Page 122 of The Altar Girls

Then, as he turned around, he caught sight of a key in the lock on Willow’s bedroom door.

Nerves tingled in his fingertips as he put his hand forward to see if the door was actually locked or just shut. Maybe Zara couldn’t bear to look inside her dead daughter’s room, or perhaps she didn’t want Harper disturbing anything in there.

He tried the handle.

The door was unlocked. He flicked on the light and peered inside. All appeared normal.

He went back downstairs and waited for Zara to return.

75

It was too bright. The light was blinding him. Alfie had no idea where he was, but he knew it was payback for taking Bethany. He’d only wanted to scare her. He was always going to bring her back home.

He started to cough and couldn’t stop. The smell in the room was overpowering. It was like you’d get in church when the priest sprinkled incense around the altar. Choked him then and choked him now.

The door was locked. He wasn’t that stupid, he’d tried it the minute he’d been put in the room. The slap across his ear had made his head swim, it was that hard. But even then, he didn’t think he was in any danger. Now, he thought differently. He’d tried hammering against the door until his knuckles bled, and then he’d screamed as loud and as high as if he was a soprano in Father Maguire’s choir.

He had no idea where he was, only that it was a bare room. Cement walls and floor. No timber or carpet. A concrete shed, maybe? No, it was too warm to be a shed and the light was way too bright.

He tugged his damp hoodie around his head and leaned his chin on his knees. How long was it since he’d left the Kiernan house with Bethany? Too long. His mother would be looking for him. Or would she even be home from work? Surely Bethany’s dad and that stupid cop had missed the child by now. They’d be searching for her, and when they found her, they’d hunt for him.

A terrible thought skittered across his brain. What if they didn’t find her? What if something had happened to her? What if she died like Willow and Naomi and they thought he’d done all that? What if they found what he’d taken? God, I’m sorry.

Alfie stretched his legs out on the floor and banged his head against the wall. Was there anyone who could save him?

THURSDAY

76

It was still dark when Boyd woke up. He’d spent the night at the Sea Hotel on Enda Daniels’ recommendation. Detective Duncan had agreed to send out uniforms to help at first light.

‘Troubled’ was how he’d describe the night. He glanced at his phone. Six a.m. He drew back the curtains. Dark outside. Was he delusional in thinking that Sergio was somewhere close by? Possibly. But Jackie had taken the car from a nearby village, so there had to be some connection.

He ignored the multitude of missed calls and text messages from Lottie and Kirby, and scrolled to see if there were any from Duncan. None. He felt a pang of guilt for not responding to Lottie, because he knew she wanted him back in Ragmullin working on the murders. But he couldn’t let this go. He’d found Jackie and now he had to find his son.

As he showered and dressed in yesterday’s clothes, he felt a pang of pity for his ex-wife. Though he had to admit that their few years together had been fairly okay, had he ever been truly happy with her? He’d been caught up with the idea of her more than actually loving her, he figured. When he’d discovered her involvement with the criminal underworld, it had brought him nothing but pain and anger and almost cost him his job. It had been the end of their marriage. He’d kind of forgiven her for all that, but he could never forgive her for keeping him in the dark about Sergio’s existence. She’d only told him about his son when it suited her.

In the breakfast room, he was surprised to find Enda tucking into a full Irish.

‘I started without you,’ the reporter said. ‘I’m famished.’

‘I’m not. Coffee will do.’

‘Sit down and eat. You need meat on your bones.’

‘You sound like someone I know.’

‘Sounds like a wise woman to me.’

‘How do you know it’s a woman?’ Boyd ordered coffee and a croissant when a waiter appeared at the table.

‘I’m an investigative reporter,’ Enda said with his mouth full, reminding him of Kirby.

The coffee was poured and Boyd drank it black. He needed to be on full alert. He was convinced he would find his son today, but he had no way of knowing who else might be with the boy.

‘I met that priest a few times,’ Enda said.

‘What priest?’

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