‘I think it might have been Pat.’ I say. But Conor remains silent. Gobsmacked.
‘I wanted to tell you but then I didn’t have it and so much was going on and I thought you might not believe me—’ I’m rambling on when he interrupts.
‘What do you mean it’s gone? Gone where?’
‘I don’t know, I put it under a magazine on the counter.’ I point to the island in the centre of the room. ‘The night I came home from the hospital. But it was gone when I went looking for it the next day.’ Conor’s eyes are fixed on me. I can tell he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
‘What exactly did it say?’
A hot tear burns down my cheek. My body is shaking. Conor is going to hate me for not telling him about the card. ‘It said, Your husband is a murderer, where was he the night Vicky was killed?’
Conor looks away from me, hands on hips, eyes on the window. ‘Sweet Jesus, what’s going on Laura? You should have told me.’ He turns, his worried eyes stare at me.
‘I wanted to, Conor, but the card was gone, I had no proof, I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.’
‘And it wasn’t there when you went to look for it?’
‘No.’
‘Have you any idea who might have taken it?’ I shake my head. ‘I don’t know, maybe…’ I want to say Maggie but I’m not sure he’d appreciate me accusing his mam. ‘I don’t know Conor.’
‘Well I do.’
‘What?’
‘It was my mother.’
‘Maggie, but… how do you know?’
‘Because no one else would. If she opened that card and read it she would have taken it. I know. She would not have let me see it.’
‘But why wouldn’t she say anything?’
‘Mam has been trying to protect me from the rumours since my father died: how some people thought it wasn’t an accident. Noel used to tell me how she spent the first few months defending my honour. I told her not to listen to the rumours. That we knew the truth and nothing else mattered.’
‘Oh God Conor, I’m so sorry. I…’ I go to him and, with my son on my shoulder, I wrap my arms around him. Conor holds us. ‘We still don’t know who sent it,’ I say. He unlocks my grip and looks at me. ‘Laura, it’s not true, so it doesn’t matter who sent the card.’
‘But do you not want to know?’
‘Why, what difference would it make? I know who my friends are. I know the people who have stuck by me.’ Conor walks over to the computer. ‘And now one of those friends is in trouble.’
‘So what do we do?’ I say. But there’s no response. Conor is still trying to digest the murky information on the screen in front of him.
‘You’ll have to show it to the detectives, Conor. Vicky took these photos and now Vicky is dead.’
Conor is silent. I can tell he’s listening and not listening at the same time, his mind racing around in circles. Maybe I should leave him alone for a while.
‘I’m going upstairs to change this little man,’ I say, walking out of the room.
After a few minutes, Conor follows me up to the nursery that Shay will eventually move into. It has been decorated in blues, creams and yellows. There are cuddly toys, bean bags, a rocking horse and a cartoon painting of the brewery with animals looking out the windows on one of the walls. And, of course, the solar system. Conor had it all commissioned specially. Some of the aspects are painted on the ceiling, others hang from strategically placed wires. The sun takes centre stage. The moon hangs to its right. A myriad of planets float across the room, all ready and waiting to entertain Shay when the time comes. When it gets dark the whole thing glows. It’s pretty special to see.
‘You didn’t show those photos to anyone else, did you?’ Conor says, standing over me. The smell of his aftershave mingles with baby powder creating a kind of confusing smell.
‘No.’
‘Good. Well, don’t. Wait until I have a word with Noel.’
‘But—’
‘He’s my friend, Laura. He’s Shay’s godfather. The least I can do is talk to him about it first. Tell him I saw the photos. Get his side of the story before those out-of-town detectives get their hands on them. He’s supposed to be leaving for Oman in two days.’
Conor leaves the room and by the time I come downstairs, he’s already rung Noel.