my fingers over his face to let him know I’m here, then grab the buggy and push.
I’m about to push him out the door when I glance back and notice I left the book on the floor.
‘One minute, baby.’
Over I go, lift the book. Wuthering Heights. I’m about to place it back on the shelf when something falls to the ground. A photograph. Slowly, I bend down – I still get the odd jab of pain so I have to be careful. There’s a face looking back at me. A girl. My heart thumps in my chest. Lifting the photo, I hold it closer to my face. The cries from the buggy fade into the background. The room darkens. Why is there a photo of Vicky Murphy hidden in that book?
Chapter Fourteen
My hand shakes. I turn the photograph over and see her details printed on the back. Vicky Murphy, D.O.B 30/04/1991. Address, Apt.1 Hedigan’s Pub, Ballycall. Her phone number is on it too. It looks like a headshot taken by a professional photographer. Vicky is posing with a serious look on her face. Her blue eyes stare from a narrow pale face. Lips tightly shut above a pointy chin. Her red hair is cut into a bob. It’s shorter than in the photograph doing the rounds now. Vicky looks so innocent. So unlikely to have come to such an end.
‘Jesus, Conor. What are you doing with this?’
Shay cries his way back into my attention. I quickly shove the photo in my pocket, replace the book and push the buggy back into the kitchen.
‘Don’t jump to conclusions, Laura,’ I tell myself, holding Shay who sucks on the bottle. Shay looks content now, arms hanging by his side, every piece of attention dedicated to getting the formula into his belly. There are no worries in Shay’s head, no paranoia and fear distracting him. God, I wish I could be like that. Unable to worry, unable to imagine things, things that are so far-fetched. I think I might be losing my mind. Could Conor be involved in this murder? Or is there a simple explanation for that photo being here? Shay looks up at me, lips still wrapped around the bottle. He’s staring, like he’s sussing me out.
‘Hey little boy, I’m your mama.’ A lunatic maybe, but definitely your mama.
Through the window, I see a mesh of clouds hanging above the town. The game will be well underway by now.
I turn on the television but the photo of Vicky Murphy still crowds my mind. I wonder when it was taken? How long was left of her doomed life? What the hell was Conor doing with it? Did he have some sort of dealings with her? Something to do with the brewery? If so why didn’t he mention it when she was killed. Unless he can’t tell me. Is he hiding something? The big shot. Was he having an affair with Vicky? No. Don’t go there Laura. He’s never given you any reason to suspect that.
It doesn’t look good. I bet if I told Detective Fintan Ryan about the card and this photo, he’d begin to look at Conor as a suspect. But he was here with me. Sleeping in the bed beside me. How could I forget? My waters broke at six the following morning. Conor jumped out of the bed in a panic, grabbing keys and bags and phones and almost forgetting me. We laughed. It was the last laugh I had that day.
I spend the next few hours switching through the channels convincing myself nothing is going on then convincing myself something is going on. Conor is hiding something from me. But he doesn’t even lock his phone. So why has he a photo of Vicky Murphy hidden in a book.? I consider calling Amanda to tell her what I’ve found. But I’m afraid she will tell me to wait, not alert Conor to my discovery until I find out some more. And I don’t want to do that. I want to confront him today as soon as he comes in the door. Whatever happened, I want to know about it.
Outside the window, Pat walks past the house. His head is bent as always, his step slow. He wears a cap no matter what the weather. His feet are shuffling along in heavy boots, a brown suit jacket over a hairy jumper and worn baggy jeans. He has a face full of worry, even though he can’t have much to worry