my head. If it’s black-market, there’s probably no evidence it took place at all. Conor will have no alibi.
I quicken my search leaving the bedroom and pushing open the door to the kitchen. In front of me stands a dresser with lots of drawers. Shit, this could take time. I kiss Shay’s head. ‘Are you okay little man?’ But he doesn’t stir. His soft breath landing on my skin comforts me. ‘I’ll have you home soon baby. We’re doing this for Daddy.’
Pulling out drawers and opening presses, my eyes rapidly search through everything in front of me, the continuous reminder of Pat’s lonely life. One cup, one plate, one pot, one everything.
Shay is still asleep on my chest. He hasn’t even whimpered. Stretching my neck, I look to see if there’s anything on top of the kitchen presses. I hear a thud outside and my heart stops. I freeze. I listen but I can’t hear anything. My nerves have me sick but I remind myself Conor must be even more nervous.
I’m about to close one of the drawers when I notice a lodgement book. Bank of Ireland. I don’t know why but it piques my interest so I take it in my hand and open it. I stare wide-eyed at the name on top of the slip. Pat is lodging money into Erin Murphy’s bank. Vicky Murphy’s mother.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
I’m exhausted. Every bone in my body is tired from shaking and shivering with fear. I’m sitting by the window waiting for Pat to return. My mind is in overdrive. I need to speak to Pat to find out what is going on. Why is he giving Erin Murphy money every month? I’m sure the detectives will be interested in this information but first I have to find out what it means. I don’t want to hand a shovel to the men who are trying to bury my husband.
Is Pat Vicky’s father? Hence the need to point fingers. Or did he kill Vicky and is now trying to divert attention from himself? One way or the other, I’m sitting here until he returns and I’m going to make him tell me.
I’ve heard nothing from Conor, or Fintan yet. But I expect Fintan will contact me before this day ends. Which it’s going to in two hours. Shay is asleep upstairs in his cot. The monitor sits on a ledge beside me. I wonder does Maggie know her son has been arrested. Hardly. She would have been over here by now, crying and panicking and making the tension in the air unbearable.
When I couldn’t get an answer from Amanda, I sent her a text telling her Conor had been arrested. She hasn’t texted me back yet. Amanda is probably having a great night entertaining clients, eating and drinking and laughing. No time to check her phone.
It’s all coming back to me now. Those nights before I met Conor. Amanda out having a great time. Me, sitting crying, looking out a window. At least this time, I have Shay. I have a reason to go on, to fight the fight. And I will. If misery has taught me anything, it’s not to become friends with it.
The sound of footsteps on the gravel outside quickens my heartbeat. Pat is shuffling down the side of the house. I jump from my stool and run to the back door. His slow struggling body comes into view.
‘Pat, can I have a word?’
He stops, lifts his drooping head and looks at me.
‘I need to talk to you Pat, it’s very important.’
He moves his gaze from me to the forest as if contemplating whether or not to ignore me. But he doesn’t. He walks over to me. I stand back and ask him to come into the house. I’m not as nervous as I thought I’d be. I’m too eager to find out what this man knows.
‘Maybe you’d like to sit down,’ I say, pulling out a chair for Pat.
Pat removes his cap and sits. His silence makes everything so much harder than it should be. I’ve never heard him volunteer to start a conversation, but then—
‘Where did you get that?’ He lifts the lodgement book from the table in front of him and stares at me.
‘I got it in your cottage Pat. You need to tell me what’s going on.’ My voice sounds a little harsh.
‘When were you in my cottage?’ His eyes are drained of life, without colour. Dark strands of hair streak through the grey showing hints