WHYTE LIES (5 page)

“How is she?” asked Faith. Every evening, after work, Faith had stopped by the hospital, willing the girl to wake up. Lucy was the only one who could give them an accurate description of the killer. A child psychiatrist had tried talking to Megan, but she was too young to understand what had happened. Megan talked about how scared she was and about the loud noise when the shots were fired, followed by silence, but she hadn’t seen the killer. Lucy was their only viable witness.

Mary Gleeson jumped at the sound of Faith’s voice behind her. For three harrowing days, she had been keeping a prayer vigil at her granddaughter’s bedside.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” said Faith, approaching the bed. Lucy’s eyes were closed. Her head was bandaged and her face was swollen. The monitor beside her bleeped steadily. “Has she said anything?”

“She woke up for a few minutes. She said she was afraid and asked if the bad man was in prison.” Mary smiled weakly. She was pale, drawn, and hadn’t slept in days. “It’s a miracle she survived.”

Faith nodded, thinking it should never have happened in the first place. She looked at the girl in the bed. Ten-year-old Lucy was in a medically induced coma
. Doctors weren’t sure if her injuries were so severe that she would be left permanently brain-damaged. She had suffered a fractured skull and facial injuries from the severity of the pistol-whipping. They also feared that she would be left blind due to the fracture on the orbital bone around her left eye.

Two armed officers stood guard outside her hospital door. A squad car was on permanent watch outside the hospital. Faith wasn’t taking any chances that the killer would come back to finish what he had started.

“You should try to get some sleep,” said Faith.

“I doze in the chair when I’m exhausted. I have to be here when she wakes up again. It’s important that she sees a familiar face.”

Faith nodded. The officers standing guard had informed her that other relatives had visited, but Mary never left her granddaughter’s side. “How’s Megan?” asked Faith.

“She’s confused and keeps asking for her mother. She should be back at school, having fun with her classmates.” Mary wiped a tear from her eye. Faith squeezed her shoulder, not knowing what to say. There were no words. “It’s so unfair,” said Mary.

“I know.” Faith knew first hand how unfair life could be.

***

Daniel and Amira Gleeson were buried side by side in a quiet, tree-lined cemetery in Clontarf, only two miles from where they had lived. Detectives had decided that it was too dangerous for Megan and Lucy to be present. Faith was sure that whoever they were dealing with was callous enough to add the girls to his list of victims.

The memorial service was private, attended only by family and close friends. The press respected the Gleesons’ request for no intrusion during their time of grief; there wasn’t a journalist or camera crew in sight. Family and friends wept as the coffins were lowered into the grave. The local priest led the prayers by the graveside as the rain bucketed down. Conor and Mary clung to each other for support. Amira’s sister, Layla, stood a little apart from the group. She threw a single red rose on the grave.

From a discreet distance, Faith observed the scene.

“Have you had any more flashbacks?” asked Dr Crowley.

Faith frowned and leaned back in her chair. “They’re becoming more frequent since this case. They hit me randomly, and it’s like I’m back in the past all over again.”

“Why do you think the flashbacks have increased since this case?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She sighed. “I think those two little girls remind me of myself. They must be feeling so lost and confused, and I remember feeling that way throughout most of my childhood, especially after my father killed himself. He wasn’t much of a father, but he was the only one I had.”

“How old were you when he died?”

“I was fifteen. I came home from school one day and Mum said that Dad was dead. I couldn’t believe it. It took months for me to accept that he was gone, especially because his body was never recovered. I was used to not seeing him for months at a time, so part of me expected him to come back.”

“Did he leave a note or any explanation?”

“No. Nothing. All he left behind were his clothes, neatly folded at the edge of the cliff. His death sparked my interest in becoming a detective.”

“Tell me about your father.” He regarded her kindly over the top of his glasses.

“He caused a lot of hurt in my life.” Much to her embarrassment, her eyes filled with tears. Roughly, she wiped them away on the back of her hand.

“It’s okay, Faith. You’re safe here. Remember that what you tell me is confidential, but it’s important that you talk about your father and confront your feelings because that’s the only way to let go of the past.” He handed her a tissue from the box on his desk. “Tell me something fun and unusual about your father.”

