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I was sure he would never know which of us had carried out the revenge attack on him. And if he did find out that I was the main culprit, then I would be ready to face him.

This was the last entry from Assumpta’s time in the convent. But she had made a new entry recently.

I returned to Galway.

I know I made a promise to myself that I would never set foot in the city again. But I was drawn back by a call from a woman making a documentary. She said her name was Mel, and she was insistent. I wondered how she’d got my name. But that did not concern me too much, because I knew it was time to tell my story.

What I didn’t expect was to see him. The man who had been with Robert that day. The man who had violated and abused young, vulnerable women. Tall and elegant, neatly dressed. The woman by his side appeared drawn and subdued. But still very beautiful. And she was with the man who had abused her and a host of others decades previously. I was stuck to the pavement. How could she? But then I knew how she could. He was a brute, while at the same time a sweet-talker, a master manipulator.

I wanted to run over and drag her away from him. To shout words of sense at her. But I knew that would never work. I knew his sort. He had moulded her into a person he could control in entirety. God only knew what coercive power he had over her. I could imagine he forced her to believe that it had all been her own fault. Bastard.

Then I suspected there was a better way to bring him down. I could reveal what I knew, all that I had witnessed back then, to a wider audience. To an unforgiving audience.

I called Imelda Conroy.

Mooney knew who the killer was. A man who had so much to lose if even one person talked about his past.

A man who had been humiliated and possibly scarred by the boiling water being thrown over him. A man who was ruthless and vengeful. He had proved that. He had manipulated Robert Hayes all those years ago. And while Robert was guilty of the crime against the little girl called Gabriel, Mooney suspected he had nothing to do with the recent killings.

But his problem was that the author of the notes, Assumpta Feeney, was dead. He had no proof to link the man she’d written about to any of the crimes. Everyone who could speak up was dead, except Robert Hayes. And it was possible he would not incriminate his one-time friend and exploiter.

He’d have to talk to Imelda and get her to reveal what she knew. And he wasn’t at all sure she would want to disclose her information, as she had now asked for a solicitor. She probably wanted to broadcast her documentary and make a ton of money. He could force her to talk, threaten to charge her with impeding an investigation. With obstructing the course of justice. That would take time. What else could he do in the short term?

He needed Lottie Parker’s help. He had already crossed enough lines to tarnish his reputation, one more to add to the list wasn’t going to make much difference to him, but it might help catch a brutal killer.

He sent a text to Inspector Parker. Then he sent it to DS Boyd.

86

The scream that Lottie and Boyd had heard came from the kitchen. They rushed in to find blood dripping from Grace’s hand. A knife lay on the floor.

‘What happened?’ Boyd ran to her side.

‘I cut myself,’ Grace said, as if it was blindingly obvious. She turned on the tap and waited for the water to run cold.

‘How did you do that?’ Boyd asked.

‘I was peeling spuds. I couldn’t find the potato peeler. I know I have it somewhere… I used the little knife. It’s too sharp.’

He held her hand under the running water.

‘Where’s Bryan?’ Lottie asked.

Grace pulled her hand free. Blood-infused water splashed around and dripped to the floor. ‘What areyoudoing here?’

‘I want to apologise and?—’

Her phone beeped with a text, and Boyd’s did so a second later. They both checked their screens.

‘Mooney,’ they said simultaneously.

She read the start of the message on the locked screen.

‘Shit, Boyd.’

‘Double shit,’ he said.

She looked over at Grace. ‘Where is Bryan?’