Susan
Thursday
Jon works for GS, a French bank, based in Dublin’s financial services center, having moved strategically between various big European banks over the last fifteen years. He’s now head of Corporate Trust, which means a car space, his own office and a personal assistant. When I need to call Jon, I usually ring his mobile, so I don’t know Benedict, his assistant, at all, and as I look up Jon’s work number I’m crossing everything that Benedict will give me the information I need.
My call is answered promptly by a man who sounds reasonably young and very English. “Jon Mullane’s office. How may I help?”
“Oh, hi. My name is”—why don’t I have a name ready?—“Jenny Jones, and I’m calling to see if I left my wallet in Jon Mullane’s office last week. I met with him on Wednesday morning at…at ten.”
“Hmm, no wallet was handed in and…I don’t see any meetings last Wednesday morning in his diary. He wasn’t actually here at that time—could it have been another day last week?”
He wasn’t in his office the morning Savannah was killed.
I swallow.Keep it together. I need more information. I really want toask where he was, but that would sound weird. Maybe I can find out what time he came into the office.
“Oh wait, I think it was later on Wednesday. He was in later that day, right?” Bella gurgles in my arms and I bounce her gently as Benedict checks.
“He was, but again, I’m not seeing any in-person meetings scheduled, just a conference call at two…”
“It wasn’t scheduled. I was just passing and stopped in.” I have absolutely no idea if this is likely or at all believable. “I’m a friend.”
“Ah! You’re the lady with the red hair! It’s me you met when you were here. Sorry, I didn’t make the connection, I misheard your name at the start of the call.”
Lady with the red hair.
“OK, so let me just check what time it was”—he makes a clicking noise with his tongue as she waits—“ah, there you are, Greta, you signed the visitors’ book at 11:04 a.m. Now, I don’t think this is going to help much, since no wallet was handed in…I can ask Jon though.”
“No, that’s OK—you’ve jogged my memory and I know where I left it. Thanks so much!”
“Not at all. Hope you find it. Bye now.”
What the actual fuck?
73
Susan
Thursday
My phone is still in my hand when it rings, startling me. “Garda Station” flashes up onscreen and, for a second, I think, this is it. They’re taking Bella away. I’m an unfit mother, Juliette has reported me, and it’s over. It wouldn’t be the guards though, it would be social services, right? So that’s not what this is.Calm down, Susan.
Even with a few deep breaths, it takes me a moment to find my voice when I answer, anxiety drying my throat.
“Hello?”
“Ms. O’Donnell?”
“Yes.” It comes out in a croak.
“This is Detective Kellerman in Blackrock garda station. We have a few more questions about Savannah Holmes—could we ask you to come down this morning?”
“I…I have my baby. I wouldn’t have anyone to mind her…”
“Right, no worries, we’ll go to you. Are you at home now?”
God. Why am I so anxious? There’s nothing to hide. Still.
“Ms. O’Donnell?”
