WHYTE LIES (4 page)

“I’m exhausted,” said Byrne as they pulled into the Station.

“I could do with an ice cold beer,” agreed Plunkett, loosening his tie.

“The day’s not over yet.” Faith slammed the car door behind her. They headed straight for the incident room where the rest of the team waited for the debriefing on the day’s events.

“Good evening, everyone.” Faith stood at the top of the room beside the whiteboard, eager to find out what her team had uncovered so far. “I know it’s late; traffic leaving Dublin was a nightmare. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can all go home, so let’s see what you’ve found.”

“How did you get on with the Gleesons?” asked Kelly, trying to take control of the situation.

Faith knew what he was doing. “We’ll get to that.” She swallowed her irritation as she turned to the whiteboard.

Photos of Conor and Mary Gleeson had been pinned beside the photos of Amira, Daniel, and the girls. A photo of a woman had been pinned beside Amira. She had the same dark hair, sallow skin and brown eyes as Amira; the resemblance between the two was so striking that they could have been twins. “Who’s this?” Faith asked, noting the name under the photo: Layla al-Nin.

“She’s Amira Gleeson’s sister,” said Nora. “We’re still trying to contact her; she’s at a medical conference in New York, so with the time difference it’s proving difficult to get in touch. Meanwhile, we’ve requested full access to the Gleesons’ social media accounts. Two mobile phones were retrieved from the car which should help us build a picture of who Amira and Daniel were talking to in the days leading up to their deaths.”

“Are we boring you, Kelly?” Faith noticed his yawn.

“No, not at all, boss,” he smirked. “I had a late night last night.”

“Have you heard anything back from forensics?” she asked, not rising to the bait.

“No fingerprints, other than those of the victims, have been found at the scene,” said Kelly. “There’s no CCTV in the forest, or in the roads leading up to it. Nearest CCTV footage is nine miles away in Killarney, which shows the Gleesons leaving the caravan park and taking the Ring of Kerry road out of town. We have no eyewitnesses, other than Lucy, who remains in a critical condition in hospital. She still hasn’t woken up from her medically induced coma. Officers are going door-to-door to see if anyone heard the shots. According to forensics, the killer is forensically aware; he left nothing behind that could be taken for a DNA sample.”

“There has to be something,” insisted Faith. “There’s always something left behind.”

“There was something,” said Kelly reluctantly, “R.I.P. was written in the mud.”

Faith shivered. She could feel the blood drain from her face as she remembered the last time she had heard those words. “And you didn’t think to mention it?” she snapped.

“I didn’t think it was particularly relevant.”

“Particularly relevant?” Faith was incredulous. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A reporter, forensics, or one of our officers could have written it.”

“Or the killer?” Faith interrupted.

“I doubt he hung around long enough to write R.I.P. in the mud,” said Kelly, his temper rising at her sharp tone. No one spoke to him like that and got away with it.

“Who says the killer was male?” Faith couldn’t help herself. Kelly’s audacity made her blood boil.

“Final reports from the scene aren’t back yet,” said Kelly, ignoring her question. “I’ll follow up with them in the morning. I’m sure they’ll be able to confirm the details. Forensics are at the Gleesons’ house in Dublin as we speak. Apparently, there are thousands of emails to be analysed, as well as logs from various chat rooms and Skype calls. I’ve had the reports back on the ballistics evidence, and the tyre marks.”

“Great,” said Faith. “So what do we actually know? Facts only, please.”

“Around three o’ clock in the afternoon of Sunday, August 31st, a killer, using a semi-automatic handgun, fired ten shots: three into Daniel Gleeson, two into Amira Gleeson, one into Lucy Gleeson, and four random shots
. Lucy had a wound to her shoulder, while her parents each had clinical shots to the forehead. Mr. Gleeson was also shot in the back. Traces of soil on the soles of Mr. Gleeson’s and Lucy’s shoes prove that they were outside the car before the attack, while Mrs. Gleeson and Megan remained inside. It seems that  Mr. Gleeson was shot in the back while he was outside the car. Somehow, he returned to the car, and as he was reversing, the killer fired. Once the car was lodged in the embankment, the killer shot through the windows. The doors were locked when John Newman found the car. He also found Lucy outside the car.”

