Can Anybody Help Me? (15 page)

‘We can carry on without him for the moment. I know you've all had an awful shock, but I'm sure you appreciate we have to ask questions. It's important we find out as much as we can, as quickly as we can.'

A quick, sharp nod.

‘Can you tell me a little bit about the baby's father?'

‘That bollix.'

This time Mrs Twohy didn't interrupt her son.

Claire uncapped her pen. ‘Miriam wasn't in a relationship with Mr …' she checked her notes ‘… O'Doherty.'

‘Not recently, no.'

Mrs Twohy took over the conversation again.

‘He lives in Australia now. But Miriam was with Paul on and
off for years. They were part of the same crowd in college. Here, I'll show you.'

Standing up, she moved quickly towards a large mahogany bureau, which had been wedged between the TV and the wall. A shoebox was peeping out of the top drawer and she pulled it out and rested her hand on the lid for a moment before opening it and taking out a bundle of photographs. She handed them to Claire before sitting down again. All of the pictures at the top of the pile featured Miriam, and all were dust-free. This was not the first time that box had been opened in recent days.

Claire leafed slowly through the snapshots, watching as Miriam Twohy grew from chubby toddler to eye-linered teenager. Her brother was in some of the pictures too, the resemblance much more marked when they were pictured side by side as children with matching yellow shirts and brown trousers.

‘There's just the two of you?'

Gary Twohy nodded.

‘Yeah.'

Miriam's mother shivered and Claire immediately regretted the use of the present tense. She leafed through the remaining photographs. The childhood ones revealed nothing other than the fact that the Twohys had lived in Ballyawlann all their lives and yes, everyone did have red-painted ‘feature walls' in the 1990s. But a trio of shots at the bottom of the pile held more interest. They had clearly all been taken on the day of Miriam's graduation and were the same size and shape as the picture that had been framed on the wall. In one, which also featured the blonde-haired girl, Miriam had been caught mid-laugh. The two young women were clutching their parchments and
had been distracted by someone or something to the right of the camera. In a second, Miriam was on her own, posing awkwardly under a tree with her degree rolled in her left hand. The third photo was a group shot, four young people posing together in front of the camera while three young men walked past in the background. One of the three looked familiar and Claire stared at it, trying and failing to remember where she had seen the profile before.

‘That's Paul.'

Fidelma Twohy rose and pointed out the tall man with the dark curls who was standing beside Miriam, holding her hand.

‘The fair-haired girl is Deirdre, they were best friends in college and the chap holding her hand is … oh what was his name? Jesus, he was in this house often enough. They were going out too, the four of them used to hang around together. Oh what's his name …?'

Nervously, she clasped her hands together and began to twist her tarnished gold wedding ring around her finger. Her son reached forward and touched her hand.

‘Here, sit down, Ma. Mind yourself. It'll come to ya. It's not important anyway, is it?'

‘Well.' Claire stared at the picture, concentrating on the four in the foreground. But something about the second group was still niggling at her.

‘It's best to get all the information we can, really. Look, Mrs Twohy …' She turned and held the woman's gaze. ‘What I'm trying to do here is build up a picture of Miriam. Who she was, where she went, who she knew.'

‘She didn't go anywhere. I've told yous this, I've told yous all this. She got up, she went to work, she collected Réaltín, she
put her to bed. That was it. She did nothing! Nothing to deserve …' Her voice wobbled, but she held on tight and recovered. ‘Nothing to deserve this. Jesus, sometimes it feels like yous want to blame her or something.'

‘Not at all.' Claire reached forward, and patted her hand awkwardly. ‘In cases like these we often have a chief suspect. Someone who has threatened harm before … someone who might have a reason to wish the vic—'

She swallowed before continuing. ‘The person who has died. To wish them ill.'

Now she sounded like her old English teacher. She took a deep breath. ‘But from what you told us there was no one like that in Miriam's life. Her partner, or her ex-partner is away in Australia, she didn't seem to have a large circle of friends or a particularly active social life. So I just need to learn more about her. Who she was. Who she was meeting that night. We need to find out what happened, and we need to do that as quickly as possible.'

