You'll Get Yours, page 25
“And...?” Cahill asked.
The other three looked at each other. If this was stumping even their music expert, how were they meant to understand?
“Don’t any of you get it?” Lyons asked.
They shook their heads.
“‘I’ll Be Your...Baby Tonight,’” Lyons said, his eyes shining. “Baby?”
“Hmm,” McLaughlin said. “I’m afraid I don’t see the connection, son.”
“Baby? Sucking her thumb? You see it now? Don’t you think this...thumb in the mouth business might be referring to that? It’s the only thing so far that links the vic to this odd thumb in the mouth that’s been driving us crazy. Maybe there’s no need for that swanky profiler to come after all.”
There was a startled silence all around him. D’Arcy was on the verge of scoffing, but realized something so outlandish wasn’t outside the realm of possibility—all sorts could be going on inside the mind of a deranged murderer, after all.
“At the beginning,” Lyons explained further, “when we thought the vic was Regina Steps, we couldn’t uncover anything to do with a thumb. And now that we know she is Lily Feagins from this pop group, we’d still be struggling to find some connection. Sure, it wasn’t as if we discovered she was, er, I don’t know, a glove designer, or a serial hitchhiker or what have you, something related to thumbs. But what if it’s a deranged Whitney Houston fan, furious the Sparklettes had murdered, excuse me, one of their beloved diva’s songs? We’d never think of investigating Whitney Houston fans.”
D’Arcy cleared her throat. “Perhaps that’s a bit too literal an interpretation, boss. That sucking a thumb automatically equals a baby.”
“And the ‘baby’ in the title of the song isn’t an infant,” Cahill pointed out.
“Still, but!” Lyons said. “It’s the only thing we’ve come across so far. No matter how tenuous. If it’s that simple, that obvious, he might be easy to catch.” He looked around at the assembled masses with a raised eyebrow. “Could it be that simple? Should we maybe start looking at Whitney Houston stalkers?”
Cahill shook his head in a manner that said, these people know nothing about music and artists. “Whitney Houston is no longer alive. She died in 2012.”
“Still, but!” Lyons repeated. “Even though she’s no longer living...in fact, maybe because she died, it sent one of her fans off the edge.”
If so, they were clearly dealing with a madman, and one not blessed with much intelligence.
McLaughlin sucked air in between his teeth. “Let’s put that to the side for the moment. It has, however, given me another idea. Lyons and Cahill, just to be on the safe side, no stone unturned and all that, I want the two of you to run a search through all the lyrics of the Sparklettes’ songs. See if you can find any reference to thumbs. Hands even. Or even tongues, glue, superglue, black knickers with red bows—”
“Dressing and undressing,” D’Arcy said. “Borrowing clothes, even. For a girl’s night out, like. And cannons.”
“Aye, that’s a grand one,” McLaughlin said.
“City wall?” Lyons grinned.
“Or!” Cahill said. “Walls of any type.”
“Sure to be something like that in those types of songs,” Hawkins said. “Building up walls, pulling them down, walls between us.”
Now the room was filled with a different type of excitement.
“Maybe the case is related to the Sparklettes and their songs after all...” D’Arcy mused.
“You’ve got it,” McLaughlin said. “If we can clear that up, if the odd aspects of the murder scene are referred to in the lyrics, there might be something about strangling someone with love, I don’t know—”
“‘Take My Breath Away,’” said Cahill.
Lyons goggled. “Did the Sparklettes do that one and all?”
“No,” Cahill admitted. “But words to that effect...it might explain the method of killing.”
McLaughlin nodded, and his eyes shone with eagerness. “That would be a result! We’d have all the bizarre aspects of the crime explained away even before the profiler came. They might just tell her not to bother coming. Which would be another result and all.”
“Right, sir,” Lyons said. “Cahill and I will get on it the moment this interview is over.”
McLaughlin looked at his watch.
“Speaking of which...”
There was a ripple of excitement in the room. Hawkins had hooked up her boss’ computer to a monitor that stood on the cabinet opposite, so they would all be able to look on.
