Under Construction: A DI McNally Detective Thriller, page 17
A single tear falls down Michelle’s cheek as the family sit forward, hands entwined.
“Taylor ordered them to take him to his farmhouse on the Ardmore Road. There, he was tied to a chair and left with only Taylor for company.”
Ritchie physically shivers.
“And?” Nuala shrieks, making her children jump with fright, “then what?”
“They’re on their way to speak to Taylor now, Nuala.”
Nuala lets out an almighty squeal and falls forward. Ritchie jolts across to grab his mum, but by that time it’s too late. She lies on the floor sobbing into the carpet, both of the elder kids either side of her, consoling her. Whilst Michelle just stares at the scene, silent tears still streaming down her cheeks.
“I knew it,” Nuala bellows, muffled by the fluff on the carpet, “I fucking knew it. All these years, I fucking told them. But they wouldn’t listen. Why wouldn’t they listen? That bastard. That bastard!”
Dermott leans forward and strokes her tear-drenched hair out of her face, before lifting her up and placing her on the sofa again.
“We’ll get to the bottom of this, Nuala. I know it’s hard. The PSNI have been trying to get something on Taylor for years. He’s a slippery one, we all know that. There’s been no cold hard facts. Hopefully this Sargent character is willing to stand up in court and fight this. For your sake. For all of your sakes,” he glances up at the other three, a fond smile on his face.
After it seems like she’s cried herself out, Nuala blows her nose and stands abruptly. Sniffing, she steps forward towards the huge mirror resting on the mantlepiece, fixing her hair back into place.
“Ma?” Michelle raises a brow.
“Can’t look an absolute mess going to Tescos now, can I?”
“Tescos?” Danielle narrows her eyes at her.
“Aye, sure we’ll be having people around tonight for the wake. I’ve half a loaf and hardly any butter, never mind any fillings.”
“Nuala,” Dermott rises, “don’t worry about any of that, we’ll so-“
“Ritchie,” Nuala points her finger at her son, “you collect Granny from her house to bring her round. Pack an overnight bag for her ‘cause she’ll probably want to stay here until after the funeral. We’ll make a space for her in the dining room. Danielle, will you run and get an inflatable bed from Argos, there’s no way she can climb those stairs. Michelle, I want you to start cleaning the house. The bathroom, the kitchen, in here… Anywhere where anyone is going to be.”
“Nuala…”
“I’ll be right back, just going to grab cheese and ham… Maybe a bit of tuna. Do people still have tuna and sweetcorn sandwiches?” she starts to giggle hysterically, “and I hardly have any teabags. Would 200 be too much? Oh, there’s so much to do. Right, chop chop, guys. Let’s get this sorted now before your father is home.”
And with that, she marches out of the room, grabbing her keys from the shelf in the hall and slamming the door. They watch her trudge down the drive, waving at them to hurry, tapping her finger off her watch, before climbing in her car and reversing out onto the road and speeding off. They stare at the space where she was seconds ago, before all reverting their eyes to one another, confused expressions on all their faces. What just happened?
Chapter Fifty-Three:
2016
_____
The sounds of car doors slamming are the first inclination that something is wrong. Danielle hops up from the sofa and pods over to the living room window, overlooking the front garden. From there, she can see the approach of DI Quigley and DS Ferguson, climbing the drive. Shouting for her mum, she stirs a snoozing Ritchie on the armchair next to her. Dermott and Michelle are already in the kitchen, the latter trying and failing to eat a slab of dry toast.
When the detectives make it to the back door and knock twice, Nuala has skirted to the island just as Dermott opens the door. Stepping through, they smile at the family. But it isn’t a confident smile. More of a sympathetic smile. They’ve come up short. Again. Collecting at the island, DI Quigley sighs as he takes a seat.
“It’s not good news, I’m afraid.”
