Red Ribbons (30 page)

No doubt at the time it was a right scandal, but Mrs Cronly wasn’t a woman to go hiding under a rock. According to Ollie Gilmartin,
most reckoned the money came from the Church in the end. The house had been in ruins in the seventies, owned by the bank in all but name. It would have taken a lot to get a debt like that off your back and, according to Mrs Flood, it was when she thought she’d lose the house altogether that she’d packed herself and the boy off to Tuscany with one aim – to get money, any way possible. Whatever the truth behind it all, Mrs Flood told him that after Alison Cronly and her son came back from Italy, money was never a problem again.

Steve knew the son didn’t like him, and as far as Steve was concerned, the feeling was mutual. Cronly would have assumed the only key in Steve’s possession was for the back kitchen door, which was no doubt the reason he’d put those bolts on and changed the lock. Still, he was insulting his intelligence if he thought a couple of extra locks downstairs would keep him out of the house. Even if he hadn’t been given keys by the mother, he’d still have got inside.

The wages due to him for odd jobs and gardening were still being paid into his bank account by the son, but he reckoned that wouldn’t last much longer. He wanted to get the rest of the cash hidden in the house before it was too late. Near the end, the mother forgot his money was paid directly into the bank and insisted on paying him all over again. He never refused and, as time went on, she’d become less discreet about where she kept her money – in the sideboard on the landing. There may not have been a whole lot left in there, but whatever there was, Steve figured it was due to him, for all his listening to the old bat in the past.

On reaching the front door, he double checked behind him, conscious that William Cronly wasn’t long gone. Relieved when his key still worked, he closed the front door behind him quickly.

Passing the living room on his way to the stairs, his curiosity was aroused when he saw the hot ashes in the fire, some of which had blown out onto the large hearth rug. If there was one thing he knew about William Cronly, it was that he was awful tight when it came to
money, and lighting fires in the middle of the day was not something he’d have done unless he had planned to hang around for a while. He was about to go upstairs when he noticed that the ash on the rug looked wet. Kneeling down, he put his hand to it, and discovered that the whole mat was soaked. He looked around more carefully, and it was then that he realised parts of the walls had been washed down too. He thought about checking the garage, to see what cleaning stuff had been used, but then remembered the bolts, and the new lock fitted on the back kitchen door.

His head told him to grab the money and get the hell out of there, but his gut told him Cronly had been up to no good. In the past, when the old bat was asleep, Steve had roamed around the house plenty of times, but he’d never gone into the son’s bedroom. Mainly because Cronly gave him the creeps, especially the way he’d crawl around the place. You were never fully sure whether or not the guy was there. He remembered once standing in the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea, when Cronly came right up behind him – nearly killed him with the fright.

Abandoning any further investigation downstairs, he went upstairs to get the last of the money out of the sideboard, deciding that with the house empty there would be no harm having a good last look around.

In a house like Cronly, the place was one nook and cranny after another. He’d been in the mother’s bedroom many times, but with this being his last opportunity to check things out, he made up his mind to have a look in at the son’s room. He had no idea what to expect, just thought it would be like the rest of the house. In many ways it was, but the thing that struck him most was how much of the stuff looked like it belonged to a kid. There was a painted wooden train set made up in the corner, and to the left of the bed sat stacks of comics. On top of the window seat, a whole bloody toy farm – all the animals set out, like a child had just been playing with them. There were other
items on the top of a high wooden dresser: an ornate silver crucifix on a stand, a framed photograph of a man with a husky dog, a folded piece of cream silk cloth, and what looked like an old library book,
A Traveller’s Guide to Italy
, to the side, all the items placed like it was some kind of altar, and to the front, on top of the piece of cream silk, a tiny metal key.

It didn’t take him long to find the attaché case under the bed, and when he saw the Italian stickers on it, he remembered what Mrs Flood had told him about the family trip to Tuscany. Maybe he could cash in on a whole lot more than the contents of the sideboard. Maybe there was something in this case that might hold the Cronly family secrets. He felt like a kid himself when the tiny key turned in both locks.

