Page 34 of The Altar Girls

He knew that the search for the missing girl, Willow Devine, was now concentrated around the cathedral, where that other little one had been found last night. He felt something like a stone lodge in his throat as he placed a finger on the child’s neck, searching for a pulse even though he was convinced she was dead.

Christy liked to work in the shadows, but he knew in this instant that he would be propelled to the spotlight.

He made a sign of the cross and stood wearily, his sciatica screaming. Outside, his face upturned to the pulsing heavens, he silently cried a plea to know why someone was killing little children in his town.

And as he made his way carefully down the hill to get to the phone inside the church, he wondered why the child had been placed in his crib.

25

Superintendent Deborah Farrell held the sombre press briefing about the murder of Naomi Kiernan. She concluded with a plea for the public to come forward with information and to keep a watch for the missing girl, Willow Devine.

Sinead Healy glanced at her notes as she finished her piece to camera for the one o’clock news and waved Brendan off to do his video editing. Then she sat into her car and googled Naomi’s family. Her father, Isaac Kiernan, was currently in prison for assault. That was interesting. Was someone taking revenge for his crime by harming his family in the worst possible way? She hoped not. But it was worth finding out more about them.

The victim in Isaac’s crime had maintained his right to anonymity, but Sinead knew there was someone who could fill her in. She called her colleague in the north-west, Enda Daniels, who gave her the low-down. Even better, he found a contact email for Julian Bradley at the Child and Family Agency.

Without thinking about why she was burrowing down this rabbit hole, Sinead dashed off an email to Bradley asking for a phone call or an in-person meeting. She sat back thinking of her next move. Visit Mrs Kiernan? No, it was too soon. Even she was not that heartless. The boy who’d discovered the body, then? She didn’t have a name. Detective McKeown was her garda source at the station. Maybe if she asked nicely… Within a minute, he’d replied. Alfie Nally.

While she was figuring out how to get the boy’s address, her phone pinged with an email.

I am sorry to hear about Naomi Kiernan. May she rest in peace. If I was allowed to do my job properly, that child would still be alive. I can arrange a meeting with you.

Kind regards, Julian Bradley

Could she travel to Sligo to talk to him? Was it worth it? She looked out at the weather. The snow had momentarily retreated from the sky, but black clouds bulged ominously. The main roads would be clear enough. Hour and a half, maybe two hours’ drive. Wild goose chase? Maybe. And she still had the missing girl to report on.

She emailed back asking for his mobile number to contact him.

He replied asking for her number and said he would contact her.

She sent it to him, not holding out much hope of any further contact unless he instigated it.

Ah well, it was worth a try. In the meantime, she’d visit Alfie Nally, even though he was an eleven-year-old boy and had probably been told by the guards to say nothing. That sort of thing had never stopped her before.

* * *

The office was too small, too cramped and too bloody cluttered. Julian figured he needed fresh air before his claustrophobia took over and he passed out.

With his jacket zipped and his black beanie hat pulled down over his ears, he went outside. He fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, but couldn’t find the pack. He’d left them inside in his briefcase. But it was fresh air he needed, not toxic cigarette fumes.

The reporter’s email had unnerved him a little bit too much for comfort. He had always known his name was out there, though no one could legally report it.

Leaning against the prefab wall, he toed the ice with his thick-soled shoe. Should he go talk to her? Shouldn’t he give his side of the story before the Kiernans dragged his name into a murder investigation? He’d have to check if the court order for anonymity would be breached if that happened. Probably not, seeing as the little girl was dead.

An icicle of dread inched its way up his spine and took root at the base of his skull, igniting a headache. His vision blurred and he blinked repeatedly trying to see clearly. As a flutter of snow fell from the skies, he made up his mind. He’d have to talk to this Sinead Healy. If for nothing else, just to hear what exactly she thought she knew.

26

When Lottie arrived at St Patrick’s, the normal serenity associated with Ragmullin’s second church was shattered.

SOCOs were on site before she arrived due to the fact she’d had to drive back from Shamrockhill prison after she’d taken the call.

She ducked under the tape, signed in with Garda Thornton on the access log and made her way up the slope. Father Maguire stood tall by the door to the church wrapped up in a bulky anorak, hat and scarf. He was within the outer cordon but outside the inner cordon.

Lottie approached Boyd, who was standing a few feet from the priest. ‘Why is he here?’

‘The caretaker called 999, then he called Father Maguire. He arrived at the same time as the first squad car. Because he was a comfort to the caretaker, he was allowed to stay.’

‘The caretaker who found the body?’