You'll Get Yours, page 39
“Things Regina Steps didn’t dare let anybody see, or they’d suss she was Lily Feagins if they came across them in her belongings, opened a drawer of her flat or whatever. But things she couldn’t bring herself to part from. Seems like she was distancing herself from her past, but couldn’t turn her back on it totally. It’s just come to me now. Lily had to pay for that lock-up, but we saw no payment. Hawkins,” he called out to her; she was at the photocopier now, “didn’t you check the woman’s financials?”
“Aye, but—”
“She paid a year in cash, upfront,” PC O’Shaughnessy explained. “Apparently dropped by every April, that’s when she opened the account four years ago, went to her lock-up locker, spent an hour or so there in the corridor going through the boxes, then paid for the next year.”
“One hour a year spent reminiscing about the star she had been,” Cahill said with a touch of sadness.
Hawkins had begun passing out the photos. The constables looked down at a woman with a brown bob and her goateed boyfriend, both in their early thirties, mugging for the camera in one photo before a bricked terraced house with blinds in the bay window. There was some sort of tree in the front garden. The tree was visible in the second photo, where Sonia had her arm wrapped around the boyfriend, and his right arm was going up toward the camera, so presumably he had taken a selfie of the two of them. A light blue Citroën C4 Picasso was behind them, perhaps their car, and beyond that the street. Across the road, there was a row of similar terraced houses.
There were mutters and shakes of the head as the coppers inspected the photos.
“Come on, lads and ladies!” McLaughlin said. “This isn’t flimmin New York, so it’s not. Someone must know what street this is!”
Hawkins had made her way to the front row, and now handed one to D’Arcy, McLaughlin, Cahill and Lyons. The moment Lyons looked down at it, he exclaimed, “That’s Ballymena Terrace. I once had a girlfriend who lived there.”
As the room grew alive with excitement—now that Lyons had said it, many of them recognized the street—McLaughlin stared more closely at the photo and realized he knew it as well.
“Aye, so it is. Brilliantly spotted, son,” he said, and as he was saying it, something was niggling in the back of his mind. “Right! The moment I hand out assignments, we’re off to Ballymena Terrace to see if we can’t locate this elusive Sonia and her ferret. Hawkins, I want you to accompany myself and D’Arcy. You’ve built a rapport with the woman, after all.”
“Right you are, boss,” Hawkins said, scurrying through the rows back to her computers.
McLaughlin rubbed his hands together again with glee.
“Things are heating up. We can but only dare to hope the investigation has taken a turn for the better and it won’t be long before your man is in our grasp. Admittedly, we still haven’t a clue who it might be, but we’re getting closer. I can feel it in my waters. Now for the assignments. You lot,” he nodded, “I want you to—”
“Detective Inspector!”
All heads turned as the desk sergeant made his way through the rows, a look of shock on his face.
“Control have been in touch. There’s been another murder! Thumb, knickers, the works.”
Pandemonium broke out in the incident room.
“God bless us and save us!” McLaughlin roared.
“Found on a roundabout in the Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow playground.”
A roundabout, a merry-go-round. They shivered.
“Is it Roisin Obi?” Lyons called out.
The desk sergeant shook his head and looked down at a piece of paper in his hand.
“It’s a...a Johanna Codd.”
“A bloody who?” McLaughlin sputtered.
But they all suspected they knew who this Johanna Codd was.
The fourth girl.
NINTH DAY
CHAPTER 45
THE EGG SPOON FELL out of Roisin’s hand as she sat at the counter in the kitchen reading the breaking headlines on her phone.
The blood froze in her veins. She curled her shuddering hand, brought it up to her mouth and bit her forefinger, trying to silence the shriek that threatened to escape her.
The walls of the kitchen receded from her, the stool she was sitting on seemed to tilt. She gripped the seat as a wave of nausea rose within her. She glanced nervously at the kitchen window. Had she seen a sudden shadow there?
