The Triumph of Katie Byrne (8 page)

She was so cold her teeth were chattering, and she ran back to the bed, climbed in and huddled down, wondering what that dark flash had been. She was not really frightened, because she was here in the safety of her home with her parents and brothers, and she knew that her father had locked every door in the house.

And yet…a sliver of fear edged its way into her
mind. Was someone stalking her? And if so, who? And who had attacked Carly and killed Denise? Was it someone they all knew? She had no answers for herself.

Mac MacDonald pushed open the door of the autopsy room, went in, and stood just inside the door. ‘Morning, Allegra.’

Allegra Marsh was bending over a gurney with a body on it, and she looked up, nodded. ‘Good morning, Mac,’ she answered, her voice slightly muffled by the mask she wore. Pulling the sheet up, she covered the body, then stepped away from the gurney, removing her mask and her latex gloves as she did, dropping them in the trash.

Mac glanced over at the gurney, and asked, ‘Is that the victim from last night?’

‘Yes, it’s Denise Matthews. I finished the autopsy about fifteen minutes ago.’

Mac was glad the post-mortem was over. Although he was loth to admit it to anyone, especially Allegra, he always felt a bit squeamish when he was in the autopsy room. He had balked at coming here this morning, but he knew he had to see Allegra Marsh, and so he had steeled himself for the visit. Autopsy rooms and morgues
were not his bag, although being in them was part of his job.

Stepping forward, now that the body was covered, Mac said, ‘What’ve you got?’

‘I’m afraid not very much more than I had. And you?’

‘The same. It was a bad crime scene to begin with, and then the storm last night did us in. Washed away anything that we might have missed. Apparently it’s very muddy over there at the moment.’

‘I have the DNA samples I took last night. But without a suspect there’s no one to match them with. Still, they are here and available, pending an arrest. Plus some wool fibres I found on the body. From a sweater, most probably.’

Mac nodded. ‘Time of death was as you thought?’

‘Yes, approximately six-fifteen last night.’ Allegra walked around the gurney, and leaned against a cabinet a couple of feet away from Mac. She shook her head and a sad expression settled on her face. Then she took a deep breath, and there was a sudden flash of anger in her eyes, when she said, ‘It was a violent strangulation, as I told you. Very heavy bruising, larynx totally crushed. A lot of bruises on her arms, her breasts –’

‘But she was fully clothed,’ Mac cut in peremptorily.

‘Bruising through her clothes. There’s no other explanation. I doubt that he undressed her then re-dressed her. He must have grabbed her hard, a vice-like grip. A
strong man, I suspect. He was inordinately rough with her, Mac. Her shoulder was dislocated, as well.’

He shook his head, looking pained. ‘Oh, Jesus,’ he sighed.

There was a small silence before Allegra said, ‘The blood in the semen…it wasn’t hers, Mac.’

Mac recoiled fractionally, frowning. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Just that. The blood I found in the seminal fluid on the body was not Denise Matthews’s blood. Therefore, it had to be the perp’s blood –’

‘The perp’s blood,’ Mac interrupted. ‘How the hell did
that
get there?’

‘Obviously, I can’t say for sure, I can only
imagine
how, Mac. Perhaps she scratched him in the struggle. She had long nails and they were strong. I found flesh and skin underneath them, also particles of wool fibre. Maybe she scratched his lower extremities and he bled. Or she scratched his penis. Whatever, Mac, there was blood in the semen and the blood is his. It has to be his, because it’s
definitely
not hers.’

‘You said she was a virgin.’

‘What I actually said was that I thought she might be a virgin, and that I would only be able to make a proper assessment when I did the autopsy today.’

‘Well, was she or wasn’t she?’

Allegra shook her head. ‘How can I be sure, Mac…’ She hesitated a split second before she went on slowly,
‘Look, I don’t believe she was a virgin, because she would have bled, if only a little bit, if she had been. Also, it’s not her blood anyway, not her particular blood type. To be more precise, let me say there’s usually bleeding when the hymen ring is pierced, and especially in young girls. I must repeat, Mac, there was none of Denise Matthews’s blood in the seminal fluid I took from her vagina and her body.’

