Red Ribbons (37 page)

Perhaps if they hadn’t been so consumed with each other’s company, they would have noticed certain things about the castello that they’d overlooked. A lesson learned when young stays with you forever. He had no intention of falling victim to that weakness again: not noticing important contradictions that could turn out to be significant in the end. At the time, neither of them had thought it strange that, despite the fact that no children lived at the cleric’s castello, there had been items there for them to enjoy. They had never thought to wonder why the rocking horse was in the room with all the windows, or why the bishop kept the best toys in his private rooms. Instead, they had accepted these toys and arrangements at face value, which had made their stay at the castello a bigger adventure than it would otherwise have been.

He had prayed with Silvia in the tiny church down in the basement,
a room that was a smaller version of The Cloisters in Suvereto, with its curved walls and arches. He remembered the iron banisters on the stone staircase heading down, cold to the touch, and the steps, steep and narrow. Sometimes they’d giggled, hands over their mouths, trying to keep their silence all the way to the bottom. At first he had liked being down there with Silvia. Away from the intense heat of the afternoons, the air had been cooler there, more welcoming. He’d liked to listen to her pray, watch her go deep inside herself, kneeling below Jesus on the crucifix, at peace with her creator. Looking back, he knew even then how special she was.

At first, when he went on his night prowls, he’d gone alone, not wanting to expose Silvia to the sins of the flesh he had witnessed, the way Mother and men had behaved. He wanted to protect her from that. It was only when he’d thought it was safe that he’d brought her with him, when the attention of the bishop to his mother had decreased, and his mother’s mood had deteriorated with it. In the dark, they’d crept through the corridors like shadows, both of them enjoying the secrecy and the heady sense of disobeying the rules. He had not known she would take to wandering alone. If he had, he would have insisted on following her.

Yesterday at Cronly, he had had very little time to spend in his old bedroom, but he had taken out the lock of her hair. He still felt such disappointment thinking about Caroline. She had been exactly how he remembered Silvia. Perhaps Kate would have enjoyed the Castello de Luca. People with sensitivity are so much better equipped to appreciate the delights of the imagination. Silvia, too, had that gift. When he had laid out Caroline, she had looked just like Silvia at first, as beautiful as the last time he’d seen her. He had made a point of everything being perfect, right down to the last detail, from her hair to the ribbons, then laying her body exactly right and resting her head just as he remembered.

KATE LEFT HER FIFTH MESSAGE ON DECLAN’S MOBILE. She knew he was due at work in less than half an hour, and the chances of getting him there were slim after he started his Monday morning meetings. Frustrated, the next call she made was to Sophie, confirming that she would pick up Charlie from school, with instructions to put him down for a nap if Kate was still out when the two of them got back home. Kate wasn’t the only one leaving messages. She had already received half a dozen calls from O’Connor, but she wasn’t ready to talk to him yet.

‘Charlie, hurry up in that bedroom. We’re going to be late.’

Kate brushed her hair, tying it back in a tight ponytail. Her eyes looked as if she had spent the previous night lowering double vodkas.

‘Charlie, I’m warning you. Come on.’

‘I can’t find my shoes.’

She flung open the bedroom door, full of tiredness and frustration, but when she saw her son standing there alone, he suddenly looked so small in his blue school uniform that it stopped her in her tracks. She smiled at him.

‘Okay buster, let’s look together.’

Kate took him by the hand. His grip was tight, fingers stretched to hold on to hers. It didn’t take long to find the shoes. She sat him on her knee and pulled up his socks, before putting the shoes on.

‘I’m tying the laces, Mom. I can do it.’

‘Okay – you do the first knot, and I’ll do the second.’

‘But that’s cheating.’

‘No it isn’t, Charlie. It’s sharing.’

Kate checked her phone again – still no messages from Declan.

‘Mom, I can’t find my schoolbag.’

‘It’s in the hall, Charlie, come on, we’re late. You don’t want to upset Mrs Evans.’

‘Pooh to Mrs Evans.’

‘You don’t mean that! Now come on, monkey.’

