WHYTE LIES (6 page)

“What do you think of Layla al-Nin?” asked Faith, as she and Byrne headed back to the car.

“I don’t like her,” replied Byrne without hesitation, “and I certainly don’t trust her. She’s a bit too arrogant for my liking.”

“But it was interesting what she said about Daniel and Amira’s relationship,” said Faith. “I want you to check if there were any reports of domestic violence. Talk to their friends, see what they have to say.”

“Will do,” said Byrne, making a note in her phone. “Fancy coming for a drink with us? Plunkett just text to say that a few of the team are heading to the pub after work.”

“I’m wrecked,” said Faith. “Thanks for the offer. Maybe next time. I fancy an early night.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to have one for you.” Byrne smiled as they pulled up outside the pub.

“Don’t get carried away,” said Faith. “I need you lot back at the Station bright and early.”

“Yes, boss.” Byrne saluted and slammed the door behind her.

“See you at eight sharp,” Faith called out the window as she drove past.

“It might be ten past.” Byrne grinned.

Faith waved and took the mountain road home. The sun was setting in the distance and the sky was ablaze with varying shades of crimson and cerulean. She let out a long, low sigh, already looking forward to a cup of tea and a bubble bath.

Faith stopped by Angela’s house on her way home. She needed to see a friendly face.

“How are ya girl? Come in, come in.”

Faith smiled at her friend’s warm greeting. She always looked so happy to see her.

The delicious aroma of fresh-baked scones made her mouth water as she pulled up a chair at the kitchen table. Angela’s house was warm and welcoming.

“You’re turning into a real domestic goddess, aren’t you?” teased Faith.

“Someone’s got to give Nigella Lawson a run for her money.” Angela winked. “Help yourself.” She put a plate of buttery scones on the table beside a jar of homemade jam and a pot of whipped cream.

Angela’s easy-going charm and natural ability to entertain made her a pleasure to spend time with, and not for the first time, Faith was grateful to be part of her life. “You spoil me,” said Faith, in between mouthfuls.

“Someone has to.” Angela watched her friend. She knew something was troubling her, but she didn’t like to ask.

***

Faith pulled up outside her house and climbed out of the Jeep, savouring the autumnal air. She closed her eyes and listened to the chatter of the birds and the lake lapping against the shore at the end of the garden. Not for the first time, she said a silent prayer of thanks to her grandmother and the sanctuary she had provided the lost little girl all those years ago. Thoughts of her parents and brother ebbed at the edge of her mind, but she refused to think about them today. “It’s not my fault,” she whispered the mantra that Dr Crowley had taught her. She shook her head and went inside.

Faith kicked off her boots and padded into the kitchen, hesitating before she unlocked the cupboard door. She pulled out the bottle of Jack Daniels that had sat there, untouched, for years. She had seen the devastating effects of alcoholism and had promised herself when she finally quit drinking that she would never touch another drop. Alcohol aggravated her dark side, and if abstaining helped to control it, then it was a small price to pay.

She remembered the way her grandfather belittled her father when he’d had too much to drink. He’d spoken to his son like he was a naughty child instead of a grown man. The two men had never gotten along. It was as if they were in a constant battle of wills, each desperate to outdo the other. She remembered her grandfather telling jokes at her father’s expense and seeing the hurt on his face. Even as a grown man, he still carried the emotional scars.

She opened the bottle of Jack Daniels and inhaled the heady aroma. It took every bit of willpower to close the bottle and replace it in the cupboard. Instead, she poured herself a large glass of Coke and popped one of Angela’s homemade lasagnes into the microwave. She flopped onto the couch, savouring the peace and quiet. Five minutes later, the microwave pinged, jolting her back to reality. She was almost finished eating when her phone rang. Sighing, she picked it up. “Faith Whyte.”

“I’ve just emailed you the Gleesons’ Facebook history, emails retrieved from their computers, and records from the phones recovered at the crime scene,” said Kelly, getting straight to the point. Neither of them bothered with pleasantries.

