf. She was playing straight into his hands.
If that other bitch hadn’t escaped, he wouldn’t have need for her. But he always liked to be one step ahead of himself. His mother used to say that.
The thought of his mother caused his smile to slip, and he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as the trembling began to shake his joints. It was cold, and the heat was always hit and miss on the train, but now he felt certifiably freezing. Shaking his head, he tried to dislodge the image of his mother and replace it with the girl gripping her laptop to her chest. She’d kept her jacket buttoned up and he wondered what she was wearing beneath it. Did she change her clothes when she arrived at work? He knew a lot about her, but he didn’t know what she did once she walked through the doors of the nondescript office building on Townsend Street.
The train stopped and started at all the fiddly suburban stations and the carriage warmed up considerably with the pressing crowd. The aisle was now full of people clutching bags and phones, the air clogged with the smell of feet and body odour. It was so crowded that he could no longer see her. He closed his eyes, conjured her up from memory and touched her straight dark hair with an imaginary finger, all the while stroking himself through the pocket of his coat. He couldn’t wait much longer. This evening he would see her again.
The train swayed and chugged, speeded up and then slowed down as it entered Dublin’s Connolly station. An air of anticipation rose with the heated breath of the passengers as they readied themselves to disembark. He’d have a long day ahead thinking about her, waiting for her. But it would be worth it. Come 6.30 this evening, she would be his.
Five
At the garda station, Detective Inspector Lottie Parker climbed the stairs and made her way down the corridor. Her refurbished office was to the rear of the general area. The last piece of the puzzle that had involved three years of renovations and extensions. It even had a door that shut properly. But she couldn’t get used to it, so she sat down at her old desk in the main office. Detective Sergeant Mark Boyd was seated opposite her in the cluttered space he shared with Detectives Larry Kirby and Maria Lynch.
‘I can use it if you don’t want to,’ he said with a wink, indicating the empty office behind her.
‘Not on your life,’ she said. ‘It’s good to retreat in there when I want; to close the door and scream in peace.’
‘You scream out here most of the time. We’re immune to your outbursts.’ He lined pages up in a file and shut it.
‘What did you say, Boyd?’
‘I’m only expressing out loud what we’re all thinking,’ he muttered under his breath.
‘I know when I’m not wanted.’ She picked up her well-worn leather handbag, shrugged it onto her shoulder and marched into her new office, closing the door behind her.
At her desk, she tapped the keyboard and the computer pinged into life. She opened the page she had been viewing the day before, clicked and zoomed up the photograph of twenty-five-year-old Elizabeth Byrne. Not officially classed as missing because it was too soon. But it was a calm week in Ragmullin, so she’d tasked Boyd with taking a cursory look into Elizabeth’s suspected disappearance.
Crooking her chin in her hand, she studied the portrait picture, stared into the shining eyes of the young woman and wondered at the sheen on the auburn hair swept up behind her ear and hanging seductively across one brown eye. Instinctively her hand flew up to her own matted tresses. She needed a colour and cut. Payday was a week away, but she still couldn’t afford the eighty-plus euros it would cost.
‘Anything else you want me to do regarding Elizabeth Byrne?’ Boyd stood half inside, half outside the door.
‘I don’t bite,’ she said, trying to keep the smile from her lips.
‘Really? I thought that was you sharpening your teeth a few moments ago.’
‘Don’t be a smartarse, Boyd. Come in and sit down.’
He closed the door and sat on the grey fabric chair, which she had strategically placed at an angle, ensuring he couldn’t see what she was doing. Which wasn’t a whole lot, if she was honest.
‘Get anything from CCTV?’ she asked.
Rustling through the file on his knee, Boyd scanned his eyes over a page then placed a black-and-white image in front of her.
‘You know it’s not official,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘It’s not yet forty-eight hours.’
She nodded. ‘Just tell me what you’ve got so far.’
‘What has you so cranky this morning?’
‘Boyd! Just tell me what I’m damn well looking at.’
He scrunched his shoulders and leaned over the desk. ‘That’s a screenshot of the CCTV from the train station. Taken as she purchased her weekly ticket, Monday morning at 5.55 a.m., before getting on the commuter train to Dublin. She works in the Financial Services Centre, an administrator at a German bank. According to her colleagues, she was there all day and clocked out at 16.25 in order to get the 17.10 train back to Ragmullin. I asked a friend in Store Street garda station to help. He trawled footage from Connolly station CCTV but as yet he hasn’t come across her.’
‘Cameras on each platform?’
‘Mainly on the DART lines. Other than that, they’re focused on the general concourse and ticket offices.’
‘Damn.’
‘That’s mild coming from you.’
‘I’m cutting down on swearing. Katie says baby Louis will pick up on it.’
‘Ah, for Jaysus’ sake,’ Boyd laughed. ‘Any sign of her going back to college?’
‘What do you think?’ Lottie shook her head. ‘She’s hell-bent on heading off to New York to meet up with Tom Rickard, Louis’ grandfather.’
‘That might be a good thing.’
Mulling over Boyd’s words, Lottie was reminded of the trauma her family had suffered the previous year with the death of Rickard’s only child, Jason, Katie’s boyfriend. A few months later, Katie, then nineteen years old, had discovered she was pregnant with Jason’s baby. She’d deferred her college course, and now all her time was consumed with caring for her son.
Lottie had to admit that little Louis was a great tonic for the rest of the family. Chloe and Sean doted on him. But Katie was struggling, while stubbornly refusing all the help Lottie offered. She’d secured a passport for Louis, and was adamant she was heading to New York. There was still the conversation to be had about the cost. Tonight, maybe. Maybe not.
‘A trip away might benefit her,’ she said. ‘But I’m not sure.’
‘You’re afraid she won’t want to come home. Is that it?’ he said, seriousness furrowing his brow.
She watched as he leaned back and folded his arms over his pressed blue shirt and immaculate navy tie. His greying hair was cut short as usual, and his leanness verged on being too thin, but not quite. Mid forties suited him better than it suited her, she had to admit. She liked sparring with Boyd and she knew he liked her, but her life was too complicated to embark on anything serious.
‘I’m not sure about anything with regards to my children,’ she said.
‘One day at a time, eh?’
‘Sure.’ She picked up the CCTV image before Boyd began asking awkward questions. ‘A twenty-five-year-old disappears without trace from the 17.10 Dublin to Ragmullin train on Monday evening. Are we positive she actually boarded that train?’