You'll Get Yours, page 24
Roisin and Gerarda eyed each other.
“We’ve talked about it, of course,” Roisin said.
“In fact,” Gerarda said, looking ashamed, “to be honest, I contacted Roisin the other day and we met up. A few months ago, I went to the Top-Yer-Trolley and saw Lily. I was shocked. Lily was back in Derry under an assumed name and looking different. An altered appearance and working stacking shelves. So I knew the woman found on the wall was really our Lily. Roisin had never come across her, so she hadn’t a clue—”
McLaughlin and D’Arcy had tensed.
“So you are telling us,” D’Arcy said sternly, “that even with all our appeals for assistance, you didn’t contact the police?”
Gerarda pulled a face and shrugged her shoulders helplessly, shrinking down on the white cube. “I suppose I should have.”
“I should have and all,” Roisin said.
“But we didn’t want to put ourselves in the spotlight,” Gerarda admitted. “Didn’t want to live through all the hassle all over again.”
“We thought...as she was now this Regina Steps, presumably she was murdered for something Regina Steps did.”
“Not our Lily.”
McLaughlin nodded, but D’Arcy was unconvinced. These women had delayed giving the police pertinent information that could have moved the investigation on much more quickly. They were guilty of wasting police time. She couldn’t imagine, though, that her boss would be snapping the handcuffs on either of them.
“Anyroad,” Roisin said, “to answer your question, I don’t think either of us have a clue why Lily would feel the need to disguise herself, do we, Ger? Especially after all this time! Sure, the Sparklettes and that Eurovision are ancient history now. Whole generations have grown up since all that happened. How could Lily Feagins possibly think she was relevant today?”
Gerarda said, “I agree with you, Ro. I haven’t a clue. I only know Lily was always unhappy with her nose. So that might explain the nose job. But the false name and, really, living a lie? I can’t explain it. Maybe something happened to her in London after the group broke up. None of us saw her after that, did we? I heard through the grapevine that she got into drink and drugs and men. Well, more than the other three of us. To the point where each of the three vices was a problem.” Gerarda shook her head sadly.
“The price of fame at times,” Roisin sighed. “Especially at such a young age. All of us struggled to get our heads around it as it was happening to us. It was a mad time, so it was.”
“Can you think of anything else,” D’Arcy asked, “that might explain why she would change her appearance and, especially, her name?”
“We just had the pleasure of meeting her, er, somewhat brackish parents,” McLaughlin said grimly. “And I can see why the poor woman would want to distance herself from them.”
Roisin and Gerarda grimaced and nodded eagerly.
“Not the most hospitable of people, are they?” Roisin asked. “Even before Eurovision, the nights we had to help poor Lily dry her tears. Those two horrible creatures put her through hell. The jealousy that can tear families apart!”
Gerarda shook her head sadly.
“Poor Lily. Saddled with a mammy and daddy like that. I gather her brothers and sisters were the same, or almost all of them, in any event.”
“The point is,” D’Arcy said, “surely Lily didn’t want their paths to cross. But she didn’t have to change her name to do that. And many people get cosmetic surgery for a variety of reasons. As you’ve said, Lily didn’t like her nose, so maybe that’s why, a simple chance to make her happier with her appearance. But the hoops you have to jump through to change your name, let alone the expense and the shady characters you’d have to interact with to get the proper documents, take this all to a different level. Looking at her timeline, Lily was born in Derry and lived here until she was nineteen years of age. Then she moved to London—”
“With me, actually,” Roisin said. “We left home to find the bright lights of the big city.”
“And you found them,” McLaughlin said.
“Of a sort,” Roisin said with a little smile.
Gerarda nodded. “I was already in London before Lily and Ro arrived. I’d moved after I left school at sixteen. I think Veronica came to London around the same time as me.”
“So,” D’Arcy continued, filing away all this information for her PNB later, “Lily lived most of her life in London. She didn’t come back until she was 41. It will be difficult to gather details of the majority of her life. We’d have to get the Met involved. But could there be something from her teen years or younger that happened in Derry that would explain why she would change her name? Did she ever mention anything to either of you?”