The older woman flinched. ‘Are yous afraid he'll do it again?'

Claire shook her head. ‘I don't know. I really don't. But we have to keep that as a possibility. So any information you can give us is really important. We need to know where Miriam went that night and why.'

From the hall came the sound of a baby snuffling. Gary rose and left the room without a word. His mother shook her head.

‘Miriam never went out, even. That picture yous gave to the papers, that was from her work Christmas Party, the year before Réaltín was born. That night … that last night, she told me it was a school reunion thing. God forgive me, I didn't think to ask any more than that. I was delighted she was going out, to
be honest with you. We didn't really like Paul, well, you might have guessed that. And since he's been gone, well I was keen on her getting out, you know, meeting people. People like her.'

Her eyes flickered towards the pile of photographs again. It was clear to Claire that people ‘like' the Twohys wouldn't necessarily have university degrees.

‘She said it was some sort of school reunion.'

Fidelma Twohy frowned. ‘It didn't make a huge amount of sense to me. She hadn't seen any of those girls for years. She didn't really have a best friend, to be honest with you. She was pally with Deirdre in college, from the photo.' She pointed towards the wall. ‘But I don't think she really spoke to her anymore. I don't know what happened, they were thick as thieves in college, and then. Well. Things fizzled out, I suppose, after Réaltín came along. Miriam said she didn't have time for anyone else. So when she said she was meeting up with some girls, well, I didn't ask questions really. I kind of encouraged it, to be honest with you. Told her we'd mind the child here, that she should make a night of it. I mean they're all doing it now, aren't they? Having reunions? On the internet and that. God knows they had enough to say to each other back in the day. I thought it might suit her to meet up with a few of them, now they all have babbies. That they'd have more in common.'

Claire remained silent. Several letters proposing ‘reunions' had arrived at her mother's house over the past twenty years. Her mother always faithfully forwarded them on, and Claire, just as faithfully, filed them in the recycling bin. The requests usually came by email these days. The delete button was even handier than the bin. There was only one person from school Claire wanted to be reunited with and he wasn't going to be
turning up in the Square Bar any time soon. She looked over at the fireplace.

‘Maybe Deirdre will be able to help?'

‘She'll be at the funeral.'

Fidelma Twohy took a deep breath and sounded more composed.

‘She rang here last night looking for details. God love her. She was in bits on the phone. She hadn't talked to Miriam in ages, said she had been meaning to ring her …'

‘That's fucking fine for her, isn't it?' Gary came back into the room, a red-faced baby in his arms and the two women looked at him. ‘It's all very fucking well meaning to ring her, isn't it? She wasn't much use to her when the baby was born. None of that college crowd were around then. Apart from that knob Paul.'

‘Language.' Mrs Twohy reached for the baby who was now beginning to complain. Rising from the chair, Claire took another look at the pile of photos in her hand and picked out the shot of Paul. Miriam had been a tall woman, but even in her heels he towered over her. His height was emphasised by his gangly, bony figure, which the graduation robe did nothing to hide. Long, lanky streak of misery, her mother would have called him. Same thing she had said about Aidan, before. He looked a bit like Aidan actually, or how Aidan would have been.

There he was again.

Suppressing the thought, she held the photo away from the bundle, between her two fingers.

‘So, Miriam and Paul met in university? They were in the same class?'

‘Yeah, right!' Gary spat out the words. ‘That was the bleedin' problem, wasn't it, Ma? The wrong fucking class.'

‘Gary.'

But the admonishment had been half-hearted and Gary continued, addressing his comments to Claire this time.

‘That fucker is from Foxrock. He was only messing around with Miriam. I don't know what the fuck she saw in him. She brought him over here once, bleedin' eejit. Wanted to know had me da seen the rugby at the weekend. Knob.'

Claire sat back into the large black chair, still staring at the picture, the feeling that she was missing something niggling at her.

