Page 105 of The Altar Girls

‘A report about that fatal car crash in Ballina. He rang the north-west traffic division and was emailed a photofit of the dead woman. He was sure it was his ex and he was up to ninety when he left.’

‘Jackie?’ Lottie whispered. ‘The dead woman is his ex-wife?’

‘He seemed to think so.’

Lottie rushed over to Boyd’s desk and nudged the mouse to wake the screen. She found herself looking at the photofit. Unmistakably that of Jackie Boyd.

‘Shit. Did you see this, McKeown?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did he say anything about his son?’

‘He was telling someone to drag the river.’

‘Oh my God.’ Lottie leaned back in Boyd’s chair. She tried calling him again. No reply. ‘Feck you, Boyd, answer your phone.’

She looked at the computer screen again and noted the name of the detective who’d sent him the email. John Duncan. She phoned him and discovered that an angry Boyd had already left the Ballina station in Mayo, determined to find his son.

Why hadn’t he contacted her to tell her what he was doing? Probably because he knew she’d tell him to get his arse back to concentrate on the investigation into the murders of the little girls and let the team up there do their work to find Sergio. She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, trying to relieve the mounting pressure.

She found her coat rolled up in a ball on the floor under her desk and grabbed her bag from the top of a filing cabinet. She needed to talk, and she knew who would listen.

* * *

A chill darkness had fallen by the time Boyd and Enda Daniels reached Enniscrone. Amber street lights cast eerie shadows on the slushy road as the reporter idled the engine outside a pub.

‘Why do you think she might have holed up here?’ Boyd asked.

‘It’s close to Easkey and Ballina. She wouldn’t have stayed in the exact area where she stole the car and I don’t think she’d have gone where there was a garda station. Her face was plastered on missing persons posters a few months ago.’

‘I think it’s still too close to where the car was stolen.’

‘Hiding in plain sight, maybe?’ Enda raised a quizzical eyebrow.

‘Perhaps.’ Boyd couldn’t discount it. ‘Where would one lie low around here?’

‘There’s a big caravan park down there.’ Enda pointed. ‘It’s right on the beach. The mobile homes are unoccupied in winter. Fairly desolate, if you want my opinion.’

Boyd didn’t. He wanted facts. ‘How many caravans?’

‘I looked it up. Forty-five.’

That was a lot of door-knocking for one man on a miserably cold evening. ‘Is there a management company where I could get keys to these supposedly unoccupied caravans?’

‘The office is only manned on site from April to September. There might be a phone number. I can check it out.’

‘You do that.’ Boyd opened the door. ‘I’m going down to look.’

‘Not without me you’re not.’ Enda got out of the car.

The two men faced each other across the roof.

Boyd sighed. ‘Listen, it’s possible Jackie was being helped by a criminal element. She may not have been alone in this and they might have my son. It’s not safe. You stay here and I’ll check it out.’

‘You’re not going alone. I promise I won’t mess it up.’

Boyd hadn’t the energy to object, and he really didn’t know where he was going, so he nodded and let Enda lead the way. The nerve ends on his fingers tingled with anticipation, and something else. Dread. Where had Jackie left Sergio? Was he all alone? Did she abandon him, or did someone take him? He could be locked in somewhere. Had he got food? Was he even still alive?