Red Ribbons Read online

  Moments earlier, on the way to this door, I had caught sight of myself in the gold ornate mirror in the corridor. Unlike me, it is beautiful. It has an intricate frame and hangs on the wall past the sign for Female Rooms. The mirror does not discriminate. It welcomes all of us on our daily walkabouts. Of course, there are those of us who have looked in the mirror who are no longer here – some of us are no longer alive. Apart from the tiny black spots around the glass edges, it is perfect, and never fails to greet us. We cannot avoid it as it hangs in the walkway leading to the kitchen and Living Room 1 and Living Room 2. I wonder which genius decided on that: to hang a large mirror where we are forced to look into it, and be looked at by it; confirming the nothings we have all become.

  Why today, of all the days, did I stop and allow my image to puzzle me? It certainly wasn’t because I expected to see the vibrant Ellie Brady who used to live in my body. I had expected someone else, the grey ghost she has become. For a time I stood there, staring. In this place, you do a lot of that kind of thing, ‘nothing things’. There is no pressure to be anywhere else, to do anything other than the daily routine, which is so embedded in your mind that you can catch yourself doing things without remembering how you got to the place in which you are doing them.

  At the mirror, I tilted my head as if the woman in the glass would become more recognisable. It wasn’t just the shabby clothes or the childish hairstyle, it was her face. For it was in this that my truth was hidden, buried beneath skin, behind eyes and burrowed into the wrinkled stress lines that cover my brow. My shoulders leaned inwards, stooping my back as if every part of me was worn down. I took a second to stand up straight, fixing my clothes as best I could. I had never done that before, and again I asked myself why I felt so differently today. I even opened my eyes wide, staring, daring me to see the person I remembered from so long before. But all I saw was a ragged person, in matching ragged clothes.

  I think all this as I stand at the door waiting for the good doctor to answer my knock. I knock again, harder. The sound of his footsteps tells me my peace will now be broken.

  ‘Ellie, please come in.’

  His cheerful voice says this like he’s an old friend, an acquaintance from the past, from a happy time. But I don’t know him, I only know of him. He is the new doctor, the one who is reviewing my file. This I understand, because this much, at least, they have told me.

  I sit on the patient side of the desk. I don’t mind being the patient; the chair is comfortable enough. I have sat in it many times before. I am happy to say nothing, might as well enjoy it while I can. He is sure to intrude soon, sure to ask his questions and try to get a response – that is what they do, that is what they all do. But I don’t have a response, I have nothing. In nothing I feel safe, for now.

  The doctor is tall and graceful in his movements. I notice this as he walks across the room, but I can tell this even when he is seated. The elegant way his arms move as he turns over the case notes, the slow, delicate indentation of forehead lines as he concentrates. When I walked in, he held the door open for me, as if I was some kind of lady. He has an air of gentle confidence, which must help him to control proceedings. I wonder if he is this way out in the real world. Does his disposition change when he is not dealing with lunatics like me? There is already a wooden plaque on the desk with his name on it: ‘Dr Samuel Ebbs’. It is followed by a string of letters. I have learned that the number of letters adds to their importance, but importance to whom? Certainly not to me. To me, he is of no importance; to me, he is simply here.

  To the side of the case notes lies a jotter and he writes in it from time to time, even before we start to talk properly. His head is bent and his eyes move constantly from the case notes to his jotter, looking up briefly to smile every now and then. I notice the beginning of baldness, just a slight thinning out in the centre of the crown. His hair is black and his suit expensive, neat. The skin on his face and hands tanned, as if painted by a different climate. He has a sharp nose, but it suits him, gives him an air of intelligence. The wedding band on his finger tells me he is married. His enthusiastic scribbling confirms to me that he is new.

  Raising his head, he lays the pen down on the desk without making a sound. These are all indicators that he is now ready to move our proceedings forward.

  ‘Well, Ellie, thank you for seeing me today.’

  Stupid statement – like I have a choice. I say nothing. He looks at me, my silence causing an upward movement of his right eyebrow.

