Forget Me Not Read online

  He put the knife down, looked straight at me as if waiting for a punchline. ‘Are you actually serious?’ he said.

  ‘Of course I’m serious!’ I snapped. ‘I’d hardly joke about something like this, would I? The police are putting on extra patrols. They’ve given me a direct line to the incident room in case anything happens.’

  He visibly blanched. ‘Why would anyone have anything against you three? Come on,’ he said with a hollow laugh.

  He was trying to lighten the mood, detract from the fear he was feeling, but it just angered me more.

  ‘I don’t bloody know!’ I said. ‘I wish I did. No, I wish none of this was happening, but it is. And I’m scared. Julie’s barely holding it together. Ronan’s like a broken man – it’s devastating. We don’t know what to do.’

  ‘When did you see Ronan?’ he asked as if that was the most important part of what I’d just told him.

  ‘I drove up Coney Road and he was at the site of Clare’s death. That’s where I saw the flowers that had been left there.’

  ‘Did he ask you to meet him there?’

  ‘Of course not. He just happened to be there. He’d taken his parents up. But that’s not important, Paul. It’s important that we do what we have to, to make sure we’re all safe, the girls in particular.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea why you’d want to put yourself through going up there, Rachel. It’s like you’re revelling in the horror of it.’

  He lifted the knife and started chopping again. I wanted to snatch it from his hand.

  ‘We’re in the middle of the horror of it!’ I shouted. ‘We could be at risk, Paul. How many times do I have to say it before it sinks into your head? And I’m sorry if all this is taking over our lives at the moment – Clare was one of my best friends, I’ve known her longer than I’ve known you. She’s been a part of my life for thirty years. Do you think I should just get over that? Did you even see the paper today? The horrific details Ingrid Devlin printed in The Chronicle? That whoever did it cut her throat so deeply that they almost decapitated her? Do you think it’s okay to subject the girls to that kind of risk? And what about me? Are you happy knowing it could be your wife that’s next?’ I was shouting now to drown out the repetitive slam of the knife blade against the block.

  I was shouting so loud that I hadn’t heard Beth come down the stairs and walk into the room. It was only when I heard her wail ‘Mu-um!’ that I looked around to see her pale face, her eyes open wide in shock. ‘That’s not true, is it? Mum?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’ I heard from Paul behind me.

  I turned to look at him, saw the sharp end of the knife pointing directly at me.

  ‘Just look what you’ve done now!’ he yelled.

  I stared at him, the silence stretching between us. I didn’t know how to react or what to say. The phone rang. We both looked at each other for a moment before I turned and picked it up. It was Ronan.

  ‘Rachel,’ he said. ‘The police have been on to us asking about any unusual floral arrangements. They said some of Clare’s friends had received something strange. Have you?’

  I turned my back to Paul and walked out of the room, cradling the phone to my ear. ‘Yes. Julie and I both have.’

  ‘Like the ones left at the roadside? The forget-me-nots?’

  ‘Yes, with a strange note.’

  ‘We received some, too,’ he said. ‘Some garbled eye-for-an-eye type message on it.’

  I sat down on the sofa. How was it possible that this nightmare kept getting worse?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Elizabeth

  The rattle of the door-knocker just after 8 p.m. made me jump and sent Izzy into a barking frenzy. Normally I’d have laughed and told her to calm down, but I was on edge, too. People didn’t routinely call to my door without letting me know they were coming to visit.

  Nonetheless, I managed to quiet Izzy down and walked to the front of the house, to the formal front door – which was really more ornamental than anything, as most people came in through the kitchen door.

  I put my eye to the peephole and saw a glamorous-looking woman – her no-doubt designer sunglasses pushed to the top of her smooth blonde bob. She fumbled through her green leather handbag and pulled out a notebook and pen.

  When I opened the door, she thrust one hand out to shake mine.

