“Anyway, please, get me on this case, won’t you?”
Dermott is downplaying the arguments the two would have about him landing back at all hours and being absent from the dinner table even if he’s sitting chewing. His mind somewhere else. She’d nearly had a stroke when she’d found out he was shot at almost a decade ago. His retirement was the best thing he could do to save their marriage.
“What about Grainne?”
Dermott frowns and shakes his head as if he’d suggested a tiny obstacle in the road.
“I’ll deal with her, just you get me sorted.”
“I feel like I’m going to regret this, but… Okay.”
“You promise?”
“I’ll try everything I can, but I can’t make any promises.”
Chapter Twenty-One:
By the time the doorbell goes again, the Parkers are up and dressed, with the majority of their untouched breakfasts scraped into the bin. Dermott is ushered into the living room after they’ve all disbanded from their tearful greetings and hugs. Collected on the sofas with mugs of tea rested on the coffee table, all eyes are on him.
“Thank you so much for coming over, I understand you’re retired,” Nuala holds a sodden tissue to her face, “I’m sorry."
“It was a no brainer. As soon as I heard, I’d wanted to make contact, so coming and refilling my place is not something to apologise for. I wanted to do it.”
The family thank him again, tears in all their eyes. Dermott had become like an uncle to the kids, and a good friend to Nuala. He was more than a confidant.
“I’m just so sorry that this isn’t what you wanted, ideally...”
It’s the only thing he can think to say. For months after, when the search was ongoing, and it became apparent Aaron wasn’t going to just walk in off the street like nothing happened, the best case scenario they all thought of was that he was having an affair and jetted off without telling them. Of course, his passport was resting in his bedside drawer. His bank account unscathed. All of his clothes, now shipped to charity shops, lying idly in his wardrobe.
“Have you heard anything? From the police?” Ritchie asks.
“Just as much as you have, I’m afraid,” Dermott leans forward and squeezes Ritchie’s bare knee, protruding out from his ripped jeans, “but as soon as I know something, I will be informing you all right away, you know that already.”
The family all nod. Dermott had been pivotal in their grieving process as soon as he walked in the door with DI Quigley that first day Aaron hadn’t come home.
“So… A head injury?” Michelle wrinkles her nose to stop the tears.
Dermott nods.
“And who are they speaking to? I hope they’re looking into those underground organisations. They’re at the heart of this, I know they are.”
Nuala calms herself down from upsetting her kids as Dermott raises a hand, palm forward, and smiles at her. He knows all this. He’s heard it before.
“I’ve been told investigations are underway. With it reappearing in the media, it might do you a favour. A blessing in disguise. Whoever it was might become sloppy. Give something away. It’s brought the incident to light again, when they thought they could hide forever. Every avenue is being investigated, trust me.”
“If DI Quigley couldn’t find out what happened, what makes you think DI McNally will be able to?” Danielle stares into space, too afraid to look at Dermott.
“We don’t, we just have to believe and trust in the justice system. But we have new eyes, and a body… Evidence. A lot of things we didn’t have before.”
“But it happened over three years ago,” Ritchie shakes his head, “CCTV won’t have been kept that long. And if you ask ordinary Joe Bloggs off the street what he was doing three years ago, there’s no hope of him remembering.”
“Stranger things have happened, and trials have lasted longer. Sure, there are loads of cases where people are asked to recall what happened or what they were doing decades before. If it means something to someone, they won’t forget.”
The family take this in as the doorbell goes again. Ritchie, the closest to the living room door, stands to answer it. Muffled greetings are exchanged before the living room door swings open and in steps Steph. Danielle bursts into fresh tears and rushes over to be consoled by her best friend. They cling to each other, crying and whining uncontrollably, no one having a clue what they’re saying. They’re not even sure what they’re saying themselves. When things have settled down, Steph continues to apologise, her hands entwined with Danielle’s. They’re just catching her up with what has happened so far when Dermott’s phone goes. He apologises and excuses himself, all eyes following him out of the room as he closes the living room door. It’s Ferguson. He steps through into the dining room and looks out of the window overlooking the front garden.
“Ol’ boy. Any updates?”
“We’ve just heard something back from the mole in the Ardóimid’s organisation. It doesn’t look good.”
Chapter Twenty-Two:
Why won’t she answer her phone? Panicking, Cathal does laps of the small space out the back kept primarily for interviews. Clumsily banging against the rickety table and sidestepping the chairs, he urges Orla to pick up the phone.
“Come on, come on, come on!”
On his fourth try, he gets through.
“Jesus Christ, Cathal, what?”
Cathal sighs out in relief. If she’s annoyed at him for hounding her, nothing bad has happened to her… Yet.
“Where are you?”
“I’m in work, you dick. What’s your problem?”
Cathal nods, taking the seat usually reserved for sources. His heartbeat starts to resume to normal.
“Look, just… Keep safe, okay? Don’t be talking to any strangers.”
He doesn’t want to scare Orla by telling her about the email he received. She may be 17, but after the life they’ve had of being abandoned by their parents at young ages, Cathal forced to grow up before his time to make sure they didn’t
