Unti Lucy Black Novel #3 Read online

  However, none of these changes in her perception of past events had allowed her to forgive the woman for walking off and leaving her when she was eight.

  “And?”

  “Have you seen him recently?”

  Lucy nodded. “His face?”

  “And the rest. They said they had to restrain him from attacking another patient.”

  “So I believe,” Lucy said.

  “And are you okay about it all?”

  “He didn’t attack me,” Lucy retorted.

  Wilson sighed. “You know what I mean. He didn’t know me at all when I was there.”

  Lucy stopped herself making a comment and felt unusually pleased with her restraint. Despite her acrimony with her mother, she knew it must have been painful for the woman to realize that her husband had forgotten who she was. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Her mother’s expression softened, the tight line of her mouth relaxing momentarily, almost as if she, too, had been expecting a very different response.

  “I know he’s not seen me much,” she admitted. “But we did have fifteen years together. He had no idea who I was.”

  Lucy shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to give any more sympathy than she already had.

  “I just wanted you to be ready,” she said, motioning as if to put her hand on Lucy’s arm, then controlling herself by folding her arms.

  “For what?” Lucy asked. “I know what he’s like. I visit him every week.”

  “I’m not saying that, Lucy. But he’ll forget you at some stage, too. I just want you to be prepared.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Lucy protested, knowing how ridiculous it sounded even as she spoke. She’d found that her feelings about her father, both for what he had done when she was a child and what had happened to him since, were more easily managed by pushing them to the back of her mind. It was like Robbie’s raising of the issue of their moving in together. At some level, she’d been aware that something needed to happen in their relationship. But, to Lucy’s mind, things were fine so long as she wasn’t forced into having to think about them.

  “He’s not coming back, Lucy,” her mother said softly. “Once he disappears into that, he’ll not come back again. I know you don’t want to face that, but it’s going to happen sooner than you think.”

  Lucy felt her eyes fill, swallowed back. “I’m ready. I know what’s coming.”

  “If you need any—­”

  “I was thinking about the bank building,” Lucy said suddenly. “If there was someone in cleaning out that building, I wouldn’t be surprised if more of those buildings with the false fronts up have been similarly emptied.”

  He mother nodded lightly, taking the message. She smiled. “That’s a very good point, Lucy. I’ll have someone look into it.”

  “You’d already thought of it, hadn’t you?” Lucy challenged, wondering if the woman would patronize her by lying.

  “Yes. We’ve not got the bodies to do searches yet. When things settle down in Belfast and we get officers back, we’ll do a sweep. I’ve contacted the guy in the council who organized the fronts to see if they can get someone out for us.”

  “Was that John Boyd?”

  “You know him?” Wilson asked, surprised.

  “I’ve come across him. I’ve met his partner, Fiona. I think he’s abusive toward her.”

  “John Boyd?” her mother said, incredulously.

  “What? Is he a friend?”

  “Not at all. I’ve met the two of them out at dinner dances and that. They seemed very . . . normal.”

  “They always do,” Lucy said.

  Wilson accepted the comment. “Has she made a complaint against him?”

  Lucy shook her head. “She’s not even admitted he did it.”

  “Let me know how it pans out,” Wilson said. “You better go before someone thinks we’re getting on too well,” she added, her expression pained in a manner that caused Lucy’s breath to catch.

  Chapter Twenty-­Nine

  SHE FELT HER phone vibrate as she left the room, glancing back at where her mother was gathering together some papers that had been lying on the table.

  “DS Black,” she said, not recognizing the number on the caller display.

  “This is the Bank of Ireland on the Strand Road. You’d asked us to keep an eye on the account of a missing person, Ciaran Duffy.”

  “Yes,” Lucy said, stopping. “Has he used the account?”

  “He called into the branch just now to try to withdraw the funds in his account.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes. He has eight thousand in there. We’ve a policy that we can’t give out that size of a cash withdrawal on the spot. We require twenty-­four hours notice usually. He told us he’s buying a car and needs it this afternoon, so we’ve agreed to have it ready for him at 3 p.m.”