  ‘You’ve been here a long time?’ He knows this from my file. ‘I would like to help you, Ellie, if I can.’

  He waits. So do I.

  ‘Perhaps we could spend some time together over the next while. I am here to listen and of course to help you any way I can.’

  He pauses then, like I’m going to respond. I don’t, not even a blink.

  ‘Maybe, Ellie, we could aim to have our chats in the afternoon? How would you feel about that?’

  ‘Fine.’

  He can have as many chats as he likes, but I won’t be saying anything. It has all been said before, dragged up and dissected, mulled backwards and forwards. It doesn’t change anything, nothing can.

  I lean farther back in my chair and he stares at me like he knows I am about to say something. I suddenly like this about him, noticing the small things probably makes him a good judge of people.

  ‘Do you have children, Dr Ebbs?’ I ask this as I turn away from the framed photograph of his children on the desk. They look about eight and ten years old. The girl is the younger one. I know he has caught me looking. I don’t care.

  ‘Yes. I have two, a boy and a girl.’

  ‘A gentleman’s family. You should mind them well, they won’t always be around, you know.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  I can tell he feels uncomfortable with someone else setting the agenda. He says nothing about me looking at the photograph. He is being polite, no point in upsetting the lunatic too soon. Perhaps I should feel guilty about taking advantage of our meeting, of him wanting to put me at my ease, but there are always pros and cons on both sides. I know the protocol better than most. He will talk to me on first name terms, but if I were to call him Samuel, it would be overly familiar. He knows he is in charge of the questions and that it is my expected duty to answer them. He will try to make me better, but I don’t want to be better. I am fine as I am, history-less.

  ‘Your bouts of depression, it says here, Ellie, they started not long into your marriage?’

  Picking up his pen, he clicks down the top, like he’s pressing the Play button on a tape recorder, as if now I should open my mouth and speak so that he, being the good doctor, can write it all down diligently. The fact that I remain silent does not unnerve him, merely initiates a change of tactics.

  ‘Ellie, I know this will be slow. It will take time for you to learn to trust me, but I do intend to help you. Little by little, we will work through things together.’

  All this is said with sincerity, the lines on his forehead deepening, his eyes looking straight at me as he leans back in his chair, every movement designed to put me at my ease. If I cared enough, I could humour him, give him some encouragement, but I don’t care. Soon, he won’t either.

  ‘I want to go.’

  ‘But, Ellie, you’ve only just arrived.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So now that you are here, it might be good to talk a little longer. I won’t delay you, Ellie, just a few more moments of your time.’

  I almost laugh out loud, to hear him talking to me like I’m some busy person. ‘Do I have a choice?’

  He leans forward again, his physical proximity requesting a more intimate response.

  ‘Didn’t think so,’ I say under my breath. I can see my smart remark is a disappointment to him.

  ‘Ellie, I’m going to talk straight with you. I’m new here at St Michael’s, but I’ve been involved in psychiatric care for a very long time.’

  This is sup
posed to make me feel confident, happy to spill the beans, to trust him. But I am too long at this game for stupidity like that.

  ‘You look tired. How have you been finding the medication?’

  ‘Fine, tired is good.’

  ‘You enjoy sleeping?’

  ‘It passes the time.’

  ‘Which is a good thing?’

  He is starting to annoy me now, bad enough sitting here answering his questions without them being completely stupid. I say nothing. He’ll learn.

  ‘For now, let’s say we keep you on the same medication but that we can review it later.’

  Again he plays the game. We both know he decides on the medication, it is not and never will be a joint decision.

  ‘Ellie, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, to putting a face to the file, as they say.’

  He laughs at this. I don’t. My lack of reaction does not unnerve him. The good doctor is showing distinct possibilities.

  ‘Next time we meet, Ellie, we can really get things rolling, how does that sound to you?’

  ‘Just dandy.’

  Standing up, he walks me to the door, guiding my movements with his extended arm as if somehow I might have forgotten my way out.