There had been a call that someone reported seeing their father working in a bookies in Letterkenny, a large town in County Donegal, about a half hour west of Derry. They hadn’t had their hopes up, if he was looking to up and leave, you’d think he would go somewhere a bit further away? Somewhere with no trace of him or chance of being spotted. He was a relatively well-known man, even in Letterkenny they would have recognised him.
“It wasn’t your father, although there was a bit of a resemblance, I can see where he had gotten the idea.”
It has been over two weeks since Aaron’s disappearance. Both underground organisations and opposing parties had been spoken with, but neither had heard anything that had happened that night. All CCTV was checked, but there was no sign of him. It’s almost as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. The only sign that he existed, and was at the party at the Waterfoot Hotel at all, was the finding of his phone several days ago. However, it brought no new leads.
“Them bastards have something to do with it, I just know it.”
Nuala glares at the detectives, nursing Michelle’s head in her arms.
“Nuala… We’ve been through this,” Quigley takes a deep breath in.
“I still think there’s more to it. Some things they aren’t saying… He wouldn’t leave us. He wouldn’t leave all his hard work. He wouldn’t…”
She can’t bring herself to say ‘kill himself.’ The search of the River Foyle had been called off. It’s summer, so the water is relatively warm. Warm enough for a dead body to float anyway. She just has a twisting feeling in her gut that he never entered the river. That something has happened. Something awful.
“Look… Nuala, I’m sorry to tell you this…” DI Quigley stares at the hob on the island instead of at Nuala, or any other family member, directly. “But people go missing all the time… Some, only for hours. Others… Days. Many of them children, the vast majority of them showing up. Missing adults? Now, that’s a different story… If he has disappeared, I’m sure there is a good enough reason as to why. He doesn’t want to be found… And maybe, for the sake of yourself and your children… Well, maybe that’s a good thing?”
Chapter Fifty-Four:
2019
_____
“Maybe we should call in back-up?”
McNally accelerates down the Limavady Road towards the Crown. Taylor’s cleaner had rudely informed them that he spends every Saturday evening down there, and that’s the only time she can come in and clean up after him. Not that the place looked like it needed a tidy yesterday evening when they last visited him.
“I mean… Boss… Going in all guns blazing hasn’t worked well in the past. And especially not after already lifting Sargent hours ago… Word will have gotten round. Backs will be up; tensions will be high... They might be suspecting something.”
“Call it in if you wish, Ferguson. I just want to get to him before he hears that we’re looking for him. I don’t want to give him the chance to skip town or go into hiding.”
“Sir, there’s no way Sargent will tell him we’re looking for him. There’s not a chance he could do that without shooting himself in the foot. Unless he has a death wish.”
“Be that as it may, I’m not taking any chances.”
Ferguson decides to send Fleming and O’Connor a courteous message informing them of their strategy just as they round the corner to the Crown pub to the east of the city. There, they see him standing, slouched against the outside wall right in front of them, phone to his ear. Alone. Pulling up right beside him, McNally jerks off his seatbelt and looks over towards Ferguson, eyebrows raised and eyes wide.
“After me.”
Stepping out resistantly, Ferguson crosses the road to see Taylor looking at them with amusement.
“Right, I’ve company here… I’ll have to speak to you later. Right, right, bye.”
Ending the call, Taylor pockets the phone and takes one final drag of his cigarette before grinding it into the ashtray on the table in front of him.
“Well, gentlemen… Long time, no see,” the lines of his forehead prominent as he observes them, “on another wild goose chase, are we?”
Does he know?
“William Taylor, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Aaron Parker on or around the 19th of June 2016.”
Billy lets out a cackle, his arms wide open at his side.
“You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”
“Balls, absolute balls,” Taylor continues to guffaw, before McNally brings out his handcuffs.
Shaking his head, his body still vibrating with laughter, he agrees to be led to the car uncuffed. Ferguson spies a few heads peeking out at them from the dimly lit windows of the pub. Thankfully, they’re all safely in the car when a few boisterous lads appear at the front door. Shouting ‘get tae fuck’ and ‘peeler scum.’ Taylor just continues to chuckle as a group start snorting after them, one even launching a full pint glass at the car, which narrowly misses Ferguson’s passenger-side mirror.