‘Were they going out for long?'

‘On and off through college. He dumped her then after they graduated. She was in bits, so she was. I was delighted, so I was. He fucked off to Australia, good enough for him. Miriam was better off.'

‘But he came back.'

Gary looked at her scornfully.

‘Well, he got her bleedin' pregnant, didn't he? Yeah, he came back. Came back and kipped in her flat, fucking freeloader.'

His mother gave him a sharp glance, but didn't comment.

‘The woman wants to know, Ma. That's what she's here for.'

Gary leant forward on the sofa, his elbows balanced on his knees and eyeballed Claire. ‘Miriam had a grand job, you know? She was set up, living in town, lovely little apartment. Dear gaff, but she was earning enough for it.'

Claire looked down at her notebook. ‘She was already teaching?'

‘Lecturing. Media Studies and English. Sounded like a bit of a fucking doss course to me, to be honest with ya. Teaching students how to watch telly, Jaysus. I'd get an A in that, what?' He gave a jagged smile before continuing.

‘She offered that little fucker a place to stay and six months later she's over here crying, telling me ma she's knocked up and he doesn't want anything to do with it.'

‘So he left her.'

‘Not straight away. He fucked off when she said she was pregnant and then turned up at the hospital the night Réaltín was born, moved back into the flat till the child was three months and then fucked off again. Back to Australia, they're welcome to him. That's the last Miriam heard of him. That's the last anyone heard of him.'

‘He rang me last night.'

Mrs Twohy dug around in her pocket, inserted a soother in the now wriggling child's mouth and then continued.

‘You were gone out, love. He rang the house, here. Said he wanted to say he was sorry. Said he didn't have the money to come home for the funeral, but that he wanted to pass on his regards. He didn't mention the baby.'

For the first time since Claire had arrived, her face crumpled and she reached around the child to grab her arm.

‘He won't take her, will he? Not Réaltín. You don't think he'll take her?'

The question hung in the air for a moment and then, as if she knew she was being spoken about, the child spat out the pacifier and let out an anguished and angry wail.

‘You're alright, sweetheart.' With an ease which came from years of practice, her grandmother pulled her into her shoulder and rocked her gently. ‘You're alright, pet. C'mere to me now.'

Hearing the grandmother's voice shake, it was hard to figure out who was comforting who.

‘He'll be a suspect, won't he?' Gary stood up and walked over to the window, his fist making a tight ball. ‘I know how this goes. It's always the husband, isn't it? Or whoever. Partner. I mean he says he's been in Australia. He'll be a suspect bu'?'

Claire kept her voice even.

‘It's very early days, Gary. But we'll be speaking to everyone who knew her.'

‘You will catch him.'

His voice was low and steady, pauses punctuating the words. Gary turned and walked towards Claire's chair, looming over her. He was not a tall man but his bulk made him intimidating.

‘You will catch that fucker.'

‘We'll do our best, Mr Twohy.'

‘Miriam was …' He took a deep breath and suddenly he too was crying, large salty tears running down either side of the hooked nose. ‘She was the best thing ever to come out of this family. I'm dirt compared to her. I've a record, I might as well say it to ya, you'll find out quick enough anyway.'

Claire, who had already taken note of the assault charge and subsequent conviction on his file, said nothing.

‘I'm bleedin' dirt I am, in comparison to her. She was a star. She got out of here. She was going to make something of herself. That muppet knocked her up, but that was okay, she was okay, she was going to make it. Her and Réaltín were going to have a great life, a proper life. And now some bastard has killed her. And if I find it was Paul fucking O'Doherty, I'll rip his head off with my bare hands, so help me God, I will.'

Claire rose from her seat, forcing him to take a step backwards. He wiped his eyes, and gave her a watery smile.

‘I'm probably a suspect too, and me da. I know how this works. And I'm telling you something, I don't like cops.' He bent closer until she could smell the stale cigarette smoke and the remains of last night's beer on his breath. ‘I don't like cops, but youse are all we have now. You find who killed her. Or I will.'