  ‘I’m so very sorry to bother you, especially given the hour,’ she said, her face tilted to one side, her tone abjectly apologetic. ‘I’m Ingrid Devlin, from The Chronicle.’

  ‘Can I see ID?’ I asked.

  She looked a little shocked to be asked but reached into her bag and took out her purse, pulling out a blue National Union of Journalists membership card, which confirmed her credentials.

  I eyed her suspiciously. ‘What can I do for you, Ms Devlin?’

  ‘Look, my sources have led me to believe you may have been with Clare Taylor when she died. That you may have been the woman who called for help.’

  ‘Your sources?’ I asked. ‘And who might they be?’

  I’d been assured my details hadn’t left the incident room at Strand Road and wouldn’t go beyond the four walls of the Taylor house.

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ she said, ‘but I do know you visited the Taylor household on Friday.’

  ‘And? Is a woman not allowed to pass on her condolences any more?’ I was on edge; Ingrid Devlin’s presence on my doorstep wasn’t a welcome one.

  ‘Of course,’ she said sweetly. ‘And it’s very kind of you to do so. I’m sure the entire experience has been exceptionally traumatic for you.’

  I wanted to say something but feared that if I did, I’d say too much. I’d let slip something that would confirm what her ‘sources’ had told her.

  ‘I think the Taylor family are the people experiencing trauma here – and I’m just as sure reporters knocking on doors asking questions probably doesn’t help them, either.’

  ‘Oh, goodness, absolutely. And I certainly wouldn’t pressurise that poor family into talking. But you must know, Mrs O’Loughlin, that people are scared out there. This is a particularly nasty murder.’

  The sun was shining in my eyes and I put my hand up to shield my face.

  ‘I can see you’re getting blinded by the light there, Mrs O’Loughlin. Maybe if I came in we could talk inside over a cup of tea or a glass of cold water. I’m roasting today in this heat. And, of course, our chat could be off the record, if you want. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.’

  She was so saccharine sweet that my teeth hurt just listening to her. I’d seen her type before. Many times. Never trusted any of them.

  ‘You’re absolutely right,’ I said and she moved to take a step inwards. I put my arm out to stop her. ‘You’re absolutely right. I don’t have to tell you, or anyone else, anything I don’t want to. As for it being a nasty murder, I don’t think you’ll find any murders anywhere that aren’t nasty. That kind of goes with the territory of murder, don’t you think?’

  ‘But … but …’ she stammered. ‘That’s not what I meant. I just meant that we all have to work together to try to get this monster caught as soon as possible. It seems to me that he’s very dangerous. I just wondered if you would help us with that. You know, tell us what you saw. Anything she might have said …’

  ‘I think you’ve got the wrong person for that,’ I told her.

  It wasn’t too much of a lie. I wasn’t the right person to talk to a journalist. I certainly wasn’t the right person to divulge any information about the case. The police had asked me specifically not to and that was before the nastiness of the funeral bow on my gate that morning. I had no desire to draw any more attention to myself.

  ‘And we don’t know for definite it was a man. Even the police won’t say that,’ I added.

  Ingrid tilted her head to one side. ‘Ah! now come on. I think we all know it was a man. This mystery boyfriend. Did she mention him at all to you? Give a name? B
lame anyone?’

  There was something about this woman that made me feel deeply uneasy. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was a falseness to her that gave me the creeps. I shivered, even though it was still so very warm. I wanted her as far away from me as possible, so that she couldn’t wheedle any information out of me that I didn’t want to give.

  I tried to push the door closed.

  ‘Thanks, Ms Devlin, for your interest, but I really don’t think we have anything more to say to each other.’

  To my shock, she put her foot out to stop the door from closing.

  ‘Please, Mrs O’Loughlin. I’d ask you to reconsider. This is very much in the public interest. If we could just chat for a bit. I can explain what I need from you – what could help us to get the story out there. We want to make sure no other family has to go through what the Taylors are going through. No other person has to see what you saw.’