≈

Kate waved to Charlie through the school gates. The noise and mayhem of a Monday morning in the yard was just one step above organised chaos. It didn’t take long for Mrs Evans to get Charlie’s class together in a line, huddled tight; they looked like a rope in danger of unravelling at any moment. Before Kate walked away, Charlie turned to her again, waving as if he’d just remembered she was still standing there. He gave her one of his biggest smiles before turning away and leaving his home life temporarily behind him.

There was no point putting off phoning O’Connor any longer. He picked up her call, again before it got to the second ring.

‘About time too, Kate.’

‘Good morning, Detective.’

‘I’ve been trying to get through to you all morning.’

‘Hardly, seeing as it’s only 9.30.’

‘Nolan has sent Gunning to Tuscany. He wants him to apply pressure to the Italian police, inject more speed into the answers we’re getting. As of now, he’s landing on Italian soil.’

‘So Nolan is taking the connection seriously?’

‘Call it having a nose for these things, or bloody desperation, but, yeah, he thinks there’s something in it – or if there isn’t, he wants it ruled out before any more time is wasted.’

‘He’s right.’

‘Kate, where are you now?’

‘At Charlie’s school, I’m just leaving.’

‘I’ve been thinking about your theory, about our killer’s progression.’

‘What about it?’

‘Well, I told Nolan about it. He wasn’t exactly jumping up and down with joy.’

‘It’s all about mindset, O’Connor. We’re dealing with psychotic behaviour here. Our killer is driven, probably more driven than you or I.’

‘Speak for yourself, Kate. I’m more than bloody driven right now.’

‘But you’re not delusional, at least not yet. Our guy is fixated on the task in hand. Everything he does, he believes it is utterly necessary. In his perception of things, he may feel that he’s been driven to look for someone else to fulfil his emotional needs. Either way, he is looking forward. There is no other option for him at this point.’

‘Kate, where are you going to now?’

‘They don’t expect me at Ocean House, so I’ll be working from home today. I want to go over all the images and notes again. Something else might just raise its head.’

‘There’s a televised reconstruction going out later, they’re filming part of it now. Is there anything you want to throw into the mix?’

‘What about the Tuscany connection?’

‘Nolan thinks it’s too early, and I agree with him, but Rohan has released details on the crucifix. At the moment we are playing it low key, stating it may be significant or it may not.’

‘It will still have an impact. The media is a powerful tool, O’Connor, you know that. My advice is to get everything you possibly can in there without instilling panic, but the visuals of both girls’ last movements is going to hit home. You can be sure of that.’

‘Leave that one with me.’

‘Okay, but one other thing, O’Connor?’

‘What?’

‘The photographs from Tuscany, they’re only of the burial site. Did you get any of Silvia Vaccaro before she died?’

‘I’ve asked for them – I should have them this morning. Either way, once Gunning gets to Livorno, he’ll use his charm, but I know what you’re thinking.’

‘Similar features to our victims.’

‘It would certainly make things nice and tidy, Kate.’

‘Let me know when you hear back.’

‘You’ll be one of the first people I call.’

I EXPECTED MORE FROM DR EBBS. I GUESS I EXPECTED him to believe me. When he didn’t, it felt like the way it was before, when things like that mattered to me. Not being believed is of no consequence when you don’t care – but when you do, it disables you, like losing your voice, the ability to speak. Some piece of you dies inside. It has to, otherwise you’d go completely mad.

At first, when I was with the good doctor, I was so angry I wanted to fly into a rage. But then I remembered. It’s when you are most frustrated, when you are struggling to make people listen to you, that they want to listen the least. They start to look at you as if you are insane. The more hopeless it becomes, the more desperate you are to be believed, and the more they begin to doubt every word you say.

It didn’t take long for my anger to turn inside. I scolded myself for my foolish eagerness, for telling him everything I’d learned from Bridget. He should have sensed how it had turned my world upside-down. How could I have been so stupid? It was like I was right back to the time after the fire, when I knew the truth, when I knew someone had killed Amy. Now my head wants to explode, knowing he has killed again.

