Page 110 of The Altar Girls

‘I don’t know. Should I ring him?’

‘To tell him what exactly?’

‘I could ask him why he gave me his card.’

‘Yes, do that.’

Rose’s head was thrumming. Most days she found it difficult to recognise her own home, never mind having to concentrate on other people’s ramblings. A headache was taking root and she needed her pills. Wrapping the wool around her knitting, she stuck the needles into the ball and stood. Time to go home before Lottie missed her. Then again, she probably wouldn’t miss her at all.

‘I remember now!’ Betty stood too, dropping her work, stitches falling from the needles in a mess of red wool.

‘You remember why the detective gave you his card?’

‘No, something else about the other night behind the cathedral.’

‘Tell me,’ Rose said, before her friend forgot again.

‘There was someone there besides the boy.’ Betty looked triumphant, and Rose wondered why she had been up at the cathedral in the first place.

‘Get a pen and paper. Write it down before we forget.’

‘Forget what?’ Betty said, but there was a glint in her eye. ‘Joking!’ She found loose sheets of notepaper and a pen on the table and began to scribble feverishly.

Standing at her shoulder, Rose tried to decipher the woman’s writing, but failed. She hoped Betty was able to read it. It seemed to be something important.

‘I can give it to the guards,’ she said when Betty had finished.

‘You can?’

‘Yes. My daughter is a detective.’ She uttered the words with conviction. At last this was something she was sure of. For now, anyhow.

67

Garda Lei wondered how long Zara was going to be away from the house. She’d said she wanted to do some work in her studio, for her sanity, and he got that. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like to lose a child, especially to a violent death.

It was over two hours since she’d left little Harper in his care. He loved to talk – he knew he talked way too much, nerves really – and sitting here with a silent child who eyed him suspiciously every time he moved a limb was filling him with anxiety. The silence was unnerving.

‘Harper, would you like to watch something on the telly?’ He could turn the sound down low. White noise was better than this. ‘I’ll put it on and find a cartoon for you.’

She sat motionless. A tiny form on the big armchair. Her small, pale face was caped in a mass of fair curls. Her white T-shirt with a sparkly unicorn was stained with ketchup and her red leggings were too short. She’d abandoned her socks and Skechers with their lights on the heels outside the sitting room door.

Her eyes followed his every move. When he lifted the remote, when he pressed the on button, when he sat back waiting for the screen to light up. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her too and wondered what had happened to render the child mute. Selective mutism? He’d googled the condition and wondered if Harper was just an anxious child and that anxiety had caused her to clam up. Or was it something more traumatic? Like her sister’s murder.

Scrolling through a multitude of channels searching for an age-appropriate programme, he kept one eye on Harper. She never once looked towards the television. Her eyes were glued to him. Why? Fear of him because he was a stranger in her home, because he was a man? Or was it because he was a guard? He supposed his uniform might scare her, but he’d abandoned his jacket and tie in the kitchen so that his blue shirt and navy trousers looked like normal clothes.

Paw Patrol flashed on the screen as he scrolled. ‘This looks good. I’ll leave it on low for you.’

Her only reaction was to suck her thumb, her eyes never leaving his face.

He’d have to try talking to her and wished he had more FLO training.

‘I know you miss your sister. I’d love to have known her. Do you want to tell me what she was like?’

No response.

‘My big brother used to annoy the life out of me. We fought all the time. But I loved him even though he was so bossy. Was Willow the big bossy sister, giving you orders?’ He grinned at her.

Was that the hint of a smile behind her hand? Maybe. He pressed on.