‘So she must’ve had a boyfriend.’

‘Yes, I would say so, at some time or other.’

‘If only we knew
who
, it might help us. I wonder…’ Mac rubbed his hand over his chin, his eyes turning thoughtful as he looked at Allegra. ‘Perhaps the perp was her boyfriend…and he got nasty?’

‘Maybe.’ Allegra pursed her lips, frowning. ‘What I do know is that there was considerable trauma and bruising to the vaginal area. He was rough with her. It was a forced entry, broken blood vessels present, even a slight tearing of the vaginal tissue. I told you last night, I thought it had been a violent rape. Let me clarify that, Mac…I believe it was fiendish. He attacked her in the most horrendous way, and that girl wasn’t willing, not at all. She fought him.’

‘Oh my God, the poor girl…’ Mac began to pace up and down for a few seconds, and then he came to a sudden standstill in front of Allegra. ‘Mike Byrne told me Denise didn’t have a boyfriend, and that nor did Katie or Carly. He explained they were all dedicated
to their acting. I trust Mike, I’ve known him most of my life. That guy’s as straight as a die.’

‘I’m sure what he says is true. He has no reason to lie to you, Mac. But I’m pretty certain Denise was intimate with a man, at some time in the last couple of years.’

‘Mike’s son, Niall, dated Denise last year. He says it never blossomed into anything romantic. A couple of dates and then a fast fizzle. I believe him. Like his father, the kid’s honest, and I doubt he was the one who deflowered Denise.’

Allegra nodded her agreement, and said, ‘You may turn up something important when you interview her friends and acquaintances at her school.’

‘I have my guys over at the school right now, and when I leave here that’s where I’m heading.’

‘What about Denise Matthews’s parents? I guess they couldn’t help you in any way…What did they say?’

‘Not very much, Allegra. They’re shattered, griefstricken. They’re staying with her sister in Litchfield, for privacy. And they more or less reiterated what Mike said. Denise had no boyfriends, she was devoted to her acting and looking forward to going to New York to study next year.’

‘So you’ve no leads at all?’

‘Not a damned thing.’ Mac slouched against the counter top, looking despondent. He sighed heavily, and added, ‘It’s frustrating. You have all these DNA samples,
but as you said, they’re useless to me until I have a suspect, somebody to match them to.’

‘I can sort of…well, I might be able to pinpoint a
type
for you, from what I’ve found,’ she ventured.

Mac stared at her, his expression suddenly eager, and he straightened up. ‘Shoot,’ he said. ‘I’m all ears.’

‘As I told you, he must have bruised her through her clothes. She has bruises on her arms, breasts, and on her back. That is indicative of great strength, to me. So the perp must be very strong, with a tremendous, and powerful, grip. I found pubic hair on her body, other than hers. Brown pubic hair. Also, several strands of brown hair. No doubt from the perp’s head, since she was a blonde. The wool fibres are cashmere, according to the crime lab. So what I’m envisioning is a tall, probably heavy-set and very strong man, with brownish hair. One who favours cashmere sweaters. It’s not very much, I know, Mac.’

‘But it’s something, Allegra. I’m still convinced we’re looking for a local. It’s gut instinct, but gut instinct’s always served me well in the past. Also, no strangers have been spotted around the area in the past forty-eight hours, to the best of our knowledge.’

‘Can you give me a quick scenario, off the top of your head, like you’ve done in the past, Mac?’

‘I don’t know. But something tells me that it’s someone local. A stalker. Perhaps watching them constantly, possibly for weeks, without their knowledge. He zeroes in on
one of them, or maybe all three of them. He finally makes his move, when he observes them walking to the barn again. He knows it’s the one place they’re vulnerable, because they’re always there alone, and it’s in a pretty isolated spot. But this is just speculation.’

‘A psychopath?’

‘Possibly…’ Mac paused. ‘Yeah. I’d say that’s more than likely. But it could be someone who’s leading what appears to be a very normal life, as far as the rest of the world is concerned. He may not have killed before, but this might not be the last time he’ll kill.’

