Page 10 of The Altar Girls

‘When Isaac sinned, I believe God turned His back on us. That’s why He has taken Naomi away.’ Ruth’s voice cracked and she swallowed with loud gulps.

She’s deluded, Lottie thought. Or maybe she was in shock. Yes, she’d have to put it down to shock. ‘What did Isaac do to land himself in jail?’

‘You’re the detective, you can find out.’

Lottie was stunned. Ruth had just been informed that her child was dead, and she had a sneer on her face. Definitely shock, so it was not the time to be asking more detailed questions.

‘We’ll leave you now, but I’ll be back tomorrow. Are you sure you don’t need someone to stay with you tonight? Is there anyone I can contact for you?’

‘There’s no one now. And I don’t want one of those family whatever they’re called. I’d like you to leave me alone.’ Ruth buried her face in her son’s hair.

As she made her way behind Kirby out through the hall towards the front door, Lottie thought she heard keening upstairs. It sounded as if it was coming from somewhere dark and hollow. She was never more relieved to step out into the blizzard.

* * *

With Jacob calmed and lying on the floor of the living room, a bottle propped in his mouth, Ruth went looking for Bethany.

She’d heard her middle child knocking up in her room while she soothed the baby and had willed every inch of restraint to keep from racing up the stairs. She found what she needed in a kitchen drawer and climbed the stairs.

‘Bethany Magdalene, you better not be out of that box. I am coming for you.’

She reached the square landing and slapped the wooden spoon against her thigh before entering the room the child shared with her big sister.

It appeared empty. Naomi’s bed was made up with military precision. Isaac had trained the girl well.

Bethany’s bed was a jumble of blankets and sheets bunched up at the end of the bed. A damp yellow stain marked the centre of the mattress. She had wet the bed last night. Again. Four nights in a row. Does she think I’ve an endless supply of clean sheets?

The pillow held long dark strands of hair. She had regressed to the pulling-it-out stage. When will it ever end?

Ruth lifted the lid of the wooden linen box and stared in at the curled-up ball of limbs. ‘Get out and take your punishment.’

The child did not move.

She reached in and caught the neck of the too-small pyjama top. She twisted it tight and hauled her daughter up and out. The material cut into the child’s throat, leaving an ugly red mark.

She made the little girl stand up straight, nudging her shoulders, causing her to totter on her bare feet. Raising the wooden weapon, she was surprised when Bethany did not flinch. Then the fight went out of her, and she sank to her knees and sobbed, while her daughter stood like a statue, eyes closed, weeping in tandem with her mother.

9

Father Keith Maguire strode around his small bedroom, the feeling of claustrophobia overwhelming him. His window was open and there was a wintry chill circulating. Instead of closing it, he opened it wider and stuck his head outside, opened his mouth and exhaled a silent scream.

Below him the forensic people were working away under temporary halogen lights. Naomi’s body was shielded by a tent. To his left, at the garda tape, the crowd had dispersed, but one woman remained. Though she would be unable to see what was going on around the corner, past the second tape, she still stood there, wrapped in a dark-coloured coat. Who was she? He didn’t recognise her from the congregation, not that that was a surprise. The number of people attending Mass had diminished over recent years. Even enrolling children in his choir did not have the desired effect of enticing their parents into church. They dropped them at the door and then returned when the session ended.

He closed the window and sat at his small desk. He had another desk in his living room, but this was where he worked on things he wanted no one to see.

Clenching one hand into a fist, he opened a drawer with the other and extracted the sheaf of photographs. Laying them out in front of him, he took one and held it to the light. The pent-up emotion he’d kept buried deep within him for so long erupted in a wail.

His tears fell on the angelic face of Naomi Kiernan.

* * *

Sinead Healy felt more than a little shell-shocked as the small crowd standing around her dwindled. Inspector Parker had given nothing away. She could have confirmed or denied the body was that of Willow Devine, but she hadn’t. Did that mean it was a different child? If so, what was going on? Then again, the family would have to be informed, so that could have been the cause of her reticence.

She noticed the priest at the window above where she stood, and wondered if she should wave, but he closed the window and disappeared back into his room.

‘It’s a bit cold to have the window open,’ she mumbled, then remembered she’d opened the window in her daughter’s room earlier that day because the heating had dried out the air and Annie’s asthma had been playing up. Annie. Her ten-year-old was at home with Carol, Sinead’s best friend. Her only friend. She wished Don, her husband, was there, but he was in Lebanon on a six-month tour of peacekeeping duty. It was tough being alone with Annie, but they needed the extra money Don would earn. The six months would fly. Especially as he would be home at Christmas for a fortnight.

Another band of forensic people bustled past her. Still she remained where she was. She had missed the nine o’clock news bulletin but needed something for a breaking news story. She had nothing, other than garda and forensic activity. And Brendan, her camera guy, had just phoned to say he was stuck at the bottom of Carrick Hill. Couldn’t get his car up with the ice and snow, and was waiting for a gritter lorry along with a few other angry drivers.

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