“Thanks,” said Faith. She glanced at her watch; it was almost ten o’ clock. “You’re working late. I would’ve thought you’d be at the pub. Byrne mentioned that the team was going for a few drinks.”

“Duty calls,” said Kelly. “Besides, Byrne and I don’t get along.”

“I see.” Faith wondered if anyone got along with him. “Thanks again for the email.”

“Always a pleasure,” said Kelly. “See you in the morning.”

Faith opened her iPad and clicked Kelly’s email. Attached were call and text records from the Gleesons’ phones; hundreds of emails; logs from chat rooms and Facebook messenger exchanges; and several years of Facebook posts. She fired up the coffee machine. It was going to be a long night.

First up, were the Skype conversations between Daniel and his friend, Steven Garrett. Steven had provided a full transcript of the Facebook Messenger exchanges between himself and Daniel from the previous two years. The messages began in September 2012. Faith smiled at the banter between the two friends. They referred to each other as “love” and “sweetheart”. They had an easy rapport that switched
between jokes to more serious exchanges. Most of the chats were about work, family, politics and mutual friends. Daniel’s love for his daughters shone through in the messages; he talked about watching cartoons with the girls, and reading them a bedtime story. In another message, Daniel chatted about taking his daughters to visit Santa, and wrapping their Christmas presents.

Faith noticed that the two friends often spoke into the early hours of the morning. One message showed Daniel logging on at 3.30 a.m., greeting his friend with a cheery “Morning, lovely”. There were several pages from Steven ranting about his family life, with Daniel giving his advice. Faith couldn’t help wondering if Daniel was happy with his own domestic situation, given that he was online late into the night, while his wife and daughters were sound asleep.

There were a few mentions of Layla visiting. Daniel didn’t seem too keen on seeing her, but said he’d make an effort for the girls’ sake because they were mad about their aunt, and she always made a fuss of them. He seemed angry about how unreasonable Layla was being about her share of the house. “Of course, Layla conveniently forgets how much time, effort, and money I’ve put into refurbishing the place,” wrote Daniel. “It wouldn’t be worth half what’s it’s worth now if it wasn’t for me. Greed is that woman’s biggest motivator. She’s money-mad.” A few days before they left, Daniel mentioned his plans for their last-minute trip to Killarney. “I’m stressed out. I can’t wait to get away.”

Faith wondered why Daniel had taken the girls on holiday, knowing that they would have missed the start of the new school term. She made a note to follow it up later.

The messages ended two nights before the family departed for Killarney. In their final exchange, Daniel asked Steven to keep an eye on the house while they were gone. In the message, Daniel said he was worried about something happening to the house. Their exchange ended with their usual “goodnight, sweetheart.” One week later, the Gleesons were dead.

Faith skimmed through the Facebook photos on Daniel Gleeson’s account; Amira didn’t have an account of her own. It was obvious that Daniel was mad about his children. Their smiling faces beamed from the photos: gap-toothed and innocently happy. There were photos of the girls’ birthday parties, visiting Santa, first day at school, and many more, but Amira appeared in few photos.

The final photographs had been retrieved from Daniel’s phone which charted their journey from Dublin to Killarney. Faith studied each photo, hoping to spot something, or someone, suspicious in the background. Daniel had taken hundreds of photos on that last fateful trip. The album began with the girls eating ice cream by the side of the car. Megan’s ice cream was all over her face and hands. Next were photos of the girls at the campsite exploring their holiday surroundings. There was one photo of the girls with their mother feeding swans, another of them colouring, and finally, their two heads together — one dark, one fair — as Lucy read her little sister a story. Looking at the two of them reminded Faith of her own little brother, but she swallowed the memory; she seldom allowed herself to go back there.

A copy of the Gleesons’ Irish marriage certificate was attached to the email, along with an earlier Australian marriage certificate in the name of Amira al-Nin and Max Edwards. According to Kelly’s report, Max owned a car rental company located at Sydney Airport. Also attached was an Australian divorce certificate, dated twelve months after her wedding to Daniel. Faith let out a long, low whistle; when Amira married Daniel, she was still married to another man. Amira was a bigamist. She wondered if Daniel had found out and if the discovery had sent him over the edge.