Allegra said nothing, merely shook her head, sorrow etched on her face as she walked over to a metal table. It was hard not to feel emotional when a beautiful young girl of seventeen had been murdered and raped so violently, and in such cold blood. Putting her feelings aside, she picked up several brown envelopes and looking over at Mac said, ‘These are photographs of the body my team took last night, at the crime scene. And more, which they shot this morning, before and during the autopsy. Whenever you feel up to taking a look at them, they’re here.’

Mac hesitated, then said quickly, ‘Let’s take a look now. Get it over with. Then I’ve got to be on my way. I’m anxious to get down to Malvern.’

The wintery sun had long since sunk below the distant horizon, and dusk was beginning to fall, cloaking the lawn and the garden with long shadows.

Katie sat at her small desk in her bedroom, staring out of the window at the darkening sky, thinking about the events of the day. Downstairs, the whole family was assembled in the big kitchen, drinking coffee or tea. They had all come here for an early supper after the funeral, and although she and her mother had set the table in the dining room, before leaving for the church service, they had not eaten in there in the end. ‘It’s much cosier in the kitchen, Maureen,’ Grandma Catriona had said, and everyone had agreed, and so that is where they had eaten supper. Aunt Bridget had arrived from New York last night and was staying with them; and both sets of grandparents had come to the funeral as well, Sean and Catriona O’Keefe, and Patrick and Geraldine Byrne, her father’s parents, and his sister, Mairead, a favourite of everyone’s, and her husband Paddy Macklin. Aunt Moura was sick and
unable to attend, and Aunt Eileen was in Los Angeles on business.

A small sigh escaped Katie’s lips, and she leaned forward, put both elbows on the desk, and held her head between her hands. She had a terrible headache; her mind was buzzing with so many disparate thoughts, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever sort them out. But as she sat there ruminating, she remembered her diary. Her mother had given it to her only very recently; it was bound in dark-green leather and on the front, embossed in gold, were the words Five Year Diary. So far, she had enjoyed writing in it, had taken great pleasure in expressing herself. Perhaps that’s what she should do tonight…put down her private thoughts. That was one way of making sense of things, and so she opened the centre drawer of the desk and took the diary out. Once she found the first blank page, after her last entry, she picked up her pen and wrote:

November 1st, 1989

The Day of Denise’s Funeral

When I got up this morning, I felt very sad, and I couldn’t think why. And then I suddenly remembered. It was the day Denise was going to be buried.

Most of my family went to the funeral. All the men wore their dark suits, and the women were in black. My mother
wore her best black coat and dress that she got eight years ago. My Aunt Bridget was also in black.

The weather was so beautiful this afternoon it brought a lump to my throat, because Denise would never see such beautiful days ever again. There was bright sunshine, and the sky was without a cloud. It was a crisp clear blue, and so smooth it looked as if it had been freshly painted. And against that unblemished blue splashed the vermilion and gold, russet, yellow, copper and pink of the fall trees. Everything was so vivid, so sharply defined it was heart-stopping.

After the service in the church, we went to the cemetery for the burial. So many people were there. Everyone in our class came, and some of our teachers. And Mrs Cooke, who taught drama, was present, too, with Jeff, her husband. Carly’s Mom came, and she stood with us, next to Denise’s parents and her older brother, Jim, who’d come up from Hartford with his wife, Sandy. Jim and his father had to support Denise’s mother, who was near collapse, and sobbing with grief.

I kept thinking of Denise, seeing her face, and worrying about the last hour of her life. It haunted me. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. She must have been so frightened when the man attacked her. Lieutenant MacDonald told my father she fought for her life. I can’t bear it. Carly prostrate on the ground, unable to help her. Yes, Denise must have been terrified. And the assailant hitting Denise, and raping her, then strangling her. It hurts. How it hurts me just to think of it. I don’t believe I’ll ever get it out of my mind.

I should have been there at the barn, then it wouldn’t have
happened. I’m sure the murderer wouldn’t have attempted to tackle the three of us. We could have fought him off, I’m very strong, and the three of us would have escaped.

We sent white lilies to the funeral, and they were laid on the coffin with red roses from her parents, and a wreath of pink and white carnations from Mrs Smith. When Denise’s coffin was lowered into the ground, I thought my heart was breaking. Never to see her again. I threw some lilies into the grave, and so did Niall, and then Denise’s sister-in-law Sandy threw in a red rose.