“He was named after Robert Redford, the actor, but everyone called my father Bob. He was a soldier in Northern Ireland in the early seventies, but he never spoke about that time in his life. When he left the army, he worked as a long-distance lorry driver.

“I loved my father, in spite of everything. Even before he left mum for someone else, he was often away for weeks at a time. When he took up with his new girlfriend, his visits became less frequent; in fairness, he was living in England and we were in Ireland.”

Her throat went dry as the long-forgotten darkness swept over her. “May I have some water, please?”

“Is everything alright?” asked Dr Crowley, his voice full of concern.

Her hand shook as she took the glass of water from him. “I had the strangest sensation, like there was a ghost in the room.” She shivered. “I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Was it another flashback?” asked Dr Crowley.

Faith nodded.

“I can take you back there, if you’d like,” suggested Dr Crowley.

“I’m not sure.”

“It could be worth exploring. Remember, you’re safe here, Faith. Just breathe. Do you trust me?”

She studied his kind, intelligent face for a moment. “As much as I trust anyone.”

“Lie back in the chair. Close your eyes. Breathe.”

She closed her eyes and let the stillness wash over her.

“Tell me where you are. How do you feel?”

“It’s spring. I can see the first daffodils. I’m brushing my teeth before school, but I feel sick. My stomach’s turning over.”

“Who’s there with you?”

“Just Granny. Mum’s already gone to work. She always drops Timmy to nursery on her way. Granny says I should stay home from school. She tells me that there’s a bad flu going around. She says I should lie on the couch until she gets home from the chemist, and that she won’t be gone long, maybe an hour at most.”

“Were you afraid of being home alone?” asked Dr Crowley.

“No. I was almost twelve years old, and Granny said she wouldn’t be long. She tucked me up in bed with a hot water bottle before leaving. I dozed off for a while, but my cough kept waking me up.

“I had a nightmare about a man trying to break into the house. I felt scared. Those were the days before mobile phones, so I couldn’t call anyone. I prayed Granny would be home soon. I tossed and turned under the covers, and covered my head with the duvet to block out my nightmare. I was just about to doze off again when I heard a car outside. I knew it wasn’t Granny because she didn’t drive; she cycled everywhere. Mum wasn’t due home from work for hours. I held my breath, listening to every sound outside. I heard a car door close, then silence. It was one person.”

“Why didn’t you look out the window?” asked Dr Crowley.

“No way. I knew I had to stay still and out of sight, but the bedroom curtains were open and the bedroom was on the ground floor. Whoever was outside could have seen me if I’d moved. I heard footsteps on the gravel outside my bedroom window. I couldn’t see anything through the duvet, but I sensed that someone was looking in the window.

“I felt I was in danger. I’ve only felt that way a few times in my life. I didn’t move a muscle. Suddenly, there was a knock on the front door. I froze and held my breath. They knocked again. Then there was silence, but I didn’t hear the car door open or close. I prayed that Granny or Mum had left none of the downstairs windows open.

“Finally, the car door opened and closed. Then the engine started. I crept out of bed and crawled to the corner of the window behind the curtain to see who was in the car. It was my father. Mum hadn’t said he was going to visit. Part of me wanted to unlock the door and call him back, but something told me not to. I crept back into bed and waited for Granny to come home.”

“Do you think your father would have hurt you if you’d let him in?” asked Dr Crowley.

“I don’t think it; I know it. I know that whoever was out there would have hurt me.”

“But it was your father at the door.”

“It didn’t matter. I trusted my instinct. I loved my father, I really did, but when he left us, part of me died. In a way, I closed part of my heart to him; I didn’t want him to hurt me again. The day he left me is the day he lost my trust.”

“Which is why you find it so difficult to trust now,” interrupted Dr Crowley. “Children look to their parents to show them how to navigate the world. They take whatever their parents say as fact and believe that they can do no wrong.”

Faith nodded. “Granny used to call him a ‘Disneyland Dad’.” She grinned at the memory. “When we moved to Ireland, we saw him a few times a year, and he’d take us shopping for toys, sweets and games.”

“Did you like living with your Granny?”

“Not at first, no; I wanted my family back together, and I resented living at Granny’s, but eventually life settled into a routine. I accepted that Dad wasn’t going to sweep in and take us away to live happily ever after. Granny’s house in Killarney became home. I felt safe with her.”