Faith studied the photos of Amira and Max. In their wedding photo, Max was a short, round, barrel of a man, with broad shoulders and a wide red face. He was bald with a white goatee and looked like he was poured into his too-tight suit as he stood proudly beside Amira, who was at least a decade younger than he was. Her curly hair was piled high on her head. She wore a long, fitted cream dress that clung to the curves of her slender body. They looked happy, their smiles beamed out of the photo.

In other photos of the couple together, Max and Amira looked like they were having fun. One photo showed Amira feeding Max in the kitchen, a second photo showed them play-fighting by the pool, another tender photo showed Max kissing her on the neck while she smiled into the camera. She looked just as happy and carefree sitting in the garden with a woman and an older man, who Faith assumed to be Max’s siblings as they were the image of each other.

By contrast, in the recent family photos, Amira wore little make-up, she had gained weight, and looked distant, almost dead behind the eyes. Faith couldn’t help wondering if there was some truth in Layla’s assessment of the Gleesons’ marriage.

The first light of dawn had already risen over the horizon by the time Faith glanced up from her iPad. Her mind whirled with questions. She stood up and poured herself a strong black coffee. “No point going to bed now, eh Sausage?” She picked up her cat and snuggled his soft fur as he purred in her arms. She fed him, then jumped in the shower and got ready for work.

Killarney Police Station was deserted when Faith pulled in at 7 a.m. She grabbed a coffee from the machine outside the incident room before heading inside. She was shocked to see Kelly fast asleep at his desk. His legs were propped up on a chair, his head was thrown back as he snored, and his suit jacket was flung over his front. Empty fish and chip wrappers from the previous night’s dinner were shoved into the bin beside him. She coughed, making him jump. He almost fell off his chair when he saw her.

“Have you no home to go to, Kelly?”

“You could say that; the wife’s kicked me out.”

“I see. Any particular reason?” Faith asked a little more kindly. Now, his late-night phone call made more sense.

“She’s found herself another man,” he replied, avoiding eye contact.

“I see.”

He flushed with embarrassment and rubbed his eyes. Faith prayed he wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t cope with emotional meltdowns at the best of times, let alone one from Greg Kelly. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

“Will do, boss.” He coughed, trying to cover the crack in his voice.

“Here, drink this,” she said, handing him the coffee. “You look like you need it more than me.”

He smiled wanly at her, gratefully accepting the strong black coffee. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention this to anyone,” he said.

“I won’t say a word. I’ll be in my office if you need me.” She turned on her heel and retreated to her office, closing the door behind her. She watched the team arrive one by one: Martin Plunkett was first to arrive at 7.30 a.m., looking fresh-faced and shiny, without a hair out of place, followed by Nora at 8 a.m. sharp, bearing coffee and cakes.

“Thanks, Nora.” Faith bit into a blueberry muffin, too tired to care about the calories. “Good morning Byrne. Kind of you to join us.” She glanced at her watch as Byrne crept into the room, half an hour late, full of mumbled apologies.

“My alarm didn’t go off. Sorry, boss.”

“Let’s get started,” said Faith, ignoring Byrne’s excuses. “Kelly did a great job tracking down the Gleesons’ emails, phone logs and Facebook chats, which I spent most of last night reviewing. A few things need to be further investigated. Daniel Gleeson was active on Facebook, posting photos of his daughters and chatting to his friend, Steven Garrett. Some of those conversations were revealing. However, Amira remains an enigma. She’s only in a few photos, and Daniel seldom mentions her in his chats to his friend.”

“Maybe one of them was having an affair?” suggested Plunkett.

“It’s interesting you should say that,” said Faith. “Amira was married before she married Daniel.”

“But I thought they met at university,” said Plunkett.

“They did, but soon after graduating from Trinity College, Amira went to Australia, where she married Max Edwards. I’d like you to research Amira’s time in Australia, Plunkett. See if you can track down Max, and find out if Daniel knew about his wife’s first marriage. Speak to friends of the couple, see if they have any more information. Find out why Amira went to Australia, and why she left without Max. Byrne, you can give Plunkett a hand with that.”