At first, the contents of the case were a disappointment. Apart from a Polaroid camera, some spools of ribbons and assorted bits and pieces, there was nothing of value. What finally attracted his attention was a small leather pouch with a tie string, like the kind gold miners might have used to hold nuggets. Pulling open the pouch, he didn’t find gold nuggets, just three miniature plastic zip bags, each one containing a lock of hair. He wasn’t sure what any of the contents meant, but he reckoned they meant something to William Cronly. Most of the items, including some small earrings, were things you’d expect to see in a girl’s suitcase, which made him wonder about the son’s sexual predilections – or even perversions. It would certainly explain why the snotty little shit never got married.

He was about to put the suitcase back where he’d found it when he noticed the small crucifix on a chain. It was just a cheap yoke, but under it was a faded pink Polaroid photograph.

WHEN KATE GOT BACK TO MERVIN ROAD, DECLAN and Charlie had made a pretend camp out of bedclothes, with sheets spreading from one couch to the other.

‘Come under, Mom, it’s cool,’ Charlie shouted, his little face red with excitement.

‘Is your Dad hiding in there?’ Kate tilted her head down and pulled up one of the sheets. Declan crawled out from underneath, looking a bit sheepish. Kate raised her eyebrows in amusement.

‘You okay?’ she asked

‘Let’s have coffee, Kate. Charlie, you’re now on lookout duty. Let no one pass.’

Declan made two cups of coffee and brought them over to the table in the kitchen, where Kate waited silently until he sat down beside her.

‘You didn’t get back until late.’

‘I needed to clear my head.’

‘Want to share your thoughts?’ She blew her coffee to cool it down.

‘Look, I don’t know what exactly, but something is going on here. Things aren’t right between us.’

‘I know that, Declan. I guess I’ve known it for a while,’ she said, putting her coffee cup down, ‘but I just didn’t want to admit it.’

Although she didn’t know what Declan was thinking, her response seemed to make everything more real. Declan opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by her mobile ringing. She picked it out of her bag and saw O’Connor’s name on the screen.

‘Let it go, Kate.’

‘I’ll only be a second. It might be important.’

‘And we’re not?’ Declan looked down into his coffee.

‘Of course we are. Look, I’ll take this and get it out of the way.’

Kate walked out to the hallway. ‘O’Connor?’

‘That idiot Gunning has actually got something back from Interpol.’

‘What?’

‘It’s a connection to the crucifix, similar age, but the case is complicated. I have the images here.’

‘Can you send them over?’

‘You know that stuff is encrypted. You’ll have to come back to Tallaght.’

‘Now?’

‘When would you like to come over, Kate? Yes, bloody now.’

‘Okay, okay, I’m on my way.’

Declan had remained seated, waiting for her. He looked up as she walked in and his features, set in a hard line, spoke volumes.

‘Don’t bother, Kate, I can tell by the look of you you’re already on your way out the door.’

‘It’s just this case, Declan. I can’t do anything about it.’

‘Wave to your son on your way out,’ he replied, his voice cool and unforgiving. ‘He’s the small guy on lookout.’

SAMUEL WAS LISTENING TO THE RADIO IN HIS KITCHEN, working on a cryptic crossword puzzle he was determined would not get the better of him, when the news reporter on the lunchtime news mentioned the ribbons and the plaiting. He turned the volume up. He had heard about the double murders, of course, who hadn’t? But when the newsreader mentioned the red ribbons and the plaiting, he listened more intently.

Was it possible that Ellie Brady had made the whole thing up and he had been taken in by her lies? If she had heard the news bulletins, it would certainly explain why she had decided to come out of her shell all of a sudden. He had not discounted the idea that what she believed she remembered, and what was, in fact, the truth, might be two very different things. Yet if her story was nothing more than a fabrication, then Ellie Brady was some actress. For the first time in a very long time, Samuel felt real anger towards a patient. He’d believed Ellie Brady, had been moved by her story, but right there and then he cared less about her mental condition and more about how he might have been conned, particularly at this late stage in his career.

His next meeting with Ellie wasn’t until the following morning. It would give him time to assess this latest development. If Ellie had listened to the coverage on the news, there was another possibility he could not dismiss, one that was easier to accept than believing Ellie had purposely wanted to trick him with a copycat story. He knew only too well that guilt did strange things to people. At this point, it was completely possible that Ellie may not realise that she was making the whole thing up.