“Nice friends you have there,” McNally grumbles.
Ferguson looks into the rear-view mirror to see Taylor glaring back at them playfully.
“You have no idea.”
Chapter Fifty-Five:
“Can I speak with you a moment?”
Jodie looks up from her computer and nods, minimizing whatever she was working on to display the Londonderry Letter’s emblem which is the standard screensaver for all the office’s computers. Taking the proffered seat, Cathal looks at his feet.
“How were the Parkers?”
“Oh, you know… As you’d expect… Bereaved.”
“Any good quotes?”
“Aye, I’ve actually finished the article and it’s been submitted for approval.”
As if bursting to life, Jodie bustles with her mouse, bringing up the requested articles for the paper’s online forum. Finding it close to the top, she opens it, silencing Cathal with a raised finger and a sharp ‘shush.’ He sits awkwardly whilst she assesses his work. When she’s finished reading, she looks back up at him with gleaming eyes.
“Very good, I love it. Although, I’d take out the part about the older brother leaving with tears in his eyes. That’s a bit too… Creative writing for my tastes. And we want to keep them onside, we don’t want to embarrass the boy.”
“No, Jodie… You don’t understand. I came in to be asked to be taken off the story.”
Jodie cocks her head to the side, a frown prominent on her face.
“Is… Has there been more… Incidents?”
Cathal nods before bringing out his phone and passing it over the desk. Jodie pulls her glasses down from the top of her head and inspects the latest message, before gasping and looking up at him.
“Right… I understand completely. I’ll give it to Ethan, he worked on the case three years ago.”
“Thank you, Jodie.”
“Can you pass him your source’s number?”
“Of course, I’ll send it over to him now.”
“In the meantime, I want you to take annual leave.”
Cathal goes to protest, but Jodie waves away his interruption.
“I’ll hear nothing more of it. You have so much left, you refuse to take any. It’s good for your mental health, you know? Even if you have nowhere to go.”
Cathal desires to tell Jodie that keeping himself busy is the best thing for his mental health. That sitting alone at home is the worst possible thing he can do.
“Go home and spend time with your sister. Contact the police. Do whatever you can to keep yourselves safe. This isn’t some silly jealous reporter; this could be serious… You have to look after yourself.”
Nodding, disappointed, Cathal thanks her for her time, before exiting the office. Deciding not to make a song and dance about it, intent on messaging Ethan privately later, he walks straight out of the office, everyone too engrossed in their own stories to notice. If anyone did see him leave, they’d guess he was popping to the shops to buy something to eat at his desk. It’s not uncommon to get something to bring to your desk when a story keeps you here well after office hours have finished.
Stepping out onto Spencer Road, Cathal sighs as he decides a walk will do him good. Crossing the road, he starts to walk across the upper deck of the Craigavon Bridge over to the Derryside, but stops, leaning against the railing, gazing down at where they found David Wayne earlier this morning. Of course, the news had shocked the city. There was no denying that an underground organisation was behind it. No one else would be that brutal. But what it was about, Joanna in the office still has to find out. The police are almost being as tight lipped as David will be going forward.
The office was gossiping earlier about what they think it could be. Of course, the ‘tout’ route was the most obvious. Punished for blabbing something he shouldn’t have. Maybe Cathal won’t even find out now, having been forced to take leave. He’ll miss the camaraderie of the excited office as someone gets a lead. It’s addictive. He’d basically been forced to take holidays during the summer, and it was the longest two weeks of his life. He’d been in the office two or three times during those weeks, inquiring as to what his colleagues were working on before being chased out by Jodie. How is he going to last now, with God knows how long this investigation could carry on for?
His thoughts are broken as his phone vibrates in his pocket. Instinctively, he looks either side of him, wondering if a neighbouring car has their camera on their phone pointed towards him. Could they be following him now? Suddenly feeling very vulnerable by himself, especially so close to the river, he retreats back a few steps before pulling out his phone. Thankfully, it’s just Dermott.