“Will do, boss,” Byrne and Plunkett chimed in unison.

“What do we have so far?” Faith turned and surveyed the whiteboard. “We have the dispute between the Gleesons and Layla al-Nin over the family home; the breakdown in the once-close relationship between the sisters; and Layla’s opinion that Daniel was an abusive husband, but we can assume that her opinion is biased. We have no DNA or forensic evidence at the scene of the crime, other than R.I.P. written in the mud, which anyone could have written; we have Amira’s first marriage, and the fact she was a bigamist. Amira was an interpreter. Did she hear or discover something that she shouldn’t have? Was she hiding something?”

Faith turned to Kelly. “I’d like you to speak with Amira’s former colleagues and look into that side of her life.”

“I’m on it,” Kelly said.

Faith sighed and rubbed her tired eyes. There were so many conflicting theories surrounding the murders that she wasn’t sure where to begin. “Who wanted to kill the Gleesons and why?” she asked.

“Perhaps they were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” suggested Byrne. “There could have been another target, and they were innocent bystanders.”

“Possibly,” said Faith, writing the theory up on the whiteboard. “But this was an expert killer; he left no trace evidence at the scene, and no trace of himself in the forest or surrounding roads. Killing Amira and Daniel, if his target was someone else, is hard to believe.”

“It could have been a local gunman, someone who lost it,” said Officer Reilly, “or a racist who attacked a family of Iraqi heritage. Maybe someone in the caravan park took a dislike to them. Didn’t someone at the campsite mention that Daniel Gleeson had a heated argument with a man there?”

“It’s difficult to commit murder, and then slip quietly back into the community, unnoticed,” said Faith. “Few people can keep a secret of that magnitude. Someone — a wife, a friend, a colleague — would have noticed something. The killer would have let something slip. If it was politically motivated, then the person would want to be known. No one has come forward to claim responsibility for the murders. Besides, a racist killer wouldn’t hide in the woods waiting for foreigners; they could have been waiting an eternity.”

“Maybe the Gleesons disturbed a drug deal, or some other illicit exchange,” suggested Byrne.

“I don’t think there are many drug deals going on in the middle of the woods in Killarney,” sneered Kelly. “It’s hardly the drugs capital of Ireland.”

“Stranger things have happened,” snapped Byrne, glaring at him. “What do you suggest, Einstein?”

“All I know is that we’re not looking at an amateur,” Kelly replied, “the only way that the killer is keeping his mouth shut is because he’s been trained to stay quiet. Trained killers never talk about what they’ve done. It’s the frauds and the wannabes who sit around the pub, bragging. I reckon our killer has a military background. I also think there’s a possibility that the killer is local. How else did he know about the escape route through the woods and across the mountain track?”

“Unless a local told him about the track,” interrupted Byrne.

“I don’t think so; any enquiries would have drawn too much attention,” continued Kelly. “He didn’t want anyone to remember him. I’m sticking to my theory that the killer is a local guy with a military background.” He folded his arms across his broad chest.

“Interesting theory,” said Faith thoughtfully. “I want you to follow it up, Kelly; look into local guys with a military background.”

“Will do.”

“Has anything turned up on the CCTV footage, Reilly?” asked Faith.

“I’ve been through the footage from the moment the Gleesons’ Mercedes left Dublin, along the motorway, at a service station, and in Killarney town. I didn’t notice the same vehicle tracking them at any stage, and there was no sign of the silver SUV or motorbike.”

“The killer may not have followed the Gleesons all the way from Dublin to Killarney,” said Faith.

“Perhaps someone else, who knew the Gleesons’ movements, gave the killer sufficient warning to be there,” suggested Byrne, “Daniel Gleeson had tracker software on his car that fed into his computer, so anyone who had access to his computer would have been able to follow his movements.”

“Why did he have tracker software on the car?” asked Faith, remembering Layla’s words about her brother-in-law being a control freak.

“Maybe Daniel wanted to track his wife’s movements,” said Byrne.

