“I’m a big girl now, Cath… I think I know how to look after myself. And I’m in the middle of Foyleside, what could happen?”
Don’t tempt fate, Cathal almost exclaims out loud, but does well just telling her to be safe before saying he’ll see her tonight. Walking past Jodie’s office, intent on returning to his seat, he decides to knock on the door. Taking the proffered chair on the other side of the desk, he tells his editor what’s happened, who listens contently.
“Right…” she nods her head, biting her bottom lip as he finishes, “so, this could either be a practical joke, or we’ll have to take it very seriously. This is a highly irregular high-profile case. It could be other journalists, ragin’ that you got there first. Or whoever is behind this… Could it be your source?”
Cathal shrugs.
“Did he request any more money?”
“No, he was happy with the fifteen hundred, and why would he tell me to stop writing stories if he was the one approached me?”
“True… Very true. Well, the only thing I can suggest at the moment is to take things very carefully. I’m sure the police won’t be too happy if we try and contact them now after all that’s been said… But maybe best to take your by-line out of the paper for future stories around this case, aye?”
“You’re still going to let me cover it?” Cathal smiles, previous worries abandoned.
“Of course, you started it. Why would I ship it over to someone else? That is, of course, if you’re not comfortable-“
“No, no. I want it. I’m just unhappy that my by-line won’t be there.”
Jodie nods and smiles.
“It’s still your article, future employers will understand if they request to see your portfolio. Probably best keeping you safe now, and your sister… That’s the main thing?”
Cathal nods before thanking her and returning to his desk. Feeling a bit better, he clicks to archive the message just in case, before trolling social media to see if he can find anything more about this body. Starting with the family. The mum and son aren’t on any platforms, not that he would consider contacting them through that forum anyway. Turns out he’s the same age as the first sister, Danielle, but bizarrely they share no mutual friends on Facebook. That’s completely unheard of in a town as small as Derry. Someone always knows someone who knows you. Her Facebook is relatively private, with nothing but her profile picture, name and hometown on show.
Searching for the youngest sister, Michelle, he smirks as he sees she’s the complete opposite. Her entire life on show for the world to see. Silly videos of herself and selfies plastered across the page. Desperate for likes and striving to be virtually famous like all these idiots who make a living out of having no talent. Earning six figure sums from recording ten second videos of themselves swearing by some product or another. Michelle has everything on her profile set to public. Over 1,000 friends. And one of them, he’s gleeful to see, is his sister.
Chapter Twenty-Three:
2016
_____
“Oh, you need to grow up, there are more important things going on right now!”
And with that, Nuala slams the door to the living room, leaving Danielle to digest what she had just said. It had been a long day. People were still out searching now; they even had the Foyle Search and Rescue out patrolling the River Foyle. The charity created for people who enter the river, whether accidentally or not. The family had told DI Quigley that it was a waste of time and resources, there’s no way their da would jump the bridge, the most common form of suicide in the city. But stranger things have happened… Her mother and Danielle had just had a huge fight, each not wanting to be the one to break the news to Ritchie. Nuala not wanting to because she needed to go back out and join the search. Danielle, because they hadn’t spoken in nearly a year, despite him being home for Christmas and Easter.
Guilt swirls in Danielle’s hungover stomach now. She knows her ma is right, but after so long it’s just going to be too hard. He needs to hear it from someone else, he probably wouldn’t even answer the phone to her anyway. Her mother’s voice carried out from the kitchen tells her she has given up and bitten the bullet. She listens attentively to her delicately telling him his father has gone missing before she jumps with the sound of the doorbell. That wouldn’t be him… Unless he’s lost his key? It’s probably the police back. Would they have news?
Crossing the hall, she opens the door to girlish cries. In flies Katie, Georgia, Abbie and Steph, hugging her and dragging her back into the living room, everyone talking at once. Asking different questions and consoling her that everything will be alright and he’s safe. A plastic bag emptied onto the coffee table with crisps and sweets and chocolate. Like they’d just come over for a film, or a sleepover. Like they’ve done dozens of times before. But this time, she knows that something’s wrong… That something’s just not right.
“We’ve heard nothing from him,” Danielle holds back her tears as they finally drop onto the sofa and silence falls, “he’s made no contact. They’ve tried the hotel, he’s not there. They’re currently checking through CCTV and contacting people who were at the party. But nothing has come up. They even have people searching the Foyle,” she squeals the last sentence, burying her face in her hands.
The girls instantly envelope her once more. Grabbing tissues, offering tea, rubbing her back. After formalities are finished, they put on a chick flick for some form of normality, background noise more than anything, and sit in their own thoughts, battling for something to come out to make everything better. Of course, they
