Page 137 of The Altar Girls

He had the key in his hand as he reached the next caravan, but knocked on the door anyway. The windows were cracked and covered in ice.

‘I doubt there’s anyone in there,’ Enda said, blowing on his hands. His breath caught in the cold air. ‘They’d freeze to death.’

‘You’re a powerhouse of positive vibes,’ Boyd bit back just as Enda’s phone rang.

‘It’s Sinead.’

‘How’s she doing?’

‘Her injuries are not too bad and I think she’s getting out of hospital this morning.’ Enda moved away to take the call.

Boyd put the key in the rusted lock and pushed in the door. A blast of cold air hit him in the face, much colder inside than out. He began to think Enda was right.

‘Hello, anyone home?’

He moved up the step and entered the narrow doorway. It was dark. Too dark. He ran his hand over the wall inside the door and found a switch. He flicked it, but darkness remained. After a few moments his eyes grew accustomed to the gloomy interior.

It was dire living accommodation. Not a bit like the others he’d searched. He moved through the room, unable to comprehend how anyone could live in such deprivation.

He thought he heard a low moan. Enda was still on the phone outside.

‘Hello?’ Tentatively he slid back the laminate door.

A tiny bathroom. He moved to the next room. A small divan bed was the only furniture and a battered biscuit tin on the floor seemed to act as a table. The dim light prevented him from making out what was on the tin, but the shapes were like Lego. His heart thrummed in his eardrums. His breathing accelerated. He stared at the tiny bundle on the bed, his feet rooted to the floor.

‘Sergio?’ he said softly, not daring to believe, but daring to hope.

He rushed to the bed and tugged back the thin blanket. Tears burst from his eyes and he sobbed as he took the boy into his arms.

‘Oh my God.’ He lifted him up – he was so light and thin – and carried him to the other room, where daylight was now flooding through the door.

‘Sergio? Sergio!’ he cried into his son’s ear.

The boy was still, his skin cold, and his eyes remained shut.

A deep dread lodged in Boyd’s chest. No, this couldn’t be. His son could not be dead.

‘Please, Sergio, please. You’re safe now. Papa is here. I’ve missed you so much. I love you, Sergio. Please… please…’

No movement from the child.

‘Lottie misses you. And Sean. God, Sean wants to bring you to hurling. Everyone is waiting for you to come home. We’ll have the biggest Lego party ever.’ He was suddenly devastated with loss and his body broke into a series of tremors he was powerless to stop.

And still the boy did not move.

Boyd hugged him closer to his heart, hoping the heat of his own body would spur life into his son’s.

Sergio remained still in his arms.

Boyd’s very soul shattered into a million heartbreaking splinters.

85

In the car, Lottie took a call from Sinead Healy, who was still in hospital. Sinead relayed the conversation she’d had with her colleague Enda Daniels. This information got Lottie thinking about the consequences if it was true, and how it may have led to murder.

Behind St Patrick’s church, the air around the outdoor crib was hushed, the only movement a strip of blue and white garda tape fluttering in the breeze. SOCOs hadn’t found anything to help the investigation and Lottie again cursed the lack of any viable evidence.

‘Who leaves no clues?’ she asked.

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