  “So he’ll be calling into the branch?”

  “Yes. I just thought you should know.”

  “Great. Thanks,” Lucy said, then, before hanging up, added, “Eight grand? Has that been in his account long?”

  The speaker laughed lightly. “That’s the thing. He only put in five of it the other day. If he’d kept it out, we could’ve given him the other three this morning without a problem.”

  TARA WAS SITTING on the edge of her desk when Lucy came out.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Great,” Lucy said. “I’ve just had word Ciaran Duffy is going to be at the Bank of Ireland at three this afternoon to empty his account. He’s obviously planning on running.”

  “I meant with your mother.”

  “No, she was—­” Lucy began before realizing what Tara had said.

  “I knew it!” Tara hissed. “I knew there was something between you and her.”

  Her reaction was enough to rouse the curiosity of one or two of the other officers nearby, though Lucy guessed she had said it quietly enough that they wouldn’t have clearly heard what she had said.

  “Tara, look, I can—­”

  “Don’t,” Tara said, moving back from her. “That explains so much.”

  “Tara, look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I can explain. Just not here.”

  Tara stared at her, then turned on her heel toward the toilet. Lucy followed behind.

  She checked the stalls were all empty before she spoke.

  “She left us when I was only a kid. We hadn’t spoken in years. I grew up with my dad. She put her career before her family. Trust me; there’s nothing between us.”

  “Yeah, right! Apart from her helping you along in your career.”

  “Really?”

  “How come we both started together and I’m making coffee in CID while you’re working cases with Tom Fleming.”

  “Child abuse and domestic violence cases? Do you want to swap? Be my guest! She put me in the unit she thought would break me. She didn’t want me in the police and she stuck me somewhere working cases that would drive me straight out of it again.”

  Tara leaned against the sink.

  “You don’t believe me? She moved me out of CID in the middle of my first big case. To work one about an abandoned child instead. I’m not the only one not telling ­people about our relationship. She’s worked bloody hard to make sure no one knows either.”

  “It’s not just that,” Tara said. “It’s the fact you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. I wouldn’t have told anyone.”

  “I . . . I didn’t . . .” Lucy began. She paused, took a breath. “I didn’t want anyone to think I was getting preferential treatment.”

  “You said yourself, she put you working child abuse cases. According to you, no one would see that as preferential.”

  “I just . . . I didn’t want you to think, I didn’t . . .”

  “Trust me? I thought we
were friends.”

  “We are friends,” Lucy said.

  “No we’re not. Friends trust one another.”

  “I didn’t want anyone to think I was like her,” Lucy said suddenly.

  “Well, that I can understand,” Tara said. “Because you’re exactly like her, as far as I’m concerned—­putting your career first!” she added, then turned and left the room.

  FLEMING WAS WAITING for Lucy in the Incident Room.

  “I was wondering where you’d got to,” he said.

  “Tara found out about my mother.”

  “How?”

  Lucy shook her head. “Guessed, maybe. I didn’t ask. But if she knows, other ­people will know.”

  Fleming shoulder bumped her. “It’s not like she’s helped your career or anything, let’s face it.”

  “That’s not how other ­people will see it,” Lucy said.

  “Cross that bridge when you come to it. We’d best get going,” Fleming said. “I want to see if I can track down Terry. We’ll call to his house, have a word with the neighbor.”

  Lucy gathered her thoughts. “Ciaran Duffy’s bank has been in touch. He’s due in at three to empty his account. He lodged five grand a few days ago.”

  “A payoff for the body disposal?”

  “Looks that way,” Lucy agreed. “If we can get Ciaran, we’ll get whoever paid him.”

  “And maybe even find out just who was in that bloody coffin,” Fleming added.

