And with that, she marches out of the room, grabbing her keys from the shelf in the hall and slamming the door. They watch her trudge down the drive, waving at them to hurry, tapping her finger off her watch, before climbing in her car and reversing out onto the road and speeding off. They stare at the space where she was seconds ago, before all reverting their eyes to one another, confused expressions on all their faces. What just happened?
Chapter Fifty-Three:
2016
_____
The sounds of car doors slamming are the first inclination that something is wrong. Danielle hops up from the sofa and pods over to the living room window, overlooking the front garden. From there, she can see the approach of DI Quigley and DS Ferguson, climbing the drive. Shouting for her mum, she stirs a snoozing Ritchie on the armchair next to her. Dermott and Michelle are already in the kitchen, the latter trying and failing to eat a slab of dry toast.
When the detectives make it to the back door and knock twice, Nuala has skirted to the island just as Dermott opens the door. Stepping through, they smile at the family. But it isn’t a confident smile. More of a sympathetic smile. They’ve come up short. Again. Collecting at the island, DI Quigley sighs as he takes a seat.
“It’s not good news, I’m afraid.”
There had been a call that someone reported seeing their father working in a bookies in Letterkenny, a large town in County Donegal, about a half hour west of Derry. They hadn’t had their hopes up, if he was looking to up and leave, you’d think he would go somewhere a bit further away? Somewhere with no trace of him or chance of being spotted. He was a relatively well-known man, even in Letterkenny they would have recognised him.
“It wasn’t your father, although there was a bit of a resemblance, I can see where he had gotten the idea.”
It has been over two weeks since Aaron’s disappearance. Both underground organisations and opposing parties had been spoken with, but neither had heard anything that had happened that night. All CCTV was checked, but there was no sign of him. It’s almost as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. The only sign that he existed, and was at the party at the Waterfoot Hotel at all, was the finding of his phone several days ago. However, it brought no new leads.
“Them bastards have something to do with it, I just know it.”
Nuala glares at the detectives, nursing Michelle’s head in her arms.
“Nuala… We’ve been through this,” Quigley takes a deep breath in.
“I still think there’s more to it. Some things they aren’t saying… He wouldn’t leave us. He wouldn’t leave all his hard work. He wouldn’t…”
She can’t bring herself to say ‘kill himself.’ The search of the River Foyle had been called off. It’s summer, so the water is relatively warm. Warm enough for a dead body to float anyway. She just has a twisting feeling in her gut that he never entered the river. That something has happened. Something awful.
“Look… Nuala, I’m sorry to tell you this…” DI Quigley stares at the hob on the island instead of at Nuala, or any other family member, directly. “But people go missing all the time… Some, only for hours. Others… Days. Many of them children, the vast majority of them showing up. Missing adults? Now, that’s a different story… If he has disappeared, I’m sure there is a good enough reason as to why. He doesn’t want to be found… And maybe, for the sake of yourself and your children… Well, maybe that’s a good thing?”
Chapter Fifty-Four:
2019
_____
“Maybe we should call in back-up?”
McNally accelerates down the Limavady Road towards the Crown. Taylor’s cleaner had rudely informed them that he spends every Saturday evening down there, and that’s the only time she can come in and clean up after him. Not that the place looked like it needed a tidy yesterday evening when they last visited him.
“I mean… Boss… Going in all guns blazing hasn’t worked well in the past. And especially not after already lifting Sargent hours ago… Word will have gotten round. Backs will be up; tensions will be high... They might be suspecting something.”
“Call it in if you wish, Ferguson. I just want to get to him before he hears that we’re looking for him. I don’t want to give him the chance to skip town or go into hiding.”
“Sir, there’s no way Sargent will tell him we’re looking for him. There’s not a chance he could do that without shooting himself in the foot. Unless he has a death wish.”
“Be that as it may, I’m not taking any chances.”
Ferguson decides to send Fleming and O’Connor a courteous message informing them of their strategy just as they round the corner to the Crown pub to the east of the city. There, they see him standing, slouched against the outside wall right in front of them, phone to his ear. Alone. Pulling up right beside him, McNally jerks off his seatbelt and looks over towards Ferguson, eyebrows raised and eyes wide.
“After me.”
Stepping out resistantly, Ferguson crosses the road to see Taylor looking at them with amusement.
“Right, I’ve company here… I’ll have to speak to you later. Right, right, bye.”
Ending the call, Taylor pockets the phone and takes one final drag of his cigarette before grinding it into the ashtray on the table in front of him.
“Well, gentlemen… Long time, no see,” the lines of his forehead prominent as he observes them, “on another wild goose chase, are we?”
Does he know?
“William Taylor, I am arresting you on suspicion of