  ‘I’ve told you already that I’m not the person you need to talk to. Now, please can you remove yourself from my property or I’ll call my sources at the police station and have them remove you.’

  Ingrid cast her eyes downwards then looked back at me. I could see tears glistening in her eyes as she chewed on her bottom lip.

  ‘Please, it’s very important that I get this story. Can I level with you? Woman to woman. My editor has told me that I can’t come back to the office without a story. My job depends on it.’

  ‘I’m very sorry for you, Ms Devlin. But if I were you, I’d question whether or not I really wanted a job that made me act in such an unscrupulous fashion. I wish you a good evening.’

  She had the good grace to look defeated then. She fished around in her bag and pulled out a business card, which she handed to me.

  ‘Mrs O’Loughlin, I’m going to park my car on the main road. Outside your property. I’m going to wait there and give you time to think about things. If you decide to talk to me, and I really, truly hope that you do, my number’s on that card. Just call me and I’ll come up to the yard. I can assure you I’m not unscrupulous, at all. I just want to do a good job and get the real story out.’

  ‘Good evening, Ms Devlin,’ I said and closed the door firmly.

  I peered through the peephole again until I saw her turn and walk back down the yard to the road, which is when I allowed myself to have a cry.

  All I wanted to do was to turn the clock back and not have gone for that blasted walk at all. Or, better still, turn the clock back two years and save my daughter. I was struggling to cope; I could feel anxiety building up inside me. Why couldn’t people just leave me the hell alone? I just wanted to live my life out here in peace and quiet.

  The stress was causing my body to react, my muscles to stiffen, my head to hurt. My bad arm ached and I rubbed it, hoping it would ease some of the pain.

  Even though it was still early, I locked every door in the house and climbed the stairs. From my bedroom window I could see Ingrid Devlin’s car parked on the road. She could wait there till Christmas for all I cared. There was no way on earth I was going to talk to her about what horrors I’d seen.

  I pulled the curtains across, barely making an impact on the streaming evening light, climbed into bed then hoped against hope that I’d fall asleep and that it would be dreamless.

  I slept until the small hours, my body clearly having been in desperate need of it. Waking just before five, needing to use the bathroom, I decided it was as good a time as any to get up. Glancing out of the window, I could see that Ingrid Devlin had clearly given up waiting – hopefully some hours ago – and her car was gone.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and hoped she wouldn’t be back. I’d tear up that stupid card of hers and call either Constable King or DI Bradley as soon as was reasonable to let them know that she’d been sniffing round. No, more than that, it seemed very likely there was a mole in the investigation who was leaking information to the press. Information that could put me in direct danger.

  I decided to go downstairs and make myself a cup of tea and some toast. Maybe I’d watch some TV, something light to distract myself from everything that was happening around me. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I saw a lined page from a reporter’s notebook that had been folded over lying on the floor by the door. My name was scrawled on the cover. I had to give Ingrid Devlin something: she was persistent if nothing else. I picked it up and carried it through to the kitchen, where I switched on the light and put on my glasses before reading her looping, swirling scrawl:

  Mrs O’Loughlin,

  I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could talk to me earlier. I assure you I have your best interests and the best interests of the story at heart.

  I’ve heard you received a nasty surprise this morning, one that may have referenced the very tragic death of your daughter, Laura, and that police believe may also be linked to the murder of Clare Taylor.

  Mrs O’Loughlin, I’ve spoken to my editor and we fully intend to run a piece in the paper showcasing this new information. We believe it will ultimately help the police to catch the person responsible for Ms Taylor’s death.

  As a courtesy, I’m letting you know about the article, which will be running in Monday’s edition, so that you can decide whether you want to add anything, or speak about your relationship with your daughter and how you feel in the wake of being so close to yet another terrible tragedy.

  You can reach me on the numbers on my business card, either my office number or my mobile.