How final it was, the sound of the earth being shovelled in, falling on top of the coffin and the flowers. I began to weep and my father led us all away and drove us home. We’d given our condolences to the Matthewses at the church. But I knew they weren’t consoled. My mother said their sorrow was unendurable.

When we came back to the house, my father poured shots of whiskey for his father and Grandpa Sean and Uncle Tommy. Then my mother, who never drinks anything but sherry, asked for one, too. So Dad brought out the bottle again, and extra glasses, and poured for everyone, except Niall, Fin, and me. Even Aunt Bridget took one.

My mother had made her famous Poulet Grandmère, a chicken casserole, earlier in the day, and I went to help her reheat it. She wore a white apron over her black wool dress, and she looked so sorrowful and worried I choked up again. Several times, when we were working at the counter top, she put an arm around me and held me close to her. And when
I looked at her I saw that her bright blue eyes were full of tears. I know she’s always thinking that I might have been a victim too, and that she’s thanking God I’m alive. Every day, she thanks God.

The ‘golden hours’, as Mac MacDonald calls them, have long since gone. Dad says Mac is angry and frustrated because his team have hit a blank wall, so far, at any rate.

I went back to school last week, but things are not the same any more. Not without Denise and Carly. She is still in a coma in the hospital, and they don’t say anything any more about when she’ll wake up. I go to see her all the time, but it’s like she’s lying there dead.

I’ve been feeling so depressed without them…almost all of my life it was the three of us. Now I’m just one. I’m all on my own, and nothing matters any more.

I don’t want to act now. I don’t even want to do the school concert. Acting has become tainted, clouded with pain and grief and sorrow. I’m giving it up. I’m not going to the academy in New York next year. It wouldn’t be the same without them. I should never have talked them into going to the barn that day…it’s my fault Denise is dead. And that Carly’s in a coma, and lies there like a vegetable.

I don’t know what I’ll do when I leave school. I told Mom I have to find something new. I might go to work with Aunt Bridget in real estate. In New York. My parents don’t seem to mind if I go. I think they’re scared the killer is lurking around, somewhere near Malvern, and that I could be a target. I think they’d be much happier if I left this area.

I know how they feel. Sometimes I’m frightened myself. I keep racking my brains, trying to imagine who could have raped and killed Denise, but I can’t come up with a name. I have no candidate for her murder.

When I told my father about seeing someone in the garden, on the night of the murder, he called the police immediately and they came over. There were some footprints near the stand of trees at the end of the garden, because the ground was wet after the storm. The police took measurements and made casts, but nothing’s happened since.

The same day, my father had an alarm system installed in our house, and now my Mom picks me up from school every day. Or Dad or Niall come to get me. They don’t want to take any chances on these dark winter afternoons. And I’m glad, because I don’t want to walk across the lonely fields.

At night I find it hard to fall asleep. I can’t get Denise’s face out of my mind. She was so lovely, so sweet, and I fill with tears constantly. My grief is never ending, very familiar to me these days. I know how her family must feel…to lose a beautiful daughter at seventeen must be heartbreaking.

When I go to see Carly, I hold her hand and talk to her and recite Shakespeare, because she loved his work so much, but there’s nothing, not a flicker…

‘Katie, Katie, come on down,’ Maureen called up the stairs.

Katie put down her pen, closed her diary and slipped
it into the drawer. It was only then she realized her cheeks were wet with tears. She wiped her face with her fingertips and went out onto the landing.

‘Yes, Mom? What is it?’

‘Your grandparents are leaving, come down and say goodnight.’

‘Yes, Mom.’

Dutifully, she ran downstairs, and when she reached the bottom, Grandma Catriona hugged her tightly, and so did Grandpa Sean. And when it was their turn, Grandfather Patrick and Grandmother Geraldine were as affectionate as they embraced their only granddaughter and said goodnight. Aunt Mairead and Uncle Tommy came forward and kissed her several times, and then Mairead squeezed her arm and gave her a loving smile.

And Katie knew what they were all thinking…they were thanking God she was alive.