‘Yes I am, actually.’ His eyes were tired and sad.
Nora was about to ask another question, but he held up a finger.
‘I can’t really stop,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to talk to some of Katie’s friends, maybe have a look around the harbour and the strand and out towards town, see if I can see anything. If she isn’t back after that, I suppose I’ll have to call it in to Waterford, make it official.’
Shaun walked for a mile past Shore’s Rock along the scenic route from the village. He climbed the iron gate into Millers’ Orchard and jumped down onto the path. John Miller was hunched in the corner, shovelling leaves into a smoking pile, far enough away not to notice Shaun run along the wall to the opposite side and slide down behind the trunk of an apple tree. He closed his eyes and was still in the same position ten minutes later when footsteps behind him made him jump.
‘Hi,’ said Ali.
‘Hi. What’s up?’
She sat down beside him and took out an empty soda can. It was bent forward at the bottom and pierced with nine tiny holes. She pulled some grass out of a plastic bag.
She turned to him. ‘Where do you think she’s gone?’
She put the grass over the holes and held the opening of the can to her mouth. She held her lighter to the grass and sucked in hard. She tried to pass it to Shaun. He shook his head.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’ve spent the whole morning wandering everywhere…’
‘I went into town to look for her around the shops. Which I know was a bit stupid.’
‘It’s just not like her to—’ ‘I know.’
‘This was my last resort.’
‘Me too.’
Nora and Frank locked eyes when the phone rang. He was sitting at the kitchen table, trying to eat a sandwich. He slowly reached across to answer it.
‘Frank, it’s Martha. She still isn’t back.’
‘All right,’ he said firmly, looking at his watch. It was twelve o’clock. ‘What I think I’m going to have to do now is call Waterford.’ Waterford Garda Station was the district station over Mountcannon.
Martha gasped at the other end of the phone. He could barely hear her when she spoke.
‘OK. Thanks.’
‘So I imagine a Detective Inspector will be out to see you later on this evening. Do you have someone with you, Martha?’
‘Yes. My sister, Jean.’
‘All right. I’ll let you know what’s happening.’ He put down the phone and dialled Waterford. He was surprised at how his heart had started racing. He never suspected the worst of anyone or any situation, but he was now hit with a fear he tried to tell himself was irrational.
Joe bent down and looked at the four pieces of steak under the grill. The butter had barely melted on them. The Worcestershire sauce wasn’t sizzling.
‘Get away from there,’ said Anna.
‘Come on. Steak sandwiches. You never say no.’
‘The only problem is that you know none of us are going to eat. And the last thing you need is something to chew.’ She tapped the side of her face. He looked under the grill again. She sighed.
‘I hope I’m wrong,’ said Joe. ‘But I think there’s something Shaun’s not telling us.’
‘What? But he would have said something to Frank earlier.’
Joe straightened up, turned off the grill and slid the steaks into the bin.
‘I’m not so sure,’ he said. ‘I think it’s something he doesn’t want to tell anyone. He wasn’t even being put under any pressure and…I don’t know…he looked kinda scared.’
‘Worried, probably. I think it was because we took him by surprise, arriving back with Frank like that. I don’t think he thought Martha would have called the police that soon.’
‘Maybe.’
She stood up. ‘I’m making you one of your shakes. You can use a straw. And it will be better than that LV8 energy stuff, full of caffeine.’
‘It’s pronounced “elevate”.’
‘I don’t care,’ she said. ‘All I know is anything that comes in bright colours like that is not good for you.’
He rolled his eyes. Anna went to the fridge for the ingredients. She pulled the liquidiser out from the wall and threw in a sliced banana, two scoops of ice-cream, two teaspoons of peanut butter, a spoon of honey and filled the rest up with milk, whizzing it until it was creamy. She put in a straw and handed it to Joe.
The Garda station at Mountcannon was small and neat, with grey floors, cream walls and bulletin boards with posters on awareness of everything from drinking and driving to using machinery near overhead wires. There was no cell; just a main office, Frank Deegan’s office, a kitchen and a bathroom. Frank leaned back in his chair, his light blue shirt straining across his armpits. Detective Inspector Myles O’Connor had driven fifteen miles from Waterford city and was sitting on the edge of his desk with a stylus in his hand, punching text into a slim silver PDA. He was the first person Frank had seen who looked comfortable with one.
Every guard had heard about O’Connor – at thirty-six, he was the youngest D.I. in the country and the first in Waterford. Frank couldn’t define it, but there was something about O’Connor that didn’t say guard.
‘Were you on holidays?’ asked Frank, noticing his fading tan.
‘Yes,’ said O’Connor, without looking up. ‘What was the name of the girl’s boyfriend again?’
‘Shaun Lucchesi. Where did you go?’
‘Portugal. And did you say she’d been at a nightclub that night?’
‘No,’ said Frank. ‘Out with the boyfriend around the harbour.’
Frank saw that O’Connor’s eyes were bloodshot. Every now and then, he would raise his hand to his face as if he was about to rub them, then stop himself before he did. Frank wondered was it from squinting at the small screen. Then he thought maybe he was tired, but he showed no other signs.
‘OK, fill me in on the rest of it,’ said O’Connor.
Frank went through all the details. O’Connor listened, then took notes when he had finished.
Richie barged in, breaking the silence.
‘You’ve met D.I. O’Connor before,’ said Frank. ‘Waterford’s going to be handling Katie’s disappearance from here on in. Superintendent Brady is on his way over.’
Richie flashed O’Connor a quick smile, squeezed his hand, then hovered in front of him, enjoying the six-inch height difference.
O’Connor didn’t have the insecurity to make it worthwhile.
‘Hello, Richie. Good to see you.’ He smiled and held eye contact with him until Richie looked away.
‘Right. What’s your take on all this?’ asked Superintendent Brady as soon as he walked in. He was almost entirely bald, with a narrow band of soft white hair around the base of his skull and a thick white moustache.
Frank opened his mouth to answer.
‘Ah, I’d say leave it for now,’ said O’Connor. ‘She’ll turn up later. It was Friday night, she’s young—’
‘Frank? You know the girl, the family…’ said Brady.
‘She was on her way home,’ said Frank. ‘It just doesn’t ring true that she’d—’
‘We’ve all been on our way home,’ said Richie.
‘You were there for all that this morning with Martha,’ said Frank, annoyed.
He turned back to Brady. ‘I’ve a bad feeling about this,’ he said. ‘There’s not a thing about Katie Lawson would have me believe she’d run away. And, yes, I’ve known the family for years. I don’t think we can ignore this.’
O’Connor sighed. ‘In fairness, she’s got no money, no passport…’
‘I think this is fairly serious,’ said Frank, nodding.
‘OK,’ said Brady. ‘We’ll get a search team in for tomorrow morning if she doesn’t show up in the