Blast Dr Ebbs to hell, what does he know? All his fancy talk, all his promises. ‘I’m with you all the way,’ he said, wanting to help me, worried about how everyone else had let me down. He even had the gall to question my silence. I should have known he would be no different to the others. I know well enough that I’m speaking the truth.

When Bridget came this morning, she was taken aback by my questions. Her surprise was to be expected I suppose, what with me not normally being the talkative type. Even if I had enquired about the weather, she would have been surprised. But afterwards, she at least listened. I explained to her what I’d heard, that I’d only got bits of it and that I needed to know the rest. Without telling her all the reasons why, she told me everything she knew. Bridget being Bridget, she had the whole story.

The more I heard about the murders, the more I felt like someone had slapped me in the face, roaring at me to do something, anything, other than nothing. I was afraid, for sure, remembering things from before, like some awful dream I was being forced to live again, with all its vivid horror. Only it was worse now because at the back of my mind, the silent roar was gaining voice, telling me that I had allowed it to happen.

I had not known where my questions would lead me. Maybe I thought it would turn out to be nothing. Maybe I thought I’d imagined all the similarities with Amy. But hearing Bridget recount the details, the pieces of the jigsaw fell into place and I felt more convinced than ever that what I was hearing was exactly what had happened to Amy. That realisation, that conviction, scared the living daylights out of me.

When Amy died, I had no fight left in me to argue, but after listening to Bridget I realised that if what she said was true, it meant this time, more than ever, I had to make people listen. This time it had to be different.

I was careful with Bridget, but then I didn’t want to burden her with the truth. I didn’t want to scare her. She would have wanted to help in her own way, but I knew Bridget wasn’t going to be able to make things happen. Dr Ebbs had believed me the first time, so there was no reason for me to think he wouldn’t believe me again. I got that one badly wrong.

Now it’s as if everything trapped inside me since Amy’s death has
been stirred up again, like a demon that has been there all along, waiting for someone to unlock the door. I don’t know what to do with this demon, but I know he won’t go away.

Bridget was kind this morning. She could tell how upset I was and asked if I wanted her to tell Dr Ebbs that I was unwell. I said no. She put me back into bed after my nausea, told me she’d bring me down a light breakfast on a tray. She washed my face with a cold face cloth, giving me instructions to stay underneath the covers. I lay there as she cleaned the sink of vomit. She did her best to rid the place of the stench. I felt the closest to being loved I’ve felt for a very long time. In a funny way, knowing that Bridget cared helped me before the anger came.

Arriving to see Dr Ebbs, I was determined. The wave of anger that had spread through me after Bridget left had put fire back in my soul. It was the kind of anger I remembered feeling before, the kind that consumes you, but at least tells you you’re alive. I held back at first, not sure which way to go about telling Dr Ebbs. I was afraid of blurting out the whole thing. I recalled how that tack had backfired on me last time around. People had looked at me as if I was mad. Well, I guess I had been. So I knew that today, I needed to be calm. I tried to judge the situation as best I could. But from the moment I opened my mouth, I knew he didn’t believe me. I recognised that look from the get-go. Whenever they ask stupid questions, you know you’re in trouble because you know what they’re thinking:
Let the lunatic have her say, and then ignore her.

When he tried to placate me, something else changed inside. I wanted to scream. I knew he wasn’t listening. The hope that you can change someone’s mind fades quickly. I saw exactly how it was going to play out, and I was damned if I was going to go through all that disbelief and frustration again. I wanted out of there, and quick.

So I swallowed the tablets he gave me. I knew I had no choice. The nurse checked I had swallowed them, as she was instructed to do. I
waited until she was out of earshot. It didn’t take much to force the tablets back up. Bridget had left some of the cleaning stuff with me in case I was sick again. I cleaned everything up, even though I was weak. But whatever weakness my body felt, my head felt strong, stronger than it had felt for a very long time.

By the time I was finished, the place looked and smelled as perfect as when the nurse had left. I sat looking at Amy’s photograph for a long time before I finally put it under my pillow. When I did, I thought long and hard about how I was going to make things different.