  Chapter Thirty

  TERRY HAYNES HAD lived in a semidetached house on Primity Crescent, at New Buildings, which lay out on the outskirts of the city, a few miles beyond Prehen Park. As they approached the village, Lucy noticed lampposts were festooned with a variety of flags, including the Union Jack, the Orange Order, and the flag of Israel.

  “Do they oppose the marching season in Palestine?” Lucy asked, nodding toward where the flags hung limp in the heating air.

  “I counted last year,” Fleming said. “On a stretch of less than a mile, there were over a hundred flags hung.”

  Lucy pulled in on Primity Crescent and Fleming stared out at the houses. “That one,” he said.

  The house was neat, unadorned, the grass fairly freshly shaven, patchy brown in the heat. The curtains were undrawn, the windows carrying venetian blinds which made it difficult to see inside. Fleming knocked twice at the door, then skirted the side of the house and tried the back.

  As Lucy waited on the front porch, she heard the click as the door of the neighboring house opened.

  A small bulldog of a woman came out, her arms folded across a chest so ample her hands barely met. “Are you looking for Terry?”

  Lucy nodded. “Have you seen him recently?”

  “Is there something wrong?” the woman asked in return.

  “Have you seen him recently?” Lucy persisted.

  The woman waited, staring at her. Her expression softened suddenly as her gaze shifted beyond Lucy’s shoulder.

  “There’s a face I know,” she said.

  Lucy glanced over her shoulder to see Fleming standing there.

  “Mrs. Hamilton,” he said. “I was planning on calling with you.”

  “Jesus, I’ve not been Hamilton since last Christmas. Lily. You’re Tim, is that right?”

  “Tom,” Fleming said.

  The woman addressed Lucy. “Tom here used to visit Terry, a while back.”

  Lucy nodded.

  “Have you seen him, Lily?”

  She shook her head, a movement that rippled through her frame. “Not in a few days. I was worried when youse arrived that something had happened him.”

  Fleming shook his head. “We need to find him, just.”

  Lily moved across to the fence between the properties and, leaning her hands on top of it, continued. “I’ve not seen him since the weekend. He didn’t say he was going anywhere. He usually would. I go in and lift his post and that. Put out food for the cat.”

  “Have you a key?”

  Lily nodded. “Sure I had to go in and feed Tiger, didn’t I? When Terry never come back. I thought he’d gone on a bender again. He hasn’t, has he?” she added concernedly.

  “We’re not sure,” Fleming said. “You’ve not noticed anything unusual going on, have you?”

  She shrugged. “How would you tell? There is no usual with Terry. He’d another one of his cases staying for a few days.”

  “Cases?” Lucy asked.

  Lily nodded. “Terry would take in ­people for a few days to help them . . .” Her breath seemed to catch in her throat as she tried, too late, to swallow back her words. “Somewhere for them to stay while they . . .”

  “Dried out,” Fleming added, as Lucy realized why Mrs. Hamilton recognized Fleming and, perhaps also, where he had gone the previous year when he’d been suspended temporarily after falling off the wagon.

  “Aye,” Lily said. “Dried out.”

  “Who was it? Anyone you know?” Fleming asked.

  Lily shrugged. “He wasn’t here long. Rough-­looking character, but then, it is Terry we’re talking about. Do you know him?” she asked Lucy.

  Lucy shook her head. “Only by reputation.”

  “I’d not be taking him on,” Lily said. “The size of him,” she added, pulling herself to her full height.

  Looking at the woman’s hefty frame, Lucy knew how she felt.

  “Maybe we can take a look inside,” Fleming said. “Just to check he’s not had an accident or something.”

  “I’ve been in and fed Tiger already,” Lily added. “He’s not there.”

  “Maybe he’s upstairs,” Lucy said. “Did you check those rooms?”

  The woman regarded her. “I’m not a snoop. Of course I didn’t.”

  “We’d best then,” Fleming said. “Has his latest case been back?”

