Page 40 of Three Widows

‘What do you mean?’

‘Anything she might have said about someone wanting to harm her?’

‘N-no. No, not at all.’

‘What did she say about leaving her job?’

‘She never said anything about that.’

‘I know it’s upsetting, but I need something to give me a starting point to investigate her murder.’

Helena rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. He noticed there were no tears.

‘Are you sure she was murdered?’ she said.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘She was still depressed, even two years after Damien’s death. They were close, devoted. He got cancer. Died quickly. She found it hard to cope. Éilis provided some decor inspiration on her house. That’s how they met. Detective, I… I honestly can’t talk about this right now. It’s such a shock.’

‘I understand. Here’s my card. Call me when you’ve had time to think.’ He waved the little brown bag with the nettle tea. ‘Thank you for this. I’ll be sure to try it.’

She took a sticker from a roll and pressed it to the bag, her fingers brushing his. ‘My number is on there. Let me know when you find Éilis.’

He shoved his notebook into his pocket and nodded his thanks. The little bell tinkled as he let himself out of the shop with his bag of nettle tea.

And he couldn’t help thinking that Helena McCaul, despite her distress, real or not, had shed no tears over the news about Jennifer’s murder. She had asked no questions about how or when or where.

Helena was hiding something from him.

26

Éilis woke on a chair, drooling. Confusion shot through her. How could she have fallen asleep? It didn’t make sense. Where was she? Where were Roman and Becky?

Anguish gurgled in her stomach like a wave in a storm and rose as bile to her throat. With something approaching clarity, she recalled what had happened last night. An intruder in her home. A threat against her family if she didn’t do as she was told. Being walked to a car. Then passing out.

Were her children safe from this monster who had taken her? Why, though? What had she done that had led her here? And where was here?

Turning her head around, she figured she was in some sort of padded room. The walls looked like they had been crudely covered with various shapes and sizes of cushions and mats. Soundproofing?

What else could she see through the dimness?

It had once been a sitting room. There was a stained and faded orange carpet on the floor. An old-style fireplace. A whistling sound came down the chimney, even though there was some sort of packing blocking up the grate. She could just about discern two ornaments standing on the mantelpiece, the only nod to decoration or sentiment in the room. Did they hold some memory for her abductor? Could they provide her with a hint of who had taken her?

In the distance she heard what sounded like bolts being drawn back. A surge of hope caused her heart to beat erratically. She held her breath. Hoping. Praying. She dared to believe she might see her children soon.

The door opened.

An antiseptic smell and a weak light preceded her abductor as he entered the room. She thought of the abductor as a he. There was no way she could imagine a woman doing this to another woman. She could be wrong.

The light was coming from a small head torch. Her abductor was dressed head to toe in a crinkling white suit, similar to those she’d seen forensic people wearing on television at crime scenes. She looked up at his face. It was almost entirely covered with some sort of balaclava under the hood of the suit, and his eyes were hidden behind black-rimmed goggles.

Maybe this was a good thing, she thought. If he was concealing his identity, was it logical to assume that he didn’t want her to be able to identify him when he released her? That she would survive this horror? Her moment of hope was short-lived.

Under one arm was a roll of thick plastic sheeting. It had to be heavy because it weighed him down on that side. In the other hand he held a long piece of timber. He dropped the sheeting to the floor and began to unfurl it over the already stained carpet, one-handed. As he did so, the beam of light lit up the piece of timber in his hand. Was that dried blood on it?

Unbridled fear replaced her moment of hope.

She tried to scream, but could only croak.

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