“Good work.” Grudgingly, Faith had to admit that Kelly was a brilliant detective when he stopped playing mind games and applied himself to the job. “But that leaves us with more questions, like why was Mr. Gleeson shot once more than Amira?”

“Maybe he was a more difficult moving target because he was outside the car initially,” suggested Kelly.

“Why were Lucy and Mr. Gleeson outside the car in the first place?” asked Faith.

“There’s a map of the area on the notice board on the way into the layby, they may have gotten out to check it. Perhaps Mr. Gleeson managed to get back into the car and reverse it before Lucy knew what was happening.”

“Leaving his daughter behind?” Byrne was appalled.

“He could have been forced to make a terrible choice: leave the scene with Megan and Mrs. Gleeson, and abandon Lucy, or stay with Lucy, knowing they would all die,” said Plunkett.

“It’s every parent’s worst nightmare.” Nora shook her head in disbelief.

“We’ll never know what Mr. Gleeson decided; the car was wedged on the embankment, giving the killer the opportunity he needed to shoot them dead,” said Faith. “But that leaves the question: why didn’t he kill Lucy too?”

“Perhaps the killer has some shred of decency,” said Byrne. “Maybe he has a daughter of his own.”

“A decent killer?” mocked Kelly. “That’s a contradiction in terms, if ever I heard one. It’s more likely that he ran out of bullets or his gun jammed, so he pistol-whipped her instead.”

“Do we know which of the shots was fired first?” asked Plunkett.

“No,” replied Kelly. “Ballistics can’t tell if the first shot hit a human target. All they know is that ten shots were fired and six hit a human targe
t. Four bullets were found on the ground, but Ballistics can’t confirm if they were fired before any bullets hit the Gleesons. Most full-size 9mm handguns hold between fifteen and seventeen rounds, which means that at least five bullets
remained after the shootings, so that implies that the gun jammed.”

“Maybe he saved the bullets in case someone disturbed him at the scene,” suggested Byrne.

“The lack of evidence and the ruthless precision of the clinical shots to the forehead suggest that this was a professional hit. The killer’s choice of a 9mm pistol shows that he assumed he would be close to his targets, which again suggests that this was not a random killing by some crazed gunman,” said Kelly.

“Did anyone hear the shots?” asked Faith.

“Uniforms are conducting door-to-door enquiries,” said Nora. “There are only fifty homes in the area, so it won’t take them long. Initial reports are that the majority of locals heard nothing. A farmer saw the Gleesons’ Mercedes drive past, but he didn’t hear any shots. A teenage girl and her mother are the only people who heard anything. They were hill-walking nearby, but they didn’t pay much attention to the noise, assuming the shots were from hunters.”

“Did they note the time?”

“Unfortunately not,” continued Nora. “However, there have been several sightings of vehicles heading away from the Black Valley track shortly after the murders. A silver SUV passed a cyclist on the road, closely followed by a motorbike. The cyclist was unable to describe the occupants of the SUV, and the motorbike rider was wearing a helmet.”

“What if the killer didn’t leave the same way he arrived?” asked Faith. “He could have followed the route over the mountains.”

“But that track is forbidden to cars,” interrupted Plunkett.

“It’s still possible he took it,” said Kelly thoughtfully. “The track continues for another three kilometres, which would be relatively easy on a motorbike or in an SUV. Forestry vehicles use the track to drive higher for conservation work. Then again, the killer could have been on foot.”

“Another witness said she had to swerve to avoid a silver SUV as it was driving on the wrong side of the road. The windows were tinted so she couldn’t see the driver. She said he was driving like he was being chased.” Nora flipped through her notes to confirm.

“A forest worker claims that he was driving past the clearing where the Gleesons were killed when he saw a motorbike parked there. The rider was just disembarking. He was dressed in black and his visor was closed. The forest worker also passed an SUV on his way out of the forest, only minutes after seeing the motorcyclist. The SUV had English registration plates, but it was too far away for him to spot the reg.”

“Have we found anything on CCTV yet?” asked Faith.