“Many of the newer cars automatically have tracker software installed for theft prevention, monitoring, and retrieval. It helps reduce the insurance cost because the loss-risk of the vehicle drops significantly,” said Kelly. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, boss, with that old banger you drive around in.” He sniggered.

“Hilarious.” Faith rolled her eyes. “Can a car be controlled remotely if it has tracker software?”

“Yes. Some systems make it possible to lock  the car door or the engine in case of emergency,” said Kelly. “I’ll look into who had access to his computer.”

“Let’s go back to the mysterious man who was seen lurking around the campsite arguing with Daniel Gleeson,” continued Faith. “Maybe this mystery man was an assassin who followed the Gleesons, and took advantage of the Black Valley’s isolated location to kill them. After he killed them, he carried on through the woods and the mountain track. If he went in that direction, he would have been on the other side of the mountain within an hour. It’s the perfect escape route.”

“The killer was near the scene when John Newman found the Gleesons,” said Plunkett, “if the killer didn’t use the mountain track, he would have passed Newman when he left the scene.”

“He wouldn’t have gotten past the roadblocks,” said Kelly. “I’m almost certain he used the mountain track.”

Faith stared at the photos on the whiteboard, searching for divine inspiration. Someone had circled the photo of R.I.P that had been drawn in the mud at the scene. Rest in Peace. She wouldn’t rest until she found the killer, but there were so many theories and possibilities that it was difficult to know where to begin. “What are the facts?” she asked the team. “We know that Mr. Gleeson took his family to the Black Valley that day. Why did he choose such an out-of-the-way location? Had he arranged to meet someone there, maybe the mysterious man in the campsite?”

Suddenly the room began to spin. She gripped the side of a desk to steady herself. The blood drained from her face as another fragmented flashback hit.

“Boss, Faith, are you okay?” Nora rushed to her side.

“I’m fine. Sorry. Just a dizzy spell. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Gratefully, she sipped the water that Nora handed her.

“There is another possibility,” said Faith. “This isn’t easy to say, but what if Daniel Gleeson hired the assassin? What if the killings were a murder-suicide?”

There was silence as the team tried to digest her words.

“It’s unthinkable,” said Kelly, aghast at the idea.

“It’s happened before,” said Byrne, “parents have taken their own lives, and the lives of their family.”

“But why was Megan ignored, and Lucy left for dead?” asked Plunkett. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why didn’t Daniel kill himself and Amira at home?” asked Reilly. “It would have been much easier.”

“It would explain why he drove the family to a place off the usual tourist track, and why there’s no evidence of them being followed by the killer,” said Faith.

“Unlikely,” said Plunkett.

“Sometimes the most unlikely scenarios end up being true,” said Faith.

“What about the feud between the Gleesons and Amira’s sister?” asked Byrne.

“Layla isn’t short of money,” said Plunkett. “Surely she didn’t want them dead for her share of the house?”

“If that was the case, she would have had the girls killed too,” said Kelly.

“It wasn’t for want of trying,” said Byrne, “Lucy was left for dead, and Megan was hiding.”

“We need to look into Amira’s background,” said Faith. “Why did she go to all the trouble of getting Australian citizenship, and then return to Ireland soon afterwards? Was there some other reason for her being in Australia? Was she involved in something that could have put her on a hit list, something concerning her work as an interpreter?”

Faith sighed. “Our only witness is Lucy Gleeson, and we can’t even interview her. According to the family liaison officer and her psychologist, Lucy claims she saw a shadow, but she can’t recall much more than that. She’s not sure if anyone other than the killer was there. The child psychologist who spoke with her believes that although she knows what happened, she can’t express it; her brain has blocked the memory because it’s too traumatic. In time, she may tell us more about what happened that day, but even then her memory could be clouded by everything she’s heard or read, so it’ll be almost impossible for us to decipher the facts.

“We have nothing from the CCTV footage, no eyewitnesses, no murder weapon, and no suspicious behaviour at the scene prior to the murders. Where do we even begin? We might as well be searching for a ghost.”