I wonder if she means there’s no word like ‘widow’ or ‘widower’ for someone who has lost their spouse or ‘orphan’ for someone who has lost a parent. Or does she mean her pain is indescribable? I don’t ask. But I feel a sudden pang of guilt at the lack of compassion I’m showing her. She’s a mother who has just lost her son.
‘I want justice for my son, just as you wanted justice for your daughter,’ she says. ‘And I think perhaps I could have –shouldhave – helped you get justice for Iris, even if it meant encouraging my son to admit he did something very wrong.’
At this, any pity I had for this woman evaporates. My hand clenches at my side as the anger boils up inside me like lava. The nerve of this woman! She has more or less admitted that Joshua was responsible for everything Iris has been through since last December and she thinks that I’m going to force a confession out of Iris for Josh’s murder.
‘I have no right to ask you to help me now, but you and Iris are the only people who can help me,’ she pleads.
I’m not a violent person, but it takes every ounce of my willpower not to ram her perfect teeth down her throat. ‘Yvonne, I think you should leave.’
‘I want justice for Joshua.’ Her voice has a harder edge to it now. I see my own fury mirrored in her eyes.
‘And I want you to go. Don’t you ever come here again. Don’t come near me or my family. Do you understand?’
I try to close the door, but she pushes against it.
‘A mother always knows,’ she says. And with that parting shot, she turns on her high heels and teeters down the gravel driveway towards her car.
I slam the front door and swear, loudly this time, even though Margo is standing in the hallway. She jumps and Cheddar scuttles into the kitchen with a whine. Margo follows him.
I look up to see Iris standing at the top of the stairs. How much of that did she overhear? She turns and heads along the landing to her bedroom. Then she slams her door, too.
I sit on the stairs and concentrate on breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. It takes several minutes before my heart rate and breathing slow down. And then a few more until I stop shaking.
Chapter 15
Ian
NOW
He’s standing in the porch, sneaking a quick smoke, when he spots the trainers. He has come home for dinner this evening (Helena, his deputy SIO, insisted she had it all under control), and he was hoping to disconnect for a few hours. No hope of that now he’s seen the shoes. His mind is firmly back on the case.
They haven’t made much headway. They’re still waiting on the forensics, even though he has nudged (well, harassed, if he’s honest) the lab people, asking repeatedly for the samples to be fast-tracked. He’s not optimistic about the results. The victim’s body was found several days after death and it rained heavily on at least three of those days. For the moment, he doesn’t have much to go on. This is his first case as SIO and he’s feeling the pressure.
He’d always wanted to be a police officer. Secretly. It wasn’t really something you could mention to your parents or your careers adviser at St Mary’s Boys’ School when you were from the Bogside. The Police Service of Northern Ireland has come a long way since its Royal Ulster Constabulary days and they’re recruiting more Catholics, but in a place like Derry, that still carries visible, raw scars from the Troubles, you can’t really get away from religion and politics. His family would never have approved. A copper on the mainland, however, didn’t seem to carry the same stigma as a peeler in Northern Ireland. Or perhaps it did, but his mother was able to be vague about what he did for a living with him over here. (He’d once heard her tell an elderly neighbour that he worked in security.)
He has always felt like he needs to prove himself in his job, like he has to justify his career choice. To his mam. To himself. The murder of Joshua Knoll is both shocking and tragic, but it’s also a good opportunity for Ian to make a name for himself, maybe even advance his career. In this neck of the woods, you only get murders once in a blue moon. He may not get another chance.
He keeps thinking he should step down, though. Or at the very least tell his manager he has an emotional involvement in the case. He has arranged with Ash and Carla to talk to Iris tomorrow. It’s not really his job. Technically, it’s probably against protocol. Two of his officers have been handling the interviews with Josh’s family and friends, although Ian himself went to see Richard and Yvonne. Despite what Ash seems to think, Iris isn’t a suspect, but she does have a motive and Ian has a feeling she might become one. And as Ian is Iris’s godfather, there will be a clear conflict of interests. He’ll be taken off the case.
He stubs out the fag on the side of a plant pot, tries to ignore the shoes, left neatly side by side on the doorstep, opens the front door and steps inside the house. He’s greeted by raucous laughter from Millie’s bedroom upstairs. It brings a smile to his face, albeit briefly. The girls are having fun. They deserve to. They’ve both been working so hard at school. Millie has set her sights high. She wants to get at least two A stars. And, according to Ash, Iris is getting excellent marks, despite missing so much of the last school year. He wonders if Iris knows he’s calling round tomorrow morning to interview her.
He goes into the kitchen and makes himself a mug of tea. He’s still clasping the mug in his hands, the tea long gone cold, when Jo finds him. His brain registers that she has spoken to him, but won’t replay her words.
‘Sorry, darling. I was miles away. What did you say?’
‘I said, you smell of cig … Never mind. A penny for them?’
Ian sighs. ‘It’s the case.’
‘You want to talk about it?’
‘You know I can’t.’
‘That doesn’t usually stop you,’ Jo says.
He sighs again. ‘If I talk to you, you can’t go blabbing to Carla.’ He looks at her sternly. He knows women talk. But it’s not on this time, for obvious reasons.
‘OK. I promise.’
