“Me?” Chris is shocked, looking down to a departing Danielle who unpeels herself from him and joins her mother by the island, “it depends on what’s been going on, I suppose.”
“Your girlfriend here doesn’t have any recollection of getting home last night,” DI Quigley nods towards Danielle, who buries her face in her pyjama top to supress the howls. “Care to help?”
Chris blows out in apprehension, before taking the final stool at the island. “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark as she is. Too many shots,” he snorts nervously, “took me a second to realise where I was when I woke up actually.”
“You were both at your friend’s house, Katie Woods, is that correct?”
“Well… D’s friend’s, aye.”
“Do you remember when you left?”
Chris shakes his head before his mouth falls open. Digging around in his pocket, he brings out his phone. It’s dead.
“Could I lend a charger, Nuala? If I could get my phone charged, I could check to see if I rang a taxi.”
Nuala nods towards the sockets by the fridge, where a white lead snakes its way behind the microwave. Plugging in his phone, Chris waits for the ‘low battery’ symbol to be replaced with his home screen.
“What’s all this about, anyway?”
The two cops look at Nuala, who nods her head sullenly.
“We’re trying to find out the whereabouts of Mr Aaron Parker, actually. He didn’t come home last night.”
Chris stares at the officers in shock, before having to run to the downstairs toilet to vomit.
Chapter Fourteen:
2019
_____
It feels weird pulling up the drive. The drive they thought they would never pull up again. They’d said their goodbyes three months ago, following the moving lorry out onto the main road and glancing back at their house in the rear-view mirror. Now, bypassing all the strategically placed construction vehicles obscuring the large forensics tent from the road and greedy eyes of the public, there isn’t as much action as Nuala thought there would be. She was expecting blues and twos. Dozens of police buzzing around the area. But there seem to be only a small handful of people clad in their white jumpsuits, masks and goggles, filtering in and out of the tent, where the light illuminates the shadows inside like on a crime TV show. Only this isn’t TV. This is their lives.
Switching the car off and sighing, Nuala turns to look at her girls in the back seat, not fighting for once. Allies in grief. Her left hand is cupped, and she smiles towards Ritchie in the front seat. It’s been months since she seen him. They met up in April, during the school holidays. Herself and Michelle had gone over to Newcastle to surprise Danielle and get the flight the next day home with her for Easter. Ritchie had said he was off work for a few days, and was contemplating coming home anyway, so made the 7-hour trip by train up north to be reunited with the family for the first time since Christmas. They had dined at the Dog and Parrot, Danielle’s favourite, and had a good catch up. When something as devastating as what happened with Aaron occurs in a family, it brings you closer. And it’s not often they get a chance to spend time altogether. They will have to rely on each other’s resilience over the next few days.
“Right,” Nuala sniffs, “I’m going to find out what’s going on. Please stay in the car,” she squeezes Ritchie’s hand before stepping out. “You’re in charge.”
She had just collected both Ritchie and Danielle from Belfast International Airport after paying an extortionate amount to get them home on the next departing flights before zooming up the road to collect them, barely having time to let Michelle clamber into the back seat. Now, as she hobbles over the mess that was once her house, her heart hurts. For herself and the kids. For the house. For Aaron.
“Hi, you can’t be here!”
She looks up from examining what once was her front doorstep to a figure hopscotching towards her, avoiding the debris.
“This is my house.”
The figure stops short of connecting with her and stares.
“You’re Mrs Parker?”
“I am.”
He sighs and tells her to wait there, before doddering back the way he came. After a few moments, with Nuala constantly glancing back towards her car to make sure her wains hadn’t abandoned ship, another body approaches her after battling its way out of the tent. Pulling down her hood and removing her goggles and mask, a pretty woman with shoulder length ginger hair holds out a gloved hand.
“Karen McGuire, head scenes of crime officer,” she returns her hand to her side once she sees Nuala isn’t going to take it. “I understand this was your house?”
“Yes, it is,” Nuala can’t bring herself to say ‘was.’
“I know you have a lot of questions, but unfortunately, we’re only doing our job. DI McNally was here hours ago. I’m sure he’s been in touch?”
Nuala musters a nod.
“Well, I can only tell you the body has been removed. We’re conducting more forensics at the moment. Seeing if there’s anything we’re missing.”
“You’re not going to find any more bodies.”
Karen frowns.
“I’m not suggesting we will… Unless…”
Why did Nuala say that? She shakes her head.
“Sorry… It’s just so hard… I don’t even understand how Aaron… How he ended up here.”
Karen nods, still suspicious.
“Was he planted here? When we left? Or was he…”
She can’t ask if he was here the whole time. And even if she could, does she want to know the answer?
“That’s what we’re in the middle of investigating. But don’t worry. We’ve got the best in the business out here. We’ll know soon. And I’m sure you’ll be appointed a FLO in due course.”
“A FLO…”
“Aye, a family liaison officer?”
Nuala knows what a FLO is. They had one when Aaron went missing. But she hadn’t considered contacting him.
“Dermott…”
Karen raises a