“Nothing yet,” said Kelly. “But we’re working on it.”

“Do we have any background on John Newman, the first witness at the scene?” asked Faith.

“Nothing suggests that he’s anything other than a witness,” said Kelly.

“It’s interesting that he arrived minutes after the killer left. Look into him,” said Faith.

“Will do,” said Kelly.

“Any more information on Amira’s side of the family?” asked Faith, turning back to Nora.

“Amira al-Nin was born in Baghdad, Iraq on February 2nd 1973 to a wealthy Shia family. The family left Iraq over fears for their personal safety when Saddam Hussein became Iraq’s leader in 1979. Saddam was a Sunni, and hostile to Shias like the al-Nins. Fear of Saddam’s secret police forced them to flee to Ireland. Amira and her sister were educated at Trinity College Dublin, where she met Daniel Gleeson. Amira studied International Languages and Translation, while her sister, Layla, studied Medicine. Daniel studied Computer Science, and later went on to become a lecturer at Trinity. Amira was a freelance translator and interpreter. She did a lot of work for multinational companies.”

“Any information on her parents?” asked Faith.

“Both parents were killed in a car crash when Amira was fourteen,” replied Nora. “Layla became her legal guardian.”

“Let me know when Layla makes contact,” said Faith. “I’d like to talk to her as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” said Nora, making a note in her diary.

“Who’s been looking into the Gleesons’ background?”

“That would be me, boss.” A muscular young man with a shock of red hair and piercing blue eyes made his way to the front of the room. “Officer James Reilly.”

“The floor’s all yours,” said Faith, handing him the whiteboard pen.

Reilly cleared his throat. “The Gleesons have lived in Dublin all their lives. They have no criminal past, not even a parking ticket among the three of them. Conor is a retired mechanical engineer. Mary was a teacher but retired when Daniel was born. Daniel was their only son. On the surface they appear to be an ordinary family, nothing unusual to report.”

“We all know how appearances can be deceptive,” said Faith. “Good job, so far, Reilly, but I want you to keep digging.”

“There’s something not quite right about Conor and Mary Gleeson,” Byrne piped up, running her fingers through her cropped blonde hair.

“What do you mean?” asked Faith.

“I dunno, maybe I’m reading too much into it, but their reaction to the murders seemed off to me; they didn’t seem shocked. It was almost like they already knew, like they were behaving how they thought they should behave.”

“People react to tragic news in different ways,” countered Faith.

“I realise that,” continued Byrne. “But Mary’s reaction was over the top: like bad acting. I could be wrong, but something about her doesn’t seem right.”

“We need to do a thorough background check,” said Faith. “It’s imperative that we establish if anyone in the immediate family poses a threat to Lucy and Megan.”

“Excuse me, boss,” Nora interrupted. “I’ve just had a call from the hospital; Lucy Gleeson is conscious.”

“Lie back in the chair, Faith. Relax,” instructed Dr Crowley. “On one, I want you to look up…One.”

Faith lay back and looked at the ceiling.

“Good. On two, I want you to close your eyes and take a deep breath…Two.”

Faith closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

“On three, breathe out, relax your body, and imagine yourself floating in a warm bath. Each breath is getting deeper and easier…Three.”

Faith’s whole body relaxed.

“You are safe. I’m going to take you back in time. Only your mind is back there; you are safe here with me. Your brain is like a computer. Together, we’re going to re-programme it, so that the pain from your childhood doesn’t mean the same thing to you anymore. Take me back to the time when your father left. I want you to think about the sights, the sounds, and who was there. See it in bright colours.”

“Daddy arrived home from one of his trips. He was staying away more frequently, but he was earning money, so he and my mother were arguing less. I was happy to see him; he was always in good form when he came home. This time he was in exceptional form. He took me into town and we had McDonald’s for lunch. I remember a woman stopped by our table and said hi. Daddy said her name was Laura, and that she was a friend of his.