“Not to me. But...” Gerarda turned to Roisin, “sure, Roisin, weren’t you two best mates in school? Surely you would know best! You knew her better than me or Veronica.”
McLaughlin and D’Arcy looked at each other.
“We didn’t know this,” McLaughlin said. D’Arcy scribbled a note. “Is that true?”
“Aye,” Roisin said. “Me and Lily were both from Creggan Heights. She lived around the corner from me. We were great girlfriends from the beginning, since primary one. And after going to primary school together, we were at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow. Spent every waking moment together.”
D’Arcy asked, “Can you think of anything that happened during that time that might make her want to change her name?”
Roisin shook her head a bit too quickly for the detective’s liking.
“Are you sure, Ms. Obi?” McLaughlin asked. “You don’t seem to have given it much thought.”
“But we had a normal childhood! Lily’s parents weren’t like they are today. There was nothing at school that sticks out. Just young girls, then teens, going to school, hanging out with our other friends, the usual. Unremarkable lives.”
But a caginess had entered Roisin’s eyes. She ran her fingers through her hair, fiddled with a thread on her kimono and gave them a smile that seemed rather forced.
“Och,” she said with a strained laugh, “the way you are looking at me now!”
“We just want the truth,” McLaughlin said, looking at her sternly.
Roisin threw her hands up. “God’s honest truth, now...”
“That’s what we want,” D’Arcy urged.
“We were tearaways a bit in our teen years. Nothing but typical harmless teen fun, but. Spray painting on occasion, lifting a few sweets from the Sav-U-Mor on the corner, our first drink of cider at the age of thirteen, taken from our parents’ fridge. You know the likes of it.”
Gerarda was inspecting Roisin with interest. There appeared to be a film of sweat on Roisin’s brow, but a smile was firmly plastered on her face.
“I wouldn’t know, but,” Gerarda said a bit sadly. “I’m from Rosemount, me. I went to St. Eugene’s School for Girls. Strict, so those nuns were. Wish I had gone to Our Lady and hung out with you lot. Sounds like more fun than my teen years. Did nothing but study, then helped my mammy with the housework and the younger wains.” She turned to the detectives. “I’m the oldest of six, you see. I didn’t have my first taste of cider until I was sixteen, sure!”
“But to answer your question,” Roisin said, “no. Nothing serious, nothing dramatic happened. Just a regular teen life.” She gave Gerarda a sly grin. “For those of us from Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow, that is.”
McLaughlin nodded. D’Arcy seemed unconvinced.
“So tell us,” Roisin asked, leaning forward, “what do you believe? What do the coppers think? Was it our Lily who was murdered? Or this new alter ego Regina Steps?”
“That remains to be seen,” D’Arcy said. “We have two lines of inquiry, as it were. One for the murder of Regina Steps, another for the murder of Lily Feagins.”
“That must be terribly confusing,” Gerarda twittered. “I could never be a detective, so I couldn’t.”
“But you can certainly run a marvelous cafe,” McLaughlin said. He reached back into the box.
Gerarda beamed, then felt guilty about it—this was an interview about their friend’s murder, after all—and lowered her head.
“When was the last time either of you saw Lily?” D’Arcy asked.
Roisin puffed out her cheeks, looking up at the ceiling as she thought.
“Dear God, it must be twenty-five years since. At the time of the breakup. In London. We were furious with her at the time, of course. It didn’t end well. I suppose the group could have continued without her...”
“But,” Gerarda explained, leaning forward, “we wouldn’t have been the Sparklettes with only three. I’m sure you understand.”
“Aye, I know there are those who say Lily did nothing but shake the maracas, but there were fans who loved her the best. Though, in hindsight...” Roisin said with a grimace, then shook her head.
“Go on, love,” Gerarda said.