The women turned their chairs around to look at the monitor, Lyons and Cahill perched on opposite ends of the inspector’s desk. McLaughlin shook his mouse a little and his computer lit up, as did the monitor opposite.
“Veronica Skelly!” Hawkins said in excitement as Lyons rubbed his hands together. “My mammy’s going to be chuffed! I told her we’d be speaking to her today!”
“I think I’m just as chuffed as your mammy,” McLaughlin admitted.
Veronica and James Skelly lived in a villa in Nice. On the French Riviera, at the foot of the Alps.
Nice was one hour ahead of Derry.
The screen flickered to life and Veronica appeared on the other end, looking anxious.
“Inspector McLaughlin, is it?” she asked. “It’s, er, Veronica Skelly here.”
She flicked her trademark lion’s mane of copper curls, and behind her, the team spied a bookshelf lined with books. She must have a desk in the study. They were all a bit disappointed that they couldn’t see more of her villa. Her green eyes pierced the screen. She was wearing black. From the clean lines behind her to the diamonds sparkling in her ears, the woman exuded class. No remnant of the shouty, gyrating lead singer of the Sparklettes remained, except perhaps in her eyes.
“Aye,” McLaughlin said. “Thanks so much, Mrs. Skelly, for agreeing to chat with us. Full disclosure, my team is here listening in to our call.”
“That’s grand,” Veronica said. “Och, it’s a terrible tragedy. Our poor Lily. She had her demons, but she didn’t deserve to die like that. I saw the news reports. Shocking, disgraceful. To end her life...” she grimaced, trying to find the right words, “put on display like that. Such an undignified way to die. But I don’t see how I might be able to help you. I haven’t seen Lily in decades, and our time together in the group was so long ago. How could I possibly help?”
“We spoke to the other band members, Roisin, er...?”
“Obi,” put in D’Arcy.
“And Gerarda...”
“Perry.”
Veronica looked guilty. “The poor girls. They must be devastated and all. Especially Roisin. They were very close. I’ll have to give them a call.”
“Aye, that would be nice.” McLaughlin cleared his throat. “I should inform you we have arranged police protection for them.”
Veronica’s eyes grew wide.
“But whatever for, Inspector?”
“Don’t be alarmed. It’s mid-level, just. To be safe rather than sorry. I must stress there is no evidence of this, but one line of inquiry is that the perpetrator might be targeting members of your former group.”
Veronica looked like she’d been slapped.
“Oh! That never occurred to me. The Sparklettes...it seems like such a different life, so long ago... But of course Gerarda and Roisin must be terrified!”
“They seem to be taking it in stride. They are strong women.”
“Well...” Veronica seemed relieved. “They are Derry girls, after all,” she said with a little smile.
“Again, this is only one line of inquiry. And we would extend the courtesy of police protection to you and all, but as you are currently in France...”
Veronica appeared appreciative, but waved the suggestion away.
“Ah, thank you for that. But Frank and I have our own PPOs, er, that’s personal protection officers,” she cringed, “I mean, bodyguards of course, minders. What do I sound like?” She gave a little laugh. “I’m so far away from Derry, from Ireland even, that... I’m grieving more for Lily’s death rather than being frightened about it. I hope those aren’t famous last words, but.”
The team chuckled at the attempt at levity.
McLaughlin nodded.
“That’s grand, then. We’re not sure of the motive for Lily’s murder. Obviously, we need to consider that it might have something to do with her life in the Sparklettes, no matter how long ago that was. In addition to the controversy caused by Eurovision, we’ve also heard there was some harassment from the public and perhaps even a stalker. Roisin and Gerarda couldn’t supply us with any names, but perhaps you can remember where they didn’t?”
Veronica thought for a moment.
