Darkhouse

‘OK, fill me in on the rest of it,’ said O’Connor.

Frank went through all the details. O’Connor listened, then took notes when he had finished.

Richie barged in, breaking the silence.

‘You’ve met D.I. O’Connor before,’ said Frank. ‘Waterford’s going to be handling Katie’s disappearance from here on in. Superintendent Brady is on his way over.’

Richie flashed O’Connor a quick smile, squeezed his hand, then hovered in front of him, enjoying the six-inch height difference.

O’Connor didn’t have the insecurity to make it worthwhile.

‘Hello, Richie. Good to see you.’ He smiled and held eye contact with him until Richie looked away.

‘Right. What’s your take on all this?’ asked Superintendent Brady as soon as he walked in. He was almost entirely bald, with a narrow band of soft white hair around the base of his skull and a thick white moustache.

Frank opened his mouth to answer.

‘Ah, I’d say leave it for now,’ said O’Connor. ‘She’ll turn up later. It was Friday night, she’s young—’

‘Frank? You know the girl, the family …’ said Brady.

‘She was on her way home,’ said Frank. ‘It just doesn’t ring true that she’d—’

‘We’ve all been on our way home,’ said Richie.

‘You were there for all that this morning with Martha,’ said Frank, annoyed.

He turned back to Brady. ‘I’ve a bad feeling about this,’ he said. ‘There’s not a thing about Katie Lawson would have me believe she’d run away. And, yes, I’ve known the family for years. I don’t think we can ignore this.’

O’Connor sighed. ‘In fairness, she’s got no money, no passport …’

‘I think this is fairly serious,’ said Frank, nodding.

‘OK,’ said Brady. ‘We’ll get a search team in for tomorrow morning if she doesn’t show up in the meantime.’

‘Will you act as liaison officer with the family, Frank?’

‘I’d say Richie would be the man for that.’ Frank felt Richie could learn something about handling a delicate situation.

Superintendent Brady nodded at the men.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said. ‘We don’t all want to land in on the mother and scare the life out of her. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Right,’ said O’Connor, turning to Frank, ‘I suppose we’ll call in to Mrs Lawson.’

‘She’ll be worn out going through everything over and over,’ said Richie.

Both men looked at him.

‘Well,’ said O’Connor, ‘she might be doing it all over again tomorrow with the Chief and Superintendent Brady. You never know what you might miss the first time.’

‘What an asshole,’ said Richie later.

‘Well, you better get used to dealing with him,’ said Frank.

‘“You never know what you might miss the first time.” What a load of shite.’

Frank didn’t bother responding. Everything was always shite in Richie’s world.

Joe sat at the table, thinking about what Shaun could be hiding. His first guess was alcohol and drugs, but it was a half-hearted one. He knew Shaun had smoked dope back home, but he didn’t think he still did. And the worst he would do was sneak a beer or two when he went out. All kids did that.

And Katie – she didn’t drink or smoke. She was more innocent than the girls Shaun dated in New York. They had a predatory look that wasn’t restricted to Shaun. Katie had a twinkle in her eye, but it was more about intelligence and wit than bad behaviour. Was Shaun protecting her from something? Did something happen that made her want to avoid home? Was she making a statement? Was she pregnant? He didn’t want to think about it any more. An uncomfortable sensation – almost as physical as the dull ache in his jaw – was rumbling inside him.

O’Connor sat in Martha Lawson’s kitchen in a stiff wooden chair that pressed into his spine. The radiator behind him was turned up high. He shifted forward. He had already shaken off his suit jacket and hung it on the chair beside him. He ran through the same gentle line of questioning as Frank had, but quickly moved on.

‘Does Katie suffer from depression?’ he asked. The question hung in the silence.

‘She’s sixteen years old!’ said Martha. ‘Of course she doesn’t suffer from depression!’

Frank and O’Connor exchanged glances. Between them, they’d been to the scene of four suicides in the previous five months, all of them teenagers.

‘Depression can start even younger than sixteen,’ said Frank, gently. ‘You may not even have realised that’s what it is.’

‘Was she sleeping a lot?’ said O’Connor. ‘Emotional? Irritable?’

‘Isn’t that every teenager for you?’ said Martha.

‘Do you think she was feeling negative or hopeless? Or could she have been worried about anything?’ said O’Connor.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Martha muttered. ‘I don’t think she would have told me.’ She bowed her head and let the tears fall.

Frank’s eyes moved over the family photographs on the sideboard. The biggest one was Katie in her white communion dress, her hands clasped around a prayer book and a white satin bag, her parents standing proudly behind her. In the second, she was dressed in pink trousers, a white top and big white trainers, sitting on a bench, laughing with her father.

‘Do you think she was badly affected by Matt’s death?’ asked Frank.

Martha followed his gaze. ‘She was devastated. She adored him. But she was young when it happened. She’ll always miss him, I know that, but I wouldn’t have thought it was something that would trouble her at this stage.’

When she turned away, O’Connor leaned down slowly and turned the dial on the radiator. His face was red and his eyes looked dry. He kept blinking.

‘Does she drink or do you think there’s a chance she could be involved with drugs?’ he asked.

Martha looked back at him, confused. She glanced at Frank for support. His look was apologetic.

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘No, she does not. She isn’t allowed. I don’t keep drink in the house. And where would a girl like Katie get her hands on drugs?’

Frank was saddened by her reaction. Did Martha really think she would only get drink from her own house? Or that drugs were hard for a teenager to come by?

‘To be honest, I’m getting very nervous about these questions,’ she said.