“Oh, sure, you know I feel this way,” Roisin said. She turned to D’Arcy and McLaughlin. “It was time to put the group to bed. Now I look back, it was obvious. Eric had created us. I know, Gerarda, you could play the keyboards and I could play the drums and Veronica could indeed sing, regardless of what some critics said about things they could do in the studio to make even the worst voice sound good. But, come on. I realize now...we were nothing but young pretenders with our hands out, clawing at the Spice Girls’ crown, but coming up far short.”
Gerarda grimaced. “Aye. After all these years, when I look back...we were thrown together to make a quick buck. And not for us.”
D’Arcy didn’t quite know where to look.
“Och, sure, but you’ve had grand careers since then,” McLaughlin said. “Look at the two of you now. And as for Veronica...”
“Aye, the luckiest of all the Sparklettes,” Roisin said.
“And I suppose that makes Lily the unluckiest,” Gerarda said ruefully.
McLaughlin brushed some crumbs off his trousers.
“And, to answer your question, er, I suppose it’s inspector, is it?” Gerarda asked. McLaughlin nodded. “I last saw Lily that once at the Top-Yer-Trolley,” Gerarda said.
She explained trying to find the Thai dipping sauce to the detectives and told them how shocked she was about the state of her life.
“When was that?” D’Arcy asked.
“Ohhh...two years ago?”
“You know we also have to ask, even as delicious as these pastries are,” McLaughlin said through a mouthful of soda bread, “where you both were the night of the murder?”
They nodded.
“We knew you would ask that,” Roisin said. “It was the night before this opening,” she nodded around her. “I was here with Ailish getting things ready. My husband Ajani was here also. There was a lot of work involved, hanging up the paintings, getting the refreshments ready and so on. I suppose an alibi from my husband doesn’t mean much, but Ailish will verify.”
“And I work at White every night until 1 AM or so,” Gerarda said. “There’s loads of staff, and security footage and all, which will verify where I was.”
“And...how about your husband?” D’Arcy looked through her notes. “Gabe McGinty, is it?”
Gerarda was taken aback.
“My Gabe?”
Roisin patted her hand.
“They have to cast their net wide, Ger,” she said.
“He must have been at home. Or maybe at the office. He’s got a big project on at the moment, a fitness center renovation. So either my wains can verify where he was, or some colleague.”
“What about these stalkers?” D’Arcy asked.
Roisin and Gerarda exchanged another look.
“So long ago...” Gerarda said, hands raised as if helpless.
“There were quite a few,” Roisin said. “Most I wouldn’t quite put in the stalker category, but there were always fans, men and women, young girls, who hassled us. It wasn’t out of malice. But they were quite a nuisance. Wouldn’t leave us alone. I can’t remember the names of any of them. Tried to blank out the names at the time, actually.”
“Management dealt with all that for us. Maybe Eric Alexander could help you.”
“But he’s in London.”
“Still?” McLaughlin asked.
“Now, there you’re asking,” Gerarda said. “We haven’t been in touch with him since the nineties, have we, Ro?”
“No. I haven’t a clue what he’s up to these days. He was quite old at the time, maybe he’s not even, er, around anymore...? And about these stalkers, I believe most of them lived in Great Britain.”
“Well,” Gerarda placed a hand on Roisin’s arm. “We were in London, remember. Maybe there were deranged nutters here in Derry that we knew nothing about?”
Roisin shrugged. “Fame attracts the worst sorts,” she said. “I’m glad that chapter of my life is behind me. It was grand at the time, but I’d never want to live through it again. I’m happy with my life now, with my gallery, my husband and my wains.”
Gerarda nodded.
“Aye. Me and all. Getting to number three in the charts was exciting, but thankfully it was all over in as many years, three that is. Looking back, I’m happy we got that nul points at Eurovision. That was the final nail in the head for the group. And, of course, all the hatred and resentment it brought up.”
“Aye, me and all.”
“Okay,” McLaughlin said, standing up, the box in his hand. “I think that’s enough of your time for now.”
“Remain vigilant,” D’Arcy said. “Report anything out of the ordinary immediately. Here’s one of my cards.”
