He’d been promoted to sergeant in Peterborough after a few gruelling years chasing drug lords as a DC, but made the move down to Rong Valley when they offered him better money. That was the only good thing about the job. Apart from working with his, then, superior, DI Dawson, of course, who taught him everything he knows. He needs to remember to send him a text, actually. Living it up with his wife, Helen, in Spain. Not even buying a place, which, with his police pension, they could definitely afford comfortably. Opting, instead, to rent Airbnbs across the country and moving from city to town to city. Last he spoke to him, must’ve been two weeks ago now, when his old DI had texted him good luck before his first day in Derry, he was in Marbella with plans to visit Gibraltar the very next day.
Nodding politely towards the lady on reception whose name he always forgets, he goes through and climbs the stairs to the incident room before crossing to his office. Smiling smugly at his newly carved plaque on the door before he closes it behind him, he’s intent on fishing out his things and leaving for the day. He’d only been a DI for two years, but when the chance of transferring to his homeland for the first time since he left for university presented itself; he would’ve been a fool to turn it down, especially with his parents’ deteriorating health.
Originally from Portrush, a small seaside resort town on the north coast, Derry is less than an hour drive from his family home, and he promised his sister, Lindsay, that he would help pull his weight with the care of their parents after being out of the country for longer than two decades. Not only that, but Northern Ireland is still thriving with crime and policework, unlike Rong Valley, where the two biggest stories were committed by the same family, albeit ten years apart.
“Sir?”
McNally looks up from his desk, where he was just putting the finishing touches to paperwork, to find DS Ferguson’s head peering through the gap in the door.
“Come in, Ferguson.”
Closing the door after him, Ferguson crosses to his desk.
“This doesn’t look promising,” McNally nods to the bulging file in Ferguson’s arms, where sheets stick out at all angles.
Thoughts of an early night in front of the TV and a few glasses of wine are out the window.
“It isn’t, I’m afraid, sir.”
Placing the file down on the relatively empty desk, DS Ferguson blows out whilst flicking his overgrown fringe out of his face.
“Builders working on the dual carriageway on the Glenshane Road have called in a body found on one of their sites.”
McNally’s eyes expand in surprise.
“I’m listening…”
“SOCOs are still at the scene, but statements have been accounted for and the body has been removed. Currently with the pathologists, but judging by where the body was found and the length of time since death… I’d bet my mortgage that the body is that of Aaron Parker, leader and founder of the Everyone Unite Party.”
He taps the file in front of them both. McNally nods his head, not needing to initially look down or inspect the file. Although in England three years ago when Parker went missing, he followed the story religiously. The misper case shocked Northern Ireland as Parker was making waves with his dominance in politics for the Foyle constituency. Foul play was suspected, but couldn’t be established. Members of both opposing parties and underground organisations were questioned thoroughly, but kept tight lipped. To this day, his disappearance was a mystery… Until now.
“Do we know cause of death?”
“Pathologists believe it to be a head injury. Hard to establish now after all these years and the fact that he was dug out of a building site. His body being there for so long left him vulnerable to the elements and wildlife. They said they’d fast track it through, though.”
“Grand, well… Let’s scope it out, and then it looks like we’ve a family to speak to. Would you like to join me?”
Chapter Six:
“Michelle! Your dinner’s getting cold,” Nuala screeches, the vein in her head fit to burst. “I’m not calling you again, if you’re not down here in five seconds then I’m giving it to the dog.”
“Alright, alright,” Michelle appears at the top of the stairs, one earphone hanging limply across her chest, the other blasting the new Lewis Capaldi song in her ear, “keep your knags on. And Pepper died years ago, you can’t keep using that threat.”
Rolling her eyes, Nuala turns and retreats into the dining room, her recently vacated chicken hardening on her plate. She’d had to take up the cooking in the years before Aaron’s disappearance as he wasn’t in the house that often. She’d burnt toast before… Still does now if she’s rushing around in the mornings. She’d got much better, but after her long day in work today, being used as a human coat rack for discarded and unwanted items by people leaving the changing rooms, she just wasn’t fit to stand and slave over the hobs. She’d done well to ignore the niggling voice at the back of her head taunting her to just fetch a takeaway on the way home, and whooped when she’d wrestled out some sweet potato fries from the bottom of the freezer. Healthier than chips, right? It wouldn’t do her, or Michelle, any good to keep scoffing fatty food. They’d both gone up a few dress sizes since Aaron’s disappearance.
Michelle slugs through to join her, but before she goes to sit down opposite her, she suddenly stands bolt upright, even taking her eyes from her phone, which is Nuala’s initial inclination that something’s wrong.
“Who’s that?”
She’s gazing in front of her, through the window. Twisting around, Nuala