“Tell me about your grandmother,” said Dr Crowley.

Faith smiled. “She was a real livewire, always chatting and full of life, not like my mother. Sometimes I wondered how they could be mother and daughter. My mother was thirty years younger than Granny was, but Mum seemed older and beaten down by life. Granny saw the wonder in everything. She was a tiny woman, barely five feet tall, but she was a powerhouse who didn’t take nonsense from anyone.

“She was obsessed with detective shows and true crime stories. We used to watch
Murder, She Wrote
every Sunday after church. She was thrilled when I said I was going to be a police officer.”

“You don’t talk much about your mother,” said Dr Crowley.

“She was a quiet woman. The marriage break-up almost destroyed her, but eventually, under Granny’s care, she started to enjoy life again. Mum was a warm and loyal person. She became friends with a woman from the office where she worked. Eileen lived in Killarney town with her son. Mum loved being with her because she was fun and had a wicked sense of humour. Eileen was a great storyteller and had a knack for putting a comedic twist on everything, especially her own life. Her stories about her sisters and her ex-husband were as dramatic as they were hilarious. Unfortunately, she was responsible for bringing an evil man into our lives, and for that, I have never forgiven her.”

“What was his name?” asked Dr Crowley.

“Rodger Ian Price.”

“May I see your ID?” asked Layla al-Nin from behind the apartment door.

Faith and Byrne exchanged glances as they flashed their badges at the peephole.

“Come in,” said Layla, opening the door wide. She glanced up and down the corridor behind them. “One can never be too cautious at a time like this. The press has been camped outside the building for days. I wouldn’t put anything past those vultures.”

“We understand,” said Faith.

“Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything: tea, coffee, or something stronger?” She laughed self-consciously. “I’m having a whiskey. I find it sharpens the mind. Don’t worry, I’m not a raging alcoholic. Then again, I suppose that’s what they all say.”

“I’ll have a black coffee,” said Byrne.

“Same for me, thanks,” said Faith, perching herself at the edge of the deep leather sofa in Layla al-Nin’s Dublin City Centre apartment. The apartment was well located: only a few minutes walk from the main shopping street, and ten minutes from the tourist attractions. The apartment building boasted a restaurant, a gym, a podium garden, and concierge services. From the apartment’s prime location and the decor, it was obvious that Layla wasn’t short of money.

“How can I help you, Detective Chief Inspector?” asked Layla, placing the drinks on the coffee table, before sitting beside Faith on the sofa. “Have you found the killer yet?”

Faith had to fight the urge to move away; she hated anyone invading her personal space, and she couldn’t help taking an instant dislike towards Layla. There was something just a little too self-assured, borderline smug, about Amira’s elder sister.

“Actually, that’s why we’re here,” said Faith, leaning back in her seat. She helped herself to a biscuit and sipped her coffee before continuing. Everything about Layla was slow and measured, so Faith followed her lead and matched her pace accordingly. Just as Faith had known, her actions unnerved the other woman a little.

“Oh?” Layla asked, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows. Slowly, she swirled the ice cubes in her glass. She didn’t look like someone who was mourning the loss of her sister and brother-in-law. Her hair was styled in an immaculate, poker-straight black bob; her nails were manicured a blood red to match her full scarlet pout; she was dressed elegantly in a white silk blouse and black palazzo trousers; sky-high stilettoes completed her ensemble. Faith felt underdressed beside her in her black jeans, black shirt, and black blazer.

“Were you expecting company?” asked Byrne, taking in Layla’s appearance.

“No, only you two lovely ladies. Why?”

“There was no need to get dressed up for us.”

“I like to make an effort.” Layla disdainfully took in their plain clothes and makeup-free faces.

At over six-feet tall, she was an intimidating presence, and Faith got the impression she would do anything to get her own way. Faith placed her cup on the glass coffee table in front of her, noticing the framed photo of Amira and the girls hanging on the wall. Beside the photo was another of Layla and Amira’s parents. None of the photos included Daniel. Scattered across the coffee table were newspaper cuttings about the Killarney murders. Faith had the distinct impression they were there for her benefit.