“Laura stared at me, so I stared back. Mummy always told me it was rude to stare, but I didn’t care this time. I didn’t like Laura. I wanted to stick my tongue out at her, but I knew Daddy would spank me if I did, so instead I stared right back. She was short and chubby, not like Mummy. Her bleached blonde hair was a permed frizz, and you could see her bright blue eyeliner from the other side of the room. She spoke in a high-pitched voice that made me want to smack her, and she kept giggling, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She sat beside my Dad and kept smiling at him and laughing at his stupid jokes. I didn’t like the way they behaved together. I had a bad feeling about her.

“A few weeks later, Mum said we were going on a road trip. I thought it was strange because it was the middle of the school term. Besides, we went nowhere without Dad, but he was away. Mum tried to sound excited, but she looked pale and sad as she forced a smile. I knew something was wrong.

“Everything changed so quickly. Mum bundled my brother and me into the car and drove for what seemed like hours. I kept asking her where we were going, until eventually, she gave in. ‘We’re going to Ireland,’ she said, smiling through her unshed tears. ‘Remember Granny Rose? We’re going to live with her for a while.’

“‘But I don’t want to go to Ireland,’ I wailed, ‘I want to go home.’

“‘We don’t have a choice. Daddy doesn’t want us anymore.’ She turned and put her foot down, ignoring us as we sobbed in the back.

“The English countryside whizzed past as we sped along the motorway towards the ferry at Holyhead. Everything was moving too fast. I couldn’t catch up. Part of me couldn’t wait to see Granny Rose again. It had been a year since I had last seen her; she never visited us. Later, she told me she’d never approved of my father. She’d always thought there was something untrustworthy about him. She called him a bad egg.

“Finally, we arrived in Ireland, and a few hours later we were at our grandmother’s house. Granny’s house was at the end of a lane, surrounded by acres of fields. I was used to having a next-door neighbour in Manchester and seeing people of all backgrounds and ethnicity. I was used to walking to my friends’ houses to play. Here, there were no children to be seen, just trees and fields.

“Granny Rose greeted us with big smiles and tight hugs. Her house was an old, rambling farmhouse with lots of rooms to explore. Our little house in England was two-up, two-down.

“I tried to ask Mum about what was going on, but she said I was too young to understand. I had to trust that she knew what she was doing, but I couldn’t help feeling scared. I had no one to talk to; Tim was just a baby, and I had no friends. I tried to pretend that everything was okay, but it wasn’t. All I wanted was our family back together. My Dad wasn’t the best father in the world, far from it, but he was the only one I had.

“As the weeks passed, I became more adept at eavesdropping on the conversations between my mother and grandmother. Apparently, Dad had left us because he wanted to be with Laura — the woman I’d met at McDonald’s. When he finally called, I asked him why he’d left. He said that Laura made him happy. I was heartbroken. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t have been happy with Timmy, Mum, and me.

“Christmas came and went. I hated my new school. Everyone had  made their friends, and there was no room for the English girl with the funny accent. Granny did her best to make us feel welcome, but I didn’t want to call her house home.

“I didn’t see Dad for months. Apparently, he had a new job that was keeping him busy and out of trouble, according to my grandmother.

“He came to see me on my birthday in May; it had been six months since I’d last seen him. I didn’t know what to say to him. Part of me was happy that he wasn’t around, but another part of me wished we could all be a family again. Dad sensed my aloofness, and he paid extra attention to me. I didn’t want to be the centre of his attention, knowing how quickly he could turn. He told me he was sorry for leaving, but he couldn’t help falling in love with Laura. I begged him to take us home. I wanted to go back to my old life, my old house, my friends, and my school.

“One morning, Mum burst into my room, all excited. I hadn’t seen her looking happy in months. She couldn’t stop smiling as she told me that Dad was coming to take us home. I shot up in bed, not sure what to think. Mum’s excitement was infectious as she ran around the house, throwing clothes into a suitcase, while Granny Rose looked on disapprovingly. ‘You’ll regret this,’ she warned. ‘That man is no good, you’ll see; once a cheater, always a cheater.’

“We hovered by the window, waiting for him, expecting him to arrive at any minute. The hours wore on. Mum went to the bottom of the drive a few times, searching the road. Eventually, she told us he wasn’t coming. I felt a strange mixture of disappointment and relief; I’d always known he didn’t love us the way he should. Granny Rose had been right all along: he was a bad egg.”