  Best wishes,

  Ingrid

  In my anger, I kicked the leg of the kitchen table so hard that I made Izzy yelp in fright and I was pretty sure I’d also broken at least one of my toes. That horrible woman was going to make a salacious headline of my daughter’s death – as if we all hadn’t suffered enough. That time – and the months that had followed – had been the darkest of my life. I’d been left emotionally, mentally and physically broken, and it had taken me a long time to piece myself back together again. I wasn’t sure I could relive any of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Rachel

  I’d pulled Beth into a hug and rocked gently back and forth while I told her that no one knew all the facts yet. Sure, the media were in the business of selling papers and getting Internet hits, but you couldn’t always believe what you read. I advised her it might be better for her if she kept her distance from social media for a bit. Rumours can very easily get out of hand. However, telling a fifteen-year-old to stay off social media seemed like a cruel and unusual punishment in her eyes.

  ‘I can’t do that. I won’t be able to talk to all my friends,’ she said.

  ‘Can you not, you know, just phone each other and have actual conversations instead?’ I asked.

  The roll of her eyes was enough to let me know that wasn’t a viable option.

  ‘This is hard enough,’ she said. ‘All of this is hard enough without being banned from going online or talking to my friends, too. They’re the only things keeping me sane now. They understand in a way you and Dad never could understand.’

  Part of me wanted to argue back with her, but that same part of me remembered what it had been like to be fifteen myself. When it was Julie, Clare and me against the world. We thought no one could ever be friends like us. No friendship was as strong as ours. No matter the drama, the only people I was sure who could understand me were my friends. If my parents had tried to block contact between us, I would have been utterly bereft. The thought of not seeing them …

  The reality that I wouldn’t see Clare again came at me like a wave. I choked back my emotions and pulled Beth into another hug.

  ‘You’re right, darling. Of course you are. I’m just trying to protect you from the world and all this horrible information about Clare’s death. What happened was wrong and cruel and brutal, and I’m afraid you’re going to hear things over the next few days and weeks that are going to be hugely upsetting. Not all of it’s going to be true, either.’

  ‘Why did the
y do it, Mum?’ she asked. ‘I don’t understand.’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t understand, either. I can’t think of anyone who had a bad word to say about Clare. But the police are working morning, noon and night to track whoever it is down and get the animal who did this behind bars.’

  She rested her head against my shoulder and I kissed her hair, angry and upset that my child had been robbed of her innocence in such a violent manner.

  ‘Do you really think they might hurt someone else?’ she asked.

  My heart lurched. How much should I tell her? She was fifteen. A bright kid. If I was to suggest her going to Belfast for a bit, we’d more than likely have to tell her the truth – but the thought of her being scared horrified me.

  ‘One of the boys in the youth club said it was like those shows on TV, you know, like Criminal Minds or something. Like what if it’s a serial killer? I told him to wise up, we don’t get serial killers in Derry.’ She looked up at me, chewed her lip a little. ‘I heard Dad on the phone to you earlier about those flowers and I probably shouldn’t have, but I looked at the card after. It gave me the creeps. I heard you talking to Dad about what if you’re next and now I’m wondering if that boy in youth club was right?’

  I was sure she must have been able to hear the persistent thudding of my heart in my chest. I wasn’t equipped for this. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Darling girl, we all need to be brave now and we have to remember that the police are on our side. They’re aware of everything that’s happened and they’re going to put extra patrols on in this area. They’ve assured me they’re watching out for us, but I’m not going to lie, darling. You’re an intelligent young woman. This is a scary time. I’m scared and I’m sure Dad is, too. But we’re doing everything we can to keep you and Molly extra safe.’

  ‘How can you do that if we don’t know who we’re watching out for?’ she asked and I felt her squeeze my hand tighter.

  She didn’t look so much like a young woman as she did a scared child and I wanted to run away from all this with both her and with Molly, the two most important people in my life.