Page 58 of The Altar Girls

He’d recorded his short piece to camera. It would be used on the nine o’clock news, but to make the story better, the woman needed to be identified. That was the key. The reason why she was driving a stolen car would come next.

He took the coast road out from Ballina, his feet frozen from standing around, and stopped in the village of Enniscrone. Maybe he’d get a room in the hotel for the night. Might be best to only have a ten-minute drive into Ballina if anything broke on the story.

He checked in and made his way to the bar to watch himself on the news and sink a few pints.

* * *

After a busy day, Boyd felt like a zombie, totally drained, when he arrived at his apartment. He phoned for a Chinese takeaway, deciding to eat it on his lap before falling into bed.

While he was waiting for the delivery, he opened his laptop and scanned the usual sites he had bookmarked to track for news of Jackie and his son. Nothing. He read through his emails even though he’d checked them before leaving the office. No update from his detective source in Malaga. The disappearance of his ex-wife with his son was now old news.

The doorbell chimed and his tummy rumbled. Food. He took it greedily from the delivery guy and tipped him generously.

He unloaded the food from the tubs onto a large dinner plate and grabbed a fork before flicking on the nine o’clock news.

The main report was from Sinead Healy. She was swaddled in a heavy coat, woolly hat and scarf, and kept flicking snowflakes from her eyelashes as she delivered her report on the day’s events in Ragmullin. This she did with a mournful expression.

He pitied her having to stand there with so few facts and even fewer updates. But then did she really deserve his pity? She’d accosted an eleven-year-old boy for a story and that just wasn’t on.

As the image cut back to the studio, he concerned himself with filling his belly. The chicken curry was delicious, and he idly hoped Lottie was eating. When they had major investigations on, she tended to neglect herself.

A strong Donegal accent brought him out of his reverie. The reporter was standing in a snowstorm outside a garda station. Boyd grabbed the remote to increase the volume. He’d missed the start, but the man seemed to be reporting on an accident.

‘The unidentified female was flung from the car through the windscreen. Investigators have been at the scene all day. They say it’s possible the driver skidded on black ice coming down the hill towards the town. The car hit a wall at speed and ended up in the River Moy. Conditions were treacherous at the time of the accident. The woman’s body has been moved to Sligo General Hospital. Gardaí are anxious to hear from anyone who has information about the accident or the dead woman. They are asking people for their help in identifying her or the car she was driving, which was reported stolen, and hope to release an artist’s impression of the victim soon. The information available to date tells us the deceased woman was five foot eight, with short black hair, and wearing a dark green hoodie with a black fleece and denim jeans. If anyone has information, please contact the number on your screens or any garda station. This is Enda Daniels reporting from Ballina, County Mayo.’

Boyd zoned out and brought his plate to the sink.

No boy mentioned. So it couldn’t have been Jackie and Sergio.

He turned off the television.

His quest would go on.

* * *

He was so hungry and so cold. He could not feel anything he touched with his frozen hands. He ran out of coins for the meter sometime during the day, and now he had no light either. Anyway, Mama would kill him for putting on the lights. He was never afraid of the dark before, but dark here was different. He didn’t like this dark without Mama by his side.

The wind died down and he heard the waves crashing against the sand dunes.

He ate the last of the stale bread and found a blackened banana in a cupboard. There was nothing else to eat. And still no sign of his mama returning.

So cold.

So tired.

He curled up in a ball on the narrow cot bed and eventually drifted to sleep.

40

Detective Sam McKeown was going cross-eyed staring at security footage all day. So far he had contacted the owners of twenty-seven car registrations. Just as well the weather was so bad yesterday morning, because it had kept people away from Mass and any other business they might have had in the area. Still, of the twenty-seven, none had resulted in any clues to where the two girls had gone.

‘I’m done for today,’ he said, switching off the computer. ‘Time you headed too.’

Garda Lei raised his head with bloodshot eyes. McKeown wondered if he himself looked as bad. Probably.

‘I’ll do another hour,’ Lei said. ‘Never know, something might crop up.’

‘What footage are you at now?’

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