One of their group killed had been maybe, two probably and now three...definite. That lad was after them all. He had almost succeeded. Only she was left.
The sight of her husband Ajani’s smiling face as he walked into the kitchen shocked her.
“Morning, lo—”
Ajani’s smile disappeared. He ran to her side.
“What’s wrong, love?”
Roisin threw her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder.
“Oh, Ajani! It’s awful! He’s after us! He’s after me!”
“What are you talking about?”
She pulled herself away from him and, face contorted with fear, searched his face with her eyes.
“Do you love me? Really love me? No matter what?” Her voice quavered as she spoke.
“O-of course,” he said, and now fear was creeping into his face as well. “What is it? You’re scaring me. Who’s after you, Ro? What is it you’ve done?”
“I’ve been horrible, cruel, awful. Oh, Ajani! How could you love me? How could anybody love me after what I’ve done? I was only a girl, a wee girl with her mind maddened by drink and Es, but...but...it was terrible what I did. What we did. You know Cannon Woman?”
Ajani jerked back.
“W-what have you got to do with that? W-was that...did you...?”
Roisin clucked her annoyance. “Of course I didn’t kill her. What do you think I am? But she...and the second one, the bus shelter woman...and now there’s a third...”
“You’re making no sense,” Ajani said. “What have these women to do with you?”
“Th-they...” The tears rolling down her face made it difficult to speak. “They were my mates. Back in school. Did you not notice the patrol car parked outside our house for a while a few days back?”
“Of course I did. I pointed it out to you. You told me you’d heard it was to do with them next door.”
“I lied. It was for me. Protection for me.”
Ajani was shocked. “B-but—”
The stool clattered to the floor as Roisin threw herself from it and grabbed her husband by the hand.
“Where are you taking me? Have you gone mad?” he demanded to know as she dragged him to the kitchen door.
“We’ve to get to the police station. See that inspector what’s his name. They said they were upping the police protection, but I don’t see any patrol cars out there. We, I need police protection. Now! And to think I was acting the big I am only the other day. Off their heads, I thought they all were. Sure, it was thirty years ago. Who in their right mind...” She was struggling to get her arm into the sleeve of her coat. Ajani had shrugged into his jacket and reached out a hand to help her. She knocked his hand away. “I can do it myself!” she seethed in frustration, then burst into tears again at the sight of his shocked face. “Oh, Ajani, love, I’m so sorry. I’m not of the right mind, so I’m not. We’ve to get to that police station this very moment before I lose it altogether.”
The door slammed as they left the house.
THEIR CARS SCREECHED up to the grounds of Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow. Through the throngs of forensic team vans, media vans, an ambulance, excited gawpers and journalists with perfect hair who flung their microphones every which way before camera crews, McLaughlin could spy constables struggling to cordon off the school with police tape.
McLaughlin and D’Arcy jumped out of the car, Lyons and Cahill close on their heels. They pushed through the hordes, yelling, “No comment, no comment!” and were soon past the stone wall and inside the grounds.
It wasn’t raining, but between the swings and see-saw a tent had been hurriedly erected over the roundabout to protect the victim from the rabid press and public.
As they approached, Dr. Keedy emerged from the depths of the tent and tugged off his face mask. He scowled at them as if the four of them had strangled Johanna Codd with their own hands.
“Having a wee bit of trouble with this investigation, Liam?” Dr. Keedy asked. “I’ll soon have to hang up a no vacancy sign before my lab. Won’t have any slabs left if this continues...”
“I’m getting enough grief from that lot out there,” McLaughlin said, nodding at the screaming journalists. “Almost took bites out of my arm as I forced my way through them.”
“Not without cause?”
D’Arcy stamped her foot. “We’re doing the best we can.”
“Aye,” Lyons put in, “leave the inspector be.”
