be connected by the straight Manor Road to form an uneven semi-circle. He wrote notes along the narrow white borders and stuffed the map into the inside pocket of his jacket. He took his car and parked it outside the school, walking the short distance to the T-junction at the edge of the village. Left would take him to Katie’s house, up the hill, along her regular route home. Right could also take him there, a longer walk down Church Road towards Mariner’s Strand and the Waterford Road. If, however, she took a left at the church, she would walk until she met the Upper Road, then take a left to her house.
Joe chose the first route, scanning the ground as he walked, taking everything in. He rounded the bend that brought him to the Grants’ house where Petey lived with his mother. Then he moved on towards Katie’s. He turned around before he reached the house and walked back to the T. This time he went the other way, taking a right down the steep and narrow footpath at the top of Church Road. He was protected from a sharp drop to Mariner’s Strand by a low crooked wall. He looked down at the water, slate grey, rolling diagonally towards the narrow shore in shallow waves. He looked left, across the road to the old stone church and its quaint, cluttered cemetery. Then he stopped, knowing at that moment exactly what he needed to find.
O’Connor came out from the small kitchen in the station with two mugs of coffee. He put one on Frank’s desk and walked back over to the window.
He took a mouthful of coffee. ‘I’m just wondering, Frank, could you be too close to all these kids?’
‘What?’
‘Obviously,’ he said, turning around, ‘your input is a great help, because you know the area, the people involved etc. But do you think your judgment could be clouded at all?’
‘No,’ said Frank, quietly preserving his dignity.
The iron gate to the cemetery was held closed with a loose length of dirty tow-rope. Joe pulled at it until it gave way. Every footstep crunched across the gravel as he moved along the rows between graves, then silence as he walked up the grassy slope to a modest, well-kept plot. MATTHEW LAWSON 1952–1997, BELOVED HUSBAND TO MARTHA, DEVOTED FATHER TO KATIE
And on the grave was a dead white rose.
Frank stood up to let O’Connor know it was time to leave. There was a charge in the room that he didn’t have the energy to take on. He understood what O’Connor said would have crossed anyone’s mind in the same situation. He was just surprised he felt the need to say it out loud.
As Joe walked back through the village, his relief at finding evidence of Katie’s route was overtaken by dread. What if the rose on the grave was not about her father? Maybe it was a statement. Her father was dead, she was planning…Joe shook his head. No-one was safe from the depths of his negativity.
O’Connor sat in his car and watched Frank cross the road to Danaher’s, his head bowed, his hands in his pockets. O’Connor knew he had probably lived up to whatever Frank was expecting from the youngest D.I. in the country. But he tried to convince himself he had said what he had to say.
Joe slid onto the bench beside Frank, opening the map of Mountcannon on the table in Danaher’s.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Here’s where they were in the village. And here are the possible routes out of town from there.’ Frank frowned.
Richie came back from the mensroom.
‘Is this guy serious? What is this?’
‘Richie,’ said Frank.
‘I’m just looking at where Katie could have gone that Friday night,’ said Joe.
‘Why?’ asked Richie.
‘Because I think I know.’
‘You know nothing,’ said Richie. ‘First of all, flip over that map and look at the date on the back. 1984. That map is ancient. Half the things—’
‘I’ve drawn in or crossed out accordingly,’ said Joe. Richie glanced down at the map, then did a double-take at the neat print in block caps at the edges of the page. He shot Joe a bemused look.
‘Either way, none of this has anything to do with you,’ he said. ‘We’re having a private meeting here. Do you mind?’
‘If you’ll just look for a second. You think she went this way—’
‘The only reason you know anything about what we think is because you’re friends with Martha Lawson. What she does or doesn’t say to you is none of my business. What
‘Richie, a young girl is missing,’ said Joe.
‘Yes, your son’s girlfriend, I know that. So you should be grateful that every part of the investigation will follow procedure.’
‘I just want to help out here…’
‘You arrogant Yanks think you can save the world,’ said Richie.
TEN
Stinger’s Creek, North Central Texas, 1982
‘I think my baby’s gonna kick some butt, today,’ said Wanda. ‘The first Rawlins family jock.’ Duke rolled his eyes.
Wanda climbed out of the pickup and smoothed the legs of her wrinkled jeans down to her yellow high heels. She looked at her son, dressed from the waist down in his football gear.
‘You look real cute, honey,’ she said.
He shrugged and pulled the rest of his gear from the floor of the cab. He slid the shoulder pads and jersey over his head.
‘Cougars. Number fifty-eight,’ said Wanda. It was the first time she’d seen it. ‘What do you have to do, then? What did I pay my thirty dollars for?’
‘I throw the ball back between my legs and make sure the nose guard from the other team doesn’t tackle the quarterback.’
‘Well, that’s wonderful, honey. I’ll be lookin’ out for you,’ she said, pointing at his chest.
Duke’s eyes wandered past her to another family, dressed for church, the father standing behind his son, pressing strong hands on to his shoulders, smiling.
‘Honey, look at all the pretty little cheerleaders!’ said Wanda.
In a corner of the parking lot, a group of teenage girls in dark blue shorts and cropped tops stamped with a white cougar stood in a circle, practising their cheers. Beside them, a slim blonde stood on one leg, while she pulled the other behind her until it almost touched her shoulder. Others were jumping or doing splits, their faces set in wide, static smiles. Duke turned to his mother with the same eerie grin. Wanda frowned.
‘Stop that, honey,’ she said, smacking his arm.
Two men stood in a cloud of cigarette smoke by the entrance to the stadium, laughing loud and hard.
‘Or Wanda Blowjob?’
‘Wanda Cum-in-my-Face?’
‘All I get from Gloria is Wanda Be Held.’ They hooted. One slapped the other’s back. They stopped laughing when Duke walked between them, pushing a small, firm hand into each man’s stomach and continuing into the stadium.