  Lily shook her head as she gathered herself, then came down her own path, rounded the fence and up Haynes’s. “Not since Terry went.”

  THE HOUSE FELT airless inside, the heat of the past days having been trapped in the closed rooms, the windows all shut. A scattering of post lay unopened on a small table in the narrow hallway.

  “Did you lift the post for him?”

  Lily nodded.

  “You’d best wait down here, Lily,” Fleming said. “In case we find something upstairs you’ll not want to see.”

  Lucy knew that they wouldn’t. Had someone been dead in the house, particularly in such heat, they’d have smelt it at the front door. Lily would get in the way and Fleming wanted a chance to look around.

  Lucy and he took the stairs. There were three rooms above. The first to the left was a small neat bathroom. The next was the big bedroom to the front.

  “This is Terry’s,” Fleming said. “I’ll take a look around. The small room is for his guests. Check it.”

  Lucy crossed to the box room, which overlooked the small scrap of land to the rear that constituted Terry’s garden. The bed was made, the room tidy. Over a chair in the corner lay a pair of trousers which looked freshly pressed. Despite that, they still carried tears and black staining on the knees. Beside the chair sat a plastic bag, folded in on itself.

  Lucy lifted the bag and glanced in. Inside were a shirt, some underwear, and a small black plastic wallet.

  “It looks like the guest left their stuff here,” Lucy called. She pulled on a pair of gloves, then took out the wallet and opened it. It contained five pounds and a small card, which Lucy initially took to be a bank card but which, it turned out, was a driver’s license.

  Ironically, her first impression was that the driver’s license belonged to Prawo Jazdy. It took a second for her to see Kamil Krawiec’s name below it.

  Chapter Thirty-­One

  BEFORE LEAVING HAYNES’S house, Tom Fleming lifted a photograph from the mante
lpiece in the living room. In the picture, Haynes was standing with another man, their arms around the other’s shoulders, their heads inclined toward each other, beaming at the camera.

  “Boyfriend?” Lucy asked.

  Fleming shook his head. “Brother,” he said. “He died a few years ago in Galway.” He weighed the frame in his hand. “We’ll need a picture if we’re putting out an alert.” He glanced around the walls, as if looking for further pictures.

  “Looking for a better one?”

  “Looking for any at all,” Fleming said. “Besides this one.”

  Lucy nodded. “I . . . ah . . . I want to call with someone,” she said. “Have we got a few minutes?”

  “I’ve got all day,” Fleming said.

  IT TOOK DOREEN Jeffries a few minutes to answer the door. While they waited, Lucy saw, for the first time, that the short driveway at the front of Doreen’s property had been resurfaced. The edges were rough and globules of hardened tarmac marked the concrete path leading to her house. Already, the tarmac had erupted to reveal a profusion of serrated dandelion leaves near the gate. Lucy heard the door lock click, then Doreen peered out. She wore a floral pinafore over her clothes and a pair of yellow rubber gloves.

  “Spring cleaning?” Lucy asked, after Doreen had invited them in.

  “Trying to clean my room,” Doreen replied. “I’m scrubbing at the place but it still feels dirty.”

  Lucy put her arm around the woman. “Do you want me to have a go at it?”

  Doreen shook her head, tapping her lightly on the hand, then moving out of her embrace. “You’re very kind. I need to do it myself. So I know it’s all gone.” She turned to Lucy, worriedly. “You’re not offended, are you?”

  “Of course not,” Lucy said. “I understand completely.”

  The woman hesitated a moment. “How’s Helen?”

  “Let’s sit, shall we?” Lucy suggested, guiding the woman to the sofa. Fleming followed behind, closing the door.

  “I spoke with her yesterday,” Lucy explained. “She says she didn’t take anything from the house. She said she never touched your jewelry.”

  Doreen nodded, watching Lucy’s lips as if reading the words, her mouth forming the echo of the words as she followed the conversation. She smiled briefly as she reached the end of the sentence.