Cahill nodded.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be so harsh on you,” Dr. Keedy continued. “Thanks to your continued incompetence, those articles of mine are going to set the medical journal community ablaze, as this will be the third autopsy of this killer I’ve done, and we all know what three victims means.” He wriggled his eyebrows. “Serial murderer. My very first, so I thank you all for that.”
They all reeled as if they’d been slapped.
Keedy droned on, “Caucasian female, ID says she’s called Johanna Codd, 45 years of age, strangled, thumb glued in the mouth, frilly knickers, wee red bows. And, aye, strawberry lip gloss smeared all over her face.”
Lyons looked up at the sky. “The forecast said that wee drizzle we had early last night was it for the rain, so I guess he didn’t need an awning or some such this time round.”
Keedy just stared at him. “Time of death...difficult to say, but I know you’ll keep harping on at me about it, so I’d say...” he looked at his watch, “it’s just past nine now, so twelve to fourteen hours or so ago.”
“Between seven to nine last night,” D’Arcy said, opening her Notes app.
“Shame your detective skills aren’t as good as your maths.”
Keedy was a curmudgeon, yes, but this morning he was being particularly brutal. He must have had a bad night, and there did seem to be a barely perceptible aroma of whiskey rising off him.
“Anything else to report, doctor?” Lyons asked.
“Thankfully, the lip gloss doesn’t appear to have been applied with as much force as our last victim, whoever that was. There have been that many lately that they are all starting to blur in my mind.”
“Thank you for your insight, Healy,” McLaughlin said stiffly, heading toward the opening of the tent and flashing the pathologist a look that said he had his way, Healy would be the next body on the slab.
“I’ll see you at the autopsy, Liam.”
“I look forward to it.”
McLaughlin disappeared into the tent. The others hurried in after their boss.
There was an uncomfortable silence as they gazed down in sorrow at Johanna Codd sat there between the bars of the roundabout, body leaning against the pole in the middle, head bowed against her chest from the weight of the thumb in her mouth. The pathologist had said it like it was. It was their job, their calling, to protect the public from heinous crimes like this. They all couldn’t help feel but in some small way they had failed this woman.
“Well,” Lyons said as he ran his forefinger over his mustache, “at least now we know who the fourth girl was.”
“It seems like the perp is telling us we’re not doing a good job and all,” Cahill said. “Why else would he choose this school? Like he’s had to point us in the right direction?”
“Bless us and save us!” McLaughlin said. “Thank Christ they found this body so early. This is my Catherine’s school. What if she had...had...”
They looked at him uncomfortably.
Then jerked in alarm as a young constable burst into the tent.
“You’re needed back at the station, sir,” he said, addressing McLaughlin.
McLaughlin reeled.
“Och, what is it now?” he asked, his irritation rising even as his heart sank. If it was DCI Nix dishing out an immediate reprimand... “If that DCI—”
“No, sir,” the constable said. “Someone’s come in asking to speak to you and only you. I gather it’s to do with...” He nodded his head at Johanna Codd’s body, then realizing what he was seeing, his face grew pale. He looked down at a piece of paper now held in his trembling hand. “It’s somebody called Roisin Obi.”
The four stared at each other.
“Bloody hell!” McLaughlin said. “Now the silly woman comes to her senses! Twelve hours too late! Bless us and save us!”
PC O’SHAUGHNESSY UNFOLDED his praying mantis limbs and got out of the passenger seat of Hawkins’ Volkswagen Polo. Hawkins had cruised up and down Ballymena Terrace, looking for a house with a tree in the front garden, a bay window with blinds and a light blue Citroën Picasso parked out front.
PC O’Shaughnessy had pointed out that Number 57 had the tree and the blinds, but there was no sign of the car.
“Maybe they’re out?” PC O’Shaughnessy now suggested.
“Let’s hope not,” Hawkins said as she walked through the front gate. “We’re not sure if that was their car or not, but. Fingers crossed.”
She rang the doorbell. PC O’Shaughnessy peered through the blinds of the bay window.
“Telly’s not on,” he said.