“And here’s one of mine.”
The women took them. D’Arcy eyed a bit of mustard on the one McLaughlin handed Roisin.
“Please,” Gerarda implored, her eyes filling with tears, “find out who killed our Lily.”
Placing a comforting arm around her friend’s shoulder, Roisin nodded, her eyes welling up.
“Aye, do it for us. Do it in memory of the Sparklettes.”
“Oh!” McLaughlin turned around. D’Arcy stopped in surprise, almost colliding with him. “It clear escaped my mind! Mrs. Obi, you move in Derry art’s circle, I presume.”
“Of course,” she said.
“Then let me ask you, have you ever heard tell of an artist called Kyle Minogue? Have you ever shown his work here at your gallery?”
Ah, yes! How had the connection escaped D’Arcy? She could kick herself.
Gerarda was tinkling with laughter. “The poor man! He’s actually called Kyle Minogue?”
“I’m afraid so,” McLaughlin said.
“What were the poor man’s parents thinking?”
“Well, he’s older,” D'Arcy explained, but her eyes were on Roisin.
“Mrs. Obi?” D’Arcy prompted.
“No,” Roisin said with a firm shake of the head. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“Thank you,” McLaughlin said.
Roisin’s eyes had been unable to meet theirs.
They left the gallery.
CHAPTER 27
“SO,” CAHILL WAS EXPLAINING, “although the Sparklettes got to number three and had a top 5 Christmas hit, they were only the third biggest girl group of 1996 in Ireland and the UK. Maybe they were difficult to market because they weren’t Irish enough or British enough.”
Lyons was leaning against the wall, D’Arcy and Hawkins were sitting in the chairs opposite McLaughlin’s desk, and Cahill was over by the bulletin board. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, as McLaughlin had invited them all to listen in on the Skype interview he was shortly going to conduct with one half of Derry’s golden couple of Veronica and James Skelly.
Veronica, with her looks and perfume and clothing lines, her business acumen and her husband, had done so much since the Sparklettes broke up that most people had forgotten she had once been in a cheesy girl group. And many were too young to even know that dubious part of the celebrity’s life had even existed. Veronica Skelly had far eclipsed Veronica Donovan. Together the couple was referred to as simply Veronica and James; VerJam didn’t quite have a ring to it. It seemed the men of the team were hoping to catch a glimpse of famous rugby player James Skelly on-screen during the call, while Hawkins was excited about seeing Veronica herself. Even D’Arcy was intrigued. What would the woman be like?
When Hawkins had asked D’Arcy in the ladies' loo how the interview had gone, D’Arcy had surprised Fern by admitting she was impressed with Gerarda Perry and Roisin Obi.
“They’re the type of women,” D’Arcy had revealed conspiratorially, “I’d quite like to be when I’m their age. And if I wasn’t a copper. And without the tacky girl group past, of course.”
Hawkins had raised an eyebrow, and they had left the toilets.
“Anyroad, Fern,” McLaughlin was now saying, “something’s just come to me. Perhaps you can clear it up for me.”
“What’s that, boss?”
“It’s the royalty payments. They were made out to Lily Feagins, and I’m sure the woman must have had a bank account in London under that name. But the bank account she set up here when she moved to Derry four years ago is in the name of Regina Steps. How is that possible?”
Hawkins pulled a face. “Well, it’s not entirely impossible, sir. It could be—”
“Dear God!” Lyons called out.
They all looked at him. His face was pale.
“What is it, son?” McLaughlin asked.
“It’s...Hens! Why didn’t you tell us this? Or...maybe it never came to you...?”
“What’s that, then?” Cahill asked.
“Their first hit,” Lyons said, “it had something called a B-side, whatever that is. It says it was a remake of a Whitney Houston song. I know who she is, I’ve heard of her, like. Never heard of the song, but. It’s not that ‘I wanna dance one.’ But it’s called, ‘I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight’”
Lyons was staring at them all with excitement. They were perplexed in return.
