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Bryan was bigger and stronger than the other man. With one punch he landed Wilson back out the door he’d just come in through.

And she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

65

‘I need your help.’ That was what the young woman had said to Ann, and for some reason she could not explain at the time, she had believed her. There was something pathetic and strangely beguiling about her, and she could see that she’d been physically hurt.

‘Why do you think I would help you?’ she’d asked, surprising herself at how calm her voice sounded despite being totally petrified.

‘Because you are in danger. We need to go someplace else. It’s not safe here.’

‘Of course it’s safe. This is my haven, my shop and studio. The only place I can find peace of mind.’

‘You have to believe me, Ann.’

‘How do you know my name?’

‘For one thing, it’s over your door outside.’

Of course it is, Ann thought. Still she hesitated.

The woman grabbed her sleeve, tugging her. ‘Please. Come with me. We have to leave now.’

Full of misgivings, Ann found herself locking the door and leading the woman to her car. Her hands still shook, but there was something else too. It was as if a surreal mist haddescended. As if her childhood nightmare was nearing an end, and she welcomed it.

They drove all the way out to Clifden. It took well over an hour, and the woman slept fitfully, her head pressed against the side window. When she stopped the car, Ann suggested a pub to get food and a drink.

‘Do the people around here know you?’

Ann thought about that. They’d know her husband, so in turn it was realistic to assume her face would be familiar to some.

‘Maybe.’ She drove on down to a secluded cove, parked the car and removed her seat belt. ‘Tell me who you are.’

‘You don’t need to know that. It’s better actually that you don’t, because everyone I’ve been in contact with over the last few months is now dead or in danger. I fear it’s all my fault.’

‘That’s reassuring.’ Ann tried to be light-hearted when inside all she felt was turmoil.

‘No need for the sarcasm. I’m serious.’

‘So am I. I want to know who you are.’

‘Imelda Conroy.’

Ann had half expected that answer, so the shock was not immense, but it did make her shiver. ‘You started all this with your stupid radio documentary thing.’ Anger now replaced her fear.

‘I wanted to tell a story. I was trying to make a living. I didn’t mean for… all this murder.’

‘Huh? How can it be your fault, then?’

‘I opened up old wounds, wounds that cannot be repaired. They run too deep.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘I talked to people who would rather forget their trauma. In doing so, I believe a killer took matters into their own hands and began to wreak havoc.’

‘And you think I am one of those carrying around a trauma?’

‘Yes, I know it. I saw the convent records. Mickey Fox had them. The old bastard.’