“Come on, Sonia,” Hawkins said impatiently. “Answer the door.”
She pressed the bell long and hard.
The door was wrenched open, and both officers were relieved at the sight of the man with the goatee they recognized from the Facebook photos. They’d got it right, then. He was in his bare feet, wearing shorts and a saggy t-shirt with some rock band on it. He stared out at them with groggy eyes, but they widened at the sight of PC O’Shaughnessy’s uniform. He took a step outside and closed the door behind him as they held up their IDs.
“What is it?” he asked in alarm. He scowled. “It’s not them next door on about the music again, is it?”
“No,” Hawkins said. “I’m DC Hawkins, and this is PC O'Shaughnessy, and we were wondering if we might have a word with, er, a Sonia Gallagher. She lives here, is that correct, Mr...?”
Now his eyes narrowed.
“What’s this about? What are you accusing my Sonia of?”
“Nothing,” Hawkins said, secretly pleased this Sonia Gallagher really did exist under that name. “We think she can be of help to us, but. Is she in?”
He shook his head.
“Gone off to London for the week,” he said. “Has cousins there she wanted to meet up with. Left last night. How do you think she can help you?”
“Er...you don’t happen to own a ferret, do you?” Hawkins asked.
Now his face lit up. “Aye, we do. Gizmo, she’s called and a pure joy, so she is. But...how can Gizmo possibly help the PSNI?”
“More than you could imagine, Mr...?” Hawkins tried again.
“Oh! Gaz Ferry they call me. And, sorry, but I closed the door because of Gizmo. Didn’t want her getting out, you see. I’m not one of them who riles against the peelers. You helped my brother out of...well, anyway, what I’m saying is, come in, but watch yourselves. She doesn’t bite or anything, but I don’t want you to step on her.”
“You have her running around?” Hawkins asked, intrigued.
“Aye. It’s cruel to keep them locked up in a cage, you know.”
Hawkins nodded as he opened the door and let them in. When they were sitting themselves down on the sofa, the ferret bounded into the room, pointy snout, sleek body solid black. The animal scurried around their feet with such speed it was difficult to make it out clearly, but Hawkins caught a glimpse of a mischievous grin on its face.
PC O’Shaughnessy reached down to pet it, and it leaped up, scrabbled up his chest—the constable howled in surprise—ran over his right shoulder and disappeared behind the sofa.
Gaz had sat in a chair opposite them.
“So what’s this all about?”
“I’m afraid I’ve been a bit naughty...” Hawkins began, then explained how she had infiltrated the Northern Ireland ferret group on Facebook, posing as new owner Petula Sharkey. The deception was necessary, she explained, because at first her team was under the impression the person they were seeking might actually own a ferret.
“But we’ve since realized he probably doesn’t. He might, however, have been the one that helped you and Sonia move into this house.”
“One moment, there,” Gaz said, looking at them both uncomfortably. “You’re not on about that madman that’s been running loose? That Cannon Woman killer? And the other? Bus Stop Woman, or whatever they’re calling her?”
“I’m afraid so,” Hawkins said. “Did you happen to read the news yesterday? About ferret hairs being a clue to the killer?”
Gaz’s eyes widened as he shook his head. “Never pay attention to the news. Depressing, like. I only know about this murderer that’s running loose because it’s all everyone’s talking about. He’s got a ferret?”
“Well, no,” Hawkins said.
“Er...I’m just wondering,” Gaz nodded to PC O’Shaughnessy. “Does your man there not talk?”
PC O’Shaughnessy laughed and held up his hands in defense. “She’s my superior, mate. I’m just here to make up the numbers.”
“And perhaps a strong arm if in fact I turned out to be the murderer?”
Hawkins smiled as she shook her head. “We didn’t think that at all. We generally travel in pairs, you see. I’m sure you’ve seen that on the telly...? Now, as I was saying, we don’t believe you are the perpetrator of these heinous murders, and another was just killed last night, by the way.”
