Page 50 of The Guilty Girl

He walked quickly, gulping fresh air, attempting to fill his brain with the sights and sounds of the town on a busy Saturday. It was an effort to dislodge the image of a half-naked Hannah clogging every square inch of space in his skull. There were other images too, but it was dangerous to go there.

He passed the Bean Café. He loved their coffee, and the smell of it followed him like a shadow. He was starving, but he walked on. With forced purpose, his steps propelled him down Gaol Street and across the road. He skirted around the outside of the park until he found himself at the path leading to the canal. He hoped he could find space to think by the water.

Though it was quieter here, he still heard the hum of traffic and the screech of brakes. He sat on the reedy bank, crossing his legs at the ankles, tucking his hands beneath his knees as he stared into the murky water and thought about throwing himself in. Genuinely.

He was totally fucked up. This whole thing was sick. He would never be able to forget that photo of Hannah. How could Lucy have been so cruel? He’d been mortified for Hannah, so why had he opened his mouth to the detective? Why hadn’t he told the truth? The whole truth? Instead, he’d thrown Hannah to the guards to deflect attention from himself. Did he even know the whole truth?

At the time, he’d felt like killing Lucy over that photo. That thought caused him to lose his breath. Was it in him to kill someone? Lucy had had a mouth on her and she’d given him stick, but it had never really bothered him. Not until last night, when she’d targeted sweet Hannah.

Did he feel this intense emotion against Lucy because of what had happened the week before she died? Or was it because she’d called him out in Hannah’s presence? He liked Hannah and hadn’t wanted to appear like a wet rag in front of her. Was it the effect of the drug he’d taken? What had Jake actually sold him?

And then there were the bloodstains on his clothing. The guards would get a warrant for them. Even though he’d washed them, maybe he should burn them? No, that would make him look guilty, and he had nothing to be guilty about, had he?

He realised he was crying, his breath catching in his throat with each sob. He dug around in his pocket for his inhaler and realised he’d left it at the station. He tried to stop crying. Tried to breathe.

How could he have dropped Hannah right into the mess? She was as much a victim of Lucy’s sharp tongue as he was. The tears fell in a rush and he sensed what was coming, unable to stop it.

Fast and furious, panic rose like a wrecking ball in his chest and its long, searching fingers clamped around his lungs in a vice-like grip. He could no longer catch his breath. He tried to get air in and out of his nose, but the tsunami refused to let up, twisting tighter and tighter. He had to ride it out. It always passed. In the throes of the attack, a thought streaked across his brain. What had Hannah told the guards?

As the air around him was sucked away he thought he saw a kid on a bike coming towards him.

He got up quickly and stumbled home without a backwards glance.

25

With his hands tightly bound, Jake was powerless to stop the lashing of the chain against his skin. He cried and screamed into the gag, choking himself with bile rising from his stomach. He had no idea if his attacker was male or female because their face was covered in a ski mask. He couldn’t understand why it was happening. He’d done what he’d been asked. Except for one slip-up, and that didn’t warrant the intensity of the beating, which was tearing great lumps of flesh from his body.

His little sister appeared before him, pleading with his attacker to stop hurting her big brother. The image faded to red as blood filled his eye sockets. His little sister, the most annoying person on the planet, was at risk. He loved her, despite how much she irritated him, and he had put her in terrible danger with no way to save her.

‘Shaz!’ He thought he’d screamed her name, but the only sound was the links of the chain clinking as his attacker drew back before landing another agonising blow. He’d already been weakened by what had happened in Lucy’s house, but now he felt himself fading away.

Tears mingled with his blood in the dark space where he was unable to see whoever was wielding the chain with such cruel force.

He felt the life leave his defenceless body, and his last thought before his world turned dark was: who would save his little sister?

26

It was going to be a heart-wrenching encounter with the McAllisters, and Lottie’s stomach was tied up in knots. She could do with a swig of Gaviscon. Or vodka.

Lucy’s parents had been discreetly escorted from the arrivals hall in Dublin airport. A uniformed garda had elicited the car park information from Albert McAllister and, taking the keys, had headed off with a heap of expensive luggage to fetch the vehicle and drive it to Ragmullin. The couple were then placed in an unmarked garda car and whisked away. Their frantic questions were deftly handled. The only reply was that this was on the instructions of Inspector Lottie Parker from Ragmullin garda station.

Lottie had arranged for them to be brought to an apartment in the Brook Hotel. She didn’t think it would be fair to break the news of their daughter’s murder in the garda station, and they couldn’t go home. Their house was still being forensically examined by SOCOs.

Before she made her way up to the apartment, she checked with the bar manager about Liz Flood’s work hours the previous night. She wasn’t surprised to hear that the woman had clocked out at fifteen minutes past midnight. So where had she been from then until she’d arrived home this morning?

The boutique apartment was compact and clean. Lottie sat on a chair opposite the two anxious faces while Kirby stood by the door.

Albert spoke immediately. ‘I read on my news app about an assault close to our house. The driver refused to bring us there. Who was assaulted? Where is Lucy? What’s going on?’ His mahogany skin creased like her old leather handbag and his brown eyes flashed anger.

He’d stood when Lottie sat. To cast a superior shadow over her? Feck that. He was around five eight in height, and if she stood up, she’d no longer be overshadowed by him, but now wasn’t the time for role play. She remained seated.

They were neighbours of sorts, though she’d never met them before now. His navy chinos were crumpled from the flight, his white linen shirt creased and sweat-stained, the top two buttons undone. From a background check earlier, she’d learned he was forty-five.

Mary McAllister teetered on the edge of the couch, twisting her tanned diamond-clad fingers into knots. ‘I need to go home. I’m worried about Lucy. She hasn’t returned my calls.’

The opening Lottie needed.

‘When did you last speak with your daughter, Mrs McAllister?’ She ignored Albert pacing behind the couch, but was distracted by Mary’s long blonde curls. They somehow looked unnatural on a forty-year-old woman.

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