Page 63 of Hidden Daughters

She said, ‘I’ve only seen the photo you showed me, which is a professional shot, and I don’t know if it’s the same woman. She was terrified and crying with her hair over her face most of the time. It’s possible it was her but I wouldn’t swear to it.’ She shook her head at her own contradictions. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took a gulp of tea. ‘About this Assumpta that Mickey Fox mentioned. We found a record of a nun who was at SOF. Assumpta Feeney. She was early twenties back then so must be in her fifties now. She left the order and studied as a nurse before going to Australia. She returned to Ireland a year ago. She’s not at her address in Galway city, and no one has seen her in a week.’

‘Maybe she’s the woman I found at the convent.’

‘Don’t know, do I? I didn’t see her and I didn’t lose her.’

She bristled, then decided not to let it bother her. If she was in Mooney’s position, she’d be caustic too. ‘Have you any more information on this Assumpta Feeney?’

‘Nothing to interest you, and I shouldn’t be telling you about her anyhow.’

‘But you are. Why?’

‘I got a bollocking from my super. Told me Councillor Wilson is on the phone to him twenty-four/seven demanding this be solved immediately. Talking more shite about the damage it’s doing to tourism in the area. Pfft.’ He blew out his cheeks, cartoon-like, and crumbs lodged in his short beard.

‘You seem to be a one-man band, Sergeant Mooney.’

‘I’ve a full team working round the clock, but the thing is, we aren’t getting anywhere.’

‘Any word on what Mickey Fox was burning in the barrel?’

‘Not yet. It will take time, but we might never know, and anyhow it might have nothing to do with anything.’

‘If I hadn’t left him… if I’d stayed with him, he might be alive now.’

‘You’re lucky you didn’t stay, or I could be investigating your murder too.’

That sentiment sobered her. ‘I need to find that woman?—’

‘Stop right there.’ Mooney wagged a finger at her and she bit down a retort. ‘Youdon’t need to do anything. This is my case and you are to stay away from it. I should never have confided in you in the first place.’

‘But you did.’

‘Much to my consternation.’ He picked at his teeth with a fingernail. He was reminding her more of Kirby with each passing moment. All he needed was a paunch and a cigar. She realised then that she missed Kirby, missed her team and the buzz of being in the middle of an investigation, rather than beingon the outside looking in. Mooney continued, ‘Where’s this ruin you mentioned?’

‘I have to tell you something. You’re not going to be happy.’

‘I haven’t been happy since I met you.’

‘Bryan brought this back from there.’ She laid the blue cloth wrapped in cling film on the table. ‘He also says he handled the board with blood on it. You’ll need to swab him for DNA and fingerprints.’

‘Very opportune of him to touch all this. For fuck’s sake. Where is he? Hope you didn’t lose him too.’

‘Don’t even start.’

‘I’m bringing him in for questioning.’

She shook her head slowly in an attempt to distil the swirl of emotions rising in her chest. She didn’t want to get Bryan in trouble, but she had an awful feeling he was landing himself in it head-first. ‘He’s outside waiting for us.’

39

Councillor Denis Wilson liked to project an image that warned people he was not someone to be messed with. Image was everything in his line of business.

He was tall and slim, his neat hair feathered with grey, and he was vain enough to dye it, but not yet. Fine-boned, and handsome – this he’d heard muttered in bars when he bought the pub a drink. Slick-suited, he normally wore navy or grey, though for a funeral he wore ebony black, always dry-cleaned and with impeccable creases.

High-profile was the name of the game. He insisted on wearing a red cravat with everything, even though his advisers told him it distanced him from the ordinary people. The ordinary people had voted for him to become a councillor, so he knew his cravat didn’t make a blind bit of difference. Getting potholes filled, that was what they wanted. And grants for lights and community groups. Hedges cut and roads surfaced. All that parochial shit. A necessary evil he had to endure for now. His focus was set on the bigger picture. He was going to go far in politics and relished the day he’d leave potholes behind for ever.

The murder of the unidentified woman in Connemara was a blessing for him. It gave him a platform with the wider media.At first he praised the competence of the local gardaí and expressed his faith in them. Now he was switching his stance to criticism of the cutbacks and how they were impacting rural forces. A soapbox ready made for him. And he was grabbing it with both hands. No one was going to stop him now. No one would dare stand in his way. And that Mooney detective bloke better get his finger out and do a bit of work. Wilson phoned the superintendent again. Keep the pressure on, because he could not let this opportunity slip through his fingers; no bungling rural guard was going to fuck it up.

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