“They were all from London, but. The only thing I can think of is...one moment, Inspector! I do mind now there was one fella, Eddy Skivvins you called him, and he was obsessed with us. All of us. He would show up at all our concerts, no matter where we were. We did one tour, you know, the Sparkly World Tour, in 1997. London, Birmingham, Liverpool, Manchester, Dublin, Belfast and Derry, of course. He was there in every city, always trying to finagle his way backstage, and leering, shouting at us on the stage. Security at one venue, it was Birmingham, had to eject him from the premises. He had tried to climb onstage. It was pretty scary, to be honest. I mind we begged Eric to hire extra security to keep him away from us.”
“Do you mind if he was one of the ones particularly enraged when Lily left the group?”
“I don’t know about that. The other girls were more in touch with what the fans were doing. I didn’t much care. But the thing about Eddie is...he lives in Derry.”
There was an audible gasp from the team.
“You don’t say?” McLaughlin said. “We’ll have to check him out. Now, I wonder if you could tell me, tell us, why Lily decided to leave the group?”
Veronica frowned. “The poor girl was at her wit’s end. Fame suits some people, others not. I think Lily enjoyed the idea of being famous rather than being famous itself. All the touring—and we were in dirty buses without shock absorbers, you understand—and all the early hours and rehearsals, and constantly, constantly being filmed and photographed and yelled at, sung at, everywhere you went. Add to that the hell her horrible family put her through—I’m sure you’ve heard about that from Roisin and Gerarda?”
“We heard it from the horse’s mouth, as it were. We paid Lily’s parents a visit. It was not pleasant.”
Veronica nodded. “That mammy of hers! Called at all hours of the night, roaring her abuse over the phone. I think the woman has a drinking problem. Lily was close to a nervous breakdown. And then, of course, there was the less than stellar reaction to our second album.” Veronica shrugged. “Lily might have left first, but I’m sure all of us were thinking of it too. It was a bit of a relief to us all when it ended. Lily just hurried the process along.”
“Can you think of any other reason, Eurovision aside, that might cause someone to target Lily or any other members of the group?”
Veronica grimaced. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Lily struggled with drink and drugs, and, well, of course all of us had a few hookups during those days, but Lily went man mad. To an extent that alarmed the rest of us. She had affairs with several, shall we say, high-profile men. Some were, I must admit, married. It's possible that one of them could have wanted her out of the way. But again, so long ago? Who would bother with that now? Sure, most of them are probably divorced now.”
“Mmm,” McLaughlin said. “Unlikely to be a credible motive, then. Now for the questions I must ask. I hope you understand. When was the last time you were in contact with Lily? And with Gerarda and Roisin, for that matter.”
“Och, you’re making me feel awful, Inspector. Once Lily left the group, there was some resentment there from all of us, so I haven’t spoken to her since then. What, 1998, was it? Gerarda and Roisin and I kept in touch for a few years, but I haven’t heard from them since about 2000 or so. Yes, I called them to wish them a happy millennium. We’d survived it. I remember that. I only recently heard they were back in Derry. My mammy told me, of all people. I thought they’d stay in London for the rest of their lives. They found partners there, so...” She shrugged. “I really must give them both a ring.”
“And,” McLaughlin held out his hands, “where were you on the night of the murder? Thursday last?”
Veronica smiled.
“I understand you have to ask. I was here in Nice.”
“I gathered as much. One last question. Can you tell me anything about Roisin and Lily together as teens?”
The team around him was looking at McLaughlin in as much surprise as Veronica Skelly herself. D’Arcy nodded her head. She understood.
“Er, what do you mean, Inspector?”
“I’ve only just learned that Roisin and Lily had been friends since primary school. I gather that you only met the other three in London. Is that correct?”
Veronica nodded with a little grimace. “Roisin and Lily were from Creggan Heights, Gerarda from Rosemount, but I’m from the Waterside. I never had the chance to run into any of them in town. But...what do you want me to tell you about them?”
McLaughlin shrugged. “You tell me. You were four young women living hand and mouth together, spending close to 24 hours a day together I’d imagine for two years or so. There must have been some stories exchanged.”
“Oh, indeed, inspector. By the end of it, it was as if I’d known the three of them all my life. We became like sisters. Of course we did.”