KATE’S THOUGHTS WERE ALL OVER THE PLACE AS SHE drove along the roads back to Tallaght Garda Station. She seemed to be doing nothing but apologising lately, particularly to Declan and Charlie. She hated leaving the two of them, especially when the look of disappointment on her son’s face equalled the look of annoyance on her husband’s. No one was happy. Although Declan probably didn’t realise the unhappiness extended to her too.

She retraced her steps from the car park, into the station and back to the Incident Room, this time not waiting to be escorted inside. She was beginning to feel that O’Connor wasn’t the only one who needed a temporary office. Everyone looked just as they had done an hour earlier, frenzied and preoccupied, as if time was standing still. She weaved her way through their desks and walked into O’Connor’s office.

‘What do you have, O’Connor?’

‘A missing person case from forty years back. It was reopened five years ago. Skeletal remains of a young girl found buried in the grounds of an old church.’

‘Where?’

‘Livorno, Tuscany.’

‘Do they know who she was?’

‘Thirteen-year-old Silvia Vaccaro. The site was owned by the church, but it was subsequently sold to a developer. It was during the excavation that the girl’s remains were discovered.’

‘Anything more?’

‘Yeah. At the time of the girl’s disappearance, she was returning from a visit with her uncle, a Bishop Antonio Peri. He lived close to
the church grounds. Her parents sent her there in 1972 to spend time with him, mainly because she had aspirations of entering the religious life.’

‘A long time back, O’Connor.’

‘I know, but what’s significant about the case is, firstly, the girl’s age, which was similar to that of both our victims, and, secondly, a silver crucifix was buried with her body.’ He watched Kate for her reaction.

‘Like the one we found with Caroline?’

‘Close enough, although Silvia’s was the real thing, not some cheap copy. The crucifix was given to Silvia by her parents, both of whom had died before the remains were discovered, but it was one of the first clues to the girl’s identification. According to the statements taken from the parents after she went missing, it was supposed to keep her safe while travelling away from home.’

‘Any idea how she died?’

‘She had multiple fractures, consistent with falling from a height, but the fact that the girl was buried and an attempt was made to keep the body hidden meant someone knew what had happened to her and didn’t want anyone else finding out. The Italian police have treated the death as suspicious since the remains were discovered.’

‘Do they have any suspects?’

‘That’s where it gets complicated. The church grounds in Livorno are less than a mile from the uncle’s home. The authorities spoke to him. He had moved to Florence not long after the girl’s disappearance, but came back to Livorno about a year ago.’

‘And?’

‘He died a few months back. According to Gunning, and to quote his exact words, “he’s a dead-end”.’

‘Where are the images you mentioned?’

‘Here.’

O’Connor turned his computer screen in Kate’s direction. The images from the Tuscan burial site formed a boxed pattern across the monitor. Just like both Irish victims, the skeleton remains of Silvia Vaccaro had
been photographed from numerous angles. Kate took in everything she saw while O’Connor continued.

‘As I said, according to police reports, the fractures were consistent with falling from a height and were the most likely cause of death. What’s interesting, though, isn’t just the connection you mentioned about the crucifix, but the grave itself.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You tell me, Kate. Keep looking.’

She didn’t know what O’Connor meant, but Kate kept searching the images. Nothing obvious struck her. It simply looked like a hole with assorted bones in the ground. The remains may have revealed information to a forensic anthropologist, but to the naked eye not so much. It was then she remembered something from the photographs at the first mountain burial site, taken after the remains of Caroline had been removed. The more she studied the images from Tuscany, the more she saw how the stones near the bodies looked similar. At first she had thought they were not unusual, figuring them to be the way stones would naturally form underground, but the more she looked at the remains from Tuscany, the more her eyes were drawn to one particular element. Right at the top end, where the girl’s head would have laid, was a large, flat stone. In Caroline’s case, Kate had assumed it was too large for the killer to dig out, part of the natural formation, but at the Tuscan grave, a similar large stone was located in the same spot. Her eyes widened as she saw the connection.