Lying in Wait(16)

And then, a few days later, I was coming home from school when I noticed a squad car pull up outside our gate. I almost started to hyperventilate. Were they here to arrest Dad or was it just one of their routine visits? A heavyset guy got out just as I turned into the driveway. I recognized him from the television news. It was the man in charge of the missing person investigation. Another man sat in the back seat and a uniformed guard was the driver.

‘How’r’ye, son. I’m Detective Sergeant Declan O’Toole, and that there’ – he nodded towards the back seat – ‘is Detective James Mooney. Do you live in there?’ He pointed towards our house.

‘Yeah.’

Detective Mooney got out of the car and stood behind O’Toole. ‘And what’s your name?’

‘Laurence Fitzsimons.’

‘And is your father home?’

‘I don’t think so. He doesn’t normally get home until after six.’

Detective Mooney nodded and walked back towards the car, but O’Toole told him to hold on. He had a sly smirk on his face. I didn’t like him.

‘So you’re the son of Judge Fitzsimons, are you?’

‘Yeah.’ I wanted to run away up the driveway, but the guard put his hand on my shoulder to keep me there.

‘Well, aren’t you a fine big lad.’ He was trying to be my friend. I said nothing. ‘Tell me something, Laurence, do you remember the weekend of the 14th of November, two weeks ago now.’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘Were you home that weekend yourself?’

I wondered if I should ask to have a lawyer present, but the detective was keeping it all very casual. He wasn’t writing anything down. But I was terrified.

‘I was in my girlfriend’s house that Friday night. You can check with her.’

‘Ah here, no need to be defensive, sonny. I’m not accusing you of anything at all, it’s just a routine thing I’m doing here, y’know?’ He was much more confident than Mooney, who I had heard questioning my dad. He was … jolly.

‘Why are you asking me about that weekend?’

He ignored my question. ‘And tell me now, was it a late night like, that Friday? What time did you get home to your own bed? Or did you?’ He nudged and winked at me as if we were a comic double act.

‘I had a midnight curfew. But I was home just after eleven.’

‘A curfew, eh? And were your mam and dad waiting up for you to get a full report?’ He winked again.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘You’re sure now? Both of them?’

‘Yes.’ I kept my voice as still as possible, though I could not control the flush in my cheeks. The lie came so easily, it surprised even me.

‘And did your dad go out again that weekend at all?’

‘No. We all stayed in.’

‘Don’t you have a great memory?’

‘I remember it because I sprained my ankle and Mum and Dad were home the whole time, fetching me stuff.’

‘Grand, that’s all I needed to know, sonny. I’m just crossing people off a list. It’s a dirty job, but sure, someone has to do it, ha?’ He winked again and went to get into his car.

‘Are you not going up to the house?’ I said, nodding towards Avalon.

‘No need, no need at all.’

Detective Mooney, who had stood silently all this time, whispered urgently into O’Toole’s ear. O’Toole waved him away, annoyed, but said, ‘Oh, one more thing, does your dad ever wear a hat? A trilby-type hat?’ He pulled a photograph of a hat out of his pocket. ‘This shape,’ he said, pointing at the photo. I heaved a huge sigh of relief.

‘No. Never. He doesn’t have a hat.’ O’Toole looked at Mooney with smug satisfaction on his face.

‘Good, good, that’s it then, I’ll be on my way.’

‘But why are you asking about that weekend, and my dad and a hat?’

He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Ongoing investigation, but you’ve nothing to worry about now, off you go!’ He tooted the horn and drove off.

They were looking for a different man, a man who wore a hat. I needn’t have lied at all. Dad was guilty about something, though – maybe he had gone out that night for another reason. I was almost relieved to think that he might be having an affair, and the bracelet belonged to his fancy woman, Marnie. None of the reports had mentioned the name on the bracelet, and one would assume that it would be the woman’s own name, Annie. So Marnie must be Dad’s floozie. That was better than … whatever had happened to a missing prostitute. The knot in my stomach loosened.

Mum was cutting fabric on the kitchen table when I came in.

‘Mum,’ I said jovially when I got in the front door, ‘Dad’s off the hook. They’re looking for a fella in a hat!’

She didn’t look up. ‘What are you talking about, darling?’

‘There were two detectives outside just now, and one of them was asking me about that night, the night he questioned Dad about, but they’re looking for a guy in a hat.’

She smiled sweetly. ‘Good heavens, a guard asking you questions. What did you tell him?’

‘I told him Dad and you were here when I got home from my night out and that Dad didn’t even own a hat.’