Angel of Death

‘What does forensic say about how she died? Did she drown in the sea?’

Declan flipped pages, leaning forward to read, stabbed a finger at a page. ‘Ah, you’re right, there – sorry, I did notice it, but I’d forgotten. I’m working on a few other cases at the same time. You know how it is. There’s no salt water in her lungs at all, she was dead when she went into the sea. But there’s water in the lungs – only it’s tap water. Probably died in a bath.’

Neil began to smile. ‘Got him.’

‘Ah, it’s a joy, entirely, isn’t it?’ Declan sympathised. ‘Come on, now, and I’ll find you a bed for the night. I know a nice quiet place where you can get bed and breakfast for twenty pounds. My wife and I would be very happy to have you eat your dinner with us. She’s making braised steak in Guinness tonight. With dumplings, light as air. I tell you, man, you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven. Maureen is a wonderful cook. I’m a very lucky man. Are you married, Neil?’

‘No, not yet, but I’m working on it.’

Declan grinned. ‘Good man.’

Terry Finnigan got the phone call early next morning while he was eating toast and marmalade and drinking coffee in a misty morning light.

‘Not good news, I’m afraid,’ Bernie told him, wheezing. ‘They’ve found the body. It came up in a trawler’s net, off Ireland. They identified it by the teeth, and some old operating scar – and she was pregnant, of course.’

Terry shut his eyes, breathing carefully. What bloody bad luck. All these weeks and then some fisherman nets it. In another couple of months there would only have been bones; no evidence left. Why couldn’t it have stayed down there?

He swallowed, asked flatly, ‘Has your man tracked down the other girl yet? Miranda.’

‘Not exactly, but he did pick up some gossip about the detective on the case flying to Greece last week. He wasn’t booked for a holiday, maybe that’s where she is?’

‘Greece?’ Terry was astounded, his mind racing.

‘Yeah. Anyway, warn Sean to expect a visit, get your brief on side, ready for when they come. Keep me in touch with what’s going on, won’t you, Terry?’

‘Sure, of course.’

‘My two boys are coming to see you tomorrow. Andy and my computer expert, Liam. Ten o’clock, at your office, OK?’

‘OK,’ Terry said indifferently, no longer caring. What did his business matter compared with what might happen now to his son?

Sean was still in bed, his blinds down, the room in soft shadow. Terry crashed open the door, yanked the sheet off him as he walked past to pull the blinds up and drench the room with morning light.

‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ Sean spluttered, sitting up.

His father looked down at the boy’s naked body in that tumbled, heated nest, his temper rising. Look at him! All he thought about was enjoying himself; partying all night, sleeping all morning. It was Sean’s self-indulgence, his obsession with his own pleasure, that had brought all this about. If he hadn’t slept with that girl none of this would be happening. Rage filled him. He slapped his son round that sulky, flushed face, still stupid with sleep, and saw incredulous amazement come into Sean’s eyes.

He had never struck the boy before. He should have done. Maybe some of this was his fault? He had brought the boy up as if he were a prince, given him everything he ever wanted, often before he had even realised he wanted it. No wonder Sean thought he had a right to take what he liked, do what he liked. He had never before met real life, been forced to pay for what he had done.

‘Get up, get dressed, come downstairs. We’ve got to talk.’

‘You hit me, you bastard!’ Sean’s hand curled into a fist. ‘I’m not a kid. You’ve no right to lay a finger on me! I should knock your face through the back of your head.’

‘They’ve found the body.’

Sean was very still, staring. ‘They can’t have.’

‘They have.’

‘I weighted it down . . . it couldn’t float up.’

‘It didn’t. It was dredged up in fishing nets.’

Sean went white. ‘Where?’ he whispered.

‘Ireland.’

Desperately the boy gasped, ‘But by now it must be . . . unrecognisable. It’s been down there for weeks. They won’t be able to tell who it is!’