“Do you have children?” asked Faith.

“No. I’ve never met the right person. Do you have children?”

“No.” Faith hoped her face didn’t show her lie. Now she felt like she was the one being thrown off guard. “How have you been since the funeral?” she asked, changing the subject. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I hate those overused clichés: ‘sorry for your loss’. Most people don’t know what loss is.”

You have no idea, lady,
thought Faith.

“In answer to your question, I’ve been fine; keeping myself busy with work and friends. I don’t believe in moping,” replied Layla matter-of-factly.

“I see,” said Faith. “Some would call that denial.”

“I call it coping,” Layla retorted with a stiff smile.

“I can understand that,” said Faith. “May I ask where you were on the day of the killings?”

“Am I a suspect?” She sounded incredulous.

“That’s not what I’m saying. It’s a question I ask everyone I interview.”

“And I thought you were here to offer your condolences.”

Faith allowed the awkward silence to hang in the air for a moment before repeating her question.

“I was at a medical conference in New York. I didn’t return until two days after they died. You can check with the hotel and the airline if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you. Your alibi is airtight.” Faith had already checked. “I know you aren’t the assassin.”

“That’s comforting.” Layla eyed her over the rim of her glass. “My sister and I may not have been on speaking terms recently, but I wouldn’t resort to killing her. Daniel was a different story.” She laughed mirthlessly. “Sorry, that was in bad taste. I’m joking.”

“Where were you when you heard of your sister’s death?” Faith didn’t like the way Layla was toying with her.

“I saw reports of the murders on the news when I landed at Dublin Airport, but I didn’t think it was Amira because I had no idea she was in Killarney at the time. I went straight to bed when I arrived home. It was a tough few days and I was exhausted. My friend called me at dinnertime and said she had bad news. She asked if I’d heard about what had happened in Killarney. She thought it was Amira and Daniel who had been killed. I told her it was unlikely that they were in Killarney because the girls should have been at school. Later that evening, two police officers came to visit me and they told me what had happened.”

“But you didn’t feel the need to go to Killarney to be with your nieces, or to identify your sister’s body? Shouldn’t that have been your natural reaction?”

“I wanted to be there, but the press was camped outside my apartment building, and I couldn’t leave. It was a nightmare.”

“I can imagine. Were you and Amira close?”

“We were sisters.”

“But you mentioned that you weren’t on speaking terms.”

“We were opposites; Amira was the serious one, whereas I was more light-hearted. We used to holiday together, but Daniel didn’t like me much. The feeling was mutual. Amira lost her spark when she married him. For all his charisma and charm, he wasn’t an easy man to be married to; he liked to be the centre of attention. I had no problem telling Amira what I thought of him, which didn’t go down too well with her.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard of anything like that,” said Faith. “From all accounts, Daniel was a decent, down-to-earth man.”

“That’s the impression he liked to portray. You know that old saying: ‘if you want to know me, come and live with me?’ It was true in Daniel’s case. He was a control freak. I don’t know how Amira put up with him, but she wouldn’t hear a word said against him.”

“I heard that you and Amira argued about the house. Is it true that your parents split the property between you?”

“It’s true, I owned half the house that Amira and Daniel inhabited,” Layla admitted reluctantly.

“Were you trying to force your sister to sell the house?” asked Faith.

“Forced is a strong word.” Layla stood up and walked to the window that overlooked the busy main street below. “I wanted Amira to see the sort of man she had married. She was blind where Daniel was concerned, but I knew he was a user. I didn’t want someone like him living in my parents’ house. Why should he?” She turned blazing eyes on Faith. “He’s supposed to be a man. Why didn’t he man up and provide a home of his own for his family? I didn’t want my share of my parents’ house funding his lifestyle. There were rumours he cheated on Amira. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen. She tried to say I was jealous, just because she was married, and I wasn’t. It’s not true. I felt sorry for her being with a man like Daniel Gleeson. He was the type of man who used Amira to make himself feel good without appreciating that he was nothing without her.”

Faith was taken aback by Layla’s venom. “Why did you stop speaking to Amira?” she asked.