‘Interesting update – will keep you in the loop when we know more. D.’
He yearns to know what’s going on. He can’t believe he has to stay in the dark. He can almost feel the pins and needles in his fingers, itching to get at a story that is no longer his to tell.
Chapter Fifty-Six:
Jumping as the overhead speakers blast a local voice asking for Andy to come to checkouts, Nuala continues to migrate down the same aisle again, lost in her own thoughts. She gazes into her trolley. Five big packets of crisps, two bags of KP nuts, four loaves of bread, two slabs of butter. What else does she need? Teabags, right. And fillings for the sandwiches.
She shouldn’t have to do this alone, she thinks, as she bypasses pissed off shoppers who give her dirty looks for attempting to squeeze past them. But who else will help? Kealen hasn’t returned from Australia in two years, and he’s too busy with his own family anyway. She hasn’t even bothered to message him to let him know that Aaron’s been found. And if he has seen anything on social media, he hasn’t attempted to make contact. They have never really been close, so why start now? He had rung her when Aaron initially went missing and gave his apologies. He had tried to ring once a week thereafter, after only speaking maybe two or three times a year, but it started to dwindle down to once a month, before he stopped altogether. Last time they spoke was for her birthday three months ago. It was nothing more than a courteous ‘happy birthday Auntie Nuala’ text with a picture of his two gorgeous girls.
Their mother is far too old to be blustering about a shop, she can barely make her way from the armchair to her bed in the tiny flat she rents just outside Newbuildings. She had been a huge help in the first few months after Aaron had gone missing. Helping out in the house and keeping them all sane. Agreeing to babysit Michelle when Nuala couldn’t sleep and had wanted to search in the dead of night. She had even hidden her cancer scare from them all, deciding that they’d had enough on their plate. Her ill health continued, and after the diabetes diagnosis last Christmas, she’s nothing more than the shell of the woman she once was. Kealen would sink to the ground if he seen the shape of her now. Thankfully, their mother doesn’t agree to any FaceTime or Skype calls, deeming her wrinkly skin as the reason, wanting to remember herself as a younger woman.
And all her friends have as good as ditched her. They were all there for her at the start, but she more or less pushed them away after Aaron’s disappearance. She refused to go on nights out or even brunch dates. She just wanted to wallow in her own self-pity. She understood that life goes on. For them, but not for her. Juggling the kids, fighting with the government and trying to keep up a search with dwindling interest. It was exhausting. She had to learn to do it on her own.
“Watch where you’re going!”
She looks up to a woman with a trolley full of meal deals huffing away from her, giving her dagger glares. Nuala had almost trodden straight into her. Nuala apologises before reverting up the freezer aisle, how had she managed to make it here? The supermarket is so packed, it’s doing nothing for her nerves. Finding the cooked meats section, she gasps when she sees there are only three packets of ham left. With six pieces in each pack. Surely that isn’t enough? That would only make 30 sandwiches. She jumps again as a toddler springs past her, laughing ludicrously with a 20 packet of fish fingers in his sticky hands as his dad jogs after him.
The lights are so bright. The hum of the fridge is so loud. It’s almost deafening. She claps a hand to one of her ears and squeezes her eyes closed. Just wanting to shut everything out. Shut everything up. What’s going on? She finds herself struggling to breathe. Oh, God. Is she having a stroke? A heart attack? As she gasps for air, a teenage girl to her left gazes at her inquisitively. Is she asking if she’s okay? Her mouth is moving but no words are forming. She just hears a piercing sound in her left ear.
Leaning all her weight on the trolley, it skids away from her and she collapses onto the hard floor, landing on her hand and feeling a crunch of pain. She cries out but she can’t hear even herself. Rolling over, she stares up at the white lights of the supermarket ceiling beaming down on her. Wondering if this is it. If this is when she’s going to finally be reunited with Aaron.