  ‘Till next time, Ellie.’ He shakes my hand like I’m a normal person. It surprises me. I don’t expect touch. I don’t expect anything. Not any more.

  Dublin Mountains

  Friday, 7 October 2011, 8.00 a.m.

  DETECTIVE INSPECTOR O’CONNOR WAS ONLY moments away from an early-morning meeting in the squad room at Rathfarnham Garda Station when he got the call about the missing girl. She hadn’t been seen for two full days – never a good sign for a Category 1 high-risk disappearance. Although O’Connor’s district was based in Rathfarnham, it also covered Templeogue, Firhouse and had jurisdiction over the southwestern side of the Dublin Mountain zone. O’Connor had investigated his fair share of murders and missing persons over the years, and he knew more than anyone that for every case solved, many others remained open.

  The C1 disappearance had been the talk of the Dublin district. That morning, when Chief Superintendent Nolan’s number lit up his hands-free set, O’Connor took the call and listened, grim-faced.

  A sheep farmer had found freshly dug up soil. The storm from the previous night had brought down a fence on his land, and caused his sheep to ramble. When his dog refused to leave the area where the stray animals had been retrieved, he was forced to walk farther in. It was then, just as dawn was breaking over the sprawling city of Dublin, that the grave – suspected to be of Caroline Devine – had been discovered.

  O’Connor turned his car around and headed straight to the location of the suspected burial site. Driving towards the mountain road, O’Connor rapped the steering wheel in frustration. He was only too aware that the first forty-eight hours of an investigation were critical. One of the first pieces of information his team sought to establish in any missing person case was the last known sighting of the subject. Caroline Devine had last been seen after finishing school, waving goodbye to her friend Jessica Barry on Rathmines Bridge at the canal. Her family in Harold’s Cross had expected her home shortly afterwards. All the potential routes Caroline could have taken home had been examined, but nothing had turned up so far. A diving team from the Underwater Unit had already dragged the base of the canal, from both the Rathmines and Harold’s Cross ends. The canal didn’t have a major water flow. If the girl had fallen in, accidentally or otherwise, they would have found her.

  Nolan had told him that he had already advised Mick Rohan, the Chief Press Officer at Garda HQ, about the site location and possible finding, but no official statement had yet been released. O’Connor knew he had a number of calls to make, one of which would be to DI Frank Gunning, who had been heading up the missing person’s enquiry from Rathmines. Gunning wouldn’t be happy about O’Connor taking over the case, but if it was Caroline Devine’s body up in the mountains, it was O’Connor’s murder now and not Gunning’s – the investigation always follows the corpse.

  ‘Hiya, Frank, it’s O’Connor here.’

  ‘I’m on my way up there. Where are you?’

  ‘At Bohernabreena Cemetery,’ O’Connor replied. ‘I should be there in less than ten. A couple of uniforms are already in situ from the first call in.’

  ‘Right, I’ll see you shortly, turning at Kiltipper now.’

  ‘Frank, just to tell you, Nolan has already advised Rohan about the possible outcome, but nothing official is going out until we know what we’re dealing with. I’m getting a full squad in place, and I have Morrison on standby in case we find anything.’

  ‘Where is our talented state pathologist today?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Golfing in Blessington, it will take him no time to get over.’

  ‘How much of an area are you going to cordon off? It’s a bitch of a place.’

  ‘As much as I have to – I’m not about to lose a step in this investigation and not be able to recover it.’

  ‘I’ll make a call to Shelley Canter,’ Frank offered. ‘She’s assigned as the family liaison officer.’

  ‘Good – just tell her to keep the family calm and informed. As of now, this could turn out to be nothing. There is no point in upsetting them unnecessarily.’

  ‘She knows that, and she also knows what the parents will be thinking no matter how this ends up.’

  ‘Just once we’re all working from the same sheet, Gunning.’

  O’Connor hung up and made his next call – to Robert Hanley. Hanley would be heading up the technical team and he had a reputation, even by techie standards, of having something of a Midas touch.

  ‘Hanley?’