“I was sick of her naïveté.” Layla kicked off her shoes and sank into the sofa. “We communicated via our solicitors in the months before she died. Once I’ve made up my mind about someone or something, that’s it for me, and I was sick of trying to get Amira to listen to me. I decided to go through the official legal channels. Amira and Daniel wanted me to give them my share of the house. I left it to them in my will, but I wasn’t prepared to sign it over to them; that property is prime real estate. It’s worth almost half a million euro even in today’s economic climate.

“They should have been grateful that I didn’t ask them for rent. I didn’t mind them living there. I didn’t ask them to get a mortgage to buy me out, but I sure as hell wasn’t just going to sign it over to them. If I died before them, I was happy for them to have the house. I think that was more than reasonable, but I didn’t want
that twat Daniel inheriting my parents’ house if Amira died before him.”

Byrne glanced at Faith. “Instead they both died before you,” said Byrne.

“I’d give up everything in a heartbeat if it meant having my sister back.” Layla wiped her dry eyes with a tissue. “Amira wanted the house. She didn’t want to wait, but I think Daniel was pressuring her. They were lucky that I didn’t take them to court to force a sale. In the end, I proposed a reasonable price for my share of the house. I was willing to meet her half-way, but she didn’t accept my proposal. I know that husband of hers was pushing her. He was a greedy bastard.”

“When was the last time you spoke to them?” asked Faith.

“I never had much to say to Daniel. He wasn’t the greatest conversationalist. To say he bored me was an understatement. Amira used to be witty and informed, but Daniel was a domineering guy; he liked to be the centre of attention. Amira soon became his sidekick, and I couldn’t stand seeing the change in her. I tried talking to her about it, but like I said,
she accused me of being jealous, and told me to stop worrying so much about her husband and get a man of my own.”

“Was Daniel violent?” asked Byrne, glancing up from her notebook.

“I don’t believe he was physically violent, no, but emotional abuse doesn’t leave visible scars. I’ve worked with many victims of domestic violence, both men and women, and the majority say that the emotional abuse is worse. At least there’s some sort of twisted honesty in a punch, not like the insidious erosion of the spirit that comes with emotional abuse.”

“May I use your bathroom?” Faith interrupted.

“Are you okay, boss?” asked Byrne, noticing Faith’s ashen complexion.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Layla smirked. “Sorry, that was in poor taste. There I go again.” She waved her glass in the air. “I think this whiskey has gone straight to my head.”

Faith headed towards the door. “Is the bathroom this way?” She had to get out of the room.

“It’s the second door on the left.”

Faith closed the bathroom door behind her and splashed cold water on her face. She gripped the sides of the sink, trying to control her spiralling thoughts. “Damn you Dr Crowley,” she muttered. Ever since he’d hypnotised her, the flashbacks from her past were becoming more random and more frequent. She closed her eyes and called to mind the view from her house–her sanctuary–over the waters of Lough Leane with the Kerry Mountains rising in the distance. Slowly, her heart stopped pounding as she focused on the moment.

“Everything alright, boss?” asked Byrne from outside the door.

“I’m fine,” replied Faith. “Too much coffee and not enough sleep are getting to me. Nothing that an early night won’t cure.” She forced a smile she didn’t feel and resumed her place on the couch. “Where were we?”

“Ms. al-Nin was telling us about her work with victims of violence,” said Byrne, consulting her notes.

“Doctor al-Nin, actually,” said Layla disdainfully. “Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes, obviously, I don’t condone violence of any sort, but at least there’s some sort of warped honesty in a punch. It’s over and done with. Emotional abuse is a mind game, and it’s amazing how even the strongest people can be manipulated over time. Amira changed. She became quiet, withdrawn, and lost contact with her friends. Meeting me for lunch or shopping became an ordeal. Invariably, she made some excuse and cancelled. In the end, I stopped asking. We used to be so close. I always thought we’d reconcile, but time caught up with us.”

“It always does,” said Faith.

“I’m having another whiskey,” said Layla, getting to her feet. “Can I get you ladies anything?”

“We’re fine, thank you,” said Faith. “We should head back to the Station. I’d like to get on the motorway before rush hour.”

“I understand. Please keep me informed of any developments, Detective.” Layla walked them to the door.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be in touch,” said Faith, “and it’s Detective Chief Inspector, actually.”