“And I’m just wondering if either Lily or Roisin talked about some trouble they might have got up to when they were teens. Apparently they were rather wild.”
Veronica relaxed a little. “I see what you’re on about. Of course they talked about their glorious misspent days of youth. Och, Gerarda was a wee bit shocked at it all. She had a rather strict upbringing, as she told us. But nothing out of the ordinary. Just girls being girls.”
“I see. Thank you very much for that. I don’t want to keep you any longer. I know you’re a busy woman...”
“Thanks so much, Inspector. If I can be of any more help, please don’t hesitate to contact me again. And...”
“Aye?”
“When is Lily’s funeral to be held, inspector? I’d quite like to send some flowers and some other gifts. I just need to think of what would be fitting. Maybe I’ll even attend.”
Hawkins had told them the Skellys had a private jet, and flew into Eglington Airport, just down the road from Derry.
“I’m afraid we don’t know yet,” McLaughlin said. “The body has yet to be released.”
Veronica lowered her head.
“I see.”
“Thanks again for your time.”
“Thank you, Inspector. Ohh, it’s all hitting me just now. I think I’ve been in shock this entire time. Poor, poor Lily. She had a hard life. I feel we made it harder, but,” they saw the tears welling in her eyes and their hearts went out to her, “then it seemed to get worse. Hopefully,” here her voice cracked, “we added a little brightness to her life.”
She refrained from saying they added a ‘sparkle.’ A classy lady, indeed.
CHAPTER 28
MCLAUGHLIN PUT DOWN his phone and moaned. Not only was getting in and out of the station like fighting your way through the Western front now that the press had descended upon Twilight Road with renewed vigor and larger cameras and more forceful journalists, once you finally cleared that hurdle, the roars and shouts, mics pressed against you, you realized what you had to do in the station itself was even more of a chore.
And it was only going to get more difficult. They were going to have to pause the investigation for their visitor, as he had explained to the team after the Skype interview.
“As you’re all here,” he had said, “and now that the excitement of the celebrity interview is over, let’s review where we are and what we have. Not only do we need to prepare for tomorrow’s morning briefing, we also have that flimmin profiler showing up. And that’s what I don’t want to be: shown up. Some big shot from Belfast University. A Bridget something. I don’t want us to look like we’re running around like chickens with our heads cut off.”
D’Arcy had sat up straighter in her seat, though they hadn’t thought that possible.
“Bridget Oakes, sir?” she asked. There was a tone of awe in her voice.
“Aye, that’s the one,” McLaughlin verified.
D’Arcy screwed up her face in a look of respect.
“They’re sending us the best,” she said.
Lyons scowled and wrapped his arms around his chest.
“Sure to send us off on the wrong track,” he said. “They don’t live in the real world. The last thing we need is some intellectual git interfering with our work.”
McLaughlin shrugged.
“We can only hope she’s getting paid by the hour. Upstairs won’t want her to linger, their budget disappearing.”
Cahill snorted. “It will take her an hour to get through the mob outside, just.”
They all laughed, but it might be no laughing matter when the woman showed up tomorrow.
McLaughlin stared down now at the bewildering array of paper, forms, reports, folders and food wrappers on his desk, the empty bottles of Irn Bru and lemon Fanta. He ran his hands through his unruly thatch and stifled a wail of frustration.
This case was driving him to distraction, his brain overloaded with details he didn’t know were relevant or useless dead ends. And here was another piece of information courtesy of Dr. Keedy that seemed to be a dead end. The one piece of evidence besides the unmarked white van that they’d all been secretly placing their hopes on. The strands of black hair. But now Keedy had just told him—
“D’Arcy!” he yelled through his open office door. “Come in here! Bring the others and all!”
The call had come through just as the interview with Veronica Skelly had ended. D’Arcy, Lyons, Cahill and Hawkins had all tramped out of his office, but now he was calling them back in again.
D’Arcy rounded them up, and they stood before his desk, looking at him uncertainly.