  ‘Good morning, Detective Inspector.’

  ‘Are you on your way?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Me, too. First priority will be cordoning off the area. I’ll have a better idea of just how much when I’ve seen it, but it could be large.’

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

  ‘You know the drill, Hanley, if it does turn out to be the missing girl up there, I may be the one in charge, but as far as protection of the crime scene goes, you are God Almighty.’

  ‘Rest assured, Inspector. I won’t even let Nolan pass if it risks compromising things.’

  ‘Right, let’s get digging so.’

  Turning up the mountain road, O’Connor’s Avensis negotiated the steep climb on the narrow winding road that was barely able to take one vehicle. He took all the bends at speed. O’Connor knew this area like he knew its surrounding suburbs and as he reached the point on the road where the city was behind him, he got that familiar sense of being right smack in the middle of nowhere.

  ≈

  Once the decision on the size of the area to be cordoned off had been made, a slow and methodical extraction of the ground began. There was no guarantee they would find Caroline’s body, but based on the knowledge of her disappearance, the proximity of the location to the centre of the city and the remoteness of the site where the recently dug soil had been found, there were enough things telling O’Connor that they were dealing with either a secondary or primary crime scene. Search teams were on hand to sweep the area, together with the community police and the guys from Tallaght, who often worked side by side with the Rathfarnham squad. Although Gunning was someone O’Connor neither liked nor had much time for, right now he was the man with most of the information, and O’Connor wasted no time getting as much as possible out of him.

  ‘Okay, Frank, fill me in. The dig will be slow, so we’ll be here for a while.’

  ‘Missing Persons were notified two days ago. Right now, they are just monitoring the information as we feed it to them.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘We’ve pulled the girl’s PC and mobile phone. She wasn’t allowed take her phone to school, so both it and her laptop were still at home. The IT guys are combing through them now. We have a number of contact points/sites being examined, but it’s too early to te
ll if they’ll be of any use. Buccal swabs have been taken from all members of the close family, along with the girl’s toothbrush and hairbrush, both bagged and tagged. If it is Caroline down there and the body isn’t clearly recognisable, we can check the DNA comparisons with what we have already.’

  ‘What about the house-to-house?’

  ‘It’s been intensive around the area she lived in – her school, local swimming pool and the last sighting. We have CCTV footage from some of the local businesses, quite a lot down from where she waved goodbye to her friend. Checkpoints monitoring movements around the area have been constant since she was first reported missing. Teachers, friends and family members have all been interviewed. The parents and family are finding it tough, needless to say, but at the moment the girl’s father seems to be the one with the cool head. Shelley Canter has been working with both the parents, and the girl’s only sibling, a sister.’

  ‘Right,’ O’Connor said, taking charge, ‘assuming it is Caroline down there, I want a complete list of everyone who’s been interviewed. I presume you have pulled listings from everywhere.’

  ‘Of course, and cross-checked with the names we have from the house-to-house.’

  ‘Anything on known paedophiles close by?’

  ‘Nothing yet, but I got a call just before I headed up here. We might have a possible sighting of someone interesting from a checkpoint set up the day after she went missing. I’ll know more soon.’

  O’Connor looked at his watch. ‘I’ll want it for our first briefing at 10.30. Nolan’s been in touch again. He says you’re to stay involved. As of now, you are the man with most of the information, so stay close.’

  Frank Gunning raised an eyebrow, but O’Connor couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Probably delighted to be considered important, arrogant bastard.

  ‘Don’t worry, O’Connor, I’ve no intention of going anywhere.’

  Ellie

  I WATCH THE SUN CREEP THROUGH THE SMALL window in my room. There’s just a hint of it now, catching the bottom of the sill. It enters the darkness as it does every day, climbing grey walls and pink chipped window frames; revealing itself discreetly, like some virginal bride. It has a confidence in the unveiling, a confidence that, day after day, says it can be renewed. If it could be amazed, it would be amazed by its own wonder, the determination to come back again and again, with little in the day changed from what went before.